‘She’s not a Gem,’ Nate repeats, all the strength stripped away.
‘Pipe down, young ’un. You may be an Imp, but if you’re helping a Gem, that makes you as bad as them.’
‘What about this one?’ Terry thrusts a finger into my sternum. ‘She’s verging on Gem material – she’s pretty enough.’
The freckly controller looks at me long and hard. ‘No cheekbone enhancements, her lips are too thin, they would have plumped those, and she has a mole on her cheek, they would have sliced that off.’
I don’t know whether to feel offended or relieved.
He leans into me. ‘Don’t look so miserable, who’d want to be a stinking Gem?’ His breath tastes like damp wood and gin. Suddenly, he grabs my hair and yanks my head back – it feels like my scalp is going to rip away from my skull. My mouth automatically lolls open and he runs a finger over my teeth – it feels like a slug and can’t taste much better. I hear my friends shout their objections, but the controller ignores them.
He shakes his head. ‘Clean but wonky – definitely Imp.’
Terry does the same to Alice so she can move only her eyes, which swivel in their sockets, large and engorged with fear.
More Imps wander over. A couple stand behind Katie and Nate, their hands pushing down on their shoulders.
Terry cups Alice’s chin, almost tenderly. ‘Her teeth are perfect.’
They exchange a knowing nod and haul us from our chairs. I only reach the freckly controller’s chest. He bursts out laughing. ‘I think we can be confident this one’s Imp, gotta love a short-arse.’ He lets me drop to the floor. I land awkwardly, knocking my chair so it clatters across the floor. Pain shoots up my tailbone. Nate tries to help me, but a burly Imp still leans on his shoulders.
I turn to see Alice, taller than Terry even without her heels.
Terry smiles this long, sick smile, like he knows he’s won. ‘Well, well, almost six foot I’d say. Do you know how rare that is without the help of a little genetic tweaking?’
There’s an awful pause. I think Alice opens her mouth to say something, but the words never emerge, because in a sudden burst of movement the two controllers tear her overalls away from her body, revealing her slender limbs and her Comic-Con outfit. A piece of dress gets ripped and hangs from the sphere of her shoulder like a long, blue tongue.
‘Leave her alone, you bastards!’ Katie shouts.
Alice tries to lift the tongue back into position, a look of horror contorting her features.
‘The final test,’ Terry says, gripping her arms. ‘You wear overalls, you reckon you’re a slave, then you should be numbered.’
All Imps who work in the Pastures have a slave tattoo; a number on their backs which denotes their place of work. It also means only Imps who’ve been vetted for strength and health are allowed into the Pastures. And, of course, it means the Gems don’t need to use their names – what better way to deny their humanity. I hold Alice’s gaze for a second. We both know she’s in for it now. The controller lunges towards her and rips down the back of the dress, revealing the blank canvas of skin where her tattoo should rest.
I try to stand, try to reach her, but my arms knock awkwardly against the fallen chair. I hear a loud bang as a door flies open and smacks the wall. Matthew comes storming from behind the bar, a bandage criss-crossing his shoulder, blood already seeping through. ‘Get off ’em, you shits.’ He thumps and kicks his way towards us.
The Imps block his path and I just see a whir of fists and shoes. Everyone in the bar seems to wade in – an explosion of sound and movement. Hands pulling, voices shouting, knees jabbing. I feel a clap across my back, pain wraps around me like a pair of hot arms. I scrabble to my hands and knees and start to crawl towards Alice. Something hard ploughs into my ear, a boot I think. Everything goes blurry and it feels like I’m crawling through water. But I don’t stop. I reach Alice’s ankles and pull on her calves with all my might. She crouches next to me and quickly, almost desperately, rests her cheek against mine.
‘We have to get you out of here.’ I deliver the words straight into her ear.
She doesn’t reply, but we start to crawl towards the door. An Imp falls in front of me, nose caved in. He tries to shout, but I shove my hand in his face, dump my knee on his rib and just climb straight over him. And somehow, through the confusion, I clamber to my feet and blunder towards the door, Alice beside me.
‘Stop them,’ someone shouts.
‘Nate!’ I scream. ‘Katie!’
‘I’m here.’ Katie emerges from a blur of limbs and flounders towards us, her red bob now just a pile of mats stuck to her head.
I grab her hand. ‘Nate?’ I ask, pulling her towards me.
She shakes her head, her eyes wide and startled.
‘Nate,’ I scream, trying to peer through the movement. ‘Nate.’ But I see only angry faces storming towards us.
Alice grabs my shoulder. ‘We’ve got to run.’
I feel torn, straight down the middle. Nate or my friends. But something in Katie’s eyes and the rip in Alice’s dress forces me to prioritize them. We burst into daylight and run and run and run. My ear burns and my back screams, but my legs know what to do. One foot in front of the other. And all I can think – arms pumping, fists clenched, lungs stinging – is, I left Nate behind.
We pause for a moment, round the back of some terraced houses, gulping the air and wiping the sweat from our eyes.
‘She went that way.’
The boot must have damaged my ear because the words kind of slosh together, but I recognize the controller’s nasal tone all the same. We start to run, ducking beneath washing lines, jumping over mounds of rubbish. Alice’s long legs carry her further ahead, and for a moment I think she may leave us behind.
‘Alice,’ I manage to say.
She slows and we reach her side.
‘We can’t get too far from Nate,’ I say.
‘We won’t, don’t worry, Vi,’ Katie says. ‘We’ll go back for him in a sec.’
I hear the controller’s voice again. ‘Come on, lads, let’s flush ’em out.’ He’s louder, closer.
I frantically scan the alleyway for a hiding place. That’s when I see it – the bricked-up doorway from canon, the one Rose, Saskia and Matthew hid in, a mess of crumbling bricks and pitted mortar. I catch Alice’s eye and we share an unspoken moment of understanding. We begin to pull away the bricks, disturbing a nest of woodlice. Katie drops to her knees and begins to help.
‘They came down here,’ someone shouts.
I hear Alice gasp, but we don’t stop, panic driving us on.
Terry’s voice sails over the rising stamp of boots. ‘Come on, you useless bunch of cretins.’
We cram our bodies into the hole, pulling back the bricks with frantic, urgent movements.