HERO

36 / Home

"Follow me," David said without looking at Thomas.

The man turned and started walking to the back of the garage. Though it was a large space, the room took only a few steps to cross. Thomas followed.

He had pins and needles in his left ankle which slowed him and gave him a limp, but David didn't notice or check if Thomas was doing as he was told. He assumed the boy would be. It would be foolish not to. He'd have no idea where they were and, if he did manage to find a way out of the garage, he'd have nowhere to go next. He'd see only a vast desert. Miles of sand stretching, flat, in all directions. The doorway to the garage would be the only feature and, once the door was closed, he'd be unable to reopen it.

David didn't slow when he reached the far wall, and the wall failed to stop him. Instead, he walked through it. The surface shimmered around the edges of his body, with the colour from both it and himself bleeding into each other. Once he was through it, the wall rippled and was still. Thomas paused, not quite trusting the bricks to allow him passage. He imagined himself walking into it and breaking his nose or banging his head. Then he'd be trapped and alone.

David might be the enemy, but he was still there.

Thomas was still debating what to do when a hand appeared through the wall and grabbed his top, dragging him through. As he moved through the brickwork, he could feel it pressing down upon him. It was scraping against his skin, putting pressure on his eyes and catching his hair. His cheeks and hands stung. Why was it taking so long? Why wasn't he throu...

And then he was. Suddenly, the sensation of being squashed by the wall was gone. He checked his hands, turning them over to see the grazes that must be there. There was nothing. Not a single abrasion. Gingerly, he touched his cheek and discovered the same thing. He was unhurt.

He realised the hand that had grabbed him was gone and looked up to see where he was. David stood before him, the smile still plastered on his mouth.

"Takes a bit of getting used to, laddie," he said. "But, don't worry. You won't need to get used to anything."

"Because I'll be dead?" Thomas asked. His voice was sullen and snapping rather than actually questioning.

David laughed.

"You've got it!"

Thomas didn't say anything. Let the bastard have his fun. Now he was inside the Spot complex, he felt any chances of escape had disappeared. He turned and saw there was only the other side of the wall behind him. He reached out to touch it. Cold and solid.

David watched him with a raised eyebrow.

"Usually, kids don't do that. They're too scared to do anything but follow my lead."

"Maybe I'm not most kids," Thomas retorted.

It was an honest statement. Other children would be able to smash it to pieces or melt through it. To him, it was just a wall. Impenetrable.

"Well, ain't that the truth, laddie?"

"My name is Thomas."

"Well, beg my pardon, Thomas. I apologise. If that's what you wish to call yourself, who am I to argue?"

"Choose? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Laddie, don't get cocky or aggressive." David took a step forward, but Thomas had nowhere to go to retreat. The man leaned in. "You're a Nomad, boy. Just because you've not gone insane and you had your dad's protection, doesn't mean you're anything more than that. A Nomad. Got it?"

Thomas didn't get it. His father was protecting him? He was able to protect him? He nodded, though.

"Good, that's good." David stood straight and relaxed, but kept his imposing proximity to the boy. "You need to know your place. Make this easy for me, laddie. You'll have your five minutes of fame and you'll make your mummy proud."

"My mother is dead," Thomas sneered. How dare the man speak about her?

"Well, you'll be joining her soon enough, won't you?"

Thomas gulped back the bile that had risen to his mouth. Yes, he would. A brief spark of hope was ignited at the potential prospect of seeing his mother once again, but it was quickly extinguished. He didn't want to be dead to have to see her. If that was the only way, their reunion would have to wait. He was unsure once way or another whether you saw your loved ones after you died. What if you came back as a dolphin or butterfly or cockroach? What if you came back as your own grandchild? What if you didn't come back or move on at all, and death was simply the end?

He was ten. Such thoughts rarely occurred to him and he always figured he'd had plenty of time to decide which afterlife he preferred. Whichever one he settled on made no difference to the reality. He, as with everyone, would find out when they died. For Thomas, that would be soon.

"Ha!" David exclaimed, slapping Thomas's shoulder hard enough to make the boy cry out. "Your face! Don't look so worried, laddie! Yeah, you're gonna die pretty soon, but you'll get a decent meal – anything you'd like – and a comfy bed for the night. The fun isn't going to start till tomorrow. I need my beauty sleep."

Thomas doubted any amount of sleep could help the rugged and worn face of the Spotter, but he kept his opinion to himself. He didn't want to antagonise him. The food sounded good. He hadn't eaten since that morning. His own bed was comfortable enough, but he knew he'd never see it again. Regardless, he had the night. Maybe Bren would come looking for him. Maybe his powers would come and he'd be able to break out.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. They were all the hopes of a desperate boy, and he didn't want to appear desperate. He wanted to be strong, emotionally at least. He refused to show the man he was afraid. His fear and the tears that were so eager to spring from his eyes were his own. He wasn't going to share them with anyone.

David had started walking away, down he short corridor they were in. He didn't say anything further, so Thomas stepped in line, practically marching behind David. How easily the man commanded those in his presence. Thomas forced himself to not match his stride with the other's. He'd walk his own path – though it was the one dictated by the soldier.

They turned a few corners, passing rooms with closed doors and a large mess room with long white tables, neatly pushed under chairs and a scatter of dirty plates, covered with half eaten food.

"You got us mid grub," David said, gesturing with a casual wave of his hand. "I should feed you their leftovers, seeing as they're pretty much all dead now, thanks to you and your friend." He dropped his hand and shrugged. "I won't though. The meal of a condemned man should be hearty, don't you think?"

Thomas didn't answer. He didn't think it mattered. His body wouldn't have the time to properly digest it, whether it be cold scraps or the finest cuisine.

David seemed to take the boy's silence as a sign that conversation wasn't going to flow as easily as he might like. He stopped speaking and allowed Thomas's mind to wander. It had only managed to get as far as him thinking of half a dozen ways he might die when they stopped.

"Your room, sir."

The door pushed inwards and had a return arm at the top to automatically close it again. David put his foot in the way to keep it open.

"Make yourself at home, laddie. Your food will come soon, and your outfit for tomorrow before lights out."

"Outfit?"

"Yeah, you don't think we're going to let you wear those rags on the tele, do you?"

Thomas looked down. His clothes, clean on that morning, were now marked with mud, dust and blood.

"Exactly. So, make sure you wash ready for the morning. We like a nice clean show for the fans."

David guided Thomas into the room and turned to walk away.

"Don't you want to know what I'd like to eat?"

"Strangely, laddie, no. This isn't a hotel, you know. You'll get what you're given."

And the door was shut and Thomas was in darkness.