Chapters (88)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Dear Reader …
- Also by Robert Muchamore
- PART ONE
- Walter J Freeman Adolescent Mental Health Unit – East Grinstead, UK
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- PART TWO
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- PART THREE
- Walter J. Freeman Adolescent Mental Health Unit – East Grinstead, UK
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- PART FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- EPILOGUE
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- Have you read KILLER T?
- 1 SLASHED RUBBER
- 2 NOT HARRY POTTER
The helicopter stood on an unsold lot at the edge of the walled development. It had been chartered at short notice, a battered veteran of a thousand hops between oil platforms in the delta. The seats were dirty and there was a strong smell of jet fuel. A white-skinned, white-shirted co-pilot turned round and spoke in a South African accent.
‘You good with the harness, man? Wear the ear defenders in the pocket.’
The driver loaded Julius’s luggage into the spare seat and gave the pilot a thumbs up before shutting the wobbly plastic door. The jet engine went full blast, pelting dust and grit that made the driver fear for the paint on his BMW.
The ear defenders snapped Julius into a cocoon as the helicopter lifted. He saw home, with the pool and the car-packed drive. At helicopter speed, St Gilda’s soccer pitches were less than three minutes away. He eyed towers of smoke from the city centre and skimmed close to the revolving restaurant above the green expanse of Arctic Zoo.
From high up, the puddled penguin pool reminded Julius of the silvery lining of a razor shell. He remembered the afternoon when things had been perfect. Riding their boards, with the tall weeds cutting them off from everything but clear blue sky.
PART THREE
Walter J. Freeman Adolescent Mental Health Unit – East Grinstead, UK
Georgia knocked but didn’t get a response. The door had been propped open, so nurses could look in as they walked by, and she craned her neck into the opening.
‘Hello?’ Georgia said, her nose catching body spray as her sheepskin slipper took a half-step. ‘Julius?’
There was something comical when she saw him sat up in bed: a cartoon bear who’d been hit on the head by a beehive. A nurse had dressed Julius in mouthwash-green disposable pyjamas while he was sedated, but they dug into his armpits and the button over the belly had pinged off.
‘The ward manager, Susannah, said you were awake. She asked me to show you around and take you upstairs to breakfast … I’m Georgia by the way.’
Julius laughed, wagging a finger that Georgia realised was longer than her whole hand. ‘I know who you are,’ he said, then winced and put a hand over the eight scab-crusted stitches from his trip through the coffee table. ‘It hurts if I smile,’ Julius explained. ‘My head is groggy from the knockout juice in my ass. So, when I wake and see Georgia Pack, I be hallucinating.’
‘I’m ninety-six per cent sure I’m real,’ Georgia joked.
‘Matt – my boarding-school roommate – would shit!’ Julius said. ‘He has ten of you taped to the walls around his bunk.’
As Georgia cringed at the thought of being a pin-up, Julius threw off a triangle of bedclothes. He whipped them back in a panic, remembering that the disposable pyjama bottoms covered him even less effectively than the top.