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
‘How is that front-page news?’ Georgia sighed.
‘Slow news day,’ Wendy explained.
‘I want to run away and live in the woods until everyone forgets who I am …’
‘There’s an article about Eddie the Bear on page three,’ Wendy said. ‘Animal Action have set up a Rescue Eddie fund and they’ve already raised thirty thousand pounds. They sent me an email, asking if you’d be prepared to act as a spokesperson for their campaign?’
Georgia tutted. ‘Anything about the corrupt election, the terrorist bomb, or the thousands of poison victims puking blood and losing clumps of hair?’
‘I told you that was never going to happen,’ Wendy said. ‘And remember, you’ll be able to buy a very nice cabin in the woods with the money you’ll make from your book.’
Georgia faked a laugh before Wendy ended the call.
As she put her phone back on the bedside table, Georgia realised she had more chance of being nominated for a medal by the prime minister than of settling back to sleep. A peek from the bathroom window showed more lurking journalists than the day before, but she also noted the low wall around her nan’s garden. Behind the house, it met a back garden in the next street. Georgia felt confident she’d be able to climb over without the journalists out front seeing.
And she really needed to escape.
Georgia hadn’t been allowed out of the Freeman Unit and now she was trapped by the press. She made instant coffee and grabbed a mandarin yoghurt from her nan’s fridge. She ate in her room as she dug leggings and a sports bra out of her clothes pile, all the while listening out for her nan, who often woke early and might spoil the plan.
It was one minute past her 6 a.m. curfew and getting light as Georgia stepped through the sliding door in her nan’s dining room. After three deep breaths and a set of calf stretches, Georgia jogged across her nan’s lawn and was careful not to snag her electronic bracelet as she threw a leg over the back wall.
She felt bad, crunching hyacinths and kicking the neighbour’s gnome. There was a gate at the side of the house, but it opened with a latch on the inside and she crept out into a street of average cars and shaggy front lawns.
The rush of air was freeing, but Georgia had adapted to months of indoor running. The pavement felt hard compared to the cushioned treadmill belt. Kerbs, corners and gradients strained joints in ways they weren’t used to.