The canteen was in the corner of the building, directly below the dome. Windows looked out onto balconies that ran the length of the two outer walls. From there you had a perfect view of Holloway Road at the front and Tollington Road at the side. Arran opened a door and went out onto the front balcony.

The sky was clouded, so no moon or stars shone down. And the streetlamps hadn’t worked in over a year. Arran could just make out figures moving below.

“Get some light!” he shouted.

“What is it?” said a voice from inside. “What’s happening out there?”

“Keep quiet.”

Monkey Boy brought him a dynamo flashlight. A bigger, more powerful version of the one he carried. It was already charged. He switched it on and moved the beam around until he saw something.

A father with a purple bloated face, his eyes weeping pus. He looked up at Arran and bared his broken teeth in a snarl.

“Grown-ups.”

“But you said—”

“It doesn’t matter what I said,” Arran snapped.

As Arran raked the beam across the ground, another figure appeared. It was a boy of about sixteen, dressed in a patchwork of colorful rags and mismatched cloth, with an old leather satchel over one shoulder.

“Let me in!”

“Don’t let him in! Don’t let him in!”

A group of grown-ups ran at the boy, and he disappeared from view. Arran desperately tried to catch him in the beam.

More kids were crowding on to the balcony, trying to see what was happening. Panicked. Shouting and screaming.

“Arran, what do we do?”

“Who is he?”

“Are they attacking us?”

“Can you see anything?”

Arran couldn’t think straight. They had fallen into a trap earlier. He wasn’t going to let it happen again. He had to make the right decision. But his head was throbbing and the noise in his ears ...

“Shut up!” he roared. “All of you be quiet!”

There was silence.

Arran gave the flashlight to Maeve, who had pushed through the jostling kids to be at his side.

“Keep this aimed at the road,” he said.

“What are you ...?”

But Arran was already going.

He found Callum inside the canteen.

“Get on the roof,” he said, giving orders on the move. “I need some decent light out there, throw down some burning torches. And stay up where you can see what’s happening. I need you to be my eyes!”

They could just hear a thin pitiful scream from outside.

The ragged boy.

“Please. Help me!”

“Let him in,” Maxie yelled, running over to Arran. “He’s a kid.”

“No, no, it’s not safe!” shouted Callum. “We don’t let anyone in. This is our place.”

“He’ll be killed—he’s just a kid.”

A wave of sickness hit Arran. He held his head in his hands, closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He kept seeing that other face—the mother from the pool. He rubbed his temples.

“Arran . . . ?” It was Callum, tugging at his elbow.