As they were talking, the fleeing grown-ups slowed, stopped, and turned. Other grown-ups emerged from the darkness on all sides. The way back to Morrisons was cut off.

“You better get in the shop with us,” said Arran, and without another word the two groups ran back over to the barricades.

Arran was last in. Screaming at Bernie and Ben to close the doors, he squeezed through the gap, an enraged group of fathers hot on his tail.

Maxie was waiting with her own team, armed with their pikes. They poked them into the faces of the lumbering grown-ups, who squealed and shied away. The gates trundled shut and the kids could hear the grown-ups throwing themselves against the metal in rage.

Arran tried to say something, but an explosion from outside drowned him out. A burst of leaping flames filled the street. Callum must have launched a bomb from the roof. Bernie and Ben had made the bombs out of fireworks that they’d dismantled and bundled tightly together.

The initial boom was followed by a cacophony of bangs and screeches, whines and whistles, as colored bolts and burning embers shot in every direction.

It lasted no more than thirty seconds, but when it was over, Holloway Road was quiet. Bernie and Ben secured the door, shunting the bars across, rattling the chains into place, snapping the padlock shut. Their hands were shaking, but they worked carefully and methodically, trying not to panic, making sure that everything was properly done. Arran and Achilleus stayed to make sure it was okay, then took the emos back into the shop, where they helped wind down the shutter.

At last they walked over to where Maxie and three of her team had the patchwork boy pinned down on the floor, his satchel by his side.

Arran stood over him, breathing heavily, exhausted. He hoped it had all been worthwhile.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The boy smiled. He had a shock of stiff, matted hair, a wide mouth set in a thin, clever face with a nose that was slightly too large for it.

“I’m glad I found you.”

“Who are you, I said.”

“What difference does it make what my name is?”

Achilleus kicked him. “Who are you?” he grunted.

“Let me up and I’ll tell you.”

“Why should I?” Arran demanded.

“You went to all that trouble rescuing me, don’t you want to know what I’ve got to say?”

“What have you got to say?”

“Let me up and I’ll tell you.”

“No. Tell me now. We can’t trust anyone. We’ve already lost two kids today.”

“And what am I going to do? Eh?” said the boy.

“I don’t know,” said Arran. “It’s been a day full of surprises. I don’t want to be surprised again.”

“I think you’ll find what I’m going to tell you surprising.” “Try me.” Arran nodded to Maxie’s team, and they backed off slightly. The boy sat up, smiling, and scratched his hair. “I know a place that’s safe,” he said. “You don’t have to live like this.”