‘Is like you said, funny face.’ Josa stared at Ed. ‘Maybe.’

Her baby struggled in her arms and gave a little cry.

‘What’s he called?’ Lewis asked.

‘He’s called Tyler after his dad.’ Josa poked a dirty finger in the baby’s mouth. ‘His dad was a bit of a moron, to tell you the truth, but, you know, he was his dad. He died early. Golden Girl killed him. We ain’t never liked them Windsor kids. Hope they don’t win the cup again this year.’ She lifted her baby’s little arm and made him wave at Ed and his gang.

‘Say goodbye to the nice people, Tyler.’

Brooke watched her go. She was understanding all this better now. Arno was clever. These games made sense. They were a neutral place where kids could get together and sort out their problems, and if a few sickos got mangled along the way, well then. She shouldn’t be so squeamish.

As Ed said, they were the enemy.

She just wondered what was going to happen to the rest of them in the final event.

Chapter 63

63

Malik was sitting on the floor of his cage, just outside the arena. He was watching some kids haul a cartload of dead adults away along the road. He’d known what to expect. He’d heard the kids talking about it enough. The reality, though, seeing those carved-up bodies, made him doubt, not for the first time, whether he was doing the right thing. But his mind was set and when he decided something he stuck with it. He’d decided to stay silent and hadn’t said a word since they’d caught him in their nets.

Right now he still wanted nothing to do with the world of children. He’d known when it was time, when it felt right to go back, and being hunted and trapped like an animal hadn’t made him like these kids any more. So let them think he was a grown-up. Let them think he was diseased and good for nothing. He knew inside he was better than them. He wasn’t going to give up. He was going to teach the kids a lesson. He was going to win.

Yeah, right …

When the Windsor kids had caught him, they’d beaten him unconscious and he’d woken in the back of a pick-up truck with several comatose adults, one of whom had died on the journey. That was the only time he’d wobbled, the only time he’d tried to speak. There’d been a boy sitting on the back of the truck, holding a gun. Malik had lifted his head and croaked at him. Talking to Ella for all that time down in their hole in the ground had destroyed his voice. It was sore and dry and cracked. And a rope had tangled around his neck in the attack making it worse.