A Certain Magician - Chapter One (Part 3/3)

They pelted through the last part of the market and skidded left onto Byron Road, the road that sat at the bottom of the market. Up ahead was the train station that had trains heading towards the Underground and the Overground railways.

Shops and shoppers zoomed by, and they swerved around bemused pensioners leaning on their canes and horrified mothers pulling their children along and yanking them out of the way just in time, or pushing their buggies. A stitch burned in Zack’s side and he silently cursed himself for not trying hard enough in his P.E lessons. He had always been reluctant in P.E lessons, standing at the side while he watched his classmates compete with one another to see who was the best at running, rounders or fighting. Zack had never been the athletic type but the type who preferred studying or reading to anything else.

It was just as they had hurtled past the train station that the boy suddenly turned left into an alleyway. Zack skidded to a halt in front of it in time to watch the boy disappear right, his heart pounding in his chest and the stitch in his side agony. The rumours about the alleyways left Zack in a cold sweat and shivers running down his spine. He had no idea what lay within the walls of the alleyways nor who tread inside them.

But he had to return the wallet.

Gulping down the lump in his throat, Zack charged into the alleyway. This time, the cobblestones beneath his feet were uneven and slippery, almost dangerous. The rickety walls reached high enough to block out the sun and cast shade along the ground, draining the air of any traces of warmth. Zack’s thudding footsteps echoed along the walls, sharp in the air.

Zack skidded right and his heart leaped into his mouth when he glimpsed the kid disappearing around another corner. He could hear the boy’s footsteps pounding against the ground.

Bugger, bugger, bugger…

Time was lost – minutes and seconds gone – as they twisted and turned in the alleyways. Zack’s muscles screamed in pain but he couldn’t stop now.

Then, the boy vanished altogether as if he had evaporated into the air itself. Zack halted in his tracks and let the exhaustion overwhelm him.

Gasping, the stitch in his side was white hot and it was as if an iron fist gripped Zack’s throat. He wheezed and coughed, clutching his knees for support and squeezed his eyes shut. Sweat poured down the sides of his face, soaking the tips of his brown hair and dripped down his back, icy cold.

Zack looked up. The alleyway was empty, devoid of life. The wind rattled along against the walls, and empty rubbish bags and litter fluttered along the ground, some twirling in eddies here and there – the only traces of any human life that had once thrived here. None of it was familiar to Zack. He had never stepped foot into the alleyways and hadn’t intended to since hearing the horrific rumours of people starving to death inside them once they’d lost their own way. Until this day.

Placing his hand on one of the walls, Zack began to shuffle forward against the will of his own body.

“Look, I’m not going to hurt you,” Zack’s voice wobbled, weak. It was thin and high, laced with the fear and terror that hammered through his chest. “I just want to return your wallet. That’s all.”

There was no response. Only the walls echoed his words back at him, taunting and mocking him, reminding him of how alone he was.

Chicken, chicken, chicken they mocked.

What Zack hadn’t realised was that the boy had taken refuge in a doorway, hidden from Zack’s view, with a crowbar gripped in his hands.

Zack’s teeth chattered as he trembled from both the fear and the cold that had already begun to seep through the thin material of his uniform and into his skin. He continued to shuffle forwards, the stitch still stabbing at his side.

“Sodding hell,” he mumbled, “Where has he gone?”

Then he felt something smash into the back of his head. Stars exploded in his vision, a fireworks display of rainbow colours for a fleeting moment before he was plunged into a pulsing velvety blackness. Zack sprawled forward and collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap. The wallet slipped from his nerveless fingers and thudded silently to the ground.

The boy stepped out from his hiding place, still clutching the crowbar in his trembling hands. Fear contorted his face and his heart hammered painfully against his ribcage. He hadn’t noticed that his arms were still raised, ready to strike if Zack would suddenly leap up from the ground to attack him. Not that he would in this condition.

It was only when he spotted the wallet lying on the ground beside Zack that he became conscious of clutching the crowbar in his hands. He studied Zack’s features – his short light brown hair cut into a bowl cut, eyes shut as if he were sleeping and his rosy red cheeks and button nose. A rivulet of blood – the only trace of the attack – had trickled from Zack’s temple and was beginning to make its way down across his cheekbone.

The crowbar slipped from the boy’s fingers and clattered to the ground. The screech of metal rang through the air and echoed through the alleyways. Silently and cautiously, the boy crouched down beside Zack and stuck one of his fingers beneath Zack’s nose. There was a small rush of air, faint against the boy’s finger as he checked Zack for any signs of life. The muscles in the boy’s face relaxed slightly. Good. He was still alive. He hadn’t killed the stupid idiot.

The boy glanced at his wallet and grabbed it, stuffing it into one of his pockets before pausing to look back at Zack. He closed his eyes for a few moments and his nostrils flared as he breathed out sharply through his nose. He opened his eyes again and wrapped his arm underneath one of Zack’s armpits and hoisted him up. Once he had thrown Zack over his shoulder as if he were carrying a heavy sack, he slowly began to trudge away deeper into the alleyways.