Outsider Read online

  Alison Ingleby

  Outsider

  The Wall Series Prequel

  First published by Windswept Writing in 2017

  Copyright © Alison Ingleby, 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  Second Edition

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  Introduction

  Thank you for downloading Outsider and signing up to my newsletter. This story is a prequel to Expendables, book one of The Wall Series: a set of dystopian thrillers set in a future London. I really hope you enjoy meeting some of the characters who feature in the series.

  You can find out more about Expendables and how to get in touch with me at the end of the story.

  Happy reading!

  Alison

  1

  I narrow my eyes, focus on the knot in the centre of the wooden beam that supports the rusted metal roof of the small building, and flick my wrist. The knife cartwheels through the air, embedding itself in the beam with a dull thud. The second knife hits precisely three inches to the right of the first. I complete the trio as the first knife is still quivering from the impact. The third knife lands between the first two and two inches lower. They form a triangle; two eyes and a nose. Not bad.

  Pulling the knives out of the dense wood is harder than getting them in. I pocket two of them and walk out to the stone parapet lining the edge of the roof. The patter of raindrops dulls the noise from the busy streets below. The remaining knife teeters on the palm of my hand. Curling my fingers around the handle, I picture the knot of wood. It’s twenty paces away. A hard throw. Turning, I send the knife flying towards the shelter. It sticks, but not quite in the spot I’d intended. More practice needed, Aleesha.

  The building is small; perhaps three metres by four. There’s no door and, from the roof at least, no way in that I can find. I’ve given up trying to understand the purpose of it. On one side, the wall is slightly set back and the roof overhangs by a couple of metres, providing some shelter from rain if the wind is blowing in the right direction. Today, there’s no wind, just incessant rain.

  I slump at the back of the sheltered area and stretch my legs out in front of me. Flipping my long braid off my back, I squeeze out the excess water and stare out across the rooftop.

  This place has been my refuge for years. My secret. The only place I can be alone in this city. When I first discovered it, I thought I’d live here, but as it’s on the rooftop of one of the taller buildings in Area Four, it catches all the wind and rain going. Which is probably why no one else has claimed it; that and the fact that it’s a bloody maze to get here. So I use it as my training area and a place to store my few possessions.

  Using the back of my knife blade, I scratch another faint line into the brickwork. Counting off the months and years is how I keep track of my age. It’s important to know how old you are. There are eleven sets of twelve marks, plus six individual marks. Eleven and a half years since I first came here. I’m pretty sure I was six then. My mother found a cake for my birthday which was a couple of weeks before she disappeared. Then there are the ten months after she left, before I found the roof. I try not to think about those months.

  The loose brick slides easily out from the bottom of the wall. A metal lock box hides inside – the second most valuable thing I own after my boots. It has a hundred-year guarantee against rust and abrasion and can only be opened by the combination of my pin code and fingerprint.

  Unfortunately, its contents are not nearly as exciting. Empty apart from a tiny packet of white powder. My stomach growls. Dinner is going to have to wait.

  The box goes back in its hiding place, minus the packet of powder. I should probably save the tronk – it’s the last of my stash and I’m out of chits to buy any more – but it’s too tempting. Just the sight of it triggers the craving. It sits on the concrete beside me. I’ve been trying to practise restraint. Not giving into the cravings immediately. Fooling myself that I have some level of control.

  Like most of the buildings Outside, my roof is slowly being worn down by the weather. The crumbling parapet reveals jumbled rooftops, the metal spikes of lightning conductors and cracked, black solar panels. Behind them, on a clear day, you can see the tops of the shining glass towers peeking over the Wall. Today, they’re hidden by grey rain clouds. I guess even Insiders haven’t figured out how to control the weather.

  I’ve never seen Inside, but my mother told me stories of green parks and gardens, birds and insects and brightly dressed people. She said all the streets were clean, there was a constant supply of water and electricity and all the food you could want. Proper food too, not the government rations we get out here. It sounds like a dream.

  Perhaps that’s why they created the Wall. To stop us seeing what life is like Inside. You can’t long for something that you don’t know exists. Or maybe it was so Insiders don’t have to look down on us. So they can forget we’re here.

  The Wall’s purple this afternoon; an opaque shimmering haze between regularly spaced masts. It changes from day to day. Sometimes the colours swirl together like a river of water. It’s beautiful, but deadly. There’s no way through the Wall from Area Four. You have to go north, all the way through Area Five, to get to the East Gate. And to get past the Metz guarding the entrance you need an official pass. Insiders can fly over the Wall in pods, but it’s next to impossible to access one as an Outsider.

  My fingertips find the packet of white powder. Tronk. About the only thing that makes life Outside bearable. My mouth is dry in anticipation and my hand shakes slightly as the powder trickles onto my palm. I try and save some, but there’s barely enough for one hit. Maybe Jay will lend me some chits to buy more. Doubtful. He hates the stuff. Says it’ll kill me one day. He’s probably right.

  I tip my head back, licking my palm to get every last grain of powder. The drug works its way through my bloodstream, relaxing my muscles. Happiness wells up in me and I find myself smiling. The ache in my belly has gone. The patter of rain on the roof is calm and soothing. For a time, I can be at peace.

  * * *

  When I wake it’s nearly dark. The days are so short at this time of year. Short and wet. That’s December for you. Hopefully, the rain will stop by tomorrow. The Insiders always put on a huge light show on New Year’s Eve and from up here, you can catch glimpses of it over the top of the Wall.

  The route down from the roof to street level is convoluted; a mixture of ladders, roof-walking and a few trapdoors. I lock the trapdoors behind me, just in case anyone gets the idea in their head to venture up. But most Outsiders don’t have the brains or motivation to explore.

  My head is still foggy from the tronk and my mouth is uncomfortably dry. If only I’d left a water bottle on the roof. And some food. Irritation surges through me. Why does staying alive have to be so bloody hard?

  I swing my legs through an old window, empty of glass, and drop into a narrow alleyway. A wave of water splashes onto a beggar who’s balanced precariously in a raised doorway, almost invisible under a blanket caked in mud. He gives me a reproachful glance. I mutter an apology on my way past, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  The wet season is when I’m especially grateful for my boots. Fully waterproof, they come almost to my knees and are moulded to fit my feet. They’re pretty much standard issue, or at least they were two years ago. But for those of us who can’t access the government-run stores, they’re nigh on impossible t
o get your hands on. It took me over a year to pay off the debt, but they’re worth every chit and favour. I only take them off to sleep and sometimes not even then.

  I turn right at the end of the alley, splashing through the stream of water in the direction of the gang headquarters. I figure that’s where Jay will be and it’s my best chance of getting some food. And drying my boots. Got to look after them, otherwise you risk foot rot. It’s almost inevitable during the wet season if you don’t have proper footwear. One lesson I learnt the hard way.

  It’s a quiet night. There aren’t many people on the street, which is how I notice that I’m being followed. He’s good. Keeps about fifteen paces back from me and walks casually, pausing occasionally to speak to someone. That’s his mistake. No one walks casually through this area after dark, especially when it’s raining. If you have to go out, you get to wherever you’re going as quickly as possible and get inside.

  I quicken my pace and detour down a side alley that brings me out onto one of the main streets. There are more people here, hurrying through the ghostly glows from the occasional streetlights. Everything takes on a bluish tinge at night. The soft splash of my pursuer’s footsteps gets closer.

  At the last minute, I turn to confront him. “Why are you following me?”

  Surprise flickers in his eyes as he catches the glint of light reflecting off my blade. What did he think I was – some kind of helpless woman?

  “Hey, I just wanted to talk to you.” He raises his hands and takes a step backwards. His accent is soft and lilting. I’ve heard it before, though I can’t remember where.

  But I definitely haven’t seen him before. Which means he’s new to this patch, maybe even new to Area Four. His face is distinctive. A pale scar runs along the right side of his square-cut jaw. A large nose, slightly crooked as if it’s been broken and not reset properly, and dark hair clear of grey. He’s stocky and looks well fed too. Definitely not from around here then. But not attractive enough for an Insider with their genetically-perfect features. Strange.

  “I’m on the lookout for people like you.” He’s watching me closely and my belly tightens with a slight twinge of fear. Seems clever too.

  “What d’ya mean ‘people like me’?” I’m careful to keep my tone neutral.

  “Smart people.” He glances around. “There aren’t many in this Area, truth be told,” he adds ruefully.

  Ain’t that the truth. Area Four attracts the dregs of Outsider society. It’s one of the reasons I’ve managed to stay alive this long.

  “And people who can get around … unnoticed.”

  My muscles tense involuntarily. Fear cuts through the remnants of the brain-fog left by the tronk. Does he know? How does he know?

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I say cautiously.

  The man takes a step closer and lowers his voice, glancing around to make sure nobody can overhear us. “I think you do, Aleesha.”

  How does he know my name? I take a step back. My face doesn’t betray my shock, but inside I’m shaking.

  “I’ve been watching you. You’re clever. Too clever to be stuck out in this dump, begging for food, unless you have no other choice.” He lets his words hang in the air between us.

  Damn it, he does know. I weigh the knife in my hand, wondering what my chances are in a fight. He’s clearly bigger and stronger than me. Unless I’m quick I don’t have a hope.

  I’m what the government calls an ‘illegal citizen’. Unregistered and unchipped. According to their records, I don’t exist. Shouldn’t exist. This has a few advantages – they can’t track me for one thing. Of course, it also means I can’t access food vouchers, education or healthcare. What little of it there is out here. The government offers rewards to people who hand in illegal citizens, but I’ve been good at covering my tracks. Though obviously not as good as I’d thought. Surprise him. Slash his face, then run? But I don’t know if he’s on his own, or if there are others waiting in the shadows.

  “What do you want?” My voice is surprisingly calm and controlled. I turn slightly, ready to run if need be. His stance isn’t threatening though and I’m pretty good at reading people. He’s here to negotiate.

  “As I said, you’re smart. Smarter than ninety-nine percent of the people out here. And female. And beautiful, for an Outsider. There’s no one else in this Area with that combination. At least, not anyone I’ve found. Plus, you have access to one of the most powerful gangs in this part of the city and I’ll bet you could wheedle your way into some of the others if needed. All of which means you could be of use to us.”

  This wasn’t what I was expecting. Does he want to recruit me? “Which gang are you part of?” There are no tell-tale tattoos or other markings on his face or neck. But that doesn’t mean much. His jacket covers down to his hands and is buttoned up tight against the rain.

  “Not a gang, an organisation.” He emphasises the word. “We’re looking for the best people, regardless of which gang they’re in.”

  I relax slightly. This guy really doesn’t understand how things work around here.

  “Well, thanks for the offer, but no thanks. If you know anything about this Area you’ll know about gang loyalty. And the penalties for breaking that loyalty.” I take a step back and lower my knife. “You’ll need to find someone else.” I turn and begin to walk away.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?” he calls after me. “If you don’t agree, there will be consequences.”

  I pause and turn to look back at him. Why so persistent? He’s leaning against the streetlight with his arms crossed. “Offer’s open for twenty-four hours. After that, it’s off the table.”

  “Get off our patch and don’t bother me again unless you want a blade in your back.”

  But as I walk away, I feel an unaccustomed uneasiness inside. Who is this guy and how does he know so much about me?

  2

  I take the back route to the old brick warehouse that acts as the headquarters of the Snakes and home for most of its members. It’s a grimy building, even for Area Four, but it has the advantage of a high surrounding wall topped with razor wire, which is good for security.

  The locations of gang headquarters aren’t exactly a secret, and the gigantic blue snake that winds its way along the wall makes it clear whose territory you’re in. The head of the snake surrounds the main entrance, so you literally walk into the snake’s mouth. Pretty neat.

  The guys on the gate look bored. The left one looks me up and down and I have to suppress the urge to wipe the drooling smirk off his face. At least they ask for the current password before letting me in. Cobra. It’s always some type of snake.

  Once inside, I walk around the building, past the various signs that proclaim this to be the headquarters of the Spitalfields Snakes, to a side entrance from which loud music is thumping out. This place gives me a headache, but I have to show my face occasionally.

  I find Jay in the main hall: a cavernous room furnished with loungers, mattresses and weapons stations. There’s always someone practising their knife skills or taking out their anger on a punch bag. This evening, there’s a wrestling match going on and most of the gang members in the room have crowded around, cheering the competitors on.

  Sneaking up behind Jay, I wrap my arms around his chest and rest my head on his back. The tightness of his muscles and the warmth of his body help dispel the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Hey, babe.” He turns and wraps an arm around me. “Where have you been?”

  I shrug. “Here and there.”

  A scowl distorts his face and I wonder if I’m in for a fight, but a cheer distracts him and when he looks back at me, he’s smiling again.

  “Got any food?”

  Jay rolls his eyes. “You and your stomach.”

  Easy for him to say. The government rations you can buy with your food vouchers are pretty terrible – grey, tasteless junk – but they include the essential vitamins you need and leave you feeling sa
tisfied. If you have the money you can buy better stuff: fake meat, cheese, chocco bars. It’s mostly factory-made, but at least it has some taste. Real food – fruit, vegetables, meat – is almost impossible to get hold of Outside. As, according to the government, I don’t exist, it’s hard to get my hands on anything. Whereas Jay, who’s near the top of one of the largest gangs in Area Four, gets a ready supply of chits and food from people trying to suck up to him.

  He pulls a protein bar from his pocket and hands it over, turning his attention back to the fight. I force myself to nibble at it, savouring each bite. Try and make like it’s a snack rather than the only food I’ve had all day.

  Does he know I’m not chipped? Probably not. He doesn’t think about things that much. Most Outsiders don’t. Reckon he just thinks I’m too lazy to get my own food. If he did ask, I’d never admit it. It’s best not to trust anyone. Even the people you care about.

  There’s a collective gasp from the crowd followed by a cheer. The fight appears to be over.

  “Snakes!”

  Everyone falls silent and turns towards the raised platform at the end of the room where Dane is standing. He waits for us to join him before speaking. Dane’s been the leader of the Snakes for about five years, which is a long time in gang terms. His family has lived in this part of the city forever, even before the Areas existed, and he seems to be related to half of the people in the Snakes’ territory, which probably helps.

  “As y’know it’s the New Year party tomorrow.” There are cheers from the gang. “But before we part-ay, we gotta job to do.” The crowd falls silent. We’re probably all wondering the same thing. Which gang this time? Who’s been killed? Who do we need to avenge?

  Dane seems to realise this and grins. “This is a different job. A good one.” His gold tooth flashes in the light. Not real gold, though he likes to pretend it is.