Breakdown by Sarah Mussi Page A

back the bolt, kicks the door open. He draws his iron bar up, is about to bring it down on Tarquin’s head when, faster than lightning, Tarquin strikes.
    One punch to the side of Nailey’s face. It looks nothing. But Nailey staggers, slips sideways. It seems as if he suddenly ages. His knees crumple. His head snaps back. He sags, goes down, banging on the wall as he falls.
    Tarquin steps in close. Lifts Nailey’s head, jabs another punch into his temple. What he couldn’t do to me he does tenfold to Nailey. ‘C’mon,’ he says. ‘Out.’
    I rush to Lenny, hold his shoulders, take his hand. ‘C’mon.’
    Lenny tries to wind his little fingers about mine. Then lets go, confused.
    â€˜It’s OK;
I’m OK
.’
    We leave.
    Tarquin drags the metal door shut behind us, slides the bolt into place. ‘He won’t wake up for hours,’ he says. ‘Let’s get out, hide, think.’
    We run down a long corridor, take some steps up, some steps down, round a corner until there’s nowhere else for us to go, except out onto the terraces. Out into the open arena where the racetrack loops below.
    â€˜Under the bleachers,’ whispers Tarquin. ‘Crouch low. Get to the store hollows, where they keep swag. This way.’
    He leads. We slink behind a row of seating. We find one of the cavities where they used to pack the chairs away, in those old days, that long ago, when seating mechanisms worked, when fans cheered athletes to glorious triumphs.
    We creep into a hollow and squat. Blood drips from my nose. Blood congeals on Tarquin’s scratches. Lenny shakes and shakes, in silence. And Tarquin, his eyes too dark to fathom, stares at me through the shadows.
    â€˜Melissa,’ he whispers. ‘Melissa.’ He takes my face in his hands, turns it and inspects the damage. Then very gently he cleans the dirt from my cheek. With shaking fingers, wipes the blood.
    And after it’s all done, he holds my scratched and bleeding hands tight in his own.

    We crouch together under the bleachers. Lenny’s trembling so much I can feel his heart beating through his thin shirt. Tarquin doesn’t speak. He wipes the blood away from his own mouth. It smears across his lip. I feel so sorry for him, but I must strike now.
Watch the eyes, Melissa, wait until they fall, wait until the load is too heavy, then attack while you have the chance.
    In the shadows of the plastic seating, I watch. I pull the key out of my pocket.
    Now.
    â€˜I know you’re getting out. Take me with you. The cottage is there. Careem will never catch us. I’ll show you the way.’
I press the key into his hand.
    Tarquin twists uncomfortably, takes the key, holds it up to the light, looks at the picture set in plastic, looks at me.
    If you’re gonna lie
,
make it count. Do it up front and bold. Don’t hesitate. Lie your heart out. Make it work.
    â€˜The cottage belonged to my nan. It’s mine now.’ I press up close to him, put my lips to his ear. ‘The pond is there,’ I whisper. ‘The ducks are there. The hazelnut forest is there. The bees are back. The valley’s hidden. The hills blocked out the radiation.’
Please God don’t let him know too much about radiation.
‘It’s OK there. We were going, me and Nan, but she got ill. I know the way.
Just get us out.
’
    A shiver runs through him. I hold my breath.
    Lenny draws in close, wipes his sleeve across his nose, sniffs, chin puckered tight. Tear tracks stain his cheeks.
    â€˜
Shush
,’ Tarquin warns.
    â€˜Please don’t let them take me.’
    Tarquin puts his arm out, pulls Lenny close. ‘I ain’t gonna.’ His face’s tight. His voice crushed. ‘Careem can choose some other kid. There’s some that’d like it, even.’
    Lenny buries his face in Tarquin’s shoulder. ‘He ain’t having you,’ promises Tarquin.
    From the