hadn’t been carried off by a load of psychopaths.
“Are you Resistance?” asked a girl called Emilie.
“ No ,” I said firmly. “We’re Underground.”
“Oh merde !” gasped another girl, looking petrified.
“Calm down. You’re perfectly safe. They’re not going to catch us, but if they did, all you say is that you don’t believe in God, and you’ve nothing to worry about.”
“I can’t believe it,” another girl muttered. “I can’t believe we’re out of that place!”
“Believe it.” Pussycat looked like she’d got the cream.
Gasps of fright as headlights swept over us – the other truck was pulling onto the track ahead.
“Don’t worry, that’s the boys from your Facility,” I said. “They’ve got a truck of their own. I don’t think we could fit them in here, could we?”
“Hardly,” said Thérèse. “I feel like a sardine.”
At that the girls started to sing a song in French about sardines in a tin and gradually the crying petered out.
Engine bellowing, the boat smacked from wave top to wave top – small and ultra-fast like the one that had taken us to Gozo. We weren’t headed for Gozo, though. First we were rendezvousing with a ship bound for Africa, to transfer our precious cargo. At least we had lifejackets, this time.
The girls talked and laughed excitedly, mostly enjoying the ride, except for one or two who were seasick. A three hour drive had convinced them that the scary guys with guns were just human beings and quite nice ones too. Now the intermittent moonlight upgraded them to sexy heroes, and there was an awful lot of giggling going on, and much whispering in French. From the way Snail and Bumblebee had their heads together in the boys’ boat, Snail might just be translating the choicest snippets. The guys in our boat put on their guard-faces and tried to ignore it, blushing endearingly.
At least until the cold began to take its toll and shivering girls – young women – began cuddling up to them hopefully. Then they broke out the blankets and generously shared their body heat. Even Kyle ended up with one girl asleep with her head in his lap and a plump, queasy-looking young woman with her arms wrapped around him as though he was the last stable thing in the universe. He rolled his eyes and grinned, clearly amused. Two stunning blondes were pressing Jack particularly hard, drawn to his handsome face and gentlemanly manner like moths to a flame. He adjusted their blankets carefully, looking much less alarmed than most of his companions.
One of the girls sidled hopefully up to Bane, but he presented her with a blanket, said, “Cuckoo’s got a mate, sorry,” and went back to watching our progress on his phone, which had trig-mapping like his old one. And slipped an arm around me.
Alligator was still fending off the blondes with chivalrous concern and a total lack of interest, to the amusement of the rest of the guys, who were smothering laughter – or not: Hippo was cracking up. Bane glanced around.
“I’m missing something, aren’t I?”
“It’s just those girls making up to Alligator,” I said under my breath.
“Why’s that so funny?”
Oh... Bane hadn’t realised...
“Let’s just say,” said Alligator calmly from his seat opposite, “that I’d be delighted to find myself wildly attracted to one of them, but I doubt it’s going to happen.” He used Esperanto, so he clearly was getting a little tired of all the would-be seduction.
Bane looked blank for a moment, then faintly surprised.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Another moment and he added sincerely, “Hell, I’m really sorry, Ja... uh, Al.”
Alligator looked amused.
“Relax, Bane. Everyone has a cross to carry and mine is pretty light in the greater scheme of things.”
Thérèse frowned at him.
“But... you’ll have to register with some stranger and have kids with them... it’s awful ...”
“Not if you don’t live in the EuroBloc,” he told her
“Are you Resistance?” asked a girl called Emilie.
“ No ,” I said firmly. “We’re Underground.”
“Oh merde !” gasped another girl, looking petrified.
“Calm down. You’re perfectly safe. They’re not going to catch us, but if they did, all you say is that you don’t believe in God, and you’ve nothing to worry about.”
“I can’t believe it,” another girl muttered. “I can’t believe we’re out of that place!”
“Believe it.” Pussycat looked like she’d got the cream.
Gasps of fright as headlights swept over us – the other truck was pulling onto the track ahead.
“Don’t worry, that’s the boys from your Facility,” I said. “They’ve got a truck of their own. I don’t think we could fit them in here, could we?”
“Hardly,” said Thérèse. “I feel like a sardine.”
At that the girls started to sing a song in French about sardines in a tin and gradually the crying petered out.
Engine bellowing, the boat smacked from wave top to wave top – small and ultra-fast like the one that had taken us to Gozo. We weren’t headed for Gozo, though. First we were rendezvousing with a ship bound for Africa, to transfer our precious cargo. At least we had lifejackets, this time.
The girls talked and laughed excitedly, mostly enjoying the ride, except for one or two who were seasick. A three hour drive had convinced them that the scary guys with guns were just human beings and quite nice ones too. Now the intermittent moonlight upgraded them to sexy heroes, and there was an awful lot of giggling going on, and much whispering in French. From the way Snail and Bumblebee had their heads together in the boys’ boat, Snail might just be translating the choicest snippets. The guys in our boat put on their guard-faces and tried to ignore it, blushing endearingly.
At least until the cold began to take its toll and shivering girls – young women – began cuddling up to them hopefully. Then they broke out the blankets and generously shared their body heat. Even Kyle ended up with one girl asleep with her head in his lap and a plump, queasy-looking young woman with her arms wrapped around him as though he was the last stable thing in the universe. He rolled his eyes and grinned, clearly amused. Two stunning blondes were pressing Jack particularly hard, drawn to his handsome face and gentlemanly manner like moths to a flame. He adjusted their blankets carefully, looking much less alarmed than most of his companions.
One of the girls sidled hopefully up to Bane, but he presented her with a blanket, said, “Cuckoo’s got a mate, sorry,” and went back to watching our progress on his phone, which had trig-mapping like his old one. And slipped an arm around me.
Alligator was still fending off the blondes with chivalrous concern and a total lack of interest, to the amusement of the rest of the guys, who were smothering laughter – or not: Hippo was cracking up. Bane glanced around.
“I’m missing something, aren’t I?”
“It’s just those girls making up to Alligator,” I said under my breath.
“Why’s that so funny?”
Oh... Bane hadn’t realised...
“Let’s just say,” said Alligator calmly from his seat opposite, “that I’d be delighted to find myself wildly attracted to one of them, but I doubt it’s going to happen.” He used Esperanto, so he clearly was getting a little tired of all the would-be seduction.
Bane looked blank for a moment, then faintly surprised.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Another moment and he added sincerely, “Hell, I’m really sorry, Ja... uh, Al.”
Alligator looked amused.
“Relax, Bane. Everyone has a cross to carry and mine is pretty light in the greater scheme of things.”
Thérèse frowned at him.
“But... you’ll have to register with some stranger and have kids with them... it’s awful ...”
“Not if you don’t live in the EuroBloc,” he told her
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