The Enemy by Charlie Higson

Road would take him back to Hol oway, but he wasn’t sure which way he should go.

While he had been standing there, trying to decide, he’d been ambushed by another bunch of grown-ups. Luckily he heard them coming as they stumbled about clumsily in the dark, and he’d gotten away, ducking and scurrying and crawling through derelict gardens. At one point one of them grabbed hold of him in the dark, but he stabbed the butterfly pin hard into its hand, and it dropped him like a burning coal. In the end, tired of running, he had broken into a house and made his way up into the attic, where he had found the empty water tank.
    As he lay there through the long hours of darkness, he cheered himself up by imagining what the others would say when he got back to Waitrose.
    “Sam, you’re alive!”
    “Nobody’s ever done that before.”
    “You’re a hero!”
    “Tel us al about it!”
    “How many did you kil ?”
    He pictured them al crowded around him, asking questions, patting him on the back, smiling. The kids at the supermarket were his new family now.
    The biggest family a boy could hope for. Maybe they would even break out some of the candy they kept for emergencies, as a special treat. Sam loved candy. It was the thing he missed most in the whole world.
    So he had drifted in and out of sleep and in and out of dreams, curled up in the bottom of the water tank, surrounded by dead pigeons.
    It was light now. It had been light for some time. He had watched the bright sun wake up and peep through the cracks in the roof where the tiles were missing or broken. Somewhere nearby a live pigeon was cooing, and he found the sound comforting.
    But he was hungry and he was thirsty and he longed to be safely back at Waitrose.
    He uncurled himself and shifted into a crouch, his leg muscles shaking and weak. His knees and back stiff.
    He peered over the edge of the tank, not knowing what he might see.
    Just an attic. Ful of dust and cobwebs and a few sagging cardboard boxes.
    No grown-ups.
    It was safe to leave. He would have to check every step of the way from now on, though. He couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes. He’d been lucky to get away twice. He doubted that his luck would hold much longer. And it was easier at night. There would be more grown-ups about now that it was daytime.
    He told himself that it was just a game. He’d always been good at hiding. Hide-and-seek had been one of his favorite things to play. It had been scary when he’d played with his dad. His dad was big and would make monster noises.
    These grown-ups were just the same. They were like his dad. Al he had to do was keep out of their way.
    He went to the opening in the attic floor that he had climbed up through earlier, lay down on his bel y and lowered his head until he could properly see the landing below.
    It was al quiet.
    He slid down the ladder and crept along the landing to the window at the end. It led out onto a smal flat roof. The street looked empty. He opened the window and crawled out, keeping low, keeping smal .
    He had a pretty good view of the street from here. He looked to left and right. There was no movement at al . No wind in the trees, no birds flying, no animals moving about.
    No grown-ups.
    He climbed down off the roof.
    It was then that he saw the bicycle. Leaning against a row of trash cans in the front garden. It looked undamaged. He knelt down and checked it out.
    The chain was stil in one piece, but the tires were nearly flat.
    There was just enough air in them, though, to be able to ride it. It would get him as far as Waitrose at least.
    He pushed it out of the garden and into the road. There was stil nobody around. He climbed onto the seat and started to pedal. It was hard work. The bike seemed to be stuck in a high gear. It was moving, though. He pedaled harder, building up speed. The bike creaked and groaned and complained, but he kept at it, wobbling along like he was drunk.
    He’d been confused last night, but