Underdogs by Chris Bonnello

Author:Chris Bonnello [Bonnello, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Unbound
Published: 2019-04-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Helplessness. It was the emotion Ewan resented above all others. Not anger, or despair, or bereavement. The inability to control situations, or the people in them, was the one feeling that made him feel subhuman.

He had felt it a lot throughout the war, especially when people died. He had not been able to save Rachael Watts from that car crash two months earlier, when fleeing by vehicle had been their only option. Or Daniel Amopoulos three weeks ago, when he went missing partway through that raid.

Or Alex.

Now he was in New London’s Inner City, and he had never felt so helpless in his whole life.

I’m going to spend a lot of time in here fighting against my own brain.

He flinched as Charlie’s hand landed on his shoulder.

‘Mate,’ Charlie said, ‘it’s been half an hour. If they were going to send something else they’d have done it by now. Come and sit down.’

Ewan tore his eyes from the shelter’s entrance. He had avoided human contact by pretending he was afraid of another podcopter strike, and had ignored Kate’s every word as she had dressed his wound with a bandage from the rucksack.

He couldn’t think of a worse moment to socialise with new people, and had no idea how Kate, Jack and Charlie had managed to hold a conversation behind him. Just like Ewan, they had all grown up being told they weren’t good with people.

‘Mate–’

‘Yeah, Charlie. Fine.’

Ewan took a deep breath, and left his post. As he turned, he was surprised at how much floorspace a short gentleman in his fifties had managed to claim for himself. The concrete ground within the shack must have stretched four metres long and six metres wide, hosting separate piles of clothes that must have represented beds, and a raised wooden beam that served as a table. The other Underdogs were sat around it, next to three extra faces which explained why the house was so large.

‘Sorry…’ Ewan said to the family with his face to the floor. ‘I must have looked really rude–’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ the gentleman interrupted, stretching out a wrinkled hand. ‘Patrick Rowland.’

Handshakes were another part of life that Ewan had forgotten. His last handshake must have been with his dad, at the end of his first day at Oakenfold. He approached slowly, like a wild animal tempted to eat from a human’s fingers.

‘Ewan. Ewan West.’

He decided to trust Patrick with physical contact, and unclenched his fist. The two shook hands and made their way to the wooden beam, where the home’s occupants were sat across the concrete floor. Among the strangers were a grey-haired lady, and two adult sons with matching physiques and bold dark hair.

‘My wife Ruth,’ said Patrick, ‘and my lads, Aidan and Benjamin.’

‘Hi guys… er, Jack Hopper, Kate Arrowsmith–’

‘We’ve done that bit already,’ said Jack with a smile.

‘Oh…’

Ewan’s friends must have reached the same conclusion: that Nicholas Grant already knew their names and details, so there was little point keeping secrets from their protectors.

‘So… who are you?’ Ewan began.

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