Untouchable Read Online Free PDF Page B

glasses . . . Had he been there for days? No, it felt like he’d just arrived.
    It was all familiar, but nothing was the same. With all these glow sticks it was like being back in Belize. All these bodies . . . but here there were far more of them. The faces around him turned into a group of schoolchildren and teachers, the people they’d been trapped with during the earthquake. Some of them were dead before he even found them; some of them died before he could get them out. Hex had been lost for hours that night. The relentless pulse of the music became like a sinister countdown. And yet all these people were staying here, dancing, the strobe picking out one after another like a hand of fate. Get out , he wanted to scream to them. It’s not safe. You’re all going to die .
    Alex leaned against the rough brick walls and breathed deeply. What was happening to him?
    Hex came towards him, a pink glow stick in his hand. It was so good to see him alive. Alex wanted to hug him, but then Paulo appeared – with Tiff. She was trudging along as usual, a white circular glow stick pulled down over her head like a fallen halo.
    Get a grip , Alex told himself. Get some air . Gratefully, he led the way to the exit. As the door closed and cut off the music the cold air hit him like a shower and he saw that the others were out there too.
    ‘Are you OK, Alex?’ asked Li. ‘You look a bit weird.’
    Alex nodded. ‘It was hot in there. I’m fine.’
    Tiff was sticking next to Paulo, her mouth chewing. Aside from that her expression was blank, as though she was trying to mentally withdraw. With the glitter on her face and the pink streaks in her hair, she looked like a mannequin. Paulo looked closely at her – did she seem normal? Had she taken something? She stared back at him. He decided she was just her usual sulky self. He had been intending to give her a piece of his mind but if he said anything he’d just get that stony stare. At least she was coming without an argument.
    At last the hostel was quiet. Tiff had gone to her room in silence. That was the only time she made any kind of noise – when she slammed the door. She refused to answer their questions about where she had found out about the rave.
    The others went to bed but Alex’s nerves were like live wires. He got dressed and went outside, but instead of absorbing the stillness of the moors, he couldn’t keep still.
    He patted his belt for his survival tin, which he carried everywhere. It contained an assortment of useful kit such as dry kindling and waterproof matches. What he was looking for was the tiny torch and the button compass. He replaced the lid and fastened it with waterproof tape. In his other pocket was his mobile. Now he could get moving.
    He jogged down the drive and onto the moors. He could hear so many sounds: the wind blowing in the heather like a mini-gale; a lone car in the distance, its engine impossibly loud; the piercing cries of owls out hunting. His breathing deepened into his running rhythm and he felt better. Underfoot he felt rocks and springy turf and rocks. He ran, on and on.
    A freak gust of wind brought a sound to him like the deep booming bass of the music in the rave. With it came images of smoke and glow sticks. The smoke turned into falling rubble, then rock dust, the glow sticks scattered like broken toys. The faces became still and stared at him, their dead eyes saying, Why did I die?
    Alex slowed to a walk. He put his hands over his eyes, but the images were inside his head; they wouldn’t go away. ‘We couldn’t save you all,’ he whispered. ‘We did all we could.’
    Ahead of him was a lighted window. He had come to a building. It was golden and welcoming, a normal-looking thing. Maybe the light would chase these demons away. He stumbled towards it and peered in.
    Two men were inside. Their mouths and noses were covered by green surgical masks. Their hands were bleached to corpse paleness by rubber gloves. One of the