Hooded Man by Paul Kane Read Free Book Online

had his waiting to do, was still sworn to live out the rest of his life – however long or short that was – alone.
    “Your first time here, huh?” said someone to the left of him. Lost in his thoughts, Robert gave a start. Then he looked over and his mouth dropped open.
    Stevie ?
    He blinked once, twice, then saw the reality of who was in front of him.
    The boy was twelve or thirteen, with a scruffy mop of hair that had once been blond – possibly could be again given a proper wash – and deep green eyes. He was wearing a baggy tracksuit, bound by a belt round the middle with numerous pockets attached. He looked like he was playing superhero, but Robert knew full well that every single pocket would be filled with something important. The lad had a rucksack slung over his shoulder, which appeared to be full.
    Robert opened his mouth, then closed it again, having completely forgotten what the kid had said.
    “I haven’t seen you here before,” he continued, not put off by Robert’s silence. The boy looked him up and down. “Would’ve remembered you, that’s for sure. You have much to trade?”
    Robert shook his head.
    “That’s a pity. It’s a good market today, lots on offer. Isn’t always that way, you know. Have to make the most of it while you can. I’m Mark, by the way.”
    Again, Robert just gaped at him. Was there a resemblance, or was it just in his head? True, Mark had a similar hair-tone, but his eyes were a different colour and he was much thinner, the cheekbones less padded with puppy fat.
    “Who you here with, Mark?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Your parents –” began Robert, then kicked himself when Mark looked down. Of course they were dead. Everyone was dead. “I’m sorry... Look, haven’t you got anyone who takes care of you?”
    Mark scowled at that one. “I take care of myself,” he replied indignantly. “I’m not a kid.”
    Robert shook his head. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
    “I find stuff myself, bring it here myself, trade it myself. Just like the others.”
    “There are more like you?” said Robert, barely able to conceal the shock from his voice.
    “’Course. We’re not professional collectors, mind, just snatch what we need to get by from the towns and cities.” He appeared very proud of his profession. “We can get into places other people can’t. And we’re small enough to hide if there’s trouble. I’ve got plenty of hiding places, me. So we go in, we come back out again. Easy.”
    “My God,” Robert whispered to himself. He’d once seen a documentary about orphans who lived on the streets – or more specifically in the sewers of Bucharest, Romania. As the people had filmed them for the news report, bottles floated past in the dirty water and cockroaches climbed over the pipes where they slept. They were called ‘The Forgotten Children.’ When Robert looked at Mark he saw the same thing. In the wake of the virus, the Cull, these were England’s forgotten children, left to fend for themselves, because if they didn’t they would die. What kind of future did they have to look forward to?
    “It’s no big deal,” said Mark, smiling. He reached into his bag and pulled out a chocolate bar with a purple wrapper, then proffered it to Robert. “You want one? I got dozens.”
    Robert held up a hand to say no, then reconsidered. How long had it been since he’d tasted chocolate? Far longer than he’d been in the woods. It used to be his weakness at Christmas and Easter. Part of him was tempted now, but another part was linking this small pleasure to those times in his life when he’d been happy; seeing Stevie opening his presents, his eggs, Joanne playfully threatening that she’d take the box of Dark Delicious away from Robert as they sat watching the holiday movies. What right did he have to that now? “No,” he said to Mark, “thanks, but no.”
    Mark shrugged and opened the bar, biting off a chunk with the same glee that Stevie always