Mind the Gap by Christopher Golden Read Free Book Online

though he kept something in there that leaked. From this distance, Jazz could not make out his features, but his face looked pale and long, only the chin and cheeks darkened by stubble.
    He held one hand out before him, fingers moving gently as though he was playing the air.
    Jazz knew for sure that he was no ghost.
    She tried to breathe slow and deep, but she was out of breath from her mad dash along the shelter. The torch was held between her knees; if it slipped and banged the cabinet, she would be found out.
    The man looked around, moving his fingers before him again.
What can he see?
she thought. She shifted slightly and looked at the array of cupboards and shelving, trying to picture what it had been like when she arrived and make out how it had changed. Some doors were open, but they had not all been closed to begin with. The fridges were closed, the cabinets housing them shut. Some of the blankets on the mattresses were messed up—had she done that as she ran?—and…
    She could just make out the biscuit packet, still half full but discarded carelessly on the floor.
    Jazz shifted again until she could see the man. He did not seem to be looking in the direction of the biscuit cupboard. Indeed, he now seemed to have his eyes closed and his face raised, as though smelling the air of the place.
    “You can come on down now, my pets,” he said. “We’re very much alone.”
    The man walked gracefully into the shelter, and then Jazz heard the whisper of many more feet descending the spiral staircase. From where she was hiding, the footfalls sounded like fingers drumming on a tabletop, distant and ambiguous.
    The man took something from the pocket of his trench coat, stuck out his tongue, and placed the something on it. He chewed thoughtfully, only turning around when the first shape appeared behind him.
    It was barely a shadow, slipping into the shelter and dashing across the concrete floor. Jazz tried to keep track, but the poor lighting defeated her. It was as though this shape—whoever or whatever it was—knew just where the lighting levels were lowest and took advantage of that.
    Another shape came from the entrance tunnel, then another, all of them much smaller and slighter than the tall man. They came low and fast, parting around the man like a stream flowing around a rock. Jazz counted four, six, perhaps nine shapes flowing from the tunnel. When she did catch sight of their faces, she saw only pale skin and dark eyes; the light was too poor, and they were moving too fast to truly make out any features.
    They were all carrying something on their backs.
    What am I going to see?
she thought.
I’ve moved on from one danger to…what? Something worse?
    The man raised his arms and turned slowly around, and then all the shapes stopped and turned to look at him.
    They were kids. Teenagers and younger. Pale, scruffy, yet most of them with a smile on their face, and a couple with expressions of outright joy.
    “Ahh, my pets, there’s nothing like coming home,” the tall man said.
    Home,
Jazz thought, with a sudden longing.
    “Now, then,” the man continued. He groaned slightly as he sat on a large blanket in the center of the floor. “Cadge, if you’d be kind enough to illuminate our day’s haul, I’d be most grateful.”
    “No problem, Mr. F.” A boy to Jazz’s left disappeared out of her line of sight, coming close to the cabinets and apparently slipping between two of them to whatever lay behind. She had thought they were lined against a solid wall, but maybe not. Seconds later, the rest of the strung lights lit up, and Jazz had to squint against the glare.
    There was a brief cheer from the kids and a satisfied smile from the tall man—or Mr. F., as the boy Cadge had called him.
    Cadge came into view again and performed an elaborate, slow bow. He was a short, skinny kid, maybe fourteen, with an unruly mop of bright ginger hair, baggy jeans, and a denim jacket studded with button badges. He wore a pair of