The Cold Pools Read Online Free Page A

of us.’
    ‘Don’t worry,’ Marta said.  ‘St. Cannerwells is off their turf.  The Cross Jumpers rarely leave Charing Cross East.’
    ‘What about the rumours?’
    Paul and Marta were quiet for a moment.  The Cross Jumpers didn’t ply their trade in secret like the Tube Riders did.  Word got around quickly and that word was that the Cross Jumpers had a new leader.
    ‘Why would he want to start a turf war?’ Paul said.  ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
    ‘They don’t like us.  They want us finished.’
    ‘What for?  There are only five – shit, four – of us left.  We’re hardly worth the effort.’
    Marta gave them a grim smile.  ‘It’s not about how many of us there are.  It’s about our legend .’  She put her hands on her hips and gave them her best rock star pose, the thick dreads of her hair hanging against the sides of her face.  ‘We’re the mighty Tube Riders, baby.’
    In squats, underground clubs and illegal bars all across London GUA, people talked in hushed tones about the ghosts that appeared at the windows of the Underground trains.  There were a thousand rumours about what the newspapers had dubbed “Tube Riders”, a name the original gang had gladly adopted.  They were only half-jokingly considered wraiths or demons disturbed by all the noise, or the ghosts of generations of kids who’d committed suicide down in the dark tunnels by throwing themselves under the trains.  Only a month ago Marta had found an article in an illegal magazine that claimed the entire London Underground network was haunted and claiming that it should be shut down.
    Simon grinned.  ‘It is kind of cool.’
    ‘The Cross Jumpers don’t like it because no one gives a shit about them,’ Marta said.  ‘They’re scared to ride like we do and everyone knows it.  That’s why they’re prepared to start a turf war.  If they can find us, of course.’
    Simon glanced back down the platform.  ‘You know Switch will want to fight them,’ he said.  ‘Pitched battle and all that?  Tally ho, charge of the bloody Light Brigade.’
    Marta noticed a trickle of sweat meander its way down Paul’s face.  ‘Well, he’s on his own,’ he said.  ‘How many knives can he hold at once?’
    ‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ Simon said.  ‘I don’t feel like riding anymore today.’
    Marta looked down the platform.  ‘Switch!  We’re going!’
    The other man looked up and then jogged over.
    ‘I reckon that was seventeen feet,’ he said as he reached them, grinning inanely.  His bad eye twitched at them as though he was trying to suggest something.  ‘I hit that third mat out, near the front edge.  That’s about the seventeen feet mark, isn’t it?’
    ‘Not bad,’ Marta said, feigning interest.  ‘That beats my best.’
    ‘And mine,’ Simon said.
    ‘Ah, we all know you’re a pussy.’ Switch tried to wink with his other eye, but it just made him look epileptic.  He patted Paul on the shoulder.  ‘Only Paul has better, eh.  And that’s why you don’t ride any more, isn’t it?  Don’t need to now you’ve proved your point, eh?’
    ‘Okay, leave it out,’ Paul said, looking down at the platform.
    ‘Come on man, don’t cry!  That ride was awesome!  A Tube Rider legend!’
    ‘Switch, can it,’ Simon said, and although Switch gave Paul a lopsided grin he shut up and began picking grime off the hooks of his clawboard instead.
    Marta remembered the day Paul had made twelve feet.  His clawboard had got jammed in the rail, maybe by a small piece of gravel caught in the railing or an accumulation of packed dirt.  He’d managed to free his hands just in time, but he’d landed bad and been left with three broken ribs and a fractured collarbone.  That wasn’t the worst, though.  Marta could still remember his screams when he realised the board was stuck.  If there were ghosts down here with them, that had been the sound of one of them possessing his body.  That