Smith Escape from Furnace 1: Lockdown

Main
ISBN: 978-0-571-27257-0
Verlag: Faber & Faber
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 304 Seiten

Prison Break meets Darren Shan in an unforgettable story of terror, evil and intrigue. Alexander Gordon Smith's cult teen series has been reissued with the bestselling US covers. Beneath heaven is hell. Beneath hell is Furnace. When thirteen-year-old Alex is framed for murder, his life changes forever. Now he is an inmate in the Furnace Penitentiary - the toughest prison in the world for young offenders. A vast building sunk deep into the ground, there's one way in and no way out. But rowdy inmates and sadistic guards are the least of Alex's problems. Every night an inmate is taken from his cell by guards and returned the next morning changed. Where are they taken and why are they returned covered with scars, acting as though they are not quite human? In a desperate bid for freedom Alex discovers a horrifying truth - that the Furnace Penitentiary is a place of pure evil, a place where cruel experiments take place every day, where inmates are guinea pigs, where monsters make monsters, and where death is the least of your worries... Action-packed, gritty and gruesome - this is the perfect read for thrill-hungry teenagers.

Alexander Gordon Smith is the author of the Escape from Furnace series, as well as The Inventors (shortlisted for the Wow Factor competition) and The Inventors and the City of Stolen Souls. He has also written a number of non-fiction books, as well as hundreds of articles for various magazines. He is the founder of Egg Box Publishing, an independent press that promotes talented new writers and poets. He co-owns a production company, Fear Driven Films. He lives in Norwich.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Smith, Alexander Gordon

Leseproben

ONE LAST JOB

The house was empty, we knew it. Toby had been tipped off by a friend of a friend that the owners were away for the week, leaving behind enough electronic equipment to entertain a small country and a massive bundle of cash from their coffee-shop business.

But we were waiting outside just in case, cowering under a small bush in the back garden with only a solid wall of rain between us and a set of big windows.

‘Come on, Alex,’ muttered Toby, wiping water from his face.‘It’s emptier than Elvis’s coffin in there!’

Toby had a thing for Elvis. He loved his music so much that he refused to believe the King was dead. I ignored the comment and scanned the back of the house. The lights were all off and we hadn’t seen a single movement from inside for the half an hour we’d been here.

Toby was right, it was empty, but the last thing I wanted was to run into some furious guy who’d decided to stay home. It had happened once before when we’d hit a large house out in the countryside and I’d come face to face with a man on the way to the toilet. We’d both stared at each other in shock for what seemed like hours, then screamed in perfect harmony. I’d turned and legged it with him on my tail. It was even scarier than it sounds – he’d been stark naked.

Fortunately nothing like that had happened since, but I was eager to avoid any more encounters with homeowners, clothed or not.

Toby nudged me and I nodded, feeling a trickle of cold water slide down my back. We were sheltered from the worst of the downpour by the bush, but every now and again drips would snake down our faces and necks with an infuriating tickling sensation. Back then I thought it was like Chinese water torture. I know different now.

‘Okay,’ I whispered, getting to my feet and rubbing the life back into my numb legs. It was a bitterly cold winter night, but the light from the moon made the world glow like it was covered in silver polish. If I hadn’t been so focused on breaking the law I might have stopped to admire the sight.

Taking a deep breath I jogged across the garden to the sitting-room windows, trampling over the flowerbeds to avoid making a noise on the gravel. I stopped when I heard an angry mutter behind me and turned to see Toby hopping across the mud on one leg and holding his other foot in his hands.

‘Cat crap!’ he hissed at me, his expression one of disgust mixed with disbelief.‘Why do I always manage to put my foot in crap?’

I wanted to smile but I couldn’t. I was too pumped up – adrenaline flooded my whole body like it did before every job, making my heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings and sharpening my senses. I felt like an animal, aware of every sound and sight and smell and ready to turn and flee at the first sign of trouble.

Reaching into the long pockets of my coat I pulled out the only two pieces of equipment, aside from a torch, that a burglar ever needs – a glasscutter and the sticky dart from a toy gun. Licking the suction cup on the tip of the dart I pressed it against the bottom right pane. After a couple of tugs to make sure it was secure I pressed the blade to the glass and cut a smooth circle. Pocketing the cutter I pulled the dart gently and it popped free, leaving a handy hole in the window.

‘Voilà!’ I whispered, grinning despite the unbearable tension of the situation. ‘Do the honours, Tobster.’

I stood to one side and looked at Toby, who was trying to clean his shoe on the soil of the flowerbed. Each time he wiped it giant clumps of mud stuck to the mess until his shoe was lost in a massive brown ball – like he’d just put his foot through a coconut.

‘Toby!’ I shouted. He snapped to attention, pouting.

‘These cost a hundred quid,’ he said.

‘Well buy yourself some new ones with the money you make tonight,’ I replied, running my hands through my soaking hair.‘Buy yourself twenty pairs.’

Toby grinned back and walked to the window, sliding his small hand inside and fiddling with the clasp. After a few seconds there was a loud click and the window creaked open.

‘Wow,’ he said, in shock.‘That was almost too easy.’

I thought so too. It was too easy. I should have guessed then that something funny was going on but greed is a powerful thing, and all I wanted was to get inside and get out again with as much loot as I could carry. If all went to plan, the proceeds from tonight would mean neither of us had to hit another house for months.

‘Right, let’s do this,’ I said, gritting my teeth and pulling the window right open. The room inside was dark, but I could make out rows of shelves and a couple of sofas inside. Several unblinking red lights stared at us out of the shadows, and I imagined the eyes of some hellish guard dog which would bound from the darkness, fangs bared – ready to chew any intruders to pieces.

But they weren’t eyes, they were the standby lights from a fortune in electronics that would soon be safely in our bags.

‘I’ll go first,’ said Toby. ‘Give me a leg-up.’ He raised his foot but I didn’t move.

‘I’m not touching that,’ I said, looking at the giant clumps of mud and crap that looked like they’d been welded to his trainer. ‘Why don’t you give me a foot-up.’

He sighed and linked his two hands together to form a cradle. Bracing my foot in his grip I pushed upwards, getting one knee on the window frame and pulling myself inside. Scanning the dark interior to make sure it was empty I skipped down onto the floor, not making a sound on the soft carpet.

Toby was at the window holding two duffel bags and I took them from him before grabbing his arm and hoisting him up. He was almost in when his soiled shoe slipped on the wood of the window frame. With a yelp which was deafening after the tense silence he fell on me, sending us and a nearby plant stand crashing to the floor.

For a second, neither of us could move a muscle. I lay there with Toby’s weight on top of me, barely able to hear anything over my thrashing heart. But there was no sound of slamming doors or terrified screams or feet trampling down the stairs. At least we knew for sure now that the house was empty – Toby’s clumsiness would have woken the dead.

Pushing him off me, I got to my feet and picked up my bag, offering Toby a hand.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said sheepishly, pulling himself up.

‘Never mind, you lump,’ I replied. ‘You start putting away some of this electronic stuff, I’m gonna go find the cash.’

‘Ten-four,’ said Toby, pulling a torch from his bag and aiming the beam at the row of hi-tech gadgets lined up underneath the enormous television. I left him to it, pulling out my own flashlight and making my way out of the door.

You never really get over the sensation of being in someone else’s house without their permission. Everything is different – the smell, the atmosphere, even the air tastes strange. I guess that’s something to do with the reason I’m always in another person’s home. It’s as if the building itself doesn’t want you there, like it’s just waiting for you to slip up before it sucks you into some dark room for ever.

Trying to ignore my thoughts, I made my way down a small hallway towards the stairs. According to Toby’s friend of a friend, the owners had stashed the week’s takings in a tin inside their office, along with a bundle of cash from a charity gig they’d held at the weekend. It should be a piece of cake.

It was a fairly old house, but well taken care of and the stairs didn’t creak once as I made my way up. I swung my torch to and fro to see where I was going, the shadows seeming to dance in front of me like there was an army of goblins hiding in the corners and behind the furniture. I swallowed hard as I neared the top, cursing my imagination.

There were six doors on the long landing, all closed. Carefully twisting the handle of the first, I found myself staring into a pristine white bathroom. The second door opened outwards, revealing an empty closet. Well, almost empty – as I was closing the door something rushed at me out of the darkness, slapping me on the forehead. I just about screamed, fighting off my attacker before realising it was a mop. Shoving it back inside, I kicked the closet shut, no longer caring about noise, and walked past a small chest of drawers to the next door.

Third time lucky, as they say. This one opened into a large room with a desk against one wall. I made my way straight to it and couldn’t believe my eyes. On its walnut surface lay a stack of ten-and twenty-pound notes plus several bags full of coins – what must have been a couple of grand in all.

It was as I was reaching for the cash, a massive grin on my face, that I heard the sound of screaming from downstairs.

I froze, my skin turning to ice, my scalp seeming to shrivel up so tightly that it hurt. The house wasn’t empty. Toby had been rumbled by what sounded like a very shocked woman, which meant he’d make for the nearest exit. I, on the other hand, was stuck up here. I snatched up the notes and stuffed them into my pocket.

When the shrieks started again I realised I’d got it wrong. It wasn’t the owner screaming – it was Toby.

But the shock of that was nothing compared to the fright I got when I turned round. In the shadows behind the office door, right in front of me, was an enormous figure. A man whose black suit blended perfectly with the walls, but whose two glinting eyes and vast, sinister grin shone out of the darkness like...