Doc Mortis by Barry Hutchison Page B

appeared round the door again. He chewed on his thumbnail anxiously. ‘He’ll hurt me if I help you.’
    I looked him right in the eye. ‘He’ll kill me if you don’t.’ The boy glanced back over his shoulder, then slipped through the gap in the door and into the room. He couldn’t have been more than five years old. His movements were fast and jerky, but not like the man with the button eyes. The porter moved like a monster. The boy moved like a mouse.
    â€˜Have you seen Toby?’ he asked. ‘Toby? No, I don’t... Who’s Toby?’
    â€˜Toby’s my friend. I can’t find him.’ The boy sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘Can’t find Toby.’
    â€˜I haven’t seen him,’ I said, ‘but if you untie me we can look for him together. How about that?’
    He nibbled at another of his fingernails, considering the offer.
    â€˜Please,’ I urged. ‘Help me. Get me out. Please .’
    With a final glance behind him, the boy let go of the door and stepped further into the room. His eyes darted to the straps round my wrists.
    â€˜OK,’ he said, and he set to work.

Chapter Ten
THE SECRET HIDEOUT
    H e moved through the hospital like he’d been there all his life, leading me swiftly through a decrepit maze of corridors, offices and wards. Occasionally, he’d hesitate at a door and listen, deciding if it was safe to go through or not. At least half the time it wasn’t, and he’d double back and take us down a different route.
    â€˜What are you listening for?’ I asked at one of the doors.
    He didn’t look at me, just said, ‘The bad people,’ and then moved quickly on.
    Running with his head down and his shoulders hunched, the boy came up to about my waist. On the rare occasions he stood up straight, the top of his head was just below the bottom of my chest. His size made him nimble. He moved fast, but quietly, and I found myself racing flat out to keep up with him.
    â€˜Where are we going?’ I asked, as we picked our way through yet another empty ward.
    â€˜Safe place,’ he assured me. ‘There soon.’
    He wasn’t lying. We’d barely turned on to the next corridor when he began to slow down. A sturdy, unmarked door stood in an alcove, set back from the corridor itself. The boy stopped outside it and pulled a fist-sized bundle of keys from his pocket. They were wrapped in a piece of cloth, presumably to stop them clinking together as he ran.
    Glancing along the corridor in both directions, he slipped a key into the lock, turned it, then stepped through the door into the darkened room beyond. I hesitated, suddenly fearing some kind of trap. But he’d rescued me from Doc, hadn’t he? Even if this was a trap, it surely couldn’t be any worse than the one he’d freed me from.
    â€˜Quickly,’ he said, holding the door wider. He stepped aside, letting me past, and then quietly locked the door behind me. I jumped as something buzzed loudly above my head, then blinked in the sudden glow of the overhead light.
    The room was little more than a storage cupboard, about three metres long by two wide. It was cold. Very cold. Cold enough to turn my breath to vapour. Three or four large cardboard boxes were stacked in one corner. A crumpled blanket lay on the floor beside them, with a grubby pillow on top of it.
    â€˜You sleep here?’
    The boy shrugged. ‘I sleep lots of places.’
    I remembered the office I’d taken the food from, with the blanket hidden behind the overturned table.
    â€˜How long have you been here?’
    â€˜Don’t remember. Long time. Long time. Since Toby got sick.’
    â€˜Toby, right. Who is this Toby?’ I asked, before realising I was jumping too far ahead. ‘In fact, let’s go back to the start. Who are you ? What’s your name?’
    â€˜I.C.’
    I frowned. ‘What? “ I see