Chapter 34
It only takes a minute of running before it feels like my chest is going to explode from the effort of sprinting after Josh and Owen.
I thought I had fairly long legs, but the sprint on these men is something else.
I turn back to Hennie, who is holding up pretty well under the circumstances.
She even has her signature grin plastered across her face.
Elliot, just behind her, looks like he’s barely broken a sweat.
Basketball players. Ridiculous.
Luckily the distance between The Warren and The Lakes isn’t enormous; we only have to run around the perimeter of the Tower Stage to get there.
A band is in the middle of a set on the Tower stage, aiding us in our journey as it means the paths are mercifully empty.
I can’t stop myself from turning to look at the stage and the crowd surrounding it, feeling slightly queasy at the sight.
Knowing I had stood there in a crowd that size, if not larger.
My stomach turns over and I make myself look away.
My pace must have slowed as Hennie powers past me, yelling, ‘Come on now, Harty! Seven minutes to go!’
My chest burns with the effort, and she must notice as she grabs my hand to pull me along behind her, darting around passers-by. I hold zero shame in such a small woman deeming it necessary to pull me in tow.
I look around to see Elliot behind us, still running at an easy pace. I suppress a glare in his direction for his never-ending composure.
Josh, to everyone’s dismay, tries to execute a slick action-hero-esque slide across the bonnet of an ice cream van and ends up completely losing his footing on the landing, resulting in him tumbling downward and receiving a mouthful of grass.
I grab his arm as I pass him and pull him along with us, dutifully ignoring the spitting sounds he makes the rest of the way.
Finally, we speed past the edge of The Lakes to find the same small gap between the trees that we had found earlier, Owen still leading the pack gaily.
‘Come on!’ Owen calls out, sweeping his arm to gather us. The boys pause to let Hennie and I run down the path first, and there’s the door. Exactly as it was earlier.
Trying to control my panting, I check the time: 4.59.
Josh almost retches behind me. ‘I was not put on this earth to run two days in a row,’ he complains. ‘There must be consequences for these actions.’
‘So, what do we actually do?’ Owen says from behind me, his breath also heaving.
I approach the door, preparing myself.
‘Uh,’ I murmur, eying Elliot uneasily. ‘Do you think we knock?’
‘Sure, why not?’ he says, making his way confidently to the door and knocking three times.
We stand in silence, waiting with baited breath and wild eyes.
‘What were the actual instructions?’ Hennie prompts in a whisper.
‘He said that we need to say our favourite… dessert,’ I say apologetically, all too aware of how nonsensical it sounds.
‘Huh,’ Owen replies. ‘Not what I thought you were gonna say.’
There’s another pause as Josh steps in front of the door.
‘Sticky toffee pudding,’ he shouts directly at it.
Owen snorts and shakes his head.
‘Almond croissant?’ Hennie adds weakly.
Josh’s head whips round, looking offended. ‘That’s a snack.’
Elliot folds his arms and peers up at the door with irritation, before turning to me. ‘Think those guys were winding us up?’
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘Seems like a weird thing to make up on the spot though.’
Owen holds up his phone screen to the group. ‘It’s officially five o’clock. Guess it’s now or never.’
This prompts Josh to frantically jump back into action and rap his knuckles on the door several times with a desperate call of, ‘Hello? Anybody home?’
The door opens.
Josh rears back with a nervous squeak, shooting a quick wave to the man smartly dressed in all black standing at Ransom’s entrance.
He stares at us, his dull eyes taking in each of us in turn. Hennie anxiously glances at me in the corner of my vision. He looks at me for a little longer than the others; I can only assume this is because I’m standing closest to the door.
‘Um…’ I gulp, feeling ridiculous. ‘Eclairs?’
I bare my teeth in what I hope is a charming smile but probably looks more like a wince, and wait for him to close the door in my face.
But he nods and gestures me inside with an easy motion, looking like he’s trying not to roll his eyes.
And I realise that this man is not intimidating. He’s bored. He’s probably listened to an exhaustive list of cherished desserts for most of the day.
‘Thanks!’ I chirp, zipping past him and stepping into whatever the hell Ransom is.
I find myself standing in a completely unremarkable hallway with a large clock hanging on the wall in front of me. The walls are made of corrugated metal, like I’m in a storage container, but the carpet beneath my feet is a patterned beige. I hate to be negative, but it’s a little uninspiring.
I thought I’d be stepping into some kind of performance space like most stages here, but I’m starting to think that’s not what Ransom is.
The others join me one by one, and it’s difficult not to laugh at Josh’s reaction when he enters: a series of slow blinks followed by a quizzical look at Owen.
Following the path from the entrance, we come to a set of unremarkable double doors. A simple printout on A4 paper has been taped to one door that reads Ransom I.
Josh rubs his hands together with anticipation, and I hope he’s not horribly disappointed by what we find.
He pushes them open, and we step inside.
I can tell the space is huge, but it’s too dark to work out the true scale of it.
Inky purple light filters around it, meshing together with slow, spinning red lights.
From corner to corner stretches pale-grey separating walls that one might find in an office space.
Some tall and some shoulder-height, all uniform in colour, they create a scene that feels almost like a maze.
I peer around a corner behind one wall and see two desks crammed in a nook. It feels… suffocating.
‘What’s this supposed to be?’ Hennie says with scorn. ‘Am I not pissed off enough with ordinary life that we have to bring an office space into a music festival?’
‘A big one, too,’ Elliot adds, frowning.
‘Something about it does feel… weird,’ Owen notes.
He isn’t wrong. For one thing, it feels like the music doesn’t fit the space we’re in. Loud, long echoes of a muffled trombone ring through the space. It reverberates between the walls of the office hallways, making the sound feel uncomfortably close.
We start making our way through endless walkways, lit only by the heavy purple lights overhead and the odd lamp adorning some desks. We see no one but occasionally hear the murmur of fellow Ransom guests. Wherever they are.
Josh is much more spritely than the rest of us, checking around every corner with eager eyes.
‘Hold up!’ he calls out, then motions for us to follow him into a corner unit, surrounded by white walls that has been smothered with pink and yellow post-its.
A strange figure has been scrawled across them in black ink, leaving pools of ink residue on the desk below it, now dried into a stain.
The figure’s head is tipped right back, its jaws opened freakishly wide to accommodate what looks like a pair of legs inside them.
‘Nice,’ I mutter.
Hennie recoils next to me. ‘I hate it,’ she says.
Josh plants himself onto the table next to the freakish sketch. ‘Do you think this could be a clue?’
Elliot and I shake our heads in unison.
‘Doubt it,’ he says.
‘Well, we can try to burn this image into our minds in case it’s useful for later,’ Josh says happily, hopping off the desk.
‘I won’t be trying that hard,’ I hear Owen remark, as he moves around us to look at the old, clunky computer monitor on the desk, and wiggles the mouse next to it. Nothing happens.
He turns back to us and shrugs. ‘Was just curious.’
‘Onwards!’ Josh croons.
When we emerge from the corner unit, Owen and I head right, while the others go left.
‘We just came from that way,’ I point out.
‘Are you kidding? We came from that direction,’ Josh insists, gesturing behind us.
‘You guys are on something–’
Squabbling ensues, none of us able to decipher or agree where exactly we had come from. I look around for markers of where we may have entered from, but can only see neon green signs pointing to emergency exits on every side of us.
‘This place is fucking disorientating,’ Owen says. ‘Let’s just pick a direction and go with it.’
‘Yeah, great idea. Our direction,’ Josh replies.
‘Oh my God, whatever,’ Hennie pipes up. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m following the two people with the most sense here.’ She walks over to Owen and I.
‘There we go! We have a majority,’ Owen says, turning to lead the group through the maze of grey and white walls.
We walk past a line of large printers and see our first batch of Ransom-dwellers, a couple of them pressing their faces onto the scanner as the hot, yellow light slowly lights up their features.
‘This is just bizarre,’ Hennie murmurs, still baffled by our surroundings. ‘I hope you guys weren’t expecting a party in here or you must be feeling disappointed.’
‘Non, mon amie. We have no idea what Ransom has in store for us yet,’ Josh says, beaming.
Another drawing in black ink adorns the walls: a cloaked figure with a briefcase looming over us. It’s unsettling, to say the least.
‘So,’ Elliot says quietly. ‘Are we supposed to know what we’re doing here?’
‘I think we know as much as you do,’ Hennie replies.
‘Ah, lighten up, Walker,’ Josh says. ‘We’ll find our place in this world.’ He opens his arms out wide to gesture at the ‘world’ that is Ransom. I can’t help but agree with Elliot. Something about Ransom makes me feel strange. Adrift.
As we make our way around more corners and winding corridors, I start to notice the increasing number of post-it notes attached to the walls, along with the odd, haphazard sketch and bits of graffiti. A large piece, made up of pink and black thick lines, simply reads: Rapture.
A different kind of music is pounding loudly just ahead of us, Josh bobbing his head to the rhythm.
The source becomes clear when we stumble past a larger unit completely surrounded by wire fencing, breaking up the uniform white walls.
Thick, black fabric is draped across the top, blocking the light from above, submerging the people inside into almost total darkness.
An undeterminable number of people dance inside, pumping their fists and banging their heads to heavy guitar.
‘Well. There’s your party,’ I say.
Owen frowns at the sight. ‘Pass.’