Read the first chapter of Shadow Jumper here
You won't want to stop . . .
Chapter One
Jack was trying hard not to die. One wrong move and he’d lie splattered on the pavement or fried to a crisp by the sun. He knew the risks, but the roof was the one place he could taste real freedom.
Pressing his back into the shadows of the tall chimney stacks, he ran his fingers through his oil-coated hair and shook the mass of worm-like tendrils. Then he flipped up his hood. Even though the sun had almost set, the searing heat pierced the thick fabric, stabbing the crown of his head. A bead of sweat tickled its way towards his chin. The slimy oil he’d slapped on earlier stuck his shirt to his chest. He flapped it back and forth, trying to generate a current of air to cool his itchy body.
A sharp pain radiated along the back of his hand. He inspected the bleeding crack, smearing a droplet of blood with his thumb. His skin was getting worse. Dad would know what to do, but by the time he decided to come home . . . well, anything could have happened.
Jack normally stopped thinking about Dad for a short time when on the roofs. But not today. He sighed heavily. Since when had life got so complicated? Scrap that; his life had always been complicated – Dad’s absence added one more problem to the long list.
He shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted at the view – he never got tired of it. He could see over the tops of the Victorian grey slated roofs to the cathedral in the west of the city. The tower glinted where the sunlight hit the golden brickwork. Not far in the opposite direction, he made out the square apartment block where he lived, its greyness merging with the other dirty anonymous buildings. The sounds from the streets below – the roar of traffic and beeps from car horns – were muffled. The only real noise came from the birds calling to each other as they circled lazily overhead.
And then his phone buzzed. He rooted in his pocket and brought it out. One new message popped up on the screen. From Mum.
How r u? Beans in fridge 4 t
That meant she’d be late back from work again that night. He tapped in his reply.
OK
He pressed Send and slid the phone back in his trouser pocket. She always complained his replies were too short. But what else could he say?
Hi Mum. On roof. About to jump. Beans 4 t fine
He didn’t think that would go down too well.
The shadows were lengthening. Jack checked the laces on his trainers and got to his feet, taking care not to slip on the smooth tiles. He cast a look around him at the familiar spot; he’d chosen the perfect playground to practise his urban acrobatics. The shapes and angles created by the old city roofs — the steep pitches with terracotta clay ridges along the peaks, and the gentler, easy slopes — were brilliant for what he had in mind. He studied the distances between the shadows made by the chimneys, searching for where he’d place his feet. He was ready.
He took a couple of deep breaths and shook his arms to relax the taut muscles. Then he stepped forwards and jumped, one leg stretched in front of the other, like an athlete soaring over hurdles, his eyes fixed on their target. For a fleeting moment his body filled to bursting with a tingling thrill before he landed with a grunt in a narrow band of shade.
He steadied himself, one hand on the wall of a chimney, and looked for his next secure place. Then he set off again, somersaulting over low ledges and scrambling up a steep pitch. At the top, he bounced off a chimney wall, twisting in the air to change direction.
As he touched down on the slates, his foot slipped. His arms windmilled as he tried to stop himself tumbling. The next instant he was on his back, slithering at high speed towards the guttering. He scrabbled about, trying to gain a foothold. His body was out of control, hurtling relentlessly downwards.
He slid faster and faster. The sheer drop loomed below him. A wave of panic swept over him as he careered towards it, fingers sliding uselessly off the slates. A sob rose in his throat. He didn’t want to die, but it really did feel like the end. Any second now he’d plunge off the edge.
“Aaaaah!” he yelled as he came to a sudden stop. His top must have snagged on a nail or something because he was now suspended with his shirt rucked up around his chest, the gathered fabric slicing into his armpits. His legs dangled over the edge of the roof.
“Calm down,” he said to himself, taking a few deep breaths. “You’re okay.”
His body ached all over but he needed to pull himself together. His next move would either save him or create a crumpled, messy heap in the street below. If he could just see what his shirt was caught on.
Shakily, he twisted his head around.
And then he started to scream.
Jack was trying hard not to die. One wrong move and he’d lie splattered on the pavement or fried to a crisp by the sun. He knew the risks, but the roof was the one place he could taste real freedom.
Pressing his back into the shadows of the tall chimney stacks, he ran his fingers through his oil-coated hair and shook the mass of worm-like tendrils. Then he flipped up his hood. Even though the sun had almost set, the searing heat pierced the thick fabric, stabbing the crown of his head. A bead of sweat tickled its way towards his chin. The slimy oil he’d slapped on earlier stuck his shirt to his chest. He flapped it back and forth, trying to generate a current of air to cool his itchy body.
A sharp pain radiated along the back of his hand. He inspected the bleeding crack, smearing a droplet of blood with his thumb. His skin was getting worse. Dad would know what to do, but by the time he decided to come home . . . well, anything could have happened.
Jack normally stopped thinking about Dad for a short time when on the roofs. But not today. He sighed heavily. Since when had life got so complicated? Scrap that; his life had always been complicated – Dad’s absence added one more problem to the long list.
He shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted at the view – he never got tired of it. He could see over the tops of the Victorian grey slated roofs to the cathedral in the west of the city. The tower glinted where the sunlight hit the golden brickwork. Not far in the opposite direction, he made out the square apartment block where he lived, its greyness merging with the other dirty anonymous buildings. The sounds from the streets below – the roar of traffic and beeps from car horns – were muffled. The only real noise came from the birds calling to each other as they circled lazily overhead.
And then his phone buzzed. He rooted in his pocket and brought it out. One new message popped up on the screen. From Mum.
How r u? Beans in fridge 4 t
That meant she’d be late back from work again that night. He tapped in his reply.
OK
He pressed Send and slid the phone back in his trouser pocket. She always complained his replies were too short. But what else could he say?
Hi Mum. On roof. About to jump. Beans 4 t fine
He didn’t think that would go down too well.
The shadows were lengthening. Jack checked the laces on his trainers and got to his feet, taking care not to slip on the smooth tiles. He cast a look around him at the familiar spot; he’d chosen the perfect playground to practise his urban acrobatics. The shapes and angles created by the old city roofs — the steep pitches with terracotta clay ridges along the peaks, and the gentler, easy slopes — were brilliant for what he had in mind. He studied the distances between the shadows made by the chimneys, searching for where he’d place his feet. He was ready.
He took a couple of deep breaths and shook his arms to relax the taut muscles. Then he stepped forwards and jumped, one leg stretched in front of the other, like an athlete soaring over hurdles, his eyes fixed on their target. For a fleeting moment his body filled to bursting with a tingling thrill before he landed with a grunt in a narrow band of shade.
He steadied himself, one hand on the wall of a chimney, and looked for his next secure place. Then he set off again, somersaulting over low ledges and scrambling up a steep pitch. At the top, he bounced off a chimney wall, twisting in the air to change direction.
As he touched down on the slates, his foot slipped. His arms windmilled as he tried to stop himself tumbling. The next instant he was on his back, slithering at high speed towards the guttering. He scrabbled about, trying to gain a foothold. His body was out of control, hurtling relentlessly downwards.
He slid faster and faster. The sheer drop loomed below him. A wave of panic swept over him as he careered towards it, fingers sliding uselessly off the slates. A sob rose in his throat. He didn’t want to die, but it really did feel like the end. Any second now he’d plunge off the edge.
“Aaaaah!” he yelled as he came to a sudden stop. His top must have snagged on a nail or something because he was now suspended with his shirt rucked up around his chest, the gathered fabric slicing into his armpits. His legs dangled over the edge of the roof.
“Calm down,” he said to himself, taking a few deep breaths. “You’re okay.”
His body ached all over but he needed to pull himself together. His next move would either save him or create a crumpled, messy heap in the street below. If he could just see what his shirt was caught on.
Shakily, he twisted his head around.
And then he started to scream.
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