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platforms; and there were soldiers all around the station providing extra security and controlling the crowds. To get to the Brighton train they would have to push through two levels of shops and restaurants and then get another escalator down to the platform.
    They stood in the shadow of The Meeting Place —a nine-metre-tall bronze statue of an embracing couple. ‘We’ll never get to the train, with or without a ticket,’ Jason said. ‘Coming here was a stupid idea. We could have been halfway up the M1 if we had just gone home and taken Dad’s Merc, but instead this idiot’—he jabbed Brandon’s shoulder—‘wants to jump on a train and—’
    ‘Wait, stop,’ Brandon said suddenly.
    On the level below them, visible through the glass barriers on the balconies, Brandon had noticed a pair of soldiers stop a group of teenagers. One of the soldiers had some kind of handheld device like a camcorder that he was pointing at the kids.
    ‘They don’t look like regular troops,’ Kat observed.
    She was right. They looked like members of some kind of special ops team, dressed in black combat fatigues and Kevlar helmets with night-vision goggles attached. They were fully loaded with weapons: submachine guns, handguns in holsters, and assault vests with daggers and grenades clearly visible.
    The soldier with the handheld device seemed satisfied with his readings and waved the kids along. The two soldiers went back to scanning the crowd.
    ‘They’re looking for us,’ Brandon was certain. ‘Whatever’s interesting to mutant aliens is bound to be just as interesting to secret government agencies.’
    ‘It’s more likely they’re just looking for you if they’ve been watching your family,’ Jason said. ‘Give me the thingy and I’ll get it past them.’
    ‘Okay, but they’re still going to stop me anyway,’ Brandon said.
    ‘Leave it to me,’ Kat said. ‘I’ll distract them.’ She looked up at the departure boards. ‘We’d better be quick: the last train to Brighton leaves at eleven. We’ve got five minutes. Split up and meet on the train!’
    ‘Alright,’ Brandon agreed. ‘But don’t do anything stupid. Shouting fire ! or something in a crowded station isn’t a very cool thing to do.’
    ‘Trust me!’ she grinned.
    Brandon reluctantly handed the cylinder to Jason, who set off into the crowds, taking a roundabout route to the Brighton platform. Then Brandon started moving, head down, following a different path. He took the stairs down to the lower level then cut through WH Smith to avoid the black-clad soldiers. He was almost at the Brighton turnstiles when another soldier came out of nowhere and blocked his path. The man was tall and imposing, with skin as black as his uniform. He knelt in front of Brandon and tried to smile.
    ‘Hi Brandon,’ he said in a patronising tone. ‘I’m Lieutenant Hewson. Are you alright? Are you looking for your family?’
    Brandon tried his best to look confused. ‘My name’s Jason Brown,’ he said.
    The man took a closer look, peering into Brandon’s violet eyes. Nearby, one of the other soldiers was pointing the scanning device at Brandon. ‘Facial recognition positive, Sir,’ he reported. ‘That’s Brandon Walker.’
    Just off to one side, Brandon saw Kat running through the crowds, keeping her distance but close enough for the soldiers to see. Brandon’s adrenaline surged and time seemed to slow down. His eyes flickered around, taking in distances and obstacles. He heard Kat shouting and waving her arms. ‘There’s an alien in the toilets!’ she screamed, loud enough to stop people in their tracks. When Brandon saw the soldiers’ heads jerk around and their hands go to their guns, he made his move. He launched his body to one side, then dived into a crowd of startled people. In the other direction, Kat tipped over a table in front of Starbucks, spilling mochas and cappuccinos everywhere, adding to the chaos as people jumped up and started arguing and