‘Speak, we are listening,’ the voices came again.
The figures in front of him raised their heads so they appeared to be looking right at him, but the freaky thing was, Jamie still couldn’t see their faces. It was as if the robes were worn by invisible men.
Jamie told himself this was all merely trickery and technology, intended to spook and intimidate him. Well, they’d done a pretty good job, but he was here for a reason. He needed to do this.
‘My . . .’ he cleared his throat. ‘My name is Jamie. I’ve come here because I’m sick of life on the outside.’ He paused for a moment and swallowed. ‘It’s hard . . . It’s harsh and you end up doing things you shouldn’t . . .’ He paused again. Was he really going to do this? Was he going to gamble with his own life by confessing? The loudspeaker hiss suddenly ceased.
‘Go on.’ This time it was one of the figures who spoke; not the loud crackling God-voice. It was a man’s voice. Someone quite young by the sound of him.
‘I did something. It was an accident. But it was terrible. I . . .’ the girl’s blank, unseeing face flashed into his mind again. The blood, the glass, the terror. A tear slid down Jamie’s cheek. ‘She was only a young girl and it was all my fault,’ he said. ‘I know that now. She died because of me. I had no business being in her garden, but I was only looking for somewhere safe to sleep. And now she’s dead.’ Jamie’s voice had broken down into a gulping, gasping mess. He had done it. He had confessed to his crime.
Perhaps a bolt of lightning would pierce the room and strike him down. But nothing stirred, no one moved. The two figures stayed seated without a word.
‘Is that it?’ Jamie asked. ‘Or should I explain some more?’
‘Go on,’ the young man’s voice repeated.
Jamie tried to compose himself. He wiped away his tears and cast his mind back to the night when the woman in the AV had knocked him down. He would tell these listener-guys the whole sorry story. Might as well; he’d already confessed to murder, the rest was just for himself, to get it all out of his system.
As Jamie told his story, he felt a lightness of being creep over him, a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was as if, with every word, his body and mind was coming slowly back into focus. Maybe Mr Carter and John had been right. Confession was good for the soul.
Jamie didn’t let himself think about what would happen afterwards. He just spoke the words and let The Listeners listen. His voice threaded itself around the small room, twisting into the dark corners and wrapping itself around the chairs and over The Listeners. As the words left Jamie’s mouth, they took on a separate entity, as though his past actions no longer belonged to him. They now belonged to the room and to The Listeners. Jamie talked and talked, leaving out no single detail.
Finally, his story was done and the room no longer seemed threatening. It was simply a normal room with summer sunlight filtering in through the gaps in the curtains. Jamie thought that whatever happened next he would be able to deal with it. Even if they chucked him in jail, or lined him up against the wall to be executed, he would accept it. But somehow he didn’t get the impression that was to be his fate.
The faint sound of birdsong from outside made him feel almost euphoric. He wondered whether he was now supposed to leave the room, but before he could make up his mind whether to stay seated or to get up, The Listeners rose to their feet and began to remove their deep hoods.
Jamie was curious to see the faces of the two figures who had listened to his confession. He imagined them to be of another world, perhaps like beautiful angels or terrible demons. But as the Listeners removed their hoods, he saw that they were merely men. One was short and quite elderly with wrinkled skin and thin grey hair, the other was much younger – a boy really. Good looking though, and almost like an angel, with his halo of fair curls. Jamie guessed it had been this younger one who had prompted him to keep speaking during his confession. Both their expressions were neutral, neither warm nor cold.
‘Thank you for your words,’ the younger one said.
Jamie nodded.
‘My name is Matthew, and this is Michael.’
‘What I told you,’ Jamie said, ‘are you going to do anything about it?’
‘You need dwell on it no longer,’ Matthew replied.
Jamie wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but at least no one was pointing a weapon in his face or battering the door down to take him away. And these two seemed remarkably unfazed by his awful story.
‘Come with me,’ Matthew said, walking the three feet across the room to where Jamie sat. Matthew bent down to retrieve the crutches and pass them to Jamie, who took them with a murmur of thanks. He stood and turned to follow Matthew out of the room. Before leaving, he glanced back at Michael, but the man had now replaced his hood and stood unmoving, his features concealed once more.
As Jamie followed Matthew out of the room and down the stairs, he felt like a completely different person to the one who had climbed the stairs only a short while earlier. He realised he was less afraid, and the constant worries and questions, which had dogged him these past days, now seemed entirely unimportant. They were still there, under the surface, but he didn’t let himself examine them. He was quite happy to accept whatever was about to happen. It was a liberating feeling.
They were now outside once more and the sun hung lower in the sky, making the heat a touch less fierce. Matthew’s robes swept along the dusty ground and Jamie’s eyes fixed on several brown holly leaves which had attached themselves to the robe’s hem, making a rustling scraping noise as he walked, dragging and jumping in his wake. This time, as Jamie followed Matthew, he barely noticed his surroundings and paid no attention to the route they took; his mind was clear and blank and free with just the rustle of the holly leaves, the dull thud of his crutches and the warmth of the sun on his back.
After a time, they arrived at another building, traversed another wide cool hallway, climbed another winding flight of stairs and crossed another landing. Matthew had come to a stop outside yet another door.
‘I am taking a personal interest in you, Jamie,’ Matthew said. It was uncanny the way the boy spoke with such self-assurance. It made him seem much older than he first appeared. Before coming here, Jamie would have hated the boy’s confidence; he would’ve thought him an arrogant and precocious idiot, and would’ve answered with smart remarks to put him in his place. But now he found he wanted to impress him, to earn his favour.
‘I will leave now,’ Matthew said, ‘and trust you back into the care of John. But we shall meet again quite soon. There is something about you, Jamie . . .’ He trailed off and looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘You will be useful here, I am sure of it.’
Jamie wondered if this speech was used on all the newbies, or if he, Jamie, truly was being singled out as special. He couldn’t help but feel flattered by Matthew’s words. The boy was charismatic, that was for sure. Matthew held the door open and Jamie entered the room. It was a regular dorm-type space with some bunks and a few bedside tables. Nothing fancy, but not too bad either.
‘Wait here,’ Matthew said. ‘John will be along shortly.’ Then he turned and left.
Jamie assumed this room would be where he was staying. He plonked himself down on the end of one of the beds and looked around. His eyes felt quite heavy all of a sudden, like he could sleep for a hundred years. It must be all the adrenalin of the past few hours leaving his body. Would John be cross with him if he fell asleep on this bed? Quite frankly, he was too tired to worry about that. He eased himself down on top of the covers and closed his eyes.
It seemed only moments later that he was shaken awake. Jamie turned his head and blinked his eyes open. The room lay almost in darkness, the afternoon sun a distant memory. His neck felt stiff and sore. He must have slept at a funny angle.
‘This is not your bed,’ came a soft voice.
Jamie squinted in the half-light and made out the shape of a round, doughy face belonging to a man who was poin
ting at the next bed along.
‘What?’ Jamie croaked.
‘This is my bed. You take that one.’
‘Oh, okay. Sorry.’
‘It’s alright.’
Jamie shuffled off the bed and managed to hobble to the next bed along.
‘What’s the time?’ Jamie asked.
‘You’ve missed supper,’ the man replied.
Jamie’s stomach growled a reply.
‘John said we should leave you to sleep,’ the man continued. ‘But you were on my bed.’
‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ Jamie apologised again. He had the feeling this man was a little bit simple.
‘I’m Jeremiah.’
‘Jamie.’
‘Both our names begin with J.’
‘Yeah.’
‘They’ll change your name soon.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Yes. Your new name might not start with a J. it might start with a K or an L or even a Z.’
Jamie rubbed his eyes and shook his head, trying to dislodge the sleep from his brain. Then he realised something – while he’d slept, he hadn’t dreamt of anything at all. He’d managed to have a perfectly dreamless sleep for the first time in . . . well, forever. He looked up as the door opened and several figures filed into the room. John was among them, carrying a storm lamp which cast a yellow glow about the room. He nodded at Jamie who nodded back.
‘I see Jeremiah has shown you to your bed,’ John said. ‘The bathroom is down the hall on the right. In your bedside cupboard you will find a nightshirt, a towel, a washcloth, toothbrush and a beaker.’
The room was full of hushed mutterings, a rustling of clothes and the intermittent creak of the floorboards. The men were preparing to go to bed. As they stripped off their clothes and changed into their nightshirts, Jamie did a quick headcount – ten men including himself. But it appeared as though everyone had some kind of ailment or disability. Jeremiah was, well, not all there, John was badly disfigured, one man was badly hunched over and some men were missing limbs. Jamie wondered why he’d been put in with them when there was nothing wrong with him. Then his eyes fell on the crutches which now lay propped against the wall. Of course – he was a cripple too.
Half an hour later, showered, changed and with clean teeth, Jamie lay beneath the grey coverlet of his narrow bed. He was worried that the nightmares would return. What if he cried out in his sleep and woke everyone up? What if he let something slip about the girl’s murder? It was one thing to confess his sins to a couple of robed priest-type guys, but it was quite another to blurt out his secrets to a roomful of strangers.
He cast his mind back over the events of the day. He couldn’t believe how much had happened and how much all this had begun to change him as a person. He almost didn’t recognise the old Jamie. The fact he’d actually told two complete strangers his deepest darkest secret was crazy. They hadn’t even batted an eyelid. They were all like, stay with us, we’ll give you food and shelter and everything will be great.
Could this place really be all it seemed? Was he now safe from the outside? Could he finally stop worrying about where he would sleep and what he would find to eat and whether he would be attacked by raiders or soldiers or anyone else who fancied their chances? Jamie only hoped it wasn’t all too good to be true.
Chapter Fifteen
Liss
She had known they wouldn’t be able to stay at the farm for long – FJ would’ve come for them; that much was certain. It was heartbreaking to leave her beautiful family home for a second time, but after everything that had happened over the years, leaving the farm was a relatively small price to pay. At least she would still be with her parents, able to live a normal life. Whatever normal passed for these days.
Liss was sixteen – pretty much an adult. But at the age of seven she and her nine-year-old brother, FJ, had been abducted by James Grey’s men and taken to the Cathedral Close in Salisbury, the headquarters of Grey’s Church. That was where she’d first met Annabel. She’d taken the younger girl under her wing and, over the lonely months, they had become as close as sisters. But Liss and her brother had been separated and she hadn’t seen him again until nine years later.
For years she had lived under the austere rule of the church. Talking in hushed whispers and living half-lives with no purpose but to serve James Grey and his strict God. She and Annabelle had managed to resist being brainwashed like the others and had kept strong for each other in the hope they might one day escape.
Then, one day, their prayers had been answered and the girls were finally rescued from Salisbury. Liss’s parents, Fred and Jessie, had enlisted the help of Luc, Riley, Denzil and Connor. They had arrived at the Close one night to save her and FJ. Only they hadn’t realised that FJ had become part of the regime. He was now Grey’s right hand man, known as The Voice of the Father.
FJ had tried to prevent Liss and Annabelle from leaving The Close, but he had failed. Instead, Luc and the others had got Liss out of there and reunited her with her parents, while at the same time managing to take Grey and FJ hostage. It was a miracle really. She still couldn’t believe she was free. They later found out that, although Grey was still held captive at the Talbot Woods Perimeter, FJ had escaped.
After being rescued, she, Annabelle and her parents had returned to their farm, but they realised it would be too dangerous for them to stay there, as FJ and his men could come for them at any time. So her mum and dad had decided to move to the neighbouring compound. Part of her had wanted to remain in spite of the danger. It was crazy that her own brother should be the one to drive them from their home.
They had quickly settled into the compound. It was a relief to be in a protected environment with regular people. They had a sweet two-bedroom labourers’ cottage on the edge of the settlement which provided them with a long garden, meaning they’d been able to bring some livestock from the farm. Most of their animals had been used as payment for the cottage, but they still had two cows, two sheep, the chickens and a goat.
Despite the possible threat from FJ, they had travelled back and forth to the farm each day to harvest the rest of their crops. Liss’s mum wasn’t keen on this plan at all. If she’d had her way, she would’ve let all the produce rot, but her dad said that the harvest would set them up for the winter – they could sell what they couldn’t use and save the silver for when times got tough. They had to be self-sufficient or they’d struggle to survive in the coming years.
Today was to be the last day of the harvest. They would gather in the rest of the crops and close up the place for good. It was a sad day and Liss was eager for it to be over. She felt like she couldn’t move on with her life until they had said their final farewells to their family home. Although it was only a few miles from the compound, it may as well have been a hundred, because after today they had agreed to never go back.
The sun was sinking, throwing its golden light across the farm and Liss welcomed the cool of evening after their long day’s exertions. The land looked more beautiful than it had ever looked before – perhaps because she knew she would never see it again. Once they left, the fence would fall into disrepair and nature would swallow the place up. Or perhaps outsiders would claim the property for themselves. Either way, Liss knew she wouldn’t want to return to find out.
‘Let’s go back and check around the house one last time,’ Fred said, climbing into the jeep which they’d parked up at the edge of the field. ‘Make sure we haven’t left anything important behind. It’s later than I’d like. Gonna have to drive back in the dark. Has everyone got their weapons?’
Fred had been training Liss and Annabelle to use a shotgun and they’d both gotten pretty good in the last few weeks, especially Annabelle, who seemed to have a knack for it. They joined Fred in the jeep, squeezing in beside him. He started it up and they trundled back across the fields to the house.
The building looked sad and Liss felt a welling of emotion. Back in Salisbury, she had dreamt of
this place almost every day. It was the place of her heart. Dad pushed the scullery door open. They had never used the smart, wooden front door; only the faded and peeling back door, which stuck in the doorframe and always needed a firm push or two. They tramped through into the kitchen, wiping their feet from force of habit.
The place was bare now and already had the faint scent of desertion. They had taken most of their furniture with them to their new house. The rest had been sold at the compound market, fetching fantastic prices.
‘Okay,’ Jessie said, ‘let’s all have a last scout round the house. Make sure we haven’t forgotten anything vital.’ Liss heard the crack in her mum’s voice.
Fifteen minutes later, Liss tramped back down the stairs and into the kitchen where she joined the others. After a final check of the rambling farmhouse, none of them had found anything of worth, but it had been good to revisit her room one last time, to memorise the view from her bedroom window – across the yard and over the fields beyond.
The light was growing dim, the sun dipping behind the western hills. Dusk was almost upon them and the kitchen rapidly turned chilly.
‘What was that noise?’ Annabelle said. ‘Sounded like a man’s voice. ’
‘It’s the house, love,’ Jessie replied. ‘It makes all kinds of funny creaks and groans. Bit like my knees.’
‘Hang on, Jess,’ Fred said. ‘That wasn’t the house.’
Liss strained her ears to see if she could hear anything.
‘We should’ve brought the dogs with us,’ Jessie said. ‘They’d soon let us know if anyone was . . .’
Without warning, the door flew open with a loud bang and the room swiftly filled with men. And not just any men – for they wore the hooded robes of Grey’s Church. They were soldiers. His soldiers. Liss gave a short scream. Fred shouted and tried to reach for his shotgun, which lay against the wall, but they were overpowered before any of them could make a break for it or try to defend themselves. The men seemed to fill up the whole room, bringing with them the familiar odour of old classrooms and musty clothes, transporting Liss right back to the Cathedral Close. That smell made her almost swoon with fear. Reams of buried memories rising to the surface: the silence, the oppression, the fear and the complete absence of hope.
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