Fighting Back (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 4)

by Rachel Churcher

  I’m going to make them listen.

  *****

  “Welcome, Miss Ellman. Please come and take your seat.” Fiona opens the door, and steps back to let me into the conference room. Gail gives my shoulder a squeeze, and smiles at Fiona.

  “Go on, Bex. Be amazing.”

  The door closes behind me, and Fiona shows me to a chair at the end of the table. I sit down, and put my notebook in front of me.

  When I look up, everyone in the room is watching me.

  Twelve people. Fiona, and eleven others. People I know by sight, but not by name. The people I shouted at when I arrived here.

  And the youngest of them must be twice my age.

  Fiona smiles from her seat in the middle of one side of the table.

  “I’m sure we would all like to give Miss Ellman a warm welcome to the Opposition in Exile committee.” There are murmurs of agreement from around the table. “I’d like to start with brief introductions.”

  The committee members take it in turns to introduce themselves, and I try to remember each person’s name and their responsibilities on the committee. I’m relieved when the woman sitting next to me introduces herself as Barbara, explains that she’s the Communications Manager, and hands me a briefing pack. Inside there are full bios on all the people round the table, along with the agenda and supporting information for today’s meeting. I give her a grateful smile.

  “Miss Ellman. Perhaps you’d like to introduce yourself.”

  I take a deep breath. Fiona warned me I’d need to do this, and I’ve been thinking about what to say. I need them to know what I’m here for, but I don’t want to make enemies on my first day.

  I’m a player in this game, and it’s time to make my first move. I stand up, and everyone watches as I clench my fists and rest them on the edge of the table. My heart is hammering. I need to get this right.

  “My name is Bex Ellman. I’m seventeen years old. You know me as the Face of the Resistance. It’s my photo that’s out there, encouraging people to resist.” I shake my head. “I hate that photo. I hate what it represents. It was taken when I was in the Recruit Training Service, being used as a PR exercise by the government. We were taken from our schools and from our lives, and we were trained to be the public face of the Home Forces. We were used to show people that the government was protecting them. But we weren’t the real army. We didn’t fight. We were on display, making people think they were safe.”

  I look down at the table, catching my breath. I need them to hear the truth.

  “I saw what happened in Leominster. I know the government attacked the town, and they blamed it on the resistance cell that took us in when we escaped from our training camp. I was there when they came after us, at Makepeace Farm. I escaped, but two of my friends were arrested, and one was killed.” My voice skips as I think about Saunders. I take a moment to breathe.

  I look up, meeting the eyes of people round the table.

  “I didn’t ask the be the Face of the Resistance. I didn’t want to be the Face of the Resistance. What I want, here, on this committee, is to be the Voice of the Resistance.” I look around. “I’m here to tell you what things are really like in the UK at the moment. I’m here to remind you that this isn’t a theoretical problem that you can take your time to solve. This is really happening, right now, sixty miles from here. People are being arrested, and tortured, and executed in the UK, today. And it won’t stop. Not until we make it stop.” I clear my throat, and blink back tears. “My mother is in a cell in London. They put footage of her interrogations on PIN every night. I’m not going to let you forget that. My friend is in a cell, too, and they’re already planning her execution. And my teacher was arrested at Makepeace Farm. As far as I know, she’s locked up, along with the others from the farm who were caught the night we escaped.

  “This is real. This is happening, right now. We might be safe, up here across the border, but our friends and our families aren’t. I’m here to push you. I’m here to remind you. And I’m here to make sure you listen.”

  I sit down. No one speaks, but the people round the table are looking at each other, raising their eyebrows. The woman next to me flashes me a quick thumbs-up sign, and someone across the table smiles at me and nods.

  “Thank you, Miss Ellman,” says Fiona, eventually. She looks around the table. “We would do well to remember what Bex has said today. This is up to us, and we need to act.” She looks at me. “Keep us on our toes, Miss Ellman. Make sure we’re listening.”

  *****

  We move through the agenda, committee members updating us with progress on various projects and initiatives. We talk about the budget for the compound – about hiring staff and changing contractors for the maintenance of our buildings. We talk about printing costs, and supplies of the Face of the Resistance poster. Who is making the next delivery, and how we hide them from the guards at the border. We talk about Jake, and the arrangements to get him to the Netherlands.

  No one mentions London. No one mentions PIN, or the prisoners, or fighting back.

  The last item on the agenda is listed as ‘Coalition’. I lean back in my chair to listen to more discussions of things I don’t understand.

  “Caroline has sent us an update on the Dutch government’s attempts to form a coalition.” There’s a rustling as everyone pulls a stapled stack of paper from their briefing folders. I reach fowards and find mine, sitting back in my chair to look at it.

  It’s from Caroline. Newcastle Caroline. Caroline Wallis, who got us out of the UK, and had to run herself, because of me.

  I sit up, putting the update on the table in front of me.

  Caroline is the new liaison between Neesh’s training camp and the government of the Netherlands. I take a moment to read the first page while Fiona explains the new developments. I should be listening, but I’m not. All I can see is the report in front of me. A report about Caroline’s efforts to bring other countries together to fight. To free the UK from Martial Law. To restore Parliament, and bring back democracy.

  Caroline is recruiting other armies to fight for the UK.

  Neesh’s army isn’t the only army preparing to march on London.

  Fiona is calling for a vote, but I don’t know what we’re voting on.

  I look up. “Excuse me, Fiona. Can you explain that again?”

  “Sorry, Bex. I know you haven’t had a chance to read this in advance. Perhaps you could sit this one out, and we’ll talk about it later.”

  I shake my head. “There are other armies, ready to fight with us?” I’m trying to understand what I’m reading.

  She sighs. “It’s complicated. We’re trying to persuade the Netherlands to send troops to London, and they’re trying to persuade other countries to join in. We’re trying to build a coalition. An international force, to fight alongside us.” I scan the document in front of me, looking for the progress report.

  “Who’s with us? How many armies do we have?” I feel sick. I feel as if I’m falling. My pulse is drumming in my throat, and my voice feels tight. This could be our chance. We could save Mum, and Margie. We could change everything.

  Fiona shakes her head. “It’s early days, Bex.”

  “Who is coming with us to London?” I’m trying not to shout, but my voice is loud in the quiet room.

  “No one yet. There are plenty of countries who’ve shown an interest, but we’re still trying to persuade them to commit.”

  “What are they waiting for?”

  “It’s complicated. I’d be happy to explain after the meeting.”

  “What. Are. They. Waiting. For?” I will not be brushed aside. Not with something as important as this.

  Fiona rests her arms on the table, and leans towards me. “There’s a list of requirements. If we can meet them, we’ll have their support. Can I explain later?”

  Everyone in the room is staring at me. I want to know what this is about. I want to know what’s stopping free countries from supporting us. From s
aving the UK. From saving Mum.

  But I need to make a good impression today. I need to make sure these people will listen, when I have something important to say.

  I shrug. “Sure. I’ll sit this one out.” And I sit back in my chair while the others vote.

  *****

  “Thank you, Bex.” Fiona sits down in the chair next to mine. The other committee members are picking up their briefing packs and leaving, chatting as they walk into the corridor. It’s just the two of us at the table.

  “Was that what you were expecting?”

  I look at the briefing pack in front of me, and the stack of papers I need to review before the next meeting.

  “I guess so.”

  “A bit more boring, and a bit less revolutionary than you were hoping for?” She smiles at me.

  I smile back. “That’s about right, yes.”

  “Well, trust me, Bex. We need to do the boring stuff so that we can do the revolutionary stuff when the time is right.”

  I nod. “So these armies?”

  She folds her hands in front of her on the table. “The coalition.”

  More players at the table. More sides playing this game. I need to understand.

  “What are the requirements?”

  She sighs. “What you need to know is that no one owes us anything. We dropped out of NATO when the government declared Martial Law. There’s no one looking out for us, out there. We stopped helping them with their own defence, and they stopped helping the UK. What we’re asking them to do? It could be very expensive for them. And very bad for their reputations if we misjudge it.”

  “If we lose.”

  She nods. “If we lose. So the countries we’re asking need certain assurances.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like knowing that the people of the UK want to be rescued.”

  I can’t help laughing. This is easy. “Of course they do!”

  She looks at me. “You’d be amazed, Bex. You’ve seen what the government can do, from the inside. You’ve been kidnapped and forced to train and fight. You’ve been labelled a terrorist, and you’ve been on the wrong end of government weapons. But most people? They only see the terrorism. They only see the bombings. For them, life goes on, and they’re happy to see the soldiers on the streets protecting them. They’re happy to see the government executing the bad guys. They go to concerts and football matches and play with their children, and they worry a little less about their safety, because they know the Home Forces and the RTS are looking after them.

  “A foreign country won’t make a move against a government with that much support.”

  I shake my head. I can’t believe they’re even asking this question. “What else?”

  “They wanted proof that the government was running the bombings – that they are false flag attacks. We’ve given them that. And now they want a trigger event. Something big enough to provoke an invasion.”

  I think about the bombings on the news. Attack after attack, hurting people every day – but they’re not big enough to convince the coalition.

  “So – what? An attack? Another Crossrail bombing?”

  “Something like that.”

  “But if the government is running the attacks …”

  She looks down at the table. “We’re working on it.”

  “And what about Leominster? Wasn’t it enough, the government killing an entire town?” I’m angry now, and I have to stop myself from shouting.

  “That was six months ago. We didn’t have the coalition lined up six months ago.” She shakes her head. “The countries supporting us now – they weren’t united against the UK back then. Some of them still had diplomats in London, and when the government blamed the terrorists, most of those diplomats took them at their word.” She looks at me. “I hate this as much as you do, Bex. We missed our chance to use Leominster as the trigger. The coalition needs something now – something they can all react to.”

  I take a deep breath, and force myself to stay calm. “OK. What else?”

  She looks at me, and I think I see an apology in her eyes before she speaks.

  “They want a figurehead. Someone to unite behind.”

  I can feel my stomach sinking. I look down at the table, crossing my arms over my chest. There’s only one figurehead the OIE can offer.

  “They want me.” My voice is a whisper.

  Fiona nods. “They want you.”

  I hate being the Face of the Resistance. I hate being the public image of the terrorist cells. But I want to march on London. If the coalition needs me, then that’s my job. That’s what I can do to make this happen.

  That’s what I can do to help us win.

  This is how I play the game.

  I look up at her. I hate this, but it’s what the coalition needs. It’s what Mum needs, and Margie.

  “Tell them I’m here. Tell them I’m ready.”

  She puts her hand on mine.

  “Thank you, Bex. I’ll pass that on.”

  Margaret

  KETTY

  I drag myself out of bed. My headache has faded, but the pain in my knee is a constant dull ache. I force myself to eat something, and wash down two painkillers with a mug of strong coffee. I wrap my knee in two tight bandages, and button up my uniform. My face in the bathroom mirror is pale, and there are dark shadows under my eyes. I pull my hair back and tie it in place, avoiding my own gaze.

  Come on, Ketty. Enough with the self-pity. You’ve got work to do.

  I walk down the stairs to the street, forcing my knee to take my weight, then walk to the Home Forces building and pick up the car to Belmarsh.

  *****

  “No Bracken this morning?” Lee turns from the coffee maker as I walk through the door to the waiting room.

  “No, Sir.”

  Nice to see you, too, Sir.

  He nods towards the Enhanced Interrogation room. “You won’t make too much noise in there, will you, Corporal?” He gives me a cold smile. “I don’t want to frighten my prisoner this morning. He’s in a cooperative mood, and I’d like to keep him that way.”

  “No, Sir.”

  Not up to me, Sir. I’m just asking the questions.

  He watches me for a moment too long, then nods. “Good.” He takes a sip of his coffee, picks up a second cup and walks to the interrogation room. The door is ajar, and as he pushes it open I see William Richards sitting at the table, waiting. Lee puts the coffee down, and steps back to close the door. William looks up at him and smiles, then reaches out and takes the cup.

  He’s not wearing handcuffs.

  Lee closes the door.

  I pour a coffee for myself, and sit, perched against the edge of the table. I’m thinking through what I’ve seen. As long as we have Sheena Richards in the cells, Lee has William under control. No need for handcuffs when you’re holding someone’s family hostage. Lee is here for a friendly chat over coffee. Is Will telling him who to call? How to contact resistance cells with offers of help?

  Who to frame for our attacks?

  The prison guards fetch Margaret from her cell while I finish my coffee, and I follow them into the Enhanced Interrogation room.

  *****

  There’s a feeling of power, walking through the door.

  Iron fists and steel toe caps. You know how this works, Ketty.

  The guards stand my prisoner in the middle of the room, check her handcuffs, and walk out. The door closes behind them.

  I stand up straight, facing Margaret, trying to hide my smile. I’m going to enjoy this. Putting the posh, proud schoolgirl in her place. Showing her what we can do.

  She pulls herself up, back straight, hands cuffed in front of her, and looks me in the eyes. She’s a little taller than me, but that won’t matter. Not for long.

  If you’re still standing when I leave here, I haven’t done my job.

  She smirks, and looks around the room. “Is this supposed to scare me, Corporal?”

  I remember her reaction
at Camp Bishop. Her trained response to Jackson’s assault. She knows how to fight, and she thinks she’s dealing with me. The handcuffs won’t help, but she probably thinks she can defend herself.

  I smile, and make a show of looking round the room. Bare, tiled walls and floor. Nowhere to sit. Nothing to use as a weapon. Nowhere to hide.

  “This? No.”

  She watches me, her weight on the balls of her bare feet, waiting for me to make a move. I make myself stand still, hands behind my back, and meet her gaze. I fight the temptation to step in, to run my own Enhanced Interrogation. We’ve been here before – me, Margaret, Jackson. I remember the thrill of working together. Holding our prisoner down and making her understand that she wasn’t safe. That we could do anything to her.

  There’s a calm, determined look in her eyes. I keep my face neutral and make her wait. The power is all mine, here, and I’m enjoying myself.

  The door opens, and she jumps in surprise, turning to face the two men in black jumpsuits. She watches as they walk in, close the door, and take up positions on each side of her. She turns back to me, her chin a little higher and her back a little straighter.

  “Corporal,” says one of the men, nodding to me. I nod back.

  “So this is how it is.” Margaret shakes her head. “Still not doing your own dirty work, Ketty?”

  I think about Camp Bishop. Holding her down while Jackson threw his punches. Her eyes, staring past me as I knelt on her arms and pinned her shoulders to the floor.

  I nod at one of the men, and he lands a punch in her stomach, lightning-fast. She grunts, and doubles over as the air pushes out of her lungs. I wait for her to stand up straight again.

  The feeling of power is growing.

  This is what I understand. This is what I do.

  She looks at me, calm and determined. I allow myself a brief smile, then meet her eyes.