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

by Rachel Churcher

  “I thought so, too, Sir. We had an agreement …”

  “You thought you had an agreement. I’m most disappointed to learn that, like Corporal Smith, your thoughts are not enough to influence reality.”

  “Sir, I …”

  “I did not give you permission to interrupt, Corporal!”

  “No, Sir.”

  Lee looks around the room, and his shoulders sag. He sits down in one of Bracken’s chairs.

  “At ease, both of you. Corporal – go back to work.” He waves his hand at the door. “Sit down, Bracken. Let’s see if we can piece this together.”

  *****

  “At least you can use all that footage now. Elizabeth, Margaret – you can show off all the bruises on PIN.”

  I keep writing, forcing myself not to react.

  “I suppose I can.”

  “Come on. I thought you’d be happy. All that trouble you went to, giving Elizabeth a broken arm? And now you get to show it off on TV.”

  I don’t look up.

  “Corporal Conrad, is there a reason you’re in my office?”

  He shrugs. “Just waiting for the brigadier.” He looks at the door to Bracken’s office. “Is he roasting your boss alive in there? What’s taking him so long?”

  I put my pen down, and look at him.

  “I don’t know, David. But I think you should wait in the corridor.”

  He raises his eyebrows and sneers at me. “Do you?”

  I stand up, and he takes a step back.

  “You are not a friend, Corporal. You are not my protector. And you are not my date, when you’re bored.” I lean across the desk. “You are the person responsible for the death of someone I cared about, and I will not forget that.” He nods, smirking. I take a breath, and make myself speak slowly and calmly. “You are not invited, and you are leaving now.”

  He opens his mouth to answer me, but the door to Bracken’s office opens. Lee strides out, glancing between us and raising his eyebrows at the hostile body language. He shakes his head and walks out into the corridor.

  Conrad follows, looking back over his shoulder at me. His eyes are cold, and the sneer is still on his face.

  I slump back into my chair.

  Don’t let him get to you, Ketty. Don’t let him win.

  *****

  Bracken shakes his head as I walk in to bring him coffee and painkillers. The filing cabinet drawer is open, and he doesn’t try to hide the empty glass on his desk.

  “We lost him, Ketty.”

  “Sir?”

  “Jake. We lost him. I don’t know who convinced the Netherlands to take him, but there’s no official contact between our governments, and he hasn’t broken any laws there. He’s not coming back.”

  Give him time, Sir. Breaking the rules is what Jake does.

  “So what’s in the Netherlands? Why go there?”

  He shakes his head. “We don’t know. Some sort of deal with Scotland and the OIE.” He picks up the empty glass, and puts it back down on the desk.

  “So – what now, Sir?”

  “Now?” He picks up the glass again, and reaches into the filing cabinet to pick up his current bottle of whisky. He pours himself another drink, and leaves the bottle on the desk. “Now I forget about Jake. Concentrate on the committee. Do what we’re here to do.”

  I sit down.

  “And there’s really no way to get to him?”

  “No diplomatic relations. No one to talk to. They’ve found an enemy nation to take him in.”

  Clever move, Jake.

  “What about Elizabeth? And Margaret?”

  He empties his glass and pours another. “That’s your job, Ketty. Keep the videos coming. Keep Ellman and the rest of her friends under control. Show them enough bruises, and they might be tempted to try something stupid. See if you can persuade the rest of them to walk out of the OIE.” He shrugs.

  “I can do that, Sir.”

  He smiles. “I know you can.”

  I shake my head. “There must be something we can do. Some way to protest against Scotland’s decision.”

  He shrugs. “It’s too late.”

  “I’m not saying it would change anything.”

  He looks at me over the glass in his hand. “What are you thinking, Ketty?”

  “The Scottish employee, from the shop in Newcastle.” He nods. “Did you mention him, in your negotiations?”

  “Briefly.”

  I lean forward in my chair. “I’m thinking that we put him on PIN. Interrogate him. Give him some bruises. Show them what we’re willing to do.”

  He puts the glass down on the desk, and nods, slowly.

  “That could work.” He plays with the glass for a moment, then looks at me. “It would burn any bridges we might need in the future, but it would send them a message.”

  I can feel the thrill of power, building again. We’re not helpless. We don’t need to let the Scottish government get away with breaking their word.

  We can do something. We can punish them for sending Jake away.

  Why stop with interrogation?

  “If we’re burning bridges, why don’t we put him on trial?”

  “Ketty – I’m not sure …”

  “Watching one of their own facing a firing squad, too late to do anything about it? Isn’t that the message we want to send? If they can spirit our prisoner away, then we can dispose of theirs.”

  He meets my gaze, and I notice that his hands are shaking. He closes his eyes.

  “I’ll think about it, Ketty.”

  Come on, Sir. They sent our prisoner to safety. Let’s show them what we can do.

  “That’s all, Sir?”

  He shakes his head. “I’ll raise it with Franks, tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” I can’t hide my smile.

  “Oh – and Ketty?”

  “Sir?”

  “I’m sorry about the Watson trial. You worked hard on that.”

  Do we have to talk about this?

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Whatever happened – with Margaret, with Conrad …”

  “Nothing, Sir!” I can feel my cheeks starting to burn.

  He waves his hand. “Whatever happened, or didn’t happen – we can’t afford that. We can’t afford to give anything to Franks and Lee.”

  I nod. I can’t meet his eyes. “I know, Sir.”

  He looks at me. “They could send you home. You understand that?” I nod again. “I need you here, Ketty.” He looks around the room, cradling his drink. “I can’t do this without you.”

  I can’t think of anything to say.

  Figurehead

  BEX

  “You’re OK!” Amy squeals as Jake’s face appears on the laptop screen.

  “I’m OK.” He grins, and holds up official-looking papers, and an ID card with his face on. “Netherlands residence papers. The OIE can’t tell me what to do any more!”

  “That’s great, Jake. I’m glad you’re safe.” Dan tries to sound friendly, but I can tell he’s still angry. “How’s the training camp?”

  Jake smiles. “Amazing. We’ve got a whole airfield to train on, and loads of instructors.” He leans towards the screen and lowers his voice. “They’re going to teach me to drive a tank!”

  Amy claps both hands over her mouth, smiling, and Dan and I exchange a glance.

  “Seriously?” Dan’s laughing, but there’s a concerned look in his eyes.

  “Seriously.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to fight.”

  “It’s different over here. They won’t make you train, but if you don’t sign up, they make you help run the site.” Jake shrugs. “Driving a tank’s less boring than cooking and cleaning all day. And it’s more useful than driving cars round a car park, like you lot.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Dan says, glancing at me again. I’m off-camera, sitting with Jake’s Liaison Officer where Jake can’t see us, but I wanted to be here. I wanted to know that he’s OK.


  There’s a giggling sound, and Jake looks up. He grins, as two girls with blond hair and camouflage T-shirts pull up chairs and sit down next to him.

  “Is this your friends?” One of them says, and Jake nods.

  “Hi, friends!” Says the other, waving.

  Jake points at the screen. “That’s Amy, and that’s Dan.”

  The girls look at each other. “Amy and Dan? From the posters?” They both peer at the screen, then start giggling again.

  “We heard about what you guys did.”

  “You’re so brave!”

  I roll my eyes. Dan sends me a desperate look.

  “Listen, Jake. I think we should leave you to it.”

  “Yeah. OK,” Jake says, draping his arm round one of the girls, and grinning at her friend.

  “We’ll talk to you soon!” Amy is doing her best to sound cheerful, but Jake doesn’t even look at the screen. One of the girls stands up and grabs his hand, pulling him out of his seat. As both girls drag him away, he reaches out to close the laptop, but Neesh steps in and stops him. She sits down in his chair, and watches him leave until the giggling stops.

  “Neesh!” I drag my chair over to the table, and Dan shuffles over so the camera can see me.

  “Hi, Bex! Hi, all of you! How’s Edinburgh?”

  “Good, thanks.”

  “Well done for getting Jake out. I gather that was you, Bex?”

  I shrug. “I couldn’t let them send him back to London.”

  She shakes her head. “Jake seems to think it was close.”

  “It was.” Dan sounds angry. “It took a lot of effort to get him somewhere safe.”

  “Well, thank you. I know he’ll thank you himself, one day.”

  “I doubt it,” I say under my breath, and Dan gives my hand a squeeze.

  “So what’s the latest? Did I hear that you’re on the committee, Bex?”

  I try to smile, but all I can see are the other committee members, raising their hands. Voting for an unforgettable target.

  I nod, and she laughs. “Caroline couldn’t believe it when Fiona told her!” She leans towards the screen. “I know you’ll be great, Bex. Keep them all in line. Make them listen.”

  I nod again. “I will. And Neesh? Will you do something for me?”

  “Anything I can.”

  “Look after Jake for us?”

  She nods, and her face is serious. “I’ll do my best, Bex.”

  “He has a habit of breaking rules …”

  “… and being an idiot!” Amy finishes Dan’s sentence, and he nods in agreement.

  “I know. I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thanks, Neesh.”

  *****

  There’s no committee meeting today, but Fiona knocks on my door while I’m reading the notes for tomorrow.

  “Hi, Bex. Do you have a moment?” I stand back to let her into the room, and close the door behind her. She looks around, at my bookshelves, and the targets pinned to my noticeboard. “Are those yours?” she asks, pointing at the firing range silhouettes.

  “Yeah.”

  She nods in approval. “The instructor told me you were good, and she wasn’t exaggerating.”

  I offer her the chair, and move a pile of clothes so I can sit on the bed.

  “I wanted to ask you this before the meeting tomorrow. I want to make sure you’re OK with the idea.”

  My stomach sinks. I don’t know what she’s going to say, but I’m sure I’m not going to like it.

  I nod, and wait for her to continue. She looks down at her hands.

  “I want to make sure the resistance cell knows we’re supporting them with this attack. We’re sending them experts to help, and we’re working with them to make sure they have the best chance of success.” She looks up at me. “But I want to send them something more personal.”

  I nod again, holding my breath.

  “I want to send them a message from the Face of the Resistance.”

  I can’t help rolling my eyes. She’s given me a seat on the committee. She’s listened to me, and she knows how committed I am. She’s even complimented me on my shooting abilities.

  But none of that matters. Whatever I do – to Fiona, I’m still the Face of the Resistance.

  “Wait, Bex. I know this isn’t what you want. I know it’s not what you signed up for. But it’s who you are. Like it or not, it’s your face on that poster. It’s your face that people think of when they think about fighting back.”

  I rest my elbows on my knees and put my head in my hands.

  “I’m sorry Bex. But this would really mean a lot to the people on the front line. The people we’re sending into danger.”

  The people I’m sending into danger.

  I shake my head, still cradled in my hands.

  “Something personal. Something encouraging for the people who could give us our trigger attack. The people who could put the coalition on our side.” She pauses, and takes a deep breath. “The people who could help free your mother.”

  Part of me wants to shout. Part of me wants to lash out and pin her to the wall.

  And part of me knows that this attack is as much my responsibility as it is hers. I voted for this. I supported this. The unmissable target was my idea.

  I keep my head down, and run my fingers over my hair, trying to calm myself.

  “Bex?” Her voice is quiet. She sounds concerned.

  “Yeah,” I say, sitting up straight.

  “Will you help?”

  I shrug. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  “I hope it’s more than that, Bex. I hope you can see what a difference you could make.”

  Whatever I do, I have blood on my hands. Whatever I do, someone gets hurt.

  I nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

  She smiles. “Thank you, Bex. We’ll put a script together, tonight, and we’ll record it in the morning. After breakfast?”

  “Fine.”

  “This really will make a difference. Thank you.”

  *****

  The OIE is using me again.

  I close the door behind Fiona and lean back against it, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor. I rest my head on my knees and wait for tears, but they don’t come.

  I feel numb. I feel trapped. I feel as if everything I do has already been decided, been scripted, by someone else. Camp Bishop, Newcastle, Edinburgh. My face on the posters. Wherever I end up, it’s because someone else brought me there. The RTS, the Newcastle cell, the OIE.

  And I’m grateful. I’m grateful that Caroline picked us up before the soldiers did. I’m grateful that the OIE stepped in when we screwed up at the nursing home. I’m grateful that I’m not sitting in a cell in London, wondering when I’ll meet my firing squad.

  I’m paying them back for their help. I’ve joined the committee. I’ve contributed to their discussions. I’m involved again.

  But I don’t want to be the Face of the Resistance. I don’t want to be their front-line doll. I want a gun in my hands, and a target to aim for. I want people to see me when they look at me – not that photo on the posters. I want them to see the books I read, and the targets I can hit. I want them to see peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and card games, and driving into wheelie bins, and Saunders’ sketch on my wall. I want them to see the people I love, and the people who love me. I want them to see Mum, and Dad. Saunders. Dan. Amy, and Margie, and Charlie.

  I don’t want to be their figurehead. I don’t want to be the talking poster they can call on when they want to feel good about themselves – about what they’re doing.

  But I need to rescue Mum. We need this attack. We need the coalition, and we need to fight back.

  So I don’t have a choice. And these people – people I’ve never met, who we’re sending into danger. I owe them something. I’m their inspiration. I helped choose their target. I need to be their cheerleader. I need to let them know that the Face of the Resistance knows their names. Knows what they’re doing for us. Knows how brav
e they’re being.

  I need to do this. I need to follow the script.

  But I think I understand how Jake felt, and what made him steal the gun and the car. It was stupid and it was dangerous, but he couldn’t have shouted louder if he’d tried.

  I am me. See me. Recognise me.

  And don’t assume that I’ll always do as I’m told.

  Employee

  KETTY

  “You’re in luck, Ketty.” Bracken smiles as he walks into the office. “Franks agreed.”

  He puts a folder down on the desk in front of me.

  “Sir?”

  “The Scottish prisoner. We’re authorised to question him and put the footage on PIN.”

  “And the trial?”

  “We’ll see how the Scottish government reacts, first.”

  I can’t help smiling.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  He opens his office door, and turns back to me.

  “Book us a car, Ketty. And tell Belmarsh we’re on our way. No sense in hanging around.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  *****

  “Mr Dewar.”

  The prisoner nods, and watches Bracken carefully. His shoulders are hunched, and his short black hair is unwashed. He drums his fists, rattling his handcuffs against the table.

  This is the employee who wouldn’t speak, during the raid on the shop and the safe house. The man who stared at the soldiers while his colleague told us what we needed to know.

  We’ve run through the questions Bracken needs to ask. There’s a list in a folder on the table, but he hasn’t checked it yet. He’s had coffee and painkillers, and he’s in a surprisingly good mood. Perhaps it’s having something constructive to do.

  Bracken lays out some photos on the table. The front of the shop, the store room, the two upstairs flats. He points at the image of the shop front.

  “Morgana Healthfoods. Can you confirm that you worked there?”

  Dewar looks at the photo, and nods again.

  Come on. Say something. We need the Scottish government to notice you.

  “What was your job?”

  He shrugs.

  “Don’t I get a lawyer, or something?” He looks around the room, still drumming his fists. His voice is quiet, but his accent is unmistakable. I nudge the recording levels up to make sure we catch every word, then go back to watching him through the glass.