“Thirteen, including me.”
“So how is this your fault?”
There’s a lump in my throat, and I can’t manage more than a whisper.
“Because bombing London was my idea, and I voted to let the bombers choose the target.”
Dan holds his hands out towards me. “But that makes it less your fault, Bex. You didn’t choose to hit the South Bank like that. That was the resistance cell.”
“Yes. But they did it because of me.”
“How do you figure that?”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I have to clear my throat to get my voice back.
“I sent them a message. From the Face of the Resistance.”
His eyes narrow. “Fiona made you do that?”
“Fiona asked me to. She said it would mean a lot to the people planting the bombs.”
“What sort of message?”
“A video. I told them to have courage and determination, and that we were supporting their actions.”
He shakes his head. “Fiona is using you. She’s using all of us. We’re the finger she sticks up at London, every day. ‘Look! They’re still here! You still don’t have them.’ I think she does that every morning.” He extends his middle finger, and mimes talking to a mirror. “You can’t have them. They’re all mine.”
And in spite of myself, he makes me laugh.
“I think she does. I think that’s exactly what she does.”
He grins at me. “So we’ve sussed out Fiona, and we’ve worked out that this isn’t your fault …”
“But we haven’t, though. It is my fault. At least part of it.”
“You’re seventeen, Bex! You’re sitting at a table with career politicians and business leaders …” He sees the look on my face. “Former politicians and business leaders. How is any of this your fault?”
I shrug. “They invited me. They asked me to bring a new perspective. I suggested bombing London. I voted with them – I voted the same way they all did.”
“Maybe because it was the right thing to do?” He’s waving his hands in frustration.
My shoulders slump. “Maybe.”
He looks at me. “This is war, Bex. This is real, and it’s messy, and people die. I’ve killed two, maybe three people – and I’d do it again tomorrow if it would save you, or Margie, or Amy.”
I nod. “I know. But there were more than three people under the rubble today.”
He puts his head in his hands and thinks for a moment.
“OK. But what if the attack gets us closer to saving Margie? To saving your Mum?”
I close my eyes. I don’t want to tell him any more. I don’t want to burden him with any more secrets.
But this is important. This makes all the difference.
“I think it does.”
“You’re serious.” I nod. “There’s a connection between this, and breaking our families out of the cells?” I nod again, willing myself not to cry.
He leans his head back again, and I realise there are tears in his eyes, too.
“If that’s true, Bex, then vote for an attack like this every day.”
“We can’t …”
He looks at me. “Yes. We can. It’s all we can do, and it’s everything we can do. Make videos, Bex. Plant bombs. Tear down buildings. I don’t care. Just get us to London, and get us to Margie. Whatever it takes.”
Nightmares
KETTY
I’ve hardly slept.
Every time I close my eyes, I see the flames, and the rubble. The people in the river. The twisted metal. Ambulances and medics and stretchers. Flashing lights and shouted orders. Smoke and dust and water. The faces of the people who didn’t make it. Blood and bones and bodies. The broken windows in the building where I work.
And I imagine myself, running along the river, caught in the explosions. If the bombers had hit a few hours later, if they’d waited for the evening crowds, that could have been me.
I imagine flames, blossoming in front of me. The impossibly loud thunder of explosions all around me. The path, collapsing under my feet, throwing me over and down, into the boiling river. The water and the rubble, ready to catch me as I’m falling.
I jerk awake, cold sweat running down my face.
Come on, Ketty. You’re safe. They didn’t touch you.
It’s five o’clock in the morning, and I know I won’t sleep now. I switch off my alarm, drag myself out of bed, and limp to the kitchen. I make myself some coffee, and carry it to the living room, picking up the remote and switching on PIN as I walk to stand in front of the windows.
I can see the lights from Trafalgar Square – floodlights and the flashing blue of emergency vehicles. They’re still there. Still managing the incident.
What did you do, Conrad? Who did you recruit, and what went wrong?
The newsreader’s voice recaps the events. Casualty numbers, damage, stories of heroic rescues. I glance at the screen, and they’re showing helicopter footage of the area, taken yesterday. I look more closely, and there’s a line of people in fluorescent jackets at the end of Hungerford Bridge.
Congratulations, Ketty. You’re on TV.
I switch it off, and watch the lights from my window.
*****
When I walk up to the Home Forces building, there’s a row of guards in the middle of the road, and a crowd of people behind them on the pavement. I show my ID card, and they let me through. The front doors are closed.
I look around for anyone I recognise, and I catch sight of one of the Privates who handles the document drop outside Bracken’s office. I push my way through the crowd until I can catch his attention.
“Corporal Smith!”
“What’s happening? Why aren’t they letting us in?”
“Building’s not safe. They’re clearing the offices and sending us over the road.” He points towards Whitehall.
I take in the uniforms around us. The lack of senior officers.
“Don’t tell me. Top Brass first?”
He nods, and shrugs.
I look past him to where the street ends on the embankment. The flames are gone, but the smoke and the dust hangs over the river, and the destruction on the far side is obvious, even from this distance. There are blue flashing lights and patrol boats on the water. I can hear the shouts of the rescue teams as they work.
This could be a long morning.
*****
The Terrorism Committee is in emergency session. I sit outside, waiting to be useful.
I’ve been allocated an office in Dover House – one small room, shared with Bracken. The meeting room we’re using is along Whitehall, overlooking Horse Guards Parade. We’ve had to negotiate security checks in both buildings, and a guard escorted us along the pavement. They’ve closed the road to all but military traffic, but it’s still a public space. We need to be sure that no one takes advantage of the chaos to slip through our defences.
The relocation process is a mess, and I need to organise the office and check that everything we need has been brought across. Instead, I’m here, wasting my time. Making sure the committee has a constant supply of coffee and sandwiches.
Thinking about what happened.
The meeting room door opens, and Conrad steps into the hallway. Without looking round, he sinks into the seat next to mine and leans his head against the wall, his hands over his face.
At least I’m not the only one on Lee’s list of failures.
I should ignore him, but I can’t help myself. This is his mistake. It’s my turn to mock him.
“Trouble, David?”
He drops his hands and looks at me.
“What do you think?”
I give him a smug smile. “I think you screwed up.”
He puts his hands over his face again, and groans.
Not so much fun when you’re the one in trouble, is it?
I keep my voice quiet, still smiling. “They took your toys, didn’t they – the bombers? They took the
bait, but they didn’t follow the plan.” He doesn’t react. “Where was the target, David? Where were the bombs supposed to explode?” I lean in closer. “Which city was supposed to be dealing with this?”
“You don’t have the clearance for this conversation, Corporal.”
I nod. “True. But I know what you do.” I watch him, his eyes closed behind his fingers. “And I spent yesterday afternoon carrying stretchers and rescuing people who were never supposed to get hurt.” He shakes his head. “So what went wrong? And how did they get so close to us?”
He mumbles something about suitcase bombs, and patrols. This side of the river is too well guarded, so the London Eye is as close as they could get to the Home Forces building without attracting attention.
I close my eyes, and I see my nightmares again. The ground opening up under my feet.
I lean towards him and hiss into his ear. “That should have been us, David. They were aiming for us.”
He nods, his eyes still closed, hands still covering his face.
“I know, Ketty. I know.”
*****
“Coffee, Sir?”
“Thank you, Ketty.”
I put the cup down on Bracken’s desk, and hand him two painkillers. He swallows them without comment.
“Do we know what happened?”
He shakes his head. “We know who attacked us, if that’s what you mean. Some resistance group from Canterbury. PIN will be putting their faces all over the news this evening.” He looks up at me. “You might want to keep your interrogation clips short again today.”
Really, Sir? Because that’s what we need to focus on right now.
“Noted, Sir.”
He rests his forehead on his hand, elbow on the table.
“That could have been us, Ketty.” His voice is quiet. “It was supposed to be us.”
I nod. “I know, Sir.”
“We could have been …”
“I know.”
“… with our own weapons.”
I keep quiet.
He drops his hand and looks at me. “Things are going to change, Ketty. We need to be ready.”
I pull my chair over and sit down across the desk from him. “What’s changing, Sir?”
He waves a hand, dismissing my question. “This is above your pay grade, Corporal.” He doesn’t meet my eyes.
“I understand that, Sir. But I’d like to help.”
You keep your job, and I keep mine. Let’s work together on this.
He runs his hands through his hair, then leans forward, his elbows on his desk.
“Expect a lot more trials, Ketty. A lot more prisoners. A lot more soldiers on the street.” He sighs, and looks down at the desk. “And a lot more bombings.”
“Sir?”
“This attack gives Franks and Lee another excuse to keep people afraid.” He shakes his head, and sits back in his chair. “Things are going to get worse before they get better.”
Trigger
BEX
Charlie’s friend is leaving her room as I step into the corridor in the morning. He’s about Charlie’s age, with long, black hair tied back in a pony tail. He brushes one hand over his head, and holds the other out to me to shake.
“I’m Maz, by the way,” he says.
“Bex,” I say, shaking his hand. His accent is gorgeous.
“I know.” He grins. “Face of the Resistance. Charlie’s told me all about you.”
“Then you know I hate it when people call me that.”
He makes a face. “Yeah. Sorry. My bad.” We stand in silence for a moment. “So – are you heading for breakfast?” I nod. “Walk with me, then, Bex-of-the-Resistance.”
I can’t help smiling at that. “OK.” I look back. “Is Charlie coming?”
“She’ll be along.” He checks his watch. “Actually, I should hurry. I was due in the kitchen half an hour ago.” He makes another face.
I realise where I’ve seen him before. “You’re the chef!”
He nods. “That’s me.”
“So it’s your fault that Dan spends every lunchtime complaining!” I can’t help laughing. Talking to Maz is a good distraction from thinking about yesterday.
“Hey! What did I do to Dan?”
“Sandwiches, Maz. Your sandwiches are terrible.”
He looks at me with mock offence. “That’s fighting talk, Bex-of-the-Resistance. And what’s that to Dan?”
“Sandwiches are sort of his thing.” I wave my hand. “Don’t ask.”
He smiles. “I’ll have to talk to him. Get some ideas.”
“I’ve been telling him to do that for ages!”
“Seriously, though – I agree with him. It’s impossible to make good sandwiches, here. No time, limited budget. I’m sure, if we put our heads together, we could come up with something better.”
“You should definitely do that. It would make my lunchtimes so much less stressful.”
“I’ll remember that.”
He holds the outside door open for me, and we cross to the main building.
“So, you and Charlie?”
He smiles. “And what’s it to you?”
“She’s a special person, Maz. Be good to her.”
He nods. “Oh, I know she is. Trust me, Bex. I know a good thing when I see it.”
“So you’re serious?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, Rugrat, but yes. I’m serious.”
“Rugrat? I’m hardly …”
He grins. “I’m serious, Bex. Stop worrying.”
I grin back, as he holds the door open for me. “OK, but I’m watching you. No messing with my friends. Do you hear?”
“I hear. And I’ve seen your poster, so I know you’re dangerous.”
“You bet.”
He leaves me at the dining room door, and hurries down the corridor to the kitchen.
*****
Amy is at the table when I arrive, a mug of coffee in her hands.
“Bex! Where is everyone?”
I sit down next to her. “Dan and I were up late, talking. His door was closed when I walked past just now, so I let him sleep. And Charlie was up late …”
Amy grins. “I know! Isn’t it cute? She has a boyfriend!”
“I’ve just made his acquaintance.”
“What’s he like?”
“Oh, I think we’ll be enemies forever.” She looks shocked. “He called me the Face of the Resistance.”
“Well, in that case, I hate him too.”
I can’t help laughing at the expression on her face. “Don’t worry. He apologised. I think he’s OK.”
“Who’s OK?” Charlie pulls up the chair opposite me, and I can feel my cheeks turning pink.
“Maz?”
She raises her eyebrows. “So you two have met properly then?”
“He walked me over here.”
She smiles. “I shall have words with him about walking other women to breakfast.”
I smile back. “He seems nice.”
“He is.”
“And I warned him not to mess you around.”
She laughs. “I’m sure he’ll take that to heart.”
*****
Dan joins us as I’m finishing my toast.
“Welcome to the land of the living,” says Charlie, as Dan yawns.
“Didn’t you sleep?”
He looks at me. “Did you?”
I nod. “A bit.”
He shrugs, and sips his coffee.
“Sorry, Dan. I didn’t mean to keep you awake …”
He waves his hand. “It’s not your fault, Bex. You just started me thinking, and then I couldn’t stop.” He yawns again. “You’re OK, though?”
“Yeah. Thanks. I think I am.”
There’s a noise behind me, and Charlie looks over my shoulder to the door.
“Uh-oh.” She says, quietly. “Something’s happening.”
I look back. There are people crowding into the room. Committee members, staff. People I�
�ve seen around but never properly met.
And there’s Fiona, pushing through the crowd.
She claps her hands and shouts.
“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”
The room falls silent, conversations trailing off. Even the kitchen noises stop, and Maz and his team appear at the serving hatch to listen.
“We’ve all seen the footage of yesterday’s attack in London.”
People are nodding, and commenting quietly.
“I have an announcement to make.”
I put my mug down on the table, and try to catch my breath. My hands are shaking, and my stomach is knotting, and I know what she’s going to say.
“For a while now, we’ve been trying to assemble a coalition. A group of allies who will fight with us. Who will help us to reclaim the UK, and restore democracy.” I look up. Everyone at my table is staring at me. I shake my head, and look down at my plate.
“The negotiations have taken time, and a lot of work. We had twenty countries who agreed to sign up, if the time was right. And we’ve been waiting for that time.
“Yesterday, the world witnessed a terrible attack in the heart of London.” I close my eyes. I don’t want to hear this. “Yesterday, the pieces fell into place. I have been in contact with all twenty countries, and I am extremely proud to announce that all twenty have agreed to fight with us.”
People are shouting, and whooping, and clapping. I sit very still, my hands pressed against the table and my eyes closed.
“We have met all their criteria. We have proved that the government is running false flag attacks in the UK. We have proved that the people want us to liberate them. And we have with us a figurehead to bring the armies together. We have the Face of the Resistance.”
People are clapping and cheering. Amy nudges me. “Smile, Bex! That’s you!”
I nod, but I don’t move. I keep my hands on the table and my eyes closed.
“And now, the government has shown what they are capable of. Now, we’ve seen exactly what they are willing to do to keep the people afraid.
“Yesterday’s attack marks a turning point. All twenty governments agreed that this cannot continue.” She raises her voice. “We have our coalition. We are ready to march on London!”
Fighting Back (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 4) Page 24