Underdogs

by Chris Bonnello

  Ewan had expected screams, but instead he found silence. Charlie raised his weapon. Shannon cowered. McCormick placed himself in front of her.

  Alex shuffled to one side, irritated at being on generator duty at just the wrong moment, and vanished back down the tunnel.

  ‘Charlie,’ said McCormick, ‘talk to me.’

  ‘She’s a bloody spy, we have proof!’

  Ewan checked Shannon’s face in an attempt to read her reactions, but doubted he’d do a good job of it. In front of her, McCormick looked concerned but not panicked.

  ‘And you think that gun will help matters?’ McCormick asked.

  ‘Shut up, you hypocrite – you lead an army! Ewan, show him what’s in your hand.’

  Ewan looked down. He had forgotten the list was still in his grip. With a sigh, he unfolded the paper and handed it to McCormick. The man’s expression grew even more concerned, but there was still no worry in his face.

  Shannon, however, had turned pure white. Like Kate during a panic attack.

  ‘It’s up to date,’ said Ewan. ‘It’s even got Daniel as being dead. What was that, three weeks ago?’

  We didn’t even know for sure he was dead, he thought. He just went missing on a raid. Nice way of having the news broken.

  ‘You try telling me that’s not from New London,’ shouted Charlie.

  McCormick gave the armoury a five-second silence, and turned around.

  ‘Are you OK, Shannon?’ he asked.

  Ewan had to stop his jaw from falling open. Charlie did not stop his own.

  Shannon gave no response, her eyes fixed on the gun held by an impulsive fifteen-year-old.

  ‘Charlie,’ said McCormick, ‘nothing good will come from you holding that. Stop and think.’

  ‘I am thinking! Far more than you!’

  ‘If you were thinking,’ said McCormick with a smile, ‘you’d have remembered the guns here are empty. The bullets are locked away.’

  The look on Charlie’s face would have been priceless, if so much weren’t at stake. He shook the pistol up and down, as if trying to gauge its weight, and then lobbed it across the armoury where it clattered against the shotguns.

  ‘Take a moment, mate,’ Ewan said. ‘He’s right. There’s a way of sorting this, but it has to be cleverer than that.’

  Charlie stared at his best friend, and offered no words. A scornful stare, but nothing unexpected. The tunnel door opened and Alex re-entered the cellar, apparently feeling safe to do so now the pistol was gone.

  ‘Ewan,’ he asked, as if his vanishing act never took place, ‘what happened to the good old days? Back when you guys were the Temper Twins? You and him, peas in a pod. Setting each other off, exploding together. Now you just calm him down all the time. Did you grow up and stop having fun or something?’

  ‘Not the time, Alex.’

  ‘You do realise Charlie just cancelled out a whole night of McCormick’s people-building magic?’ Alex asked, ignorant of Shannon’s position right next to him.

  ‘Alex, shut up,’ yelled Charlie, ‘or I’ll ram your teeth so far down your throat you’ll need a toothbrush for your–’

  ‘Take a walk, Charlie,’ barked Ewan.

  Charlie’s face shot back towards him with widening eyes.

  ‘Seriously,’ Ewan finished. ‘Now’s the time to walk away.’

  ‘Don’t you ever speak to me like a child…’

  ‘I’m giving you advice. Walk away and find a quiet room. This isn’t how we do things.’

  ‘I don’t care!’

  ‘That’s funny,’ said Alex. ‘You seem to be not caring very loudly.’

  Charlie vanished before Ewan could breathe another word. Stomping as loudly as he could across the cellar’s concrete floor, he marched to the stairs and slammed an open palm against the wall with as much noise as he could manage.

  ‘What’s his problem?’ asked Alex. ‘Oh yeah. Forgot for a second.’

  ‘Give him time,’ said McCormick. ‘We’ll get the real him back.’

  ‘You know, word for word that’s exactly what you say every time he does this.’

  ‘And I’m always right.’

  Ewan gave half a smile, and chose to ignore McCormick’s clumsy wording. Charlie’s difficulties were very much a part of the ‘real’ him, even if they weren’t a part of the calmer him. But Ewan appreciated what the old man was trying to mean.

  Most days I’d swap with Charlie, though. People spent years believing ADHD just meant bad behaviour. I wouldn’t mind being seen as badly behaved, rather than violent or just plain evil.

  ‘Shannon,’ McCormick repeated, ‘are you OK?’

  Shannon took a string of long breaths, tears filling her eyes. She gave no response. Ewan walked up to her with his softest footsteps, and did his best to sound sympathetic.

  ‘Charlie’s not a bad guy,’ he started, ‘he’s just worried. I don’t blame him, to be fair. We want to keep you safe, Shannon, but you have to let us know what that list is about.’

  Ewan looked to McCormick, as if for approval, but the man’s eyes were fixed on Shannon. One of his hands lay on her shoulder, although it didn’t seem to calm her down.

  Ewan turned around and headed for the stairs out of the cellar. His Temper Twin needed calming down, and sooner was better than later.

  ‘I can destroy the clones,’ Shannon said.

  The sentence was followed by a lingering silence, as Ewan turned around to find McCormick and even Alex speechless.

  ‘Every last one,’ she whispered, her eyes fixed to the ground. ‘Just hide me.’

  There was no intonation in her voice. Ewan couldn’t even make out an accent.

  ‘How?’ he asked.

  ‘Do we have a deal?’

  ‘Shannon… we need to know about that list. About whether we’re safe.’

  Shannon kept her face lowered. Her faint words didn’t even bother to echo off the cellar walls.

  ‘Every last clone. Dead. And you keep me a secret, no questions asked. That’s the deal.’

  Chapter 4

  A few hours ago she was cowering in the clinic with Lorraine and Kate. Now she’s leading a strike team meeting.

  Either she’s braver than anyone I’ve ever met, or she seriously wants something.

  Ewan cast an eye over the living room sofas. Seven people were present including Shannon, but it didn’t feel crowded. Back when Spitfire’s Rise held thirty-something freedom fighters, it had been much harder to find a spot on the sofa.

  McCormick sat next to Shannon, as expected. They were joined by most of the strike team from the evening’s aborted mission: Kate, Alex, Jack, and Silent Simon.

  Charlie was missing, still collecting himself somewhere.

  ‘Shannon,’ started McCormick, ‘we’re listening.’

  Shannon’s gaze had not lifted from her bandaged feet since they’d left the armoury, and her voice would not rise beyond a whisper.

  ‘All of New London’s clones will die, and you’ll keep me a secret. No questions asked. Deal?’

  ‘For the last time, deal,’ said Alex.

  When nobody else spoke, Shannon looked around. Ewan nodded in her direction, but she remained silent until everyone else had nodded too. She even looked at Silent Simon for his reaction, staring into his face until she got the eventual nod.

  That surprised Ewan. People tended to ignore Simon, or ask others for opinions on his behalf, thinking that those with Down’s Syndrome were incapable of self-advocacy. Ewan wanted to believe that Shannon was one of those rare people who understood special needs, but he knew deep down that she just wanted to be one hundred per cent sure of everyone’s compliance.

  ‘There’s a kill switch for the clone factory,’ Shannon began, ‘to shut it down, in case of emergencies. It’s somewhere on Floor F.’

  ‘Why would Grant ever shut down his own factories?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Everything needs a failsafe,’ said Jack, starting his finger-flicking stim again. ‘Ev
en spaceships have self-destruct mechanisms. And Grant wouldn’t create an army of clones without giving himself the last word, in case they go haywire or something. Go on, Shannon.’

  ‘It’s like stopping the press on a newspaper,’ she whispered. ‘It halts clone production until someone flips the switch back. But I know how to stop it forever.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ asked Ewan.

  ‘No questions asked.’

  Ewan bit his lip. He had never been good with leaps of faith. Trust was good, but knowledge was better.

  ‘Do we at least get to know how to do it?’ asked Alex.

  ‘Once you’ve flipped the kill switch, you use a tool that… that my friend made.’

  ‘What friend?’

  ‘No questions asked.’

  Ewan disguised an exasperated sigh. Alex didn’t bother. Jack tried to hide his frustration, but didn’t do it well. Simon followed his usual habit of gazing at everyone else’s faces for instructions on how to react.

  It had been easy to forget Simon was even in the room, and not just because of his silence. At every school Ewan had ever been sent to, in every class he had ever endured, there were kids who almost weren’t there. It took extra effort to remember their names, and their absence was rarely noticed when they fell ill. Silent Simon was only the exception because of his Down’s Syndrome, a condition that was almost literally written across his face. People looked at Simon and saw his condition before his personality. Most barely recognised he could even have a personality and a disability at the same time.

  His selective muteness didn’t help either. It left the door wide open for other people’s assumptions to define him.

  That’s what adults think of selective mutes. If you don’t talk, you must be stupid. Even without Down’s Syndrome, Simon never had a shot at mainstream to begin with.

  ‘So… we need the tool and we need to get to the kill switch,’ said Kate. ‘You’ve got the tool with you, right?’

  ‘It’s with… it’s with Keith.’

  Ewan leant backwards into the sofa and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. His first reaction was annoyance at the thought of walking all the way back to Sandridge just to raid Tylor’s body. His second was frustration: earlier that evening he had been metres from a tool that could destroy the clone factory, only to walk home without it.

  His third reaction was surprise, upon realising that Shannon had called Tylor by his first name.

  How well did you know each other before you stabbed the life out of him?

  ‘It’s in his backpack,’ she continued. ‘If he knew what it was, he’d have destroyed it. But once you have it, you go to Floor F. The sixth-highest storey.’

  ‘We know the alphabet,’ said Jack.

  ‘Most of them do, anyway,’ added Alex.

  ‘Then you use the failsafe and switch off the clone factory. While it’s down, you use the tool and kill it forever.’

  ‘What kind of tool is it?’ asked Jack. ‘Some kind of grenade, or–’

  ‘No questions asked,’ Shannon whispered. ‘I’ll tell you what it is when I know I’m safe.’

  ‘You are safe, Shannon,’ said McCormick unexpectedly. Ewan was pretty sure it was the man’s first sentence since the beginning. While everyone else had been interrupting and asking questions, a lifetime’s experience of guiding people had taught McCormick that listening was more useful than talking. It was an art that Ewan was trying for himself, but found surprisingly difficult.

  ‘Not to be pedantic,’ said Alex, ‘but the deal involved us killing every clone. Not just the factory.’

  ‘Clones only live for four months. By August, they’ll all be gone.’

  ‘By August they’ll have brought in reinforcements from New Reading.’

  ‘Take it or leave it.’

  Without warning, Shannon stood up and headed for the door. Before anyone could raise an eyebrow in surprise, her footsteps were sounding on the stairs.

  Wow, for a traumatised girl she’s bloody uncompromising.

  ‘Ewan,’ said McCormick with a reserved expression, ‘you’re head soldier. What are you thinking?’

  Ewan was caught between the comfort of getting to call the shots, and the discomfort of being forced to call them. But once he had dealt with the conflict, the decision was easy. Wars were never won by staying at home.

  ‘Screw it,’ he said. ‘Let’s at least go back to Sandridge and see if the tool exists. If Shannon doesn’t feel like talking when we’re there, we’ll come home.’

  ‘Sounds sensible,’ said McCormick. ‘Same team?’

  ‘Yeah,’ answered Ewan, rising to his feet. ‘Let’s keep it simple.’

  Simple, he thought to himself as he left the room. Getting Charlie to do stuff is never simple.

  Ewan hopped up the stairs and was three feet from the boys’ bedroom when the door opened next to his face. Raj walked out with uncomfortable eyes, trying to hide his obvious feelings until the bedroom door closed behind him.

  Raj Singh, the lad who spent half his life talking about God (although the others still weren’t sure which religion he actually followed) and the other half showing off the positives of being dyslexic, was pretty clever for a guy who could barely read. But probably not as clever as he thought he was. In the last few minutes he had probably done his usual thing: poked his nose into someone’s business and tried to solve a problem beyond his capability.

  ‘He’s in there,’ said Raj, ‘and not keen on talking. Wish I hadn’t asked now.’

  ‘Give me a few minutes with him.’

  ‘Good luck with that, mate.’

  ‘It’s never luck. But thanks.’

  Raj forged a smile, and headed down the stairs as fast as he could manage. Drawing a deep breath, Ewan brushed the door open.

  Charlie was crying. Ewan sunk his eyes.

  Just like Oakenfold again. Even with a nice big staff team, it was usually me sorting him out.

  ‘This is my room too,’ Charlie said bluntly, ‘so get the hell out.’

  ‘Is that what you said to Raj? “Get the hell out”?’

  ‘No, he chose to leave! Doesn’t matter what I said!’

  Ewan took a seat next to Charlie’s sleeping bag. On any other day he’d have waited for calm, but tonight he didn’t have time. The strike team would be gone in fifteen minutes, and Charlie deserved an opportunity to change his mind.

  He looked at his friend on the floor, knees tucked up to his chest and trembling. Four days away from his sixteenth birthday, he still looked like a short problematic schoolchild.

  ‘Talk to me, Charlie.’

  ‘You don’t trust me!’ he yelled, his speech interspersed with hiccups and sniffs. ‘You tell me I’m useless!’

  ‘I’ve never said that in my life. And you know it.’

  ‘But you take McCormick’s side every time, you let Alex take the mick, but you send me to my room like a naughty little boy! Even Thomas gets treated more like a grown-up than I do, and I hate…’

  Charlie’s words trailed off, and he finished his sentence by thumping a clenched fist against the dusted carpet. Even then, he could not claim to hate his friends. He turned his head away from Ewan, either too angry or embarrassed to reveal his face.

  Did I used to look like this too? Back when we were the Temper Twins?

  A little part of Ewan didn’t hate the label anymore. It had a brotherly feel to it.

  ‘Charlie, you’re not going to believe what Shannon said after you left.’

  ‘Yeah, as if she spoke. She couldn’t beat Simon in a karaoke contest.’

  Humour. That’s a good step.

  Charlie had begun to steady his breathing. His mood was far from normal, but the physical side of his meltdown had faded. It was time for Ewan to make a decision.

  Was Charlie useful on the battleground? Without question. He had saved enough lives in the past.

  Did his behaviour affect the mood of the team? Sometimes.

  Did his
outbursts put himself or others in danger? Not so far.

  With so few soldiers left, Ewan couldn’t afford to be selective. His friend was coming.

  ‘Mate, we’re going out again. What would you say if I invited you along?’

  ‘I’d tell you to leave me the hell alone.’

  ‘It’d be like these last few minutes never happened.’

  ‘And I’d still tell you to leave me the hell alone.’

  Years of experience told Ewan that his friend was only refusing in order to make a point – one he would regret the moment the squad left without him.

  This isn’t getting me anywhere. Time to put my magic to use.

  Ewan reached into his brain, and replaced friendship mode with manipulation mode.

  He stopped short of telling me he hates us. That’s the line he doesn’t want to cross. I’ll use that.

  ‘We’ll leave you the hell alone then. And when one of us is gunned down and you aren’t there to protect them, we’ll be sure to remember it’s all because you hate us.’

  Charlie spun his head back to Ewan, offence spread from one end of his face to the other.

  ‘No I don’t!’

  ‘You do. You’re just not admitting it.’

  ‘You guys are idiots at times, but I don’t hate you!’

  ‘Pity you won’t be able to tell us that while you’re stuck at home and the rest of us are getting shot for you. If any of us die, we’ll die believing you hate–’

  ‘Then screw you all! They can believe what they want!’

  He’s getting defiant. He can defy me too while he’s at it.

  ‘People always believe what they want, Charlie. Shame you won’t get a chance to prove them wrong, either. See you in a few days.’

  ‘Sod that. I’m coming too.’

  ‘You’re not, Charlie.’

  ‘Try and stop me.’

  Charlie leapt up to find the shoes he had kicked against the wall, and Ewan hid the smile that tried to emerge on his face. As Charlie readied himself for combat at a speed only he could manage, Ewan walked to the bedroom door and paused halfway out. Now that Charlie was determined to join the strike team again, no force on Earth could stop him. Ewan could afford to reach back into his brain and become Charlie’s friend again.