He hangs his head, and stares at the white hotel sheets.
“That’s not dark, Bex. That’s brave. You know you can step into danger to save the people you care about. You know you won’t run away. You know you can protect them, no matter what.”
I nod, leaning back and staring at the wall behind him.
He’s turning the gun in my hands into something positive. Turning shooting people into something good.
I can’t see it. I can’t accept it.
He looks at me.
“OK. Try this.” I sit up straight. “Every time you find yourself thinking about the people you shot, and feeling bad, flip it around.”
“How?”
“Don’t think about the people you shot. Think about the people you saved.”
“I can’t …”
“You can. Make yourself. When you’re lying awake, and you’re seeing the bullets, think about Margie instead. Think about the last thing you said to her, yesterday. Think about the last time she hugged you, or laughed with you. Think about finding clothes for her to wear, and eating sandwiches in the park.”
It feels too easy. It feels cheap, when people have died because of me.
“Does that work?”
He gives me a serious look. “It works for me.”
And I know he means it. I’m one of the people he saved. Thinking of me, of Margie, of the rest of us – that’s what’s keeping Dan going.
I think of Margie – Dan and his armour protecting her on the stage. I think of Dr Richards. I think of the firing squad, their bullets pushing me back as I tried to stop them. Their armour, useless against my Armour-Piercing rounds.
I shake my head. My rifle taking their lives is all I can see.
I know he’s right. I know I need to focus on my friends. On the people who are here, because of me.
Margie. Dr Richards. Dan, his armour cracking and denting under the rain of bullets.
He’s watching me. Watching my reaction.
I shake my head, and I can’t meet his eyes.
“If that doesn’t work, then think about me, Bex. Think about how happy I am that Margie’s alive.”
I stare at him, trying to push the memories from my mind. He breaks into a grin, and I can’t help laughing.
I pull a face. “I’d rather not, Dan!”
His grin widens, and his cheeks start to turn pink.
I hold up my hand. “I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know!”
I pull the pillow from behind me, and throw it at him.
There’s a knock at the door, and Margie’s standing there, just in time to see me throw a second pillow.
“Are you guys coming down …?”
She gives us an appraising look, and raises an eyebrow, smiling.
“Oh, I see how it is. Are we torturing Dan?” I nod. “Can anyone join in?”
I pat the other side of the bed. “Absolutely. Just make sure you bring a pillow.”
She picks up a cushion from the sofa, slips off her shoes, and crawls into the bed next to me.
“Is this for throwing, or for self defence?” She looks around. “We don’t seem to have many pillows left.”
Dan is ducking down, the pillows I’ve thrown stacked in front of him like a fort.
And suddenly I’m laughing, and crying, and Margie has her arms round me, and Dan is stealing all the cushions from the sofa, and I can’t believe we’re here. We’ve come from safe houses, and cells, and the cruelty of an execution platform to this gorgeous room. We’re here and we’re alive.
And Dan’s arms are round me, and it’s just the three of us – alive, laughing, and half buried under a pile of pillows.
Interview
Ketty
“You’re a popular prisoner.” The nurse puts down my breakfast tray and checks the drip in my arm. “You’ve got another visitor booked in later.”
I look up at her. “Another interrogation.”
She nods. “Let me guess. Bed bath, sweatshirt, blanket, hairbrush?”
I can’t help smiling. I feel as if there’s someone on my side.
“Yes, please.”
She checks her watch. “I’ll be back in half a hour.”
*****
I wait until she’s behind the curtains, then pull the needle from my arm, using the napkin from the tray to clean away the blood.
I can’t afford to answer more questions with morphine. I can hardly remember what we talked about yesterday.
I need to be awake. I need to understand what I’m being asked.
What I need to say.
I’m leaning back against the pillows when the nurse comes back. She glares at me, picking up the needle.
“You have got to stop doing this, Corporal.”
“I don’t need …”
“You do. I was here when they brought you in, and no one screams like that over a paper cut. I’ll fetch another drip.”
I shake my head. “Not until after I’ve spoken to my visitor.”
She folds her arms. “You are one stubborn woman, Katrina Smith.”
I give her a smile. “I’ve heard that before.”
“I’m sure you have.”
She picks up the breakfast tray and walks out, leaving the curtain open to the corridor outside.
And I realise – there’s no one left who knows this about me. There’s no one left who knows what I’ve done. What it’s taken to get myself this far.
Bracken’s gone. Jackson’s gone. Lee’s gone. Conrad is … who cares where Conrad is? He’s gone.
I’m starting over. Whatever happens next, I’m starting again. There’s no shorthand with anyone. No common ground. There’s no one who knows what I’m thinking. There’s no one who saw me push myself to walk again, after Dan put his bullet in my knee.
And I have to push myself all over again. I have to work up through the wheelchair, the crutches, the painkillers and the limping, and I have to do it here. Behind bars.
I feel sick. I feel angry. All that effort, all that pain, all over again.
And there’s no one here who understands.
There’s no one left who knows me at all.
I’m crying, suddenly. Big choking sobs. I try to breathe, to calm down, but the tears keep coming.
I’m crying for Bracken. I’m crying for Lee. I’m crying for a life where I knew what was expected of me.
Fetch the coffee, bring the painkillers, keep Bracken on his feet. Argue with Conrad. Try to impress Franks.
But most of all, I’m crying for Jackson.
Jackson, who knew what I could do, and always challenged me to do more. To be better.
My friend, who would sit here and mock me for getting myself beaten up by a bunch of girls. Who would hunt them all down and help me take revenge.
Who understood me.
Come on, Ketty. This is pathetic.
When the nurse comes back, I’m still crying, and the top of my T-shirt is wet with tears.
She watches me, arms folded. “This is why you need the morphine.”
I look up at her, laughing and crying at the same time. “This is the morphine. This is why I don’t want it.”
*****
She closes the curtain and helps me to wash, and change into clean clothes. She gives me an ice-cold cloth to hold over my eyes, and hands me the hairbrush and a mirror. I pull my hair into a pony tail, and straighten my sweatshirt. She brings me a blanket to cover my legs.
“How do you feel?”
I nod. She doesn’t need to know that my knee is pounding with every heartbeat. That I’m clenching my fists to distract me from the pain.
There’s the click of high heels in the corridor outside, and someone calls my name.
The nurse turns, and opens the curtains.
“In here.”
Next interrogation, Ketty. This time without the painkillers.
*****
A smartly dressed woman walks into the booth, holding out her hand for me to shake. I u
nclench my fist, and hold my hand up to her. She has a businesslike grip – firm, and confident. She pushes the table away, sits down on the stool, and puts her briefcase on the floor.
“Katrina Smith?” I nod. “I’m Fiona Price. Chairman of the Opposition In Exile.”
I raise my eyebrows. This woman, and her organisation, have been at the top of our Wanted list since I came to London. She’s been hiding in Edinburgh, and sheltering my escaped recruits. She sent Jake Taylor to the Netherlands to get him out of facing trial in London. She rescued Bex and Dan, and the others, and used the Scottish Government to protect them.
She’s part of the coalition, and the invasion. She wants to be the next Prime Minister.
What does she want with you, Ketty?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Corporal Smith.”
I nod again, waiting for her questions. Waiting to find out why she’s here. Willing myself to ignore the pain.
She folds her hands on her knees.
“I hear that you’re the power behind the Terrorism Committee.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Colonel Bracken. Alcoholic. Should have drunk his way out of a job months ago, but you kept him going.”
I nod. I don’t know what to say.
“Hiding the bottles. Cleaning his flat. Keeping him in coffee and painkillers. Very commendable, Corporal.” She gives me a cold look. “Why did you do it?”
I have no idea how to answer.
Keep it simple, Ketty. Don’t give her anything she can use against you.
“That was my job, Madam Chairman.”
She nods. “And was it your job to help him with interrogations?”
“Sometimes.”
“And what would you say your strengths are, in the interrogation room?”
I’m speechless again. Every question is thrown like a punch. Is she trying to confuse me? Is she trying to push me into a confession?
If so, what is she hoping to hear?
“I suppose I ask the right questions?”
“I think you do more than that.” She watches me again, and I try to keep the surprise from my face. “I think you know how to drill down. I think you know how to ask, and keep asking.” She leans towards me. “I think you understand how people think, and what they’re afraid of.”
She sits back on her stool. She hasn’t consulted any notes, and I realise she isn’t recording our conversation.
What does she want?
She gives me another cold look. “Let’s talk about Margaret Watson.”
I close my eyes for a moment, shaking my head.
This doesn’t end well, Ketty.
“You were coordinating the trial?”
“I was to begin with. I had to hand it over.”
She nods. “To Corporal Conrad, I understand?”
How does she know all this?
“Yes.”
“And what do you think you brought to the arrangements?”
This is it. This is the confession she wants.
I can’t look at her. I can’t meet her eyes and incriminate myself. I’d rather take my chances in here than walk into whatever show trial she has lined up for me.
The pain in my knee is growing, a chain of hammer blows in time with my pulse.
She’s waiting for an answer.
I shrug. “We wanted to catch people’s attention. We wanted to distract them from everything else that was going on. We needed a show, and I worked with PIN to make that happen.”
I slump back on my pillows. I’ve said what she pushed me to say. I need painkillers, and I need to stop talking.
She nods. “That fits with what Conrad told me.”
She’s spoken to Conrad.
And now she’s speaking to me.
And she wants me to confess.
I force myself to sit up straight, fighting to keep my voice calm.
“I’m sorry, Madam Chairman, but I don’t understand. What is it you want me to say? What do you want to hear? Is there something I can help you with, or are you just waiting for me to admit to something criminal? I’m in a barely tolerable amount of pain, and I’d like to know where this interrogation is heading.”
I sit back again.
This is it. This is where I find out what she’s putting me on trial for. What charges I’ll have to answer.
She smiles.
“You misunderstand me, Corporal. I’ve spoken to Corporal Conrad, and I’ve spoken to Colonel Ryan. I’ve had access to your previous interrogations, and the ones you ran at Belmarsh.
“This isn’t an interrogation. I’m here to offer you a job.”
Campaign
Bex
“So. Free day!” Dan leans back on the sofa and grins. “What will we do with ourselves?”
“And Fiona’s out all day?” Amy sounds excited.
“All day.” I shake my head. “But we can’t do anything crazy. She wants us rested and ready for tomorrow.”
“How hard can it be, sitting round a table on TV and talking about ourselves?” Dan’s grinning again.
“I’m serious, Dan. She really needs this. She needs us to make a good impression.”
He nods. “We could go out.” He looks around the room. “We could go anywhere!”
“We could go to the cinema! Or we could go shopping again. Or have another picnic!”
Margie looks at Amy. “Have you looked out of the window? You’ll have soggy sandwiches if you try that today.” A smile creeps across her face, and she turns to Dan. “We should have a party. Your parents are at work today, right?” Dan nods. “Let’s go to your house! Let’s have a party while they’re out!”
Dan holds his hands out. “Why can’t we party here? Look at this place. This is asking for the biggest Rock’n’Roll party in history. We could trash the room, and throw the TV out of the window …”
“Hey! That’s my room you’re talking about! Trash your own room!”
He grins at me. “Spoilsport!”
“Anyway,” I say, thinking this through. “If we go out, we have to take the armed guards with us. And Margie’s right – the weather’s horrible.” I pick up the TV remote from the bedside table. “But Dan’s right, too. This is a great place to spend a rainy day. We’ve got room service, and the hotel has thousands of movies we can watch.”
“Duvet day!” Dan punches the air. “Junk food and movies! Genius, Bex. And Fiona gets to pay the bill.”
*****
“Mum?”
She puts down the book she’s reading, and pushes herself towards the door. “Bex. Have you worked out what you’re doing with your day off?”
I shrug. “Staying here. Watching movies. Calling room service.”
“All of you?”
“Pretty much. You can join us, if you want.”
She smiles, and takes my hands as the door closes behind me.
“I’m happy here. You and your friends need some time together, without Fiona scheduling everything that happens. Go and enjoy yourselves!”
“We’ll be next door, if you need anything.”
“I’m fine, Bex. I have a phone.” She winks at me. “I can order room service, too.”
I nod, but I don’t move. I don’t let go of her hands. I feel as if there’s a weight on my shoulders. As if I’m wasting my day.
I’m so used to being Fiona’s puppet – to meeting people and posing for photos and saying all the right things – I don’t know what to do when I’m not following her schedule.
“What’s wrong, beautiful girl?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
She squeezes my hands. “You’re stopping. You’ve got a whole day to yourself for the first time since we got here. That’s hard, Bex.” I nod. “Everything that’s happened – it’s going to catch up with you. Fiona’s been keeping you busy, and that’s not just for her benefit. She’s keeping you distracted, too. She doesn’t want you to have time to think about what happened.”<
br />
“So what do I do?”
“Go and sit with your friends. Go and watch terrible movies and eat junk food.” She pulls my hands towards her. “But do it together, Bex. Do something with your friends that doesn’t involve telling your story.” She smiles at me. “Enjoy yourself. Allow yourself to enjoy your day. You need this, and your friends need it, too. Go and forget about everything else.”
I squeeze her hands, and let go, nodding. “Thanks, Mum. I’ll try.”
*****
My room feels empty. Everyone’s in their own rooms, fetching duvets and pillows. The cushions are back on the sofa, and the bed’s been made. It’s as if yesterday’s pillow fight never happened.
I can’t make an impression on this place. Every time I move something, every time I try to make it my own, someone makes the bed and cleans and tidies everything away. Even the notepad and pen on the desk – I find them in exactly the same place, every day, wherever I leave them.
It’s as if I’m not supposed to exist. As if Fiona is erasing the real me.
I drop the notepad into the desk drawer, and pull out Joss’s drawing.
It’s crumpled, and torn around the edges, but we’re still there, smiling out of his pencil lines. Arms round each other, dressed in our armour.
Safe.
And we’re safe again now – all except Joss. We’re protected and we’re sheltered. No one’s hunting us down.
But we’re as trapped here as we were at Camp Bishop. Fiona needs us to stay here – to work for her – for months.
And we owe her for our safety. We owe her for our survival.
We don’t have a choice.
“Bex?” Margie stands in the doorway, a duvet draped over her shoulder.
I drop the sketch back into the drawer, and close it.
“Yeah.” I force myself to smile.
“Are you OK?”
“Fine.” I nod, trying to convince myself. “I’m fine.”
“Are we doing this?” She asks, holding up the duvet.
“Yes.” I’m really smiling now, and Margie smiles back. “Come in, and get comfortable. These movies won’t watch themselves.”
Victory Day (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 5) Page 19