by Phil Gilvin
‘You told me Geemos were illegal,’ said Clara. ‘You said they didn’t happen.’
Hedera prodded Clara with her stick. ‘Until you rebelled you lived a safe life, didn’t you, child? And it’s the Republic you have to thank for that. Do you never hear of what goes on in Milland? In Kernow? I’ll tell you. Permanent war. Rape and murder. Common robbery. Women are safe nowhere – nowhere but here. This Republic,’ she snarled, stamping a stick, ‘has saved us from men. From their ideas, from their violence, from their greed. You have no idea of what goes on outside our borders, child. Things you wouldn’t believe. What’s left of civilisation is breaking down before our eyes.’ She frowned. ‘So, purity – well, yes, it has its place – but it had to be sacrificed. We need strong women like the sergeant there – women who will fight, who will fight and die for the Republic.’
‘So you create thousands of soldiers, just so they can be killed?’ said Clara.
‘How dare you?’ said Carrow, who had been standing close behind. ‘Show more–’ she punched Clara in the head ‘–respect.’
As Clara staggered, Hedera glared at Carrow. ‘Thank you Medea. That will do.’ She grabbed Clara’s chin and held her head inches away from her own face. There was garlic on the old woman’s breath. ‘Look at the things men have done,’ she sneered. ‘You know how low men have brought us – and,’ she added with a chuckle, ‘how low they’ve brought you. Those Scrapers of yours – run by men, weren’t they? And look how they finished up. And what about that boy – abandoned you now, hasn’t he?’
Clara swallowed, and blinked back the pain in her head. She wouldn’t listen, she wouldn’t.
‘Never mind about purity, child. Never mind about Geemos. The Republic has to survive.’ She twisted Clara’s head away from her. ‘It must.’
The old woman clomped back to the table and began to wash her hands, as if touching Clara had sullied them.
Clara forced herself to speak. ‘I know all about the genetics programme,’ she said. ‘I know about all those failures – thousands of them – that you just kill off. The Repsegs and the soldiers – how fast they grow, how they can’t feel pain, how short their lives are. The drones who can’t think for themselves. It’s barbaric! You treat them like they’re not real people.’
Hedera chuckled, and picked up a fluffy white towel. ‘You still don’t see, do you? The point is, we have to be able to do without men. If we no longer depend on men, we can get rid of them all. Every last one. And we’re almost there. Cloning means we don’t need them – why do you think it’s so important? Beyond that, girl, anything – anything – is justified to stop them regaining power. Even a little genetic research. You see what’s at stake? A future where women can live in peace, without wars, without trouble.’
Clara could see it: her normal life, preserved. The Academy, her lessons, her friends, all as before. Briar Farm, running happily along, with Sophia singing in the kitchen. Tesley in prison or on a rec-gang, where he could do no harm. And the rest of the Scrapers would be with him. A world safe for women.
But then she remembered Jack, who’d saved her life more than once, and Matty, and Catwall, lying dead in a field; and the priest, murdered for shielding them. She remembered James, maybe even now fighting for breath and drowning in a flooded engine-room. And what about people like Bella, who couldn’t live a normal life because of what the Republic was putting in the water? Out loud she said, ‘What about Aquaster?’
Hedera grinned. ‘Necessary,’ she said.
‘It’s a hormone thing, isn’t it? But you can’t get to all the water supplies, can you?’
‘Actually,’ said the All Mother, ‘it’s a cocktail. I thought one day we’d be able to use it to do away with natural’ – she sneered at the word – ‘reproduction altogether. And yes, there are problems. But it does its job. Can you possibly imagine the trouble we’d have if women wanted to fight over the few men there are left?’
‘The Republic’s making virus weapons, too, isn’t it?’
‘We’ll only use them if we have to. In case you hadn’t noticed, child, there’s a war on.’
Carrow was standing at the window, where the rain was soaking the curtains. ‘Ma’am,’ she bleated, ‘they’re close. I can see them.’
‘Calm down, Medea,’ said Hedera. ‘Those vermin can come as close as they like.’ Turning to Clara she said, ‘You’ve had an expensive education, Ms Perdue. A good one. And, as I’ve discovered, you’re very resourceful. I can use someone like you.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You’ve plenty of courage, too – more than some I could name,’ she added, inclining her head in Carrow’s direction. ‘And you’re clever. Not many girls of your age could keep ahead of the Repsegs for so long. So listen. I can put you back on the Knowledge Project – that fool Butcher needs someone with brains – and I’ll give you a personal exemption. You’ll get your life back. Be a Truth Sister again. All you have to do is keep quiet about what you’ve found.’
Could she be hearing this? Despite everything, the All Mother would forgive her, put her in a responsible position. She, Clara, wouldn’t have to run any more. And she was so tired of running. But she couldn’t trust Hedera, she couldn’t.
‘My – my mother?’ she stammered.
Hedera sighed. ‘She’s in prison. There’d be no question of letting her out, of course. But things could be made – shall we say – easier for her?’
Clara couldn’t speak. The shouts of the rioters were close – right below the window, it seemed. The sky had grown dark as any dusk, and the wind still beat upon the windows and walls.
Hedera turned. ‘I need your answer, girl. I’ll give you one minute. Medea, pass me that pistol.’ She walked to the window, laying one of her sticks on the desk and taking a small hand-gun from Carrow. Keeping out of direct view, she and Carrow peered out at the crowd below.
‘They won’t find a way in,’ said Hedera. ‘The doors have been reinforced.’
‘But what about the windows?’ asked Carrow, her voice dry.
‘The mesh will stop the stones. And–’ Hedera gave a toothy grin as a scream came from below ‘–there’s a row of electrified wires in the bushes.’
‘A-all the same, Ma’am,’ said Carrow, ‘maybe I should get the motor-van ready? In case we need to escape?’
Hedera shrugged. ‘If it makes you feel better.’ And as Carrow hurried from the room, the old woman waved the pistol at Clara. ‘Now, child – see what happens to those who oppose the Republic!’
Clara braced herself. ‘I thought you were giving me a chance!’ But Hedera had returned to the window. Pointing the gun in the air, the old woman fired. Something shot up into the sky, and the room was filled with throat-scarring smoke. Clara coughed and covered her mouth; and although the smoke made her blink, she could see a sudden brightness lighting up the river.
‘A flare!’
Hedera closed the window just as a bottle smashed on the wall nearby. ‘We’re two floors up,’ she chuckled. ‘They’ll have to aim better than that. Now, Clara. Have you had time to think?’
‘I met Rita Fernandez,’ said Clara.
The old woman paused. ‘You’re not making it easier, girl,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to help you.’
‘You’re Ms Teacher’s natural daughter, aren’t you?’
‘Not officially. If anyone looks, they won’t find any records.’
‘What did you do when she told you?’ Clara was guessing now, but she had nothing to lose. ‘Was that when you pushed your mother down the stairs? And you said it was a man’s fault?’
Hedera actually grinned, but Clara noticed she was breathing hard. ‘Of course it was a man’s fault. She’d never have fallen downstairs otherwise, would she? However,’ she added, the grin now vanishing, ‘I’ve now decided that it might be best if I don’t give you any more chances. You’ve got too much imagination. We don’t execute many women, but for a traitorous Truth Sister – well, we must make an exception.’
W
ith a loud thud, a brick hit the window. Clara jumped. ‘The rioters–’ she began.
‘If they break in, you’ll die with me.’ Hedera pointed at her. ‘You’re a Truth Sister.’
Clara glanced down at her tunic. Bloodstained and threadbare it was, but the Truth Sister badge was still plain to see.
‘But I don’t think they will get in,’ said Hedera. ‘Do you know what that signal was?’
Clara was silent.
‘A signal to open the Barrier. There’s a storm surge. They tell me it’s the worst in many years – many years of men’s damage to our climate.’
‘To open the Barrier?’
Hedera nodded, her mouth twisted in a grim smile. ‘We have spies. We knew this riot was planned. And the rioters – they’re getting what’s coming to them. But tell me – where does all the unrest come from? Where does the trouble begin?’ She struck the floor with a stick. ‘Under our feet! The scum that dwell beneath shall be cleansed. They will be washed away.’ She laughed, a sound like a hollow tin. ‘The so-called Underground – well, they’ll stay underground now, won’t they!’
Horror-stricken, Clara ran to the window and looked out. People were running up and down the embankment, oblivious of what was coming.
‘I’d give it ten minutes,’ cackled Hedera, ‘till a nice big wave arrives to wash them away. The army and the Guard have withdrawn to a safe distance – but they’ll be back later to mop up. Literally.’
‘All those people,’ snarled Clara. ‘They’ll die. It’s murder.’
‘Cleansing,’ snapped Hedera.
‘The rec-gangs – that’s why you sent them there – the Barrier was already raised. You wanted them to lower it.’
Hedera nodded. ‘Very good! Yes, we raised it three days ago. The motors on three of the towers failed. We’ve rigged up some pulleys. With enough people pulling on enough ropes, we should get them lowered pretty quickly.’
‘But they’ll drown! And my father–’
‘What’s that noise?’ interrupted Hedera. A metallic roar was coming from the courtyard, making the windows rattle still more. Despite herself, Clara followed Hedera to the opposite window. An armoured motor van was disappearing across the courtyard and under the narrow arch that led onto the Strand. She heard Hedera sucking her breath in.
‘Well,’ said Hedera. ‘She’d better not stop till she gets to Milland – or wherever she’s running to.’
Clara couldn’t help herself. ‘Is that Carrow?’ she blurted.
Hedera shrugged. ‘I doubt she’ll get far. She’s not treacherous, that woman. She loved the Republic. But it seems she loved her own skin more. Ah, Sergeant.’
The double doors had slammed open, and Shavila stood there, soaked and panting, her cap pulled low over her brows. In her hand was a bloody knife. She looked paler than Clara had ever seen her. Then she turned and locked the doors.
‘I’m glad you’re here, Sergeant,’ said Hedera. ‘When the flood’s over you can take this one away. Sadly, Ms Carrow has left, in our only transport. You’re going to have to stay, in case we’re attacked.’
Clara had to admit that the old woman had courage enough to make up for what Carrow lacked. Hedera was in definite danger, with no means of escape, but she was just as calm as she’d been at the Passing-Out, all those long months ago.
Shavila stood her ground. ‘You’ve got two problems,’ she said.
‘Please, Sergeant!’ said Hedera. ‘A little more respect. You should say, “You’ve got two problems, Ma’am”.’
Shavila ignored her. ‘The first problem is, your friend Carrow left the courtyard door open, and the rioters have got in. I’ve barricaded one of the inner doors, but it won’t hold them long.’
For the first time, Clara thought Hedera flinched. ‘And the second?’ the old woman demanded.
In answer, Shavila pulled her cap off. And with a thrill, Clara saw that she’d shaved her head. It was a rough job: in places the hair was still thick, and in others she’d cut herself. But even from where she stood, Clara could see that there was indeed a tattoo on Shavila’s scalp. She couldn’t make out the detail, but there was definitely writing.
‘I’m a Geemo, aren’t I?’ said Shavila. ‘And so are all the Repsegs.’
‘And what of it?’ said Hedera; but her sticks trembled as she leaned on them.
‘You designed us to fight,’ Shavila snarled. ‘We live to take orders, and then we die. I’ll be gone in a few years.’
‘That’s correct, Sergeant. Your job is to take orders. And right now, I’m ordering you to hold back that filth. Go and stop them from breaking in!’
Shavila stepped up and towered over Hedera. ‘It’s too late,’ she growled. ‘They’re in.’ As she spoke, a great crash came from below, and a swell of shouts and curses reached them from below. ‘But maybe you shouldn’t worry about them,’ she went on. ‘Maybe I should finish you first.’
Clara was taken by surprise as much as Shavila was. Moving faster than Clara had thought possible, Hedera suddenly drew from one of her sticks a long, thin blade, and drove it at Shavila. The thrust was nearly good enough, but the Repseg’s reactions saved her: she twisted far enough to her left so that the blade tore through her upper arm, instead of her heart. Shavila cried out and leapt back, wrenching the blade out of Hedera’s grasp and sending the old woman staggering.
And now, surprising herself, Clara leapt forward, grabbing Hedera’s other stick as it flailed in the air, and shoving her away so that she rolled to the floor, screeching.
‘Keep back!’ cried Shavila. Grabbing the stiletto handle, she yanked it out of her arm with a grunt. Blood began to stain her tunic.
‘You’re bleeding!’ said Clara.
‘It’ll stop,’ gasped Shavila. ‘I’m a Repseg Geemo, remember. Now, come on.’ Grabbing Clara’s arm, she hauled her towards the curtained wall. Hedera was cursing as she struggled to drag herself up on a chair, wheezing badly. They gave her a wide berth.
‘Quick,’ said Shavila. She pulled back the curtain to reveal another door. With a kick from her boot it flew open. ‘Down these stairs,’ she hissed, indicating a steep, narrow flight. ‘It’s an emergency exit. When–’
She broke off as over Hedera’s shrill curses came the sound of something heavy striking the main doors. To Clara’s horror, she saw them caving inwards. The mob had a battering ram.
‘Go!’ shouted Shavila, and Clara’s last impression was of the sergeant turning to face the doors, with Hedera, leaning on a table, beyond.
At the foot of the stairs was a Fire Exit sign. Clara pushed the crash-bar and, edging the door open, found herself amidst the mayhem in the courtyard. To her left, thirty or forty rioters were pressed around the door that Carrow had left open. They screamed and yelled, clambering over each other to get inside. Many brandished knives or clubs. Others had smashed their way into the west wing, where smoke was issuing from one of the windows. Clara saw that several bodies lay hacked and broken in the middle of the yard. She shuddered. Slipping out, she pushed the door shut behind her and hid in the shadows. Hedera had been right – if anyone saw it, her Truth Sister badge would condemn her at once.
She looked back at the door she’d just escaped from. Shavila hadn’t followed. What was going on? In answer, a crash came from the second floor and, amid a rain of broken glass, a body fell from one of the windows and lay motionless on the stones. It was a young man, bony and sallow: now his eyes stared sightlessly. Shavila was fighting for her life.
Smoke poured across the courtyard as the rioters lit anything that would burn. Clara looked up as more of them entered from the Strand. That, she decided, was the only way out. She had begun to edge around the east side when she heard a different sound: the frightened neighing of horses. In a few yards she came to the door of the stable, and dodging inside she found three of them straining at their tethers. They stamped and chafed, and their eyes bulged as they smelt the smoke. Each stall had its own split door that gave directly onto
the courtyard. Instantly, she made her mind up.
Cooing gently, she took hold of the first tether and slipped between the frightened horse – a great black beast with forelegs like tree-trunks – and the side of the stall. She bent to unbolt the door, fearful of getting a kick in the head. The commotion in the courtyard was getting louder. The horse whinnied and tugged, but Clara held the tether tight. She repeated the operation for the other two horses, the last a diminutive white mare with a grey nose. Each was stamping and snorting, but so far the terror had not mastered them. At last, all three doors were unbolted, and only their tethers held the horses back. Clara found a saddle and, still gently soothing the mare, fastened it on and adjusted the girth. Sudden yells came from outside, and something heavy thudded against one of the stall doors, making the horses start. The door began to swing open.
There was no time to lose. At any minute, rioters would find their way in. She undid the black horse’s tether and edged the door further open; the horse stood uncertain. Keeping out of the line of its legs, she slapped it on the hindquarters. It reared up and knocked the doors wide, but then whinnied and shied back, away from the fire that was now engulfing the opposite wing. When Clara released the second horse, it wouldn’t even stir from the stall. And now the rioters had found them: a broad woman in a red headscarf was trying to catch hold of the black horse’s tether. Her limbs shaking, Clara mounted the mare and dug her heels in. The horse sprang forward, pushing the door open and making half a dozen rioters fling themselves out of her path. But a loud crash from the burning west wing, as one of the window-frames fell, made her turn and shy away. Hands were already grabbing at Clara when, from the second-storey room where she’d left Shavila and Hedera, there came an explosion and a searing yellow light: a flare gun, used point-blank. The whole mob recoiled, but Clara was now too busy controlling the mare, who had reared up in terror. Desperately, she heaved in the reins and turned her towards the archway. The other two horses were now jumping to and fro in their fright, parting the rioters, and Clara took her chance. She galloped under the arch and out into the Strand, then urged the mare westward, to her left. Here a crowd of looters were smashing into a line of shops; quickly she turned away, only to realise she was now heading for the river. The smoke was being whipped away on the wind, and the sky above was less dark. The worst of the storm was over, but Clara knew she didn’t have long before its more terrible offspring tore upriver. She looked behind at the squalid rioters, risking all; angry and mad, oblivious to what was coming. They were like animals, fierce and unthinking. But they were still people. Should she warn them? Should she tell them to fly for their lives, to run inland as fast as they could go?