The Declaration

by Gemma Malley

  ‘I’m going to get us out, don’t you worry about that,’ he was muttering, and Anna was surprised to hear a tinge of fear in his voice.

  Then she heard a yelp of what sounded like terror and she shut her eyes tightly.

  The next thing she knew, Anna was being pelted with dry mud, which found its way into her ears, her nose, her mouth, and, as soon as she opened them to try and make out what was happening, her eyes.

  This was the end of everything, she thought to herself resolutely. This was what happened to Surpluses who thought they could break the rules. They were going to be buried alive.

  But a moment later, Peter was scrabbling forwards and Anna felt his weight lifting from her. As she shook the mud from her face, she realised that he wasn’t yelping in terror, but in delight.

  ‘We’re nearly there. The tunnel goes up from here. It’s just blocked with mud from the Outside.’

  Excitedly, Anna wriggled her arm free and felt the mud for herself. She was touching the Outside, she thought to herself deliriously. It was so close she could actually feel it.

  Peter hauled himself through the muddy opening above them and reported that the tunnel continued in the same direction above. Anna followed him, feeling happier now that Peter was in front. As she wriggled up the tunnel, she felt a welcome shiver of cold. It was wind, she realised. She could feel the wind.

  The wind grew stronger as they continued along the passageway, turning from a welcome delivery of fresh air to an icy, biting squall that whistled down the tunnel, sounding like some kind of banshee. But Anna barely noticed the cold, or the wailing; she barely noticed the slime or the grazes on her knees, hands and elbows. Up in front of her, just beyond Peter, she could see something that made her feel strong enough to cope with anything. She could see the night sky. Just a fraction of it; mostly all she could see was a wall of some sort that jutted out in front of the tunnel’s opening. But just there on the top right-hand corner, was the tiniest vision of a star, shining against a black sky, not hidden behind a grey blind, but right there in front of her. Anna had never seen anything quite so beautiful in her whole life.

  Moments later, Peter disappeared, and within a few seconds she could see his grinning face at the mouth of the tunnel.

  ‘We’re here, Anna Covey. Give me your hand.’

  With Peter’s help, she scrambled out of the narrow opening, and for a moment she couldn’t even speak. Feeling the bitter cold air against her skin and listening to the distant hum of cars and the first, early morning sounds of birds singing, she found herself unable to take it all in. She’d thought she’d be unfazed. After all, she’d been Outside when she went to Mrs Sharpe’s; had thought of herself as quite the worldly Surplus. But this was different.

  The whole world was suddenly available to her, right there in front of her, waiting to be felt and heard and smelt. She had seen the moon before, of course, luminescent and bright, but only in stolen glimpses on cold evenings as she stared at it longingly through three thick panes of glass and imagined what it would be like to sleep outside underneath it. Now it felt like it was almost within reach, its perfect roundness unsettling her unperfect self and filling her with awe and something very close to ecstasy. She looked around wide-eyed and she didn’t dare open her mouth in case she screamed or cried or laughed, or even all three all at once, because it was so beautiful and incredible and for this moment, at least, it was hers.

  ‘OK,’ Peter said, looking around quickly to get his bearings. ‘We should be on the east side of the village. Which means . . .’ He frowned in concentration. ‘That we need to head in that direction.’

  Anna nodded mutely and followed Peter down a small road. They looked awful, she realised, looking at his gaunt form in front of her. Their Grange Hall overalls were covered in grime, their faces muddy, and their hands and ankles were bloody.

  ‘Everyone’s going to know where we’re from,’ she said, ‘in these overalls.’

  Peter turned round. ‘They’re going to know where we’re from anyway,’ he said. ‘Anna, there isn’t anyone our age on the Outside. Not openly, anyway. There’s the odd Legal, but you don’t see them much.’

  His eyes were flashing in anger, and for a moment Anna didn’t know what to say. But then he shrugged. ‘You’re right, though. We need to find somewhere to hide, fast. But not too close to Grange Hall. The Catchers will be searching everywhere as soon as they know we’re gone.’

  Anna nodded again and hurried breathlessly after Peter, wishing she could be more help, but knowing that she knew nothing about this new, unfamiliar environment. Then she stopped.

  In front of her was a wall, and on it there were several posters. One showed what looked like a computer screen with the outline of a man with a gun on it. Across the bottom was written ‘Networks spread terrorism. Don’t put your country at risk.’ Another showed on one side a house with lights on in every room, and then a house that had crumbled to the ground on the other. Emblazoned across the top in large, red lettering were the words ‘Protect Energy – keep Britain out of the Dark Ages’. But the poster that caught Anna’s attention was the one that had a picture of a Small on it. The Small was chubby and it was eating, pushing food into its mouth with its little hands, and across the picture, in large black letters, was written ‘Surpluses are Theft. Stay Alert. For more information on the Surplus Problem, visit www.thesurplusproblem.auth.uk’.

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Surpluses are Theft. That’s us, Peter.’

  Peter frowned and stepped back so he could see the poster. Then he grabbed Anna’s hand. ‘One day there will be posters about the Longevity Problem,’ he said angrily. ‘That’s the real theft. Stealing life from everyone else just so that Legals can live for ever.’

  He stormed off down the road, dragging Anna behind him, ducking down behind walls and bushes whenever they heard the sound of a car or footsteps. Anna, who had longed to see the Outside, had longed to touch the grass and feel the night air on her face, was now very scared of this strange and hostile place. Peter was irritable too. It was getting late, he kept saying, and they should be further away by now. Much further away. The Catchers would be called any minute now.

  At the mention of Catchers, Anna’s heart skipped a beat, and she quickly caught up with Peter, forcing herself to look straight ahead instead of staring inquisitively at the houses they were passing.

  And then she stopped abruptly.

  ‘What is it now?’ Peter said with a sigh.

  ‘This house,’ Anna said softly. ‘I know this house. This is Mrs Sharpe’s house.’ The front garden outside the house was just as she remembered it from her internship as a housekeeper; whenever she’d had the chance, she’d sneaked a little peek out of one of Mrs Sharpe’s windows to admire the green grass and perfect borders. And the front porch was unmistakable, with its bright red door and several wind-chimes, which had greeted Anna with a chorus of odd-sounding clanging every time she had taken out Mrs Sharpe’s bin bags.

  Peter looked at her uncertainly. ‘Mrs Sharpe?’

  ‘I told you, remember? I was her interim housekeeper. For three weeks. She was very kind.’

  ‘A kind Legal?’ Peter snorted.

  ‘She was,’ Anna said defensively. ‘She was nice.’

  ‘Fine, whatever. Come on, we’ve got to get going.’

  They carried on walking furtively along the road, clinging to the bushes to the side of the pavement, when suddenly they heard a siren and saw lights flashing ahead. Peter pulled Anna back into the bushes, where they lay, hearts racing, in silence. A few moments later, the sirens were silenced and they looked at one another apprehensively.

  ‘Come on,’ Peter said hurriedly. He scrambled out of the foliage and pulled Anna to her feet. She emerged, scratched and trembling.

  ‘Was that the . . .’ she began to say, but was unable to finish the question.

  ‘Maybe,’ Peter said. ‘Although the Catchers don’t tend to advertise their presence like that. It was probab
ly the police. Probably nothing to do with us.’

  Anna nodded silently and followed Peter as he started to walk again. But then she frowned.

  ‘What’s wrong with your leg?’ she asked.

  Peter shrugged. ‘Nothing. Come on, we have to be quicker.’

  He started to walk again, but Anna could see him wincing. Every time he stepped on his left leg, his body contorted slightly.

  ‘You’re hurt,’ she said flatly. ‘Peter, you’re hurt.’

  ‘So what if I am?’ Peter snapped. ‘Come on. We need to get out of the village. We can hide in the fields just outside. They’re only a little bit further.’

  He was sweating, Anna noticed, and his face was white. Quickly, she stopped him and pulled up his trouser leg. There was a large gash just above his ankle with blood encrusted in it.

  ‘Peter,’ she gasped. ‘What happened?’

  He sighed. ‘The tunnel,’ he muttered. ‘I caught it on something.’

  As she looked more closely, she realised that his lower leg was swelling up, and when she touched the surrounding skin, she felt Peter wince.

  ‘You can’t walk anywhere like this,’ she whispered. ‘You just can’t.’

  ‘I have to,’ Peter said, gritting his teeth. ‘There’s no alternative.’

  Anna bit her lip.

  ‘There is one alternative.’

  ‘What? Get caught?’ Peter said, forcing himself to walk on a few steps, but obviously finding it increasingly difficult. ‘Never. I’m not going back, Anna, and nor are you.’

  ‘We could go to Mrs Sharpe’s. Hide there for a bit.’

  Peter looked at her incredulously. ‘Turn up on a Legal’s doorstep and ask her to hide us? Have you gone mad?’

  Anna blanched. ‘I just thought —’

  ‘Yeah, well don’t, OK? I’ll do the thinking,’ Peter said angrily. He put his weight on his left leg and yelped as he did so.

  Anna’s eyes narrowed. She was tired and irritable. ‘Fine. Because your thinking has worked perfectly so far,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Any moment now the Catchers will be after us. You can’t walk, and we’ve got nowhere to go. Don’t you think they’ll find us, if we’re hiding in a field somewhere?’

  She folded her arms defensively. Peter turned to look at her and Anna thought she could see fear in his eyes.

  ‘Anna, she’ll turn us in. She’s a Legal. Come on, there’s got to be an alternative. And we have to find it before it gets light.’

  ‘But it’s already getting light,’ Anna said urgently. ‘Look.’

  Peter looked up at the sky, which was gradually taking on a paler blue hue.

  ‘We can’t,’ he said, sounding less certain. ‘It’s too risky.’

  Anna thought quickly. ‘She’s got a summer house in her garden,’ she said cautiously.

  ‘A summer house?’ Peter had stopped again.

  ‘She used to tell me about it because her husband used it as a storeroom and she kept meaning to clear it out, but never got round to it,’ Anna continued. ‘I was going to help her, but then it was time for me to go back to Grange Hall.’

  Peter looked around furtively.

  ‘Do you think we could hide there? Just for today, I mean?’ he asked, his voice now serious. ‘Are you sure Mrs Sharpe never uses it?’

  Anna shook her head, then nodded, then shook her head again. ‘I don’t know,’ she said eventually. ‘I don’t think so, but it was a year ago.’

  Peter sighed. ‘Can we get to the summer house from out here?’

  Anna nodded nervously, and they made their way back to Mrs Sharpe’s house. Then she and Peter scurried to the tall wooden gate that separated Mrs Sharpe’s front garden from her back garden, where Anna picked up a small rock from the ground.

  ‘You’re not going to smash something are you?’ Peter sounded worried, but Anna shook her head.

  ‘It isn’t a rock,’ she explained to Peter. ‘It’s for hiding the key. Mrs Sharpe showed me it. Look.’

  Carefully, she opened the false rock and took out a key. Her fingers were trembling too much to put it in the lock, so Peter took over, opening the gate and locking it behind them when they were through.

  Quickly they darted across Mrs Sharpe’s beautifully manicured lawn, behind which lay the obligatory Allotment. There, at the bottom of the garden was the summer house, still full of furniture and boxes. And there, beside the door, was another false rock.

  Two minutes later, they were both safely inside, hidden under a large double bed that was leaning up against the far wall. Using some heavy velvet curtains to wrap around themselves against the cold, they sat still and waited, the only sound their short, shallow breaths.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Maisie Wingfield didn’t know what to do with herself. It had been her own stupid fault for going to check on the miserable little blighters, she realised, but how was she to have known what she’d find? Seeing as she was on night duty, she’d decided to give that Surplus a little warning before Mrs Pincent got back, a word in her ear that she better not let on about their run-in, else there’d be more trouble.

  And now . . . well, now she was going to have to tell Mrs Pincent. Tell her that the horrors had got out. They were demons, that’s what they were, Maisie thought to herself fretfully. Pulling themselves up the wall and into that little hole. Those Surpluses had no business existing, let alone running away like that.

  ‘They never got out, did they?’ Susan, another Domestic and Maisie’s confidante, stared at her with her mouth open. ‘You tellin’ me that they’ve escaped?’

  Maisie looked at her uncomfortably.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she said firmly. ‘Wasn’t me what put them in Solitary. An’ Surpluses ain’t got no business being on the Smalls’ floor either. Mrs Pincent’s idea, that was. So it’s her fault, really.’

  Susan looked at her dubiously, and Maisie continued defiantly, ‘Hasn’t Mrs P always said that Surpluses isn’t to go on Floor 3 on account of them getting a soft spot for the Smalls or worrying about them when they oughtn’t to be worrying ’bout anything except doing what they’s been told to do and feeling bad about even existing? That little cow Anna should’ve been given the belt, not put up there. That’s what should’ve happened.’

  ‘You goin’ to tell her that?’ Susan asked.

  Maisie shivered. She’d thought Mrs Pincent was still away. She’d been going to leave her a note, just slip it under her door or something. But then she’d been on her way to do it, and Mrs Pincent had come in through the back door with a gentleman. They’d swept into her office, like it was the middle of the day not four o’clock in the morning, and Maisie had run back down the corridor towards the kitchen, which was where she was now.

  ‘I’m goin’ to go now,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Unless you want to tell her? Since you’re on duty an’ all?’

  Susan shook her head incredulously. ‘You can forget that idea right away,’ she said immediately. ‘I’ve got breakfasts to make, thank you very much. You just go and get it over and done with. And I’ll make you a cup of tea for after.’

  Maisie stood up.

  ‘Right you are,’ she said, trembling slightly. ‘They should put them Surpluses down,’ she muttered to herself angrily. As she left the kitchen, she shot a last, panicky look at Susan, then made her way towards Mrs Pincent’s office. ‘Stop them getting Legal people like me into bother like this. It isn’t right. It isn’t right at all.’

  She hesitated before approaching the door. Maisie didn’t like trouble. Never had. As far as she was concerned, you did your job, you kept your head down and made sure you got paid, end of every week. So long as that pay cheque kept topping up her bank account, giving her enough funds to buy cream cakes, pints of cider at the local pub and comfortable shoes for her aching feet, she was happy. Grange Hall gave her all those things and a roof over her head to boot, and if that meant having to put up with those horrible screaming Surplus Smalls, well, that was a price she was wi
lling to pay. She’d never asked for anything, never wanted more than she could provide for herself. She wasn’t interested in promotion, or anything like that.

  No, she was a simple sort of a person, really. Just a hard-working Legal, trying to make something of her life. And for a Surplus to get her into trouble – particularly a Surplus who spoke to her like she did, like she was the Legal, like she was better than her (Maisie grimaced at the thought) – well, she would have to make it clear to Mrs Pincent that she just wouldn’t stand for it. Yes, she was going to speak her mind, tell her that it wasn’t her fault Mrs Pincent couldn’t keep them under control.

  Arriving at the door, Maisie took a deep breath, knocked loudly and waited.

  ‘Come in.’

  Maisie tentatively opened the door and stepped into Mrs Pincent’s office. It was a horrid, cold room, she thought to herself. The kind of room that sucked the soul out of you. Must’ve sucked the soul out of Mrs Pincent, that’s for sure, because the woman didn’t have one scrap of soul left. You could tell by looking at her eyes, if you ever dared, that was. They were black, beady, and lifeless. One peek was enough – you didn’t want to go looking into eyes like that for too long.

  Right now, they were worse than normal, she noticed apprehensively. They looked outraged and angry. Maisie supposed that whatever it was that Mrs Pincent had been doing at this time of night probably wasn’t something she wanted people knowing about.

  ‘What is it, Maisie?’

  Maisie opened her mouth to speak, still trying to find the right words. The gentleman was staring at her too, like she’d caught them doing something they weren’t supposed to. Maybe it was Mrs Pincent’s husband, Maisie thought. People said she didn’t have one any more, but maybe she did after all. Or maybe it wasn’t her husband – maybe that’s why they looked so uncomfortable.

  She looked furtively at him to see what he was like. Short and bald. As Maisie flicked her eyes back towards Mrs Pincent, she started slightly. He was putting something in a box, and if she wasn’t mistaken it looked like a syringe. She looked away quickly. If Maisie had learnt one thing in her life, it was that the less you knew, the less bother you got. She wanted to get out of that room just as soon as she could, and that’s exactly what she was going to do.