‘What did you do?’ Jen asked. ‘I have tried everything to get that bloody thing off!’
Myron shrugged, then explained that his father had amassed a cornucopia of knowledge which he shared freely with his son—and which Myron never thought he would have to put to use, until he met Jen.
‘It’s amazing what you can find out at the dinner table!’ Myron said. He smiled wryly and added, ‘Anyway, I thought you said that you didn’t exist as far as the government was concerned.’
‘I don’t!’ Jen grumbled under her breathe. Her face was a mysterious mask. In fact, everything about this girl was a mystery to Myron, which made her all the more intriguing.
Myron had to know everything there was to know about Jenara Celesta Cole. He could live with the fact that she didn’t want him escorting her home, but the removal of the tracking device had him wanting more.
‘What are you up to?’ Myron beseeched her. ‘I have to know—you fascinate me, you really do.’
Jen took hold of Myron’s hand and led him in the direction of the caravan park. She stopped within fifty yards of her home and pointed to her caravan, with its rotting wheels slowly sinking into the ground.
‘You want to know why I refused to have you escort me home? Well, that’s why!’ she said, with mingled anger and embarrassment. But Myron didn’t seem to care about Jen’s squalid living arrangements, only about her welfare.
Jen expressed her desire not to go home, telling Myron of her difficult home life, and the hatred that she bore for her mother. He seemed to be sympathetic towards her plight and offered her an alternative. Myron had a secret hiding place he had sometimes liked to visit to escape his mundane existence when he was younger: it was an old warehouse half a mile further down the road from the park. He took Jen’s hand and led her to his retreat, knowing that time was running short, and that he needed to get back to the academy before evening role call. Myron and Jen jogged through the park, hiding in bushes along the way to avoid being detected by the growing number of patrols that had begun to congregate within the park’s boundaries—on the alert to arrest curfew breakers.
There were a couple of near misses along the way, but Myron successfully managed to guide Jen to the safety of the dilapidated warehouse for the night. He let go of her hand and bid her farewell. Before he went, Jen reached into her trouser pocket and pulled out a crinkled photograph of herself to give to Myron as a keepsake. Myron took a quick glance at it and placed it in his coat pocket. He scurried backwards, blowing her a clumsy but affectionate kiss as he did so.
‘I’ll meet you tomorrow—by “our” bench. Go get some sleep!’ Myron turned to run the gauntlet back through the park, praying he’d get to the academy’s gate before it was locked for the night. Jen smiled as she watched his silhouette disappear into the night.
Jen made her way into the abandoned warehouse to find somewhere suitable to lay her head for the night. She had spotted a batch of old packing crates, each filled with straw padding: an ideal bed. She grabbed a bundle of straw and began to make her way through the warehouse, looking for a structurally sound part of the building where she would feel safe. At the far end of the warehouse Jen spotted an office, which appeared to be secure. She decided to investigate before making her bed.
The office was ideal. It had a little sofa, a desk, and one high-backed leather chair. Jen discarded the straw and flopped on top of the sofa, stretching her legs over the left-hand arm. She laced her fingers together behind her head, revelling in the comfort for a brief moment. It was chilly in the office, and Jen had nothing substantial to ward off the cold, apart from the straw. She thought about padding herself with it, but it would be too coarse against her skin. Jen decided to leave the office and find something to stave off the cold. Instinctively, she peered around the corner upon exiting. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a dust sheet. She quickly ran to retrieve it, feeling sleepier every minute. Jen had had an exhausting day, what with one thing or another, and she was quite glad to go back inside and rest her head.
*
Myron was struggling to make the journey back to the academy on time. The simple expedition had been plagued by ‘patrol-avoiding’ deviations, which were proving costly. He had only two minutes to get to the gates before they were bolted. The only problem was that he needed to be within the gates before the groundskeeper approached. He couldn’t afford to get caught trying to return; he would lose the privilege of being able to leave whenever he wanted if that were to happen. He had to be very careful how he approached the gate. In the distance, Myron could see a figure coming from the groundskeeper’s hut, but he was far enough away that he would not spot Myron trying to get back in if he did it quickly. With stealth and precision, he made his move.
After successfully negotiating the gate and the telltale squeak that accompanied its opening, Myron ran as fast as he could toward the main building to get back to his barracks before roll call. He had only five minutes in which to join the rest of his classmates.
Myron snuck through the grounds to reach the main door, making it back just in time. No sooner had he entered the building and turned the corner, one of his commanding officers had approached the door from another direction with the intention of bolting it shut. A sense of relief washed over Myron. He had been spared by the skin of his teeth.
Myron made it to his barracks just as the alarm sounded. Everybody rose from their bunks and got dressed in full uniform. Nobody had really taken any notice of Myron’s arrival; for all they knew, he had been there all the time. They were like robots—rising and dressing simultaneously. Sleep deprivation had made them this way, and Myron just went with the flow as they marched outside into the bitterly cold night air to take their places in the courtyard alongside their fellow cadets.
*
Ten minutes would pass before there was any sign of an officer, and of course, nobody was allowed to move until they had been told to do so. Myron had reached the point of giving up; he was almost tempted to fall out of line, and never mind the consequences. But no sooner had he thought about it, the academy’s commanding officer, Major Calveden, decided to grace the tired, frozen cadets with his presence—followed by his subordinates. Half an hour would be spent running through the names of the two hundred cadets that stood in front of them. Not only would they call the names, they would also have to do a head count.
The head count was necessary. A few nights previous, it had been brought to Major Calveden’s attention that when a certain name had been called, another cadet had answered in his place. The cadets were very loyal to one another, watching each other’s back if someone fell along the wayside. The cadet who was being covered for had been automatically dismissed from the academy upon his return. Myron considered himself lucky that he had gotten back to the barracks on time, as he would have found himself in the same boat. But then again, his influential father would have had his say on the matter, and reinstating him would have been no problem.
Myron seemed to get away with a lot as far as the academy and his father were concerned, but everyone’s trust in him was waning. While he was away from the barracks, his commanding officer had been in conversation with his father—and not for the first time. Academy gossip had it that the major was always contacting Sir John for some reason or other. He had told him on many occasions that Myron had become unruly, but that was stretching the truth to its breaking point. He was no more unruly than any other cadet that attended the academy. He was being singled out for no other reason except that the major had taken a disliking to him. Calveden was looking for excuses to punish Myron, but he always missed the opportunity.
Myron and his fellow cadets were shaking with cold and praying that the major would hurry up and finish the roll call. It appeared that he was deliberately taking his time upon seeing how the miserable cold was affecting them. The odd groan hadn’t helped their cause—for each groan, another five minutes would be added to the time that they were made to stand outside. Myron w
as having difficulty holding his tongue, and the need to air his grievances with the major was growing out of his control. It hadn’t escaped Major Calveden’s notice that Myron was growing restless.
‘Mr. Cutter! Front and centre!’ the major ordered, looking down at his paperwork.
Myron made his way to the front of the line formation and stood at attention.
‘Go to the armoury and pick up a rifle!’ Calveden growled. ‘You are on perimeter duty tonight!’
Myron was not overly enthusiastic about the prospect of freezing to death, but he would rather suffer that, than have an insubordination charge permanently marked on his already far from shiny record. The major looked up, wondering why Myron was still in front of him when he had given him an order.
‘Be on your way, Cutter!’ the major snapped.
Myron saluted him, but there was no respect behind it. He had lost all respect for the major a long time ago, after hearing whispers around the barracks of his conversations with his father. As far as Myron was concerned, the major was a sycophant trying to advance his career by any means—and the fact that he had been sucking up to his father did not earn him a place in Myron’s good books. The cadets watched as Myron headed in the direction of the munitions dispensary, and then turned their attention back toward the major, who was already scouring his register for the next name.
*
It was almost four-thirty in the morning. Jen had been up for a little over five minutes, after being woken by an incessant banging coming from behind the building. The wind had picked up slightly, causing a loose piece of corrugated iron to clatter against the back wall and making it impossible for her to sleep.
Jen stared up at the rain-damaged ceiling of the office and thought of what she would be doing in a few hours. She thought it best to attend her final day at the Reform School, but she wouldn’t stay any longer than was necessary. Sunrise was still a couple of hours away, although she was too restless to go back to sleep now. She couldn’t just lie there staring at the ceiling for too much longer—she needed to find something to occupy her mind.
Jen dared to risk going outside with the curfew still in place. She could no longer stand the clattering of the corrugated iron, and needed fresh air to escape the damp smell that had crept in overnight. She fumbled through the warehouse with nothing to light her way, tripping over debris and old machine parts to get to the exit. She opened the creaking door cautiously, not knowing who might be lurking around the corner. Thankfully, there was no one about. She took a deep breath of fresh air and crept away from the convenient hideaway.
Jen began to head towards Hyde Park stealthily, weaving in and out of the bushes, avoiding the patrols as she had done the day before with Myron. She loved every moment of her little escapade; it brought a sense of excitement, tinged with danger, into her otherwise dull life. She didn’t know where to head after going through the park. Passing by the academy crossed her mind, but only out of curiosity, and for the fact that she had nowhere else to go.
Jen wasn’t very far from the academy’s perimeter, yet Myron hadn’t noticed her approach, which was the point of the exercise he had been charged with: making sure that nobody encroached on the academy’s domain. Tiredness played a part in Myron’s non-responsiveness; he became robot-like in his movements, staring blankly ahead. Jen glanced through the railings from a short distance away and spotted the rifle-wielding silhouette of a cadet, not realising who it was, and kept herself hidden out of sight. Every now and then, Jen would glance through the railings and watch the lone figure as he ambled lethargically around the perimeter.
Myron had been alerted of someone’s presence upon hearing a rustling from the bushes beyond the perimeter. It may have been the wind, but he couldn’t take any chances. He suddenly felt wide-awake as he sprinted toward the bushes, his rifle at the ready.
‘Who’s there?’ Myron bellowed apprehensively, pointing his rifle towards the bushes and cocking the lever. He braced himself, not knowing what to expect next.
Jen slowly made her way from behind the bushes on recognising Myron’s voice. On seeing Jen’s face, Myron was almost relieved that it was her, but at the same time he was disappointed she had put an end to his little surge of excitement.
‘What are you doing here, Jen? You need to get away from here before you get caught!’ he howled. Although he was concerned, he had to be stern. Jen backed away, taken aback by Myron’s abruptness.
‘I will meet you later, yes?’ Jen said as she eased away from the railings.
‘Yes, later! Now go before you get me in deep crap with the Major!’ Myron pleaded, with a hint of desperation.
Jen slunk back through the park, ducking in and out of the undergrowth. She had no choice but to head back to the confinement of the warehouse. She was standing firm as far as going home was concerned; she had made up her mind, and there was no going back for her. She was also working on the premise that Lavinia would not welcome her back with open arms.
The warehouse was in Jen’s sights, but there was an obstacle that she needed to overcome before she could get inside. A government patrol had decided to use the entrance of the warehouse as a gathering place. For the moment, Jen would have to sit tight, but patience had never been her strong point. Curbing her impatience would be difficult, although necessary for survival.
For half an hour she waited, and still they hadn’t moved. The little patience Jen had left was ebbing away. The ridiculous notion of taking them all on ran through her head, followed by the probable scenarios if she did. Not one of them involved the labour camps, but they all entailed a lot of pain if she carried out her bold intentions. Jen thought better of it and continued to wait for their departure.
*
Myron knew all about pain; his legs were beginning to buckle from the strain of continually marching up and down the length of the academy’s perimeter for the past nine hours. There would be no respite for a further two hours—not until seven o’clock, morning roll call. It remained to be seen if he would have to resume his punishment, as he saw it—or if he would be told to stand down. The one thing that he wouldn’t be able to do was rest, not until that evening. He knew that he had to meet up with Jen at some point that day—he had promised her as much. But for the time being he would have to keep on with the continuous marching, and the thought of taking another step made him grimace.
*
Jen was finally able to enter the warehouse after the patrol had shuffled away to rejoin their colleagues. They were making the journey back to Whitehall and the warmth of the office they shared, until it was time to begin their rounds again. Jen made doubly sure it was safe before she made her way towards the entrance. For once, she was able to move freely without having to worry about who was lurking nearby.
The office in the rear was a welcome sight, and without hesitation Jen bounded towards it. She had the good fortune of not being greeted by the clattering of corrugated iron, as the wind had died down considerably over the past hour. Jen reacquainted herself with the sofa for the remaining hour of the curfew period, catching up with the sleep that she had lost as a result of the ungodly racket. The last thing she needed was to be late on her last day at the Reform School; that would cause all manner of problems for her. But she wasn’t worried, being used to waking up at the same time each day; knowing when to wake up was almost an automatic reflex for her body clock.
*
Curfew had been lifted for the day. Jen was alerted to this by the bustle of people making their way through the park, and by the noisy birds that had entered the warehouse via a cracked skylight. The birds’ morning songs were better than any alarm clock and her body clock put together, and there was no chance of her being late for school now.
Jen did as she always had upon waking: she stared up towards the ceiling and contemplated her day. Of course, she would inevitably go to her final classes at the Reform School, and then she would meet up with Myron, as promised.
Jen was full of e
xcitement at the prospect of not having to endure another day of strict regimes and harsh punishments, in which she was well-versed. She still had scars on her legs from one such occasion. One of her teachers had been relentless in his punishment, caning the backs of her legs until they bled, and cutting into her flesh with each swipe. It was brutal, but necessary, to keep unruly students in check. It went without saying that the teachers would not miss her when she was gone—they were relishing the thought of her leaving.
On stepping out into the open, Jen found herself being drawn towards a small gathering. People seemed to be fixated by a governmental notice that had been posted only moments earlier on a notice board at the edge of the park.
Governmental Decree 265—9th November 2044
Class segregation will be enforced as of midnight on the 19th November 2044.
Coloured uniforms will be provided as a form of Identification.
1-Lower Class—Grey
2-Middle Class—Blue
3-Upper Class—Black
Uniforms can be collected from local outposts.
Anyone found not wearing the correct uniform will be detained.
Jen involuntarily shivered. It appeared that everything Oscar had predicted upon his makeshift platform was coming true. The notice further stated that due to the recent attacks and further advancement of the Scottish forces, the curfew period would be lengthened, starting at eight-thirty instead of ten-thirty—effective immediately.
The decree had everybody theorising, wondering how life would be from that moment on. Need they be fearful of the future? The answer would eventually come, but for the time being they would continue to wonder. Jen knew that something was going to happen; something bad, something that nobody could control. The power-hungry bureaucrats within the government had started a chain of events that would have the likes of Jen fighting for their lives. Jen had read the small print at the bottom of the decree. It referred to minority groups, i.e., non-pure bloods and other such anomalies that didn’t meet with the government’s approval, and how they would be dealt with.
Going Underground Page 3