The Three Most Wanted

by Corinna Turner

  “Yeah, we’d better get our story straight,” said Jon.

  If all had gone as the EuroGov intended, our job-seeking classmates—now legal New Adults—would never have thought of any of us reAssignees again after we’d been shipped off to the Facility for medical recycling. But that was before the book—and the escape.

  By the time Bane returned, announcing the area safe and carrying an armful of firewood, I’d filled the stove pan with water and Jon was tap-tapping his way back up from the stream with the refilled autoFiltration bottles. Stove lit and water boiled, I added some to three of the special hiking food sachets and mixed thoroughly. The smell was nothing whatsoever like chicken stew. Stewed boot leather, perhaps. Handing the sachets out regardless, I closed my eyes for a moment to say grace and raised a cautious forkful to my lips.

  “I think we’re going to miss those army ration packs.” I chewed the tasteless mush once and swallowed. Wait a moment... Suddenly the mush stuck in my throat, though the food I was worried about was already eaten. “Where did those ration packs come from?”

  Jon’s head rose, the rapid movement of his fork ceasing.

  “Well, they were stolen, there’s not much doubt about that,” said Bane. “But you knew that. They weren’t from... Wearmfell. As far as I’m aware.” Wearmfell. The military ration-pack factory the Resistance had captured—slaughtering all the guards in the process, even the ones who surrendered without a fight.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Jon. “As far as you’re aware?”

  “It means exactly that,” snapped Bane, clearly reluctant to divulge his part in that murderous raid quite like this.

  Did it matter? Wherever the army ration packs we’d all been eating during our trek to York had come from, they’d probably been acquired in much the same way.

  “I hate dealing with the Resistance.” I stabbed the ground with the end of my fork. “Let’s... let’s not any more, okay?”

  “Gets my vote.” Jon started on his safe-but-bland legally-purchased-from-a-hiking-shop-by-Bane meal again.

  “Unless we have to,” agreed Bane, guardedly.

  “Let’s try very hard not to have to!”

  When we’d finished Bane put the biodegradable sachets into a biodegradable scentSeal bag and went off into the woods to bury it. Didn’t want any bears visiting us in the night.

  “Why don’t we turn in?” I suggested when he came back, though it was barely eight-thirty.

  “Okay, but we need to keep watch,” said Bane.

  “Seriously?” I asked

  “Yeah, if someone does come along at night, they’ll expect real hikers to be tucked up inside asleep, won’t they?” said Jon.

  “And what could we do, run away? How long would we last without our stuff?”

  “Gah!” Bane dragged his hands through his hair. “Fine! No watch, then.”

  “Though, uh, what about... wolves... and things?” said Jon.

  “Tent’s supposed to be permeated with some stink bears don’t like much.”

  “What about wolves?”

  “Didn’t say anything about wolves.”

  Jon muttered something rude under his breath about Bane’s tent-selecting abilities.

  “Relax. I don’t think the wolves will come calling unless they really want to eat us, in which case a smelly tent isn’t going to help much. A bear may just wander up to have a look around—scavengers, remember? Anyway, they didn’t have a wolf-repellent tent.”

  “And Margo doesn’t mind wolves but hates bears!”

  “Which part of ‘didn’t have’ can’t you understand?”

  “Oh, come on,” I interrupted hastily. “Aren’t you two tired?”

  “Yes,” said Bane shortly,

  “Let’s just all pray against fire, theft and wolves and get to sleep, huh?” said Jon, letting his irritation go in that easy way of his.

  “I’ll do fire, theft and bears,” I said.

  “To hell with wolves and bears!” said Bane. “You can both do fire, theft and humans.”

  “So can you.”

  “I don’t talk to things I’m not convinced exist.”

  Yes, you do, sometimes... But I didn’t say it out loud. Bane ignored my silence.

  “Well, my sleeping bag’s beckoning.” He unzipped the tent and threw the flap back...

  From the way his shoulders went rigid a scowl had just appeared on his face—I shifted just enough to peep over his shoulder. Ah. Jon had put my sleeping bag in the middle.

  Oh. Yeah… I was going to be sharing a tent with two guys for this trip... hadn’t really thought it through before. No way could we carry any extra weight—nor would it even be very safe. Not to mention that most New Adults on camping trips wouldn’t worry about such things, so separate tents would be very suspicious.

  Looking like you might be practicing chastity was grounds for suspicion of being a Believer—you’d be receiving a court summons to make the Divine denial before you could say “Credo in unum Deum.” And given that “Practice of Superstition,” as Faith was termed, was a capital crime…

  PreSorting, all copulation was banned, of course. But in the Facility, Jon and I had been forced to pretend to be a couple in order to avert suspicion and protect our Believing families. Unfortunately, I knew how close Jon was to falling in love with me for real.

  Awkward, yes.

  But we were running for our lives and there was nothing else for it. I was pretty sure in the circumstances that I could put aside my desire for Bane and after sleeping in such close proximity to Jon at the Facility, I knew how chaste he was. But Bane didn’t. He’d taken my word about what had happened, but…

  Bane’s eyes darted from Jon’s sleeping bag to mine, and I could see the suspicion sneaking through his mind… Help, Lord? Don’t let this divide us… I’m pretty sure Jon just wants me beside him because it’s comfortingly familiar but Bane isn’t necessarily thinking coolly enough to realize that…

  “My sleeping bag has got hold of the scruff of my neck and is yanking me into the tent,” said Jon into the sticky silence, would-be calmly.

  How desperate was he to hang onto this one—only?—possible bit of normality? Once we started hiking properly, he’d be following us blindly day after day across an entire continent, never having anything but the most limited idea where he was or what was around him. Don’t freak out, Bane. This is going to be bad enough for him as it is...

  Bane turned to glare at Jon, opening his mouth as though to attempt some verbal decapitation—shut it again. Did he understand? But he still reached out as though to shift my sleeping bag away from Jon’s to the outside of the tent. Then a more calculating look passed through his eyes... Ah yes, anything coming through the sides of the tent would eat either Jon or himself before me.

  Clearly the deciding factor. He withdrew his hand. I breathed a tiny sigh of thanks. Thank You, Lord.

  “Come on, Margo...” He moved to help me to the tent—Jon took advantage of the empty doorway and slid inside; by the unzipping and rustling sounds, he was getting into his sleeping bag with alacrity.

  As soft snores started I let the “Night, Jon” die on my lips and concentrated on maneuvering inside. Bane unfastened my sleeping bag all the way, so I wouldn’t have to wriggle.

  With me zipped in—comparatively painlessly—Bane gave me a goodnight kiss and slithered into his own bag with considerably more ease. Very distantly, a pack of wolves howled—Jon went on snoring quietly. Silence from the surrounding forest.

  Lord... I was fighting to keep my eyes open... Thank you we’re alive and free and please look after Father Mark and the others and our parents and all Believers...

  ...A domed tent ceiling above me. Bane and Jon snoring on each side, almost drowning out the morning birdsong. I sat up carefully, but they were deep asleep. Unzipping sleeping bag and door as quietly as I could, I looked around.

  The sky was blue, the sun glittering off the little stream and shining brightly on
the grassy slopes and ledges. The forest looked green and mossy and inviting. The eerie nighttime blackness—which I’d glimpsed when nature’s call had dragged me painfully from my sleeping bag—had vanished like a dream.

  Easing gingerly out of the tent, I sat down on a warm rock to breathe the fresh morning air and enjoy being awake for once—felt like I’d been mostly asleep for a week. After only a few minutes, Bane’s subconscious must’ve noticed my absence...

  “Margo!” He sprang from the tent like a wolf from its lair, shirtless and knife in hand.

  “Bane!” I snorted.

  “Don’t do that to me, Margo!” He pocketed the knife and sank down on the rock beside me, yawning. His skin glowed warm gold in the morning light and I rested my head on his shoulder, my fingers drifting to explore the new, broad chest he’d grown whilst I was locked away...

  “Margo, do you have to do that?”

  My thoughtless fingers stilled. His face was very close to mine and for the first time since my rescue, a heat in his eyes said I was something to be desired as well as protected with his life. My cheeks burned. “Sorry.”

  He leant in and kissed me. Not one of the “there, there, I love you, everything’s going to be fine” kisses he’d been keeping me well supplied with, not even the “I LOVE YOU!” kiss he’d given me just before the Channel Bridge, but a kiss combining “you’re my sun and moon and stars” with “and I want to be one flesh with you right now”.

  Finally drawing away, he buried his face in my hair and breathed deeply for a while. “Why the hell did we let Father Mark drive off without marrying us?”

  A snort of laughter escaped me. “Uh, Bane, priorities?”

  He sighed. “Yeah, okay. And practicalities. Suppose we wouldn’t want to be married and sharing a tent with Jon. Nothing doing.”

  Nope. But still, alas.

  “Why don’t you get some more rest, Bane? You must be exhausted.”

  “Well...” His eyes glowed as he set a quick kiss on my lips. “Tempting though it is to stay out here... I think I will get some more sleep.”

  He slipped back into the tent, but the heat had their snores faltering after only another hour and a half. I lit the stove and by the time they yawned their way out I was performing the complicated culinary process of pouring and mixing. The ‘bacon and beans’ didn’t taste very different from the ‘chicken stew.’

  “We’ve got to make the food go absolutely as far as possible,” said Bane, when he’d finished his. “Have you got your Reader, Margo?”

  “Here.” I’d brought my coat out of the tent with me for the sake of all the important things in its pockets. He pulled the tiny data cable from his phone and stuck it in my bookReader for a minute, then handed it back.

  “There. I bought books on identifying edible plants and trapping rabbits and that sort of thing. We’d better study hard while we’re waiting for you to mend.”

  Dubiously, I placed my reader in a patch of sun and undid the back flap of its case to expose its solar panel. Edible plants, maybe. Trapping rabbits? Amateurs never had much luck at that, did they? Still, if we could get food that way... Going into towns with no safe ID cards and our pictures everywhere... I shuddered.

  “Audio books?” Jon didn’t sound hopeful.

  Bane shook his head. “Sorry. They don’t do them.”

  “Oh well. I’ll just have to hope you don’t serve us all deadly nightshade as blueberries or something.”

  “We’ll be careful,” said Bane defensively.

  “Oh,” I put in, “Jon and I were saying yesterday about getting our story straight. You know, we’re rich New Adults from the north of England, obviously, and we’ll be going to university where?”

  “University of York,” said Jon. “Gotta be stinking rich to go far afield, haven’t you?”

  Bane nodded. “Yeah. What are we called and what are we studying?”

  “Something similar to our real name. Or we won’t react to it. Margo could be Maria,” Jon suggested.

  I shrugged. “Okay. You can be Josh, studying Physics.”

  Jon shrugged as well. “Perfect. Bane?”

  Bane screwed up his face. Not many B names.

  “Dane,” I said. “That should be on the British C list.” That stupid list of racially-acceptable names the EuroGov made everyone stick to…

  Bane snorted. “Right. Dane it is. Studying History.” Yep, Bane would pass muster as a history major. At least if they stuck to battles and tactics.

  I thought a bit. “I’ll say history too. I’d say English, but... Well, I don’t want to give anyone any reason to put writing and me in the same thought.”

  “Too right.”

  “Can we really walk all the way to Rome in less than three months? That’s when university terms start, right?”

  “Yes. Hopefully. If we overrun we’ll have to say we’re taking a year off. Some people do.”

  “Really filthy rich people, mostly,” I said doubtfully.

  “Well, fingers crossed we make it before then.”

  “Deo volente.”

  “Deo volente,” echoed Jon.

  God willing.

  Good weather persisted, we didn’t see hide or hair of any other people and we all gradually relaxed and began to take it easy, even Bane. Bane and I studied the woodland survival books and set snares, without any luck. Bane finally found a handful of small berries we dared eat, but it clearly wasn’t going to be a very time effective way of getting food.

  After a trip to the little forest room on the third night Jon came scrambling into the tent in a cold sweat because he’d heard something padding around nearby—when Bane and I stuck our heads out and shone flashlights this way and that—nothing to be seen. Just possible Jon had misinterpreted what he heard; more likely, something large had simply passed through.

  The fourth day dawned nice and dry, yet again. My thighs were so much better we agreed, reluctantly, that tomorrow we must leave. This in mind, I laid out the contents of my pack again and Jon began to do the same. Bane sat and watched. Considering how much thought he’d given to each and every gram of weight, he’d no need to familiarize himself with the contents.

  I’d read the long distance hiking guidebook now and we were definitely somewhat undersupplied, but the less of everything else, the more food we could carry. If we got caught, it’d surely be when trying to get food...

  I shook the thoughts away. Bane had done a good job, really. He’d packed thermal underwear for each of us—we’d use this mostly to wear in our sleeping bags any day we got wet and muddy, and perhaps for crossing the Alps. We had the all-important waterproofs—trousers as well as jackets with removable fleece liners. But two changes of socks and underwear were the only other clothes we had, other than what we were wearing.

  Jon grinned suddenly as he repacked his own rucksack. “So much for, Captain, Captain, Jon hasn’t got enough clothes...”

  I had to laugh, remembering how we’d taken on the sadistic head of the girls’ block to get Jon’s clothes back. “Yeah. Wonder what’s going on back there. Bet the Menace is in so much trouble.”

  “We can hope.”

  Bane shot Jon a look. “That’s unforgiving, coming from you. What’s the score with this Captain?”

  “She kept punching Margo.”

  “Only twice,” I corrected. “But she made us watch Uncle Peter’s execution.”

  Bane scowled. He’d been very fond of my ‘Uncle’ Peter, a priest who’d stayed often with my family for most of our lives. “Let’s hope she’s up to her neck in trouble, then.”

  “Well, being found fast asleep on the dorm floor in your underwear with not a single one of your charges to be found has got to be a career stopper, at the very least.”

  “Yeah,” said Jon. “It’s not like she can put the blame on anyone else, is it?”

  “Surely the commandant will be in pretty hot water with the EGD,” put in Bane. “If he’s alive. He was in overall charge, wasn’t he?”


  “Yeah, but if he followed all the regulations I don’t see what they could get him for. And I think he had. The escape was obviously orchestrated from the girl’s block, anyway. At the end of the day, we just weren’t supposed to have something that looked like a nonLee.”

  “And we only had it because the Menace told the Major she’d seen Finchley’s door card safely destroyed with her own eyes. I’d say she’s going to be in boiling water, quite frankly.”

  “Yeah, how did you get that card?” asked Bane. “You said you’d tell me.”

  “Oh dear, I don’t want to spoil your day.”

  “She stole it off a guard while he was groping her,” said Jon, about the mildest one could put it.

  “What?” Bane looked as though he’d sprint back over the Channel Bridge and introduce Finchley’s face to a cinder block all the same.

  “Calm down,” I told him. “It’s not how I’d have chosen to acquire a card, but in the circumstances it all turned out for the best.”

  Bane glowered at his faceless image of filthy Finchley for a while, then calmed down enough to think again.

  “Why did they think it was destroyed?”

  I let Jon tell him. But he made me sound so clever and cool-headed I wished I’d told it myself!

  ***+***

  4

  KITTENS

  By noon the next day my thighs and stomach were so sore we had to stop, but at least we were moving. We shared a single sachet for lunch, but after the morning’s walking it left us far hungrier than normal.

  “How far have we come?”

  “Today? Not far.” Bane glanced at his phone and put it away.

  “What’s not far?”

  “Five kilometers.”

  “That little?” From the ache in my shoulders, let alone in my healing areas, surely further! And they’d both spent most of the previous evening sneaking stuff out of my rucksack and into their own packs.