Infiltrators

by Alison Ingleby

  Jay limps across to the table and takes a swig from a bottle of Chaz, the sickly sweet drink that’s cheaper than bottled water. There’s a fresh cut on his arm and another slash across his broad chest that’s still leaking blood.

  I’ll bet he hasn’t treated that.

  Even after he won the Snakes’ leadership contest it was me who had to make sure his wounds were clean, who made him take the anti-infection pill. That was part of my job.

  The role of a girlfriend. To look after her man.

  I realize I’m frowning and force my face to relax.

  “You were involved in the fight?” I ask. “Did anyone get hurt? In the gang, I mean?” I glance around. “Why aren’t you at the headquarters?”

  Jay makes an exasperated noise. “Will you stop with yer questions? I came back to check that Beth was okay.”

  “You should be with the gang, not here with her.”

  That earns me another scowl. But I’m right. He’s the leader of the Snakes. They should be his first priority.

  “Anyway, you’ve got no right comin’ here and having a go at me. Not after you’ve spent years lying to me. I saw your face on the screen.” He jabs his finger at the window. “Illegal citizen? No wonder you were always beggin’ me for food.”

  I sigh. “I’m sorry.” He gives me another scowl. “Really, Jay, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t know if you’d turn me in.”

  He turns away and mutters something under his breath.

  Fine. I walk over to the corner of the room. “Can I borrow your knife?”

  “What have you done with yours?” But he tosses a short-bladed knife in my direction. I catch it by the handle, more by luck than skill. “Nice to see you haven’t lost your touch.” He smirks.

  “Lost mine in the fight in Rose Square,” I say, using the blade to ease up the loose floorboard in the corner of the room.

  “You were at Rose Square?”

  I nod. “I went to see what was on the screens, and then couldn’t get out when the Metz came.”

  Jay walks over and crouches down beside me, his eyebrows bunched together in a frown. I swallow, trying to ignore his closeness. His musky scent cuts through the smell of sweat and dirt and I shuffle further away from him.

  “You’ve been hidin’ stuff here all this time?”

  I nod.

  His eyes narrow. “I always wondered where you kept your stash of tronk.”

  “I’ve quit,” I say through gritted teeth, swallowing down a pang of longing.

  Dammit, Jay.

  I can almost taste it on my tongue.

  My hand shakes as I reach into the void under the floorboards and pull out a metal lockbox. Inside, there’s a handful of chits, a few protein bars that are well past their use-by date and a couple of half-used packets of pills. I reach back down and run my hand around the void. Nothing.

  Damn. I thought I’d left a knife here.

  “Any chance you’ve got a spare knife I could have?” Jay looks at me suspiciously and I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to stab you. But I need to be able to defend myself. You know that.”

  He sighs and goes into the bedroom, returning a moment later with a battered plastic box containing an assortment of knives and makeshift weapons. I raise an eyebrow. “That’s quite a horde you’ve got there.”

  He shrugs. “There’s plenty more at headquarters, but I like to keep some stuff here. Help yourself.”

  I route through the box, selecting two knives that are well-balanced enough to throw and a stiletto blade that should fit in the hidden pocket in my trousers. “Thanks.”

  “No worries.” Jay leans on the back of the chair. “Are … are you okay, Aleesha?”

  The question and the concern in his voice surprise me. I stand and tuck the lockbox under my arm. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I hesitate, and then hold out the pack of blue pills. “Take two of these. They’re anti-infection pills.” I eye the trickle of blood on his chest. “And make sure you keep those wounds clean.”

  Jay shrugs. “They’re just scratches.”

  Irritation flares inside me. “And you know how many people have died from infected scratches out here.” God, sometimes it feels like talking to a kid.

  A flash of anger crosses Jay’s face. “Weren’t you leavin’?”

  He walks over to the door and yanks it open.

  I follow him, but then remember what else I needed to talk to him about. I take a deep breath. “I saw Samson leaving here the other night.”

  Jay’s face darkens. “And?”

  “He’s working for the government, Jay. I saw him inside the government headquarters, talking to the President.”

  Jay’s eyes widen. “What were you doing in t—”

  “That doesn’t matter. He was there.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re wrong. Samson doesn’t work with the government. It must have been someone else.”

  “Did you take those people off Cleaning watch as he asked? Is that why no one got the warning about the Metz attack in Rose Square?”

  The gangs keep a watch out for the Metz. It’s part of an unwritten deal. We protect the people, warn them if it looks like a Cleaning’s about to take place so they have time to get out. In return, they give us money and food. And don’t complain when things occasionally get out of hand.

  Anger flashes in his eyes. I’ve hit a nerve. “There was nothing we could do to warn people. Everything happened too quickly.”

  “No one was on watch, were they? Because Samson told you to take them off. How many people died today because of that?”

  Jay takes a step toward me, his fists clenched at his side. “Samson knows what he’s doing. He’s working for the benefit of Outsiders.” The words trip off his tongue as if he’s repeating what someone’s told him. Perhaps he is.

  I glare up at him. “Really? So, what’s he doing to stop the Metz?” I step forward and jab my finger into the firm muscle of his chest. It’s a stupid move. I’m goading him to lose his temper. And when Jay loses his temper, he can get violent. But I’m so angry that I don’t care. “You need to stand up to him, Jay. The people out there are angry, can’t you see? Angry and afraid. And I bet once they’ve licked their wounds, they’ll be wondering why none of the gangs warned ’em that the Metz were coming. It’s our job to protect them!”

  “Our job?”

  A fleck of spit lands on my cheek.

  “Our job? I don’t see you doing anything to help. Just keep your nose out of my business, Aleesha. It’s nothing to do with you anymore.”

  “But the Snakes …”

  “I don’t remember you takin’ that much interest in the gang before,” he retorts. “Go and find another gang to tag along with, if any will have you. That’s what you usually do, isn’t it? Switch to another gang when you get bored of one? So much for loyalty.”

  He gives me a shove and I stumble from the room. The door slams in my face.

  I raise my fist to bang on it but manage to stop myself. Instead, I press my forehead against the cold wall and take a deep breath in an attempt to hold back the tears pricking my eyes.

  He’s right, of course. But how else was I supposed to survive out here? It was either that or be on the streets or at the mercy of the pimps who hang around down by the river. One run-in with them was enough.

  I walk slowly down the stairs, tapping my fingers against the cracked grey wall. Jay’s in deeper than I thought. And if the other gang leaders that Samson’s got control over are the same, the gangs will do nothing to protect people from further Metz attacks. Perhaps this time the Chain have got it right. If you get rid of the Metz, the killing will stop. The Cleanings will stop. And the government will have to listen to the people.

  I head for my rooftop via Rose Square. Metz officers guard the streets up to the square, stopping anyone from going past, and there’s a faint smell of smoke in the air that reminds me of the aftermath of a Cleaning. I wonder if it’s rubbish in the streets they’re burning o
r bodies.

  I wonder how many people have died today.

  Hobies huddle in groups, keeping a wary eye out in case the Metz move in. A scruffy kid steps out in front of me, his hands held up and a sullen, pleading expression on his face. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman watching us. I pull the packet of pink pills from my pocket and place it carefully in his hand to hide the chit underneath.

  “Vitamin pills. They’re good for you.”

  The woman’s eyes narrow. The boy gives me a shifty smile. “Thanks, missus.” He pockets the pills then shoves his hand inside his thin jacket, apparently to scratch an itch.

  I pat him on the shoulder and head off down the street, wondering if his minder will find the chit. Perhaps not. He seemed a smart kid.

  Lost in thought, I wander down to the river. The tide is out and a few early flies flit over the stinking mud. In summer, the flies and the stench are unbearable, and only the scavengers who scrape a living from what the tide brings in come this close to the water.

  You need to find this officer again.

  Katya’s words. Easy for her to say. Hundreds of Metz officers, all identical, and I’m supposed to pick the right one? With the small risk of them arresting me as soon as their scanners pick up who I am.

  I realize my brows are knitted together. Turn that frown upside down. The corner of my mouth twitches. It had been one of my mother’s favourite sayings. She would place a finger at each corner of my mouth and turn it up, or, if I was being particularly stubborn, tickle me until my frown turned into a laugh.

  If we get rid of the Metz, the killing will stop. We need to find out more about them. How they work. Who they are.

  Something is niggling at me. Some memory that’s important. Something to do with the Metz. It lurks at the back of my consciousness in a pool of other thoughts and memories, but every time I try to tug it out, it sinks deeper into the murk. I close my eyes and let my mind wander, flitting from memory to memory and most definitely not focusing on that one. Then, like a boat brought in on the tide, it comes to me …

  I had been in the southern part of Four, scouting out the area around the concrete jungle: the big mass of rubble and junk that for some reason the government has never cleared. It’s one of the rougher areas and usually pretty quiet. Even the hobies stay away. Rounding the corner of a street, I nearly ran headlong into the huge black figure of a Metz officer who was standing stock-still in the middle of the road.

  I stumbled backward around the corner, my heart beating so loud I thought it would be heard a mile away. But the officer didn’t seem to notice I was there. Which was odd. So, I hung around, straining my ears to find out what was going on.

  “I have been ordered to bring you back. You must come with me.” The gravelly tones of the Metz officer were almost a whisper.

  “Please, just let me be. I promise no one will ever know.” A man’s voice. “Just tell them I’m dead. That you killed me while I was trying to evade capture.”

  A hesitation. Then the officer spoke again. “You will come with me.”

  “No!” A scream of pain. I turned to leave but something stopped me. The terror in the man’s voice, perhaps, that made me think that whatever awaited him was worse than death.

  I picked up half a brick from the floor and threw it at the officer. It bounced off his helmet, but he turned and began to move toward me, dragging a pale, whimpering figure along the ground.

  “Stay out of this.”

  I stood my ground, but more because my legs were weak with fear than out of bravery. “No. Let him go.”

  The officer reached for its weapon, then paused. It released its grip on the pale figure and turned its head, as if responding to a shout. But the street was silent. I bent down and picked up the other half of the brick. But the officer glanced once more at the man on the ground, turned and ran back up the road as if it were being chased by an army.

  I crouched down by the man. He was wearing a long, ragged coat and a thermal hat. I reached out to grasp his shoulder, but he flinched and held up an arm to ward me off.

  “Hey, it’s okay. It’s gone.”

  He looked up at me and I reeled back in shock. It was like the colour had been drained out of him. As if he were a ghost or something. His eyes were the palest blue and ringed by white eyelashes that were almost invisible against his skin. His eyebrows were white too, but he didn’t look old. His skin was smooth and youthful. A pink blush infused his face with colour and he looked down at the ground.

  “Thank you. I am in your debt.”

  The phrase was oddly formal. His accent wasn’t from this part of the city either. More like an Insider’s accent. The man tried to get to his feet but collapsed back to the ground, clutching his side with a whimper of pain. I reached down to help him up. “Come on, I’ll see you home.”

  His home turned out to be the concrete jungle. I didn’t think that anyone actually lived there, but he directed me to a small passageway that seemed to lead into the heart of the rubble.

  “You live here?”

  The man nodded and began to crawl into the entrance way. “Wait!” I called after him. “What’s your name?”

  His teeth flashed white in the darkness as he turned to look at me. “Giles.”

  A cawing seagull lands a few feet away, pulling me out of the memory. Dusk is falling, the sun hidden by thick cloud. No sunset tonight.

  Giles. He knows something about them.

  It’s not far to the concrete jungle. I’ve only been here a couple of times since that night I helped Giles home. Once to call in the favour he owed me, when I got him to show me and Trey the entrance to the old underground tunnels, and again when we went back through the tunnels to break into the government headquarters.

  The loose piles of concrete blocks and rubble are treacherous, and more than once I have to put out a hand to stop myself falling. At one point, I dislodge a small pile of stones that rattle down to the ground. The noise is loud in the still night air. Unlike most parts of Area Four, the jungle is strangely quiet. I guess no one really comes here.

  Finally, I reach the rough square opening that I think is Giles’s home. “Giles? Are you there? It’s me, Aleesha.”

  But I’m met with silence. I wait a minute and call again. I’m about to venture into the dark when a hiss stops me short.

  “Aleeeesha?” He sounds wary.

  “Yes. Can I come in?” I glance back over my shoulder nervously. Perched on the edge of the rubble, I feel exposed to whoever may be looking.

  There’s a grunt, which I take as a yes. I scoot inside the entrance to the tunnel but it’s so small that I end up with my back curled against one wall and my legs pressed against the other.

  How can anyone live in a place like this?

  A slight scuffle to my right is the only warning I have before Giles’s white skeletal face appears in front of me. He leans in to inspect me and a shiver runs down my spine. He is such a freak. I chide myself for the thought. No more a freak than any other person out here.

  I fumble in my backpack and pull out the protein bars and some dried jerky I’d managed to buy on my way here. Parting with it is hard, particularly as my stomach is screaming out for food. But if this is what it takes to get Giles to talk, so be it.

  His eyes widen. “For me?”

  I nod but hold the packets away from his outstretched hand. “If you can help me with some information.”

  Giles rocks back on his heels and I realize that the part of the tunnel he’s in is much higher. Although the entrance way is narrow, it must open up to a larger space.

  “What information?” he asks warily.

  “Information about the Metz.”

  There’s a low hiss followed by silence.

  “You know something about them, don’t you? How they’re controlled?”

  Another pause. “Why do you want to know?”

  I let out a breath. He does know something. But how to get him to speak …?

&nbs
p; “There was a huge fight in Rose Square today. I was with some kids and we were cornered by a Metz officer. He was going to take us in – that’s what he was supposed to do. But instead, he let us go. And I remembered when I first saw you. When the Metz officer was attacking you—”

  “He wasn’t attacking me!” Giles’s voice is sharp. Somehow, I’ve touched a nerve. “He was trying to take me back.”

  “To take you back where?”

  He doesn’t answer but I sense him moving closer to me. His leg brushes mine. I’d expect him to stink as much as any street hobie, but his odour is faint and slightly musky. Not at all unpleasant.

  “What do you want, with this officer?”

  “I just want to understand. I … I’ve always thought they were monsters. But he bled, just like a man. So are they people? Or machines?”

  Giles hesitates for a moment before speaking. “They are both. When a recruit passes the tests to become an officer, a chip is implanted in their brain. It dampens their emotions. They no longer feel hurt or pain, or love or joy. It means they can focus on their training. Their job.”

  “Their job? To kill people?”

  Giles shakes his head. “To uphold the law.” There’s a wistful note in his voice. His eyes seem to glow in the dark as he stares past me at the tunnel wall.

  “And the chip is what controls them?”

  “When they put on the suits.”

  Suits? “You mean the armour?”

  “Yes. The chip at the back of the neck connects to the suit. It’s like a second skin, amplifying their ability to fight and move. And messages can be sent directly to officers from the captains.”

  “So the captain controls each officer’s actions?”

  Another hiss. I sense he is considering how much to tell me and whether he can trust me, so I sit and wait in silence until he is ready. It’s odd. When he talks about the Metz, his speech becomes less disjointed and more … normal. Less hissing too.

  “Things happen instantaneously,” he says eventually. “If I told you to do something then your ears would hear the instruction and send that to your brain, which would then process it and decide whether to carry out the action or not. Inside the suit, the instruction goes directly to the brain and the body acts. There is no pause for decision-making.”