Infiltrators

by Alison Ingleby

  “So, they are like machines?”

  A clawed hand grips my arm. His fingernails dig into my skin and I bite back a cry. I pull my arm away, but his grip is tight. “Not machines,” he hisses.

  “Okay, okay, not machines.” What’s his problem?

  Giles appears satisfied and removes his hand. I rub my skin, trying to get the circulation back into my arm.

  “So, if they can only be controlled when they’re in the suits, what happens when they take them off?”

  “They only remove their suits when in the main compound. It is forbidden to remove them anywhere else, and when you are in the suit you would not even think to remove it. When they take their suits off, all memories of what happened outside the compound are left behind.”

  I stare at him in amazement. “They don’t remember anything of what happened Outside? They wouldn’t remember if they’d killed people?”

  Giles doesn’t answer.

  “So if this officer chose to go against the order to capture me and the children. If he decided to let us go, does that mean his chip is faulty?”

  “Perhaps … Or perhaps he is stronger than the system. There were always a few officers who didn’t respond fully to the implant. They sometimes retained memories of what happened when they were outside the compound.”

  Stronger than the system.

  I can sense the tension the air. He wants me gone. But I have to know more. “How do you know so much about this? Were you … in the Metz?” My disbelief comes through in my voice. I can’t imagine this small pathetic creature ever being as large and strapping as the Metz officers.

  The question seems to anger him, and he pulls back further into the dark tunnel, hissing. “You should go now, Aleeeesha.” He emphasizes each word in turn and elongates the vowels in my name.

  “I-I’m sorry.” I hold out the food to him. “Here you go.” I stretch my arm out into the dark and feel a hand close around the bars.

  His face appears, suddenly so close that I pull back in alarm. “Why do you want to know all this, Aleesha? Are you trying to hurt people?”

  “N-no! We’re trying to help people. If we can take down the Metz, that will help people.”

  He cocks his head to one side and looks at me sadly. “The Metz are people too.”

  “Who controls them? Who controls the Metz?”

  But Giles is gone and I’m left talking to the empty darkness.

  8

  Trey

  Bryn rushes into Abby’s kitchen, his face thunderous. “What the hell have you done?”

  I glance up in surprise, the plectrum falling from my hand to clatter on the hard, tiled floor.

  “The news broadcast. It was you, wasn’t it? Those files you found in the government basement?” Bryn strides over to me, his boots leaving a trail of mud on the floor. I shrink back as his piercing blue eyes bore into me, suddenly afraid. But he sighs and runs a hand through his dirty blond hair streaked with grey. “I’m sorry, Trey. Just … What were you thinking?”

  My hands shake as I stand and gently rest the guitar against the wall. “We thought … I thought that if we told people the truth about what had happened, they would insist on change. The government may not listen to Outsiders, but they’d have to listen to Insiders.”

  Bryn walks over to the window and stares out. His fingers drum a regular rhythm on the pane like he can’t keep still, even for a minute.

  “Do you not think people already realize that there’s something wrong with this society? But that they accept it?”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “No! I didn’t realize there was anything wrong. What we get taught in school—”

  “What you get taught in school is a load of rubbish.” Bryn thumps his fist against the pane. “Look, Trey, I know your parents kept you hidden away from all this. That you’ve not spent much time in London. But other people? People who live here? They’re not blind or stupid. They’re smart – they’re genetically engineered to be smart. They can’t not know that there’s something wrong when a goddamn lethal barrier surrounds them.”

  “When you’ve grown up with something, when that’s the way things have always been, do you always question it?”

  I turn with a start. Abby stands in the door to the hallway, a pile of neatly folded bandages in her arms. “You have a different perspective on things, Bryn, because you’ve grown up elsewhere. You’ve seen what other societies are like. You’re forgetting that we have no communication from outside London. Nothing is allowed in or out without the government’s say-so. And it’s been a couple of generations since the Great Flood. Most people don’t remember that time, or if they do, all they remember is the bad stuff. The wars and the famine, everything that led to the Wall being put up in the first place.”

  I stare at her in surprise. “You know all this?”

  Abby shrugs, puts the linen down on the kitchen table and opens a cupboard. She starts neatly stacking the piled bandages on a shelf. “I was the one who asked all the questions at school, Trey. I felt something was wrong, but I couldn’t work out what it was. When I met Bryn and the others from the Chain, everything started to become clear. I didn’t know all the details of this Population Regulation Act they’re talking about, but it’s not surprising.”

  “There you see!” I wave my arm in Abby’s direction. “Some people get it!”

  Bryn throws his arms up. “Yeah, because everyone’s like Abby. How many Insiders do you see who’ve given up everything to live a shitty existence Outside just to help people?” He glares at Abby as if his gaze could lift her up and plonk her back Inside the Wall. A faint blush rises under her olive skin, but she stares down at her hands, neatening the corners of a perfectly folded square of fabric.

  Bryn takes a step toward her then pauses and returns to the window. He lets out a big breath. “Look, all I’m saying is that not everyone is like Abby. And once she got involved in the Chain, she had more information than most. She’s right, people don’t know what’s going on outside this country. They don’t know the situation is wrong because they’ve never experienced anything else.”

  “Isn’t that why we should tell them?” I ask. My fingers curl into fists and I have a sudden urge to slam my hand down onto the table.

  Bryn doesn’t seem to hear me. “The government,” he continues, “they know this situation is wrong. But they’re the ones who’ve got the most to lose by changing it.” He sighs. “Look, Trey. I know why you did what you did. All I’m saying is, you should have come to me first with this information.”

  “I did!” I’m shouting, but I don’t care. Maybe if I shout someone will finally listen. “I did mention the papers to you and Millicent and Murdoch. And you told me they didn’t matter. That they weren’t important. Because your plan was so much better. Except it didn’t work, did it?”

  Anger flashes in Bryn’s eyes. “Now wait a minute—”

  “No, you wait! You keep telling me that the Chain is trying to create an equal society. That you’re going to make things right in the city. But when I actually have some information that could help with that, you just ignore me. You don’t care about any of this, do you? You talk about doing all this stuff, but when it comes down to it you don’t actually do anything!”

  I lean on the table, panting.

  “For god’s sake, Trey! Will you stop being so naive? When it comes down to it, people are self-interested creatures. They may believe in what’s right or wrong, but their first priority is self-preservation.” He snorts. “Though you seem to be the exception to that rule. First, you throw away the future your father and I gave you. Then, rather than waiting for the fuss to die down, you just go and give the government another reason to come after you. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you really are my son. You don’t seem to have inherited my survival instinct!”

  Tears prick my eyes and I gulp them back. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. I don’t care. He’s not my real father anyway.

  “You’re wro
ng! You just think the worst of everyone. You don’t even give people a chance to do the right thing.” I push past him toward the back door.

  “Trey, wait. I’m sorry—”

  The door slams behind me, cutting off his words. Tears blur my vision as I stumble toward the back gate. I just need to prove him wrong.

  I know the quickest way to the Wall by now. Once Inside, I walk quickly along the deserted streets, inhaling the clean air. I’d never really appreciated how lucky we were to have air that smells of, well, nothing. Or at least, nothing offensive. Though the foul-smelling air Outside doesn’t choke me as much as it used to. Perhaps the stench of filth, rotting garbage and all the other unpleasant smells that linger in the streets have dampened my senses.

  The screens that line the buildings are all showing the news. A crowd has formed in one of the squares and I tag onto the back of it to listen to what the President has to say. A light drizzle gives me an excuse to keep my hood up, hiding my face and hair from whatever cameras may be watching.

  The newsreader is giving the President a grilling about the contents of the “secret papers”, as they’re calling them. But the President is dismissive. He seems to have an explanation for everything, and when it comes to the co-tronkpretine question, he just cuts the newsreader off mid-sentence, accusing him of sensationalising news to take attention away from the real work the government are doing to help people living Outside the Wall.

  Around me, there are murmurs of agreement. People begin to dissipate and I move with them, not wanting to be left alone, staring at the screens.

  Was Bryn right? Are they just going to ignore this? Do they want to be blind?

  I wander the streets, searching the faces I pass for some sign that people are bothered by the news. That they’re going to do something about it. But it seems like life Inside carries on as normal. That they don’t know – or care – about the events Aleesha had described in Rose Square. That the world Outside the Wall doesn’t exist to them.

  Perhaps they’re not the people I thought they were.

  I perch on the edge of a narrow blue bench in a small leafy square lined with boutique shops and cafés. It’s one of the more peaceful squares and I know it well. Ella used to bring me here when she was charged with looking after me. We would sit inside her favourite café and watch the people crossing the square, making up stories about their lives.

  I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and rub my eyes. I feel overwhelmed. There’s too much going on. Things aren’t going as planned. Bryn’s mad at me, Katya’s ignoring what we’ve done and has some crazy plan to take over the Metz, and Aleesha … Our fight’s been nagging at me ever since I returned to Abby’s. I don’t have anything to apologize for, but still, it feels like there’s something … unfinished. As if I’ve hurt her somehow.

  A bird lands on the arm of the bench, cocks its head as if assessing whether I’m a source of food or danger, and hops down to the ground beside my feet. It pecks at some crumbs left by the previous occupant. It makes me smile.

  There aren’t any birds Outside, at least not ones like this. Its bright blue wings are folded back against its cream belly as it hops around unafraid. A lump grows in my throat. I miss living here. Inside. Miss the fresh air and the smell of the flowers. Even in winter, green plants and trees line the streets and hang down from the balconies of the many apartment blocks. Outside, everything is grey and muddy.

  I jerk my head up at a familiar laugh.

  Ella.

  She’s walking arm in arm with a tall, lean man with light brown hair that flops over his face. When they reach the coffee shop I’ve been watching for the past twenty minutes, she stops and says something to him. He bends down to kiss her lightly on the lips, then walks away as she pushes the door open.

  Ella has a boyfriend?

  But I guess she could have had a hundred boyfriends for all I know. Even before I went on the run, we’d only really spent holidays together. And in recent years, since Ella started work, they had been short holidays. Even though she’s my sister, I know little about what goes on in her life.

  I get to my feet and walk over to wait outside the café. A few minutes later, she exits, walking right past me, her heels clicking on the paving slabs.

  “Ella?”

  She freezes and turns around. But her eyes pass over me again. I sigh and step forward, pushing the hood back. Her face relaxes into a smile.

  “Darwin!” Three neat steps and she’s pulling me into a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

  She steps back, frowning, and casts a worried look around the square. “But what are you doing here?” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “What if someone sees you?”

  I pull my hood back up and shrug. “It’s okay. I’m careful. Can you call me Trey?”

  Darwin is my first name and, until recently, the name everyone knew me by. Darwin Trey Goldsmith. But Bryn told me to drop it. Said it made me sound like an Insider. Which it does, of course. I’ve got so used to Trey that it sounds odd to be called anything else.

  Ella gives a wry smile. “Okay then, Trey.” She holds out her cup to me. “Hot chocco. Would you like some?”

  I nod and take a sip of the hot, sweet liquid. It explodes in my mouth and coats my tongue in a rich, creamy froth. “Mmm.”

  “Do you remember that time there was snow on the hills in Wales? And Martha made us hot chocco as a treat?”

  I nod. It got cold in Wales during the winter – much colder than London. I’d spent most of the time I wasn’t at school at our family’s tumbling-down house that was nestled between steep hills and only accessible by pod. Martha was the nanny bot who’d looked after us when we were kids. Ella used to love tricking her and sneaking out of the house. I was young the year we had snow, but Ella had dragged me out into the hills. We’d spent all day outside and were freezing by the time we’d returning to a frantic Martha who was on the verge of activating her emergency protocol and calling in a search team.

  “This is better than hers,” I say, taking another sip and handing back the cup.

  “They get the good stuff. It’s almost real chocolate,” Ella replies.

  We turn and walk up the street. “How are they?” I ask. I don’t need to specify who.

  Ella sighs. “Okay, I guess. Father isn’t great. He’s working too hard. And we’re having to move …”

  “Move?” My head snaps up. “Where to?”

  “Just a few streets away. We can’t afford the apartment since Father got demoted, even with my pay coming in. Fortunately, Mother knew a family looking for a bigger place and we managed to swap.”

  My fault. The lingering sweetness of the chocco turns sickly in my mouth.

  Ella squeezes my arm. “It’s not your fault, Dar— Trey,” she says quietly. “Besides, the new place is quite cute really.”

  I stare at the ground. Guilt twists my gut. Of course it’s my fault. If I hadn’t been born, they’d all be a happy family. Dad, Mum, Anabel and Ella. Father would still be a government minister and Anabel wouldn’t have been banished to another country.

  “Is … is Father around?” I ask.

  “He’s probably still at work.” Ella checks the band on her wrist. “Actually, he may be just leaving. He tends to walk home nowadays. We can probably catch him if we hurry.”

  “Do you not need to go back to the office?” I glance at her in surprise.

  “No. I was in early today and they probably won’t notice I’m gone anyway.”

  She smiles and tucks her arm through mine. “Come on.”

  We walk for about twenty minutes until we get to an area I recognize, just around the corner from our home. Or what was my home. It all looks so familiar. Everything is just the same. As if nothing has changed. I guess in here, it hasn’t.

  “There he is.” Ella points across the street. It takes me a moment to spot him. Bowed over, he looks shorter than I remember, and there’s more grey than brown in his hair. As we walk over I notice
that one shoe is scuffed at the front. Is this the same man who refused to leave the house unless he looked immaculate? Can a few weeks change a person this much?

  He almost walks past us, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.

  “F-father?”

  He starts and looks up, wild-eyed. “Darwin?” He peers under my hood.

  I sigh. “Trey, Dad. It’s Trey.”

  “You shouldn’t be here!” he hisses, looking around as if a Metz officer could jump out from behind the nearest lamp post.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  My father frowns and shakes his head. “Too dangerous,” he mutters. “They may be following me.”

  “The graveyard just up the road,” Ella whispers. “Let’s meet there.”

  We reconvene five minutes later in a small, ancient graveyard nestled between tall buildings. Father seems to visibly relax away from the bustle of the street. Does the President have people following him or is he just being paranoid?

  We sit in silence for a moment on a plastic bench that’s seen better days.

  My father breaks the silence. “Was it you?” he asks hoarsely.

  “Was what me?”

  He sighs. “You know what, Trey. The news reports. The President thinks you and that girl found something when you broke into the headquarters and went to the press.”

  I stay silent.

  My father bows his head and clenches his fists in his hair. “What were you thinking, Trey? Going to the press was a stupid idea. You don’t understand—”

  “No, you don’t understand!”

  “Keep your voice down,” Ella hisses, waving frantically.

  “You don’t understand,” I whisper. “This city is built on lies, and someone has to stand up for the truth. People have the right to know what happened. We’re a democracy, aren’t we?”

  My father’s face twists briefly into an expression I can’t read. He begins to massage his temples. “Releasing the information in that way was a bad idea. Now, Outsiders are fighting and Insiders are scared. No one trusts us. And if they don’t trust us, how can we help them?”