Infiltrators

by Alison Ingleby

  Shut up, Trey. Does he not get that I don’t want to talk about it?

  There’s a creak as Bryn rocks back on the legs of his chair. Abby frowns at him.

  “What scar’s that?” Bryn asks.

  “He has a scar here,” I point at the corner of my left eye. “Kind of S-shaped.”

  There’s a crash followed by a string of curses as Bryn’s chair collapses. I jerk, spilling hot water in my lap. Abby stands up and folds her arms, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

  “Dammit!” A hand appears on the edge of the table, and a moment later Bryn pulls himself up, rubbing the back of his head. He bends down and picks up the broken handle of his mug. “Sorry, Abby.”

  “I’m not going to say I told you so …” Abby says, turning and reaching for the brush.

  “But you told him so,” Trey said.

  “But you told me so,” Bryn said at the same time.

  They look at each other and laugh.

  A happy family picture.

  My chest tightens, and I push myself up out of the chair and stumble from the room. I expect to find Bernie sleeping on the sofa in the front room, but it’s empty. He must have gone home.

  Or died.

  I wrap myself up in one of Abby’s blankets and lie down, staring at the faded pattern on the sofa cushion. When the door opens half an hour later and Trey comes in to ask if I’m okay, I pretend to be asleep.

  I’m woken by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Tentative footsteps, as if someone is being careful not to be heard. The grey half-light of early morning filters through the window.

  Silently, I push back the blanket and pad across the floor to the door. I ease it open a crack just in time to catch a blur of movement as someone rushes past into the kitchen. But their scent lingers in the air for a second longer. Fresh water and pine trees. Trey.

  What’s he doing up this early?

  I dress quickly and pull my boots on in the empty kitchen. I hear the gate to the back yard swing shut. The cool morning air sharpens my senses as I set off down the back alley. Wherever Trey’s sneaking out to, I want to know.

  18

  Trey

  The streets are quiet at this early hour. Hobies huddle in doorways or anywhere else there’s shelter. Children nestle under the protective arm of a parent. Wary eyes glint from the depths of a shapeless mound of blankets.

  Last night’s rain has blown over but the mud lining the streets is still slick and I slip and slide as I hurry toward the Wall. I’ve a long way to go on the other side and I don’t want to miss him. A couple of times I get the sense that there’s someone watching me, but when I turn, there’s no one there.

  You’re getting paranoid.

  Once through the Wall, I pull my hood up to hide my face and set off at a fast walk. The odd house or apartment has its lights on; early risers getting ready for a day at work. Inside a small bakery, a young woman is stacking loaves of bread on the shelves behind the counter. The smell makes my mouth water. My stomach feels hard and empty. But there’ll be time to eat later.

  I’m tired but feel strangely alert. I didn’t sleep much. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Aleesha’s face. Her expression of hurt. Hate. Contempt. I know when she sees me, she thinks of him. That this will always hang between us.

  Which is why I need answers. For her. And for me.

  I hurry past the great dome of St Paul’s Cathedral, overshadowed by the modern apartment blocks that replaced the historic stone buildings destroyed during the dark times that followed the Great Flood. In the park surrounding it, pop-up tents, like the kind used for street festivals, have been set up.

  Finally, I reach the street where Ella had brought me to meet him. I lean against a wall to catch my breath, hoping that I’m in time. Father always used to go to work early – he said he enjoyed being first in the office when it was quiet – but perhaps now he has fewer responsibilities he doesn’t need to work quite so hard.

  I wait for twenty minutes, moving up or down the street occasionally so I don’t catch the attention of the cameras. The street becomes busier; a one-way flow of people in blue suits heading to work in the government buildings just down the road.

  Then I spot him. A thin, hunched figure shuffling down one side of the street in a light raincoat. A pang of pain lances through my stomach and a hard lump develops in my throat, making it hard to swallow. It’s like someone has sucked all the energy and life from him, crumpling his body up.

  My fault. This is all my fault.

  He doesn’t notice me as he walks past and doesn’t even look up as I fall into step beside him.

  “Father?” I murmur out of the corner of my mouth. “I need to talk to you.”

  His head jerks up at the sound of my voice, but he manages to keep looking straight ahead.

  “The graveyard up ahead,” I say.

  He nods slightly, and I speed up, turning into the small gated park without looking back.

  A few minutes later, he joins me on a low bench overlooking a pond full of golden fish.

  We sit in silence for a minute. “You are well?” my father asks eventually.

  I nod. “Mother?”

  “She’s alright. Bearing up better than I am.”

  He gives a short, hoarse laugh and his hands twitch in his lap.

  “How’s the job?”

  I immediately wish I hadn’t asked. He stares sadly out. “Tedious. Dull. People mostly ignore me, and I ignore them. Do my hours and leave.” His fingers twitch again. “But there are no late nights or working at home. I don’t think I’ve spent so much time with your mother for years.”

  Another silence. “What do you remember about Operation Nightshade?” I ask eventually.

  My father turns and looks at me in surprise. “Operation Nightshade?”

  “You don’t remember it? It was years ago, when you worked in the State Department. A woman was murdered. Maria Ramos.”

  He frowns. “Operation Nightshade is confidential. Why do you want to know about it? How do you even know it exists?”

  “Maria Ramos had a daughter. A daughter who grew up never knowing what happened to her mother. That she was murdered by the Metz. That you gave the order for her death.” The metal slats of the bench dig into my hands, but rather than loosening my grip, I tighten it.

  “Her death was an accident, Trey.”

  A snort escapes me. “An accident? I’ve seen the footage, Father, I’ve been there. They shot her down, like she was some kind of animal to be slaughtered!”

  “Where did you access these files, Trey? What have you been doing?” There’s a tremor in his voice.

  I ignore the questions. “You remember her then?”

  “I remember the operation.” He glances across at me and gives a short laugh. “What, you think I just signed it off without even looking? That I don’t remember when a citizen died because of an order I gave?” He shakes his head sadly. “Believe it or not, Trey, I was good at my job. One of the reasons I worked such long hours was because I read every report, questioned my briefs and did whatever research was necessary to make the best possible decision.”

  “But you got this decision wrong. You screwed up.”

  “No, I didn’t.” He raises a hand to cut off my protest. “Let me speak. The decision was the right one, it was the execution that went wrong.” He winces. “Sorry, poor choice of words. The brief I had on Operation Nightshade was that we had good intelligence to indicate that a known criminal who posed a threat to the government was in the city. He arranged to meet this woman and in the process of doing so, he revealed himself to our spy. The proposed plan was sensible: to clear the surrounding area so no citizens would get caught up in a fight, wait for him to arrive and then close in and capture him.”

  “But he didn’t turn up.”

  My father sighs. “No. Perhaps he got word, perhaps our man had been turned, we don’t know. Maria Ramos should never have been killed. But she should have been taken in for
questioning—”

  “And that would have had the same outcome, right?” Sarcasm drips from my lips. I’m hurting him. I know I am. But I don’t care.

  “Perhaps.” He massages his temples with his fingers. “She was associated with him, after all. I doubt she was entirely innocent.”

  “But she had a daughter!”

  “Who we knew nothing about! And that in itself is a crime.”

  We stare at each other until, finally, my father gives in and looks away.

  “And this daughter. She’s a friend of yours?” he says finally.

  “Aleesha. Yes. She was six.”

  “Aleesha.” He frowns. “The girl you broke into the headquarters with?”

  I nod.

  “Be careful who you trust, Trey. I know you feel you’ve been let down by us and by the government. But that doesn’t mean the Outsiders you meet are any more trustworthy. They—”

  “All my life you’ve taught me to trust the government. That what they’re doing is right when it’s so blatantly wrong! And now you dare to tell me where to put my trust?” I push myself up off the bench and glare down at him.

  “Everyone has their own agenda, Trey.” His eyes flash as he stands and draws himself up to his full height. Suddenly he is the father I knew again. The man I respected. The man I tried so hard to please. “And if you’ve got any sense, you’ll figure out what that agenda is before trusting someone implicitly.”

  How dare he imply that Aleesha’s untrustworthy just because she’s an Outsider. Because she’s not one of us.

  My hands ball into fists. I can feel the ridges on my skin left behind by the metal slats. “I spent years blindly trusting you only to find out you were telling me lies. I think it’s about time I figure out for myself who to trust.” My throat tightens, choking off my words.

  My father’s face sags and he looks like an old man again. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’ve always tried to do my best for you all. Given you everything you could need or want to get on in the world.”

  “While screwing over everyone else?” I wave my arm around. “But hey, I forgot. Outsiders don’t matter, right?”

  “Of course they matter, Trey. I’ve tried to do my best for everyone, but if you ever have a career in politics, you’ll realize how impossible that is! When you’re in a position of power, you have to weigh up every decision and put your own feelings aside to work out what the best course of action is for the people you represent. Not for you. For them. Nothing is ever black and white. There are always shades of grey. Unknowns, things that you have to take a judgement call on.”

  His face softens. “One day, perhaps, you’ll be in a similar position yourself. Then maybe you’ll understand.” He reaches a hand out to my shoulder, but I bat it away.

  “I think I already understand what’s right and what’s wrong.” I clench my jaw. “Something you seem to have spent your whole life ignoring!”

  I push past him, and he stumbles and falls back onto the bench.

  “Trey, wait!”

  But I don’t wait. I don’t even look back. I run from the graveyard and plunge through the stream of people heading to work. Heading to their government jobs where they pretend to make our city a better place. I push past them, ignoring the shouts of annoyance and anger that follow me.

  Then I’m out the other side and I keep walking, faster and faster until I’m far from the government buildings. My feet lead me to a familiar square where a wave of dizziness overwhelms me and I collapse onto a bench and rest my head in my shaking hands.

  “Trey? Are you alright?”

  A hand on my shoulder jerks me out of my stupor. Ella. Of course. This is her square, the one with the coffee shop.

  “You look like you’re about to keel over.” She sits down next to me and grabs my head, turning it so I’m forced to meet her gaze. “What’s wrong? Are you here to see me?”

  I shake my head. A sweet smell rises up from a paper bag on her lap. She follows my gaze. “Are you hungry?”

  She doesn’t wait for an answer but breaks off part of the pastry and hands it to me. I hesitate for a second, then grab it. I rip a large piece off and shove it into my mouth. It’s still warm.

  “Guess so, huh.”

  I stop chewing and heat flushes my cheeks. “Th-thank you,” I manage.

  She glances around and lowers her voice. A lock of her brown hair falls down from the loose bun at the nape of her neck. “What’s going on, Trey? You can tell me.”

  But I can’t.

  I finish the pastry. It feels heavy in my stomach, but the sugar surges through my system. “It’s just a little crazy out there at the moment.”

  “Outside? I’ve heard.” Her smile drops.

  I glance at her in surprise. “You have?”

  “Some of my friends live in Six. Or at least, they did.” She sighs. “They’ve joined the other refugees.”

  “Refugees?”

  Ella frowns. “Wasn’t that what you were talking about? You must have seen some on your way over here. Six has become a war zone. Sammie was trapped in her apartment for two days before they moved onto an easier target. She and her parents left as soon as they could to come Inside. At least they have Sammie’s aunt to stay with. Most people aren’t so lucky. The government are setting up some emergency centres to temporarily house people and help get them off the streets.”

  “I didn’t realize things were so bad,” I whisper.

  Ella glances at her wrist. “Look, I’m going to be late for work.” She hesitates. “Are you sure you’re alright? If you wait here, I can come and meet you at lunch. We can talk more then.”

  I shake my head and manage a weak smile. “No, I’m fine, honest. I need to get back.”

  “Okay, little bro.” She leans forward and gives me a peck on the cheek. “You take care of yourself. Oh, and eat the rest of this. I’m not hungry.” She pushes the rest of the pastry into my hand, then turns, her heels clicking across the square.

  The pastry gives me strength. I walk slowly in the direction of the Wall, going further north than normal and detouring to one of the larger squares where the screens alternately blare out news and advertisements. But the news headlines only confirm what I can see with my own eyes.

  There’s the usual crowd of people walking to work and taking children to school. But weaving between them are people laden with canvas bags, pushing hover floats with more bags and oddly shaped packages strapped to the top.

  In one of the parks, a small group of people have set up makeshift tents, lines strung between the trees. An elderly woman perches on a spindle-legged chair, clutching her cape and looking disapprovingly around her.

  Like upper-class hobies.

  As I get nearer to the East Gate, the stream of refugees increases, as does the number of pods flying overhead. I wonder where they’re all going to go.

  Most of the people who live in Six consider themselves Insiders. When they ran out of room to build more apartments Inside, people started spilling out, created a new enclave for themselves. But even those who have relatives Inside wouldn’t be able to stay with them for long. Few people have spare rooms in their apartments.

  You did this. If you hadn’t insisted on that information going out, none of this would have happened.

  I try to push the nagging voice in my head away. It’s not my fault Outsiders acted irrationally. They should be attacking the government, not other people.

  My father’s words come back to me, wheedling their way into my head. Nothing is ever black or white.

  I turn sharply, nearly running into a couple with a baby. Their float butts into my leg and I push it to one side, causing it to swerve into a wall. Ignoring their exclamations of annoyance, I break into a run and head for the Wall.

  You caused this. You need to fix it.

  “But how?” I whisper to the blue swirls of colour in front of me.

  But neither the Wall nor the nagging voice in my head have an answer.

/>   19

  Aleesha

  I press my back to the stone wall as Trey rushes out of the graveyard gate. His face is drawn, and he barges through the crowded street without looking back. I couldn’t get close enough to hear their conversation, but I could tell from their body language that they were arguing.

  Peeking through a small gap in the black patterned gate, I spot Trey’s father slumped on a bench with his head in his hands. He looks older than I’d imagined. Less powerful.

  Should I confront him here?

  No. There’ll be cameras everywhere and it’s a long way back to the Wall. Besides, I still need to figure out what to do. I need to plan, not just act. Acting without thinking always gets me into trouble.

  I walk away from the government buildings, my feet leading me down to the river. The tide is in and waves lap gently against the high wall that protects this part of the city from flooding.

  Wouldn’t do to dirty their streets.

  The remnants of bridges that once straddled the old river stand proud of the muddy waters. There were so many of them. It’s hard to imagine that they were all necessary. The one to my left seems to have been created entirely from metal cables and leads to a huge, ugly brown building with a tall tower that’s slowly crumbling away. Specks of white fly on and off it. Birds. There seem to be lots of birds on the southern side of the river, taking over the places where people used to live. Not so many on this side. They’ve probably learned it’s not safe over here. Too many hungry Outsiders.

  I wonder what my father thought of this place, when he first came here. How different it was from his home.

  Ricus Meyer. I turn the name over in my mind. Pair it with my mother’s. Ricus and Maria. Maria and Ricus. I guess they kind of fit together. Ricus, Maria and Aleesha.

  The information in the file filled in some of the blanks surrounding his life. His identity. I have a name. A holo image imprinted on my mind. But I’m still no closer to finding him. In fact, I feel further away than ever.