Infiltrators

by Alison Ingleby

  “They go in the cupboard.” Abby lifts down a pair of narrow-necked jars and places them on the table.

  “Do other people grow the plants you need, then?” I ask as I move the bandages to the cupboard behind the counter.

  “I get a few that way – mostly for cooking. But I got these from a shop up in Six. They’re one of the only suppliers of fresh food Outside. Real food from the Farms or smaller growers outside the city. Normally I’d never be able to afford his prices, but he’s had next to no business for the past few days. People are either locking themselves in their homes or abandoning them to go Inside. He’d already been looted once and was packing up to take as much as he could carry with him. I got these for next to nothing.” She nods at a small jar on the table. “Even managed to get some honey – I’d never be able to afford that normally.”

  “Is it really that bad up there?” I’d thought Ella had been exaggerating, but perhaps not.

  Abby nods and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s bad. I-I’ve never seen anything like it. People are just locking up their homes and leaving with next to nothing. They’re terrified.” Her face drops. “And others … people from outside the area, I guess, are just running around smashing windows and breaking down doors. Running into shops and just clearing the shelves.”

  “Did you recognize the people looting? Were they from around here?”

  Does it matter?

  “Some of them were street hobies. And you can hardly blame them, really. When you’re starving and you’ve got nothing, you’d take any opportunity to get food … But the ones who were breaking into people’s homes, they weren’t hobies. Some of them were from the gangs in Three or Four. They had the symbols.” She gestures to her neck. “Tattoos.”

  “And they were just taking advantage of the opportunity,” I say bitterly. “Why can’t people look further than their own noses? If they worked together then everyone could be better off – including them!” I slam my fist on the table. A narrow-necked jar wobbles and falls over.

  “They see people in Six as Insiders.” Abby picks the jar up. “To some people, they’re as much the enemy as the government.” She smiles at me. “You’ve only been out here a few weeks, Trey. You’re still an Insider at heart. You haven’t had to grow up with nothing, fighting for survival. To them, this is logical.”

  Her words hurt me, though I’m not sure why.

  I reach for the next bag of bandages and pull it toward me. Rolls of white fabric unroll themselves across the table. I make a grab for them, but one falls onto the floor. “Aren’t the Metz doing anything to stop the looting?”

  “That’s the strange thing.” Abby’s hand shakes as she tries to push a handful of herb stems into one of the jars. “They’re nowhere to be seen. It’s like they’re just leaving people to fend for themselves.”

  I stop rolling the bandage in my hands. “Or perhaps they’ve been called back to base. To wait.”

  “But why?” Abby gives up trying to stand the stems in the jar and drops them onto the table.

  I reach over, pick up the herbs and place them in the jar. She gives me a watery smile.

  “The streets feel different,” she says finally. “Like there’s a storm building.”

  A silence descends. I finish re-rolling the bandages and slump back into the rocking chair, tugging at a loose thread on the hem of my t-shirt.

  There’s a ping from the hot plate.

  “Oh great, the electricity’s back on. Would you like some tea?”

  I nod silently, staring at the mosaic of floor tiles.

  “You were up early this morning. Did Aleesha go out with you?”

  “No.” I look up. “Was she not here when you got up?”

  Abby shakes her head. “No. I’m pretty sure she spent the night here, but she was gone when we … when I came down.” She turns away but not before I catch the faint flush in her cheeks.”

  Her embarrassment makes me smile.

  “Where’s Bryn?”

  “I’m not sure. He said he had to go and report to the Leader and that he might go to the headquarters after that.”

  “I thought Katya was in charge now?”

  Abby sets the kettle on the hotplate to boil, turns around and rests her hands on the narrow counter behind her. “She’s in charge here. But Bryn’s independent. You know he doesn’t like taking orders.” She rolls her eyes. “I think perhaps he’s keeping an eye on Katya and the rest of them. Reporting back.”

  The kettle whistles and she reaches up for a mug. “There was something bothering him last night, but he wouldn’t tell me what. I don’t think it was just the Metz gearing up for the raid, it was something else …” She sighs. “I thought he was finally opening up, that we were getting somewhere. But then he shuts up tight again.”

  She hands me a mug of hot water. “How are things between you and Aleesha?” Her voice is artificially casual.

  I blow on the water to cool it. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I thought things were going okay, but then, well, you know what the file said? About my father authorizing the raid?” Abby nods. “Last night, she was looking at me differently. Or rather, she wasn’t looking at me at all. I don’t think she said a single word to me all evening. And when I went in to talk to her before bed, she pretended to be asleep.” I stare down into my mug. “I think she looks at me and thinks of my father. And what he did. Like I somehow had something to do with it.”

  Abby takes a sip from her own mug. “It’s difficult for her, Trey, you must see that. I’m sure she doesn’t blame you, but seeing her mother die … even if it happened a long time ago, must have brought up a lot of emotions. Maybe she just needs some time alone.”

  “Maybe.” I pause, wondering how much to confide in her. “Abby, do you think I can trust her? I thought I could, but then Bryn said something and now … I’m not sure.”

  Abby considers this for a moment. “I don’t know,” she admits finally. “I think it would depend on what it was you were trusting her with. She’s quite protective of you, in a way. And she’s brave – recklessly so. I think she’d look after you in a fight. But if you got in the way of something she really wanted, or her own survival … well, I don’t know.” She smiles sympathetically. “But perhaps I’m being too harsh. I do think she has a good heart and, underneath it all, she’s a good person.”

  I smile weakly.

  “Nobody’s perfect, Trey. It’s our faults as much as our strengths that make us who we are. My grandmother used to say that life can break us, but it’s what we do with the pieces that matters.” Abby turns back to the table and begins to chop up some of the herbs. “She was a wise person, my grandma.”

  It’s what we do with the pieces that matters.

  “She told me a bit about her past. What men did to her.” I take another sip of tea. The mug clatters on my teeth. “It sounded horrendous. Is it normal out here? For girls to be …” I can’t say the word.

  “Raped?” Abby finishes. She nods briskly and transfers the chopped herbs into a small bowl. “In Area Four, yes. Five, less so. What you probably didn’t realize when you lived Inside is that Outside isn’t just one place. Each area is different. People who live in Six think of themselves as Insiders. Those areas nearer the river – Four and Three – well, they’re where the poorest of Outsiders live. And those who are trying to lie low and keep away from the Metz.”

  “Illegals.”

  “Yes, I imagine most unchipped citizens end up there. Or in similar areas around the city. Area Four has one of the lowest employment rates in the city. In fact, it’s even lower than Three. A lot of people who live in Three work out on the docks.”

  She glances up at the sound of footsteps and smiles. “Ah, Bryn’s back.”

  The door opens and Bryn steps into the kitchen. He frowns when he catches sight of me, but his face quickly clears. “Did you manage to get everything you needed?” He nods at the empty shopping bags on the table.

  “P
retty much,” Abby replies. “I just hope I won’t need it all.”

  “Best to be prepared,” Bryn says grimly. “Things are getting worse in Six.”

  Abby nods. “I saw. Any update on Metz movements?”

  Bryn grimaces. “Just that they’re not moving. From our reports, it seems like they’ve all been pulled back to the compound, which suggests that something is going to happen imminently.”

  “What about the Commander?” I ask.

  “Not a peep.” Bryn shrugs. “Jameson’s working as fast as he can to update the controller and get it ready to test. He asked if you’d be able to go over and give him a hand, actually.”

  “Me? I’m not sure I can be much help.” I stand and walk over to the sink to rinse my mug. The gloom I’d been feeling lifts slightly.

  “Well, sometimes just having another person there to bounce ideas off helps.” He checks his wrist strap. “Let’s have a bite to eat and then head on over.”

  “There’s some bread and stuff in the cupboard.” Abby indicates with a nod of her head. She lifts a messenger bag off a hook on the wall and begins to pack it with bandages, packs of disposable gloves and jars of green paste.

  I fetch the dry bread, cut it up and smear it thinly with some fake meat paste. It looks as unappetizing as it tastes. What I wouldn’t give for a burger.

  Don’t start that again.

  “What’s that for?” Bryn asks with a mouth full of food. His eyes narrow. “You’re not planning on going out there are you?”

  Abby continues to pack the bag, but a faint blush tinges her cheeks. “I’ll go where I’m needed.”

  “You’re needed here.” He scowls at her. “Injured people know where to find you. There’s no need to put yourself in danger.”

  “What if they can’t make it here?”

  “Then they probably won’t survive anyway.” Bryn puts down the sandwich and walks around the table. He gently pulls her hands from the bag. “Please, Abby, it’ll be a shitstorm out there. I can’t protect you and do my job.”

  Abby pulls her hands from his grasp and straightens. “I’ve been taking care of myself perfectly well all these years, Bryn McNally.”

  Bryn flinches and his eyes harden. For a moment they stare at each other and I feel awkward, like I should step out of the room, except that even that movement would draw attention to my presence. Finally, Abby drops her gaze.

  “I’ll be careful, I promise. I just want to be prepared, that’s all.” She smiles and reaches out to pat his arm. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Just stay here. If what we think is going to happen happens, you’ll have a queue of people out the door before you know it.”

  “If that’s the case, send Aleesha along to me,” Abby replies brightly. “She’s much better at helping with the gory stuff than you two.”

  Bryn grunts and grabs the rest of his sandwich from the table. “Ready, Trey?”

  I nod, stuff the remaining bread into my mouth and pull my boots on. The hurried departure sends my heart racing and I choke on the crumbs, my mouth suddenly dry.

  It feels like a tide is about to turn. A storm surge is coming. And Jameson’s device might be the only thing that can stop it.

  21

  Aleesha

  I wander up and down the street just up from the entrance to the government headquarters where Trey’s father works.

  Not Trey’s father. Andrew Goldsmith.

  Thinking of him as Trey’s father complicates things.

  Metz officers guard the gate in the shimmering grey barrier that surrounds the headquarters buildings. There are cameras everywhere, but it’s lunchtime, so people are flowing up and down the road and in and out of the cafés that line it. I keep my head covered with a bright scarf and find a spot to wait at the top of some steps where I have a good view down the street.

  I’m not expecting to see Andrew Goldsmith until later in the day. He seems the type who’d stay in the office and work through his lunch break. But about fifty minutes after I arrive, a familiar stooped figure emerges from the gate and shuffles up the street toward me.

  My mouth is dry, and I wish I’d taken more of a drink at the last fountain I passed. My body feels tense and ready for action, like the moment just before we landed on the tower of the Metz compound. Time slows, and for a second that feels more like an hour, I’m poised on the crest of a wave. I could fall back, go back to my place Outside the Wall and let Andrew Goldsmith walk away. Or I could ride the wave, knowing that it will crash down and things will never be the same again.

  If I do this, Trey will never forgive me.

  If I walk away, how will I ever forgive myself?

  Mama.

  How can I live knowing that justice was within my grasp but that I let it slip through my fingers? Will I wake every night with her face in front of me, twisted in pain? Will the shots ring out in my sleep, a constant rat-a-tat-tat in my head? Will every dream remind me of her? Until that one memory of her washes away all the happy memories of my childhood? Until I forget what it was like to be loved and held and tickled until I laughed out loud?

  Hot tears burn my eyes.

  I’m sorry, Trey.

  I plunge down into the mass of people, weaving through them toward the spot where Andrew Goldsmith had been standing.

  When I reach it, he’s no longer there.

  My hearts stops. I scan the faces in front of me, taking care not to meet anyone’s eye. None of them are his.

  I tug the scarf a little further down over my face and turn to make my way back up the street.

  And then I see him.

  He’s standing outside a café, holding a half-eaten sandwich and looking up at a news screen. He’s in the way of the crowd, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. He just stares up at the screen. When I follow his gaze, I see why.

  On the screen is a picture of Trey. And me.

  I duck my head and move quickly through the sea of people toward him. When I reach him, I grab his arm and use my momentum to pull him forward.

  “What—?”

  I turn to look at him and his eyes widen in recognition. I take advantage of his shock to lead him to the side of the street into a small niche behind a stone pillar. I think it’s a camera blind spot, though I’m taking no chances.

  “You need to come with me now. It’s Trey. He’s in trouble.” I look up into his eyes, trying to convey urgency and concern.

  He tenses, his eyes flicking around as if he knows someone is watching us. “What’s happened? What kind of trouble?” He glances back toward the news screen as if that will provide the answer.

  “There was a run-in with some Metz officers,” I lie. “They were trying to take him in. He managed to get away, but he was injured – badly injured. Abby’s doing her best, but …” I let my voice trail off.

  His face whitens, and for a second I think he’s going to pass out. But he composes himself and his eyes narrow. “So why are you here? Where’s Bryn?”

  “Bryn got hurt too. He was with Trey and managed to defend them both and get away. He got hit in the leg.” I draw a finger across my thigh. “Abby says he won’t be able to walk for a week.”

  Andrew Goldsmith reaches out and grips my shoulders. “How bad is bad? Why haven’t they taken him to a medic?”

  I push his hand away. “You know we can’t take him to a medic. He got shot in the stomach and chest. He … he’s struggling to breathe.” I look away, unable to meet his eye.

  This is wrong. I wrap my arms around my stomach. My heart’s hammering in my chest, so loud that he must be able to hear it. He’ll know I’m lying and walk away.

  Then I won’t have to do it.

  But when I finally steel myself and look up at him, he just nods at me. “Let’s go.”

  We move out into the crowd of people heading up the street toward a large square. Andrew stops. “We should take a pod – it’ll be quicker.”

  I falter and look at the small white pods taking off and
landing on the other side of the square. He’s right. But the pods must have cameras. They may not even let me in without a chip.

  But if Trey really was dying, you’d take the risk.

  Besides, I’ve never flown over the city before. I don’t count the trip to the compound. I couldn’t see anything then.

  “Okay, fine.” I pull the scarf down lower over my face and follow him across the square to join the short line of people waiting for a free pod. A solitary Metz officer guards the station, but it seems more interested in scanning the crowd than checking the people waiting in line.

  My nerves tingle as we get to the front of the queue. Andrew Goldsmith presses his hand to the door and it swishes open. He waves for me to enter.

  Cautiously, I step inside, glancing around for any sign that this is a trap. My fingers twitch to pull out a knife.

  Not yet.

  The door closes.

  “Where’s the nearest pod point?”

  I think fast. The nearest pod points are in Six. Too far away. “Don’t land it Outside. Any pod that lands is being attacked. It’s crazy out there. Land somewhere near the East Gate. It’ll be quicker.”

  He nods, seeming to accept the explanation, and gives the pod the destination.

  I could do it here.

  My hand slides down my leg, feeling the slight bulge of my concealed knife.

  It would be easy. There’s no one around.

  I shake my head. There’s not enough time. I need to question him first. Get answers. And there will be cameras in here for sure.

  “Are you alright?”

  I start. He’s frowning at me. “Yeah. Just worried.”

  The inside of the pod is opaque apart from a thin strip a couple of feet off the floor. I crouch down to look through it and stifle a gasp.

  We’re already high up, speeding over white rooftops tiled with black solar panels and weaving between the taller glass towers. It’s like looking down from my roof, but we’re moving so fast that the people on the streets below appear and disappear in a flash.