by S. G Mark
“Of course I do, it’s my family’s farm,” he swept out of the room and could be heard running along the concrete corridor.
Jack sat with his bowl of stew and glared at it. No one had returned to the room as of yet. He felt that by eating their food, he was complying to their beliefs, and complicit in their actions. But the more he thought about it, the more he considered his scenario. He had been involuntarily attacked and shoved in the back of a car to be taken here. Several hours later he had woken up in a dark cell and for hours he had not heard a single other voice. Then, when he imagined his life was about to end in that hell hole, he was removed and the bastard, Alex Reader, revealed himself to be the orchestrator of all this evil. Surely having a few spoonfuls was not giving in?
He raised the spoon to his mouth and did not need to blow for it was already lukewarm. It resembled a conglomeration of snot and seaweed but to his surprise its taste defied its look. Whilst it was not the most delicious of meals, it was food and comforting and, without realising it, he had eaten every last drop. Upon staring down at the empty bowl, he felt nervous. He did not want to them to read this as a sign that he was ready to hear their mad plottings.
The Resistance, that’s what they had called themselves. The Prime Minister himself revealed that they had been behind the attack on Edinburgh on September twenty-eighth and Jack had heard nothing different until Alex told him the truth; his version of the truth. After months of Jack’s speculation about the second suicide bomber, Alex revealed that it was not the second one he should have been concerned about, but the first. Kyle had shot the first one, saving Alex’s life and from that moment a series of events had been triggered. Jack was sketchy on the details, but soon after the attack, Alex joined The Resistance and began leading a secret life away from the family - a life they had been led to believe was a flourishing career in journalism.
Alex then told him of all the good that The Resistance were doing - they weren’t terrorists, they were fighting the sinister government. The story was lifted from the plot of a bad film and Jack could barely stomach it. After a decade of a crippling economy, Rations, riots and minor terrorist threats, why had the government suddenly become this oppressive regime? They had set up specialist units of the police to deal specifically with crime. The CRU, while forceful in their methods, was there for the common good. Martial Law had been implemented to protect the people of Britain; as had the Curfew and the Nightstalker police division who enforced it. How were they not able to see this?
Jack placed the bowl on the bedside table and lay back on his bed. He imagined rain on his bedroom window again, this time his one in Relugas Road. Painful though it was to dwell on, he thought of how Eliza and Maggie were coping. Both he and Alex had disappeared on the same day and Jack was sure that Alex meant not to return. How were they coping? How were they feeling? Did Eliza hate him for running out on her? It was not possible for her to know the truth. He missed her. Her smile, her touch, even her small tantrums. He longed to overhear a screaming match between her and her mother.
The door to the dormitory opened again and several people filed in. They all glanced over at Jack, but as usual left him be. They seemed to be undressing and climbing into bed. The concept of time was a stranger to Jack but he guessed it must be night already. Inside the windowless bunker, day and night were as meaningless as each other.
As the men chatted with each other, Jack quietly listened.
“Good job today, guys,” one man said, “We’re one step closer now.”
“Aye, an’ then we’ll make the bugger’s eyes water, pal!” another said jovially.
They might have been discussing a football match.
“One less day till I see my kids,” the woman said and Jack felt a surge of guilt for he was sure that it was her letter he’d read.
With that, the last of the lit candles were blown out and the room crashed into the chaos of the dark. Jack lay as still as a statue, frightened to move in case one of them attacked; for after all, he was quite surrounded by trained and murderous terrorists.
Chapter Two
“Come with me,” a voice broke the silence of sleep.
Jack jerked awake and, through bleary eyes, looked up to see Kyle towering above him.
“What’s going on?” Jack said as Kyle pulled the blankets from him.
The cold snapped around him.
“Get up, you’re coming with me,” Kyle demanded.
Jack got out of the bed, “Where are we going?”
“Just come,” Kyle said bluntly.
Pulling on his T-shirt, Jack followed Kyle from the room. The others were already up; their beds made and any sign that they had been there at all, vanished. They were out in the corridor now. Lined with brick and concrete, it was an eerie place to be, especially as it was only lit by candlelight. Kyle was marching on ahead.
“What’s happening?” Jack asked.
Before he could answer, Kyle tore left into the kitchen area. Two men were frantically putting away any food they had on the worktops back in the fridge and cupboards while a third swooped in immediately afterwards, spraying the counter with disinfectant.
“Good work,” Kyle commented, “I think we’ve got about five minutes.”
“Five minutes for what?” Jack asked.
They all turned to him; everyone but Kyle threw him a look that implied his idiocy.
“Monthly inspection,” Kyle explained, “The CFA are coming.”
“The CFA? Who are they?”
“Central Farming Authority. Not someone we want discovering our hiding place,” Kyle said, “Blow out all the candles you can see. And don’t fucking go upstairs.”
Jack was confused, “Why?”
“The CFA are government officials,” Kyle said, “Don’t you think you can be clever right now. I know what you might be thinking but this is not the time for it. Blow out the candles and report back to me in one minute. You go near that fucking door, I will shoot you myself.”
Jack backed away, “Kyle what’s going on?”
“Do as I say or you’ll have us all killed!” Kyle screamed.
Sufficiently frightened, Jack ran back down the corridor, blowing out every candle in sight. He turned into several side rooms also - the place was labyrinthine. There was a store cupboard with sacks of food inside and what appeared to be an armoury whose contents a woman was burying under a floorboard. There was another dormitory of half a dozen beds and finally the bathroom.
As Jack ventured through each room, the entire bunker grew progressively darker until he blew the last candle one out. Everything was a shade of pure black. Reaching out his hands, Jack felt for the walls and door back out to the corridor. To his left he heard breathing.
“Hello?”
“Come on, back to the kitchen,” a woman’s voice said, “We need to stick together.”
She grabbed his arm and dragged him back along the corridor effortlessly, as if negotiating her way through the dark corridor was frequent protocol.
Bearing a sudden left, they came to halt and hushed whispers.
“Jack, are you here?” Kyle asked quietly.
“Yes,” Jack whispered, “What’s going on?”
But it was not Kyle who answered; it was not even a person. A second later, the sound of footsteps shuffling around upstairs leaked through the bunker’s ceiling. Moments later another set of footsteps marched regimentally above, stopping abruptly.
Muffled voices could be heard, but no discernible words. The tension in the bunker was tremendous. Even Jack, who knew what dangers may lie ahead, was stunned into shocked silence.
The CFA: at least that is who Kyle said they were. While Jack did not know who these people were, he guessed that discovering an underground bunker full of Resistance members would not end well for the men and women around him.
For ten minutes they sat in cowered silence as they listened intently to the happenings above. No one below uttered a single syllable. Not even breath w
as measurable in the stillness. So quiet and dark it was in the bunker, Jack nearly believed he was entirely alone.
Then, after several minutes of silence, three thuds came from upstairs and the bunker collectively breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank fuck,” one of the women said, “I thought they would never leave.”
A spark of flame lit up the darkness. It was Kyle, igniting a lighter he had in his hand. His face was demonic behind the dancing flame. He reached out and lit a candle nearby. One of the men automatically took the candle and began relighting the others in the kitchen before venturing out into the corridor.
“We have to be careful,” Kyle approached Jack, “If the CFA found us here, we would all be dead, including you.”
“Me? But I’m not…?”
“And if you were them, would you believe that too?” Kyle smirked, “You’ve got a lot to learn.”
“Then tell me,” Jack said, astounded at his own words, “Tell me what is going on!”
Kyle marched out to the corridor, but before he disappeared entirely, he stole himself a few seconds of hesitation, before turning to Jack.
“One hour,” he said, “Be ready.”
Jack retreated back into the dormitory. He didn’t know what to expect in an hour; he wasn’t even sure he wanted the answers anyway. He had not yet digested the past twenty minutes’ events, but he was anxious about them nonetheless. How close had they all come to being discovered? How close had his torment come to being at an end? Despite what Kyle claimed, the CFA would surely have released him and he would be allowed home - home to Eliza, to what family he had left and to pick up the remains of his life. That’s how the events would have played, would they not?
But then it bit him; the steely jaw of reality. What life? A life of unemployment, and even if by some miracle he found a job he would be back in the same scenario he was in last year. Dead end ambition, no savings, nothing to live for and a barren contentment. Work, whisky and worry: that was what his home was made of.
He sat on the edge of his bed, his tomb. It was the only unmade bed in the room. Wanting to be alone, he looked around to confirm that he was before lying back down on the bed. Staring up at the springs on the mattress above, Jack listened to the commotion outside in the corridors as Kyle ordered everyone around. The surprising thing was that he was quite good at it. The Kyle outside defied all Jack’s expectations of him. Instead of being the lazy, irresponsible hippie, he was the commanding officer, barking orders that were immediately obeyed without question. Jack wondered for how long he had been in The Resistance - had it been the entire time he had known him? At what point did their beliefs infect his mind? But Kyle had always been rebellious, fighting the establishment in his own unique way, Jack thought. How was this a surprise? A week ago he believed Kyle to have joined the Democratic Demolitioners, another hateful organisation that sought to destroy peace and society. What difference did it make what terrorist organisation he was a member of? It was the same guise, regardless.
An hour passed.
The dormitory door opened again. Aiden shuffled inside.
“I’m looking for Graeme,” he asked.
“I don’t know who that is, sorry,” Jack said stiffly.
“Short guy, grey beard?”
“I said I didn’t know,” Jack snapped.
“What’s up?” Aiden ventured further into the room, scratching his forehead nervously.
“I just want to be left alone,” Jack replied.
“Well here isn’t really the place for that,” Aiden said.
Jack jumped out of bed, shouting, “Well it’s not like I have a bloody choice in that!”
At that moment Kyle emerged through the doorway, “Aiden, your father wants you upstairs. Can you please go and help him?”
Aiden turned around, bowing his head slightly away from Kyle as he passed him, and left the two friends together.
“Don’t speak to Aiden like that,” Kyle said, “He is just a boy.”
“A boy who is part of a terrorist organisation?”
“Come with me,” Kyle demanded, not waiting for Jack to follow before leaving the room.
Hesitantly, Jack raced after Kyle as he marched down the corridor, now fully lit. Jack did not ask where they were going nor why, for he knew that he would not receive any answers.
Passing the kitchens, he saw that food was back out on the worktop and being prepared. The armoury was already restocked from the weapons underneath the floorboard, but the place still seemed as empty as it had done before the sudden blackout. It reminded him vaguely of ShutDown.
Kyle led him towards the guarded doorway - the exit. The guards allowed them passage and they ascended the stairs, crawling out from the secret entrance and emerging into the farmhouse kitchen.
A couple of men were arranging something on the dining room table, placing large sheets of paper on top of each other. They briefly looked over at Jack, curiously. Kyle held the backdoor open for Jack and for the first time in days, he felt fresh air wash over him.
It was cleansing, but what surprised him most was that it was daylight outside. Having been incarcerated in the bunker, all sense of day had been scrambled. He had presumed that he had woken in the middle of the night. Despite its light relief on his skin, it was not a particularly pleasant day. Above them hung heavy rain clouds and gusts of wind battled their bodies.
The first time Jack had been taken out here, he had not the capacity to absorb the layout of the farm. But now that he was here a second time, he spun around on the spot as he discovered more about where he was being held captive.
It was a typical farmhouse. An old brick bungalow with an extension on top, it was surrounded by grain storage silos, a couple of barns and a tractor was parked in the driveway. The ground was muddy - clearly it had already rained that morning. A high wall ran round the perimeter of the farm buildings and was patrolled by several armed guards. A flock of chickens trotted across the driveway as a dishevelled man marched from one of the barns towards the fields.
Kyle led him through an iron gate at the back of the farm. Jack instantly recognised the view from the morning that Alex had brought him here. It was beautiful, even on a grey day. The fields stretched out towards the footholds of the mountains beyond. Presently, the mountains were enveloped in cloud and rain; a blue hue was painted across them, a stark contrast to the motley trench of colourful flowers at their feet. Nowhere in the view could Jack see any form of civilisation, not even a stray chimney puffing out smoke; not a car racing across the countryside, interrupted from view by trees, rock and embankments. They were isolated.
Kneeling down on the grass, Kyle beckoned Jack to join him. He did so, noting that the earth was still damp but he did not care. It was good to touch something natural again.
“We plant one for every one of us who dies,” Kyle said, gesturing towards the flowers.
Jack found it an oddly human action, and his thoughts must have surfaced to his face.
“You find it strange, don’t you? Strange that we have emotions, that we can feel pain and grief just as you?”
“It’s not something that I associate with…”
“Terrorists?” Kyle finished his sentence for him, “I wish you would stop thinking of us as that. But today, hopefully, I will be able to make you see reason.”
“Why is it so important that you do?” Jack asked, prompting a question that had been smouldering in the back of his brain for some time, “Why don’t you just kill me?”
Kyle laughed, “It must be so strange to be an ordinary citizen right now. Believing everything you see on the television, everything you read in the news. I suppose it’s easier to just trust you’re being fed the truth rather than search for it yourself.”
“Stop making me out to be this stupid creature, incapable of making up my own mind,” Jack sneered, not appreciating Kyle’s superior tone.
Instead of reacting harshly, Kyle simply smiled and the expression on his face
could have been mistaken for a man who had just been complimented.
“I’m not saying you are stupid, I’m not saying anyone is,” Kyle said, “What I’m trying to say is that you’ve been fed so many lies by the government, you never stood a chance when it came to understanding the truth. What I’m saying to you right now, what I will be explaining to you - I doubt you’ll understand it today. I doubt you’ll believe it for a while - not until you see it, and even then. You’ve been brainwashed for so long. Brainwashed into knowing who is right and who is wrong. You don’t even know it’s been done to you - but it’s there. It’s there in your job, in the news you read, on the television programmes you watch. It’s on posters lining a fucking cafe, Jack. Didn’t you read them - that first time we met last year? We went in for coffee somewhere when it pouring rain and I saw you didn’t look up once. Not even once. The place was covered in them. Don’t trust those who cannot prove their whereabouts one read! You were so used to it by then you didn’t even bat an eyelid.”
“I… I…” Jack struggled to find argument.
“You’re all victims. Every one of you out there,” Kyle gestured to the horizon, “You’re victims of the government.”
“How can I believe anything you say, Kyle,” Jack said, “What you say might be true, but then if it is, you’re just as bad. All those attacks -”
“We never targeted citizens.”
“Then what have you done? You and Alex keep blaming the government for all these things, but what are you owning up to?”
Kyle appeared shocked that Jack even asked the question, but his expression melted into that of concern as he focussed on the answer.
“Nothing is clear cut. Nothing and no one is purely right or purely wrong,” Kyle began.
“Quit skirting round the question and fucking tell me,” Jack interrupted.