The Cult of The Enemy: The Dark Places Trilogy
Page 48
“It’s the right thing to do,” she said, “Though without an ID card it’ll be hard to get you out of the city. Unless…”
Half an hour later Jack was being crammed into the boot of a car. It was an experience he was all too familiar with. Emma waved to him before slamming the boot door shut. The plan was that she would drive him to Oxford, where he would lie low for a day until he received another ID card from a contact she had over there. Whilst he was there, he’d also go through a bit of a transformation, though quite what that entailed Jack was happy to wait and see rather than dwell over.
Three hours later and the boot door popped open, awaking Jack from a rather peaceful sleep. The gentle hum of the car’s engine was calm and reassuring.
“Rise and shine,” Emma smiled, “We’re back in Kansas.”
Jack rose from the boot and found that he was in someone’s garage. It was littered with an assortment of junk and stunk of petrol. A bespectacled, rotund man smiled balefully at him from the corner.
“This is Jerry,” Emma introduced them, “He’ll get your new IDs done and he’ll let you crash here for a couple of days until the fuss dies down.”
Jack crawled out of the car and shook the man’s hand, “Thank you for this.”
“It’s no problem, we have strays like you all the time,” he said, “My wife’s asleep but she’ll be up in the morning to make you breakfast.”
Jack turned to Emma, “I’ll see you soon?”
“In a couple of months, I’m sure of it.”
Her eyes twinkled a smile though her lips did not. It was the same routine as always. The harsh reality of a permanent goodbye hung over every farewell. Neither of them ever cared to admit it or even entertain it.
Emma jumped back in the car and set off as Jack was led into the house by Jerry and shown his sleeping quarters. For a safe house, it was of a pretty high standard. He had his own towel and his single bed had been neatly made.
“Gail loves to make everyone feel at home,” Jerry smiled, “Well, I’ll leave you to it and see you in the morning.”
Morning arrived in the form of a cooked breakfast, the likes of which Jack had not seen in what felt like an eternity. Bacon. Actual bacon. He’d forgotten the taste. Gail hovered over him all morning, ensuring that he was well fed and cared for. A professor at the University, Jerry had gone to teach morning lectures.
To keep busy, Jack helped Gail out with the housework and discovered that they were used to bringing in overfill from the nearby safehouses.
Piling dishes at the sink, Jack stopped and stared out the window. They could clearly see over into their neighbours garden and vice versa.
“It’s all very close around here,” he said, “Do your neighbours not ask questions about your visitors?”
Scooping up the dishes and plunging them merrily into the sink, Gail smiled, “Not at all. They think we house a number of international students visiting the university. We’re very highly thought of around here and that helps to keep the questions at bay.”
“You are very brave to do anything at all,” he said, “Many wouldn’t.”
“That’s obvious,” she said, “The whole country is our next door neighbour - prying eyes switching to brown nose as soon as they can get something out of it. I’m sure for as many safe havens like my house, there are plenty who tried and failed?”
“I’ve set up a few myself,” he said, picking up a dish to dry, “But I’ve only ever put Resistance members in charge of them. I’ve never asked anyone to give up their home.”
“It’s a hard sacrifice,” she said, “But anyway, let’s not dwell.”
At seven, Jerry returned home to a dinner prepared by Jack and Gail. It was a strange mushy stew that Gail had skilfully managed to make taste delicious. After dinner, Jerry took Jack through to his computer room where he set about creating several more IDs.
“You don’t keep this room a secret?” Jack asked. All the others had their equipment hidden away.
“It’s amazing with what you can get away with if you work at the university,” Jerry grinned, printing out the ID for a Daniel Boyd. “Well there you go, Dan,” he handed Jack the card.
“Thank you,” he said, examining his new identity. “Paisley,” he snorted a laugh.
“You’ve been then?” Jerry smiled knowingly, grabbing his cup of tea. “You’ll be leaving in the morning then?”
“I imagine so, yes,” he said.
“Have you any idea where?”
They headed back to the living room where Gail was settled down in front of the television. The news had just come on.
“No clue yet,” Jack continued the conversation, “I suppose I should just move around for a little while.”
“Well, if they have your ID cards, there’s not much you can do except let it rest for a time,” Jerry said, “All they have is a face. What can they do with that, really?”
With that in mind, they took residence on either side of Gail and slipped into the sync with the latest political affairs. Cameron Snowden had made another speech today, reaffirming his stance on the war and hinting at the measures he would take to win it. From Jack’s perspective, it was more of the same. More police, more CRU, more soldiers and more guns. The next headline focussed on the bombing of a GD church in Lewisham and Jack suspected Lana had been involved somehow. There had been no casualties, but there were three in critical care at the local hospital.
“I wonder if they’ll still believe God will save them after they realise he let someone try to kill them,” Gail smirked.
Footage appeared on screen of a group of GD members kneeling by the bombsite in deep prayer, ribbons around their hands and flowers in their hair.
“It’s crazy,” Gail continued her monologue, “I mean the government lets them swan around blowing up everyone else in the name of their invisible deity, but as soon as someone attacks them it’s a fucking tragedy, excuse my language. I mean why is that? The GD are just as bad as the DD, and they aren’t being hounded. You don’t see people being ripped from their homes for being part of the GD!. Is it a religious thing?”
At that moment the next article on the news agenda flicked onto screen. Jack was immediately struck with horror.
Gail and Jerry turned slowly to look at him. His pixelated face was plastered all over the screen.
“The CRU have issued a nationwide warrant for a man they believe was connected with yesterday’s suicide bombing in Shepherd's Bush. Citizens are urged not to approach the man, but to report any sightings to their local CRU branch immediately…”
Jack inhaled sharply. His blood rushed around his veins all too quickly; he was feeling exceedingly light headed.
“Fuck,” was the only syllable he was able to express coherently. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“It’s alright, son,” Jerry said, “It’s a shit CCTV picture. It doesn’t really look like you, not to anyone who doesn’t know you.”
“Maybe we could dye your hair, just in case?” Gail chipped in.
“My face is plastered all over the fucking news, how is changing my hair colour going to solve anything?” he stood up abruptly.
That was when he felt it. The huge surge of disappointment. Eliza, if she hadn’t already, was almost certainly going to see the article and then she’d know. In over a year and a half he hadn’t even seen Alex. Of course he was aware that he was still alive, as he was aware of his own shadow. Through all the months of hardship and struggle, he had not even caught a glimpse of the man. It caused him to feel even more remote and isolated. For all this time he had been desperately clinging on to his old life. In one day, it had been cut off from him. And then there was his father. Before he was dragged into this life, Jack was going to call him and finally make amends for everything that had happened. But he never had and his father had probably just seen his own son appear as a terrorist on TV.
“What am I going to do?” Jack turned to Jerry.
Jerry looked at his wife and the two
exchanged a moment before he returned his gaze back to Jack.
“We’re in for a long night.”
Within the hour, Jerry and Gail had dragged Jack into the bathroom and had dunked his hair in bleach. His scalp prickled as the solution stained his hair blond. As soon as the bleach had set, Gail threw his head under the water in the bathtub, combed and dried his hair and prepared him for the next passport photograph. Then, she set about chopping his hair, but stopped short of shaving his beard off and instead offered control of the razor to Jack.
“Just do a bit of it, make a goatee or something,” she encouraged from his left hand side as he stared at his strange reflection in the mirror. Blond didn’t suit him. Sceptical of their plans, Jack relented nonetheless and sheared off his beard into the shape of a goatee.
“I look like a child molester,” Jack said, revulsion staring back at him.
“At least it’s not a terrorist, dear,” Gail said, her hands clasped together in tension.
Jerry threw him a towel and ordered him back for another photograph. Several more times they did this, Jack’s image ever changing. By the end of the night, Jerry presented ten ID cards for Jack.
“James Whittaker, Michael Jones, Sean Kerrigan, Calum Menzies, Aaron Phillips, David Thomas, Guy Perkins, John Swanson, Ben Wyatt and Andy Dwyer,” he said, “Remember the details of every single one.”
Gail appeared by her husband’s side with Jack’s jacket and jeans, “I’ve sewn hidden pockets into each of these, so that you don’t have to store all your ID cards in your wallet.”
Jack smiled at them both, “I can’t thank you enough.”
“We don’t need thanks,” Gail swooped in for a hug, “We just need you to be safe, so that you can make us all feel safe again.”
It was an emotional night. Jack lay on his single bed, tossing and turning until morning. Whilst his eyes were blessed with fatigue, his brain was cursed with energy. He couldn’t stop wondering about Eliza and if she had seen the news story yet. He wanted to know how she had reacted - was she angry with him, or maybe she was proud? The last eighteen months had been the longest he had ever experienced and his role within The Resistance was insignificant to the agony of time passing. His chest swelled with yearning for just one more night with Eliza - even just to see her face again. As he closed his eyes in search of sleep, the memory of her beauty plagued him again, as it had done so frequently of late. Tonight, for whatever reason, he couldn’t see her as clearly as he used to and he was starting to realise that maybe it had been some time since he remembered her properly.
Dawn came, earlier than he’d liked. Gail knocked on his door with breakfast already for him. He was to set off soon after, catching a train up North.
“Where do you recommend I go first?” Jack asked Gail as he cut up his eggs.
“Don’t go anywhere obvious,” she said, “Stick to a little village or somewhere like that.”
Longing for the safety of Headquarters, Jack briefly thought about going there, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to bump into Alex; least of all not when the news was spreading his photograph across the country. Jack pictured Alex’s bitter disappointment and it did not invite him to experience the reality.
So it was that two hours later, Jack was sitting in the window seat of the nine-o-five to Sheffield, watching the fields fly by with vacant interest. That night he stayed in a safehouse he’d visited once before about six months ago. However, the woman who had ran the house when he last stayed had died of an unknown illness and there was someone else in charge. Paul recognised him from a recruitment drive he’d attended in Manchester and it was comforting to know that someone outside his group of friends respected him.
“The speech you gave to those kids,” he said, “Ten of them signed up the next day. Four of them are out in the field spying on the government, two are in search and rescue teams for our missing comrades and three are running their own safehouses now.”
“What about the last one?” Jack said, “You said ten signed up.”
“He uh,” Paul hesitated and Jack understood.
Enthusiasm was never immune to death.
The next morning, Jack moved on to the another location. A village in Cheshire where the safehouse was masked by a Bed and Breakfast lodgings. The day after that he moved on to somewhere more populated. And so it was that he kept moving for three weeks; every night a different town, village or city; a strange bed, repeating the same conversations to the people he shared with. At night, when he arrived at his new home, he would check in with the news, each time frightened that his name would appear across the tabloid. Only in the first week of his journey was his picture ever repeated. Afterwards, new stories overshadowed his own and he subsided into a numb sense of security that he was not at all comfortable with.
Still, he was grateful for the chance to move around the country. It felt good to feel a part of something bigger. As much as he enjoyed being in London and living with Lana, he knew that it only served to shrink his perspective. In the big city it was easy to forget it was a national fight and amnesia stole him far too quickly for him to be comfortable with. There were Resistance members moving around countryside safehouses as a bid for survival, or a means to achieve their missions as they shipped information or money from place to place.
However, he was even more grateful to see a whole string of familiar faces again. Many had remembered him from visits months previous or the odd mission they had served on together - recruitment drives or night time rescues. It was good to remember that he was part of something bigger than himself. And by chance an even greater surprise greeted him over the breakfast table one morning in the village of Dunchurch in Warwickshire.
As he poured milk over his cereal, he found himself staring across the table at a beautiful woman with long hair and bright, piercing eyes. He vaguely recognised her, but for the life of him he struggled to recall from where. A moment later the safehouse manager shuffled into the kitchen with a yawn and her slippers.
“Morning Anne,” she said, reaching for the kettle, “Morning Jack.”
Anne. It was the triggered for the entire memory. He was flushed with a sense of amazement. In all this time he hadn’t seen her, he had barely even thought of her and yet they had shared one of the most traumatic experiences together.
“Oh my god,” he said, as Anne looked up, “It’s you, isn’t it?”
For a fraction of a second her expression was confused, before pouring into a broad smile, “Jack? Oh my god, how have you been?”
“Fantastic, I can’t believe it’s you! What have you been up to?”
In celebration of their reunion their host, Natasha, pulled out some eggs and began making pancakes. For the rest of the morning they were entangled in discussion about everything that had happened to them since they had last seen each other. Jack had nearly forgotten how naive he had been back in Fort William and he had certainly forgotten how frightened he had felt that night. Meanwhile he learned that she had played an integral part in obtaining sponsorship through one of the country’s wealthiest families. She’d also persuaded several civil servants to defect to The Resistance. Her record was quite extensive, it almost made Jack feel quite inferior.
“I didn’t think you’d last, if I’m honest,” she smiled over her pancakes, “I figured you had a couple of months tops.”
“Me too,” he laughed, but was secretly gutted she had such a low opinion of him, “But then I still think that.”
“Have you heard from Kyle recently?” she asked. “I’ve not seen him much, maybe only once or twice since the last time we met.”
“Yeah, I see him,” he said, feeling slightly awkward that the girl who played his fiancé in public was no longer in contact with him. In the beginning he had often wondered how close they had become during that time.
“Well send him my best,” she smiled, deliberately more sweetly.
“Is your family okay? I know you were worried about them,” he asked.
“Fucking hell, Anne,” he stretched a hand across the table to encompass hers. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
She took it, humbly, “You are quite sweet,” she patted the top of his hand gently, before visibly brightening the conversation, “But how have you been getting on - I mean beyond what you’ve been up to? How have you been coping with this new way of life?”
“I’m not sure if coping is something I am actively doing. Things are just happening around me, and I’m still alive. So I guess it’s good?”
“I think that’s how most of us measure our success in here,” she laughed. “What brings you to this safehouse anyway? Are you working in the area?”
“I’m escaping London for a time,” he said, “My face got into the local news so just laying low until they get bored and prey on their next victim.”
“So are you staying here another night?”
“I’d planned on moving on, but if you are staying…?”
“I leave in an hour. I’ve got to get to Aberdeen tonight - absolutely no idea how. It’s a combination of local buses until the next train station and then a mess of connections. It’ll be a nightmare going through that many city border controls.”
“But you’ll be fine, you aren’t on a wanted list?”
“No, but I’ve used my ID card one too many times this month,” she said, “They might start to suspect. Not that our rights to freedom of movement have been infringed… No I’m clearly a corrupted young girl under the influence of violence and terrorism.”
“Well exactly,” he smiled, “I don’t know why we are even fighting these guys. If there’s one thing you can say about them, it’s that they absolutely play fair.”