by S. G Mark
“Fucking hell,” Jack exclaimed, banging his fist against the back of Kyle’s chair.
“Calm down, Jack,” Alex leant in, “We’re safe for now. You killed that bastard. The trail is dead - for now.”
“But what do we do now?” Jack was on the verge of tears. It was the only thing that he could think of to cleanse his frame of mind. “We’re fucking trapped, Alex! Didn’t you understand what they’re doing? They’re burning the crops! They want people to starve! They want the riots, they want the death toll to rise!”
“I don’t get why? I don’t understand what political reason could be behind this?”
“For fucksake, Alex!” he shouted, “Do you honestly think some secret Hitler is running our country? Do you really, really believe that everything that we’ve been through, that we’ve seen is for some greater political agenda? Well what if it’s not? What if it’s just to keep the chaos flooding in?”
“What for?” Alex said, “What would be the point in just chaos? It has to be for some end, and maybe we just can’t see that right now?”
“Don’t be a fucking fool, Alex,” Jack blurted out, “We would know by now if the government were going to march in with banners and flags - but the only line they are drawing is fear and paranoia. That’s what it’s been like since the beginning. The disappearances? The killings? It’s not against any one race or people or belief, it’s against everyone? Don’t you see - they aren’t trying to fucking weed out the weak, here! They’re burning crops - what was it that Quentin said, about starvation?”
Alex looked deeply into Jack’s eyes and for a moment there was a semblance of agreement. But all was soon lost, when Kyle broke the uneasy silence.
“Whatever the reasons why, it needs to stop,” he said, “We can’t just not trust people suddenly. If the mole was so high up, then Jack would be dead already. God knows they’ve had so many chances.”
Jack remained quiet, feeling bitter that Kyle would make him out to be such an easy target.
“Either way, we need to get some sleep,” Alex said, “I’ll take first watch.”
Jack shuffled himself into a more comfortable position and watched the skies above until his eyelids became heavy and he no longer had the desire to fight sleep any longer.
*
A month later and the traffic speeding by soared through his ears. London calling, again.
Jack’s forehead was pressed against the single pane, fogged glass of the second floor safe house. Kebab shop aroma filtered up from the streets below; fried chicken and chips drenched in oil, Jack’s stomach ached with hunger. And still the rain pattered on the pane as if it were the first day of spring.
In the last month, Cameron Snowden had announced the reduction of Rations, blaming the situation on an increased cost to farming. Jack had smiled, knowingly, at the television, but never had he anticipated he felt quite this drained. It had been weeks since he had spoken to Kyle, days since he’d met with Alex. More alone than ever, he was confined to the safehouse, watching boring dramas and soaps until the news blurted out his name and his attention was finally resurrected.
Three weeks had passed since the video footage had been uploaded of the crop burning incident. As suspected, its presence was markedly absent from the major news networks. Curiously though, there was no online reaction either. As much as he anticipated the response to those who might have seen the videos; hopes of action on the streets, or some form of online conversation - swiftly deleted of course - he was more than deflated when the streams were silent. Nothing. There was no chat about it anywhere. Jack was upset that he’d deluded himself into thinking that something big was going to emerge from his footage. He’d expected minor riots on the street, commotion at local governments or at least a rush to the supermarkets when they realised their food supplies might be running scarce. But there was nothing and he felt even more dejected than ever.
As each day passed, so too did the hope that the news story would somehow break, and as night swarmed and midnight chimed, Jack quickly forgot what hope even meant at all. The cycle continued, daily. Some days it rained, others it shone a magnificent burst of summer. But today, the weather was as miserable as Jack was.
“Do you want anything to drink?” Lana asked.
Jack turned and focussed on her skinny body. He knew she only had tap water to offer, and shook his head.
She disappeared into her bedroom again. Jack knew she had been plotting another attack on the GD unit in East London. Quite what the details were, she had spared him, but he was more interested in usual at what she had planned.
Since Aberdeenshire, Jack’s thoughts had strayed towards the other organisations. The Democratic Demolitioners and God’s Disciples. Before he was a part of The Resistance, Jack had feared both. He had feared even thinking about them. When he’d attended the DD meeting alongside Kyle, he had genuinely felt disgusted by being near their members - riotous tattooed men who rooted for anarchy and mayhem. Even The Masked Man, whoever he was underneath his disguise, created a sinister atmosphere around him. Then there was Charlie and his uncomfortable date with her to the GD meeting. Even then he knew they prayed on the weak, on the vulnerable.
“Lana,” he called softly from the window.
He saw her translucent reflection, speckled by droplets of rain.
“Yes?” she asked, already dressed for bed.
“Stay up a little while,” he said, “I don’t want to be alone.”
He saw her collapse into the sofa, patting the spare seat next to her, “Come on then.”
Jack abandoned his post at the window and nestled down next to her. She opened her arms and Jack fell into them; it was comforting to touch someone else’s skin.
So much had happened in a month. Riots began in Blackburn when the Rations were cut. Sydenham in London burned when they were first affected. Little fires up and down the country ignited and there was nothing The Resistance could do to prevent them. As Jack predicted, the CRU only responded to the riots, and hadn’t attempted to quell them before they became out of hand. Alex was already involved in trying to ascertain the origins of the crop burning, but had not learned anything significant. Kyle was still grieving, and had been distracted by a fresh attempt at contacting Miriam.
It was July 4th, American Independence Day. Lying in Lana’s arms, Jack felt as emancipated as a serf.
“Do you ever wonder if this will stop?” he said, distantly.
Lana stroked his hair gently, “No… I don’t think we can ever win.”
“Why?”
Lana sighed, “You know my answer to that. It’s the same as yours...”
Jack closed his eyes, his lashes absorbing fresh tears. It wasn’t the first time he had confided In Lana. She had been there for him in the darkest of times.
“What are you planning against the GD?”
Lana paused her gentle massage.
“I just want to know,” he said.
“We’re going to destroy one of their churches,” she said, “Hopefully turn a few of them against them.”
“It’s amazing, what people hold onto, through the worst of times,” he muttered, “Faith is a strange beast. I’ve never had much time for it before, maybe I should have though.”
“It’s destructive,” she said, “Blind Faith is as bad as it gets. No matter what you do, you’ll believe you are right.”
It struck a note with Jack: such a curious phrase for a generation.
“And what if we’re the same?” he asked, “What if we’re exactly like them?”
Lana stroked his temple gently, though he could feel she was distracted, “I suppose there’s no way of knowing. We’ve both killed for our causes and we both believe we were justified.”
“Do we?” Jack couldn’t help but question it, “I’ve killed three people in this organisation’s name. Do I believe I’m right?”
“I know what you’re saying, Jack,” she said, “Sometimes I lie awake and wonder. But life’s too sho
rt to change sides. You must know that by now. Look at you, where you’ve come from, where you are now. I don’t care what anyone says, you’ll always be leader to me.”
Jack stared up at her, “But I don’t want to be.”
“I don’t think what you want matters anymore,” she said, “And I’m certain you know that.”
He did. His famed leadership had taken on a life of its own. There was no controlling it. Even from within their own ranks, new arrivals to the safehouse were elated to meet their acclaimed leader. It was beginning to get to him. He didn’t want any of this. He didn’t want to feel constant disappointment that nothing he was doing was adding any value. Every waking moment, he felt that he was spiralling into a dark hole from which there was no exit.
“I’m tired of this,” he sighed.
“I know you are,” she said, comfortingly, “We all are. Nothing we seem to do ever changes anything.”
Lana stroked behind Jack’s ears. It soothed his constant headache.
“I’ve never understood the GD,” Jack said, “Why anyone would want to join them, and certainly how they’re allowed to lord the streets with their preachers and religion when we can’t even hold a placard without being shot.”
“I suppose,” Lana stretched, “It gives some people hope… the idea that there is something, maybe someone, bigger than themselves that can make things better? It’s been hell this past decade. Can you really blame them for using faith as a crutch?”
“You’ve changed your tune.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I despise them,” she protested, “But after watching my mum be seduced by them… that makes you understand them and I think that’s important”
“It’s interesting…” Jack pondered, “They’ll flock to a god that doesn’t exist, for the idea of something bigger than themselves, but they’ll steer clear of us, and we are actually important.”
“It’s a matter of perspective,” she said, “And the GD have got one thing we can’t offer…”
Jack turned to her curiously.
“Salvation,” she muttered, “They go to them forgiveness. They come to us for rage.”
It was a thought that hummed in Jack’s mind for a number of days afterwards. As his frustrations grew at being confined to Lana’s safehouse, he maintained a close watch on the television of the latest unfolding events. In Wales, there was a DD attack on a bus station and in Cumbria the GD had assembled to picket a school which had been failing in the local league tables. Placards bearing slogans such as Ignorance is Sin overshadowed the newsreader who was reporting from the centre of the commotion. Cameron Snowden made an announcement in Parliament regarding the recent threats to society, curiously neglecting to mention The Resistance.
On Wednesday morning, there was a knock at the door. Jack was already lying sprawled over the sofa, but he shot up at once. Lana came racing through from her bedroom to answer the door, checking carefully who was on the other side before letting them in.
It was Devin, accompanied by two young men in sunglasses. Summer was unbearably hot it seemed; but with the blinds shut, only stray streaks of haze penetrated the safehouse.
“What is it?” Jack asked, wiping the exhaustion from his eyes as he focussed on Devin furiously marching towards him.
“Take a seat,” Devin ordered the two men.
Awkwardly, they scanned the room, finding only bar stools crammed into a corner.
“This is Martin,” he pointed to the bearded one, “And this is Tom.”
Neither of them looked over the age of twenty-one. With them they carried an air of youthfulness Jack envied.
“They’ve just returned from a mission involving one of our MPs - Reg Watson.”
“The Education Secretary?” Jack said, vaguely recognising the name, but not able to put a face to it.
“Yes,” Devin nodded, “Their mission was strictly to follow him and take notes on his movements, who he was meeting, etcetera.”
“So what went wrong?” Jack interrupted, “You wouldn’t be here if it was all going to plan.”
Devin smiled at Jack’s deduction, “Reg clocked them. These two didn’t have time to think much beyond the time it would take him to leave his house, so they took him.”
“Took him?” Jack was taken aback. “Took him where?”
“Strictly speaking, in the back of the car we have outside,” Devin said.
“Fucking hell,” Jack’s surprise widened into a smile.
“I came here,” Devin continued, “To ask what you wanted to do with him.”
“Me?” the smile quickly faded from his face.
“You, sir, yes,” Devin did not comprehend Jack’s disbelief.
“We have the education minister in the back of your shitty stolen car?” his cheeks curled into a smile again.
Devin nodded; his followers echoing.
“Well it’s only going to be a matter of time before they realise he’s missing,” Jack began, “And then there’s no way of knowing how little time we have after that…”
“Indeed,” Devin said, “Shall we let him go?”
“Absolutely fucking not,” Jack said, “We have an opportunity here. Let’s go.”
Pulling on his trousers and grabbing his coat from the hook, he motioned for the others to join him. Lana hung by the wall.
“You’re coming too,” he said, “I’m going to need you.”
Grabbing her coat also, she followed the others out into the concrete hell they lived in. Jack kept his head low as they walked along the public path to the car park. Casually, he got into the back alongside Martin and Tom.
Something in the back moved, thrashing for freedom.
They drove to the docklands. It was almost clichéd, but it was the closest location they could safely take Reg Watson without being caught on too many CCTV cameras. They parked next to a massive warehouse; corrugated iron and caustic blue paint surrounded them. Devin and Tom got out and secured the location.
“We’ve got a contact here,” Martin said, “He should let us in for a while. What do you have planned?”
Jack wasn’t entirely sure. He had grand ideas in his head - ransoming off the man for vast sums of money, manipulating the man or just plain executing him to scare the shit out of the government.
Devin returned a few minutes later, leaning in the car door window, “We’re ready inside.”
They all got out. Jack went automatically to help carry Reg in, but was barred in his tracks by Devin.
“Lana,” he addressed her whilst keeping his arm firmly on Jack’s chest, “Take him inside.”
Obeying him, Jack walked alongside Lana as she led him into the warehouse side door from which Devin and Tom had entered.
“Remember who you are,” she urged him.
Inside the warehouse, they were met with a vast expanse of emptiness. The wall roof dwarfed them as great shafts of light from the high windows filtered down, catching the spiralling dust in the air. A library of machinery lined the walls; all either rusting or broken. Tins of dried paint had been collected in the middle and a puddle of stagnant water rippled as Devin and Martin’s footsteps preceded them, shouldering Reg’s writhing body.
Jack’s attention now turned to a solitary chair at the far end of the warehouse. Devin dropped Reg’s body into it as Tom tied the man’s hands behind his back.
As Jack drew closer, he deciphered Reg’s cold features, his grisly double chin and smug, pouty eyes. Knowing nothing of the man or his deeds, he took an instant disliking to his captive.
Reg raised his battered face from his chest - clearly Tom and Martin had played with him already.
“Oh, it’s you,” he sighed.
Jack crouched beside him, “I’m hurt. I thought you’d be more pleased to see me.”
“What do you think you’re going to do with me?” Reg spat, “They’ll know I’m missing by now. You’ll have a matter of minutes, the lot of you!”
Mockingly, Jack laughed. It echoed off the
metal walls, “I don’t hear sirens, do you?”
Lana smiled at him, but remained silent.
“Besides, do you really think you’re that significant that they’ll even notice you’re gone? Education Secretary, known precisely for fuck all,” Jack goaded him, “I didn’t even know what you looked like until two minutes ago. It makes me question the relevance of even keeping you alive. She had to twist my arm not to shoot you on the spot.”
Lana put her arm on her hip confidently, again saying nothing.
Meanwhile, Reg’s cheeks tinged pink.
“Clearly if you wanted me dead, I would be already,” Reg said through gritted teeth.
“True,” Jack rose to his feet, “But then I did take a good few minutes before I shot Quentin in the back of the head. Brains and blood dripping down his neck. I wouldn’t mind taking down another one of you bastards.”
In truth, he was throwing out insults to disguise his own ignorance. The last update he’d received on Education had been limited to their new curriculum ideas, though he was still awaiting feedback on their actual impact. Short of exacting proportional disgust at the man, he longed for ammunition.
As Reg turned a sepia tone, Jack whispered to Lana.
“Get me Claudia’s number.”
Nodding, she delved into her pocket and immediately began asking favours.
A plan was forming in Jack’s mind - and he hoped it was a good one.
He returned his attention to Reg.
“Still don’t hear any sirens?” Jack teased. “My ears might be playing with me.”
Suddenly, he laid a punch right into Reg’s chin.
“Sorry, I really just wanted to swipe that smug smile from your face,” he said, “You know the one that you seem to wear all the time.”
“Fuck you,” Reg spat blood at Jack.
Wiping the crimson spit from his arm, Jack smiled dangerously at Reg, “I recognise that look in your eye. I’ve seen it before. Raw fear.”