by S. G Mark
“Oh, I don’t know? Four hours maybe?”
He could get there before Curfew easily.
“I’m taking Rob,” he said.
“You’re leaving tonight?” Hamid asked, “You’ve only just arrived?”
Jack ignored him, instead addressing Francesca, “Look after Philippa for me.”
Abandoning dinner, he left the kitchen and found Rob keeping lookout by the window.
“You,” he said, “You’re coming with me.”
Rob turned around, “What, now?”
“Yes,” he said, “Is there a car nearby?”
“Mine’s a few streets away,” he said, “Where are we going?”
Jack threw the front door open, scanning ahead for any movement or police presence. It was clear aside from a few kids kicking a football across the street. Rob slipped out ahead of him and took the lead.
“It’s just down the road,” he said.
Both of them were very much aware of the surroundings as they marched down the pavement, and though nothing stirred, it served to make them feel more uneasy. It was second nature to be vigilant. Peace preceded a storm; quiet played prologue to trouble.
With great relief they reached Rob’s car. Jack hopped into the back and immediately assumed the position. Lying in the boot, he crammed himself in between some jackets and old walking boots that stunk of sweat and body odour.
“Where are we heading, boss?” Rob asked from the driver’s seat.
“London,” he said, “As central as you can get me before Curfew.”
In comparison to his last, it was an unremarkable journey. He caught some sleep for a while, but it was far from restful. His heart beat with a definitive purpose. The next few days were going to be significant, though he still had not reasoned exactly why. For the entirety of the journey he quietly planned and prepped. It was time The Resistance hit back, broke free from the shadows and really did something meaningful. Killing a politician and a few other CRU officers wasn’t enough. Staging a riot that never made the headlines was completely pointless. They needed to expose the government in a way that the public could never reject. The same ideas circulated his head and though Jack felt repulsed by what he was suggesting, he increasingly came to terms that it was the only way. It had been the only way for a long, long time.
The car stopped for the first time since border control.
“We’re here,” Rob said from the front, “This is as far as I can go without breaking Curfew.”
Jack popped the backseat.
“Where are we?”
“Just off Fleet Street,” he said, “What’s the plan now?”
“You need to head to another safehouse,” Jack said.
“And you?”
“I’m going to see an old friend.”
Jack got out of the car and immediately the wailing cry of an ambulance breached his ears. The sparkling lights; the gentle rush of traffic; the towering buildings and the hubbub struck him all at once. It was quite different to the field he’d woken up in yesterday morning. He felt more safe in a crowd of faces than he ever did in the countryside.
“Are you going to be alright?” Rob asked, a tone of worry.
“I don’t know, Rob. Are you?” he replied, walking off before Rob could even respond.
Back in the throng of the city, he instantly assimilated into urban life. Everyone seemed to be making their way home. Curfew must nearly be upon them. Jack spotted a few Nightstalkers on patrol, ushering people on their way. Jack kept a good pace as he marched alongside the tide of sour-faced commuters and tipsy revellers. Fortunately for him, the Nightstalkers were not paying great attention to the people they were herding to the Tube stations and bus stops. Jack was able to slip right past them as he skipped up the steps to Southwark Bridge.
The Thames snaked round in either direction; a glass reflection of a vibrant city being forced to sleep. Brilliant colours rippled like smoke on the surface. A navy sky capped it all, but there were no stars to gaze up at. A cloud hung heavily overhead and as Jack glanced towards Westminster, the lights began to go out. Shutdown in the capitol was eerie. It was as if the world was ending. Bright lights to funeral black; in a matter of seconds. They always shut down the larger buildings first - a beacon for all to see that it was time to go home.
On the other side of the bridge, the story repeated itself. Nightstalkers shepherding. Too consumed with their own lives, no one recognised Jack; no one even looked at him. He was just another figure in the crowd to avoid.
Lana’s safehouse was not far away now. Once inside, he was going to immediately set about plotting their next strike. By now the video would have gone live on the internet, thanks to Hamid. Soon, at least some, people would acknowledge that the CRU abuse their powers and maybe they might question what else they were abusing. Jack was hopeful, but as he’d already told Francesca earlier that evening: there was no room for optimism in The Resistance.
Persuading a selfish population to look out beyond themselves at the society they lived in was nearly impossible. They’d tried talking, they’d tried reasoning. Peaceful protests and helping the poor served only the few. The hard truth was what Jack had thought for a long while now: that no one believed anything was wrong. How could it ever be possible to win a fight that no one believed was happening? They were content, in their little lives of long working hours, Rations and Shutdown. Curfew was an inconvenience, but it was long past making people angry. It was just another reminder to go home. Shutdown was a way of life. Rations were frowned upon, but it was just another status for them to worry about. They mustn’t be terrorists. They mustn’t ignore their community service duties. They mustn’t be seen to be different. They mustn’t be seen to be anything other than the quiet diligent people they expected everyone else to be.
Jack turned the corner and the familiar steps into the carpark greeted him like an old friend. After the painful past few days, coming back to the comfort of the shitty council flat with Lana’s moaning and terrible cooking could not be more appealing. Above all, right now he needed a friend.
The forecourt was illuminated by red and blue. On the top step he stopped, motionless and unable to breathe. From his vantage point, he could see the whole reality of the situation. Four, maybe five police cars were parked near the main entrance into the council estate. There were dozens of officers mulling around, including two holding the entrance open; their weapons glinting in the neon blue.
Frozen, Jack was too frightened to run. He’d told no one he was coming here. How had they known? But the trap was too obvious. This… it wasn’t for him.
The screams echoed off the buildings. Shrill shrieks of desperation. She wailed and the waves burst upon Jack’s eardrums. There she was, writhing from the grips of two strong armed officers. Her expression was wild, maddening; an animalistic instinct to survive exploding from her. Lana.
Jack stepped forward. Adrenaline and rage forming a cocktail of idiotic courage. Though he was armed with nothing but anger and desperation, he made to march over to the officers. Even if it meant surrendering everything. They couldn’t take Lana. They couldn’t steal another friend from him.
He opened his mouth wide to scream her name, but it was clamped shut and Jack was pulled backwards into the shadow again.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Emma was staring madly at him. The two were caught in the breathless moment as she realised exactly what he had been doing.
“Lana,” he said, “They have Lana.”
“I know,” Emma said, solemnly, as if the girl had already died.
“They’re going to torture her,” he said, “They’re going to... “
Emma promptly grabbed Jack by the scruff of his collar, “What does she know of you? Does she know what I know?”
Jack nodded feebly, “Then you know what you have to do.”
Emma abruptly let go of him and took a gun from her pocket.
“No!” he was disgusted
, sickened, “I can’t.”
“It’s better than the alternative,” she said, “Do you really want her to suffer? You don’t know half of what they will do her. You can’t even imagine it.”
She forced the gun into his hand; Jack reluctantly took grip.
“I can’t,” he protested, though his arm was rising from his waist and he was slowly turning around just in time to catch a glimpse through the bushes of Lana, still trapped in the clutches of the officers, was kicking and screaming.
“I can’t do it,” he said, collapsing to his knees under the stress, “I can’t. She’s my friend!”
“You want her to suffer? If she was truly your friend you would fire right now and you wouldn’t miss. It’s that or let her be tortured for information on you,” she said, “Do you want that on your conscience?”
Gazing up at her, into her deep hypnotic eyes, his heart set heavy on the decision. Emma offered him her hand as she helped him back to his feet. Examining the gun, he held it tight and rested it against the brick. There was a tunnel of line of sight. Lana’s fighting spirit at the very end of it; defying every last second of her life. Jack steadied his arm. He had seconds.
“You have one shot,” Emma whispered behind him, “As soon as you fire you drop the gun and you run with me. As fast you can.”
Jack nodded, his concentration firmly on the girl at the end of his barrel and the things he’d never be able to say to her.
“Please forgive me,” he whispered, and pulled the trigger.
Crimson burst from her chest and her body slumped to the tarmac as the shot shrilled across the forecourt. By the time the orders echoed out from the officers, Jack and Emma had vanished. The smoking gun lay in the bushes, abandoned like its victim.
They were sprinting down an alleyway. Brick walls plastered with weathered CRU posters loomed on either side as they ran towards the black, impenetrable mass at the end of it, where no light touched and where they could hide, if only for a few seconds.
Jack couldn’t believe he’d killed her. All those years, had their entire friendship been heading to this point? Had he been destined to shoot her all this time? His body was trembling with guilt. Jack Blackwood: the man who’d kill anyone to save his own skin.
Momentum threw Jack against the wall and he slid down to the ground to catch his breath. Emma hauled him back to his feet.
“We can’t stop,” she said, “They’re coming.”
Behind them they saw beams of flailing torchlight.
Though his heart was ready to give up, his instinct was not. One leg after another he bounded on, Emma taking point as they emerged onto a quiet road. Warehouses flanked one side of it whilst run down flats towered up to the sky on the other. They raced across the asphalt and bolted down the road. Jack knew nothing of where he was going, only that every step forward was a leap away from death; both his and everyone else’s.
Emma tore down another alleyway in between two of the big warehouses, but a fence stood between them and the next street.
“We’re trapped!” he yelled.
“Jack!” she shouted, pushing an industrial bin towards the end of the alleyway, “If you want to live, just shut up. Stop being so fucking pathetic all the time.”
“I’ve just killed my friend!” he screamed.
“Yeah, and you’re about to get us killed too,” she leapt on top of the bin and then jumped clear of the fence on the other side.
Jack glanced behind them. Red and blue light flashing lights reflected from the roadside.
“Make your choice now,” she said, “You’re either the boy in the woods, or you’re the fucking goddam leader.”
Jack launched himself on top of the bin - the stench hit him, but failed to unbalance him as he curtailed it over the fence onto the other side. Emma greeted him with a wild smile before sprinting off again. Hearts beating, adrenaline ricocheting off his arteries.
The street was void of all traffic or pedestrians. A few parked cars marked the only nearby human presence. All was quiet and dark. Emma took him down the road and as they reached the corner where it met another council estate, they slowed to a gentle pace.
“We’re in there tonight,” she said, “Take my hand.
He did so.
“They’re looking for a lone assailant,” she said, “They probably aren’t looking for you specifically, and they certainly aren’t looking for a couple.”
Flashing lights flickered off the next lamppost.
“Fuck,” he said.
“Just act normal,” she said, not at all fazed by the approaching danger, “They aren’t looking for us. They’re looking for someone else.”
“What if they stop us?”
“Why would they?” she said.
The car hurtled by; the siren screeching to a peak before fading into the far horizon. Arm in arm, Emma steered him towards the zebra crossing and into the entrance of the nearest council block.
The harsh lighting stunned their eyes. Emma took him to a second floor apartment. Inside, Jack was met with claustrophobic walls, a small corner kitchen comprising of nothing but a sink, a kettle and a microwave and a dated living room solely occupied by broken sofa with fading fabric. It held a strange smell, almost like stale biscuits. The window sported a view of the internal block.
“How long have you had this place?” he asked, “Why not stay with…”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, switching on a table lamp, “It’ll keep us safe tonight.”
Jack explored the room. Damp smothered one side of the wall, the surrounding carpet curling at the skirting board. He turned back to Emma.
“I killed her,” he said.
“I know, but it was for the best.”
“Then why does it feel this bad?”
Emma approached him and pulled him in for a long hug, “I never said it was best for you.”
His arms snapping around her back, he had never longed for human touch more than he did right now. Tears rained from his eyes.
“What have I done?” he sobbed into her chest, “What the fuck have I done?”
Lana. Eliza. The Resistance. What did it all mean any more, if anything at all? How could he continue to fight when he was so ready to kill his friends? Her recalled her body falling limply to the ground as the wound spread scarlet across her chest. Did it hurt? Did she feel relieved? In a selfish way the worst part was that she would never know that it had been Jack who fired that bullet. He had meant it in kindness, but how could she ever possibly know?
“You need to be strong,” Emma said, bringing his head closer to hers, “You need to be stronger than you’ve ever been before.”
“I don’t think I can,” he said, “I’m not meant to be leader. Alex is.”
“That’s not what I see,” she withdrew slightly so that their eyes could meet, “Alex hides in the shadows. When was the last time you even saw him? What does he do that’s so fucking important?”
“Don’t,” he said, stepping backwards, “I know what you think, but don’t lose hope in him. He’s more of a man than I could ever be.”
“Then why do the government fear you more than him? Why is it your name on the most wanted list and not him? He doesn’t face the same danger as you, and yet you are the one standing out against it. Riots in the streets of London? Kidnapping politicians? I’ve seen your latest video already.”
“It’s online then?”
“It’s everywhere.”
“What?”
“It went viral within the hour,” she said, “Sure it’ll be taken down, but they can’t get to that many people. So many views, Jack. And it’s you. It’s all because of you. What you said. What you did to that man.”
“But that doesn’t negate what I just did. Lana was a friend…”
“Who was going to be locked up and tortured for information on you,” she said, “She was going to die anyway, isn’t it better at your hand than someone else through endless pain?”
“Maybe,�
�� he whimpered, “Still… just don’t ask me not to feel bad about it.”
“I’m asking you not to think about it at all,” she said, “Now’s not the time to dwell on our regrets.”
“No,” Jack said vacantly, falling backwards into the sofa so that his view was nothing but the thinly veiled interior of the block their flat was a part of, “If I started now, we both know I’d never stop.”
Emma sat down next to him, “One day, I promise, you will be able to spend every waking hour reliving them. But you have to concentrate on our next move.”
“I already know,” he said, distantly, “I’d made my mind before I’d even arrived.”
“What?”
Jack turned slowly to her, “I think out of everyone in this organisation, even Alex, you’re the one who knows me best. You’ve seen me grow from this… well this pathetic boy as you said… into what I am today, and maybe you can’t see much difference, maybe you can. I don’t know if I can, but I can feel there’s a change. Even if that’s only a change by circumstances.”
“What are you telling me?”
Adjusting himself on the sofa so he could look into her soulful eyes, he took the time to appreciate the memory of the two of them in the forest that night. Emma had stopped him from making a huge mistake, coaxed him down from the ledge of certain suicide. Had he not listened to her that night, he would almost certainly be dead. Had he returned to Edinburgh then, he would have walked into a murder investigation and there would have been no explaining exactly where he had come from.
“The time for pedantry is over,” he said, “No more chasing after sympathy or reasoning with them, the public. If the past two years has taught me anything it’s that they don’t care. They never will. But I do and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this country go to hell because of apathy. We need to raise the stakes. I want bombs on bridges. I want homes destroyed. If they aren’t going to wake up with a gentle nudge of reality, then lets explode it on their doorstep. I don’t fucking give a shit anymore about who dies or who doesn’t. This is a whole lot bigger than that.”