|SLATE| RETRIBUTION

by Emery Hale

  ‘We are all incredibly mortal in a world that is determined to put a bullet between our eyes,’ she said, sipping her drink. ‘If you get a chance, take it.’

  ‘What?’ I asked confused.

  ‘Get out, don’t come back to the Academy.’

  ‘But we fixed it? We changed everything, Harkness is gone.’

  ‘Naomi, I’m begging you, stay away from this.’

  Even now I couldn’t understand what she meant – would I get the chance to ask?

  ‘Who is that?’ Lily asked.

  My eyes shot round to the screen, there was a figure in dark clothing – no! I couldn’t watch this. Why had I let her go on that mission? She’d been worried about something and I’d just pushed it aside. She’d warned me to stay away. How could I be so stupid?

  I hissed in a breath as my nails dug into my palm, warm blood pooling in the centre, running to my fingertips like a river.

  BANG

  Static, crackling, no movement and no background noise.

  Not one of us uttered a syllable.

  Then the monitor collapsed into darkness.

  ‘Jess?’ Lily asked, her head hung, voice wavering.

  No, please.

  ‘Jess can you hear me?’

  She warned me! She volunteered to take the mission and now she was . . . no. I wouldn’t believe it, not until I saw proof. She was Jessica-Grace Winters, descended from a long line of spies, she had to be OK, she’d figure her way out.

  I should have gone with her, why wasn’t I there to watch her back?

  BANG

  BANG

  BANG.

  Quinn’s hands slammed against the desk, her face stretched in a scream unlike any other, tears streaming down. Kayson had retreated into silence, hands cradling the back of his head, eyes wide with disbelief.

  Jess was going to be OK. She’s Jessica!

  Nicola scrambled for one of the ringing phones.

  ‘Nicola Ramos, head of division Alpha Four, I need vital signs and position of agent Jessica-Grace Winters . . . put me through to Oscar now.’

  ‘Nicola?’ Quinn asked turning in her chair, wanting the answer we all desperately needed. ‘Nicola!’

  She held a hand up in an ask for patience but Quinn threw herself from the chair, running to Nicola. Lily beat her to it, grabbing the girl by the arms.

  ‘Look at me, Quinn darling, it’s going to be OK.’ Lily pulled her into a hug as the girl’s body wracked with sobs, every single one reverberating in my chest.

  ‘Not again,’ she pleaded. ‘Please, not again.’

  Quinn’s eyes pleaded with both of the women in front of her, Nicola’s face filled with anticipation – but for a moment Lily’s eyes met mine and a harrowed cry nearly left my lips as I witnessed her expression. Acceptance.

  Even though other phones rang, everyone’s attention was directed at their superior. Then she pressed a button, putting the phone to speaker.

  ‘Oscar, I need the vitals and position of Jessica-Grace Winters.’

  A clear voice rang through.

  ‘She’s located at the Queen Elizabeth Forest Park ma’am.’

  ‘Vitals?’

  ‘None, ma’am.’

  Quinn’s screams tore through the room as Grace collapsed to her knees. Kayson locked eyes with mine but I didn’t hold the gaze as I pushed my way out of the room. I had to get out of here, had to focus on something else. Jess told me this would happen but I didn’t believe her, I didn’t think something like this could happen to someone like her – but now I think of it, of course it did.

  My hand pressed against the door.

  All the lies she told me, for what? She tried to warn me, protect me but it was all for nothing.

  ‘Agent down,’ the voice on the end of the phone said. ‘Agent Jessica-Grace Winters inactive.’

  Inactive. Down. Dead.

  I didn’t even know where I was going, Jessica’s face consumed my mind. She’d never sing again, never hold my hand, never walk into my arms. Jessica wasn’t going to grow old, she wasn’t going to get married. I’d always imagined she’d walk down the aisle one day but I’d never realised it would be in a coffin.

  People bumped into me, throwing my shoulders but I didn’t care. My fingers tangled through my hair like a spiderweb, gnawing at the roots – how could this happen? Jessica was meant to be here! She couldn’t leave me alone!

  I wouldn’t believe it, not until I saw her. There was no way, this couldn’t be happening.

  Not a single tear fell from my eye, not one. Quinn was crying, shouldn’t I? Jessica was my best friend and yet, nothing.

  Right now I was numb. My fingers gripped the flat walls and hands pressed against the rigid cabinets, but there were no sensations – it was as if I was floating. My feet no longer felt like they were on the ground and the many voices around were muffled, like I was underwater.

  I wasn’t floating, I was sinking.

  Then, someone pulled me out.

  ‘You have to see this!’ They shouted, yanking my whole body forward, sending me stumbling after them.

  I needed my mum.

  Before I knew it I was in another command room, but this time it was different: smaller, cramped, Thompson directing from the back while hordes of students worked the computers and phones.

  ‘Someone give me a visual.’

  On one monitor was the breaking news.

  DOWNING STREET OBLITERATED

  What?

  A live feed sprung up on the screen and for the second time that day I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Number Ten Downing Street, the home of the Prime Minister, was nothing more than a crater.

  ‘What?’ Thompson asked horrified, his voice but a whisper.

  ‘It’s all over the news,’ a student said. ‘It was hit minutes ago.’

  ‘Casualties?’

  ‘Undetermined. The whole building sir, it’s just gone.’

  ‘Stop!’ someone yelled.

  A new video replaced the one on the screen, and this time I nearly threw up. The Prime Minister’s head was on one of the spikes at the gates of Buckingham Palace. Suddenly the camera shook and a boom came through the speakers, almost like a shock wave.

  ‘What the bloody hell was that?’ Thompson ran forward and grabbed one of the computers, searching on his own.

  ‘It’s Parliament! The UK Parliament!’ someone shouted. ‘I was watching the security cameras just in case – fire blew out the windows, sir!’

  Everyone hurried to huddle around the computer, but I remained still, knowing I’d see the thing soon enough. Cars strewn all over the roads, boats pushed against the river walls, glass littering the streets – but what caught my eye were all the bodies laid out on the road, they were all so close together.

  ‘Sir, I think we need a helicopter view.’

  ‘Then do it!’

  My nails dug into my palm, pain seemingly now the only thing I had control over. Jessica was dead, she was dead, and there was nothing I could do about it. We’d been becoming close like before, we talked, laughed and cried together, but now all I felt was alone.

  That was when the images on the monitor switched and we saw exactly what Trojan wanted us to. The bodies of politicians laid out to spell the word SIN. That’s what they’d been planning all along, release the videos of all the terrorist acts to the public, then blow up the Prime Minister’s residence and the UK Parliament all at once.

  Utter chaos.

  We thought we’d stopped it when really, we only stopped a fraction.

  ‘Someone get Nicola Ramos in here now!’ Thompson ordered.

  A random student scurried past me but then, someone else spoke.

  ‘Mr Thompson, the First Minister of Wales is missing.’

  ‘Sir! Northern Ireland has gone into a complete lockdown. Their power grid is offline. I can’t get into any security camera.’

  Trojan was attacking the entirety of the United Kingdom – this must have all been planned for
years. They’d set up a school to train the soldiers they needed, then fed them some bullshit story, brainwashed them and now put their new agents to work. Pumping out more every year like a factory line.

  A large clammy hand rested on my shoulder. I didn’t turn. It was Kayson.

  ‘We didn’t stop it.’

  Then, just like that I was floating again. Images of my mum and dad flashing before me like the currents of the sea, then Lily, Quinn, Grace, Kayson and Jessica, even Katie.

  This was it. The war had begun.

  CHAPTER 37

  Absquatulate

  To leave without saying goodbye.

  NAOMI JADE

  18 June 2016, 17:24

  Scotland, The Reign Academy, Corridor

  Kayson had control of my body because right now, it felt as if I couldn’t move myself. Nothing was processing, nothing made sense. That’s when the yelling started outside and he gently pulled me away from the devastation of the monitors.

  ‘No I’m not sending them!’

  ‘They are the only qualified team we have available, we need to get some ground down there. This is what the Academy was designed to deal with!’

  ‘No it was designed to train assassins for the terrorists that caused this exact scenario!’

  Nicola and Thompson stood arguing with one another in the middle of the corridor but the only thing I could do was focus on the girls up ahead, Lily, Grace and Quinn, their eyes bloodshot and faces wrecked.

  ‘Then let’s amend it!’ Thompson threw his hands out. ‘We can be the specialised unit that deals with terrorists like this!’

  ‘If you hadn’t continued to support Harkness, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place!’

  ‘You know that’s not how it worked!’

  Suddenly Grace’s head shot up and she marched towards the pair, arms crossed over her chest, her dark hair falling from its ponytail.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked. ‘Sending who, where?’

  Nicola sighed.

  ‘Thompson wants to send the Omega team, your team, to London.’

  ‘Observe and report, nothing more,’ Thompson said, trying to reason with her.

  ‘Well, an observe and report just got someone killed!’ Nicola yelled.

  ‘Nicola, hundreds of people are dead.’

  ‘She’s talking about Jessica,’ I piped up. ‘Jessica went on an op to follow a lead and she . . .’

  Thompson froze and turned to Nicola for confirmation, who nodded.

  Kayson tried to take my hand but I pushed him away. I didn’t want to be touched, not when I couldn’t feel anything except the stale dried blood in my hand. I needed my mum, I needed Jessica.

  ‘We’ll do it,’ Grace said, with the composure of a queen. ‘We’ll take the op.’

  ‘Grace, I can’t allow you to do that,’ Nicola said firmly, but Grace wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  ‘Nicola, you can go fuck yourself,’ she spat, before turning to Thompson. ‘We have access to a plane, I assume?’

  ‘Y-Yes.’ the man stuttered.

  ‘Let’s use it. Have it fuelled and ready to go in forty minutes.’

  Thompson nodded, then grabbed a phone from his pocket and briskly walked back into the command room. Nicola’s mouth hung open, stunned by the remark, but Grace didn’t take a second glance at her as she focused on us.

  ‘Kayson, I need another Runner.’

  ‘I’m there.’

  ‘Naomi, I need a Carrier.’

  There was no possible way I could continue, not after this, couldn’t I just stop? For a moment I thought Kayson had grabbed my hand, but then realised it was Grace. She’d taken both my wrists, pulling me close, her eyes boring into mine.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ I told her. ‘I can’t, we can’t, not after what happened.’

  Her next words hit me like a train.

  ‘You are here, you are alive, you are a part of this world. Believe me Naomi, I know what you’re feeling right now, I do, but if we don’t at least try then God knows what will happen. Jessica’s death will have meant nothing compared to how many Trojan will slaughter. If you don’t keep moving you’ll be as dead as her. You’re alive, do something about it.’

  * * *

  After thirty minutes of packing and ten minutes of driving to the airport, I was sat in the plane, ready for take-off. Once again I didn’t have much so Lily had given me some of her clothes; there was no way I could bring myself to wear Jessica’s.

  Quinn took the top of the plane, setting up her laptop and equipment as fast as she could, Kayson and Lily next to her while Grace talked with the pilot.

  As I gazed out the window onto the tarmac, phone clutched in hand, I kept my voice as level as possible because my mum was on the other end.

  ‘Mum stop, please just – I’m going away for a little while OK?’

  ‘Naomi, what’s going on?’ she asked, worry crashing through the speakers. ‘It’s all over the news. Tell me you’re not going to London?’

  ‘Mum, please.’

  ‘You can’t go there! It’s not safe.’

  ‘It’s what Jessica would have wanted.’

  ‘Sweetheart, I’m begging you, don’t go to London.’

  ‘Tell Dad I love him.’

  ‘Naomi!’

  ‘Love you.’ With that I hung up and tossed the phone to the floor.

  Gravity aided me as my head fell into my arms, the cool leather seats chilling me to the core. What I was about to do was unorthodox but Grace told me she didn’t trust anyone else, and I couldn’t let her down.

  How many daughters were lost in the explosions at Parliament and Downing Street? How many sisters? How many sons or brothers?

  I picked up my phone, turning it onto aeroplane mode. I was half tempted to turn it off, but the lock screen made me smile. When it was brought to me last year, I never truly appreciated the photo. It was me and Jessica at the Christmas dance before she left for Reign, her smile charming, eyes full and bright. We were fifteen back then. Now I imagined her eyes were dull, the spark of humanity long since put out.

  Grace was right, I was alive. Time to do something about it.

  Thanks for reading!

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  Acknowledgements

  Firstly to my parents for constantly supporting me throughout my journey. Thank you for letting me use and exploit your hilarious conversations with one another for my writing, even though you weren’t really consulted in it, cheers.

  Thank you to Sam Boyce my editor. This has been a new adventure for me, and you’ve given me insight into the industry as well as fabulous advice. P.s. I’m really glad you didn’t see the first or second drafts of this – the amount of ‘however’ and ‘although’ and ‘. . .’ probably would have sent you into a frenzy, as well as editing these acknowledgements. Thank you so much for all the suggestions you made, I really think they make the story sparkle.

  Thanks to Ziyanda, the amazing artist who designed the character graphics for this book. The amazing feeling to see a portrait land in my inbox can never be recreated. You’re an amazing artist, as well as great friend to bounce and hash ideas off of, since not all of them were great ones.

  Thank you to Justyna, the Annaliese to my Erica. Artists stick together, you use paint and a pencil while I use words. This book would not be what it was without your help, and supplying me with other words for ‘sad’.

  The world of thanks to Keri Frew who taught me in high school, explaining the intricate nature of narrative and how to delve into the deepest parts of a character’s mind. I sorely miss you.

  Emery Hale is a young Scotland based author, who has longed to put her stories onto the page. Ones filled with danger, love, betrayal and blood. When she’s not writing she’s an avid
filmmaker while also enjoying everything from heavy metal to Beethoven and laughing hysterically with her inspirational roommate.

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