“Don’t you think there’s a balance to be struck here? Don’t you think that the government could be less extreme, and maybe there would be fewer attacks?”
“Yes! Exactly, Bex.” Margie glanced at me, then turned back to Dan. “Bex gets it.”
I shook my head – I hadn’t intended to argue on Margie’s side. Or on Dan’s. I just wanted some balance in the discussion.
“No! Neither of you gets it! People who use bombs on civilians only understand one language, and that’s the language of force. They need a bigger, scarier force, fighting on the side of the civilians, to scare them off, and make them stop. We’ve got that. That’s what’s happening.”
“Fine, Dan. If you’re so convinced that the government is doing the right thing – if you’re so married to their vote-stealing, democracy-killing civil war – then why don’t you enlist?”
She stood up, so fast that her chair tipped backwards onto the floor, picked up her books from the table and marched out of the room, leaving the door swinging open behind her.
Dan looked as if she’d punched him. We’d never truly fallen out over an argument before. He stared after her, and then said, in a small voice, “Because I want to be a doctor. I want to stay at school.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say. Dan picked up his pack of cards and put it back in his pocket. We sat in silence for a while before heading off to our dormitories.
That was the last time we saw Margie. At our history lesson the next day, we heard that Dr Richards had left as well.
Camp
“They’ve caught someone trying to break into the camp.” Dan crashes his breakfast tray onto the table and sits down opposite me to eat. “They’re saying it’s a terrorist, scouting us out for an attack.”
“Seriously?”
“For real. Really ballsy, too. They tried to walk right through the gates next to a delivery truck that was driving in last night. Got caught, though.” Dan shrugs, and digs his fork into his scrambled egg.
“Are they still in the camp?”
He nods. “Rumour is, they’re in the empty dorm, under guard. I think the Commander’s wondering who else might turn up if we keep them here. Use them as bait.”
I eat in silence, thinking. I finish my breakfast and stand up. Dan looks up, surprised. “See you later?”
“Yeah.” I manage a smile, slide my tray into the rack by the door, and head back to my dorm room.
It’s an overcast morning. Through the windows I can see lights in the empty dorm building, and soldiers at the doors. I pause to watch, as one of the soldiers opens the front door, and a member of the camp staff walks out, down the steps, carrying an empty meal tray.
My dorm is empty. Everyone is determined to enjoy their day off, and the opportunity for a leisurely breakfast is keeping most people in the dining room, enjoying the lack of schedule. I sit down on my bunk and think.
What are the terrorists doing here? We’re just the crowd control, not the army. They must be planning something big.
I need to talk to the prisoner. I need to know if they know where Margie is, and Dr Richards. What they’re doing. Why Margie left.
I need a plan. I need to talk to Charlie.
*****
I throw on a sweater, and take a walk across the camp to the back door of the kitchen. I knock, and someone I don’t recognise opens the door. She looks at me, and then turns away into the kitchen area.
“Charlie! It’s your little lost puppy!”
She flashes me an unkind grin, and lets the door close on me.
Seconds later, Charlie opens the door, slips out and closes it behind her.
“Bex. What’s up?”
“Have you heard …”
She puts her finger to her lips, grabs my elbow, and pulls me away from the door. We walk away from the kitchen to the furthest picnic bench, where she climbs up to sit on the table, and pats the space beside her.
“The prisoner? Yes. I figured you’d be interested.”
“Have you seen …”
“No. But they’re in the empty dorm, under guard.”
“I need to get inside.”
“I thought you were going to say that. Leave it with me. Come back before lunch – I might have a job for you to do.”
“Thanks, Charlie.”
She stays sitting on the table, looking out at the morning sky.
“So how was your first patrol?”
“It was … it was fine.”
She turns to look at me.
“Fine? That’s all?”
“Nothing happened. There was nothing for us to do, but there were cameras everywhere. We were on show. Front-line dolls.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. You made a difference. You made people feel better about going out and having fun.”
“There was a photographer. He took photos of us. It wasn’t about our training – no one cared how quickly we could run an assault course or fire a gun. They just wanted to see us in our armour. We’re the pretty faces of public security.” I’m getting angry again, and I know I’ll start crying if I don’t change the subject. “How was your day in the empty camp?”
“More exciting than yours, by the sound of it. We had an NBC drill.”
I must look confused.
“Nuclear-biological-chemical? Those stupid white suits and gas masks? They sounded the alarm and dumped a load of NBC suits in our common room. We had five minutes to grab a suit and put it on over our uniforms, and then two buses turned up and they evacuated the site. We spent half the day in a church hall, with someone else making the tea and coffee for a change. They brought us home in time for dinner, which was late because we hadn’t been here to cook it. Waste of a day, if you ask me. And no cameras here. We’re not glamorous like you.” She smiles and winks at me, then glances at the kitchen door over my shoulder.
“I need to get back to work. You lot have left me a pile of washing up, and it needs to get done in time for lunch.” She steps down from the table. “Enjoy your day off – but don’t get used to it. You’ll be back to training tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Charlie,” I say, and I manage a smile.
I sit on the table for a while longer, thinking about the prisoner, and what they might be able to tell me. If Charlie can get me inside, or carry messages to the dorm, I might be able to find out where the rebels are – where Margie is. Whether she’s in any danger.
I jump off the table and walk back to the dining room to look for Dan.
Prisoner
We spend the morning playing cards, talking about our lives before conscription, and reading magazines that someone has managed to persuade the camp staff to share with us. I’m sitting with Dan, Amy, Saunders, and Jake, but other recruits join us for games and conversations. It’s amazing to spend time with these people when we’re not running or training, or exhausted at meal times. Saunders is sketching again, and recruits I’ve never spoken to are coming over and asking him to draw them. He’s thrilled to be the centre of attention.
Before lunch, I excuse myself from the next game of cards, and walk back to the kitchen door. I knock, and Charlie answers, glances around and lets me in. She hands me a kitchen staff uniform.
“Get changed”, she whispers.
I swap my fatigues for an outfit that looks like white scrubs, with a dark blue tabard. She hides my clothes in her locker, and heads to the kitchen to fetch the meal tray.
I straighten my tabard, and adjust the neckline of the tunic underneath. There’s a mirror on the wall, and I check my appearance, making sure that nothing stands out. At the last minute I decide that my hair is untidy. I take the clip out, roll the hair into a smart up-do, and clip it into place.
Charlie returns, hands me the tray, and opens the door for me. I step out, carrying the prisoner’s meal.
“Walk to the door. Look confident. The guard will let you in. Take the tray to the prisoner’s room, and wait while they eat. You should be able to ask a couple of questio
ns without making anyone suspicious. Keep your voice down, and don’t give the welfare worker anything to talk about. When they’re done, come straight back here with the empty tray.” She talks quietly, and keeps looking over my shoulder for anyone who might recognise me.
The walk to the empty dorm seems impossibly long. I walk briskly but carefully, watching the tray, careful not to spill anything. The prisoner is being treated well – they have a good helping of food, some fresh fruit, a bottle of water. No chocolate, though. And no knife or fork. There’s not much damage they can do with a spoon.
The soldier on guard duty glances quickly at me before opening the door. The uniform is what he is expecting to see, and he doesn’t notice that I’m not a member of the kitchen staff.
I’m inside. I cross the hall, and push open the door to the corridor. Another member of camp staff sits on a chair outside a door, halfway down. The space is dimly lit, but the light is on in what I assume is the prisoner’s room. I nod to the staff member, but she’s reading a dog-eared magazine, and waves me through without looking up. According to her name tag, her name is Harriet.
I step into the prisoner’s room, tightening my grip on the tray. I don’t know what I’m going to find inside. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to see, but it isn’t this.
This is Margie.
She’s been beaten up. Her hair is shorter and shaggy, and her clothes (camouflage fatigues and a T-shirt, like mine) are muddy. She’s got a split lip and a graze above her eye. She’s sitting at a small table, waiting.
She looks up, and her eyes widen. “Oh my god!”
I shush her, quickly, glancing back towards the door.
I step forward, and put the tray down in front of her. Holding my finger to my lips, I pick up the bottle of water, loosen the lid, and throw it hard at the floor towards the door.
We both shout, wordlessly, as the bottle bursts and water sprays out into the corridor, and then I’m down on my knees, apologising, trying to rescue the bottle.
Harriet jumps to her feet and stands, looming in the doorway.
“I’m so sorry!” I say, looking lost, kneeling on the wet floor. “I – I dropped it.”
I do my best to look desperate.
“Would you mind? The prisoner needs water, and I’m supposed to stay here with the tray. Could you – would you – go to the kitchen for me?”
Harriet rolls her eyes, but it’s obvious that she’s been sitting here for hours, and the opportunity to take a break is too tempting. She sighs loudly, and walks away down the corridor. I make myself take a calming breath. We’re safe, for now.
I pick up the bottle, and turn back to Margie. We both speak at once.
“What are you –“
“Why are you –“
“Oh, god, Bex!” And she stands up and hugs me. I hug her back. I can’t believe she’s here.
“They thought I could sneak into camp – pose as one of you. They even kitted me out like a recruit, but it didn’t work as well as they’d hoped.” She waves her hands at her muddy outfit.
“We only have a few minutes. What are you doing here? Is it true that you’re scouting for an attack?”
She looks at me as if I’ve pulled a gun on her. “What? No!”
“Then why –“
“I’m here to get to you lot. I’m here to warn you.”
“Warn us? About what? What are you – wait. This is about an attack.” I feel a flash of anger. Margie knows about a terrorist plot, and she’s here to get us out of the way. “Margie, what’s the target? What are you aiming for? This is a quiet town – what damage could you possibly do?”
She’s shaking her head. I glance over my shoulder. We don’t have time for this.
“Tell me what you know!” I’m shouting, even though I know I should be quiet. I’m angry, and I’m frightened, and I don’t have time for games.
“Bex! Bex. Just … shut up and listen.” I put the crushed bottle on the table – I’ve been twisting it in my hands, but I hadn’t noticed – and I nod. “OK. Thank you.”
She takes a deep breath.
“The attack has already happened.”
I shake my head. “What do you mean?”
“The attack is done. Over.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To tell someone – and thank god it’s you, Bex – to let someone know that this wasn’t us.”
I start to interrupt, but I can’t find the words. I’m trying to understand what she’s telling me.
“There’s been an attack, Bex. A big one. But we didn’t do it. You did.”
I try to protest, but she cuts me off. “Not you, personally. The government. Your commanders. Your side. We don’t know what they’ve done, but it’s big. We had people in town, looking for targets, but we haven’t heard from them since yesterday. We’ve sent scouts in, but there’s no one left. There’s nothing … Bex – they’ve killed the town.”
There are tears in her eyes, but I know she’s wrong. I know she’s lying. She has to be.
The door at the end of the corridor slams, and we’re out of time. I’m shaking my head, and I’m trying to ignore the tears building in my eyes.
“You’re wrong. You’re wrong.”
“Bex,” she whispers, urgently, “Just go and see. OK? Just go into town and see for yourself. I promise I’m telling the truth.”
I stare at her.
Harriet arrives at the door, holding out a bottle of water. I nod thanks, and take the bottle, trying to hide any trace of my anger. I place it carefully on the table, and make myself walk away, out into the corridor. I stand, eyes fixed on a point on the opposite wall, while Margie eats her meal. She calls me back to take the tray, and as I reach to pick it up she grabs my hand.
“Promise me, Bex. Promise me you’ll go.”
I take the tray, pull out of her grasp, and leave.
*****
I hurry back to the kitchen and knock on the door. Charlie lets me in, takes the tray, and pulls my clothes from her locker. I change back into my fatigues and put my hair back in my usual rough pony tail. Charlie takes the tray to the kitchen and comes back for the uniform.
“Nice move with the water bottle,” she whispers as she opens the laundry bin and dumps the kitchen scrubs inside. “Did you get your answers?”
My mind is racing, trying to understand what Margie told me. I need to check her story.
“I think so.” I try to focus on Charlie. “Thank you for your help.”
“You’re welcome. Now make it count.”
I nod. “I will.” I’m already hatching a plan.
Outside
I’m back in the dining room in time for lunch. The kitchen staff have laid out bread and sandwich fillings, and left us to make our own meals. As I walk in, Dan is standing at the table with Amy and Saunders, intoning sacrificial words over a banana. Suddenly, this place doesn’t seem so far from school, and from our real lives. I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face.
Over sandwiches, prepared under Dan’s watchful and exacting eye, and stuffed with fillings, we discuss the luxury of having a day off. We tell each other what we would do this afternoon if we were allowed to leave the base. We fantasise about trips to the cinema, or going to a concert as a member of the audience, or just going shopping.
When we’ve stacked our trays onto the kitchen racks, Dan pulls a pack of cards from his back pocket, and asks what we’d like to play. I tell them that I’m going to my bunk for a rest, and leave them to choose a game without me.
“You OK, Bex?” Dan looks concerned.
“Ask me later.” I leave before I’m tempted to say anything else.
Back in my dorm room, I check that the other bunks are empty. I close the door, pull out my armour crate, and quickly change into the base layers. I tie my boots, and clip on my armour panels, making sure that the air canister, contamination panel, and radio modules are clipped into place. If there are cameras in town, I need to look official.
If anyone is watching the training field, I need to look as if I am putting myself through a training run in full armour. I pick up my helmet and gun, kick the crate back under my bunk, and head out of the building.
Outside, I attach my helmet, and clip my gun to the back of my armour. I take a look around the field, and start to jog around the perimeter. There are a few recruits running the assault course, and another group running like me, but without armour. I can’t see any senior recruits, and all the activity I can see is informal – groups of recruits passing the time with the equipment we have on the base. I jog once around the field, waving at the other recruits as I pass them. On my second lap, they wave back. By my third, they’re ignoring me. I run another lap while I decide whether I am brave enough to leave the base. I’m breaking a sweat, but it is mostly the thought of what I am about to do, and what would happen if anyone caught me.
I know I can’t leave through the main gate. We don’t have permission to go outside the fence, and I know that the guards don’t make exceptions – even for injured recruits in the rain. My only option is to go under the fence. I look out for the broken section of fence as I run, and reassure myself that it is completely hidden by the trees in the corner of the field. On my fifth lap, I run into the trees, crouch down next to the fence, unclip my gun and crawl underneath before I can think about it.
I’m outside the fence. I clip my gun to my back, check the field behind me for any sign that I’ve been seen leaving, and then turn and run deeper into the woods. I’m terrified and thrilled at the same time. I’m doing something forbidden, and I’m getting away with it. I want to whoop and punch the air, but I need to concentrate on running. I don’t want to trip, like Saunders.
I run through the woods towards the main road, tracing our morning runs in reverse, wondering what Margie meant about the attack. She said that it had already happened. She said she was here to warn us. I’m trying to understand what she was telling me, but I can’t make sense of it.
The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3 Page 9
