Fighting Back (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 4)

by Rachel Churcher

  Gail stares at Dan for a moment, and then her shoulders slump and she sinks back in her chair.

  “I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve tried to explain, but you’re not listening.” I try to speak, but she waves a hand at me. “This is more complicated than you understand.”

  She’s ignoring me. She’s ignoring us. My hands are balled into fists, and I can feel Dan’s hand gripping my shoulder.

  “Can you at least ask?”

  She shakes her head at Dan. “Sure. Sure, I can ask. But don’t get your hopes up. We’re talking about governments, here. Laws and agreements and red tape. It’s not as simple as asking for a favour.”

  There’s nothing I can say. I shrug, and walk out of her office. I can hear Dan apologising for me as I walk away.

  Gail didn’t bring the laptop last night. It was Dan’s Liaison Officer who stood with us while we watched the PIN headlines. We had to come to her office this morning to tell her what we want to do.

  I’m not proud of threatening Gail. I’m not proud of scaring her. But if that’s what it takes to get all of us into the resistance force, I’ll do it again.

  *****

  It’s Gail who comes to our strategy classroom, and asks us to come to the conference room. She apologises to the tutor, and promises to bring us back quickly.

  Charlie is already sitting at the table when we arrive, and we’re waved into seats next to hers. The committee members are all here, and they wait while we sit down.

  I glance around the table, wondering what is so urgent. What Gail has said to the committee.

  Fiona smiles at us. “Thanks for coming. We have a theory we’d like to test.”

  Again, I’m expecting questions about the Netherlands, and again, I’m wrong.

  “We’ve established, with Bex’s help, that the attack on Leominster was a false flag attack. The government set the weapons and destroyed the town, and they blamed it on terrorists. Your friends, in fact,” she nods towards us, “at Makepeace Farm.” She looks round the table. “What we’d like to know – what we’d like to find out – is how many of the bombings we’re seeing on the news are terrorist attacks, and how many are false flags. How many attacks is the government running, and blaming on the resistance?”

  I’m sitting up in my seat. This is important. This feels like progress.

  Fiona flicks through a file of notes on the table in front of her.

  “What we’d like to know from you, is whether you know of any contact between the resistance cell you worked with, and the government. Any flow of information. Any tip-offs or inside knowledge.” Dan and I exchange a glance. “Anything that could help us.”

  Amy shrugs, and Charlie shakes her head. I think about the raid on the coach. Will knew where the coach would be, and how to get to the armour in the luggage compartments. The night of the bunker raid, Will was away, raiding a supply convoy. That’s how he got caught, wearing the armour with the tracking devices.

  How did he know? Where did his information come from?

  “Will had a source,” Dan says. “Someone who knew where the RTS coach would be – the one we raided. Someone who told him where to hit the supply convoy.”

  I shrug. “That could have been home-grown intelligence. Someone watching Camp Bishop, or keeping track of the regular convoy routes.”

  Dan shakes his head. “We knew too far in advance about the coach. Will knew three days in advance where they would be.”

  He’s right. My hands are shaking as I think it through. Someone at Makepeace Farm had a connection to the government. Someone was telling them where to go, where the targets would be.

  Someone who succeeded in sending us armour with secret tracking devices. Who used those to track us to the farm and the bunker. Who used them to catch Will.

  Someone who was not on our side.

  I curl my fingers into fists.

  “Bex?” Fiona is watching me.

  I nod, fighting to keep the anger out of my voice. “Yeah. Someone must have been giving Will information.”

  “So there was a link between the resistance cell and the government?”

  “There must have been.”

  My fingernails dig into the palms of my hands. We were never safe in the bunker. We were set up. They knew we’d go after the armour on the coach, and they knew Will would go after the supply convoy.

  How many other cells is the government manipulating? How many do they control?

  How many of the bombs are government-issue weapons?

  And what is the OIE planning to do about it?

  My hands are still shaking as Fiona thanks us for our time.

  *****

  “Neesh!”

  “Bex! Good to see you!”

  We’re all crowded round the laptop in the common room. We should be checking PIN, but we persuaded Dan’s liaison to put a video call through to Neesh first. There’s a smile on my face as the call connects.

  “Great to see you. Neesh – we have a favour to ask.”

  She nods. “Go ahead.”

  “What’s it like, your army? Are you ready to fight?”

  She laughs. “We’re training all the time. And we’re getting better at working together. But we’re not there yet.”

  That’s not what I need to hear. It’s like jumping into cold water, hearing her laugh at my question. I slump back in my chair.

  Dan leans forward. “We want to join you. We want to be part of your resistance force.”

  Neesh looks confused. “I thought you were hiding out in Scotland!”

  “We are. But it’s only us. We’re not an army. We can’t fight back.”

  “You can, though.” Amy sounds excited. “You can train and fight. And we want to join you.”

  “How big is this army, Neesh?” Charlie asks.

  Neesh makes a face. “A couple of hundred people, give or take.”

  Amy gasps. I lean forward.

  “Room for five more?”

  Dan’s liaison steps towards the laptop, but Dan waves him away. He stands watching us, arms folded across his chest.

  Hundreds of people. This has to be worth a shot.

  “I know this is complicated,” I say, “but if we can get to you, can we join you?”

  “I’d have to talk to Caroline. She’s the one who talks to the Dutch government for us. But we could definitely use some more experienced fighters.”

  I think about the night in the farmyard, me and Dan against Bracken’s men. I think about target practice, and my paper silhouettes. I think about walking into Leominster, rifle in my hands.

  Experienced fighters. Maybe there is a place for us in her army.

  “Thanks, Neesh,” I say, grinning. “That’s great news.”

  Dan’s liaison is scowling as he cuts the connection and brings up the PIN website.

  *****

  Tonight’s PIN headlines are more of the same. Bombings. Attacks. Margie. Mum.

  Mum’s footage comes from an earlier interview: no broken arm, no bruises on her face. I’m trying not to think about what’s happening to her now. Why they won’t let me see her most recent footage.

  Back in my room, I open my desk drawer and pull out the letters she wrote. I pick one at random and open the envelope.

  I’m looking for hope, and I’m looking for someone to tell me that I’m doing the right thing. That walking away from the OIE isn’t a mistake. That shouting at the person who’s trying to help me is worth the risk. I pull the letter out and unfold it.

  My darling Bex,

  I wish I knew where you are. I hope these letters will be sent on to you, but I know that’s not likely. I’ll write anyway, just in case. If there’s a chance you’ll read this, then it’s worth it.

  I want you to know that we’re proud of you – your Dad and I. We know this can’t be easy for you.

  Wherever they’ve taken you, make the best of it. Make friends, and stick together. Stay strong. Stand up for what’s right, and good. Stand up fo
r yourself. Be brave.

  We miss you. We love you. Find your happiness, Bex, wherever you are.

  Love, always,

  Mum.

  I clutch the fragile piece of paper, and read it again and again. Mum must have written it while I was at Camp Bishop.

  And here I am, standing up for myself. Sticking together with my friends. Trying to fight for the good guys, however unprepared they might be.

  Trying to be brave.

  I crawl into bed and read the letter again. When I wake up in the early morning, it’s still there, crumpled in my hand.

  Retaliation

  KETTY

  I’m at Belmarsh in the morning, to question the prisoners for more PIN footage. Lee and Conrad meet me there, but Bracken never arrives.

  We set up the recording equipment, and Lee lets me run the interrogations. I think he’s waiting for me to fail. I wonder whether he knows what happened last night.

  “So, Corporal Smith. No Bracken this morning?”

  We’re waiting for the guards to bring Elizabeth from the cells.

  I keep my voice calm, and unconcerned. “No, Sir.”

  “Does he have something better to do?” Lee sounds amused.

  “Not sure, Sir. I’ll check on that when we get back to HQ.”

  He smiles. “I’m sure you will.”

  *****

  It’s after lunch when I walk back into the office. I put my bag down on the desk, and I’m about to fetch some coffee when I hear a shout from Bracken’s office.

  I knock on the door, and let myself in.

  And Bracken is in front of me. His face is red, and twisted with anger.

  “How dare you?”

  I’m not expecting this. I’m not ready.

  I freeze, my pulse racing.

  I’ve never seen him this angry.

  He reaches over my shoulder and slams the door closed, shouting into my face, too close for comfort. I take a step back, but the door is behind me. I’m trapped. I can’t move.

  And I can’t defend myself. Not if I want to stay here. Not if I want to keep my job.

  My whole body tenses, and I wait for his attack.

  There’s whisky on his breath, and he’s shaking with rage. I don’t want to be locked up for striking a superior officer, but if he throws a punch, if he touches me, I’ll fight back. I move my hand to the holster on my belt. My gun is there, if I need it.

  “How dare you?” He roars again, pointing a finger in my face.

  There’s no point arguing. It won’t do any good. I’ve been here before, with Dad. Whatever I say will provoke him. I move onto the balls of my feet and bring my fists up in front of my chest.

  Don’t give him an excuse, Ketty.

  “Nothing to say?”

  I watch his eyes, and his hands. The gun at his belt. Waiting.

  “Nothing?”

  I shake my head. I can’t believe I wasn’t ready for this.

  He throws his arms in the air and turns away. I close my eyes for a heartbeat and take a breath.

  “Unbelievable.”

  He turns back.

  Careful.

  “You came to my flat, Ketty. To my home. You let yourself in and you took a good look around. Didn’t you?”

  I watch him, without moving. Inside, I’m screaming.

  “Didn’t you?” He leans in and yells into my face. Every part of me wants to lash out and defend myself. I’d have punched my way out of this at home, with Dad. I force myself not to react.

  “No, Sir. I did not.”

  He laughs. I tighten my fists.

  He turns away again, and crosses the room to his desk. I edge forward from the door, putting some space behind me.

  I make myself breathe.

  “You decided my flat wasn’t clean enough for you. You decided to interfere.” He leans back against his desk, watching me, gesturing with his arms. “It’s not enough for you that you fetch my coffee and bring me sandwiches. It’s not enough that you hand out medicine, as if I need a constant supply.”

  He steps towards me again.

  My heart is hammering. I want to end this. I want to stop him, but there’s nothing I can do.

  Stay strong, Ketty.

  “It’s not enough that you think you have to take care of me here.” He shakes his head. “No. You had to come to my home, and stick your nose in there as well.”

  He steps in front of me, toe to toe. I take a step back, but he follows. He’s cornering me.

  I could knock him down. I could put him on the floor, but then I’d be the one at fault. Franks would send me home, and everything I’ve worked for would be wasted.

  Wait, Ketty. Breathe.

  His face twists, and he shouts again. “You’re my assistant, Ketty. You’re not my mother!”

  We stare at each other. I can feel the blood pounding in my fists. I know how this works. I’m taking quick, shallow breaths, waiting for him to make a move.

  He turns away and crosses the room. He stands with his back to me, leaning on the edge of his desk.

  “Get out, Ketty.” He says, quietly.

  He doesn’t need to ask twice.

  *****

  Conrad is waiting in the outer office when I walk through the door, my hands shaking. He’s stifling a laugh, and I know he’s heard our confrontation. I force myself to stay calm. I walk round my desk and sit down, hands out of sight in my lap.

  This is all I need right now.

  “Something I can help you with, Corporal?”

  He glances at the door to Bracken’s office, and back at me, smirking.

  “So – you’re not his mother, but you are his cleaner?” I try to keep the anger from my face. “Lots of empty bottles, were there? Plenty of brown paper bags?”

  He’s laughing. It’s all I can do to sit still. I’m still ready for a fight, and I’d love to throw a punch, but hitting Conrad would be as bad as hitting Bracken.

  I clench my fists and wait for him to stop talking. I look at him as if he’s a misbehaving recruit.

  “Did you come here to insult me, David, or is there a useful reason why you’re standing in my office?”

  He looks at me, and the smirk fades. He holds out a large envelope. “Papers from the brigadier. Enhanced Interrogation forms for Margaret Watson.”

  He puts the envelope on my desk.

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  He stands, watching me, his face serious.

  “Are you OK, Ketty?”

  I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes.

  What do you care?

  He waves his hand at Bracken’s door and lowers his voice. “Did he …?” He mimes a punch with one fist.

  I give him a recruit-scaring stare. “Why? Are you offering to defend my honour? Are you offering to defend me?” He’s smirking again. “I can handle Bracken, David. I’ve dealt with worse, and I really don’t need help from anyone else.”

  He holds his hands up in front of him. “OK, OK. Just asking.”

  I pick up the envelope, willing my hands to stop shaking. “Don’t you have work to do?”

  He nods, and turns to leave, glancing back at Bracken’s door, and at me, before he walks out.

  I drop the envelope, and put my hands on the desk. I lean forward and rest my head on the edge, taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself down.

  I should have expected Bracken to be upset. I should have predicted his reaction. I should have been ready.

  You’re getting soft, Ketty. Sort yourself out. Grow a backbone, take what comes at you, and deal with it.

  Hope

  BEX

  “We’ve reached out to some of the resistance cells we know about, and we’ve confirmed it. Someone is giving them tip-offs. Some of them have been given targets to hit, and some of them have been given the locations of bomb-making equipment and weapons. Someone we can’t identify is running the bombings.”

  Fiona is sitting with us, before our driving lessons.

  Dan shak
es his head. “Could it be another resistance movement?”

  Fiona shrugs. “It’s possible. But some of these weapons are military grade. And some of the targets rely on inside information – times when guards will be somewhere else, when places will be left undefended.”

  I shake my head, clearing my thoughts.

  “So you think the government is running the cells?”

  Fiona looks at me. “I’m afraid they might be.”

  “So all the bombings – all the ‘terrorist attacks’ – are the government’s fault?” Amy sounds indignant.

  “It’s possible.”

  Amy shakes her head. “But why …?”

  I think about Dr Richards, and her private lessons in the school library.

  And I realise I know why.

  “To keep everyone afraid. To keep everyone under control. To make people happy that the army is running the country.”

  “To keep the army in power. To justify Martial Law.”

  Fiona looks from me to Dan. “Exactly. It’s about staying in control. Frighten people enough, and they’ll beg for protection – even if that means working with the bad guys.”

  I close my eyes. This is too big for us to fight.

  “So what can we do?”

  Fiona glances at me. “That’s what I’m here to talk to you about.” She looks around at the three of us. “Did you mean what you said, when you asked to go to the Netherlands?”

  I catch my breath. Fiona is serious.

  “If we can get Jake to safety, and join the resistance force, then yes.” The others are nodding.

  “OK. Well – there might be a way. You were right, Bex, about Jake. The Scottish government can’t wait to get rid of him, and sending him to the Netherlands gets them out of having to send him home. They don’t have to deal with embarrassing consequences, and Jake stays safe.”

  I can’t hide a smile. “So we can go?”

  She holds up a hand. “I’m looking into it. I need to convince the committee, and I need to convince the Dutch government. This isn’t a quick fix.”