This is our first TV interview.
Everyone is expecting me to smile. To talk.
To be as brave as my photo on the poster.
I clasp my hands in my lap, and try to stop them from shaking.
*****
“Welcome back! And welcome to my very special guests. Joining me on the sofa this morning is the Face of the Resistance herself, Bex Ellman; hero of the hour Dan Pearce; and Bex’s mum, Elizabeth. Welcome, all of you.”
I nod, and try to smile. I can feel the makeup stiffening my face. The heat from the studio lights. Sweat, beading on my palms.
We’re here to share our story, and we’re here to make Fiona look good.
I’m terrified.
“We are very honoured to have you on the show. I understand that this is your first public appearance, after what everyone is calling the Horse Guard’s Revolution?”
We all nod.
“Dan. If I can start with you? Tell us how it felt to invade the execution platform. We all watched the PIN coverage, and your courageous actions touched everyone.” She turns to the audience, who start to cheer and clap.
And I’m back in the crowd again, in front of the stage. People shouting. People chanting. People cheering for Margie’s firing squad.
Dan answers the question, but I don’t hear what he says.
My heart is thundering. I’m wondering how many of these people were in that crowd.
“Bex?”
Mum reaches across and takes my hand, and I realise that the presenter is waiting for me to say something.
“I was asking about the Recruit Training Service. How you ended up at Camp Bishop.”
I try to clear my head. She wants an answer. She wants to know what happened to us.
My throat tightens.
I glance at Dan, and he nods at me again.
I take a breath.
“The recruiters. They turned up at school.” Dan’s nodding, encouraging me. “They told us to pack our bags, and they marched us out of the door.”
“That was it? They didn’t tell you where you were going?”
“No.”
“So you walked across the country, with no idea where you were heading?”
We both nod.
“And when you reached Camp Bishop? What was it like?”
“It was tough.” Dan shakes his head as he speaks. “They were training us to fight.”
“What was the training like?”
He shrugs. “Guns. Armour. Assault courses.”
I’m shaking my head. These are empty words. The audience needs to understand what we went through.
“Bullies,” I say, before I can stop myself. “Beatings.” I can feel Jackson’s fists slamming into my ribs. Ketty, pinning my arms to the ground.
The presenter nods.
“But you didn’t stay at Camp Bishop, did you?” Dan shakes his head. “You broke out. I gather that was a dramatic moment.”
She smiles at me.
“We stole a truck.” It’s all I can think of to say. The real story is too messy, too complicated. I don’t know how to explain.
The audience gasps.
“You didn’t just steal the truck. You drove it out of the gates in front of the entire camp, and got yourselves and your friends away for good.”
“Yeah.” I think about Jake, and what he’ll be saying about me if he’s watching. Reminding everyone that I left him at the gates, Commander Bracken’s gun to his head. My hands are shaking. I can’t speak.
“So what made you leave? What made you take that risk?”
Dan turns to me, and I can feel the heat from the lights. The glass eyes of the cameras, watching. I close my eyes, and I can see the road into Leominster. The crashed cars. A handbag. A glove. A pink teddy bear.
“Bex?”
I force myself to open my eyes.
This is what the audience needs to hear. This is what they need to focus on – not us. Not the heroes. They need to know what was done to keep them afraid.
The audience is silent, waiting for me to speak.
This is it. This is why I’m here.
“I saw what happened in Leominster.” The presenter nods, waiting for me to continue. I glance at Mum, and she squeezes my hand.
“I saw the rubble of the buildings. I saw lines of crashed cars. I saw …”
But I can’t tell them about the belongings, scattered on the ground. It’s too much.
I shake my head, and take a breath.
“I saw the government weapons, and the government soldiers making them safe after the attack.” I grip Mum’s hand a little tighter. “I saw Senior Recruits from Camp Bishop, picking up the weapons and clearing them away.”
I remember hiding, crouching in the ruins of a shop, while Ketty and Jackson laughed and joked in the middle of the destruction.
I remember crawling along the road in my armour. Hiding under the car. Waiting for the soldiers to find me.
I remember fear, and anger.
“So you were sure it was the government who attacked Leominster?”
“Yes.” I’m nodding, my voice tight. “Absolutely certain.”
“We couldn’t stay,” Dan says, watching me. “We couldn’t keep training when we knew what had happened.” He grins at the presenter. “We didn’t want to be the bad guys.”
The audience laughs, and I feel sick. I don’t think they’ve heard me. I don’t think they’ve understood.
I can see the handbag, the glove, the teddy bear.
I don’t think they’ll ever understand.
The presenter gives Mum a bright smile.
“And Elizabeth. You were locked up by the Home Forces?” Mum nods. “We’ve all seen the footage of your interrogations. Of the way you stood up for your daughter.” She looks out at the audience, and there’s a scattering of applause. “How does it feel to be the mother of the Face of the Resistance?”
Mum smiles, and tightens her grip on my hand.
“I’ve always known my daughter is a hero. This is just one more reason to be proud.”
I close my eyes as my face starts to burn with embarrassment and frustration.
The audience is cheering.
I want to be anywhere but here.
Talk
Ketty
“Katrina Smith!” A guard throws open the door to the cell. “With me. Now.”
I stand up and try to hide my limp as I walk to the door. There’s a second guard in the corridor, waiting, handcuffs in her hand. She holds them up and glares at me until I hold out my arms. She pushes back the sleeves of my jumpsuit, and the metal is cold as it clamps round my wrists.
I look back as the cell door closes; at Penny, watching from the top bunk. She meets my eyes, and doesn’t bother hiding a smile.
*****
The guards bring me to a waiting room. Strip lights on the ceiling, a row of blue plastic chairs against the wall, and the smell of antiseptic. One of them opens a door, and pushes me inside.
It’s an interrogation room.
Bright lights. A metal table. A chair, screwed down to the floor.
And a one-way mirror, in front of me.
I stumble, and the guards pick me up by my elbows, dropping me into the chair. They take the handcuffs from one arm and pass the chain through the loop on the table. The cuff closes again round my wrist, and I’m trapped. Cuffed to the table in a room that looks just like the one at Belmarsh.
But now I’m on the other side.
I take a breath, and make myself sit up straight, watching myself in the mirror.
Wondering who is on the far side. Who is looking back at me.
What do they see?
I look at my reflection, and all I can see is my orange jumpsuit, and my handcuffs. I see what I always see in the interrogation room. I see weakness, and defeat. A victim to push until they break.
I force myself to look again.
My face is pale, and the bruises round my neck stand out under the bright
lights. My hair is in a neat pony tail, and I’m sitting up, shoulders square, head high. I can see myself, and the look of defiance in my eyes.
Good enough, Ketty.
The door opens, and a tall man in an olive uniform walks in, pulling out the chair opposite me and dragging it to one side before he sits down.
My stomach sinks. He’s making sure the cameras can see me.
This is it, Ketty. This is the interrogation.
“Katrina Smith,” he says, watching me, his eyes flicking to the bruises on my neck.
Cooperate, Ketty. Buy yourself some time. There’s no one else left to protect.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m Colonel Ryan, British Rebel Forces.”
I glance at his sleeve, and there’s a stripe at the top. Half Union Jack, half Dutch flag. I raise my eyebrows, but he doesn’t respond.
“You were Colonel Bracken’s assistant?”
“Yes, Sir.”
His voice is flat and cold.
“And before that, you were his Lead Recruit at RTS Camp Bishop?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He doesn’t nod. He doesn’t acknowledge my answers.
“And you were in Leominster, for the attack.”
It’s not a question. There’s a knot growing in my stomach.
Careful, Ketty. Don’t give them an excuse for a firing squad.
He watches me, waiting for me to speak.
“Leominster, Miss Smith. You were there.”
Miss Smith. I’ve lost my rank, as well as my freedom. Everything I’ve worked for.
“I was, Sir.”
“Did you participate?”
Is this about what happened? Or is this about me?
I shake my head. I need to say the right thing.
“I was sent to assist the drone operators. I was told it was a weapons test.”
“And you believed what you were told?”
“Of course, Sir.” I can’t help raising my voice.
“And did you see anything to convince you otherwise?”
“Not on the day of the attack, no. Sir.”
He nods, and it’s as if he’s hearing me for the first time. As if my answers finally matter.
“Were there any precautions in place, Miss Smith? Any Personal Protective Equipment you had to use, during the test?”
The knot in my stomach tightens, and I nod.
“Protective suits, Sir. Nuclear-Biological-Chemical. And gas masks.” My voice is quiet. I don’t want to talk about this.
“And this was explained as part of the test?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He nods again, sitting back in his chair. Relaxing.
“And after the attack?”
“Sir?”
“You said you didn’t notice anything on the day of the attack. So you saw something afterwards?”
I look at the mirror. At the invisible cameras, recording everything I say.
You didn’t do anything wrong, Ketty. You didn’t know.
“The next day, Sir.”
“Tell me what you saw.”
It’s a command, not an invitation to speak.
I take a deep breath, and close my eyes. I know what I saw, but I don’t want to think about it.
“Bodies, Sir.”
“You saw bodies? Where?” He leans forward in his chair.
“In town. We were sent in on clean-up duty. Packing up the weapons and taking them back to base.”
“And the Home Forces let you see that? Even though they told you it was a test?”
I shake my head, thinking this through. “I don’t think we were supposed to see it.”
You’re innocent, Ketty. Make sure he knows that.
He waits for me to explain. He’s listening. I’m telling him something he doesn’t already know.
“We got lost. We went off our route.” He nods. “And there was a park, or a sports ground. Behind some houses. Only the houses were rubble, and we could see into the park.”
“And what did you see?”
I close my eyes again. “Piles of bodies, Sir.” Bright colours, heaped up on the grass. “I thought they were clothes, at first, but then we got closer, and …”
“And what did you do, Miss Smith?”
What anyone would have done, Sir.
I look at him. What does he expect me to say?
“Nothing, Sir. There was nothing we could do. It was all over. They were about to let the TV cameras in.”
“So you didn’t tell anyone what you saw?”
I shake my head, thinking about my conversation with Bracken. About his confession. About using the attack to further our own careers.
Bracken’s dead. You don’t need to know what we talked about.
“No, Sir. We were instructed not to.”
He nods.
“And who instructed you?”
“Brigadier Lee …”
… who I killed …
“… and Commander Holden.”
And it all seems absurd. Lee is dead. Bracken is dead. Conrad is locked up. I’m locked up.
What can they get from me that they can’t get from Conrad, or Franks?
I stare at the table in front of me. At my hands, cuffed together.
I think about his cold questions, when he knows what I’m going to say. The glimmer of interest, of connection, when I tell him something new.
This is how it feels to be manipulated. He’s making sure I want to talk. That I want to give him something of value.
I want him to see me, not the handcuffs. Not the jumpsuit.
I want to connect. And he has all the power.
Come on, Ketty. You know how this works.
Maybe this doesn’t need to be about what he can get from me. Maybe I can turn this round. Make him see that this is about what I can offer him.
I’ve run interrogations. I know how this works. I know how to use this room.
This is about survival, Ketty.
I turn to Colonel Ryan, shifting my body on the chair until I’m facing him. I’m talking to him, not to the cameras.
I lean towards him, and smile.
“Colonel. I’m as shocked by this conspiracy as you are. I was in Leominster, and I was in the Home Forces. I can help you. I can give you the story from the inside.” He raises his eyebrows, watching me. I lift my hands, tugging the chain of the handcuffs. “I’m here. You’ve got me. So ask me, Colonel. Tell me what you want to know.”
I put my hands down on the table, and wait for his next question.
*****
Back in my cell, I lie on my bunk, thinking about what Ryan asked me.
Is he looking for the truth, or is he collecting evidence against me?
Has he manipulated me into condemning myself?
Have I bought myself time, or have I confessed to the murder of an entire town?
How much did you give him, Ketty? How much will it take to find you guilty of a war crime?
I push away thoughts of a firing squad platform. Of crowds, shouting. Of soldiers, taking aim, waiting for the order to execute me.
And I try not to think about spending the rest of my life in a cell like this.
Sixty years, Elizabeth said. Sixty years, with no way out.
I can feel myself choking. I can’t take a breath.
This is fear, Ketty. This is how it feels to be on the losing side.
Breathe. The worst hasn’t happened yet.
You’re still here.
Penny hangs her head over the top bunk.
“Nice outing, Ketty?” There’s cold smile on her face. “Drinks with the Major General, was it? Or did the guards need your coffee-making skills?”
I say nothing, staring at the bottom of her bunk, willing myself to breathe. She has no idea what I’m dealing with. How dangerous this is for me. What they could charge me with.
She shakes her head and holds her hands out, wrists together.
“The bracelets suit you. You should wear those mor
e often.”
Careful, Ketty. She’s not worth it.
It takes all my effort to stay where I am, every muscle tensed, and not drag her off the top bunk by her hair.
Lunch
Bex
“This one? Or this one?”
I hold up my two smart blouses, and Mum studies them.
“That one,” she says, pointing at the dark green cowl neck.
“OK.”
“And you should wear the silver necklace.”
I nod. It feels strange to have all these clothes to choose from. To think about jewellery and shoes after so long wearing jeans and fleeces and uniforms.
“You look smart,” she says, as I pull on my jacket. She pushes herself over and straightens my collar.
She’s dressed up, too. Fiona’s organised a rota of carers to help her get dressed in the morning, and get her to bed at night. She’s picked out a navy dress with a smart, buttoned collar, and a necklace with a tiny silver bird.
A symbol of freedom, from Fiona’s shopping trip. Mum talked the personal shopper into making it part of the outfit.
I smile at her, and I can’t help thinking about the prison jumpsuit. Her wrists, handcuffed in front of her.
How different she looks now.
“You, too.”
“Ready?”
I take a deep breath.
“Ready.”
*****
The hotel ballroom is laid out with large, round tables, and smart leather dining chairs. There’s a table of drinks inside the door, and it’s the waiter from the first night’s party filling the glasses. I look around, and I’m surprised to see that we’re the first guests to arrive.
“Bex Ellman!” He calls out, waving us over. “And Elizabeth.” He gives Mum a huge smile. “Another party?”
I roll my eyes and smile back. “Another party.”
“You look worried. Is this one important?”
I grimace. “This is ‘meet the parents’. This is where we have to convince my friends’ Mums and Dads that we’re all fine, and totally not suffering any trauma or nightmares from being on the front lines of the revolution.”
I don’t mean to make him uncomfortable, but he pulls a face. Mum takes my hand, and I realise how tense I am. How much I’m not looking forward to this.
Victory Day (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 5) Page 14
