Charlie opens the baskets, and pulls out sandwiches, wrapped in greaseproof paper. Quiches. Carrot sticks and bowls of dips. Punnets of strawberries. Bottles of lemonade and orange juice. There are plates, and plastic wine glasses, and real linen napkins.
“These are for you,” she says, smiling, as she throws a packet of sandwiches onto Dan’s chest. He picks it up and squints at his name, written in neat handwriting on a sticky label.
“What have you got, Dan?” I glance at Charlie, and she winks at me as Dan sits up and unwraps the parcel.
A grin spreads over his face, and he holds up one of his sandwiches on both palms, like an offering.
“Peanut butter and banana, Bex! Peanut butter and banana!”
Amy grins. Mum leans down and whispers in my ear.
“Is this something I should know about?” She’s smiling, and waiting for me to explain.
“It’s the first sandwich Dan made for me, when I arrived at Rushmere. It’s … kind of important.”
She puts her hand on my shoulder, and I realise that she didn’t know about Dan, and his sandwiches, and how he made me feel welcome on my first day at boarding school. That she’s only just finding out how important my friends have been to me.
We all take our pick from the sandwich pile. Charlie passes out food and plates and napkins, and Maz pours the drinks.
“Do the sandwiches meet with madam’s satisfaction?” He asks, as he hands me a glass of lemonade. I give him a wide grin.
“They’re amazing, Maz. This is a proper lunch.” He nods, and grins back.
We sit and eat, talking and drinking and watching the swans on the water. Charlie and Maz take Mum for a walk round the lake, two guards with guns walking behind them, and I lie back on a blanket and watch the people walking past. Margie and Dan feed each other strawberries, and Amy gathers up the plates and napkins.
Margie moves over on the blanket and sits down next to me. Dan stretches, and stands up, stepping over to help Amy load everything into the baskets.
“You did a good job, Bex.”
I don’t want to talk about the execution platform again. I don’t want to think about Dr Richards, and Will. I don’t want to think about the bullets, and the guards.
I nod, looking up at the sunlight through the trees.
“Dan says you kept him going.”
I look up at her. This isn’t what I was expecting.
She looks out at the lake for a moment, hugging her knees.
“He says you were there for him, when he needed someone to talk to.”
I shake my head. “He was there for me, too.”
I glance at Dan and Amy, arguing about how to stack plates in the basket.
“I know.”
“We had a pact,” I say, pushing myself up on my elbows. “Any time we needed to talk, we’d be there for each other.”
She nods.
“He got me through what happened with Mum. He talked me out of feeling bad about some really stupid things. He reminded me what was important.”
“And you did the same for him.”
We both look out at the swans on the water. When she speaks again, her voice is a whisper.
“Am I coming between you?”
I look round at her, and I’m sure I’ve misunderstood. I sit up, and turn to face her. She looks at me, and there are tears on her cheeks.
“Are you coming between …?” I meet her gaze, and she looks back, tears brimming. “No!”
“I wondered. After all that time …” I shake my head. “It’s just … when we’re alone …” She closes her eyes. “He’s so careful. There are things he won’t talk about. Things he won’t say, in front of me. It’s as if he thinks I’ll break, if he does. As if I’m made of glass.”
I look at my friend. At the person we saved from the firing squad. At the person I nearly lost, again.
And I think about Dan, in the common room. Dan at the safe house in London, so close to giving up.
“He’s hurting too, Margie,” I say, quietly. “We were terrified that we wouldn’t reach you in time. He’s played your execution in his head so many times.” She shakes her head, eyes shut tight against her tears. “And now you’re here, and part of him doesn’t really believe it. He’s terrified of losing you again.”
She nods, and opens her eyes, brushing the tears away from her cheeks with her fingers.
“You’re sure? You’re sure he wants to be with me?”
I look across at Dan, doing his best to distract Amy. To give us some time alone. He points at something on the path, laughing with her.
I shake my head. “Dan adores you, Margie. There’s no way he wants to be with anyone else.”
She gives me a brief smile through her tears. “And what about you, Bex? Am I stealing him from you?”
I stare at her, shaking my head. Trying to find the right words.
“You know Dan. You know us, Margie. He’s like a crazy twin brother to me. I’d take a bullet for him, and he’d take one for me, but I’m not … We’re not …” I screw up my face, and push against her shoulder. “Eeeuuw!”
She smiles, and puts out a hand to steady herself. She pushes the tears from her face.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I had to make sure.”
Dan shouts as Amy punches his shoulder. He falls to his knees, clutching his arm, clowning around and making her laugh.
I pull a face. “He’s all yours, Margie,” I say, pulling her into a hug. “And I’m really glad you’re back. We missed you.”
She hugs me back, tightly, and there are tears in my eyes when she lets me go.
*****
It’s nearly five when we pack up our blankets and the guards escort us back to the taxis. Mum chatters to Charlie as we drive away, and I lean back in my seat and look out of the window, watching the trees, and the light on the water.
I can’t believe the afternoon is over already. I have to go back to Fiona, and whatever she has planned for tomorrow.
“You OK?” Maz says, watching me.
I shrug, and he nods, following my gaze out of the window.
Back at the hotel, there’s a message waiting for us at reception. Fiona wants to see me and Dan and Amy.
She’s set up an office in one of the meeting rooms. There’s a TV and a laptop in front of her on the table, along with two phones, and piles of folders and paperwork.
“Come in,” she calls, looking up. “I trust you’ve all had a lovely day in the park.” She doesn’t smile.
We file into the room, Dan closing the door behind us.
“I have your schedules for tomorrow.” She hands us each a sheet of paper. “I need you all ready, and smart, for a nine o’clock start.” She looks at me. “I trust that meets with your approval.”
I nod, and she gives me a tight smile. “Good. I’ll see you all in the lobby at nine.”
We thank her, and walk out of the room. As I turn to leave, the image on the laptop screen catches my eye.
It’s Ketty. Ketty, in an orange jumpsuit, sitting in an interrogation room. She’s handcuffed to the table, and the freeze-frame catches her as she’s tugging at her handcuffs, saying something to the man with his back to the camera.
Ketty, sitting where Mum sat. Where Margie sat.
Ketty in handcuffs.
I can’t hide my smile as I walk out, wondering what they’re charging her with.
Where they’ll begin with the list of her crimes.
Revenge
Ketty
Penny’s out of bed before the alarm in the morning, and I wake up to the sound of my possessions hitting the floor.
“Oops.” She says, sliding her hand back along the empty shelf, silhouetted by the emergency light above the door.
The painkillers have worn off, and I’m about to drag myself out of bed when the alarm sounds. The cell lights come on, catching Penny in the act of kicking my hairbrush under the bed. It hits the wall behind me, and I know I don’t have time to pick i
t up before the guard arrives.
I kneel down, gritting my teeth against the pain in my knee, and pick up my toothbrush, soap, and underwear, untangling everything from my towel and jumpsuit. Penny smirks, watching me.
I fold everything carefully into my towel, then wrap my jumpsuit round it, ignoring her. I pull myself up and step over to the door to wait for the guard.
And just before the door opens, I reach across and take Penny’s hairbrush, pushing it into a pocket of my jumpsuit before she can react.
Her face is a mask of fury.
I do my best to hide a smile.
Don’t underestimate me, Private.
*****
We wait in line for the showers. Penny pushes her way forward and stands with her friends, whispering and glancing back at me. I stand up straight, ignoring the prisoners around me.
Discipline, determination, backbone. You’re better than this.
We file in. I drop my jumpsuit bundle on the changing bench and pull out my towel and soap. I hang my towel and pyjamas on the hook above the bench, and step into the shower.
There’s no privacy in here. There’s a guard on the door, and there are twenty of us in here at a time. I shower as fast as I can, and then run the soap through my hair, eyes closed as I rinse it out.
When I open my eyes, mine is the only shower running. I turn round, wringing the water from my hair, and my stomach sinks.
Everyone else is dressed.
The guard is gone from the door – I don’t know how they’ve distracted her. Everyone else is sitting on the bench, watching me.
I stand up straight, ignoring the giggling from Penny and her friends, and step out of the shower.
My towel is gone.
My clothes are gone.
The giggling gets louder.
I stare at the space on the bench. There are nineteen women, watching me. Waiting for me to make a move.
And I don’t know what else they’re planning.
I think of Elizabeth, falling in the shower. I think of Margaret, hugging her knees, her skin painted with bruises.
I could start a fight. Nineteen of them against one of me.
I could give up. I could ask for my clothes.
And they could refuse.
Or I could do something they’re not expecting.
Choose, Ketty. Make a decision.
I pull myself up. I straighten my back, and imagine I’m on the field at Camp Bishop. I look round at the figures in their orange jumpsuits, and give each of them a recruit-scaring stare.
Penny shrinks back. The giggling stops.
The room is silent.
I turn, naked and wet from the shower, and walk towards the door.
There’s some muttering, and someone shouts at me, but I keep walking. Out into the corridor, past the women behind us in the queue, and out into the dining room.
All the conversations stop. Everyone is watching me.
Staring at my scars. Staring at my body.
Keep going, Ketty. This only works if you don’t stop.
My heart is pounding, sending jolts of pain through my knee with every beat. My hair is wet – cold and heavy against my neck. Water tracks down my back and drips from my fingers as I walk.
I head for the guard at the door. She’s talking to the guard from the showers, and they both look up as I walk over and stand smartly at ease in front of them. I can feel the eyes of everyone in the room on my bare skin.
“Miss Smith,” says the dining room guard, and I allow myself a smile. It’s the woman who called for my escort to medical, yesterday. “You seem to be missing something.”
The shower guard’s face turns pale, and she’s swearing as she runs across the dining room.
I force myself to stand up straight.
“Can’t seem to find my clothes, Sir,” I say, trying to keep my face neutral. I can hear shouting as the guard reaches the showers.
The dining room guard looks me up and down, taking in my scars and bruises, watching the water pooling round my feet. She rolls her eyes.
“Did they …?”
I shrug. The shouting grows louder.
She stares at me, and glances towards the showers.
She doesn’t know what to do. The dining room is quiet around us. The guard is still shouting at Penny and the others.
No one knows what to do.
It’s thrilling, manipulating people like this. Refusing to be humiliated.
I’m the one standing naked in front of everyone, and right now, I have all the power.
I have to hide a smile. I’m starting to enjoy this.
She shakes her head, and puts her hand on my elbow.
“Come with me.”
*****
The guard takes me to my cell, and radios for someone to bring me new clothes. She leans against the door frame, watching me as I sit on my bunk, wrapped in my blanket. Her eyes keep flicking from the fading bruises on my neck to the scars on my knee.
“Made yourself some enemies, Smith?”
“I haven’t made any friends, if that’s what you mean.” I shrug. “Giggling and gossip aren’t really my thing.”
She rolls her eyes again. “That’s a yes, then,” she says, looking out at the corridor.
Someone in a cleaners’ uniform arrives, carrying a bundle. Everything I need, wrapped in an orange jumpsuit. She gapes at me, and I smile back at her. She hands the bundle over and walks away.
The guard passes it to me, and turns back to the corridor.
“I’ll let you get dressed.” She looks at me as she’s closing the door. “Make some friends, Smith. You’re going to need them.”
*****
Penny doesn’t come back to the cell, and her friends don’t show up at lunch. I sit on my own, drinking my bottle of water, and looking round at the other tables.
It’s amazing how easy it was to silence a room full of people. How quickly the guard brought me what I needed.
And how good it felt, taking control of a situation where I was supposed to play the victim.
I’m smiling to myself when someone walks past me and stops.
“That was amazing. Well done.” Her voice is quiet in my ear. I look round, but she’s already walking away.
Someone else sits down beside me for a moment, her back to the table. “Smart move,” she says, before she stands up and leaves.
“That was brave. Keep it up.” I don’t see who says that. When I turn round, she’s gone.
I smile again. It might have been brave, but it’s nothing I haven’t done before. Pushing myself to do what needed to be done.
Gutting chickens. Dealing with Dad. Dealing with Bracken.
Learning to walk again.
I pull this morning’s bag of painkillers from my pocket and swallow two, washing them down with the last of the water.
You can do this, Ketty.
Until the government decides what’s next, you can do this.
*****
Penny has been crying when the guard brings her back to the cell. She’s missed lunch and dinner, and it’s only a few minutes until lights out. She walks in, her nose in the air, ignoring me as she walks to the bunk.
“Good day, Penny?” I ask, smirking.
The bed frame shudders as she climbs the ladder and slumps down onto the mattress.
I’m grinning now, out of sight on the bottom bunk. “How’s the discipline here? Is it tough love, or hard labour?”
There’s a sob, and a pause while she takes a breath.
“Shut up, Ketty,” she says, spitting the words at me.
I shake my head, still smiling, and keep quiet.
Don’t underestimate me, Penny.
Publicity
Bex
We’re visiting a hospital this morning – Netherlands fighters and resistance members who were injured in the invasion. Me, Dan, and Amy. Smart suits, Liaison Officers, guards.
And cameras.
Press photographers and TV camera cre
ws follow us through the wards as we stop and talk to the injured fighters. The curtains have been pulled back between the beds, and there’s a party atmosphere as we make our way to meet each patient. People are happy to see us. Everyone wants a photo with the Face of the Resistance, and the heroes who pulled Margie from the stage.
There are gunshot wounds from Horse Guards Parade – stray bullets from the stage that hit people in the crowd. And there are injuries from the fighting we didn’t see. Soldiers holding off the Home Forces. Holding our positions while the coalition arrived.
So many people who put their lives at risk to help us. To keep us safe. To make sure we had a chance.
I listen to their stories, thinking about the bullets slamming into me as I stood on the stage. I know my armour saved me, and I know that there must be people who didn’t make it.
It’s a shock, when I realise I’m talking to the lucky ones.
Dr Richards is in a private room, hooked up to machines and drips and monitors. She’s awake, but she’s groggy, and her injuries are bandaged under her hospital gown. I sit and hold her hand for a few minutes, doing my best to ignore the cameras, but I’m not sure she knows we’re here.
I make myself smile for their photos, and wave to the TV crews, but I’m relieved when we say goodbye to the nurses and head back out to the waiting car.
*****
Our next appointment is a photoshoot. The newspaper has tracked down another wall of resistance posters, and they want me to stand in front of my repeated image. They try shots of me smiling, and shots where I’m staring past the photographer, lost in my thoughts.
It feels ridiculous, after the hospital, and I’m wondering again about the person who put the posters up. Who they were, and whether they were caught.
Whether they were executed.
“Bex!” I look up, and the photographer waves at me. “One with your friends?”
He sends Amy and Dan to stand next to me, and we find ourselves laughing. Five days ago we’d have been shot for standing here. For showing our faces on a London street. And here we are, smiling for the camera.
Victory Day (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 5) Page 16
