Victory Day (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 5)

by Rachel Churcher

  I’m about to say something when Margie leans forward, her hands clasped in front of her on the table.

  “I can understand how that felt, Jake.” Her voice is quiet and controlled. “You feel completely powerless, and you know there’s nothing you can do, if they decide to pull the trigger.” She looks at him, and he stares at her.

  All I can see is Margie on the platform. Margie facing the guns.

  But Jake hasn’t finished.

  “You! You think you can understand? It was all about you. Getting you out of camp so you wouldn’t get caught. You’re the reason I was left behind. You and Bex.” He nods at me. “And how did that work out for you, Margaret? We went through all that, and you still got yourself arrested.”

  Margie blinks, and Dan reaches for her hand. She lets him take it, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths.

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  The interviewer isn’t saying anything. We’re live on TV. Everyone will be watching, and the interviewer isn’t stepping in. I look out, past the cameras, and the director gives us a thumbs-up.

  And I realise. This is great TV. This is soap-opera-beating, reality-TV-level viewing. They wanted a large audience? They’ll get it. People will be phoning their friends, telling them to change the channel. They’ll be talking about this for weeks. This is what the interviewer needs to relaunch his career.

  And Jake’s giving it to them. He’s insulting my friends, and he’s hurting Margie.

  “Jake!” I lean forward, making sure he can see me. “We got you out. You and Amy. And Margie welcomed you at Makepeace Farm. Don’t make this her fault.”

  He points at me, shaking his head. “I blame you, Bex. I blame you.”

  It’s as if we never left Edinburgh. As if we’re back in the police station, watching Jake feel sorry for himself. Back in the corridor outside his room, watching him leave for the Netherlands.

  I don’t have anything left to say to him.

  Fiona puts both hands on the table, and we all turn to see what she’s going to say.

  “That’s enough, Jake.” He tries to interrupt, but she talks over him. “Bex saved you.” She points at me across the table. “Bex got you out of Scotland. I made the arrangements. I got you to the Netherlands, but it was Bex who persuaded me to try.”

  He sits back in his chair, and there’s a smirk on his face.

  “You’re all under her spell, aren’t you?”

  No one moves. Jake looks round the table, waiting for someone to speak.

  And I’ve had enough.

  This isn’t about Jake. This is about all of us.

  I’m on my feet, pointing at him. “There is no spell, Jake! There’s just us. Just the people who worked together, and got ourselves out of Camp Bishop.” He laughs. “You, too, Jake. We got you out, too. And then we got out of the bunker. And then Fiona got us to Newcastle, and Scotland, and we worked together to stop you from being deported.”

  I look round the table. Mum, looking up at me, concern on her face. Dan, his arm round Margie as she fights to stay calm. Amy, tears smudging her makeup. Charlie, shaking her head. And Jake, red-faced and angry, as he stands up, facing me.

  “You love this, don’t you?” He asks, still smirking. “You love having people in your debt. You want me to be grateful. You want me to be your friend.”

  I shake my head, blinking back tears.

  “That’s not what I want at all, Jake.” He raises his eyebrows, and I realise it’s true. I miss him. I wish that none of this had ever happened. And I wish he didn’t hate me so much. But I don’t need him to like me. I close my eyes, and my voice is quiet in the silent studio. “I just want you to forgive me.”

  Mum puts her hand on my back. Charlie reaches across the table towards me. “Bex …”

  I shake my head, watching Jake.

  And he laughs.

  He pushes his chair back, and starts to unclip his microphone.

  “I don’t need to be here. I don’t need to join the Bex Fan Club.” He looks round the table, tugging the battery pack from his belt. “I don’t need any of you.”

  He throws the microphone and the belt pack onto the table and walks away, pushing his chair over as he goes. Someone with a clipboard hurries towards him and guides him away, between the cameras.

  Mum takes my hand, and pulls me back into my chair. Everyone’s watching me. Everyone’s waiting for my reaction.

  I can let this get to me, or I can shrug it off. I catch Fiona’s eye across the table.

  And I remember her warning.

  “We could lose everything. Everything we’ve fought for. We could find ourselves with a proper civil war on our hands.”

  She’s counting on me. On the Face of the Resistance. She needs me to hold the country together.

  I make myself shrug, as if watching Jake laugh at me means nothing.

  “I guess I can’t please everyone,” I say, forcing myself to smile.

  Fiona’s face lights up, and she smiles at me, nodding. Behind her, the director gives us another thumbs-up.

  Honesty

  Ketty

  I’m watching on the screen in the make-up room. The kids tell their story as someone works on my hair and someone else dabs foundation onto my face. I’m wearing a roll-neck sweater under my suit jacket, so they don’t have to disguise my bruises.

  Fiona picked me up from the hospital this morning, and took me shopping. I have a wardrobe of smart suits, wide-legged trousers, high-necked tops, and flat shoes. The loose trousers hide the PowerGel, and the necklines hide the bruises. She doesn’t want me looking weak, standing beside her.

  She wasn’t planning to put me on screen, but when the director found out who I am, he insisted.

  I watch as Jake and Bex shout at each other, and Jake storms out. I can’t help smiling.

  She left me behind, too, Jake.

  I know how it feels to be betrayed by Bex Ellman.

  *****

  Bex pretends that she doesn’t care about Jake, and the interviewer moves on to ask about Makepeace Farm. Bex talks about friendship, and working with Will and Sheena.

  And then they’re talking about the raid on the coach.

  Someone touches my elbow, and the makeup woman gives me a final inspection.

  “You’re on. This way.” A woman with a clipboard pins a microphone to my collar, and hands me a box. “Clip that to your belt.” And she waves me towards the door.

  I push myself out of the chair, and follow her into the studio. I’m still limping, but I’m walking better than I was yesterday. I follow her to the line of cameras.

  “Let me stop you there, Dan,” the interviewer says. “I think we have someone else here who was on the coach.” He looks round at me, and watches as the woman pushes me towards the table. There’s an empty chair, next to Fiona.

  It takes all my effort to hide my limp for the six steps to the chair. I sit down, and the interviewer smiles.

  Dan glares at me. Bex looks from me to Fiona and back, her face reddening under her makeup. And Elizabeth shakes her head.

  What am I doing here, Fiona?

  “Corporal Ketty Smith.” I nod, and turn to him. “You were in charge of the recruits on the coach?”

  “I was.”

  “And what did that mean, when you found yourselves under attack?”

  I keep my eyes on the interviewer. I can feel the stares from across the table, but this isn’t about them. This is about keeping Fiona happy.

  “It meant that it was my responsibility to keep them safe.”

  “So they were in danger?”

  I think about the men in the road, guns trained on the coach. I think about Bex and Dan in their armour, bringing the fight to us.

  “The resistance fighters were armed. I had to protect the kids.”

  “And you did. You put yourself in the line of fire.”

  I nod again, avoiding Dan’s gaze. “I took a bullet, to protect them.”

  “An
d it worked?”

  I shrug. “Jake and Amy walked away with their friends, but we got the rest of the kids to safety.”

  “You were never in any danger!” Dan shouts across the table. “You took a bullet because you were threatening Bex. All you had to do was stay in your seats, and we would have left you alone.”

  I can see the coach. I can see Jackson, refusing to sit still. I can feel the bullet, knocking me down. I can feel myself falling.

  And I can hear the shots from outside. The shots that killed my friend.

  Shots that came from Dan’s rifle.

  I can’t let him rewrite history on live TV.

  “Tell that to Jackson.” My voice is a growl as I glare at Dan.

  “He didn’t make it, then?”

  I can’t speak. There is nothing I can say that would make him understand. I shake my head, my fists clenched on the table in front of me.

  Hold it together, Ketty. You’re here for Fiona.

  “I’m sorry, Ketty. That was never meant to happen.”

  I make myself take a breath. I feel as if he’s shot me again.

  “You’re sorry? You killed my best friend, and you’re sorry?”

  Fiona puts her hand on my arm, and I sit back in my chair.

  Focus, Ketty. Don’t let them get to you.

  “So back at Makepeace, your troubles weren’t over?”

  Charlotte shakes her head. “They came after us. They would have gassed us all in the bunker, if Bex hadn’t realised what was happening.”

  “They tried to kill you with poison gas?”

  Charlotte nods. The interviewer looks shocked.

  I can’t help rolling my eyes. “You were shacked up with a terrorist. What did you expect?”

  “You were there, Corporal?”

  Really? We’re doing this live on TV?

  I keep my eyes fixed on Bex, and she glares back at me.

  “I was.”

  Shouting

  Bex

  How can she do this? How can she sit there so calmly and tell everyone what she did?

  “I was,” Ketty says, her eyes never leaving mine. “In fact, I was the first into the gatehouse.” She shrugs. “We tried to open the bunker. We tried to let you out, but your guard was too devoted.”

  Amy gasps. “You did it? You killed Joss?”

  Ketty shrugs, still staring at me. “He was in my way. I gave you all a chance, and he refused to cooperate.”

  She’s still talking, but I can’t hear her. I can’t hear anything.

  She was in prison. She was chained to a table, wearing a prison jumpsuit. What’s she doing here?

  I look from Ketty to Fiona, and back. Fiona has her hand on Ketty’s arm.

  And she’s wearing a suit like mine. A jacket, that matches mine. A dark green top, that matches my T-shirt.

  Fiona. Fiona got her out.

  Fiona is working with Ketty. She’s taken her shopping, and she’s putting her on TV.

  After everything I told her, she’s using Ketty, and she’s using me.

  I glance at the director, and he’s grinning. The interviewer watches us, waiting for me to react. Ketty’s eyes don’t leave my face.

  I take a breath. Fiona needs me. She needs us. She needs stability and confidence.

  She needs the Face of the Resistance.

  But this is too much.

  This is too much.

  I’m on my feet again. Dan’s trying to pull me down, back into my chair, but I drag my arm free and lean both hands on the table.

  “I will not do this.” It’s all I can do to keep my anger under control. I should leave. I should walk away, but I need Fiona to understand.

  “Bex?” The interviewer wants me to explain. He wants to hear the whole story.

  Fine.

  “I will not work with her!” I point at Ketty, glaring at Fiona across the table. “I will not sit here and exchange small talk with the Senior Recruit who assaulted me. Who tried to put me on an execution platform. I will not sit here and play nice with the person who tortured my mother.” Ketty smirks, and Mum puts her hand on my arm.

  My hands are shaking, on the table. My knees are shaking. My pulse is drumming in my chest, and I feel as if I can’t breathe.

  I need to decide. Am I working for Fiona? Am I working for the country? For the elections?

  Am I still the Face of the Resistance?

  Or am I done?

  Ketty leans her elbows on the table, watching me. I stare back, too furious to speak.

  “It was war, Bex,” she says. “That’s what happens when you choose a side.”

  She’s blaming us. She’s blaming Saunders and Mum for everything that happened to them. She’s blaming me.

  She shot Saunders. She tortured Mum. And she’s making it my fault.

  I need backup. I need support. I need someone to tell her she’s wrong.

  I watch as Fiona turns to Ketty. I wait for her to argue – but instead, she nods and smiles.

  She smiles.

  And I know what to do.

  I’m pulling the box from my belt, and unclipping my microphone before anyone can stop me. Mum and Dan reach out towards me, but I lift my hands in the air out of reach and step back, pushing my chair out of the way.

  “I’m done, Fiona.” I shout. “I’m done. I quit.”

  And I turn, and walk away. Past the cameras, past the director, past the woman with her clipboard.

  But I can still see Fiona’s face. Her jaw dropping as she realises that I mean it.

  That she’s lost the Face of the Resistance.

  Meltdown

  Ketty

  Bex marches away from the table. Fiona’s grip tightens on my arm, and the studio is silent.

  I don’t know what I’ve done.

  Is this what you wanted, Fiona?

  The interviewer turns to Fiona, but it’s Margaret who speaks first, shrugging Dan’s arm from her shoulders.

  “You’re right.” She looks at me, and her gaze is steady. “This was war. We chose a side, and so did you.” She shakes her head. “What you’re doing at this table, I have no idea. You were my torturer, and my interrogator. You should be behind bars. What Fiona is doing? What Bex is doing? They’re trying to build a new country. They’re trying to get rid of your cruelty, and your hate. They’re trying to make things better.”

  I force myself to hold her gaze. There’s an icy feeling in my spine, and I can feel myself shivering.

  She wants me back in my cell. She wants to see me humiliated and broken.

  Fiona’s hand stays on my arm, pushing me back in my chair.

  Don’t react. Don’t say anything.

  Margaret turns to Fiona, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding. My hands are shaking, and I clasp them together on the table.

  “And you. Dan told me what you wanted. You tried to use his story to promote the Opposition In Exile. You wanted to package what happened to him, and to the others, and use it as propaganda.” She shakes her head. “You don’t see us as real people, do you? You see photos. Posters. Images you can use for your campaign.” Fiona tries to interrupt, but Margaret talks over her.

  “And now? Now you’re using us all over again.” She leans forward, spreading her hands. “We’re hurting, Fiona. We’re people, not puppets, and we need time. We need to understand what happened to us, and we need time to work out how we feel.” She shakes her head. “This is all academic to you, isn’t it? Pictures on a screen.” She closes her eyes, and takes a breath. Dan reaches out his hand, and she takes it in hers, glancing at him. “But it was real. It happened to us. Real, messy, life-and-death situations. Real, paralysing fear. Real pain. And all you could think about, watching us on your screens, was how we could help you.”

  Fiona tries to respond, but Margaret holds up her hands.

  “Do you know what? Bex was right. We don’t have to work with you.” She looks at Dan, and he nods. They stand up together, carefully placing their microphones and belt
packs on the table.

  “Elizabeth?” Margaret holds out a hand. Elizabeth nods, and looks at me. She smiles, unclips her microphone, and puts it in front of her on the table. Then she turns her wheelchair, and pushes herself away from the table. Someone hurries in from behind the cameras, and helps her push the chair over the cables and out of shot. Margaret and Dan walk behind her. Amy starts to stand up, but Charlotte puts a hand on her arm and shakes her head.

  Fiona sighs, and releases her grip on my arm.

  “Fiona Price,” says the interviewer, turning towards us. “Would you care to respond?”

  Debt

  Bex

  “Bex!”

  Maz jumps to his feet as I walk through the waiting area. There’s a TV on the wall, and the interview is moving on without me. He looks from me to the screen and back. I keep walking.

  “Bex – wait up.” He reaches out, and I twist away from him.

  “Don’t.”

  He drops his hand. “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t try to stop me.”

  “I’m not.”

  I stop, and turn back to him. He’s holding his hands up in front of him, watching me.

  I’m too angry to stay here. I’m too angry to talk about this. I turn away, and keep walking.

  He follows me. Down a long corridor, and out into the foyer of the building. Someone shouts at me from behind the reception desk, but I keep going. Out through the glass doors, and onto the street beyond.

  I stop. It’s early evening, and the street lights are competing with the sunset.

  I look around, searching for something I recognise. I don’t know where I am.

  I needed to get out of the studio. I needed to get away from Fiona and Ketty, and here I am.

  I’m shaking as I realise what I’ve done. I’ve walked out on Fiona. I’ve walked out on my friends.