I look away, fixing my gaze on the wall behind Franks. I can’t meet her eyes.
This is it. This is where I bring her down.
“Miss Smith helped with what she was told was a weapons test. She’s an eyewitness to your greatest atrocity, and to everything that went on in the Home Forces.” Franks closes her eyes and shakes her head. “She’s here to make sure you confess. She’s here to tell us when you miss something out, or embellish the truth. She’s here to keep you honest.” He walks over to the table, leaning on it with both hands and looking down at Franks. “Last chance, Jane. Next time we ask you these questions, you’ll be live on TV. If you want any protection, any sympathy, you’ll start talking now.”
*****
“Thank you, Katrina.” Fiona is smiling as Colonel Ryan closes the door and leads us back into the waiting room. “That’s what we needed.”
We left Franks hunched over her handcuffs, head bowed. She hasn’t confessed to everything, but she knows that I’m working with Ryan. She knows she can’t hide forever.
I’m safe. I’m on the winning side.
And I’ve paid my price.
I’m not sure how I feel. Franks was in charge of the Home Forces. She set up the Terrorism Committee, and she gave Lee the freedom to do whatever he needed to do to keep the country afraid. She didn’t order the bombings, or the raid on the coach, but she knew who was responsible, and she didn’t stop them. She needed the Terrorism Committee, and she approved of what they did.
She let Conrad kill Jackson. She’s the reason Bracken came to London, and the reason he died.
But she saw something in me. She promised me a career, even when I misjudged my actions. Even when I injured Elizabeth, and attacked Margaret. Even when she discovered that I had access to classified information.
And I’ve just destroyed her. I’ve just made sure she stays in prison for life.
Careful, Ketty. This is who you work for now. Don’t get sentimental.
But walking out of the interrogation room, I feel cold. I feel abandoned. I feel as if the last person who cared about me has walked away.
Like Dad.
Like Bracken.
Like Mum.
I need to shout, and scream. I need to think about something else.
I need to distract myself.
I glance over at the door to the cells.
“Sir.” Ryan looks at me. “I was wondering … is David Conrad in the cells?”
He raises an eyebrow. “He is.”
There’s your distraction, Ketty. Take it.
“Could I have a moment to talk to him?”
“I don’t think that’s appropriate, Katrina.” Fiona sounds upset.
Ryan watches me, ignoring Fiona.
He smiles. “Why not?”
I have to catch my breath. I wasn’t expecting him to agree.
I nod. I don’t trust myself to speak. I’m fighting panic.
I don’t have a plan. I don’t know what I’m going to say to David.
I can feel his hands in my hair. Past midnight on the South Bank, the lights of the city reflected in the black water.
I can feel his lips on mine, electricity between us.
Your place or mine?
My skin crawls. I can see him smirking. Mocking me.
I can see his cruel smile as he mimes picking up the phone to Will. Telling him where to find us. Where to ambush the coach.
His voice, calling us an easy target.
And I can see Jackson, in his hospital bed. Jackson, who called out to me in the road as he fought for breath. As Conrad’s lies killed him.
My hands are shaking as Ryan leads me to the cells.
*****
“Oh my god. Ketty!” He stands up from the mattress and runs a hand through his hair. I catch myself smiling as I recognise the gesture – it’s what he does when he doesn’t know what to say.
“Conrad.”
I stand inside the door to his cell. The door is open, and Ryan is waiting in the corridor. I have five minutes, but I don’t think I need that long.
He looks at my suit. At my visitor pass.
He shakes his head. “You’re not locked up.”
I give him a cold smile. For the first time, I know more than he does. I’m in control here, and I’m enjoying his confusion.
“It looks that way.”
He stares at me, trying to understand what I’m doing here. He looks smaller, out of uniform. Frightened, but still beautiful. His hair is longer, framing his face. Part of me wants to kiss him again, to feel the lightning in his touch. And part of me wants to make sure he understands how much he hurt me.
Part of me wants him. Electricity and desire. Excitement and danger.
And part of me wants to win. To beat him. To make him pay.
This is your chance, Ketty. Take it.
I look him up and down. His feet are bare, and the jumpsuit hangs off his slim frame. “Nice outfit, David.”
His expression changes, and he clenches his fists.
“You were behind bars. You were at the Police Station. How did you get out?” There’s anger in his voice.
I point at his jumpsuit. “Oh, I wore one of those for a while.” I shrug. “Inconvenient, isn’t it? Being locked in here?”
He stares at me, shaking his head. I find myself smiling as I watch him take this in.
“Why did they let you go, Ketty?” He narrows his eyes. “What did they get from you? What did you give them?”
I look down at my suit. “It seems that I’m valuable to the government, David.” I shake my head, still smiling. I watch him for a moment, anger twisting his face.
He glares at me, waiting.
I shrug. “But apparently you’re not. It seems that you’re more useful as a prisoner.”
His voice is desperate now. Pleading.
“Tell me what you did, Ketty.”
And give you a chance at freedom? Not today, David.
I give him a recruit-scaring stare. “I don’t think so.” He steps back, shaking his head.
“Enjoy your show trial, David. And get used to this.” I wave at the cell. “I think you’re going to be here for a long time.”
I turn to leave, and he steps towards me, his voice breaking. “Ketty! Ketty, please. Get me out of here.”
I turn back. There are tears in his eyes, and he’s begging.
He’s beautiful, and he’s begging me.
His touch on my skin, at midnight.
That kiss.
Jackson, calling out to me in the road.
I take a breath, willing myself to stay calm.
I have the power here. I choose what happens next.
Hurt him, Ketty. Make him understand.
“Oh, if this was just about you and me, I might.” I shrug. “I could probably get you out. Colonel Ryan might listen to me.”
“Ketty. Please. I tried to help you, before …”
I watch as he reaches out to me. As he begs for my help. Posh-shabby-gorgeous, trying to manipulate me again.
Not today, David.
And I know what to say.
This is for you, Jackson.
I step towards him. “This isn’t about me, David. You used me. You manipulated me.” I shrug again. “I know you tried to help. You tried to warn me about the Terrorism Committee. And maybe I could forgive you everything else, for that.”
He nods, waiting for me to change my mind. There’s hope in his eyes as he watches my face.
“But the thing I can’t forgive, David, is what happened to Jackson.”
He shakes his head. “Ketty …”
“You did that. You told Will where to find us. You sent the resistance fighters onto my coach, and you killed my friend. You killed the person I loved.”
I freeze, catching my breath.
The person I loved.
My own words take me by surprise. I hadn’t meant to say that. I’ve never said that, to anyone. Not even to Jackson.
N
ot even to myself.
Jackson was the person I loved.
I clench my fists, to keep my hands from shaking.
Conrad holds his hands up in front of him. “I was doing my job, Ketty. I was only doing my job.”
I can’t believe that’s all he has to say.
“So was Jackson.” I stare at him, and he takes a step back. “Jackson died, because you did your job. Jackson died.” I wave a hand at the cell again, willing myself not to cry. “So get used to this. Enjoy the jumpsuit and the handcuffs. Enjoy your televised trial.” I shake my head. “I can’t bring Jackson back, but I can make sure that you pay for what happened. For what you took from me.”
“Ketty!”
But I’m already walking out, closing the door behind me and ignoring the look of amusement on Colonel Ryan’s face.
And it feels good.
Funeral
Bex
It’s raining when we get off the train. It’s a tiny station – one building and a bus shelter – and there’s a wheelchair taxi waiting for us in the car park.
“So this is where you stayed, when you left Camp Bishop?” Mum looks out over the fields as we drive towards the church.
“Somewhere over there,” I say, pointing towards the hills in the distance. “Makepeace Farm is that way.”
She nods, and takes my hand. “How are you doing, beautiful girl?”
“I’m OK.” I push away thoughts of Will, blocking the bullets that were meant for his daughter. Today isn’t about how he died – it’s about how he lived. And I’m here because he kept me safe. He gave us a home when we needed somewhere to hide. He took us in, and he trusted us – and he wasn’t shy about telling us when we’d done something wrong.
He saved my life. And I’m here to say goodbye.
*****
The church is small, in a graveyard full of leaning headstones and mossy stone slabs. There’s a war memorial on the street outside, and a view towards the river and the hills beyond.
There’s a line of police in the road, keeping the TV cameras and the photographers away. Mum and I make our way along the path to the church – Mum pushing herself, and me holding the black umbrella we bought at the station in Birmingham. Dan stands up as I walk in, striding up the aisle and wrapping me in a tight hug.
“You OK?” I whisper, and he shakes his head against my shoulder.
“You?” I shake mine, and it’s everything I can do not to cry.
“Come on,” he says, pulling away and taking my hand. There’s a seat for me in the second row, and a space for Mum on the end, and by the time I sit down I’ve been hugged by all my friends. I glance along the row of wooden seats, and I can’t help smiling. We’re all wearing black suits and tops, picked out by Fiona for her campaign appearances. She didn’t know she was preparing us for this.
I glance behind me. The church is full, and I recognise most of the faces. Will’s fighters from the bunker. Jo gives me a smile, and I smile back.
Dr Richards follows the coffin into the church, pushed in a wheelchair by one of the funeral directors. She’s in the front row, in front of Mum. Margie sits next to her, holding her hand.
I don’t pay much attention to the service. I’m too busy thinking about Makepeace Farm. About meeting Will, and showing him our armour. Training his fighters. The raid on the coach, and his fury when we brought back Jake and Amy.
The minister mentions Will’s temper, and people behind me laugh.
But his anger was the reason we didn’t go with him to raid the supply convoy. It’s the reason we’re still alive.
I close my eyes, but I can’t stop the tears. Next to me, Charlie pulls a packet of tissues from her pocket and offers them to me. She takes my hand, and holds it tightly as we listen to the eulogy.
*****
The rain has cleared when we walk out into the graveyard. We stand round the newly dug grave as the coffin is lowered in. Dr Richards watches, Margie on one side and Jo on the other, both kneeling on the wet grass, holding her hands.
There’s a pub across the road from the church, and in a back room there are tables and chairs, and a buffet for the funeral guests. I don’t feel like eating, but I fill a plate for Mum, and leave her talking to Charlie and Maz.
I find Dr Richards with Margie and Dan. She holds out a hand, and I kneel down and give her a hug. Her shoulder is still padded with bandages, and she doesn’t move her injured arm.
“Thank you, Bex,” she says, one arm round my shoulders. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been so brave.”
I pull away, shaking my head. “It wasn’t just me …”
“I’ve seen the footage, Bex. If you hadn’t gone after the firing squad, I wouldn’t have made it off the platform.” She reaches up and takes my hand. “You made Dad’s sacrifice count. He’d want you to know that.”
I nod, blinking away tears. “I’m alive because of him,” I say, making myself smile. “I guess I’ve paid him back, for looking after us at Makepeace.”
She smiles, too. “I guess you have, Bex.”
*****
“So you’re coming, right?” Dan looks up from his plate of food.
I shake my head, “I don’t know.”
“You have to come, Bex! We can’t have Victory Day without you!”
“I quit, Dan. You remember. You were there.”
“I know, I know – but it’s Victory Day. It’s the big party. It wouldn’t feel right to celebrate without you.”
I fix him with a stare. “And is Fiona going to be there? Is Fiona going to be in all the photos, and talking to all the important guests?”
“Well, yes …”
“Then no, Dan. I’m not going.”
Margie puts a hand on my arm. “Fiona will be there. Of course she will. But it’s not about her – it’s about us. We’re the guests of honour – all of us.” She glances at Dan. “And we want you to be there.”
“Come on, Bex,” Amy leans across the table. “It won’t be the same without you.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t want anything to do with Fiona, or Ketty, or the Face of the Resistance. I walked out. I got away.
And now my friends want me to go back.
Charlie pulls up a chair and sits down next to me.
“What are we talking about? And why does Bex look as if you’ve all been picking on her?”
“Victory Day,” says Dan, round a mouthful of sausage roll.
“You’re coming, right?” Charlie smiles at me. “Tell me you’re coming.”
I shake my head, slowly, and Charlie frowns. She tilts her head down, as if she’s looking at me over a pair of glasses.
“Rebecca Ellman,” she says, as if she’s a teacher telling me off. There’s a sharp intake of breath from Dan, and I can’t help smiling. “We will not accept ‘no’ for an answer. You are coming to the Victory Day celebrations, if we have to kidnap you and drag you there ourselves.” She looks up again. “Anyway. Don’t you have an amazing dress to wear? A dress you haven’t worn yet?” She watches me, waiting for my answer.
I don’t want to go to the celebrations. London will be full of people. There will be huge crowds in Hyde Park and Trafalgar Square. There will be speeches and big screens.
I’ve been in a crowd in London. I’ve watched on the screens while they put my friend through a show trial. I know how frightening it is to be surrounded by shouting strangers.
This feels too much like Horse Guard’s Parade.
I look at Margie, and she’s nodding, watching me. “Come on, Bex. Let’s all get dressed up and have one more brilliant night.” She glances at Dan. “Fiona won’t need us for much longer, and then we’ll all be going to different places. We won’t be just down the road if you want to meet up.”
She’s right. I hadn’t thought about what happens next. About what happens after the election, and Victory Day.
Dan and Margie are going back to Rushmere. Jake and Amy are going home. For the first time in more than a year, I
won’t be close to my friends.
I’ve already left. I’ve already walked away, and this is my last chance to see them all. To spend time with them all, for one more night.
And if Margie can handle the crowds, and the screens, and the people …
I shake my head. If Margie’s going, I can’t back out. If she’s being brave, then I can be brave.
I hide my face in my hands. I don’t want to do this, but I don’t want to miss it, either.
And everyone’s waiting for my answer.
“OK. Fine. I’ll come.”
I look up at Charlie, and she grins. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”
Flowers
Ketty
“I’m so sorry, Katrina.” Fiona sits down next to me at the conference table. “I’ve only just found out.”
I nod. I know I should feel something, but my head feels like a blank page. A white space, numb.
“There’s a charity, that organises funerals for homeless people. They’ve been trying to contact you. Someone put them in touch with me.”
I should care. I should say something.
This is it. This is the last connection to my life before Camp Bishop. And it’s gone.
Dad.
“They held a funeral, at the crematorium. His ashes are scattered in the grounds.”
I nod again, trying to decide how I feel. I can see him, sitting in the kitchen, the knife he’d threatened me with next to him on the table.
I can hear him, begging me to stay. Calling me his little girl.
And I can hear the door, slamming behind me as I walked away.
“Thank you, Fiona,” I say, standing up. “Will you excuse me?”
“Of course. Take all the time you need.”
*****
I walk up the stairs to my hotel room, still thinking about the day I left home. The day I took myself to safety, from my home and my job to the security of Camp Bishop. From one alcoholic old man to another.
Victory Day (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 5) Page 24
