We Are The Few

by Miranda Stork

  “Thank you.” The barman flashed her a cheerful smile again, before reaching over for a glass hidden under the bar, wiping it thoroughly with his cloth. Freda briefly wondered if he always made sure to have a glass to wipe. “So, you two look like visitors to our fair city.” He snorted, jerking his head towards the door, his grey eyes dark with irritation. “If you can call it fair, with those morons making all the noise. I’m John, by the way.”

  “I’m Freda. And this is Harris,” Freda offered up, gesturing towards her companion, who gave her a funny look before returning to his beer. She narrowed her eyes at him for a second. She knew what he was insinuating. Leave as little trace as possible—in other words, don’t tell people your name. Especially after what had happened with Toby. I don’t see what damage a pub owner would do. Annoyance dug away at her insides at his look, flaring up enough for her to get the urge to push it further. “We’re not travelling through, actually. We’re looking for someone.”

  There was a splutter as Harris nearly coughed on his drink in his haste to tell her to be quiet, attracting the attention of several locals sat around the small wooden tables, glancing in their direction. Freda flushed red at their scowls, turning her head away and staring down into the froth at the top of her glass. Harris wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, ignoring the barman’s curious stare as he shuffled off his stool and marched around to Freda’s side. “Don’t say anything else,” he hissed in her ear, just loud enough for her and no one else. “We don’t know who he is.”

  Pursing her lips, Freda wheeled around on her seat, the leather giving off a silky sound as she fixed Harris with a cold glare. “Firstly, I’m not a bloody child. Secondly, how else can we find them?”

  The barman heard their conversation clearly this time, and he strode over the black and red tiles behind the bar towards them, stretching over the side and crooking a finger. Harris glared at Freda but leaned forwards as she did, tucking his arm in to prevent people behind listening. John lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. “Look, you can trust me. Who are you looking for? There isn’t a person I don’t know in this city. And if I don’t, I know someone who will.”

  “A travelling caravan of performers. We’re looking for someone travelling with them. We heard they might have come here.”

  “Aye, I think I remember ‘em,” John nodded, gazing off into the distance for a moment. “Can’t think where they’ve gone, mind. I haven’t been out much, what with the riots.” Straightening himself up, he cupped a hand to his mouth, gesturing over to an old man sat in the corner nursing a tankard of ale. “Oi, Peter. Get over here.”

  The old man looked up with a black expression that suggested he was very much against moving, before grunting and rising up carefully. Still keeping a tight hold on his drink, he reached over and snatched up a dirty, frayed flat-cap, flopping it onto his head before shuffling across to the bar. Freda couldn’t help noticing his feet were covered in two mismatched slippers. Slamming his tankard down with enough force to leave a dent, the old man sucked at his toothless gums while staring at them for a moment, easing himself onto a stool. “What is it you want?”

  “Remember those performers? The ones who do those plays?”

  “Oh, them.” Peter let out a wheezing chuckle, wagging a gnarled finger. “You won’t see them again for a while, that’s for bleeding sure.”

  His jacket scraping against the side of the bar as he turned, Harris pierced the old man with a direct stare. “Why not?”

  “Because they’ve gone and got themselves locked up in the Elites’ section, that’s why. Inciting violence, or something.” The old man waved a hand tiredly, as though already bored with the conversation. He turned to take a slow sip of his drink, smacking his toothless gums together noisily with a satisfied sigh before adding, “They put on some play about how the Elites take everything, and treat the Lowers like slaves. They’re the ones who got everyone riled up like this.” His jabbed a thumb towards the open door outside, shaking his head. “Not like that when I was a lad, that’s for bleeding sure.”

  Rubbing a palm over the shiny surface of his head, John let out a low whistle. “You won’t be able to see them then, I suppose.”

  “Why can’t we?” Freda leapt off her stool, her boots squeaking as they touched the lino-tiled floor.

  “Because you don’t get to see anyone in the Elites’ prison. Not until they’ve served their sentence. And who knows what that’ll be.”

  Peter nodded sagely at the barman’s words. “Aye. And their judgement’s tomorrow. No, the only way to see them is to break them out of prison.” The old man’s eyes flashed wickedly, and he gave a grin. “If anyone was brave enough.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Harris’ cheeks flared as he frowned at both men. “I’m a member of the Allied Vigilants. We help people keep the peace, not go around,” he waved his hands in the air for the right word, before finally spluttering, “helping with jail breaks.”

  Giving a shrug, John sighed and marched back across the bar as Peter held out his empty tankard, placing it with practiced ease below the tap and pulling the ale pump. Over the gentle hissing, he replied, “Then you can’t see ‘em. Listen, no one here is going to turn you in if you do it. We’re no friends of the Elites.” He nodded over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off the ale. “If you do go and help them, there’s plenty of supplies in the back. I’d be happy to help you out with some.”

  Freda and Harris exchanged looks, and Freda swallowed hard, casting her eyes down from his intense glare. Okay, don’t tell people stuff. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the whole thing felt like a good-natured set-up.

  “I still say we should go and talk to the Elites.”

  Freda rolled her eyes and turned around to face Harris, crouched behind her in the shadow of the wall. Evening had fallen, but it was as clear and dry as the afternoon had been, leaving a pale moon shining silvery ribbons across the city. It wasn’t ideal for a prison break, but they didn’t have much choice. Freda had finally convinced Harris it was their only choice as they had left the pub, loaded down with bullets and food from John’s own stash. “Look,” she hissed back, waving her fingerless-glove in his face, “there’s no point. Unless we’ve got something to trade in return, they’re not going to allow us to take several people who started a riot out of jail.”

  Harris chewed at his lip for a moment, his gaze unwavering as he slid his fingers nervously over the collar of his shirt, just poking out from beneath his jacket. “I’m with the Vigilants,” he pointed out. “They might listen.”

  “Yeah? And they might say they’ve never heard of you.”

  Giving a growl, Harris glanced away to his side. They were crouched down behind the many shanty-town buildings that dotted the Lowers’ part of the city. It was still and quiet for the time being, only a few lights showing in people’s windows, but some of the police were still patrolling the area. The riots had been brought under control, but only for the night. “How do you keep getting me into these things?” He shook his head with a deep sigh. “We’d better move. And Gareth had better be with them.”

  Smiling gleefully, Freda chuckled and turned back, making her way along the edges of the wall. Her fingers slid over the white bricks, only bumping occasionally against the cracks of cement between them. The wall for the Elites was something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the old world, perfectly built and maintained like an elegant barrier between the two sides of the city. She took a few steps forwards, pausing to peer around the building by their side before scampering across behind the next one, keeping to the darkness. Thankfully, many of the houses—both old and new—were built in front of the wall, with only small gaps between each one. All we have to do is find a way over.

  Coming to a large alleyway tucked behind a red-brick structure, Freda paused and craned her ears. Nothing. The silence was deafening as she blinked into the darkness for something to help them get over. Her eyes landed on a large metal bin
, the sort once used for businesses to throw away rubbish, and she looked back up at the wall. We could just about do it. Twisting her head just enough to place a finger over her lips at Harris, Freda made her way across to the bin, grasping its edges with both hands. Three decades hadn’t done the smells from within any favours, and she had to bite her tongue to prevent her stomach from twisting and expelling the ale she had drank a few hours before. Holding her breath, she pulled herself up onto the top of the bin, wincing as it clanked against her weight. Taking her time to move slowly, she walked over to the great white wall, reaching up and pulling herself high enough to peer over it.

  The city on the other side was like a dream perched next to a nightmare. The pitted roads had been filled in with fresh concrete, and every building was as clean as the day it had been built. There was no debris of any kind, and even the glass had been replaced in some of the windows, easily noticeable by being too small or discoloured to match the others. Freda gaped at it in amazement. Even her own bunker hadn’t looked so tidy, so much like the old world she imagined in her head.

  “Hey! What can you see?”

  Remembering Harris, she crouched down a little, keeping tight hold of the top of the wall. “There’s no one there. We can drop down on the other side, and be in.”

  “Does it look like we can get back up on that side?”

  Fred dared to raise her head again and peer over, her nose scratching the brick as she craned herself to see below. “No,” she whispered mournfully. “We’ll have to find another way out.”

  She heard Harris swearing under his breath, but quietly enough that she couldn’t make out if it was directed at her, or just generally at the situation. Her lips twitched into a smile. He seemed so confident when we first met. Now I realise that was just him covering up what a neurotic person he is. Not that leaping over a wall to break people out of prison was entirely sensible. The bin lid dipped as he lifted himself up, reaching for the top of the wall easily with his long frame. He pulled himself on top of it, reaching across and helping Freda as she scrabbled up the bricks, before gracefully swinging his leg over and leaping down onto the ground below. Following suit, Freda braced herself and jumped heavily onto the ground below. She let out a low gasp as her ankle gave a spike of pain, but thankfully it faded away as soon as she tenderly rotated it to test for anything broken. “So, which way is the prison?”

  Throwing his hands up, Harris gave a shrug. “Got me. I’ve no idea. I’ve never been this side of the city.”

  Scratching her cheek for a moment to soothe a sudden itch, Freda sighed and gestured towards the pavement awaiting them a few feet from the alleyway they had dropped into. She didn’t appreciate Harris’ tone, but she couldn’t disagree with his reluctance, either. “Shall we? I guess we’ll have to go for a walk.”

  The pair fell into step as they made their way out onto the street beyond. The moon lit everything so vividly it was like a cold version of day, but hardly anyone passed them. A few people walked past with quick, hurried steps, crossing the street before reaching Harris and Freda, continuing on their way in silence. Almost every solar streetlight was on, the light from them more brilliant than usual after the mild weather that afternoon. Something about the clean quietness of the Elites’ section plucked at Freda’s heightened nerves, and she leaned into Harris, looping her arm through his without even thinking about it. She heard rather than saw him smile as she did it, but he didn’t make comment or look down at her.

  As they passed around large Victorian public buildings and red-brick houses nearly identical to those on the Lowers’ side, except for the lack of dirt and debris, Harris froze. Turning his head and craning his ear, he tugged at Freda’s arm. “The police. Come on, this way.”

  Freda didn’t have a chance to register what he said before she was pulled sideways into a doorway, pressed up against the wall. Harris leaned in front of her, his chest hemming her in as he turned to show his back to the pavement. Her heart skipped a few beats at how close he was, especially when he leaned down and his lips were close enough to taste. She raised clear blue eyes to him, taking in the hesitancy in his gaze. “Harris? What are you doing?” she managed to squeak, hoping to cover up the blush creeping over her face.

  “Sh. It’s just until they pass,” he replied, jerking his head fractionally towards an approaching sound. The steady march of three sets of feet confirmed what he had said. The Elites’ police force was more like an army, and with the tension in the air over the riots, were unlikely to ignore a couple of strange-looking travellers they didn’t recognise. You needed to be an Elite or have a pass to be on this side. As they came closer, a drop of sweat broke out on his forehead, his breathing becoming faster as he leaned in further. Just when the sound was almost upon them as the three officers turned the corner, he grasped Freda’s chin and pulled her face upwards. “Sorry about this,” he murmured, then he dipped his lips to hers.

  Freda’s eyes opened wide for a moment as he sank down to kiss her, her stomach squeezing with excitement despite the situation. Just as the officers sounded like they were about to pass by, she closed her eyelids again, sinking into the warmth of Harris’ mouth. His lips were tender as they moved against hers, and she almost forgot about the police that might be on them at any second, all her senses centred on Harris’ smell and taste. Her arms prickled with the need to move from their current awkward position, squashed against the door behind them, but she pushed it out of her mind. She bit back the moan lingering in her throat as his hand moved to grasp the nape of her neck, pulling her towards him and inviting her deeper.

  Heat pooled in her belly as he slanted his mouth over her, flicking his tongue until she opened to him, exploring her mouth as though he had forgotten about the officers as much as she had. Freda arched herself towards him, her thoughts blurring as she kissed Harris back hard. The taste of spice and ale ran along her tongue as she finally got her arm free, winding it up his chest to clutch tightly at his collar, pulling him further down to meet her.

  Harris pulled away abruptly, breathing hard as he glanced over his shoulder. His lips were red from kissing her so thoroughly, and Freda leant her head against the cool stone behind, blowing out a disappointed breath. The moment was snatched away again. “Are they gone?” she forced herself to ask as he looked both ways along the street, when all she wanted to do was curl her arms and legs around him and yank him back against her.

  “Yeah. I think they must have just walked straight past,” he replied, letting out a deep sigh. Turning back, he gave an apologetic wince. “That was so cliché. Sorry.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Freda gave a seductive smile, slinking out from the doorway with as much regal effort as she could. “Best cliché I’ve ever had.”

  If she hadn’t known Harris so well, she could have sworn that his chuckle trembled with nervousness, and that the glance he gave her before walking back along the road was almost coy.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Early morning, September 19th, 2063 – the Present

  The prison was actually an old hospital, and at least half of it had collapsed to the ground. Freda almost snorted at the pomposity of having a ruined building in this part of the city. Guess they haven’t got around to mending it yet. She hugged her knees into her chest as she cast hawk-like eyes over the guards milling outside. There were at least five of them, all carrying guns. Too many for Harris and herself. These weren’t disorganised bandits, but trained professionals, if such a thing still existed.

  She took in the exterior of the building, her legs starting to ache from her cramped position. There was a large double door into the building, in painted black metal and glass, but the guards swarmed around the front. She flicked her eyes to the right of the building, squinting to see harder. Another entrance. There. It was a single door that matched the main doors, but nonchalantly set into the side of the building, far from the guards. Her heart sank as she tracked the fictional route to the side entrance. It would take them st
raight past the guards. So there’s no way to pass if they’re looking.

  So intent was Freda on watching the prison, she almost jumped when Harris sidled up beside her, leaning his hand on the rough wall. He gave a tut. “Shit. If we could only get to those doors. Picking them wouldn’t be a problem.”

  Freda gave a splutter. “Lockpicking? You?” She wobbled on her heels, placing a hand against the gritty asphalt surface below to steady herself. “I thought you were all good and saviour-of-the-city?”

  Harris cast her a glance, his lips curling into a half-grin. “Even good people need to pick locks. How do you think the Vigilants have all those supplies?” His jaw ticked as his smile fell, and he brought a hand up to rub at his chin. “But it’s irrelevant. We can’t go that way. Maybe there’s a way underneath?”

  An idea popped into Freda’s head, one so awful that she almost pushed it away. Then she looked across at the prison, with it white-painted brickwork. But what if Gareth is in there? Right now, just waiting with the other performers to be sentenced tomorrow? Her gut knotted tightly, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as Harris continued to muse about alternative ways in beside her. There is no other way in. Not that we know of. And we don’t have time to find out. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Freda snapped her eyes open again, reaching for her rifle strap and pulling it over her head. “We can go that way. If there was a distraction, would you be able to get to that side door quickly enough?”

  Harris paused mid-sentence, his mouth open as his pallour turned white. He shook his head firmly, grasping her arm and preventing her from removing her weapon. “No. I’m not allowing you to do any stupid heroics, Freda. We have to think about this.”

  “We haven’t got bloody time to think about it. And last I checked, you didn’t ‘allow’ me to do anything.” She gave him a hard look, daring him to argue back.

  Wiping a hand down his face, Harris let out a groan, resting his elbow across the leg he had propped up as an armrest, the other knelt down in the dirty ground. “I know that look. Fine. What are you planning on doing?”