“What will we be doing tomorrow?” Charlie asked.
Taylor threw her a savage look. “I didn’t ask for questions. You’ll find out when you need to. And this is the last warning to you all about calling me and the other soldiers sir or ma’am. It may seem odd, even stupid, to you, but it’s part of the discipline of being a soldier. Now get some sleep. We start training at daybreak.”
He marched out of the room. One of the masked soldiers raised a hand. “Girls over here.” She was female.
“Boys with me,” the other, male, soldier said.
Charlie and I exchanged a glance, then joined our groups and followed the soldiers out of the room.
CHARLIE
I looked around as I reached the door but Nat was already walking through the hallway with the other boys. I followed the masked female soldier and the other two girl recruits up the stairs. The soldier was about my height and stockily built. I hadn’t realized that she was female until she’d spoken. I wondered if she would take off her ski mask at all. She led me and the other girls up a short flight of stairs. Paint was peeling on the walls and the only light came from a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling of the landing above us. It was cold as well—it felt colder inside than it had been outside and we could all see our breath in front of our faces.
The soldier ushered us into the first room on the left. It was as bare as everywhere else, with four thin mattresses laid on the floor and a sleeping bag rolled up on the top of each one. The soldier pointed across the room to another door.
“Bathroom through there,” she said. “I’ll be back in ten minutes for lights-out.”
She left the room. The two girl recruits both looked about seventeen, just a little older than me. One was tall and skinny, with straggly blond hair. The other had mocha-colored skin, a sleek bob, and fierce, dark eyes.
“Hi,” she said, with a quick smile and a London accent. “I’m Parveen.”
The skinny blond girl gasped. “Is it okay to give our names?” She sounded northern, a reminder of those girls in my Leeds school who’d teased me about my accent.
“ ’Course it is.” Parveen rolled her eyes. “Taylor’s not God, you know.”
The blond girl looked crushed.
“I think it’s okay,” I said. “I’m Charlie, by the way. How do you know Taylor?”
Parveen tilted her head to one side. Her chin, slightly pointy like the rest of her sharp little face, stuck out as she considered my question. I kept eye contact, guessing she was assessing me, wondering how much to say.
“He recruited me from the stupid youth club my foster parents made me go to.”
“You’re in foster care?” the blond girl asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“Nothing, I was just . . . I’m Nancy. I’m adopted.”
“Good for you.” Parveen’s voice took on a sarcastic edge. “What about you, Charlie? What’s your dysfunctional family background?”
“Both my parents are dead,” I said. “My mum was killed last year. I live with my aunt and uncle.”
“Oh, I’m sorry . . . I mean, about your mum,” Nancy said, twisting her fingers through her hair.
“Thanks.” I smiled at her.
Across the room, Parveen rolled her eyes again and disappeared into the bathroom. She took ages, leaving Nancy and me only a minute each to wash before our masked soldier returned. She ordered us to get into our sleeping bags and warned us not to talk.
I lay down. There was surely no way I would be able to sleep tonight. My pulse was racing, thoughts about what Taylor had said earlier flooding through my brain. The next thing I knew, someone was shaking my arm, a harsh whisper in my ear.
“Charlie, wake up.”
I opened my eyes, staring blearily into the gloom. It was even colder than when we’d gone to bed but, apart from my cheeks and nose, I was warm and snug inside my sleeping bag. The masked soldier—had she slept in that mask?—was beside me. Seeing I was awake, she turned to Parveen lying on the ground across the room. I raised my head. It was still dark outside. I blinked, trying to shake the sleep out of my eyes.
The soldier strode to the light switch by the door. She flicked it on. The harsh overhead light nearly blinded me.
“Hey,” Parveen complained.
“You have five minutes to get dressed. Your pants and boots are by the door.” The soldier vanished.
I scrambled out of my sleeping bag and hurried to the bathroom. As I came out again, I could see Nancy and Parveen, both in black combats, struggling to lace up a pair of heavy army boots. I took the remaining pants and boots and put them on. I’d just tugged a sweater on over my T-shirt when the soldier returned. She led us downstairs and outside into the backyard of the house. It had obviously rained during the night as the yard was squelchy with mud. Taylor strode toward us, the boys at his side. I caught Nat’s eye right away. He smiled at me and in spite of everything, my stomach did that strange little skip again.
“Rations.” Taylor dug into a bag and handed each of us a roll and a bottle of water. “This is all you get for the next three hours, so make it last.”
I pocketed the roll, not feeling hungry, and took a small sip of water. Parveen pointed to the loop on the belt of our combats and showed me how to fasten my bottle to it. Before I could even say thank you, Taylor spoke.
“Five-k run, then combat training.” He motioned to the two soldiers. “Get into your teams.”
A few moments later, I was picked by the male soldier, along with Parveen, Nat and two other boys. We each gave our name then we started running, following the brisk pace set by the soldier. I glanced at Nat as we ran. His face was set in a determined grimace. The other boys we were with looked fit and muscular. They both moved with power and grace. So, I noticed, did Parveen. I focused on keeping my breathing steady, determined not to get left behind.
We did two laps around a muddy field, then followed our soldier into the trees. He took us on a long run through the woods, stopping only once for a drink break. At last we came to a halt in a clearing. It was still dark, though a silvery light was creeping across the sky. Everyone stood panting, trying to get their breath back.
“In pairs,” the soldier ordered. “You. With me.” He spun Nat around to face him. This left me with little choice but to partner up with Parveen. We eyed each other warily as the soldier showed us how to attack—and block attacks—by keeping our balance and tipping our opponent off theirs.
“You might be smaller than the enemy,” he barked, “but if you put the entire weight of your body behind each strike, that’s a fearsome weapon in itself.”
Parveen and I dodged and hit at each other for ten minutes as the soldier circled us, watching carefully. We were fairly evenly matched. I was stronger and more precise but Parveen was undeniably faster than me, whipping her arm up to stop my blows before I was even aware of her moving. I redoubled my efforts, concentrating hard. Despite my suspicion of the EFA—not to mention my growing hunger—it felt good to be alive in the crisp morning air. The sun was edging over the horizon now, casting a soft orange glow through the branches of the trees above our heads. And I liked being taught how to fight properly. It made me feel strong, like I was getting ready to avenge Mum’s death properly, not just dream about it.
Across the clearing, Nat was working hard too. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he countered the thrusts and punches of his own opponent. The masked soldier was now partnering someone else, so Nat was fighting a tall, thickset boy with a crew cut and biceps that bulged under his T-shirt. We had all removed our long-sleeved tops by this point—and no one had any food or water left.
After an hour or so of combat training, our male soldier led us through the woods again. I had no idea how well I’d done as a fighter. The soldier hadn’t singled me out for criticism, but then he hadn’t praised me either. The only person he’d actually complimented was Parveen, for a stylish move she’d made earlier: ducking sideways to avoid a full-body thrust from me.
Taylor was waiting for us at what appeared to be some kind of shooting range. A log lay on its side in front of a row of trees, a series of targets rising up like signposts opposite. Was he really going to teach us to shoot? Fighting was one thing, but guns were another. Mum and Karen had always been totally anti guns, but if we were going to get back at the League of Iron we needed access to the same weapons they might use.
“Okay, now I’m not supposed to tell you this but from the preliminary trials, you guys are the elite of the young people we’ve recruited so far,” Taylor said, his green eyes hard and serious. “There are five of you here and I’ll be handpicking four to be in my own active cell. That means you will be sent into dangerous situations and you will have to defend yourselves.”
I glanced around the group. Parveen’s eyes were shining. All the boys, including Nat, looked thrilled that Taylor had told them they were an elite group. I turned back to Taylor, suddenly full of mistrust again. He couldn’t really know how good any of us were at this point. He was surely just trying to make us feel special so we’d do what he said.
“We use the Glock 26 semiautomatic,” Taylor said, holding up a gun.
That looked like it packed serious firepower. It struck me that if I came face to face with whoever killed Mum, I would shoot them without hesitation. At least I thought I would. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.
Taylor put down his gun. “Has anyone here handled a semiautomatic before?” he demanded.
No one spoke.
“Any sort of gun?”
Only the huge biceps guy put up his hand. “I’ve been to a firing range a few times.”
“Right, George, over here.”
The big guy, George, swaggered over to Taylor, who picked up the Glock and placed it in his hand. Taylor spent a moment adjusting first George’s stance, then his grip. He handed around sets of ear protectors, waited until everyone had placed them over their ears, then told George to shoot. He hit the middle of the target, first time.
A soft, impressed murmur ran around the group.
Taylor nodded. “Good, but firing the gun isn’t as important as understanding how to use it.” He turned to me. “You. Over here.”
My heart raced as I walked up to him. Taylor handed me another pistol from the pile. It was cold in my hands and heavier than I was expecting. “Hold it like this.” He placed my hand over the top of the gun, my fingers reaching around the barrel to rest lightly on the trigger. “I’ll teach you to load and shoot in a minute. But most of the time convincing the enemy you’re prepared to shoot is more important. We don’t want to hurt people unnecessarily. But if you’re going into a dangerous situation, you might need to make people believe you would shoot. It could save lives, including your own.”
I stared at him. Did he want me to pretend to threaten him?
Taylor pointed to the log at his feet. “Tell me you’ll shoot me if I don’t step behind that. Go.”
I looked into his green eyes. He was totally confident, intimidating as hell. I gritted my teeth.
“Go,” Taylor repeated.
I closed my eyes for a second, drawing in a deep breath, then I planted my feet firmly against the damp earth and raised the gun.
NAT
A cool breeze whipped across my face. Charlie raised her arm, the gun in her hand pointing directly at Taylor’s forehead.
“Behind the log,” she demanded. “Move.”
I held my breath. Taylor stared impassively back at her.
Charlie stood, steady as a rock, her gaze unflinching. “I said move.” Her expression was icy.
I realized my mouth was gaping open and closed it quickly. The wind was up, swirling twigs and leaves around our feet. The atmosphere in the clearing was tense.
Another beat passed, then Taylor lowered his gaze and stepped over the log. Charlie followed him with the gun. She was utterly focused, completely terrifying. A shiver ran down my spine. I was certain that Charlie would be capable of pulling the trigger should the need arise.
And equally certain that I would not.
“Very good.” Taylor nodded his acknowledgment. “I believed you.”
“So did I,” said George with a grin. “Man, you were scary.” He looked at me with his eyebrows raised. “You know this chick?”
“Sure he knows me.” Now Charlie was pointing the gun at George. “Who asked you about it?”
George blinked rapidly, then put his hands in the air. “You got me, baby.” He spoke in a high, silly voice, his hands over his heart. Everyone apart from Taylor and me laughed.
“This is serious,” Taylor snapped, lowering Charlie’s arm with his hand. “The secret to making the enemy believe you’ll shoot is to believe it yourself, that you will shoot if you have to. You need to make your movements definite and precise and to take all emotion out of your voice.”
“What about anger?” Parveen asked. “Surely you need to show anger?”
“Only if it’s cold and hard,” Taylor explained. “No hysterics. No passion. Nothing weak. Just like Charlie.”
We each took a turn at threatening the others, forcing them to move. After a few tries it was obvious that no one else was as good as Charlie. George looked threatening, but couldn’t get the right emphasis into his voice, while Parveen grew too shrill as she shouted at me to kneel on the ground. I stared back at the gun she was waving in my face. Taylor had been right. Getting all emotional made you sound less powerful. I tried to remember this when it was my turn, but all I could think was that the whole situation was fake and that there was no way I could ever shoot anyone anyway.
I wondered if Lucas had ever taken part in a training session like this?. I would have given anything to know how he had felt about using guns and learning armed combat. I imagined that he had been really good at it.
I badly wanted to be good at it too.
Taylor coached us on gun control and safety procedures for ages before actually explaining how to fire the pistols. I turned out to be the best shot after George. Charlie wasn’t bad, nor was Parveen, both getting close to the target on all their attempts, but the other guy missed by miles.
At the end of the session, Taylor took us on a long run back to the farmhouse. A trestle table and two benches had been set in the middle of the kitchen and two masked soldiers served us plates of stew for our lunch. I fell on the food. I couldn’t remember ever being hungrier—or colder—in my life. As I ate my way through two large helpings I talked to George, who sat next to me. He told me he lived in south London with his mum and three brothers. Like Lucas, he had once been a big fan of Roman Riley.
“I saw him at a rally,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “He was amazing. I just wish he’d go further, you know? Riley really understands what people are going through.”
I nodded. There was something about George that reminded me of Lucas. It wasn’t just his admiration for Riley and his athletic build—it was also that air of relaxed enthusiasm that Lucas had exuded. Girls had loved it. I could see Parveen and Charlie looking in George’s direction several times, laughing as he joked.
Lucas had been like that, full of gentle, flirty teasing—and always with a different girl. He used to tell me that one day soon it would be the same for me, but somehow I doubted that was true.
Toward the end of the meal George leaned over and asked quietly:
“So is Charlie your girlfriend?” The way he said it made it clear he was interested in her himself.
My stomach tied itself into a hot, jealous knot. “Nah, buddy,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. “Knock yourself out.”
After the meal, Taylor gave us a fifteen-minute break, during which time we were allowed to check our phones. As secrecy was so important, Taylor made it clear that anybody who suspected their parents or guardians were close to seeing through their cover stories should come to him immediately. Much to my relief, there were no calls or texts to deal with from Mum or Dad or Jas.
Afterward, we went
outside, into the woods, for another run and a second combat session. I was paired with a boy from a different group. He was wiry but nowhere near as quick as I was and far easier to deal with than George this morning.
By the time we arrived back at the farmhouse again it was dark. This time I wasn’t just hungry and cold, but also completely exhausted. We were given more food, then told we had half an hour to relax.
We were shown into a living room with couches, lamps with nice shades, and a fire in the fireplace. George and the wiry boy from combat training both made a beeline for Charlie but, before anyone could speak, Taylor cleared his throat.
“So far we’ve monitored you closely and all you know about each other are first names but that can’t last and we don’t want it to, so we’re dividing you into groups now.” He reeled off a series of names. “Will those people please go outside now?” The others trooped off, leaving me, Charlie, George, and Parveen. Taylor waited until they were gone, then turned to the four of us.
“The others were good and will be given roles in support cells,” he said. “But you four are the best. You’ll be joining me in an elite active cell.”
“What does that mean exactly?” Parveen asked. She was standing behind the sofa, in front of the fireplace and the unframed mirror above it.
“Being part of an active cell means that you will be properly trained over the coming weeks and months,” Taylor explained. “In time we will be going after the League of Iron. I can let you know now that, thanks to information we recently received”—he looked, pointedly, at me and Charlie—“we have some preliminary details about the League of Iron’s next campaign.” He paused. “We still need more information, but I am confident that we will stop them.” He glanced at Charlie and me again. “Hopefully, we can stop them forever.”
The atmosphere tensed. I glanced at Charlie. She was on the sofa next to George, her eyes sparkling with delight. I sank back into my armchair. Lucas had once been put into an active cell too. Now I really was following in his footsteps.
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