This Broken Land

by H M Sealey

  “Here.” I open the box with the kitchen overalls and elasticated caps. I remember doing this the first time, I remember I had so much hope in my chest it burned and my fingers trembled.

  The overalls are a mucky white colour and pretty generic. I wrap them around my ugly clothing and pull the elasticated cap over my head.

  None of us speak, we each hoist up one of the big, empty crates into our arms and carry them out to the van. When I was younger I watched every vehicle that came through those gates, noted every delivery, worked out my timing in a hundred attempts to regain my freedom in my head. But I never planned far enough. I never thought about what I’d do once I was out.

  We place the crates at the back of the dank van and collect several more before we risk lifting up the lids and climbing inside. The rest of the crates will be stacked with these once the delivery staff have finished their joint or their cup of disgusting thickened coffee or whatever they’re offered before they head off again.

  “Good luck.” River whispers before she pulls the wooden lid over her prison and, I suppose, tries to curl up as comfortably as possible. The crates stink of chemicals and sugar and the wood is cheap and splintered. But I’d still rather be here than anywhere inside the Rainbow Centre.

  But what do I do? Will we be stopped because of Howard or will Director Summerday let us go anyway? And these people, Family Matters, are they bad or good? My head aches with the effort of trying to convince myself that something positive could come of all this.

  I clutch my legs tightly to my chest with my arms as I hear the delivery staff clatter back to the van and continue loading the crates. Nobody asks why some of the crates are already loaded, nobody cares.

  “Fuck this place, it gives me the creeps.” Someone mutters as I hear the thud and feel the vibration as the crates are stacked on top of mine. “I hate coming here.”

  “Shhhh.” Another voice reprimands the first. “Don’t say anything while you’re here idiot. Do you wanna end up like the poor buggers in there? Keep your mouth shut.”

  “Sorry.” The first voice sounds genuinely remorseful. “It’s just – have you seen them? They’re like zombies or something. And this place, it’s a fucking concentration camp. Like the Nazis.”

  “Shut up!” The second voice doesn’t sound angry, it sounds scared. “Of course it’s like a fucking concentration camp! Everyone knows it but nobody says nothing. It’s different anyway. The inmates are the Nazis this time.”

  “Yeah, but does that make it okay?”

  “They say it’s okay so it’s okay. Now shut the fuck up and get the rest of the crates.”

  There’s a thud and the tiny strips of light that peep in through the slats in the wood disappear. It’s unbearably hot in here and my clothing sticks to my body. The engine starts up and I feel the vibration as we rattle away.

  Last time I was desperately excited, longing for my freedom and full of defiant joy. This time I just feel as if I might throw up.

  ~

  Elsie -

  “Elsie Kessler?”

  I look up, the man in the doorway is younger than the first officer, and this one wears a dark suit instead of a uniform. His hair is dark too, slicked back from a long face with a strong jawline and a little stubble.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Kit Summerday. Are you okay to have a chat with me?”

  I nod. I don’t think I have a lot of choice. The nicely worded question means nothing.

  Kit Summerday flashes me a smile full of white teeth and slips into the seat opposite. I shift a little in my chair; I’m sweating and my thin shirt is sticking to my back. I probably smell horrible, under the strong scented body-spray I’m wearing. Everyone wears some sort of perfumed product; neither clothes nor bodies are washed very often.

  “Excellent. So, Elsie, you popped it to tell us your concerns about your friend, Daichi Hisakawa? Is that right?”

  I nod again, clutching my hands together so they don’t shake. “Yes. I – I’m worried about him.”

  “Okay?” He raises his eyebrows and gazes at me with a pair of nearly- black, inquisitive eyes. I swallow.

  “Dai…….Dai stole some money. From the school where we both work.” I say the words quickly once I’ve started.

  “Do you know why?”

  I nod again, but I don’t give the answer. I’m betraying one of my best friends.

  No, I’m saving one of my best friends. If the authorities can catch him before he reaches the border then the BSI will never have to know.

  “The day before yesterday, his sister Missy – Misaki – disappeared after a raid on Kingsheath. Dai was…...upset.”

  “Understandably.”

  “He has….this crazy idea.” I admit. “He thinks….well, believes…...some of the stuff on YouTube, about...” I swallow audibly this time.

  “About what?” Kit asks nicely. I can’t work out whether he’s a genuinely nice guy or if his niceness is just a mask.

  “About….slave auctions. In the BSI.”

  “Ah.” Kit taps something into his tablet, then glances up at me with kind eyes. “You realise most of those are staged? There are are lot of very sick people determined to provoke a war with the BSI.”

  “I know.” I say. “But Dai….Dai thought he could…...” I can’t say it. I just can’t.

  “Your friend thought he could cross the border, find one of these non-existent auctions and buy his sister back?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Kit sits back in his chair and folds his arms. “He wouldn’t be the first to try to do that. Elsie, do you know if Daichi has anything to do with the disappearance of Noor Blackwood?”

  I feel my eyes widen. “No!” I state emphatically. “Dai has absolutely nothing to do with that.”

  “You sound extremely sure.”

  “I know Dai.”

  “Have you always known he was a thief?”

  “He’s not a thief, not really. He was just desperate.”

  “So you’d never have expected him to steal?” I shake my head, realising too late where this line of questioning is heading.

  “So maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought?”

  “Dai had absolutely nothing to do with Noor!”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “I do know that! He’s worried about his little sister! That’s his only crime!”

  Kit’s eyes remain scrutinising me, his fingers stop moving on his tablet for a moment.

  “How can you know that Elsie?” He asks, his tone butter-soft, and in those few words I realise I may have given Kit Summerday more information than I intended.

  “Uh….I..” I try to backtrack. “I just mean….he wouldn’t.”

  For a few moments there’s silence. I regretted coming to the police station almost from the moment I walked through the doors this morning. I’m still regretting it.

  “Just send people after him and stop him doing something so silly.” I say. What am I really afraid of? Am I afraid of Dai’s arrest? Or am I afraid that the stories concerning the BSI are true and Dai will end up decapitated or worse? I just want him found before he reaches the border.

  Kit nods. “We’ll find him.” He promises, although the promise doesn’t sound very kind. “Tell me Elsie,” He stands up and crosses the room, pushing his hands into his pockets. His body looks relaxed although his eyes don’t. “Do you have an Aunt?”

  “An aunt? I don’t think so.”

  “Aunt Sally? Did your Grandmother have an aunt by that name?”

  I shake my head. Kit regards me thoughtfully for a few moments, before breaking into a smile.

  “Never mind. Forget it. But I’d like you to stay here for a while. Just while I make some initial enquiries.”

  “I – I have to get back to school.” I tell him. It’s already ten-thirty. “I have classes.”

  “I’ll phone the headteacher.” He offers smoothly, although I’m not certain it is an offer.

 
“There’s nothing else I can tell you.”

  “Well,” Kit gestures to the door. “You let me decide that Elsie.”

  I don’t move from my seat. “Am I being arrested?”

  “Of course not. There’s a waiting room past the cells. Don’t worry, nobody’s going to lock you up.”

  His gentle voice doesn’t reassure me, but I pick up my school bag and follow, barely thinking about the thirty-two essays I was supposed to hand back to my class of year-elevens today.

  I follow Kit down a long flight of concrete steps, past a poster reminding people to lock their cars when leaving them which I think is vintage. Very few people have cars now.

  Once through a big set of double doors that Kit opens with a swipe of a card, we pass what I think are cells, metal doors with small grills in the centre of each one. The floor amplifies my footsteps and all around is the smell of disinfectant. It’s cool at least, being underground, in fact it’s cold and I shiver a little. I didn’t bring a jacket.

  “Hey! Hey, let me out!”

  A voice calls out from one of the cells followed by what I think is the pounding of fists against the door. Kit continues to walk forwards without even turning.

  “I’ve done nothing wrong!” The voice continues. “Where’s my little girl! Where’s Noor?”

  I freeze.

  “Mrs Blackwood?” Mrs. Blackwood is still under arrest? I don’t bother to hide the disgust in my face.

  “Who’s there?” Mrs. Blackwood’s voice rises. “Help me! Find my daughter! Please!”

  “It’s…..Elsie Kessler, from school.” I say.

  “Oh thank God! Tell someone, anyone! Tell them I’m being held without charge and nobody will tell me what happened to Noor.”

  “This way Elsie.” Kit takes my arm and carries on escorting me along the corridor. His grip is tight, tense, like his jaw. The charm has slipped away and left someone quite different.

  “That’s Adelaide Blackwood.” I say, confused.

  “She’s helping us with our enquiries.”

  Mrs. Blackwood continues to hammer on the door. “She’s really upset.” I say, which is stupid; he knows she’s quite upset. It doesn’t look as if he cares very much though.

  “No doubt.” Kit’s tone noticeably hardens, as do his eyes. “We have a well-organised network of people-smugglers to contend with Elsie. But I will catch them. This way.” I don’t like the way he says that, or the grim certainty in his voice.

  I don’t have any choice but to traipse along at Kit’s side until Adelade Blackwood’s cries fade away beyond the next set of doors. Inside my heart rate feels as though it’s tripled. How much does Kit know about Gran? What if it was Gran locked away like Mrs. Blackwood? I swallow down the scream that keeps threatening to explode out of my chest and I clench my fists. I have to stay calm.

  In my nightmares everyone I love is snatched away until I’m quite alone. I wake up sweating or screaming with Gran stroking my forehead. The relief at opening my eyes and realising I’m not really alone is so immense it’s like a pain in my chest.

  Right now, I want Gran to wake me up and tell me everything is fine. I want this to be a dream so badly my head aches with hoping.

  Finally we reach a small, dull room with a few tatty chairs, a table half covered with old magazines and a coffee machine. The walls are grey and the paint is peeling near the ceiling.

  “See?” Kit pats the coffee machine as though its a pet. “Coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate? I’m amazed we still have one of these. Costs a fortune in water.”

  I gaze around with uncertainty. There’s no window. It’s not quite a prison, but it’s something close. On the chair nearest the wall, curled up, there’s a cat. I’m so surprised to see a cat here I think I smile without meaning to.

  “Is that a cat?” I have no idea why I asked that. I can see it’s a cat; its fury body is tortoiseshell with a little white on its belly. I like animals. There’s something about stroking a happy cat or a puppy that pushes the unhappy thoughts away.

  “That’s Officer Tom.” Kit tells me with indifference. “He’s the Station cat. I have no idea whose he was originally. We can’t get rid of him so we leave him to his own devices. If I had my way he’s be out on his ear. He must contravene about fifty health and safety regulations. Still, my boss would get rid of me before he got rid of Officer Tom.”

  I think I quite like the sound of Kit’s boss.

  I migrate towards the cat and automatically stroke his soft fur. Officer Tom doesn’t stir at once, but he does begin to purr. Then, as I scratch behind his ears, the cat twists around and stretches out. He’s so long his head and back legs drop off the chair and he dangles there, quite happily as I stroke his exposed tummy.

  Kit chuckles. “Looks like you’ve found a friend, Officer Tom.”

  “How long do I have to stay for?” I ask, keeping my focus on the cat. The cat is real, the soft fur beneath my fingertips is real. Everything else is fuzzy.

  “Not long Elsie. Now, you help yourself to a drink, sit down, read a magazine and I’ll be back in a tick.”

  Kit flashes me a wide smile, a smile that I now think might be as insincere as his gentle words. I saw how he changed when we passed Adelaide Blackwood; Kit’s pleasant expression disappeared as though he wiped it away. I don’t trust people who can change their faces quite so smoothly. It’s a skill that requires a great deal of practice.

  Kit gives me a cheery wink and disappears back along the corridor, the door swings shut behind him and leaves me in silence other than Officer Tom’s purr and a slight hum from the drinks machine. My already trembling legs seem to give way and I flop onto one of the chairs with the slightly torn upholstery. He’s looking for Gran. How much information does he have already? How close is he to catching her?

  A sob rises up in my throat and I swallow it down. I can’t let myself look so obviously distressed. I suspect Kit Summerday is quite discerning. I need to find some sort of poker-face.

  Officer Tom hops onto the floor and rubs his soft head against my legs but this time I don’t offer him my attention.

  In an attempt to calm myself, I select a coffee and watch as the murky, brown liquid pours into a plastic cup. The room is silent, I glance back through the glass doors that lead to the cells. The doors aren’t locked, not on this side.

  I sip the coffee and wince; it’s not particularly pleasant. Once again my eyes are drawn through the doors. I gaze around the walls and up at the ceiling; I don’t see any obvious security cameras, not like the ones in reception. I swallow another mouthful of bitter coffee and examine the thought that keeps twisting around in my head and won’t be silent.

  I could talk to Adelaide Blackwood. I could find out whether she knows about Gran.

  An image of Kit Summerday turning up on Gran’s doorstep hits me like an arrow to my heart; I can’t watch her locked away like Adelaide. I can’t be left alone.

  Softly, carefully, I slip out through the doors and into the corridor with the cells. My feet still sound horribly loud on the concrete tiles but I tiptoe, the way I used to sneak past Gran’s room to raid the biscuit barrel when I was a child. One soft step after another, barely daring to touch the ground.

  It’s useless, of course, tiptoeing. And it probably makes me look like some graceless dancer. If I’m caught on camera then no amount of sneaking will help.

  “Mrs. Blackwood?” I hiss as loudly as I dare, all the time watching the locked doors at the other end of the corridor. “Mrs. Blackwood? It’s Elsie Kessler.”

  A face appears at the grate in the centre of the door.

  “Oh thank God!” It’s funny, no matter how secular this part of the world becomes, oh God is still the first petition on our lips when we’re in trouble, Maybe it’s hardwired into our brains. “Do you know where Noor is? Is she okay?”

  I shake my head and come as close to Mrs. Blackwood as I can. She looks wretched. Or the bit of her I can see looks wretched.

  “No, I don’t
know anything. What happened?”

  There’s a moment of silence. “I just thought you might know.”

  “Why would I know anything?”

  Again, there’s an odd sort of silence.

  “Because you’re being questioned by him and his only interest is stopping Family Matters.”

  I frown. “Who?”

  “Family Matters. Dear God, have you never even heard of them? Why does he think you’ll be able to help him?”

  I assume the him in question is Kit Summerday.

  “Who are they?”

  I hear Mrs. Blackwood choke back a sob. “An…...escape network.” She whispers. “Run by Christians, dedicated to keeping families together. They tried to help me. They brought Noor back. Then…..then I was arrested on the train…..Noor ran, she was with someone.” Mrs. Blackwood’s voice dries up and becomes a squeak.

  Family Matters.

  The words written on the scrap of paper hidden inside the locket jump back to mind. I thought it was just a statement, not a people-smuggling network. A Christian people-smuggling network. It couldn’t get a lot worse.

  “I’m sorry.” I pause, then lower my voice even more. “Who arranged it?”

  “I don’t know!” She begins to sob again. “I’ve told him that over and over! I don’t know anything about them, I was at home, sitting on Noor’s bed, just sobbing and sobbing. The phone rang and the voice on the other end told me to go to the station. And there was Noor, all on her own. God! I thought I’d got her back! I know nothing about Family Matters except the name!”

  I feel my own eyes fill with tears as I promise Mrs. Blackwood I’ll try to help, and then slip back to the waiting room. How can I possibly help her? At least she doesn’t know about Gran. Unless she’s lying.

  A very nasty thought settles in my head like a fly. I have information Kit Summerday wants. How on earth did that happen? How did I end up knowing more about a bloody criminal gang than the police?

  I drop back down onto the chair beside a now settled cat and cover my face with my hands. I don’t think I move again until Kit’s legs pause beside me. I don’t look up.