The Recoil Trilogy 3 Book Boxed Set: Including Recoil, Refuse and Rebel

by Joanne Macgregor

  Suspicions

  “So, you’re a sniper?” Zonia asks, in a brisk, businesslike way.

  I nod, not sure if this is a clarification or an accusation. “I was.”

  “If you can shoot as well as Quinn says you can, you may yet come in useful.”

  Evyan gives me the stink-eye, and Neil frowns sadly into his vegetables at this reminder of my violent energies. I notice that his lips move silently. Is he sending up a prayer for the rodents?

  I give Zonia a nod. I could be useful here. For one thing, I’ve noticed that no one is standing guard to keep watch for possible plague-infected creatures. Surely there must be some in these woods?

  “Quinn says you told him you discovered some stuff?” Zonia asks.

  “Yeah. I found out that the suspected terrs and —” I’m not sure what to call them anymore, especially in present company, “— and the alleged dissidents that we darted were brought in for interrogation. Of the worst kind.”

  “We already knew that,” says Darius, adjusting the fit of his beret. Does the headgear mean something?

  “So, basically,” I continue, “the sniper squad is a black ops unit. It’s used to bring people in, even where there’s no real evidence, and then they can be detained without arrest or legal representation.”

  “Anything else?” Darius asks, rolling his fingers in the air in an impatient demand for something more. His eyes are just the slightest bit squint, which makes his unfriendly gaze intense enough to make me uncomfortable.

  “I got the address of the place — the detention center — so you could rescue Connor.”

  “And just how did you get that?” asks Zonia.

  All the faces looking at me are deeply suspicious. Even Candace and Bree have stopped their canoodling and are watching me now.

  “Well, they didn’t just tell me, if that’s what you’re thinking. I know because I was taken there, too, to be questioned.”

  I won’t allow those memories to come back now. I flick a glance at Quinn, but he’s staring at his plate. Evyan scrapes some stew from her plate onto his and gives him an encouraging little elbow nudge, as if urging him to eat.

  “They let you see where they were taking you?” asks Darius, his voice full of disbelief.

  “No, of course not. They blindfolded me. And anyway, I was out cold for most of the drive.”

  “Why?” Quinn asks.

  “Because a guard hit me upside the head when you escaped, that’s why.” I touch the row of stitches reflexively.

  “Why didn’t you run, too?”

  Faces turn from me to Quinn and back again, like a circle of Robodogs stuck on the head-shake program.

  “There wasn’t time.” I feel like I’ve told this part of the story so many times, but I look directly at Quinn, pleading with him to understand, to believe me. “The power was back on, and the electric fence was live — you saw that. And then the guard began moving the spotlight beam to where you were and he would’ve seen you, may have shot you. So I started shouting — to distract him.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe you drew attention to yourself to give me a chance to escape? And then you got knocked unconscious for it?” Beside him, Evyan sneers at me.

  “Believe what you want.” My face grows hot.

  “Can we get this back on track, please, people,” says Zonia. “If they didn’t tell you, and you didn’t see where they took you, then how did you know the address of the detention center?”

  “I saw it — printed on a waybill for a blood sample to be sent to a laboratory. It was in the doctor’s office where I was taken for a medical examination after they … afterwards.”

  I can feel Quinn’s gaze on me now, but I won’t look at him. Why is he so angry with me? My story is true — how can it be so impossible to believe?

  “And you just noticed it, and then remembered it days later?” says Evyan.

  “We’re trained to observe and to memorize, Perrier,” I say, earning myself a glare from Evyan. “It’s what we do.”

  “When you’re not killing rats,” Neil murmurs sullenly.

  “That’s also where I saw the file on Connor and knew what they had planned for him, and when they planned to start.”

  “And after you were questioned, you went back and signed up for your old duties? And they just happily took you back?” Zonia asks.

  “They didn’t trust me, wouldn’t let me near a gun, but yes, I got myself back on ratting missions. It was the only way I could think of to try to get the message to Quinn about Connor. I remembered his sister saying how they went to the park every day.”

  “Lucky coincidence they chose to go ratting in that park, and at just the right time,” says Darius.

  “It wasn’t a coincidence,” I retort. “Just who do you think got those reports of rats, sighted around 4 pm on weekdays, planted in the system?”

  “Not possible,” says Quinn. “No way you could’ve fed that into the system.”

  “I couldn’t, but Sofia could.”

  “Who’s Sofia?” asks Evyan.

  “She’s this really beautiful and incredibly intelligent cadet in Quinn’s unit,” I tell Evyan and smile at the scowls she directs back at me.

  “Do you have any other useful information for us?” asks Zonia.

  “I have some suspicions, based on something Roth said, that ASTA are involved in something more than training.”

  “No way! We had no idea,” says Evyan sarcastically.

  “Not a clue,” adds Mark in the same tone.

  “And” — this is it, the only thing I know, really — “and I just found out that they’re killing M&Ms.”

  Quinn gives me a sharp glance, Darius raises an eyebrow, and Evyan, for once, says nothing.

  I force myself to add, “That we were killing M&Ms.”

  “We did suspect, but we’ve never had any proof. Do you know that for sure?” Zonia leans forward, as if she wants to catch my words before anyone else hears them.

  I nod, then tell them about the special cartridges. I speak to the ground, feeling sick with shame, as I explain about the poisons and the imploding bullets and the people I have shot. The memories of my victims beat at the edges of my mind like the wings of avenging angels. I avoid meeting Quinn’s gaze. If there’s contempt or disgust in his face now, I don’t want to see it.

  “I reckon they’d get the sniping unit to execute suspects, too, if they didn’t need to question them first.” I rub at my left eye, which has started twitching again.

  For a moment there is silence, except for the scrape of Neil’s spoon on his plate as he eats the last of his food. He seems less concerned about the killing of people than animals.

  “So you and your squad have been killing innocent civilians?” Zonia asks eventually. Her voice is grim and disapproving.

  I nod miserably. The images of the dead break through and flash into my mind’s eye once more — the woman with the red shoe, the little boy in the pond, the dreadlocked man, the woman banging her head on the wreck — around and around they spin, like a macabre carousel of pain.

  “We didn’t know. None of us knew.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounds pleading and weak. “I’m still the only one who does. Plus Sofia because she researched the chemical formula. But none of the other guys know, I’m sure.”

  I scan the faces of the rebels. Many won’t meet my eyes, some look critical and others, frankly disbelieving. Quinn looks skeptical.

  “That’s why I had to run away. I couldn’t do it anymore, once I knew,” I finish. “And if they found out what I discovered, I’d be in real danger.”

  “Oh, pul-leeze,” says Evyan, rolling her eyes at me. “What would they do to their star sniper? Revoke your T.V. privileges? Send you to bed without dessert?”

  “Look, I know I wasn’t starved or tortured for three days like Connor was, but I haven’t exactly had an easy time of it either!” I say hotly, longing to slap her scorn-filled face.

  “Oo-ooh,�
� she mocks. “Did they put you in the corner and give you a really long lecture on how naughty you were?” Darius and Mark snicker at this.

  I leap to my feet. I’m not sure what I’m planning to do — perhaps peel off my shirt and show them the burns and scars and yellowing bruises — I only know I want to defend myself. To make them — him — believe me. But Evyan is already on her feet, too. She pushes back her sleeves and takes a threatening step towards me.

  “Bring it,” I challenge.

  “Hey, now.” Is that Quinn?

  But before anything more can happen, Zonia takes control. “Sit down, both of you!” When I hesitate, still glaring at Evyan, Zonia barks, “Now!”

  I plonk my rear back down on the log, gripping my hands together in my lap. My heart is hammering, and my face feels like it’s on fire. I breathe deeply, trying to calm myself down. Zonia is saying something to the group, but I’m not paying attention to her. I’m focused on trying to hold back the angry tears burning my eyes. I blow out a frustrated breath. I already know there’d be no point in showing them my wounds. Evyan or Darius would only say there was no proof I’d gotten them during interrogation. And as for Quinn, I want him to believe me, to trust me without needing “evidence”.

  Nicky’s voice intrudes on my thoughts.

  “Huh?” I say.

  “You have blood on your hands.” Her voice is soft, her tone gentle, but the words feel brutal.

  “I know, okay? You don’t need to remind me.”

  “No, I mean literally — look.” She points at my hands, which are clenched in my lap. Sure enough, the fingertips and the inside of one wrist are smeared with red. I’ve been picking at the scabbed cut from the restraints.

  I wipe my hands on my jeans, aware of the pair of gray eyes fixed on me from the log opposite, and force myself to focus on Zonia, who is talking forcefully now.

  “They’re as evil as we thought, and worse. We have to fight them, take them down, by any means possible!” she says to a chorus of agreement from the people on either side of her.

  “We first need to make sure the truth gets out, and win the minds and loyalty of the general population,” says Quinn. “They’re ignorant of what’s really happening. We need to educate them.”

  “Revolution now, education later,” says Zonia, thrusting out her lower jaw.

  “Revolution through education,” Quinn counters.

  “I agree with Quinn,” says Evyan, and immediately the group is plunged into a political argument which splits them down the middle.

  Chapter 24

  Sleeping arrangements

  Zonia’s faction includes her admirer, Darius, and his brother, Ross, plus Kate, Kirsty and Nicky. They are all surprisingly aggressive. As far as I understand, they want to start an armed struggle against the government and its allies (like ASTA), and sabotage the pharmaceutical companies. They talk about growing their network of spies and allies in the city, the need to stockpile weapons, to infiltrate the enemy forces, and to identify high-value people in the opposition. It sounds like they’re gearing up to fight a war, but still I get the sense that it’s more militant hot air than real plans. From their talk of military strategy, I think they know less than I do.

  None of Quinn’s followers — Evyan, of course, but also Mark, Bree and Candace — wears a red beret. Coincidence? They seem more intent on winning a war of propaganda, and are determined to find out as much as they can about what they call the real war, or the second war, being fought to limit the rights and freedoms of our nation’s citizens, and to inform as many people as they can of the truth. Zonia accuses them of being a bunch of do-nothing intellectuals willing to sit by while people’s lives are destroyed. Quinn argues that we must be careful that in fighting the enemy, we don’t become exactly like them.

  Neil seems aligned with neither group. From the few comments that he tosses into the mix, and which are ignored by the rest, I gather that if there were a militia fighting the government over their treatment of rats, rather than people, then that would be the one he’d join.

  When there’s a lull in the hostilities, I ask Zonia, “So what are you guys doing here? Who are you all?”

  All faces turn to her. I guess nobody wants the responsibility of telling me anything important when I may yet turn out to be an enemy spy.

  “We’re a collection of people who are wanted or suspected or on the run. Some of our homes have been raided, or we have a contact or relative who has been compromised.”

  “So you’re just hiding out here?”

  I don’t mean it to sound disparaging, but Evyan, Darius and Kirsty make annoyed sounds, and Kate says, “No we are not just hiding out, thank you very much, we’re working on missions.”

  I look a question at Zonia, then Quinn, but nobody explains what the missions might be.

  “Aren’t you worried they’ll find you?”

  “Look around you,” says Evyan, gesturing to the thick woods and brush. “How could anyone find us here?”

  “Yeah, we’re like in the middle of nowhere,” says Mark.

  “You’ve put your tents up in a clearing. They’ll be plainly visible from above” — I point up to the open patch of gray sky — “to any passing Securodrone or surveillance chopper. As will the smoke from your fire. You don’t think they’ll wonder why a bunch of people are camping out in the woods along with the rats?”

  Everyone looks upwards. A trio of birds, ravens probably, circle above us, riding the thermals of wind.

  There’s a long moment of silence, then Zonia says, “Good point. You’re proving useful already. Ross, put out that fire at once.”

  Ross grabs a pail of water and walks to the fire, ready to pour water on the remains of the fire.

  “Not like that,” I say, “it’ll make smoke and steam.”

  There’s a folding shovel lying beside one of the logs, and I use this to dump sand onto the coals, smothering the fire. Ross nods in acknowledgement.

  “As soon as we’ve finished lunch, let’s strike camp and set up under the cover of the trees,” Zonia orders.

  A few of the rebels groan at this, but no one argues with her. Everyone begins clearing up the remains of lunch and packing the provisions into large storage bins. I join the team washing the dishes, which we do in the cracked, rusted basins in the camp restrooms, then I help Nicky strike her tent.

  I’m just pulling the last peg out of the soft, mulchy dirt when Evyan says loudly, “So, Zonia, where is our newest addition going to sleep?”

  I stand up straight, clutching a fistful of muddy tent pegs. I’ve been wondering the same thing.

  “Well, any volunteers?” Zonia asks the group.

  “We’re full,” says Bree, clutching Candace.

  “So are we,” says Kate, pointing at Kirsty.

  “Us too,” says Evyan, with a satisfied smile.

  “Sorry,” Nicky says softly to me, “there really is room only for two, else I’d offer to share.”

  “We’ve already got four in our tent,” says Mark, indicating the brothers and Neil, who are striking a larger tent.

  I stand and stare at my feet, nudging pine needles into small mounds, while everyone declares that they don’t want me. The light rain starts up again.

  “Well,” says Zonia with a sigh, “I’ve currently got a tent to myself. I guess you’d better bunk down with me. Plus, that way I can keep an eye on you.”

  I feel dread at the thought, but don’t know how to object. Luckily, Darius beats me to it.

  “No way! If anyone moves into your tent and sleeps next to you, it’ll be me.”

  Something almost like the hint of a smile flits across Zonia’s face, then she says, “Okay, then. She can take your place in the tent with the other three guys.”

  Neil looks sulky at the thought of me bringing my violent energies into his sphere; it’s like he’s been asked to sleep next to a scorpion. “Why can’t she sleep in Quinn’s tent? He’s alone in a two-manner, and anyway, they know
each other,” he says.

  Quinn’s mouth tightens, and he fiddles with the ring in his brow. Evyan looks alarmed at the very idea of me sharing with him.

  “That’s Connor’s spot,” she says fiercely, as if challenging anyone to dispute it. “He’ll be back any day now. And I think it’s important, symbolically, that we keep it ready for him. He is still our leader.”

  I’m ten years old again, standing awkwardly in the gym of Monroe Elementary School. Coach has nominated Abby Gaines and Madison Mason to choose teams, and I wait — heavy with embarrassment and shame — as they call out name after name, but not mine. Everyone knows I’m a dud at dodgeball; nobody wants me on their team. I can catch as well as any of the girls and throw better than most of them, but I don’t want to hurt anyone. Whenever I hit someone, it’s me who winces. So I tend to throw wide, or low, or soft. I’m always the last person chosen.

  “Look,” I say now, speaking past the thickness in my throat, “I don’t want to put anyone out. Maybe I could just sleep in the van?”

  “Not going to happen,” says Zonia flatly.

  “That’s where they lock up the cache of weapons,” Nicky explains softly.

  They have a cache of weapons? Maybe Zonia isn’t just all hot air.

  “She’d probably drive off in it,” says Kate, “and take it straight back to enemy HQ.”

  Stalemate. I’m about to offer to sleep in the shower block when Quinn speaks.

  “I’ll sleep in the van. She can have my tent.”

  Apparently Zonia trusts Quinn not to make off with the weapons in the night, because she merely says, “Good, that’s settled, then.”

  Quinn helps me put up his tent under a large pine tree, carefully avoiding any eye contact with me, then removes his gear to the van.

  That night I lie in the small tent, fighting off memories. Instead of the screams inside my head, I force myself to listen to the cries of night birds, the noise of katydids and crickets, and the rhythm of the rain falling on the tent, while nervously tracking the scuffles and rustles which might indicate the presence of a rat.

  Ross is officially on “guard duty” which, as far as I can see, involves lying with his head stuck outside the tent, supposedly keeping an eye open for any threats. I’d be willing to bet good money that he’ll be asleep in under an hour. These people are so focused on the political threat of their enemies that they seriously neglect the immediate danger of their environment.