by Phil Hurst
Marie nodded.
Lana brought Marie in close, putting her arm around her shoulders. “And Marie—radio silence on this. I don’t want the reckoners on the pier to get wind of what we’re doing.”
- The reckoners on the pier!
- What about them?
- They killed us.
- The one called Jules. We need to get him.
- Why?
- Because he killed us. This will make us better.
- We don’t know that.
- Maybe we can let go if we kill Jules.
- How can we do that?
- We could concentrate.
- We can float in a general direction and turn on taps.
- And that exhausted us.
- Exactly. We will get our revenge. But we need more power first.
- What if someone kills him first?
- Then we will be finished with him.
- We want him to suffer.
- He will.
- We promise that.
Paige
P aige followed Lana from what she judged a safe distance. She wanted to go undetected. With a hoodie taken from her old bedroom pulled up over her head, she looked less like a young professional and more a teenager trying to avoid her parents. From around the corner, she heard enough of a conversation with Marie to understand they were going to meet in the hotel. She wanted to know what was in the bag that Lana was being so protective of.
After learning of the suicide pact, Paige decided to do what was expected of her and dutifully followed her mother back to her house. She went upstairs to her bedroom and sat on the bed. Below her, she could hear Jennifer barking orders at the Unjudged in the control room. Kicking an old mobile phone across the floor, Paige realised her mother had done exactly what she had done when Paige was 10: sent her to her room so she could do exactly what she wanted to do. Not that Paige would have been able to stop her anyway. Jennifer was clearly not in the frame of mind to negotiate.
She had to do something, though. She stood and looked through the bedroom window just in time to see Lana and her mother enter a house across the street. After a while, Jennifer had come out, looking annoyed, followed by Lana, looking suspicious with a large bag on her back. Paige didn’t know what to do, but she knew Lana would be in charge of attacking the pier, which was an attack she wanted to be part of.
Her long-term future was uncertain. She didn’t sympathise enough with the Unjudged to approve of their actions. She didn’t want to go back into URC-controlled territory to face her punishment. There was, however, one thing she knew. She wanted revenge on the man who killed her brother. That would do for now. She found one of Sam’s old hoodies in his room and swapped it for the one she wore. She pulled the hood up over her head and snuck out of the house.
After a few streets, Paige saw the change in Lana’s mannerisms was permanent. When she had met Lana the night before, she was impressed by the way the Unjudged woman held herself. She was confident and assertive, if a pinch psychotic. But now she was walking with hesitation, checking each doorway—not for opportunity but for threats. Whether that was because she was worried about the fight to take the pier, Paige didn’t know. But it definitely had something to do with whatever was in that backpack.
If Lana—who killed without concern and hated the reckoners—was hiding something from Jennifer, then it was either something to be used to topple her mother’s command or so violent that even Jennifer, who was prepared to order a host of people to kill themselves, thought it was too drastic. Either way, Paige was determined to find out.
They walked through the town and towards the sea-facing apartments that hovered over the cliffs. As a child, Paige had always found the Victorian-Era buildings inspiring. At each of the four corners was a small white tower, surrounded by glass. The rooms inside were like little observation pods. They allowed the owners an unobstructed view of the sea to one side and the town to the other. Paige and Sam had always wanted to go in.
Lana rang one of the doorbells and stepped inside. Paige knew she wouldn’t be able to follow immediately. She needed a distraction to pass the time. To the left of the building was a small coffee vendor. The man, who stood in the spring sunshine, had been running the little cart for as long as Paige could remember. He was there throughout the year, selling awful coffee and terrible ice creams. He made a fortune off naive or lazy tourists who were unaware there was a Starbucks around the corner.
Paige didn’t have a choice. She wanted to keep an eye on the building Lana had gone into. Starbucks promised a better cup of coffee but would mean she would be away from her post for 10 crucial minutes. She approached the vendor, and he grinned as he jumped to his feet.
“Hello, my dear,” he said. “What can I get you?”
“Just a black coffee, please.” Paige didn’t want to risk whatever he had for milk.
“Coming up.”
He turned to a dirty filter machine and picked up a Styrofoam cup. With a practiced flourish, he pressed a couple of buttons and a dark liquid started to trickle. Once he was satisfied the coffee was suitably burned, he looked at Paige and gestured to an array of processed cakes and treats.
“Anything to go with it?”
“No thanks. I…” Paige realised that she had no money. “Oh, shit! Look, I’m sorry. I don’t have any cash.”
He took the finished coffee and passed it to her. It was boiling hot, and Paige had to pass it from hand to hand to stop it from burning her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s the last of the pot. You look like you need it.”
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, I think everyone in this town’s got some idea.”
“I know, I mean…”
“You Unjudged?”
Paige was taken aback. He had asked with such a detached air, as if he were asking her what football team she supported, not which philosophy drove her view of divinity, human mortality and government control. In London, Paige had never been asked that. Everyone had kept quiet and assumed people supported the reckoners. Those who supported the Unjudged or any of the other anti-reckoner factions generally kept that information to themselves.
“Don’t look so shocked,” the man said. He poured himself a cup of coffee and started drinking it immediately. It became obvious to Paige why his coffee was so terrible. The man had probably burned any taste buds to nothing years ago.
“I’m not shocked.”
“You’re the Grimwood girl, aren’t you?”
“How do you know that?”
The man smirked again. “I know most things,” he wagged a finger at her. “But I thought you’d buggered off to London.”
“I’m visiting.”
“Didn’t your brother get killed last night?”
Paige nodded.
“Fucking shame,” he said, shaking his head before going silent for a second, as if mourning. “So I take it you’re a fan of the Unjudged, then—what with your mother and all that?”
“I’m undecided.”
“Undecided Unjudged?” The man took another sip. “What does Jennifer think about that?”
“The coffee’s pretty good,” Paige tried to change the subject. She thought about leaving and finding another vantage point, but the man carried on talking.
“See, I like the reckoners. I mean, they are bastards, and I’m not saying that happened to your brother should have happened to your brother. But I remember when I was growing up. This place was worse than it was now. Everyone left. No tourists. Nothing. The pier even stopped doing a show for a year. Crime everywhere. Drugs everywhere.”
Paige nodded. She kept her eyes fixed on the apartment block Lana had gone into.
“But then the reckoners started in London. And the drugs stopped coming here. I mean, apart from the odd bit of weed that little McArthur lad grows in his loft. Very rare that anyone overdoses on weed, though.”
“So why stay in Cromer?” Paige asked. “Why hang around if you think the rest of the countr
y is better?”
“I’ve always lived in Cromer,” the old man replied. “Wouldn’t know what to do if I left it. Besides, the Unjudged are harmless. Bunch of bankers and ex-civil servants with booze habits. Or other habits…”
Paige remembered Lana’s bloodied face and the man’s face splitting in two. “They’re not great,” she said, sipping the coffee again.
The front door opened, and Lana left the apartment without the bag. Paige turned towards the old man, hoping Lana wouldn’t recognise her. But out of the corner of her eye, Paige could see Lana was distracted by something. She was looking at her feet as she walked, with her face scrunched up in concentration.
“Behind you,” said the old man. “That’s one of them there. I think she’s some kind of boss. I wonder what’s up with her.”
“What makes you say that?” Paige asked.
He reached under the stall and took out a newspaper. On the front of it was a picture of a man trying to avoid being photographed. His hand was outstretched towards the camera, and his head was bowed low. The headline read ‘PAEDO DOC RUNS OFF’.
“This bloke skipped bail and ran off to join them,” said the old man.
“What did he do?”
“Groped two teenage girls during an examination,” he replied. “Piece of shit. And the Unjudged let him in and hid him.”
“Why?”
“You’ll have to ask your mother that. Me? I think it’s a disgrace. Most of them are nice enough on the surface, but you can never trust people who run.” He tapped the stand. “I’ve been here all my life. Anything I do, people hear about and tell me off for. It keeps me honest.”
Lana was long gone. Paige decided it was safe to inspect the apartment. She raised the coffee cup and nodded to the man. “Thanks for the chat.”
“See, that was the problem with the world before the reckoning,” he was ignoring Paige’s attempt to leave. “If you do something wrong, you just move on. Somewhere no one knows you. And no one would try to know you or try to find out who you were. But with the reckoners, you fuck up and then zap! You’re in The Store.”
Paige looked over his shoulder to check the coast was clear. “Thanks for the coffee,” she said and dropped the nearly full cup into the bin.
“You are very welcome, love. You want my advice?”
Paige just raised her eyebrows. She knew she didn’t have a choice.
“When the fighting starts, keep your head down and wait for the reckoning. All of this, it’s just a smokescreen. The reckoning will come to Cromer whether we like it or not. You just make sure you’re alive to see it. And if some of those Unjudged get themselves in a bother, leave them to it. It’s their reckoning as much as it is ours.”
“That sounds like good advice. What was your name?”
“They call me Jesus. But my name is Monty.”
“Which name do you prefer?”
He grinned. “Which one do you think?”
“See you later, Jesus.”
Paige left Jesus as he pulled a new bag of cheap coffee out of the cart and began to boil the kettle. She tried to figure out what Lana might have done to make her join the Unjudged. Not that it mattered. Whatever she had been, she was a murderer now. Surely nothing could be worse.
Paige walked to the apartment block and hopped up the four stairs that led to the front door. She pressed the same doorbell Lana had done and waited. Flat 9. As she waited, the large green door in front of her seemed to grow more imposing. Eventually, she heard a slight click as the intercom was picked up inside.
“What do you want?” the man who had answered spoke quickly, betraying his anxiety.
“Lana sent me.”
“What for?”
“I have something from Lana.” Paige chastised herself for repeating Lana’s name like a password.
The heavy front door buzzed as the lock disengaged. Paige pushed it open and entered a plain but well-maintained hallway. She stopped at the residents’ mailboxes and underneath the space for Flat 9 was written ‘Ed and Takhir Rogers-Osipyan’. Paige remembered the names and went up the stairs to the apartment.
A man of about 60 answered the door. He was wearing an unseasonably thick jumper. It was only when she looked at his face she realised she had no plan for this eventuality. Her scheming had finished at the front door. She opened her mouth but couldn’t find the words.
“What is it?” the man asked.
“What?”
“You said you had something from Lana.”
“Oh. No. I’m here for the bag.”
“The bag,” the man looked suspicious.
“The bag that Lana just dropped off.”
“Who sent you?”
“What’s in the bag?” Paige asked as she tried to play hardball.
“I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“She just brought it around. I…”
Paige realised that the door was slowly being closed in her face. She moved her foot to block its path. The man looked down at it. His eyes narrowed, and Paige noticed his chest had puffed outwards.
“I’m Jennifer’s daughter,” she said. The man seemed shocked by the admission. He leaned on the door, increasing the pressure on her foot. Through that point Paige felt a tide of anger flow through her body. The reckoners had killed her brother, The Unjudged were dangerous and her mother was prepared to instigate a mass suicide.
This investigation was her one release, her way to make sense of the madness into which her life had descended. Her chest warmed in anger, and she screamed and punched the door. Her hand shook with the impact, and she lost the skin on her knuckles.
“You’re as crazy as she is,” the man said and pushed her backwards. Paige grabbed his hand and tried to twist his wrist. She felt the muscles in the man’s arm tense, and her exertions had no reward. He moved forward and pushed her to the other side of the corridor. He looked to see whether anyone else was around. They were alone, although there was no knowing how many of his neighbours were listening through their doors. He pointed at Paige’s chest.
“Leave,” he hissed. “You have no right being here.”
But Paige was staring at a small tattoo on the man’s wrist that had been revealed when he pushed her backwards. Paige recognised the symbol. The URC logo.
“You’re a fucking reckoner?” she shouted.
He grabbed her by the collar. “Inside—now,” he ordered. “All of a sudden, the apartment she had been trying so hard to get into appeared terrifying. Paige realised she had lost control of the situation. The man grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her through the doorway.
Inside, another man stood, wiping a clear gel off his hands.
“What do we have here?” he asked.
Lana
M arie was waiting when Lana reached the Hotel de Paris. She was leaning back in the reception area with her feet up on a coffee table. Other Unjudged were relaxing as well. Dave and Bob, recovered from their injuries, were parading with their weapons drawn. Behind the counter, the hotel manager was writing something down. She glanced up to count the number of furnishings that were damaged and returned to her scribbling. Lana wondered who the manager thought was going to pay for the damages.
The lobby was spacious with exits to the cliff top and the road behind the hotel. To the left of the reception was an old-fashioned lift area that hosted three lifts, two of which were not in operation. The front of the hotel was completely blocked.
The one working lift dinged, and a middle-aged man and young woman came out. Both were carrying small suitcases and looked like they had dressed for Hawaii. They walked towards reception, not taking their eyes off the Unjudged. Lana saw Dave harden his stance.
“The Smiths from Room 305,” the middle-aged man said. “We’re checking out.”
The manager put down her pen and clicked the display in front of her. “That’s you done.”
“My other nights have been refunded?”
“Yes.
Well, it’ll take three working days, but…”
“That’s fine. Is my car being brought around?”
The woman looked confused. “Sir, you can’t exit through the front door.”
She pointed to the barricade.
“How far is the carpark?” he asked.
“About half a mile down the seafront.”
The woman tugged on his sleeve, but he ignored her. “That’s ridiculous,” he said.
“Sorry, Sir. We wouldn’t normally request this, but there are extraordinary circumstances.”
“Yes—those wankers.”
“What did you say?” Dave asked. He stormed over to the man, fingers gripped tightly on the handle of his weapon, which was now an Elizabethan fencing foil. It was sharp. Lana had seen the confrontation coming and got herself between the two men.
The man shouted over her shoulder.
“I said you’re all a bunch of wankers. You especially, you thieving fucking - ”
Dave hissed. He opened his eyes wide, willing Lana to get out of the way. She understood the gesture but stayed still. She wished she had her pike. In fact: “Dave, I need you to fetch my pike.”
He shook his head.
“I’m not going to kill him,” Lana continued. “Maybe just chop off a limb or something.”
“You fuckers have ruined my holiday. We were supposed to be getting fucked up and watching the show tonight, and what have you done? You’ve blown up half the pier!”
“That’s enough,” Lana said, turning her head to the side but keeping her eyes on Dave. He was eager rather than angry as he looked for an opportunity to make amends for his failure last night. He stepped forward, but Lana stopped him by placing her hand on his chest. He looked disappointed. She repeated her earlier request: “Dave, I need you to get my pike.”
“Send one of the others.”
The tourist leaned over her. She could feel his warm breath on her neck.
“Go on, Dave,” he said. “Do what the little bitch said, you little bitch.”
Lana blinked as she tried to figure out how to deal with the situation. Then, decision made, she swung her elbow up into the tourist’s throat. Dave smiled as the man dropped to the floor, wheezing. Lana turned to the female tourist and told her to take her friend and leave. She did, pulling both suitcases and leaving the man to follow her. He pulled himself up and half-crawled to the door. By the time they had both left the hotel, the gap between the two of them was quite sizable.
