The Resistance

by Gemma Malley

  Anna’s eyes widened in shock. ‘It’s not in your blood. You hate the Pincents. We’re going to Opt Out, Peter. You know we are.’

  He was being cruel. He hated himself for it. He took a mouthful of shepherd’s pie. ‘And achieve what? Die young, before we can make a difference? Why should we? Why shouldn’t we stay around like everyone else?’

  ‘Because we have to make room for new people,’ Anna gasped. ‘We’re going to create a New Generation. You know that. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘What’s so great about new people?’ Peter interrupted. ‘And what if we can’t . . . I mean, what if there is no new generation? What then?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Anna said, her face setting into the expression Peter remembered from Grange Hall – part stubborn, part afraid.

  ‘Of course you don’t. How could you?’ Peter replied, his anger turning into bitterness, and self-loathing because he knew he was taking his anger out on the one person who was entirely blameless. ‘You know nothing. You’re too naive, that’s your problem. You believe whatever you’ve been told. What your parents told you. What Mrs Pincent told you. What I told you. But it’s all rubbish, Anna. I can’t believe you can’t see that.’

  Anna swallowed and he could see the pinprick of tears in her eyes.

  ‘It’s not rubbish,’ she said, her voice cracking just slightly. ‘And I’m not naive. You’ve been drinking and you don’t know what you’re saying and I wish you’d shut up.’

  ‘Maybe I should,’ Peter said, standing up, refusing to meet her eyes. ‘That’s what Pip wants me to do, I’m sure. Just shut up and do what I’m told and not ask any difficult questions.’

  ‘Pip? But he’s on our side. He’s helping us . . .’

  ‘Right,’ Peter said sarcastically. ‘Do you think he’ll help us if we sign the Declaration? Do you think he’ll be on our side then?’

  ‘No!’ Anna was standing up now, fire in her eyes that Peter hadn’t seen for a long time. ‘No, he won’t. Because it won’t happen. Don’t talk like this, Peter. You’re scaring me. We won’t sign. We’ll never sign. We’re going to have children, and they won’t be Surpluses. They’ll never be Surpluses.’

  Peter stared at her, trying to put into words all the thoughts and feelings that crowded his head. He knew the truth. There would be no children. There would only ever be the two of them and Ben. There was no reason not to sign any more, no reason to die. But he couldn’t tell her. Not yet.

  ‘If you loved me, you’d sign.’ He flung the words at her, kicking his chair and storming out of the kitchen.

  ‘Peter . . .’ Anna called after him, but he barely heard her as he stomped off to the sitting room, collapsed on the sofa and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  ‘Peter?’

  Peter looked up, disoriented. He squinted at the face in front of him, at the familiar eyes staring down at him.

  ‘Pip?’

  ‘Anna called me. She said you’d been drinking. She sounded very worried about you.’

  ‘She called you?’ Peter pulled himself up and looked at Pip incredulously. ‘And you came here? What about code names? What about security?’

  ‘An emergency is an emergency. And don’t worry, I was careful,’ Pip said. Music was playing; Peter looked around and saw that the radio was on. Of course it was, he thought to himself bitterly. Pip never missed a trick. ‘Anna said you were confused,’ Pip continued. ‘I’d like to help.’

  ‘Well she’s wrong,’ Peter said angrily, moving his head and realising that he was still intoxicated. ‘I’m not confused about anything. I told her we were going to sign the Declaration. Anyway, what are you doing here out in the open? I thought you only hung around darkened rooms, feeling important.’

  ‘You want to sign the Declaration?’ Pip’s voice was steady, flat, and it drove Peter into a rage.

  ‘You want to give me one reason why I shouldn’t?’ he asked bitterly, standing up suddenly, then gripping the side of the sofa to keep his balance. ‘You want to tell me that the Surplus Sterilisation Programme never happened? You want to tell Anna that after all the crap you’ve been feeding us about “being the revolution” and “parenting the future children of the world” she’s never going to have a child? That she can’t because her insides have been ripped out or put to sleep or turned off, or whatever it is they’ve done to her? Because I can’t.’

  Pip was looking at him strangely. ‘The programme. It’s really true? It happened? How do you know? How did you find out?’

  Peter didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Even through his anger he’d harboured some small hope that there might be an explanation, that Pip might not have known. ‘I saw the report,’ he said eventually, his voice low and bitter. ‘Saw our names on the list.’ He looked at Pip in disgust. ‘You knew,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I thought you must know; you say you know everything. But then I thought no, you couldn’t know, because if you even suspected something, you’d have told us. You wouldn’t have allowed us to Opt Out of the Declaration, to build our whole lives around having children, when you knew full well we couldn’t have any. I thought you weren’t that much of a bastard. But I’m guessing I was wrong. Maybe you’re the one who’s outlived his usefulness, Pip. Ever thought about that?’

  He could see Pip’s eyes widen slightly, even in the darkness of the sitting room, lit only by a glimmer of moonlight through the window. Guilt, Peter thought to himself. Or perhaps just the shock of being found out.

  ‘Peter, you must listen. There was talk of such a programme but we understood that it had been abandoned. But even if this tragedy came to pass, there’s still reason to Opt Out. To make a statement. You, of all people. Eternal life was never the destiny of mankind, Peter. We must fight the dogma that death is wrong, that nature’s cycle can be ignored.’

  ‘Like you, you mean?’ Peter asked, his eyes flashing. ‘Oh, no. That’s right. You signed the Declaration, didn’t you? Living for ever isn’t something you were prepared to sacrifice, is it? Just me. Just Peter Pincent.’

  Pip frowned uneasily. ‘Peter, you know very well that I have no interest in prolonging my own life, in watching all this misery unfold; but my role in the resistance meant I had to sign the Declaration to ensure that the movement could develop. I couldn’t risk it dying out. I live for the cause, that is all.’

  ‘You mean you couldn’t risk leaving it to the next generation to run the Underground in case they rejected your ideas,’ Peter spat. ‘You’re as bad as the Authorities. All you care about is your own self-interest. Well, screw you. I’ve had enough. You never do anything anyway. As far as I can see, Pincent Pharma isn’t exactly afraid of you.’

  Pip’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m sorry you feel this way. I have never sought to be important, only to protect mankind from the terrible temptation of eternal life, only to fight for the new, for the young. I was going to contact you tomorrow anyway, Peter, because I have information about Pincent Pharma that I wanted you to investigate. A Unit X on the sixth floor. We are very concerned about what’s happening there.’

  ‘Unit X?’ Peter put his hands in his pockets. ‘You tell me nothing for weeks and now that I’ve finally seen through you, you tell me about a Unit X? I’m not an idiot, Pip. I’ve had enough. I think you should go.’

  He opened the sitting room door to leave; Pip stood up.

  ‘Peter, don’t walk away from me. You’re making a mistake. For Anna as much as yourself.’

  Peter turned back, his eyes flashing. ‘Don’t you talk to me about Anna,’ he said, his voice low and hoarse. ‘Not after this. And don’t you even think about contacting her again. We’re going to sign, and we’re going to be happy. You make one move and I’m telling the Authorities everything about you. I want you to leave us alone, Pip, do you understand? Just leave us alone.’

  ‘I understand.’ Pip’s voice was gentle; sad rather than angry. ‘But I am here for you, Peter. I will always be here.’

  ‘Wh
atever,’ Peter said, pushing past him and making his way up the stairs towards the bedroom. ‘You can see yourself out.’

  Then, remembering something, he turned back. ‘I got your message, by the way. File 23b, wasn’t it?’ Casually, he pulled it out from under his waistband and threw it down the stairs.

  ‘Message?’ Pip had followed Peter from the sitting room into the hallway. ‘What message?’

  ‘Consider it my last job for the Underground. Consider us quits.’

  ‘Wait, Peter. I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t ask you for a file . . .’ Pip called after him, but Peter had already reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner. And as he crept slowly towards the bedroom, his anger turned to desperation. The tears that had tried so hard to fall earlier began to stream from his eyes, as he did his best to fight them back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he begged, as he got into bed and pulled Anna towards him. ‘I don’t deserve you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Of course you deserve me,’ Anna whispered, turning and wrapping her arms around him. ‘Everything’s going to be OK.’ And Peter squeezed her back tightly, tighter than ever before, because he knew it wouldn’t, because he knew that things would never be OK again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anna carefully manoeuvred Ben’s battered pram down the steps leading to the high street, and followed the road round until she reached Angler’s Way, where the Bright Days coffee shop was situated, and where she was due to meet Maria. It didn’t feel like a bright day. It felt like a horrible, black, gloomy day, even if the sun was doing its best to shine through the clouds. Peter had left early that morning, had said nothing about the night before, had given her no reassurance that everything would be OK, that things would return to normal. Pip had assured her that he would be watching closely, that she shouldn’t worry. But she did worry; she worried all the time. She felt like a balloon, felt as if Peter was losing his grip on her, that any minute now she’d be floating away into oblivion, alone and helpless in a never-ending sky.

  As she entered the coffee shop, she saw Maria sitting at a small table in the window and she waved, relieved to see a friendly face, a face that didn’t seem disappointed in her or angry for no reason. Maria immediately stood up and helped her navigate Ben through the closely clustered tables, then smiled benevolently at him. ‘Such a handsome young man,’ she said sadly. ‘Such a shame he won’t have any friends to play with.’

  The smile on Maria’s face was so sweet, so warm, and Anna felt her eyes well up. She longed to talk to someone about Peter, to hear a comforting voice telling her that his anger, his words, had meant nothing, but instead she wiped the tears away briskly and sat down, ordering a cup of sweet tea for herself and a glass of milk for Ben.

  ‘You know, I am so very grateful you came,’ Maria said, once the waiter had moved away. ‘You’ve been through such a lot already. There’s no reason why you should have to worry about other Surpluses.’

  Anna shook her head. ‘Of course I have to,’ she said firmly, her confidence slowly returning. ‘Peter and I were lucky. But there are lots of Surpluses who aren’t so lucky. Who are still in Halls, who . . .’ She winced as she spoke; she could almost smell the stale, institutional air of Grange Hall.

  ‘Who need our help,’ Maria whispered, then moved closer to Anna. ‘What I want to ask you, Anna . . . you can say no. I want to make that very clear. I don’t expect anything from you – you’ve been through so much and I know you’ve got a great deal on your plate, with Ben and everything.’

  Anna nodded seriously, and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stick up slightly as they always did when she knew something important was going to happen.

  ‘The thing is, Anna, there are children being hidden all across the country – by their parents, by relatives, by sympathisers. But it’s getting more and more difficult.’

  ‘You’re . . . you’re hiding children? Surpluses, you mean?’

  Maria nodded. ‘We prefer to describe them as children and young people,’ she said cautiously.

  ‘Like my parents,’ Anna said breathlessly. ‘Are you . . . do you work for the Underground?’

  Maria frowned. ‘No, Anna. We . . . we prefer to keep ourselves separate from the Underground.’

  ‘But the Underground could help you! They helped me and Peter. They helped my parents. Really, I could make contact for you . . . if you want?’

  Maria shook her head. ‘Anna, when you’re involved in something as dangerous as this, it’s important to keep the number of people involved very small. It’s just a matter of trust.’

  ‘You don’t trust the Underground? But that’s silly. They’re the only people you can trust.’

  Maria’s mouth twisted slightly. ‘Perhaps. And I know they helped you and your parents. But other Surpluses in their protection have been found. I’m sure they have their priorities, but we’re not interested in revolution. We just want to protect the children.’

  Anna felt her chest constrict. ‘You think the Underground don’t?’

  Maria bit her lip. ‘I just think that sometimes it’s safer to act alone.’

  Anna took a few seconds to digest this information.

  ‘And what is it you’re doing? What can I do to help?’

  Maria looked around furtively; the coffee shop was full, but no one appeared to be paying them any attention.

  ‘We want to break into the Surplus Halls,’ she said, when she seemed satisfied that no one was listening. ‘We want to help the children in them escape.’

  Anna’s eyes widened and her heart was pounding in her chest. ‘You want to break into Grange Hall? It’s impossible. There’re guards, Catchers . . .’

  ‘I know that, Anna. I do. But we thought . . . if you could get out, then we can get in. Create a diversion. Then, when everyone’s looking the other way, we’ll get the Surpluses out.’

  ‘Get them out?’ Anna’s head filled suddenly with images of Grange Hall, with the cold, bleak corridors, the small dormitories, the low ceilings, and she shuddered. ‘But . . . but . . .’

  ‘We need plans, layouts; we need to know how you got out, Anna,’ Maria was saying.

  Anna shook herself. ‘You’ll never manage it,’ she whispered. ‘They’ll catch you. They’ll send you to prison.’

  ‘Perhaps. But that’s a chance we have to take. Someone’s got to do something, Anna. Even if we fail, people will hear about what we did. The Authorities will realise they can’t ignore us.’

  Anna took a deep breath. Maria was right. It was always worth trying. Peter had taught her that – if she hadn’t believed him, she’d still be behind the walls of Grange Hall herself. ‘Peter had a map,’ she said tentatively. ‘From the Underground. We got out through Solitary. In the basement. But they’ll have closed it now. The tunnel, I mean.’

  ‘Of course, but that’s still of great use. Do you know how they got the map? Does Peter still have it?’

  ‘I don’t know about how they got it. Someone at the Authorities, maybe. I think Peter’s still got it, though. I’m sure he has.’ Anna looked up at Maria anxiously. ‘But where will you take the Surpluses? How will you keep them safe?’

  ‘The children, you mean,’ Maria corrected her, leaning over Ben’s pram and stroking his head. ‘People will look after them. People like us.’ She stood up to go. ‘Thank you, Anna. I knew that you were good and courageous. As soon as I saw your face, I knew you were someone I could trust. I’ll be in touch, and until then, you look after this little man, won’t you?’

  She pressed Anna’s hand, then turned and left, leaving Anna staring after her. It was madness, she thought to herself. You couldn’t just break into Grange Hall. You couldn’t get five hundred Surpluses out secretly and keep them hidden.

  But then again, she’d told Peter it was futile trying to escape, and they’d done it, hadn’t they? Slowly, she picked up her tea and took a sip, wondering how to mention the map to Peter, bearing in mind his present mood. She decided that perh
aps she wouldn’t say anything for the time being; for now she’d keep Maria’s plan to herself.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After what had felt like the longest morning he’d ever experienced, Peter stared listlessly at his chicken stew with extra iron and the tranqua-smoothie which his palm print had ordered for him; it was supposed to both boost his immune system and lower his blood pressure. What he really needed, though, was something to relieve the pain in his head and the feeling of nausea that crept through his body every time he thought of Anna, of the Declaration, of the choice that lay before him.

  ‘I didn’t know you were stressed,’ Dr Edwards said, sitting down and eyeing the smoothie. ‘Anything you’d like to talk about?’

  Peter shook his head. ‘I’m fine,’ he said flatly. ‘Those machines don’t know what they’re talking about.’

  Dr Edwards smiled. ‘I see. Hundreds of years of research and technological development dismissed out of hand. Well, I suppose you could be right. But then again, your dilated pupils, the frown lines above your eyes and the fact that you’ve been staring at your food for a full five minutes without even picking up a spoon suggest to me that perhaps the machine might know what it’s talking about. So to speak.’

  His eyes were twinkling, but Peter was in no mood for his humour.

  ‘Fine,’ he said stiffly. ‘I’ll have my tranqua-smoothie.’ He picked it up and drank some – to his surprise, it was delicious. He intended to put it down after one or two gulps, but somehow the instruction didn’t reach his hand or his mouth and moments later, the glass was drained. He put it down and sat back in his chair; he felt warm, nourished, slightly light-headed, a bit like he’d felt years ago when he first met the Coveys, when they put him to bed and read him a story and told him that he’d be safe with them.

  He started to eat his stew.

  ‘I take it your mood is not related to the codes I had you memorising this morning?’ Dr Edwards asked, then he sat back in his chair. ‘I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business. If you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to.’