by Gemma Malley
‘You could never let me down,’ Peter said tightly. ‘Never.’ He took her in his arms, and she flinched a little. Then he frowned. ‘You’re hurt,’ he said angrily. ‘What have they done to you?’
‘Nothing,’ Anna said quickly. ‘Just the guards, they . . . It’s nothing, really. But there was a doctor. He said he needed to do some . . . investigations,’ she said, looking at Dr Edwards. ‘But it’s Ben who needs a doctor. I think he’s ill. I think he needs help.’
Dr Edwards moved towards Anna and felt the baby’s head; it was burning up.
‘Why are you here?’ he asked, relieved to have another focus. ‘Who brought you?’
Anna looked up at him, wide-eyed. ‘The police. The Catchers. He said Maria was a Catcher. I thought Maria wanted to save the children and I wanted to help . . . I wanted to . . .’ As she spoke, fat tears began to cascade down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ she choked. ‘I’m sorry . . .’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ Peter pulled her into him gently. ‘Don’t ever be sorry, Anna. This is all my fault . . .’
Dr Edwards looked around the room. On a small table in the corner sat a file; quickly he picked it up and crouching low, close to the light, he started to read. Then he swung round.
‘These medical investigations,’ he said, his voice catching as he spoke. ‘Do you know what they were for?’
Anna shook her head and Dr Edwards felt his shoulders tighten with determination, with anger – at Richard for what he’d done, at himself for not knowing about it.
‘Anna,’ Peter whispered, ‘we’re going to get you out of here. We’re going to get you a long way away. Pip’s here. And the Underground. They’re waiting for you. Waiting to help.’
‘Pip? He’s here?’
Peter nodded. ‘There are Surpluses here,’ he whispered tightly. ‘I followed my grandfather. I found Unit X.’
‘Unit X?’
‘They’ve got Surpluses there. They’re pregnant. He’s using them for Longevity+. Embryonic stem cells. They’re . . .’ He looked away, the image of Sheila making him shudder involuntarily.
‘They’re not the only ones,’ Dr Edwards said, his voice strained.
‘Not the only ones what?’
Dr Edwards met Peter’s eye then looked at Anna. ‘I mean they’re not the only ones who are pregnant.’
‘You mean there are more?’ Peter said bitterly.
‘Not the Surpluses,’ Dr Edwards whispered. ‘Anna. Your notes,’ he said, turning to Anna. ‘You’re pregnant, Anna. And according to this file, they want to . . . They . . .’ Dr Edwards couldn’t bring himself to repeat what he’d read, the abbreviations he knew all too well, abbreviations that he’d pushed from his mind for years.
Peter looked at Dr Edwards uncertainly. ‘She’s pregnant? Anna’s pregnant?’
‘But the Surplus Sterilisation programme,’ Anna said, her voice several octaves higher than usual. ‘I can’t be. I . . .’
‘It didn’t exist,’ Peter said, grabbing her and holding her tight. ‘It never got ratified. My grandfather . . . he left that file for me on purpose. He sent me a note, one that looked like it was from the Underground, just so that I’d find it, the programme file. But it was never passed. He just wanted me to sign, that’s all.’
‘So I’m pregnant? I’m really pregnant?’ Anna gasped.
‘Yes, Anna. You’re going to have a baby.’
A huge smile filled Anna’s pale face, brought to life her worried eyes. Peter suddenly pulled away and stared at her in disbelief, in horror.
‘And I was going to . . . I got you to . . .’ Frantically, he reached into his back pocket and took out a large piece of paper, ripping it up into as many pieces as he could, before throwing them on the ground. ‘Your Declaration,’ he said, taking Anna in his arms again and burying his head in her neck. ‘You signed it because of me. And I’ll never forgive myself. But it’s gone now.’ He kissed her. ‘I’ve been so stupid. So completely stupid.’
‘Not stupid,’ Dr Edward said quietly, looking at the guard’s slumped body. ‘Sometimes we trust when we shouldn’t. Your grandfather is a very wicked man, Peter. He needs to be stopped. Whatever it takes.’
‘I’m going to do more than that,’ Peter said fiercely. ‘I’m going to destroy him.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Following Peter’s directions, Pip edged along the side of the wall of the great warehouse-like rooms, stealthily, silently. His guard’s uniform had enabled him to pass easily through the building and up the stairs to the sixth floor; he knew that from his vantage point above the Security Centre, Jude would be watching his progress silently as he flicked from camera to camera.
There were voices, suddenly, and Pip hung back in the shadows as two men passed, talking in low voices.
‘It doesn’t matter anyway. From tomorrow, this will all be official.’
‘You trust that Authorities woman?’
‘It’s not a matter of trust. She can’t afford not to approve us. The revenue generation will be huge. Jobs, energy, everyone’s wellbeing – it’s a no-brainer. Stop worrying.’
‘I’m not worrying.’
They didn’t see Pip; they walked straight past him, out of the door and down the stairs. Carefully, Pip inched forwards towards the door from which they’d emerged, trusting, hoping that Jude was in place, that he was watching, that he was ready. Then, tentatively, he opened it just a fraction, immediately blinking against the bright lights. There were two nurses in the room, sitting in the corner at a table, chatting. Otherwise the room was in silence. Next to the door was an intercom phone and two light switches; silently, Pip looked up at the camera, nodded. His trust in Jude was rewarded seconds later when the lights suddenly went out, and Pip slipped through the door.
Immediately he heard the sound of footsteps rushing over.
‘The blackout’s spreading,’ a nurse said anxiously.
‘Hello? Hello? Oh, for God’s sake, the intercom’s gone dead.’
‘What do we do?’
‘We’d better let them know downstairs.’
Pip moved quickly in the dark and grabbed the nurse nearest the door. She screamed. ‘Up against the wall,’ he barked.
‘What? Who’s there? Who said that?’
‘I’ve got a gun. I want you up against the wall, all of you.’
He heard yelps and scrambling, then took out a torch, shining it around the room, assuring himself that no one was hiding from him. ‘Turn around,’ he ordered. ‘Arms above your heads.’
‘But the guards . . . The guards will be here in minutes. Are you mad? You can’t just walk in here and . . .’
‘I can do what I like,’ he said, through gritted teeth.
Pip picked up a towel and ordered a nurse to gag the doctor who was speaking, then to tie up the others; finally, he tied her up. Then, quickly, he ran to the beds. ‘Sheila?’ he asked, looking from girl to girl, his heart aching at what he saw.
A girl looked up sleepily. ‘Was I Valuable?’ she asked dozily. ‘Can I go back to Grange Hall now?’
‘Not to Grange Hall,’ Pip said, his voice tightening as he rushed over to her. ‘But let’s see if we can’t get you somewhere safe, OK? Let’s see if we can’t get all of you out of here.’
He took out his phone and made a call to the men waiting in the basement of the building. ‘I’m in,’ he said simply. ‘I’m going to need four men up here now.’
‘Samuels?’
Derek Samuels moved his receiver to his ear immediately. ‘Yes? Mr Pincent?’
‘The press conference will be starting at six o’clock sharp. I need you to collect Peter.’
‘Of course. I’ll be there right away.’
‘Good.’
Derek Samuels wiped a trickle of sweat off his forehead as he looked down at Guard 431, who was slumped against the wall beside the cell door, the girl gone. Another guard had been found dead in the waiting room off reception. Two more in a room off the second-floor landing. Tak
ing his gun out and holding it close to his chest, he called a guard to move the body.
‘Where’ve you been?’ Dr Edwards whispered anxiously. ‘The guards will be on to us any second now.’
They were in the basement as arranged; Pip, whose face had just appeared around the corner, grimaced. ‘You got Anna?’ he asked.
‘Yes. She’s here with me.’
Pip saw her thin frame standing behind Dr Edwards, and he nodded, then disappeared. Seconds later, he emerged again, a girl draped over his arms. Behind him four men were also carrying young girls. Underground men, Dr Edwards realised. Underground soldiers. ‘Good, because we need your help to get these girls out, now.’
Dr Edwards’ eyes widened. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘They’re from Unit X?’
Pip nodded. ‘Where’s Peter?’
‘Back in his cell.’
‘Good. The boat’s waiting. Take Sheila.’
He handed the girl in his arms to Dr Edwards, who took her gingerly.
‘Sheila? Is that really you?’ It was Anna talking; Sheila didn’t answer, but Anna took her hand nevertheless, squeezed it, planted herself beside her like a guard. She was so fragile, Dr Edwards thought to himself as he looked down at Sheila’s small frame and red hair, but her lightness only compounded the weight that he had felt bearing down on him since Peter and Pip had come into his laboratory that afternoon, since he’d discovered the truth about what was happening within these walls. He was complicit, he’d realised; he hadn’t done enough to stop it, had allowed Richard Pincent to bully him, to silence him. And these girls had paid the price. Slowly, heavily, he turned around and started walking back down the stairs, Anna beside him. Pip went ahead to secure their path; a few feet behind him, the four Underground soldiers followed. Stealthily, they made their way out of the basement to the loading bay where the rest of the Underground men were waiting in the winter darkness. Silently, he followed Pip, turning right out of the exit and following the wall of the building until they reached the marshland leading to the river. Their feet squelching in the boggy grass, they began to walk more quickly until finally they reached the boat, a sizeable armoured speedboat nestling against the river’s edge.
‘The tide’s low so you’ll have to jump,’ Pip said to Anna. ‘We’ll pass Ben down to you.’
Nodding bravely, Anna took a deep breath and jumped over the edge of the river bank, landing safely on the boat, then she reached up her hands for her brother.
The girls, groggy and sleepy, were passed down next; they half fell on to the boat where Anna quickly sat them up, pulling their gowns down where they had risen up, exposing the girls, leeching yet more dignity from them. Finally, the Underground soldiers themselves followed, hauling themselves down the bank and on to the boat below.
‘You should go with them,’ Pip said to Dr Edwards.
Dr Edwards looked at the boat, then shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You wanted me at the press conference.’
‘That was before you killed a guard and helped a prisoner and the Surpluses to escape. You won’t make it to the press conference. Go now. We’ll keep you hidden.’
Dr Edwards looked at the girls, at Anna, then back at Pip. ‘You know, this place has been my life,’ he said, his voice quiet. ‘Science has been my life for as long as I can remember. I thought I was seeking truth. I thought science was beautiful.’
‘Science can be beautiful,’ Pip said. ‘But good science, not bad.’
‘One can turn into the other so easily. I saw Longevity as the saviour of mankind. How can something so healing be so destructive?’
‘All beauty has a dark side. Heaven can’t exist without hell.’
Dr Edwards grimaced. ‘To discover, though, that you are on the side of the devils . . .’ he whispered. He looked back at Pincent Pharma with disgust.
‘It’s not your fault,’ Pip said, carefully, then he forced a smile. ‘Anyway, there’s always an Authorities ReTraining programme. What do they say? “Long Lives, New Challenges”?’
Dr Edwards caught his eye. ‘ReTraining,’ he said quietly. ‘Yes, of course. The truth is . . .’
‘Stop right there.’ Dr Edwards heard a voice shouting from behind them and turned around to be greeted by a flashlight and a uniformed figure approaching through the darkness. He immediately saw the glint of a gun in the guard’s hand.
‘Guard,’ he called out. ‘I can explain.’
‘No explanation required,’ the guard said. ‘Move an inch and you’re dead, both of you.’ He took out his walkie-talkie. ‘Back-up requested, back entrance, river frontage.’
‘Of course,’ Dr Edwards said, his mind working frantically. In moments, more guards would appear, he, Pip and the girls would be captured.
‘Guard, there’s no need for this,’ he said, then, affecting what he hoped was a confident, reassuring tone. ‘I thought I heard something, that’s all. Came out to investigate.’ Then he turned to Pip. ‘Go,’ he hissed, as the guard’s location was confirmed by a tinny-sounding voice. ‘Get out of here.’
‘I’m not leaving you here,’ Pip said, under his breath. ‘There’s no need. We can take this guard.’
‘There’ll be more in minutes,’ Dr Edwards whispered back. ‘It’s not worth the risk.’
‘But he’ll kill you,’ Pip said. ‘You know he will.’
The guard, who had halted some metres away, was staring at them impassively, pointing his gun at one of them, then the other, then back again. Not far away, Dr Edwards could hear the thud of boots on hard ground, the sound of running.
‘You know, death isn’t as scary as I thought it would be,’ he said, his voice soft, but loud enough for Pip to hear. ‘Perhaps Peter was right about it being nature’s version of Renewal after all.’ He turned back, briefly, and smiled. ‘Tell him he was right. Tell him forever isn’t important – it’s now that counts. Doing the right thing. Finally . . .’
Giving Pip one last look, he started to walk towards the guard, his hands up in the air. ‘Really, Guard, there’s no reason to be like this. If you’d just let me explain . . .’
‘Explain? I don’t want an explanation. Stay where you are or I’ll shoot.’ The guard was squinting at him; Dr Edwards had positioned himself in the glare of his flashlight.
‘But we’re on the same side,’ Dr Edwards continued, watching as Pip shot him one last look before ducking down over the river bank out of sight.
‘Stop moving immediately or I’ll shoot,’ the guard said, angry now. ‘Come one more step . . .’
‘One more? You’d shoot me just for one more step?’ Dr Edwards asked, continuing to walk. But his words were drowned out by the sound of a pistol firing; as he landed on the mud, he felt the blissful sensation of pain shooting around his body, cleansing his sins, freeing him from anguish. He heard the guard erupt in anger as he realised that Pip had disappeared, heard him barking at the other guards arriving on the scene to search along the river’s edge. But as his life ebbed away, Dr Edwards heard the unmistakable sound of a boat’s engine starting up, and as he closed his eyes, he knew the guards were already too late.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Derek Samuels watched over the shoulder of the programmer, suppressing the desire to shoot him in the head for failing miserably to restore power. He was not a man who ever allowed himself to lose control, but today he was close. ‘The press conference is due to start in fifteen minutes,’ he said, his voice low and menacing, ‘and if energy is not restored, if Mr Pincent is forced to cancel, then you and your family will live to regret it.’
The programmer, who was sweating profusely, nodded. He’d had his entire team scanning every interface, every programme, every connection, and still he’d found nothing. ‘We’re doing everything we can,’ he said, his voice tight with stress. ‘We can’t find the problem, that’s the thing. Everything’s as it should be.’
‘Everything is evidently not as it should be, otherwise it would be working,’ Mr Samuels snarled. ‘I don�
��t have time for this. Get this thing working now.’
The programmer was sweating. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. ‘Yes, sir, I’ll just . . .’ He was interrupted by a flash of light, a sound of whirring, of machines coming back to life. He had no idea why – it wasn’t anything he’d done – but it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He stared at his screen for a few moments, not daring to believe energy was restored, then, slowly, a smile crept its way across his face. ‘There we are,’ he said tentatively. ‘I think you’ll find it’s fixed.’
Derek Samuels opened the door, saw that the lights were indeed on along the corridor, that the electronic locks were once again working. ‘What did you do?’ he demanded. ‘What was the problem? Was it sabotage? Was it interference or a system failure?’
The programmer smiled uncertainly. ‘It was . . . a system failure,’ he said, after a brief pause in which he’d worked out that a terrorist attack would require him to point out what the attackers did, something that he knew he was unable to do.
‘I see,’ Samuels said darkly. ‘And it took you this long to work out the problem?’
‘I’ve only been here an hour,’ the programmer pointed out, his confidence returning. ‘And it’s fixed, isn’t it?’
‘For all I know, you could have caused the problem in the first place. For all I know, you could be an Underground supporter.’
‘An Underground supporter?’ The programmer’s eyes widened. ‘Why would I support them? I’m just doing my job. I’m just . . .’
‘Never mind,’ Samuels said curtly. ‘You’ll stay here until we know exactly what happened.’ He looked over to the guard. ‘Bring the Fitz-Patrick boy here.’
Minutes later, Jude appeared, pushed into the room by the guard. His clothes were stained and torn, his face streaked with black dust.
Derek Samuels looked him up and down. ‘You’ve been busy,’ he said evenly.
