Resist b-2

by Sarah Crossan

  Jude calls up from the road, and Ronan looks at the window, then at me, and finally at the door. He fiddles with the straps on his facemask. “Come on,” he says.

  Outside, Jude Caffrey looks me up and down and sighs. “Bea Whitcraft . . . I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “You mean you didn’t want to,” I respond.

  “No. No, I probably didn’t,” he says. “But here we are.” Jude stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back and forth. He looks at my disheveled appearance and then at Ronan. “Sorry I couldn’t get here yesterday. Things are hectic in the pod.”

  Ronan shrugs. “You’re here now. I wondered whether you’d come at all.”

  Jude allows himself a small smile. “You sure you want to come back?” he asks me, and I nod. “If the ministers get a hold of you, you’re in deep shit,” Jude says. “We’re all in very deep shit.”

  “They won’t find her,” Ronan says, leading me to the buggy. “Take the front seat,” he says.

  And sit next to Jude for an hour? I shake my head. “I’ll be fine in the back,” I say, and climb in.

  Soon the buggy is bumping along the road. None of us talk for a long time. And then Jude turns around and looks at me. “Quinn is alive, isn’t he?” he asks. “You wouldn’t make it up.”

  I’ve never heard him speak like this—with feeling for his son.

  “He’s alive,” I say. “And he’s coming.”

  35

  RONAN

  The pod has plenty of exit-only doors so rebels can be ejected. Jude guides Bea to one of them, where she waits in the dark.

  Jude and I enter through the official border gates.

  A steward is scrolling through a pad. When he sees me, he stops. “Welcome back, Mr. Knavery. I’m sure you did your best,” he says. He looks at his colleague and smirks.

  I’m so tired, I react immediately, resting my index finger on the hollow of the steward’s chest. He steps back and I follow him, keeping my finger where it is. “Be careful.”

  His nose twitches. “I only meant—”

  I interrupt. “I know what you meant.” He looks at his colleague. I could easily sidestep him. I decide not to. “Move,” I say, and he does.

  Jude is close behind. We clamber into the waiting buggy. “What does that girl do to people?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Bea Whitcraft turns boys into men.”

  Every few blocks there’s a checkpoint, but the stewards only have to catch a glimpse of Jude, and wave us through. “Security hasn’t been relaxed then,” I say.

  He snorts. “Nightly raids on auxiliary homes began two days ago. More speed cameras, and there’s a call to ban auxiliaries from Zone One altogether.”

  We pull up in front of the Justice Building. Jude climbs out of the buggy, and I follow him up the steps into the foyer. A gaggle of ministers squint when they see me. I’m the first of the Special Forces to return.

  “Have you heard from any of the others?” I ask Jude. “Has Rick knifed anyone yet?”

  “He radioed in and told me that he’s about to rappel down a well because he’s convinced he can hear people.” He laughs. “I get a feeling the others will be back soon. Robyn knows she’s out there for nothing.”

  “She’s as disillusioned as I am,” I say.

  “You’re not to involve her in what we’re doing. The more Premiums who know, the more chance we have of being betrayed.”

  We scan our pads and walk down a hallway lined with doors. The light bulbs flicker. A moan comes from somewhere, and I stop. Jude keeps walking. “We’ve made over thirty arrests since you’ve been away. Suspected RATS mostly. That’s a hunger pang you’re hearing,” he says.

  “Why are you starving them?”

  Jude stops. “The ministers believe they’ll talk when they’re hungry. Your sister comes down daily to goad them with smoothies and cakes.”

  “My sister?”

  “She’s working as Lance Vine’s assistant. Seems to be enjoying it.”

  I can hardly believe it. Niamh has taken a job?

  Jude pushes open a door marked CAUTION—AirtankS REQUIRED. He steps outside and a rush of cold air fills the hallway. He returns with Bea. “In here,” he says, jangling a heavy set of old-fashioned keys and pushing us into an empty cell with condensation running down the walls. “I just want to go on record as saying that pod ministers come and go, but the Ministry has always ruled. They won’t give up power without a fight.”

  “And that’s exactly what they’re going to get,” I say. I make it sound easy, though it will be harder than anything I’ve ever done. “Have you advertised for soldiers?”

  “We’ve had hardly any applications. The lure of living with the other civic workers in Zone Two doesn’t attract anyone anymore. Not now they suspect what’s going on.” He scrapes his hair back with his fingers.

  “In a few days, you’ll have hundreds of applicants. Maybe thousands. Bea and I are going to find what’s left of the Resistance and explain the plan. They’ll get people to sign up.”

  Jude chews on his thumbnail. “I’m endangering my family,” he says.

  “But you’re already involved.” I raise my voice without meaning to and Jude puts a finger to his lips. He can’t back out now—we need him. “You’re harboring a wanted terrorist.”

  He looks at Bea and hangs his head, defeated. “I know,” he says.

  “Where’s Jazz?” Bea whispers.

  Jude rubs his temples. “She’s recovering in the infirmary.”

  “And her leg?” she asks.

  “She almost lost it, but she’s okay.”

  “Did they question her?” I ask.

  “She said she was a drifter’s daughter and her parents died at The Grove fighting the Resistance. She claims to hate the Resistance for killing her parents. She’s quite the actress.”

  Bea laughs and we both look at her, surprised by the sound. “She’s a performer,” she explains. “Can I see her?”

  “I don’t think so,” Jude says. He opens a metal locker in the corner of the cell. He pulls out a steward’s uniform and hands it to Bea. “You’ll have to wear this,” he says.

  “We also need to find a way to keep the Resistance who are on the Ministry’s hit list out of jail,” I say.

  “Old Watson will know where they are,” Bea says.

  “Who’s Old Watson?” Jude asks. Bea presses her lips together and inspects the steward’s uniform. She isn’t ready to trust him.

  He rolls his eyes. “Where are we hiding you, anyway?” he asks.

  “We’re taking her to my house,” I say.

  36

  ALINA

  The room I’m to share with Maks contains a double bed, a couple of nightstands, and a dresser. He closes the door, locks it, then runs his eyes up and down the length of my body. Whatever I’m expected to do isn’t going to happen, so I turn my back on him, take off my robe, and stuff it into the trash can. “Anything else you’d like to take off?” The floor creaks, and when I wheel around, he’s so close, his breath is warm against my forehead. “You don’t have to be frightened,” he says. He pushes my hair away from my face, and I shudder. I don’t want him near me. I push him back and try to look tougher than I feel.

  I do a quick scan of the room in case there’s anything I could use as a weapon, and hone in on a clock with a stone base. If he tries anything, he’ll get it to the back of his head. “Stay on that side of the room,” I say, pointing. He rubs his mouth, and before I can get anywhere near the clock, he grabs the back of my head and pulls my face close to his.

  “You think I’m going to pop your cherry without permission?” he says. With his free hand, he untucks his shirt from his pants.

  Is it that obvious I’m a virgin? I stay very still. “I don’t want you,” I say. Regardless of how scared I am, I mustn’t let him see it.

  “Oh, come on. I’ve noticed the way you look at me.”

  I hold his stare. �
�Where’s Jo?” I ask.

  He licks his top teeth and sucks on them. “You heard Vanya. She’s a benefactor now.”

  “Her and your baby?”

  He releases me, goes to the window, and throws it open, breathing in the night air like I never have. “You think you’ve got us figured out. Well, you don’t. If anything, you’ve got us all wrong.” When he looks back at me his eyes are watery, but I don’t buy it. I saw him manhandling Jo. And Silas and I saw his lackeys burying a body. It’s impossible we’ve got them wrong.

  “I’m sleeping on the floor,” I say.

  “Fine,” he says. “Jo did that for a year. Eventually she jumped into bed with me, and it had nothing to do with the cold.” He pulls his shirt over his head and reveals his chest. Maybe he thinks I’ll be won over by his body. I look away and lie down on the floor.

  We should never have come here.

  And the only thing to do now is to get back to the pod and make it the home it might have always been.

  37

  RONAN

  Niamh isn’t at home, and I manage to smuggle Bea through the garden unseen. When Wendy opens the annex door she smiles and waves us inside, and within minutes of getting to know Bea, she offers up her own bed. She was the only person I could turn to.

  I try to convince Bea to rest for a few hours, but once she’s eaten and showered, she’s back in the steward uniform and ready to find the Resistance. “I’ll sleep when I don’t have to do it with one eye open,” she says. She might not have trained with the Special Forces, but she’s as fired up to fight as I ever was.

  Bea presses the buzzer on Old Watson’s door. “You stay hidden or he won’t let us in,” she says. She takes off the steward’s jacket and hat and stands back from the peephole so he’ll get a good view of her.

  “Watson,” Bea says, as he opens the door wide and grabs her hands.

  “What in Mother Earth’s name are you doing here? And what’s with the bloody uniform?” Old Watson says. He’s about to pull her inside, when he spots me. He lets go of Bea’s hands and tries to close the door, but Bea has her foot wedged in it.

  “He’s on our side,” she says.

  We follow Old Watson as he retreats into his dingy flat and sits on a lumpy couch. I peer into the room’s dark recesses and gasp. He has rows and rows of what look like real plants growing in his living room. “What are those?” I ask, stunned he’s managed to achieve something like this right under the Ministry’s nose.

  “They grew from clippings from the biosphere,” Bea says matter-of-factly. And she never thought to mention it? I go to the plants, pull a leaf from one of them, and rub it between my fingers. It’s waxy and green on one side, rough and gray on the other.

  Bea sits next to Old Watson and gives him an awkward, sideways hug. I clear a stash of cups and glasses from a side table and sit on it. “Do you know where the Resistance is hiding?” Bea asks.

  Old Watson scratches his head. “No idea what you’re talking about,” he says, and looks at me.

  “The Grove’s gone,” I say. “The only option for people now is to fight back.”

  Old Watson’s chin trembles. “What about . . . Silas and Alina?” he stutters.

  Bea takes his hand. “They made it out. And Quinn’s bringing them here. Together we’re going to free everyone, Watson.” She sounds certain, but before he even hears the plan, Old Watson drops his head in his hands and groans.

  “You haven’t been here since the riots, Bea. It’s pointless trying to win.”

  “We have Ronan now, and Jude Caffrey,” Bea tells him.

  “Jude Caffrey? Why would you trust him after what he did to Quinn?” Bea swallows hard. There’s no need to remind her about Quinn or what Jude Caffrey’s capable of. “And why would you trust Cain Knavery’s son?” he says like I’m not in the room.

  “Caffrey’s going to recruit auxiliaries as soldiers,” I tell him. “The Ministry’s going to arm people who will turn around and destroy it.”

  Old Watson stares at me and then at Bea as he digests this plan. “You serious?” he asks. Bea nods.

  Old Watson breathes through his nose loudly and hobbles to the balcony doors, where he opens a pair of threadbare curtains and looks down into Zone Three. “If Lance Vine finds out you’re plotting against him, you’ll wake up with your guts wrapped around your throat.”

  “Are you willing to take a chance like that, Ronan?” Bea asks.

  “I am,” I say.

  Old Watson snatches up a tattered cardigan hanging on the back of a dining chair. “I’m getting too long in the tooth for this,” he says.

  The existing Resistance members are scattered through the pod to prevent them all being captured in one lucky raid, but Old Watson knows where Harriet and Gideon are hiding. He guides us through the alleyways of Zone Three to a particularly dilapidated block of auxiliary flats. The winch is broken and we have to climb twelve flights.

  Old Watson wheezes and raps on a door three times, then rings the bell twice. It’s immediately opened by a tall woman with her hair slicked back into a bun. Right away she spots me and pulls a handgun from a belt at her waist.

  “He’s with me, Harriet,” Bea says, stepping in front of me.

  “Bea?” Harriet says, lowering her gun and taking in Bea’s uniform.

  “It’s a disguise,” Bea says. “Can we come in?”

  Harriet leads us to the kitchen, where we sit and explain. Harriet and Gideon listen patiently. They wait for us to go through everything at our own pace, and when we’re through, Gideon goes to the sink and fills a pot with water from the boiling tap. He throws in a few teaspoons of dark brown powder, stirs, and plunks it on the table along with a few chipped mugs. Old Watson pours himself a helping and sips. Like his place, the flat is packed with plants and cuttings steeped in water. All other available space has been used to store sleeping bags and pillows.

  Gideon sits down and leans back in his chair. “Jude Caffrey is a scumbag who finished off his own son.”

  “Quinn’s alive,” Bea says, and lowers her gaze.

  Harriet folds her arms across her chest. “Well, we can’t apply,” she explains, “we’re wanted fugitives.”

  “But you can persuade others to apply. It shouldn’t be hard to find auxiliaries willing to rebel,” I say, speaking up for the first time. Bea and I have discussed the plan, but maybe we’re being delusional. Bea nods encouragingly. “The riot didn’t make a dent because it was impromptu. This way, the Resistance will begin to get training, and more importantly, weapons. We’ll have bigger numbers and better organization.”

  “With all the nightly raids, we’ll be lucky to last a few more days without getting caught,” Gideon says. “We’re only alive because we’re always on the move. As soon as the meters show an empty apartment’s using oxygen, they come for us.”

  “So what are you saying?” Harriet asks her husband.

  “The border’s closed, as is the biosphere. They’ve shut us down,” he responds.

  “Not yet, they haven’t. Just stay on the move and if we can get hold of any airtanks we’ll get them to you,” Bea says. “You continue to grow, and we’ll all recruit and keep training to breathe with low oxygen.”

  Old Watson yawns and drains his mug. “So whatever way you look at it, it’s either a war, or capture and death,” he says.

  “That’s right,” Bea says. “Now let’s get on it.”

  I ensconce Bea in Wendy’s annex and head into the house. The toilet flushes and Lance Vine comes into the kitchen zipping up his fly. “Ronan,” he says. He wipes his hands on the front of his pants, which are an inch too short for his spindly legs.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here, Pod Minister,” I say. He’s the last person I expected to see. I focus hard on his face, so I don’t spontaneously look out at Wendy’s annex.

  “Really.” Vine pauses, giving me time to respond, but I stand stolid. “Niamh’s been helping me type up a new bill. I’ve been admiring yo
ur lovely home, actually. Real marble?” He touches the kitchen counter and whistles. “Don’t think any of the ministers live in such splendor. But then, Cain was always a bit of a hedonist.” He opens a cupboard and peers at the array of glasses and tableware. He smiles. “So no signs of the RATS, then?” I shake my head. “Time to get the zips fired up, I’d say.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I say—Jude will have to deal with Lance Vine. “What’s the bill you’re working on?” I take out my pad and scroll through the messages, so he won’t think I’m too interested.

  “We’re siphoning oxygen from empty apartments or tenants who don’t pay their taxes. It’s only fair.” He watches me.

  “People will die,” I say.

  “RATS are squatting and using air for free.”

  “You’re back!” Niamh is standing beaming under the doorframe, but she doesn’t go so far as to rush at me for a hug.

  “Your brother seems unsure about the new bill,” Vine tells her.

  Niamh tuts. “He acts tough, but Ronan’s a softie.”

  “Is that so?” Vine asks.

  “Only where the innocent are concerned,” I say, hardening my gaze. He doesn’t frighten me half as much as my father could.

  “Well, RATS are far from innocent,” Niamh says pointedly, trying to prove to Vine that we’re safely on his side.

  “How can you know that for sure?” Vine asks. Niamh hesitates, frowns, and is about to respond when Vine smiles playfully. “Just kidding,” he says, and throws his jacket on. “It’s late. I’ll let you both get to bed.” And without another word, he heads out the back door.

  Niamh sits on the stool next to me and lets her head flop onto the countertop. “He thinks I’m stupid,” she says. She groans and closes her eyes. “I bet he’ll sack me.”

  I make her sit up and look at me. “What are you doing working with the Ministry anyway?”