Resist b-2
Page 18
“So maybe I’ll be arrested. But by then my father will know, and he has nothing to lose by being prepared.”
“I’ll go with Quinn,” I say. A baby lying in Maude’s arms squeals. She puts her knuckle in its mouth and it settles.
“I’ll go, too,” Silas says. “The rest of you help Maude and Bruce find the respirators and keep the others alive. You’ll have to carry two kids apiece.”
“Not a problem,” Song says.
“Then it’s settled,” Silas says. “Now let’s get some sleep. We’ll leave at first light.”
I drift toward the group of benefactors, looking for Lily, when Abel stops me. “The Ministry won’t welcome you. And what if Maks catches you before you get to the border?” I look deep into Abel’s eyes, wondering what it was I ever saw in him. He’s dangerously close to being a coward.
“Maks will make you pay,” Jo says. She has been quiet for most of the trip, but if there’s one thing she can speak to, it’s Maks’s vindictiveness.
“Not if I make him pay first,” I say. It’s bravado; I’m terrified. Taking a risk is all very well, but not when the odds are stacked so high against us. The rate things are going, we’ll all be dead in weeks.
And I can’t help feeling that I’m going to have a notable part to play in everyone’s destruction.
45
RONAN
After spending my second day helping Jude drill the soldiers at the gymnasium, I’m exhausted. I want to have some dinner and go and see Bea, but when I get home, Niamh is pacing the kitchen. Wendy, who is cooking dinner on the stove, shoots me a look I can’t translate as Niamh storms toward me. “Everything okay?” I ask.
“No, it is not.” Niamh has my pad in her hands, which she thrusts at me.
“Were you trying to contact me? I forgot it.” I look down. She’s managed to get into it. But what did she see? I haven’t been sending any incriminating messages or pinging anyone I shouldn’t. I’ve been very careful. “How did you open it?”
“Your password has been the same for years, Ronan. Picasso. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, why do you have a picture of Bea Whitcraft on your pad?”
I freeze. She’s right. At the station I took a photo of Bea, and she told me to delete it. Why didn’t I?
Wendy is stirring the pot furiously. “Anyone hungry?” she asks.
“Well?” Niamh says, prodding me.
I step back and open the photo application on the pad, then scroll through trying to look as nonchalant as possible. “That’s weird. Probably from school or something.”
Niamh snatches the pad from me and pulls up the picture. Bea’s fretful face is vaguely distinguishable—an orange sunset and ramshackle buildings behind her. “I checked the date and location. You took it when you were in The Outlands. Don’t bother lying. You met Bea?” I stare at Bea’s picture, not saying anything. If I look suitably ashamed, will she let it go? “So you did meet her,” Niamh says. “And instead of killing her, you took pictures. What the hell’s going on?”
“I met her, yes. But she’s no threat. She’s living like a drifter, and she’ll die out there. I couldn’t kill her in cold blood, Niamh. I just couldn’t. Could you?”
I mean it to be a rhetorical question because I don’t think Niamh has it in her to kill anyone, but she jabs Bea’s picture with her finger. “Anyone who contributed to the riots and Daddy’s death deserves to die. I’d knife her if I got the chance,” she says. Her face is steel.
“Dinner?” Wendy asks. She is trembling, and I should be, too.
I have to move Bea and the others, and I have to do it soon because if Niamh gets a sniff of who she’s living beneath, we’re all done for.
46
BEA
We’ve been cooped up in Ronan’s attic for a week, and it’s already taking its toll on the group. None of us have showered, and the occasional buckets of water Wendy sneaks in for washing quickly turn brown. The smell is acrid. Conversations are turning into debates, debates into arguments, and Harriet and Gideon are constantly forced to mediate over sleeping spaces. I keep to myself and focus on training.
Today Ronan is late, and when he arrives he’s in a hurry. “Everything okay?” I ask.
“Niamh’s only gone down to the store to get a shake. I can’t stay,” he says. He won’t look at me. Is there something he isn’t saying?
“One of the girls is sick. She’s been on the bucket all day long,” I say.
“Gideon told me. I’m going to try to bring up some loperamide later.”
“Thanks. I was worried about her.” I turn to make sure no one’s listening. “Can I take a shower?” I ask.
He looks at me uneasily. “Downstairs?”
“I need to get out of here,” I admit.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
I wring my hands. “Please.” I sound desperate, and I can’t help it.
He looks down the stairs and taps his index finger against his chin. “I have an en suite bathroom,” he says.
“Perfect.”
His bedroom is larger than the entire apartment I used to share with my parents. He has a monstrous wall-mounted screen at one end facing a set of sofas and easy chairs, and a huge bed at the other end. The adjoining bathroom contains not only a mammoth shower, but also a Jacuzzi tub and double sink. I’m irritated by the extravagance. It doesn’t fit Ronan’s character. But this is his life.
“Towels are in the cupboard,” he says.
I take a quick, hot shower, and when I emerge, Ronan is sitting on his bed rooting through his nightstand. He waves me over. “I have something for you,” he says. I sit next to him and he hands me a printed picture of me with my parents. I trace my finger across their faces. My mother’s sweet, haggard smile, and my father’s unshaven chin. Their frayed shirts and too-tight clothes. I press the picture against my chest.
“Where did you get it?” I wipe the corners of my eyes with my knuckles.
“I went to your old place,” he says.
“You never stop surprising me,” I say. He is not only a better person than I thought he could be, but he’s my friend, too.
“I looked for one of Quinn, but I couldn’t find any and didn’t want to rummage through your stuff,” he says.
I close my eyes, so I can imagine Quinn as Ronan launches himself at me. He throws me onto the bed and covers my body with his own. He presses his face against mine. My instinct is to struggle, but when I hear a voice, I know he’s protecting me.
“Ronan, we need to—” It’s Niamh. “Ronan?” She laughs. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Have you heard of knocking? Get out!” he yells. I bury my face in his pillow. There’s a scuffle and a couple of hard bangs. “She’s gone.” I sit up and he turns the lock on the door, which he should have done when we came into the room in the first place. I deliberately wipe my mouth with the cuff of my sweater. Was there no other way to stop Niamh seeing me?
“Sorry,” he says.
“You didn’t bother locking it?”
Ronan sits on the bed and turns me so I’m looking straight at him. “I’m said I’m sorry. And I’m not them. That’s not what this was.”
“I know,” I say. But every fiber of my body has stiffened anyway.
“You can’t leave until she’s asleep,” he says. I nod and he smiles. He hands me the screen’s remote control and stands. “Watch something trashy. I’ll get us some drinks.” He heads for the door. “Lock it behind me.”
I look at the door closing then retrieve the photo from the nightstand. The girl in the picture is smiling, believing anything is possible. She looks like me, but that girl is dead. And maybe it’s just as well; this world needs a new girl. Someone who doesn’t blame anyone else for her lot.
I don’t wait. I go to the door and peek outside. The chandelier in the hallway dashes the light in all directions. I hold my breath and listen for Niamh, but the house is still, so I tiptoe my way to the staircase.
The first step creaks and I pause, putting as much weight as I can on the bannisters. Nothing moves. I take another step, and another, creeping my way to the top. When I reach the door, I knock gently. No one responds. I try again. Maybe everyone is asleep.
I hold my fist a few inches from the door and knock more loudly. Ronan appears at the bottom of the stairs holding a bottle. “What are you doing?” he whispers. I wave him away, irritated that he’s followed me, and knock a last time. And as I do, the door to the attic opens and a grinning man appears. I stare down at Ronan. Did he plan this? Is that why he wanted to keep me in his room?
It’s too late to find out. A sweaty hand drags me inside and knocks me to the floor.
Everyone is standing at the far end of the attic with their hands in the air, and a row of stewards have their guns aimed at the Resistance like a firing squad. Some of the younger teenagers are sniveling. I am towed by my heels to the opposite corner of the room. Harriet looks down at me and catches my eye. She is trying to convey something, but I don’t know what it is. The tall, thin man laughs. I recognize him from Ronan’s description: Lance Vine, the new pod minister. Then Niamh steps out from behind him. She is carrying a small handgun and points it at me, closing one eye as though ready to shoot. “Bea Whitcraft?” she says. She looks mildly pleased and then, as her mind makes the connection between what she’s just witnessed in Ronan’s bedroom and me standing here now, her eyes bulge.
Vine rubs his hands together as though he’s about to be served a large meal. “This is getting better and better,” he says.
Niamh stares at me for a long time, then, remembering herself, shakes her head a little and goes to a heap of blankets. She picks one up between two fingers and, keeping it at arm’s length, studies it. “This is one of Wendy’s, I think,” she says. She doesn’t sound convinced.
Vine scratches his chin. “Isn’t it just your brother whose thumbprint will read for this room?” Niamh has her back to everyone. She bites her bottom lip. It would take an idiot not to guess Ronan’s involvement. And Niamh is not an idiot. But it takes her a moment to find a defense for her brother.
“Wendy has access to the whole house, Pod Minister,” she says, which has to be a lie.
The stewards use the barrels of their guns to nudge the Resistance members toward the staircase, where they stand in a line, but they leave me where I am. I pull myself onto my feet and rest against the studio wall.
The door opens and Ronan marches in. The stewards aim their guns at him. “What the . . .” he says angrily. He waves at the stewards, who keep their guns trained at him. “Lower your weapons and someone tell me what’s going on.” The Pod Minister’s expression is inscrutable. Niamh looks doleful. Neither of them seems to know how to react to Ronan, so I know for sure he had nothing to do with this raid. Not that I really believed he’d betray us. No.
“Wendy’s been up and down those stairs twenty times this week. And then, while you were out this morning, I heard someone sneeze,” Niamh says, her voice a quiver, trying to repair the fact that she’s informed on her own brother. “That’s what I was coming to your room to tell you,” she says, glancing at me.
I am standing apart from the other Resistance members and Ronan turns to me suddenly. Roughly, he turns my face to the light. “Bea Whitcraft?” he says.
Niamh watches Ronan and me, and covers her mouth with her hand. “What should we do with her?” she asks Ronan through her fingers. “She was wandering around the house. She could’ve killed us in our beds.”
“Tried for treason. Her parents provoked the revolt,” Ronan says calmly, keeping his eyes on me. I hope he knows what he’s doing.
“When she’s found guilty she’ll be put to death,” the Pod Minister says. He is quiet and testing. Ronan doesn’t flinch. And neither do any of the Resistance. If I didn’t know Ronan better, I’d believe he was washing his hands of me.
Vine’s mouth twitches. “It doesn’t look good that it’s your studio, Ronan. But if you’re prepared to let this ugly little sub die, the Ministry will have some reason to believe you aren’t part of this.” He sweeps his arm out wide, taking in the room.
“Arrest me, if you think I’m involved. I’ll happily answer your questions,” Ronan says. His expression is cool.
Niamh looks at the stewards. “Go to the annex and arrest our servant.” The stewards look at the Pod Minister, who nods. Niamh speaks again. “And get these RATS out of my house!” She is shrieking, suddenly on the verge of hysteria.
A steward binds my wrists in plastic twine and uses the cold barrel of her rifle against my neck to drive me down the stairs behind the other Resistance members. Without warning, Niamh is beside me, grabbing my arm and spinning me around.
“You and yours are going to pay for what happened to my father,” she snarls, and pushes me down the last few steps so that I fall forward onto my face. When I lick my lips, there’s blood. I roll over and she looks down at me under the lights of the chandelier with nothing but contempt.
A few weeks ago, I’d have whimpered if Niamh touched me. Instead, I pick myself up and stand nose to nose with her. Harriet tries to pull me away, but I won’t be moved, not today. “You don’t scare me, Niamh,” I say.
“Well, you should be terrified,” she says.
I shrug. “If you have to hurt me, that’s your choice.”
But how I react is mine. And I won’t cower to anyone anymore.
47
RONAN
I’m pacing a Zone Three alleyway waiting for Jude, who’s late. I check my pad for the third time. Only a meager light steals its way between the apartment blocks. It’s as dingy as ever. I can’t believe Bea spent her whole life here.
“The senate meeting ran over,” Jude says, appearing at the end of the alleyway. He strides toward me and we shake hands. “Were you followed?”
“Two stewards. I lost them in Zone Two,” I say. “Is Bea okay? What about Wendy?” I’ve been awake all night worrying, and even though Niamh knows what’s happening, I can’t ask her. She hasn’t spoken to me since they found Bea and the Resistance in my studio. I’m just lucky she hasn’t informed on me.
“Lance Vine proposed a private trial and public execution for Wendy and everyone found in the studio. No one opposed.”
“So we’ll stop it,” I say.
Jude takes off his hat and scratches his head. “I have a family, Ronan. I didn’t come here to plot a rescue with you, I came to tell you that . . . I’m out. I’ve given the Resistance members I was keeping in my house airtanks and access to an empty apartment in Zone Two.” He is unapologetic.
How can a man charged with protecting the pod and leading the army give up so easily? I stare at him, wavering between anger and disappointment. “But the soldiers you’re training?”
“I’m discharging them tomorrow for ineptitude.”
“How can you be such a coward?” I say. I thought he’d changed.
But he isn’t hurt by my words. He puts his hat back on and straightens it. “When you’re a father, maybe you’ll understand.”
“Well, I’m not giving up,” I say.
He turns to leave when a siren whistles through Zone Three and winds its way down the alleyway. Jude punches the wall. “NO!” he shouts.
“What’s happening?” I ask. Instinctively, I take the gun I have hidden in the band of my pants and release the safety catch.
Jude pulls me along the alleyway. “It’s the border alarm,” he says. “The pod is under attack.”
Jude pings all the soldiers, Resistance and non-Resistance, and gathers them in the gymnasium. With their uniforms on, I can hardly tell them apart. The walls vibrate with uneasy chatter.
Jude puts his lips to the megaphone. “The pod is under attack. We don’t know from whom, but we have to pull together.”
Robyn has returned from The Outlands and is standing beside me. “Another joke of a war. I’m sick of it.” She’s lost weight and has dark rings beneath her eyes.
“Many of you are inexperienced and scared. I would be, too, but you have to be strong. We are all going to keep it together and . . . live.” He pauses. “Are you ready?” He is shouting, trying to rally the troops like he did at The Grove. The gymnasium crackles with silence.
They aren’t close to ready. Not that it matters. We’re going out to fight. Ministry and Resistance together.
Now.
48
QUINN
The pod is still only this tiny speck in the distance when we hear blasts across the city. The horizon’s clouding over with silver-gray dust. My gut wrenches. If we’re too late, I’ll never forgive myself. Never.
“We have to move faster,” I say, and Alina picks up the pace, jumping over unstrung guitars and a ton of other trash.
I wish I could run faster. Silas and Alina keep stopping so I can catch up, which isn’t all that helpful because as soon as I do, they move on again and I never get to rest. Not that I want to. I have to get to the pod. I have to tell my father what’s happening and find Bea.
As we get closer, the pod becomes clearer, and so do the recycling stations connected to it. “They’re still working,” I call out. Four steam clouds spiral into the sky from the tops of the stations.
Alina stops. “What?” She pushes her hair out of her face with both hands. Her ears are red from the cold, but she’s also sweating from the run.
I’m too out of breath to repeat myself. I point and she nods, taking off after Silas. But no sooner has she caught him up than they both stop and stare. The air is vibrating. It can’t be. But it is.
A zip appears in the sky, guns ready. After all we’ve struggled against, don’t we deserve a bit of luck? But that isn’t how life works, and there’s no time to be a baby about the unfairness of it. We have to move faster.