by Gemma Malley
Taking one last look at the woman, he turned and ran to the back entrance of the building. Once outside, he threw up violently, then continued his journey back to the Underground.
.
Chapter Three
Jude dealt with the Underground security checks as quickly as he could before bursting through the door. It was still early, but hours were not important here and meetings were regularly held in the dead of night. Pip, as far as Jude could tell, rarely slept and even when he did, he would wake and be ready for action within seconds of something happening.
‘Pip!’ he called urgently. ‘Pip, where are you?’
‘Jude?’ Pip appeared in a doorway, his expression unreadable, but Jude knew that he would disapprove of such an outburst. Pip, who had set up the Underground hundreds of years ago and had steered it ever since, was a man of few words and those he uttered were well thought out, ordered, carefully chosen. He favoured caution over passion, reason over gut feeling. He and Jude could not have been more different from each other.
‘Pip, you’ve got to hear this. I’ve just come from the processing plant. The disused one up near Euston . . .’
‘Yes, Jude. I’ve seen the footage you uploaded. Congratulations on another success.’ He spoke softly. Pip, the enigmatic, unofficial leader of the Underground movement – the rebel group set up to fight Longevity, to fight the Declaration, to fight Pincent Pharma and everything that it stood for – rarely raised his voice; it meant that he never sounded enthusiastic, never sounded proud or sufficiently surprised by anything. It was the most frustrating voice Jude had ever come across.
‘Not that,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Something else. Something . . .’ His face screwed up inadvertently at what he was about to say. ‘I just saw someone die. It was hideous.’ He regretted his use of language immediately – it felt clumsy, dismissive. But he didn’t know what else to say, how else to describe what he’d seen. He’d long got over his terror, his disgust; on the way back to the Underground he’d shaken himself down, told himself not to be so pathetic. But now, rather than coming across as brave, he felt slightly foolish. After all, he’d seen people die before – Underground soldiers, killed by Pincent Pharma’s henchmen. It was just that this was different. The woman seemed . . . ill. It was a word from history, a concept that had seemed abstract somehow. Until now, that is. Now it felt very real and very horrible. He saw Pip raise an eyebrow and he reddened slightly. ‘It was a woman. She was gasping, like really gasping for breath, and she wanted some water so I gave her some, and then she just . . .’ He felt his legs weakening beneath him as the impact of the sight hit him once more. He could feel Pip watching him; he wanted to impress him, wanted his admiration. But instead he could see sympathy, worry. His shoulders fell despondently. ‘She shrivelled up,’ he said, disappointed with himself. ‘She died, right there.’
Sheila appeared next to him, wide-eyed, and pulled out a chair for him; he felt the usual flutter of longing that filled his chest every time he saw her and sat down.
‘She died? So she was an Opt Out?’ Sheila asked. Opt Outs were the people who opted out of the Declaration, who chose to forgo Longevity drugs in order to have children. They were few and far between and regarded with suspicion by Legals – who would want to get old and be open to disease when Longevity tablets could protect you? Who would want to have a child when the world was now almost entirely childless?
‘She was alone?’ Pip cut in before Jude could answer; he was looking at him intently now.
Jude nodded.
‘And no one saw you?’ Pip continued.
‘No. I mean, I didn’t see anyone. I was careful – coming back here, I mean.’
‘Good. Sheila, would you be so kind as to make Jude a cup of tea? And then, Jude, I would like you to tell me exactly what happened. Every detail, everything you can remember. Can you do that?’
Jude nodded.
‘Tea?’ Sheila asked, her face screwing up indignantly. ‘But there’s no tea left. We don’t get more until this afternoon and –’
‘And I was hoping that you might be resourceful and find some,’ Pip said, his eyes twinkling slightly.
Sheila’s eyes narrowed and Jude felt his protective urges kick in as he realised that Pip had discovered her little collection of tea bags, of biscuits, of anything else she’d been able to secrete. She couldn’t help herself – Jude knew that, and didn’t blame her for it. She’d grown up with nothing to call her own. Jude, who’d been brought up with plentiful supplies of everything except love, didn’t begrudge her more than her share of anything – he’d have given her the shirt off his back if she’d asked for it.
‘I don’t need tea,’ he said quickly. ‘Really, I –’
‘Yes you do,’ Sheila said quietly. ‘I think actually there might be one tea bag left. I’ll go and look.’
She disappeared into the kitchen and Jude forced himself to look back at Pip.
‘Are you OK?’ the leader of the Underground asked, sitting down next to him. Jude nodded.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, in his mind’s eye seeing Sheila taking one of her treasured tea bags out from wherever she’d hidden it.
‘It must have been a shock.’
‘I’m fine,’ Jude insisted. ‘I’m not a complete weakling, you know.’
His tone was more sarcastic than he’d intended and he saw Pip frown slightly.
‘I don’t consider you to be a weakling at all,’ he said after a short pause. ‘Tell me what you saw, Jude. Don’t leave anything out.’
Jude sat back in his chair and told Pip everything – about the raid, the cameras, uploading the film, hearing the gasping and finding the woman. Pip listened attentively, nodding every so often, his face serious.
‘Her skin was blackened?’
‘She looked almost like she’d been burnt,’ Jude agreed, shuddering slightly. ‘She looked like a skeleton.’
Pip nodded, deep in thought. Then he looked at Jude, his eyes, which had clouded over, suddenly bright and clear.
‘What do you think was wrong with her?’ Jude asked him searchingly. ‘Do you think it was something to do with Pincent Pharma?’
‘I think it seems likely,’ Pip said gently.
‘So let’s find out. I’ll get in there somehow, find out what’s going on.’ He looked at Pip hopefully. Just a year before, Peter had gone to work for Pincent Pharma, pretending that he wanted to work for his grandfather, Richard Pincent, pretending that he had severed all links with the Underground. Pip had trusted him to spy for him, to uncover the vile secrets that Richard Pincent had been hiding. Peter had been a hero; even now everyone spoke his name almost with a whisper. Jude longed to have a similar chance to prove himself, to show himself worthy.
But Pip was shaking his head. ‘No, Jude,’ he said, standing up. ‘You must stay here. There is much to do.’
‘Like what?’ Jude asked defensively. ‘I can spy too. I got into Pincent Pharma last time. I can do it again. Just give me a chance to –’
‘No,’ Pip said again. ‘I need you here. I need you to study.’
‘To study?’ Jude sighed irritably, his eyes resting on the pile of books Pip had given him to read: political biographies, history books, books on survival, on disasters, books on leadership, books on plumbing . . . They both knew that reading books wasn’t going to achieve anything. Pip just didn’t rate him, didn’t believe in him. And, Jude thought heavily, maybe he was right.
‘Studying is very important,’ Pip said seriously, moving towards Jude. He raised his hand and for a moment Jude thought he was going to put it on his shoulder, but then he appeared to change his mind and instead brought it back down to his side.
Jude didn’t say anything; a thud of disappointment was threatening to bring tears to his eyes, choking his voice. Yet more evidence that he was no hero, he thought desperately.
Sheila appeared with a cup of tea and handed it to Jude, who took it miserably.
‘Thank you, Jude. Tha
t has been most illuminating,’ Pip said, standing up, not noticing – or perhaps not choosing to notice – the look of irritation on Sheila’s face as she realised she’d missed everything. ‘And now there is a great deal to do.’
‘Like what?’ Jude asked suddenly, his usual defence of sarcasm finally kicking in. He took a slurp of the hot drink and felt it warm his insides.
Pip frowned. ‘I’m sorry?’ he said.
‘You said there’s a great deal to do. I just wondered what that is,’ Jude said, looking Pip right in the eye.
Pip took a deep breath. ‘Jude,’ he said quietly, ‘have you read that book there?’ He was pointing to an old, battered book; the spine was missing but Jude knew it was full of short stories. Stories aimed at children, not young adults like him.
‘Yes,’ he said tersely. ‘It’s full of fairy tales.’
‘Not fairy tales,’ Pip corrected him. ‘Fables. You should read it sometime. Particularly the story about the mouse and the lion.’
‘The mouse and the lion?’ Jude asked wearily. Yet another diversion.
‘The lion catches the mouse and is going to kill him, but the mouse hops on to his tail and the lion chases it and chases it, not even noticing when the mouse hops off and escapes.’
‘Right,’ Jude said flatly. If Peter were here, Pip wouldn’t be talking about lions and mice. If Peter were here, he’d be in the thick of the action. ‘Right. Thanks. Sounds like a great story.’
‘It is, Jude. As I said, you should read it sometime.’ Then, quickly, Pip walked out of the room, leaving Jude shaking his head in frustration.
Sheila caught his gaze and rolled her eyes. ‘There is,’ she said solemnly, doing a very good impression of Pip, ‘a great deal to do.’
Jude sighed, then allowed himself a little smile. ‘Many, many important things, he dead-panned, taking another sip of hot tea.
‘So she really died?’ Sheila asked, removing his cup from him and taking a sip herself. ‘In front of you?’
Jude nodded.
‘Eeeuuughh!’
‘Yeah,’ Jude said, raising an eyebrow and managing a grin. ‘You’d have fainted for sure, or run screaming from the place.’
‘Would not,’ Sheila said defiantly.
‘Yes you would,’ Jude said, warming to his theme and taking his cup back. ‘You would have been hopeless.’
‘You ran in here pretty quickly,’ Sheila said airily. ‘And I’m sure I heard screaming just before you arrived.’
‘No you didn’t,’ Jude said gruffly, his sense of humour evaporating suddenly. If Pip thought he was weak, that was bad enough. But Sheila? That he couldn’t bear.
Sheila looked at him archly. ‘Well, you were scared.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Jude said, turning away angrily. ‘I wasn’t scared, OK?’
Sheila didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then slowly she walked over to Jude and sat down on the arm of his chair. ‘I would have been terrified,’ she said in a quiet voice.
‘Would you?’ Jude asked searchingly. ‘Really?’
‘Really,’ Sheila said. ‘Unless you were there. Then I wouldn’t have been scared at all.’
Jude felt himself getting warm. ‘You . . . you wouldn’t?’
‘No,’ Sheila said firmly. ‘You saved me from Pincent Pharma.’ She turned to look at him, and Jude saw a flicker of real emotion in her eyes. ‘I know that you’d protect me,’ she whispered. ‘You always protect me.’
‘And I always will,’ he said, wrapping his arm around her and hugging her tightly into him. He wasn’t a hero, he knew that, but he could be Sheila’s hero if she’d let him.
‘So do you think it was Richard Pincent who killed that woman?’ Sheila continued, the anxiety audible in her voice. ‘Like he was going to kill me?’
Jude tightened his grip around her. ‘I don’t know,’ he said grimly. ‘But don’t worry, he’s not going to get away with it.’
‘He will though,’ Sheila said, biting her lip. ‘I mean, he always does. The Underground is never going to win, is it? So what’s the point?’
‘The point is,’ Jude said gently, reminding himself that Sheila’s life had been tough, that it wasn’t her fault she said the things she did, ‘we have to keep fighting. The more young people there are, the more opposition there will be to the Authorities and Pincent Pharma.’
‘But the Declaration makes sense,’ Sheila said, her brow furrowing. ‘There are too many people as it is. We don’t have enough water. You told me that the rivers are drying up in Africa. We don’t have enough energy, or food, or anything. I don’t want more people. I want fewer people.’
Jude shook his head firmly. ‘It’s not that simple,’ he said.
‘Isn’t it?’ Sheila asked searchingly.
‘No,’ Jude said, his brow furrowing. ‘The world needs young people. It’s not fair to stop new people just so that old people can keep on living. It’s not . . .’ He trailed off; he couldn’t think straight. All he could think about was Sheila’s proximity to him, and the strange sensations shooting around his body – like fear, only . . . different. She turned to look at him, and he reddened. ‘Don’t you . . . have chores to be getting on with?’ he asked, his voice breaking awkwardly as he spoke.
He regretted the words as soon as they’d left his mouth, but it was too late. Sheila raised her eyebrows, stole a final sip of tea from Jude’s cup, then flounced out, leaving him on his own. Sighing inwardly he looked up, allowing his eyes to travel around the room.
It was a small space, one of a handful of rooms that made up the Underground headquarters. Today’s headquarters, at any rate. Rumour had it they were moving again soon. And by rumour, Jude meant Sheila had told him, which meant it had approximately a fifty per cent chance of being true. Sheila liked to know everything, and if she didn’t know something she’d make it up rather than admit her lack of knowledge. According to Sheila, Pip told someone just the other day that they’d be somewhere else by the end of the week, and since today was Thursday, that didn’t leave many more days to up sticks and leave.
He pulled himself up and walked over to the table that he used as a desk, then sat down in his chair and put his feet on the table, like he used to when he’d lived in his own house, with his own rules. It seemed a very long time ago. Almost a lifetime ago.
In reality it had just been a few months since he and Sheila had moved in as permanent residents. A few months since Pip had deemed them both too high risk to be based anywhere else. They both knew, had seen first hand, the sordid activities taking place at Pincent Pharma, and Richard Pincent had promised to track them down and kill them in memos that Jude had hacked into.
It had made him feel important back then. Now – well, now he wasn’t so sure that Sheila didn’t have a point. It wasn’t the Underground per se. Jude was fully on board with the whole anti-Pincent thing. He couldn’t not be, not really, not seeing as how hardly anyone his age existed any more and those that had been born had been rounded up and shipped off to Surplus Halls. He knew Pip was right, knew that the Declaration – those bits of paper that people signed promising not to procreate just so they could take Longevity – was fundamentally flawed, that a world full of old people completely sucked, even if the people didn’t look old. And he knew that Richard Pincent was the most evil man in the whole world. No one hated him more than Jude – no one.
But he’d kind of thought the Underground would be more like an army than a . . . a . . . He searched for the right word and failed. He’d thought the Underground would be different, a hive of activity, full of soldiers, brave men and women talking about the revolution to come, making plans and carrying them out. Instead, there were hardly any people there for one thing – people came in for procedures or, occasionally, for meetings, but no one ever stopped to make conversation and you weren’t meant to look at anyone too closely because it was risky, because the idea was that people could hardly identify any other supporters if they were caught, if Richard Pincent or t
he Authorities got hold of them. The only people there permanently were Jude, Sheila, Pip, and one or two guards. Jude had seen more drama when he’d lived in a small close in South London.
Suddenly it hit him. A family, that’s what the Underground was like – a slightly dysfunctional family. Pip had taken on the parental role, generally disapproving of and criticising everything while being convinced that everything he did was right and the best possible way to do things. Peter and Anna were the golden children. Sheila was the youngest, indulged child. And Jude? He was the let-down, the misfit, the ‘troublesome’ one. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure he was in the family at all.
Shaking his head wearily, Jude turned on his computer. There was no point thinking about it really; he’d never be Peter, would never be held in the same esteem. And in the meantime another Pincent lorry was being ambushed that afternoon and he needed to track it. It soon appeared on his screen and he watched for an hour or so then, bored, looked over at Sheila who had appeared again on the other side of the room a few minutes earlier and was leaning against the wall, broom in hand, daydreaming. He knew she was waiting for him to call her over.
‘Fancy a game, Princess?’ Princess was his nickname for her – he told her it was because she behaved like one, because she was so difficult and demanding, but really it was because the first time he’d seen her, he thought she looked like a princess in a fairy tale, frozen, scared, waiting for someone to rescue her. He’d seen her when he’d hacked into the Pincent Pharma network, when he’d realised that Pincent Pharma was more than just a pharmaceutical company – it was a prison, a torture chamber. That was when he’d given up everything he’d taken for granted all his life and wormed his way into Pincent Pharma to rescue her, to save his princess from the dark forces at play in the bowels of that odious place. That was where he’d finally met Pip and Peter and together they had made the shocking discovery that Surpluses were being shipped in and used for their stem cells to make Longevity+, the wonder drug that would treat the external signs of ageing as well as the internal renewal process.
