“Why are they here?” Hywel snarled at Gray.
Somersby prowled around the group. She certainly knew how to put a guy in his place. As did Gray, who said, “They’re here to listen to you, Hywel. That’s our arrangement, right?”
Hywel squared his shoulders and moved out of the circle they had formed around him. “My arrangement was with you, Inspector. Not him.” He glared at Defoe. “Nobody needs to know. That’s what you said.”
Gray laughed at Hywel’s naivety. “You engaged the police service through me. My bosses are aware of your activities. And these guys are merely an extension of the group acting on your information.”
Somersby slid the tip of her tongue over her front teeth. “You’re safe with us, bad boy.”
Hywel wrinkled his nose, disgusted. She was born and bred in the Empire, not this city or the old capital. Her native accent stung. As a spy she could master any accent, why was she using that one? Hywel looked away from the awful woman to glare at Defoe.
Defoe barged him against one of the old lampposts. “Don’t screw up your stub-nosed face at me. Just get talking so you can get out of my sight.”
Gray pulled Defoe off and straightened Hywel up. “That’s not how we do it, Defoe. You know that!” Gray pushed Defoe back a couple of steps. “He’s an informant. We treat him with dignity or the information stops. This is the only way we can get long-term information from the activists. Understand?”
Without waiting for an answer Gray turned back to Hywel and restarted the conversation in an impatient, but kindly manner. “Hywel, I am still your contact, but as the team expands everyone must be kept up to date. Events are building to a crux.” He gave Hywel time to absorb this before continuing. “What can you tell us?”
Hywel checked his watch and slumped. “I’ve kept an eye on the group’s movements over the past few weeks and I still don’t know who controls supply routes, coordinates base moves or where the next base could be.” Hywel ploughed through Gray’s protests. “Wait, wait. I know which council members oversee those areas, but they’re not actually doing the work.”
“That wasn’t our deal,” Gray said.
“I know, but I can get you more later. Emma Paynton, the medic, she knows about supply routes. Zoe Joseph knows about base moves. I can give you the recruiters and how to find them. If you catch them you’ll get everything.”
Gray tapped his foot. “Ok. This is a start. We can definitely slow supplies.”
Somersby growled impatiently and kicked at the litter, tapping her nails on her pistols. “Where is your base? How many people are there? Give us useful information!”
Hywel squirmed again. “If you attack the base you’ll just lose them again, like last time.”
Somersby screamed, “I wasn’t on the team last time! We’ll hit them big from all sides.”
Gray approached her. “I already know where the base is. We have it on watch, but we have no guarantee that Martyn Davidson or any of the other council members are present. Commander Swanson agreed it was too great a risk.”
“I will talk to Swanson,” Defoe grumbled.
Colour drained from Hywel’s face like ice puddled in his boots. What would happen to them if there was a surprise attack tonight? Maybe Hywel’s hesitation was a bit of conscience coming to the surface. We would catch his friends sleeping and they’d all be slaughtered.
Gray said, “What is the mood of the group now?”
Rubbing his hands together Hywel dithered, “They’re worried. He,” pointing at Defoe, “chased Lexi across town. It really scared Martyn. All council members and Lexi are grounded to the warehouse until things have calmed down. My girl is fuming. Her bad humour will rub off quick on some of them.”
“She got back?” Defoe said, eyebrows raised. “How’s her arm?”
Hywel snarled at him.
Defoe said, “See, now is the time to attack. The council members are contained inside the base.”
Somersby ignored Defoe and asked, “Has the guard increased?”
“There were only two guards out of bed when I left tonight.” Hywel relented.
“What about during the day?” Somersby continued.
Hywel shrugged. “You never know who is a guard during the day. Are they scouts heading to Central or guards circuiting the building? It’s hard to guess. Maybe they will least expect it then?” He trilled.
Gray shook his head. “The day is most heavily guarded and least occupied. A strike would have to happen at night.”
“I agree,” Defoe nodded.
“So do I,” Somersby echoed. “How many entrances?”
Hywel’s head curled to the side, his eyes flicking widely. “There are entrances at the front and back. The back entrance is heavily barricaded; you cannot get in, but they can get out.”
Was he lying?
Defoe said, “Any roof or cellar entrances?”
Hywel shook his head. “No. The roof has a large gap around it and they won’t leave the kids. The cellar network is too risky with the kids too. It’s only the doors they can use.”
Gray stopped Defoe’s next question. “That’s all Hywel needs to know about our plans.” He turned back to summon Somersby closer. “Except that Somersby will be joining you at the base.”
Hywel staggered and shook his head adamantly. “No. How am I supposed to sneak back into a building and explain the appearance of a new person? It’s impossible!”
Somersby tutted. “Duh! You take me to the front door. Explain I am your informant and that you snuck out to see me. You decided to bring me back to base to keep me safe.”
Hywel laughed. “What sort of role do you think I have?”
These lamentations were cut short by a look from Gray. Hywel did recruit new informants and had previously brought spies back to base when they were threatened. This plan was convincing.
“What is she planning?” Hywel asked.
“Above your pay grade,” Defoe snapped.
Somersby sidled up to Hywel and stroked her elegant index finger along his stubbled jaw. “Don’t worry, handsome. You’re only doing this to get your daughter a normal life. Valiant of you.” He shuddered as her nail passed down his neck. “I’ll look after you both.”
Was that a threat?
Gray scowled at Hywel again and raised his voice. “You know better than to ask questions like that.”
Stung, Hywel fell back into line. That’s it little snake, slither back into your hole.
6 - The Daughter
Alex groaned and dropped her head back to her pillow. Just a kid having a lively dream. That was a change of pace, someone else having the night terrors. More than one person crying in their sleep.
Blue emergency lighting touched the corners of the 2am darkness. The blue mixed with the patter of rain on the steel roof to paint a blue waterfall trickling down the walls. The touch of inky darkness made the wriggling yellow sleeping bags look like waving hummocks of grass. A moonlit field of sleeping lambs.
There was a wolf prowling in her dreams, taking her back to the underground - hearing his voice, the smell of smoke, the sharp-edged railing - it kept replaying over and over. Why? That chase wasn’t so special. There’d been a few close calls when she’d helped break people out of prison. Like when that guy from the butcher’s shop escaped. A guard pinned her against the wall. That was terrifying.
Another rustling noise. Her Dad’s new squeeze, attempting to smother his snoring with a pillow over her ear. Imagine that noise on a stakeout. They’re supposed to be in a vacant warehouse and they had a beacon like that. He’s worse than useless. To be fair, her father was respected here. He did his part to keep the group alive and fed. He taught Alex how to navigate the street and how to break into a prison... Same as everyone else.
What about this woman, Gina Rigby? Was she one of many little women he kept in a flat somewhere? She certainly hung onto him like she owned him. Practically drooling on his shoulder. A woman blatantly lusting for him, and he was o
ld. She’d follow him into the bathrooms if he let her.
Stretching sideways, Alex turned to face Martyn. He was awake too. She smiled weakly and Martyn’s eyes fluttered shut. If they were a normal married couple in a cute Middle Meadston flat then he would have ventured to the sofa a long time before now. There was nowhere in this ruddy warehouse to escape to. Nowhere to find peace.
Martyn squirmed. Alex was staring at him, she looked down at the concrete.
“Alex, go to sleep.”
An irritated look from Martyn reminded her that he wanted more than what she was giving. Even with his eyes closed she could hear it in his tone.
Sleep, they needed sleep!
Maybe Alex should see a shrink. She needed her head unpicking before someone clocked her with a brick. That would keep her sleeping. Knowing her luck, it’d wake up other terrors from her past, like when the cops took her mother.
Turning away, Alex curled up and shivered away the cold that seeped up from the concrete floor. Nothing stopped that chill drilling into her bones.
Zoe Joseph was sleeping not too far away. Her husband slept soundly, barely a foot from her side, with his arm stretched plaintively towards her. Marcus, a doting, caring man, had fallen for a plain and inelegant woman. He was a hot-headed, doltish, aggressive man when pushed, but never with Zoe. That was real love. Different from every other relationship Alex had ever seen. Almost impossible to find. He’d hidden in the shadows for years, just to stay close to his wife. Would she step into that life so easily?
Alex twisted back towards Martyn and he grumbled heavily. That’s it, she kicked the sleeping bag away, letting the brisk air prickle over her skin. Alex pulled her knees up close to her, freeing her trapped feet, and quietly crawled herself upright. Behind her Martyn was stirring too, then following her tiptoeing to the back room.
“What’re you doing?” He asked, when they were far enough from the others.
Alex smoothed down her rucked-up hair and brushed a salty streak from her face. “Just give me some space.”
“You need to sleep.”
“I need to wash my face and just vent a bit.”
Martyn reached for her hand, but she pulled back. “Can’t I even touch you now? There’s nobody looking. Nobody cares.”
“Martyn, I’m just...”
“Just confused? Just worn out? Or just bored of me?” He slumped down in one of the mouldy bentwood chairs.
Alex leant against a greening brick wall. “I’m... Tired. Afraid. I don’t know right now.”
“We’re all afraid, Alex,” Martyn said. “And right now you’re why I’m tired.”
“Well go back to bed, Boss. Leave me.”
Martyn bounced to his feet and leered over her, hands resting lightly on the brickwork by her ears. “I can’t. I can’t trust you to stay in bed, I can’t trust you to be here in the morning.”
There was too much anger to look him in his eyes. Alex ducked under his arm and looked out at the undulating field of sleeping bags.
“Why can’t you do what I tell you, Alex?”
She heaved in cooling breaths, calming her mind, keeping dark thoughts a little further away. “I need to know if Heather is Ok.”
“You only saw her last week.”
“I know, but something went wrong. What if the person who told them I’d be at Middle Meadston underground told the cops about Heather and Ro?” Alex stopped, breathing hard to keep the shake out of her voice.
Martyn pulled her in close, rubbing down the goosebumps on her upper arms. “You’re cold, come back to bed.”
Alex tried to pull away. “You’re not listening to me.”
His lips were close to her cheek. “You have a good heart, Alex. If you keep worrying about people outside these walls you’ll go insane.”
“But they’re family.”
Martyn kissed her gently on the neck. “I know. I’ll send scouts out in the morning.”
Alex let him nuzzle at her hair.
“It’ll all be Ok, Alex. It’ll be Ok and we can get married and get out of this city. We could run to the coast, cross over to the continent. We’ll be north of the Empire before we know it.” Martyn bit her earlobe.
“Martyn!” She pushed away.
“Sorry. I thought you liked that.”
She dropped down onto an old sofa. “I do. I’m just not in the mood for fairy tales, Ok.”
He sat down next to her, resting on the edge of the seat. “But you’d like to do that if we could, wouldn’t you?”
“Scale the walls and escape? Sure.”
“Settle down somewhere far away. Us having a little family somewhere safe.”
He watched her, waiting, wanting a reply, imagining a proper relationship, babies. He’d never get that here.
“What’s the matter, Alex?”
“I’ve just told you!” She leant back, staring at the ceiling.
“That’s not what you’ve been dreaming about. What else?”
Her dreams. Nightmares.
“That doesn’t matter,” she said.
“I think I can guess.” Martyn pointed across the field of bed mats, somewhere near where they’d slept. “Did your Dad tell you why Marcus never leaves base?”
Alex shrugged. “Something about Zoe’s parents being killed.”
“No, that’s why they first joined,” Martyn said. “Back when my Dad was the leader, Marcus led a strike team against an armoured van. Billy Ackerson was inside.”
“I heard about Billy, William Ackerson’s last kid. He ran off to hide somewhere.”
“He was always high, or covered in prossies, often found lying in his own piss. The rumours were he was dying from advanced syphilis. Nevertheless, the group felt they owed his father.
“The rescue plan was sound. They owned a cop on the prisoner’s transit convoy and fifteen Ackersons volunteered to assist. But the raid was an ambush. Police appeared from everywhere as soon as the back of the van opened. Shots came from all directions. Billy got a bullet while still handcuffed to a rail in the van. Six of us were shot, five were caught and hung the next day, and two returned battered and bruised to base. Marcus was missing when we evacuated.”
“He got away,” Alex said.
“Back then there wasn’t a locked-out policy. If someone was out of base then they were lost. Marcus was lost. The council refused to rescue anybody captured by the police. It was too dangerous. Many people left the group; Zoe was nearly one of them. She watched the news broadcasts, waiting for news that her husband had died.”
Alex looked again at Marcus’s hand resting outstretched towards his wife.
Martyn continued. “After weeks without news she dressed as a beggar and huddled herself in a corner of one of the main streets in Central. Hiding from the shadows of policemen, she waited there for three weeks before finding him. Marcus had superficial injuries, but the separation scared her. A lot of time has passed and Zoe still keeps him out of the fighting. He’s restless, wanting to be useful, wanting to see the streets again. He’s fighting not to be the next useless Billy Ackerson.”
And so was Alex.
Zoe’s albino white hand slipped out of the sleeping bag to meet Marcus’s waiting olive claw, curled up in gentle sleep. They’d been holding hands. That’s the enduring passion that Martyn wanted and it was like that in the beginning.
“You want to be useful,” Martyn said. “That’s what you’re worried about.”
“No!” She startled. “I’ll be useful.”
“I know that.”
She squeezed his hand.
“I love you, Alex.”
They were a perfect couple, really. A few months after Abbie died they were sneaking around snogging in the bathrooms, hiding it from her Dad. Then there was the excitement when her Dad found out and tried to put a stop to it. Then it stagnated and it wasn’t fun anymore. It wasn’t a game. Martyn wanted her to feel more.
She led him back to their separate, rustling beds.
The warehouse started stirring when the Sun rose in the autumnal sky. Few people had legitimate jobs to go to, but with mouths to feed everyone had a purpose. The warehouse emptied out at 7am, releasing bodies to either work, volunteer, beg, meet contacts, run security checks, spy on police or run other errands. Only a dozen would remain to tend the children, maintain the warehouse, prepare food or post guard outside. The place was eerily silent; as an abandoned warehouse should be.
The night guards were gathering in the kitchen area, waiting for their breakfast before they head off to bed. Toby was watching her closely. Did everyone know what she was thinking? Alex belonged in that morning rush, escaping out into the city every day. Now Toby would follow her around like a fly on stink to keep her indoors.
The teen was the ominous screw left behind after the self-assembly kit was put together. She’d float around the warehouse, drifting from breakfast, to watching the kids, to staring into a growing spider’s web across a clouded windowpane.
Alex looked back at her shadow as she picked up a bowl from the breakfast counter. Imagine staying up all night leaning against a chimney, smelling the distant micro-food factory. Toby must yearn for chicken dinner followed by sticky toffee pudding and custard. What the delightful cooking crew slopped up was warm gruel and, because he was a night guard, two pieces of crunchy bacon. Behind her his voice said, “Thank you”.
The mouldy old cow did not know a croissant from a cresset. Alex picked up a mandatory dishwater tea from another less-than glamorous assistant before moving to a table surrounded by diners, so Toby had to sit elsewhere.
Barney had been on night watch again. He was cute, but a bit dull. There was an edge to him, nothing like anyone else their age. Well, his age, he was perhaps five years older than Alex. When Barney joined the Ackersons Alex found out he specialised in explosives. He was an internet-kid shaped by Erikssen videos online, so he splintered away from his family and turned to living on the streets. Nobody knew why Barney didn’t join the Erikssens or why there was a trail of acid burns bleached across his shoulders.
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