Rise

by Victoria Powell

  Hands shunted Alex into a white concrete cell. The barred door slammed shut. White lights blasted the room. The smell of fresh paint musked with bleach overloaded her. Prone on the floor, her elbows still tied tight behind her back, she could feel the smooth stickiness of new gloss on her cheek.

  The cell was too small to lie flat inside. The floor sloped towards a drain in the back corner. The door, as white as snow, stood flush to the wall. There were no locks, peepholes or exposed hinges on this side. This was new. It was nothing like the cells she’d broken people out of before. Pain surged through her back as she curled herself up onto her knees. Shuffling sideways, Alex leant herself against the padded walls, hearing paint crack as the wall yielded under her weight.

  The door opened. Alex flinched as Defoe sauntered inside. His amused expression was nauseating. The door clicked shut.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll treat you fairly.”

  “Fairly?” Her hysterical chuckle made the cuffs tighter.

  “You wouldn’t want to be treated like your friends, Alex. Or your father. He’s a crook. He deserves what he’s getting.” Defoe’s smile grew.

  “What did you do with Heather and Nathan?”

  Defoe ruffled her hair. “You can guess. They’re sympathisers. There’s only one punishment of people like that.”

  “And me?” Her shoulder tremored.

  “You? We’ll see. You’re still a minor. We could be lenient.”

  “You’ve killed kids before,” she said with a sickly sweetness to her voice.

  Defoe pulled out his baton, watching her.

  “I don’t get it. Why don’t you just kill me like the rest?” she asked. “Didn’t I give you a good enough fight?”

  Defoe shrugged. “I’d like to kill you.” He frowned. “But we’ve had orders. I suppose you’re a symbol of the resistance. What better than to reform your character?”

  Alex felt sick. “That’s never gonna happen.”

  “Well, sweet cheeks, you’d be surprised what we can make you think.” Defoe winked.

  She felt her face burn red, then recovered herself. This man was scum. Stay strong. Stand up to him.

  “What are you looking at?” She growled.

  He shrugged. “A job well-done. A rabbit snared. Another brownie point on my docket.”

  “I don’t plan to stick around too long.”

  “You have information we want. Your father’s been our informant for a long time. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll give us information too.”

  “Liar! My father wouldn’t do that,” Alex spat.

  “Do you want to know what he told us? Before you fill in the gaps?” Defoe sniggered.

  She shrank down to the floor. “Lies.”

  Defoe nodded to the policeman standing by the door. The policeman smiled and slinked away. Defoe closed the door tight behind him and advanced to stand directly above her, casting a dark shadow.

  “I know everything about your group. Your father told us.” Defoe pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and thrust it in Alex’s face. “Is this your father’s handwriting? Do you see how many names are on the list, Alex?”

  The list was crumpled, but she picked out the names, including names of children. Bile choked in her throat. She sucked in a deep breath of tepid air trying to hold back the vomit. Those kids were condemned now.

  Next to every name were the number of breakouts they attended or their form of participation within the group.

  Alex Jenkins - seventeen breakouts - joined age six.

  The paper was snatched back. “This is more than just Martyn Davidson and Zoe Joseph. Now do you believe me?” He paced in front of her; his eyes never leaving hers.

  “Martyn and the council? They’re the only names you really know. The others are all faked.” She calmed her voice with only slight shaking coming through from the back of her throat.

  “Seeing Heather Appleby on there wasn’t enough, then? The woman who brought you up? I bet she was the one who told you about periods.”

  Alex pressed her fingernails deep into her palms. Imagining burning a hole in the floor with her eyes.

  “Perhaps you need more evidence.” He refolded the list before starting the tale. “Shall I talk to Hywel again and tell you about your life before you joined the Ackersons. Do you know anything about your mother’s childhood? I’ll find out and tell you about it.”

  “Before you took my mother away? I remember. You were in our flat. Then you took her and murdered her in City Square,” she said.

  “Executed. Legally. Your father took you to see it, didn’t he?”

  He saw a tear roll down her cheek. “He regrets taking you to see her hanging. He told me that.”

  Alex turned away.

  “Accused of neglecting her child?” Defoe smirked. “Of course, you’d say she didn’t do that. You were too young to understand.”

  “She loved me!” Alex’s rage burst out.

  “Your father thinks differently.”

  Alex was now in a white fury. She shook and glared at him mutely.

  The bushy moustache barely hid his strong native features. He glanced towards the door, waiting for something. “Ah, if you don’t believe me, ask him. Come in!”

  Hywel shuffled slowly into the small space. One guard rested his hand lightly on Hywel’s shoulder. Alex’s father had old-fashioned handcuffs tying his hands in front of him and he seemed... nervous and embarrassed, but not scared. Did he really tell them? Alex pushed herself to her feet.

  “So Hywel, tell your daughter the truth.” Defoe was cunning, Alex knew that. “Tell her about her mother.”

  “Leave her out of this!” Alex shouted a warning at her father.

  Defoe pointed his finger at her. “Shut up and you might get out of this alive!”

  Hywel scowled at Defoe. “We had a deal. You have to let us go.”

  Defoe chortled. “Deals change.”

  “Get Inspector Gray in here now,” Hywel said.

  Defoe slapped him backwards. “Tell her about her mother!”

  Hywel shrank, struggled to retain some of his confident defiance. His eyes flicked between Defoe and Alex. He sighed. “Your mother was on a warning for leaving you in school after hours.”

  “Well, she was busy,” Alex snapped.

  Hywel stayed calm. “Your mother worked you like a dog. You had bruises all over you and burns on your arms. It wasn’t normal. I called the police.”

  “No. You were devastated when they took her.” Alex pushed him backwards.

  Hywel shook his head. “I didn’t expect... I didn’t know they’d do that. They left you in a flat on your own! The cooker was on. You could have died if I’d been late.”

  Alex whispered, “You killed her.”

  Hywel staggered. “All I did was look after you. I did it for you!”

  “Shut up! You’re a liar.”

  Hywel scoffed and grew angry. “What a hypocrite! You’ve just told the cops all of the Ackerson names!” Hywel shouted.

  Clutching her gut, Alex said, “I said nothing! Your fake names are all they’ve got.”

  Hywel stumbled over his thoughts, “But he said…” Defoe was talking to a guard at the door.

  Alex grabbed Hywel, whispering urgently. “What did you tell them?”

  “Where we’ve stayed, who we are...” He whispered. “Lexi, they promised us a new life. You’re still young. You can start again.”

  “I hate you.” She spluttered the words. “You simple, self-obsessed sociopath. Do you understand? You’ve just killed us all. Not just all of our friends, we’re both dead too. We’re their examples. Dad, we’re going to die.”

  Defoe stepped back into the room, followed by a guard holding a small box.

  “Do you two want to tell us anything else freely?” Defoe said.

  Hywel fidgeted as the colour slipped from his face.

  “Shut up, Dad!”

  “There’s more to say, Hywel.” Defoe gl
anced from the box to Alex and back to Hywel.

  Defoe nodded to the guards. They grabbed Alex by her upper arms and Defoe pinned her against the wall.

  “Don’t tell them anything!”

  One of the guards stood on her leg irons. Defoe’s noxious smoke overpowered her. She fought against him and screamed.

  Defoe flirted his sadism. “Hywel, you know what’s in that box. Tell me what I want to know. She won’t be harmed.”

  “Shut up.”

  Defoe laughed, echoing around the room. The box opened. The most innocent device in there was a set of cuticle clippers, but flecks of blood and rust traced their blades. There were knives and pincers and thumb screws and needles. Everything else was alien to her.

  A cop blocked her view and played with one of the devices. “Do you want to go through with this?”

  Looking for an escape, Alex searched her guards for weaknesses. Then she saw their weapons. Tranquilliser guns? They wanted them alive.

  “Do you want to see in the box?” Defoe was standing at her side now.

  Her torturer stepped to the side, showing her a syringe filled with a baby pink liquid that looked so friendly. Panic spilled out of her.

  “Good girl. It’s Ok.” The needle came closer. “Stay still and it won’t hurt, Alex.”

  What was in that syringe? Her trousers were pushed down and a needle jabbed into her behind. She could almost feel the contents of the vial pulsing into her body like liquid nitrogen burning through her veins.

  Defoe croaked a laugh. “Tell us now and we’ll leave her be.”

  “Inspector, please. What was that?” The guards were holding Hywel back.

  “You want to know what the antidote is?” Defoe smirked.

  Hywel’s voice broke. “Please.”

  Defoe picked up an intricate little knife out of the box. “The drug takes a few minutes to kick in. Soon she won’t understand what you’re saying. You won’t need to worry about any antidote then.” Defoe whispered just loud enough for her to hear. “She’ll be out for a long time, Hywel. We could do anything to her....”

  Her vision started to blur, and she could feel the voices going further and further away. Her legs were weak.

  “I think it’s taking effect, sir.”

  She slowly swung her head to look at the speaker and tried to pull away from the wall.

  The hands released and she stepped into someone standing behind her. He wrapped his arms around her middle like holding a frightened child. She couldn’t pull away. She struggled against his wandering hands.

  “It’s alright Alex, you’re safe now. Sleep child, your father is here and he won’t let me harm you.” Defoe whispered in her ear.

  Her legs gave way. Was this what it felt like to die? Defoe held her in his arms and gently laid her down on the floor. She felt her wrists and ankles being released. Then a creeping numbness as the clanking of metal and shouting faded.

  11 - The Guard

  Toby shouldered his pack and peered into the exposed alley. A rush of noise slipped around him out into the empty street. A little noise was Ok during business hours and the lunchtime rush was still an hour away.

  “All’s clear.”

  Martyn followed him. “I’m serious, Toby. Two hours, that’s all.”

  “I’ll find them,” Toby said.

  “The police could have them anywhere by now.” Martyn tugged the door to start it sliding shut. “If you hear anything...”

  “I’ll come back straight away.”

  “Two hours, then we’re gone.”

  Toby knew his job. Ahead of him were the smog-filled streets into the city centre and everybody on the streets had a purpose. If you had time to wander aimlessly through this part of town then you weren’t rich enough to keep the police from bothering you. You’d be enlisted to work in the fields outside the walls or thrown into the cells to rot.

  His route took him through tight lanes away from the thoroughfare. They offered protection from big brother, but were a pinch point if police got in his way. Darting his eyes across the path, his security-wired brain constantly ticked. He focused on the task ahead of him, forgetting the massive re-basing operation taking place elsewhere.

  At his last opportunity Toby stepped into the busy main street and merged with the crowd. These middle-class sods were enjoying the flexible working hours offered by Central. Those in suits must have just finished a night shift while others were enjoying the sun before starting the lunchtime rush. Then there were the shoppers dressed in service wear, like waitresses, plumbers, nannies, all popped into town for supplies. Toby’s worn denim trousers and ruffled white t-shirt could easily be the uniform of a tradesman, helping him merge with the crowd.

  The shoppers emitted a nervous energy. Something had happened. The usual crush was weaker. Even after an attack people needed food and had to work so the streets were never empty. Clear pockets of police littered the streets like confetti. Something was wrong.

  The street ahead stretched between the Central shopping centre, the theatre house, the police station and City Square. Would he find Alex, Hywel, Heather and Nathan side by side in City Square hanging at the gallows? The streets began to congeal. Something drew the attention of the crowd.

  Toby kept to the edge of the congestion and looked up at the CityView telecoms screen. The usual news broadcast was replaced by the image of a beaten and bloody man wearing handcuffs. The man lifted his chin and his glistening, blood-stained hair fell away. Hywel’s pointed nose and thick eyebrows were camouflaged beneath gruesome punishment.

  Two presenters chatted over their footage.

  A deeply feminine voice said, “This really has been a long time coming. One of the Ackerson leaders finally captured.”

  “It’s brilliant news!” Her male counterpart said.

  “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait for the execution.”

  The crowd around Toby bristled; happy, angry, scared. The capture of any other illegal group’s leader would result in bombs, shootings, all-out war. The Ackersons were more docile than that. They’d predictably try to break Hywel out, but that’s all. Any attempt would be futile. Even Alex... but she must’ve escaped. Otherwise she’d be on the news too... unless they thought showing a beat-up teenage girl was too distasteful.

  “Well, we have breaking news regarding that - let’s handover to our criminal correspondent, Matt West, for more information.”

  The screen expanded, now showing a young reporter standing next to Hywel.

  “Good afternoon Lyra and Craig. I have very exciting news.”

  “Are we going to see an execution this week, Matt?” Lyra asked.

  The nervous reporter stood next to the subdued prisoner. “Yes Lyra. Until then Hywel Jenkins will be held in this secure cell in the Central prison unit.”

  Lyra clapped her hands together.

  Craig said, “Matt, we want to know when!”

  The criminal correspondent rippled with glee. “This is an all-time first! Hywel Jenkins will be executed in this cell and broadcast live on this channel tomorrow evening.”

  “Wow,” Craig gasped. “What an exclusive. Tomorrow night?”

  Matt nodded. “Yes, the broadcast will immediately follow the execution of two activists in the City Square, Heather Appleby and Nathan Wong. Details will be available later today, so keep tuned to find out more.”

  The screen shifted, now showing the two presenters sitting at the news desk. Craig, a shifty looking man with a suspicious hairpiece, patted his desk heartily. “Well folks, that’s another dangerous criminal off the streets thanks to the ruthless work of our police officers. We have a new set of illegals to share with you.” Names started streaming across the bottom of the screen. “By this evening we will have photographs for every single name.”

  Lyra scowled at the camera. “Remember folks, these are dangerous people. Do not approach them. Contact the police straight away via the Report It locator app.”

  Toby sa
w his name shoot across the screen. By nightfall none of his scouts could leave the base. Someone, almost certainly Hywel, had crippled the mobility of the entire group.

  Three policemen stood beneath the telecoms screen scanning the faces of the passing crowd. Toby had to move on. He squeezed past the stationary watchers, trailing a line of people shuffling towards City Square.

  Where was Alex? She hadn’t freed Heather, so Alex would try again. Toby had to circuit the police station, just in case she was staking it out. Then he would head out of town and hope that a scout was left at base for him when the news got out.

  Small telecoms screens were staged in every direction and a few people paused to look. Most of the screens flashed up old images. There was Silvia Thompson, the new leader of the Monmouth group. There was one of the extremist Erikssen scouts, Harry Digby. Toby could see another screen up ahead showing images of people who had been caught. Alex’s face flashed up on that one, but they could be lying.

  Police appeared out of side streets and shop doorways; they were everywhere. Toby looked over the heads of the civilians and saw waves of policemen outside the station. They swamped the streets surrounding the building like cockroaches around a dead horse. Pausing outside the Grand Theatre, as if to view the performance listing, Toby turned back up the street. This was not a fight he could win by himself.

  Toby dithered on the edge of City Square looking across towards its concrete platform. It must have been about five-foot-high and fifty-feet-across with the gallows positioned centrally. The emptiness felt strange, like it was calling out for its next victim.

  Was Toby really leaving Hywel and Alex to face that? It was like leaving his friends with a ravenous lion. In just over twenty-four hours a video of Hywel dying would be broadcast on that stage. Heather and Nathan’s crumpled bodies would already be cold. Who knew what would happen to Alex? Damn Hywel for bringing her along! With every step away from that stage a part of Toby gave up on his friends, knowing that his inaction would result in death.

  Barney’s face was already being broadcast. Barney! If the silly little day guard was already in the database then Toby needed to disappear instantly. Pulling over to the side of the crowd Toby hurried to the next side street. Alex’s face flashed across a screen again. If she survived then that girl would be living hell to control now. She’s like a wild animal when kept inside. She needs exercising like a dog.