Martyn smiled softly. “Hi.” He crouched down, careful not to crush anything amongst a chaotic inventory of medical supplies. “Do you ever take a break?”
Emma snatched a bandage off him. “Not anymore. How’s Alex?”
Martyn shrugged, ripping. “She’s safe. She still won’t talk. I need to know what happened to her.”
Emma nodded. “I’ve tried to talk to her. Nothing works. She’s been in a daze since they brought her back.”
“It scares me, Emma.” Martyn rubbed his eyes. “She doesn’t sleep.”
“I know. I know. We just have to wait,” Emma said.
“Wait for what?” Martyn snapped.
“Perhaps wait was the wrong word.” Emma frowned, looking over the detritus around her. “I don’t know what happened to her. Maybe she’ll bounce back, but whoever she is now is not who she was a week ago.”
Martyn’s face was unreadable. His eyes dulled and colour drained.
Emma said, “Look, she’s been living out of the sickbay for the last week. Let’s move her upstairs, get her a healthy routine and set her back to working. Maybe she’ll start talking to us.”
“You’re sure it’s not some sort of brain damage from the accident?”
Emma huffed at him. “For the last time, there is no way that she has brain damage. Ok? She’s just in shock.”
Martyn nodded, “Ok. Let’s get a room prepared upstairs for us.”
“Perhaps we should put her in with Debbie?” Emma said.
Martyn furrowed his brow. “No, I want her with me.”
Emma squeezed gently on Martyn’s hand. “You’ve got a fight to lead.”
“I’m doing that.”
Emma interrupted. “But Alex’s got a fight to forget. She needs a companion as naive as Debbie, who has a strict routine.” Emma blushed. “Debbie is essential to the cause, I just mean she’s away from the fighting stuff. She’s not complicated.”
Martyn let go of her hand. “I don’t like it...”
Emma nodded kindly. “I’ll make the arrangements. Just... don’t push her to tell you. She’d tell us if she knew anything important, shock or no shock.”
Martyn changed the subject. “How are you doing?”
Emma turned back to the sheet and started ripping it again. “I don’t want to talk about that. Jen, Steve, Pete, Sam, my parents - they’re all dead. How can I look Jen’s kid in the eye?”
Martyn studied Emma carefully. “I’m sorry, Emma. This isn’t what you signed up for.”
“Drop it.” She tore at the sheet before delicately rolling the strip into a ball. “Now either rip up these sheets or sod off, cos this is my life until we find a new medical supplier.”
Martyn pushed himself up off the floor. “Don’t hide away in here. Or you’ll turn out like Alex.” Emma scoffed. “And can you check out Toby’s ankle again? He’s still struggling on it.”
Emma threw down the sheet. “I’ve told you both already. Toby’s got a bad sprain and he’s not to be doing guard duty. If he keeps walking around on it then it’ll get worse. Sign him off, Martyn.”
Martyn shrugged. “How do you sign a rebel off work? He doesn’t listen.”
Stepping back into the kitchen-diner Martyn looked across to the shadowy corner. Alex was gone. A skip of a heartbeat and Alex came back into view in the kitchen. Debbie set her to work on a pile of vegetables. Perhaps this was what she needed. This was a glimpse of normality and purpose. Maybe it wouldn’t be too long before she was talking and smiling again.
Marcus had migrated to the sofa and was engrossed in some sort of car racing programme. What a waste of fuel and tyres. The cars ran around and around, doing the same thing for hours on end. It was noisy, dirty and completely rigged by the government. It wasn’t even a local thing; it was happening in Tameri. Martyn left Marcus to it and walked into the cooler sitting room just down the corridor.
Ewan was reading a paper in an armchair underneath a spotlight lamp. That was the best seat, with the least lumps, a supporting back and great lighting. Ewan glanced up before continuing to read. “Hey, Martyn,” he mumbled.
Martyn pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his inside jacket pocket. They’d been tempting him for the past four months, but he’d stayed strong... for a long time. Four of their brothers had succumbed in the last week. Ewan smirked as Martyn lit up and sat down next to him. Neither spoke, respecting the peaceful companionship.
The padding of the bentwood chair Martyn sat in was worked thin now. The beige material was tainted brown in places and the plastic strapping under his thighs cut into his thin flesh. Personally, the chair was too low and reclined too far back for Martyn’s taste. He liked an upright chair, he liked to be alert and ready to jump to action. Today, he let himself relax into the mingle of nicotine and the gentle jigging of the springy wood.
Slowly the cigarette burnt down to the filter and Martyn reluctantly stubbed it out on the sole of his trainer. He tucked the stub back in the packet, with its awaiting brothers. The packet then disappeared into Martyn’s pocket. The bentwood chair had now moulded itself around his scrawny frame. The paper on the coffee table looked so far away, too far away for his sleepy limbs. He lowered his head back against the flap of padding on the chair’s back.
Ewan folded his paper. “Careful on that chair, Martyn. One of the kids jumped on it and there’s a crack in the left leg.”
Martyn huffed, stretched sideways to look down at the crack. “Great. Thanks.”
Bang. Someone was screaming. Martyn scrambled out of the chair. It was coming from the kitchen.
By the sofa Marcus was grappling with Alex, holding her across the chest from behind.
“The bastards! The bloody bastards!” Alex shouted.
Martyn waded through the tables.
Alex twisted around and thumped Marcus in the chest. “They’ve got Nina! They’re going to kill her.”
Martyn pushed Debbie out of the way and pried Alex free. “What the hell?”
Alex shoved him and ran.
“Stop her!” Marcus yelled, diving after her.
Martyn staggered behind Marcus, chasing them out of the room and up the stairs to the ground floor.
They spun around the bolster at the end of the stairs. Alex faltered at the front door. Zoe blocked her way, dripping rain on the carpet. A fraction of a second and Marcus had her pinned against a wall, holding her fast.
People piled around the doors, straining to see. Kids were pulled back out of sight.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Ok.” Marcus reassured the room. “We’re Ok here.”
“Marcus, let me go!” Alex screamed.
Zoe stripped off her dripping travel cloak and threw aside her empty trading bag. “Alex, what are you doing?”
Martyn hovered nearby. “What happened?”
“No idea,” Marcus shuddered, looking at the scuffed hallway walls as if for some inspirational answer. “She was fine one minute. Maybe she recognised someone on the TV.”
Martyn rubbed his forehead. “On the TV?”
Marcus grunted. “Let’s sort this out somewhere quiet. Please!”
Zoe turned to Martyn. “Where’s Emma?”
Martyn nodded and ran back to the kitchen.
“No!” Alex shouted. “No, you’ve got to let me go. They’ve got Nina. I’ve got to get her out.”
Zoe asked Marcus. “Who’s Nina?”
“How would I know?” Marcus grunted, narrowly missing a boot in his shin. “There was a news broadcast. Some girl’s photo popped up and this one started screaming.”
“Zoe, help me. They’ll kill Nina. She’s just a kid.”
Zoe stayed back. “Alex, what can you do?”
“They’ll let her go if I...” Alex gasped.
“No chance. Remember what Debbie and I did to get you away from them?”
Alex twisted and shouted at Zoe. “She didn’t know. She didn’t know who he was.”
Zoe sho
ok her head. “What you’re talking about? Breathe.”
“He makes people disappear. He said he wouldn’t hurt her.”
Zoe pursed her lips and turned to Debbie. “Girl, tell Martyn to hurry up.”
Emma bounded up the stairs.
Zoe patted Emma on the back. “She’s talking gibberish. I think she’s in shock.”
“Emma, tell them I’m Ok. They’re going to kill Nina. I need to go. Please.”
Emma turned away. “Marcus, hold her still a sec.” With one quick motion Emma injected a sedative and Alex slowly collapsed.
Marcus scooped her up and carried her down into the basement.
Debbie rubbed her reddened eyes and leant against the cool wall. “I’m sorry, Martyn. What could I do? I....” Her lips moved wordlessly.
Zoe pulled Debbie into a hug. “Nothing. Sweetie, you couldn’t do anything. Something happened to her in that house. It was just a matter of time until she spoke up.”
“Was she trying to tell us just now?” Debbie asked.
Zoe was watching Martyn over Debbie’s shoulder. “I really hope not.”
38 - The Policeman
Defoe stood at ease in the Ambassador’s sitting room, waiting for the inevitable. Despite himself Defoe wondered how the Ambassador had relocated so quickly. This was a new house, but the same gawdy green wallpaper and the same set of worn dark leather armchairs. How many replications of this house existed across the city?
Defoe hated being called to the Ambassador’s house. He had to go. Like a puppet, he had to go. He had to do whatever the Ambassador pleased.
Policing was everything he’d known since childhood. Why question his orders now? He knew why. She did that to him....
The girl had called the Ambassador Mr Simons. Was that his real name? Doubtful. That must be a pseudonym, a name in a string of names that he dreamt up over the last twenty years. A list of names that the Ambassador stockpiled and discarded in bloody streaks across the city.
Defoe kicked at the carpet and paced the floor.
Simons, or whoever he was, strode into the room. Gone was the blind man facade. Here stood the hooded phantom Defoe had seen poised to pounce in the Commander’s office. Simons lifted a cane from the corner of the room. Previously a prop for guests of the blind man, now the cane was braced horizontally within white knuckled fists. “Defoe, you know why you’re here.”
Defoe tilted his head. “Sir?”
“Is this some sick joke? You’re planning to execute Alex Jenkins during one of my city inspection events? I’m not going to let you execute her just because you announced it on TV.” Simons kicked at a lampstand sending it crashing.
Defoe growled under his breath before he spoke. “This is Deputy Commander Remea’s call, not mine, sir.”
“I know you’re behind this. I know it’s you,” he said.
Defoe gritted his teeth. “I don’t know why the Deputy is keeping you in the dark, but I don’t play games. We’re not executing Alex Jenkins, sir.” Spittle actually left his mouth as he growled the word ‘sir’.
“Don’t lie to me. My team showed me the broadcasts.” Simon’s cane crackled under tension.
Defoe put his hands up submissively. “The girl is a spare. We’ll hang a spare to save face. They say Jenkins died in the car after leaving your house, but we can’t find her body.”
Simons tightened his expression. “She’s already dead?”
Defoe shrugged. “Yes, sir. Something about a brick thrown at her. It’s just a spare.”
“A spare,” Simons said, his mask deadpan. He swung the cane and obliterated a vase on the bookcase behind him, littering the room with crushed flowers, specks of water and glass. “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe a word of it!”
Defoe had not moved. He kicked a broken tulip from his boot. “Neither do I. She can’t be dead or she’d have turned up somewhere.”
“The body in my car?”
“Your driver,” Defoe said.
“How could you lose her?” Simons demanded.
Defoe raised an eyebrow, but then remembered himself and remained quiet.
“Sir, why was she in your house?” Defoe asked.
Simons tossed the cane back into the corner of the room and paced past Defoe, turning to see the cop’s disgust. “I don’t know why you look at me with such offence. She was my prisoner - I can interrogate her wherever and however I choose.”
Defoe interrupted. “Yes, sir. I’ve put together more pieces of the story than you think.”
“You shouldn’t have. Nobody should know,” Simons said.
What was his secret? Nothing made sense.
“Understand this – if she turns up dead then so will you,” Simons hissed.
Defoe stood up and saluted. “Understood, sir.”
Simons shivered and stood aside for Defoe to leave.
“Sir, why her?” Defoe asked.
Relief sparkled in Simons eyes. “Thank you.”
“Why?”
“For asking that question.”
Defoe paused. “I don’t understand.”
“Exactly.”
Simons indicated towards the open door again.
The cop took his leave. Defoe smiled. Simons may have his secrets, but so did he. Constable Travis had picked up a signal. It had not been there for long, but it was long enough to indicate Alex was somewhere near the edge of Middle Meadston and the Business District. The area was too large to search, but the signal appeared for a full sixty-five seconds. That was long enough for now. Long enough to know that she was alive.
39 - The Daughter
It had been a long night. Zoe stepped over a sleeping Martyn on the threshold of the sickbay room. Marcus was reading a book in the sitting room. He gave his wife an incredulous look.
“Martyn’s been waiting outside that door for hours,” he whispered.
Zoe kissed him on the cheek. “He needs sleep. She’s Ok. She’s talking. Not entirely making sense, but she’s calm.”
“How did you do it?” Marcus asked.
“She was ready, she wanted to talk. Plus, Emma doped her up a bit. Let her sleep it off now,” Zoe asked. “Do not let Martyn disturb her. Nobody is to go in there tonight or in the morning before I arrive. Understand?”
He nodded. “I got it. Are you going to tell me what happened to her?”
Zoe perched on the coffee table. “I don’t really know. She told me very little about the house. I mean, she talked a lot, but it was all about this girl Nina. She feels responsible for her. We’ll need to keep an eye on Alex. I think she’ll try to get out again.”
Marcus took hold of his wife’s hand. “Hywel is gone now. Someone has to watch out for his daughter. He’ll be glad it’s you.”
Zoe’s face soured.
****
Light slowly crept into the room where Alex sat staring at her hands. Like a cancer, she felt a question deep inside her gnawing at her. Was she really his daughter? She pushed herself to stay with that thought, to think about their conversation. What did he want with her? Where was he taking her that night? Back with him to Taleri?
The Sun breached the surrounding buildings and threw sharp spears of light across the floor through the window high in the ceiling. Slowly, inch by inch, it crept over the carpet and up onto the bed. It spread wider and brighter, ballooning across the room and finally into Alex’s eyes. She wriggled away from it, shying off the bed and into a shadowed chair.
She wouldn’t let him take her. No way. Maybe the city would be better when the new Ambassador comes. She just had to wait out the next three months, then he’ll be gone.
If the Ambassador wanted change, and it was a big if, could he make it happen? If he could then something big had to happen before he left. Right now. It had to be something attractive to him, the cops and all illegal groups. Something that none of them could say no to. All the animosity of decades of fighting had to be sated by one brilliant idea and a lot of patience.
Or
the Ambassador might catch her again and take her to Tameri... to destroy it.
What the hell? What did he expect her to do to bring Tameri down from the inside?
Alex heard someone knock on the door and gave up her dilemma. She took in her appearance quickly, running her fingers through her hair and pulling on a dressing gown to cover over the clothes she had worn the day before. Thankfully nobody had thought to re-dress her in nightclothes while she was sedated.
Zoe came in moments after Alex sat back in the chair. The night had left its impression on Zoe, she looked pale and worn. Alex grimaced as Zoe tentatively sat down on the edge of the bed bringing fleeting pangs of guilt. She’d acted like a child yesterday. She had very good reasons to act the way she did, but the people around her weren’t the ones she should attack.
“Morning,” Zoe said carefully.
Alex nodded back. “Yeah.” She wrung her hands and tapped her feet nervously. “Thanks. For yesterday.”
Zoe shook her head. “To be honest, I’d been waiting for the cracks to show. You’ve been through a load. Then you went quiet.” She gave Alex a sly look. “That’s not like you at all.”
Alex smirked. “Suppose not.”
Zoe smiled triumphantly. “So, it was just a matter of time before you exploded out of that quiet shell and peppered everyone with built up shit.”
Alex’s eyebrow lifted. “Thanks.”
“I’m glad you’re back. Quiet you was boring. Explosive you was scary. The real you is a nice balance between the two,” Zoe said.
Alex blushed, partly embarrassed and partly offended.
She bit her lip, but a question brewed. “Zoe, you knew my Dad a long time, right?”
Zoe dropped her head. “Yeah, I did. I suppose.”
“I... did he talk to you about before?” Alex asked.
“About before he joined? About your Mum?” Zoe looked curiously at her. “Not to me. Martyn’s dad told me what happened. About how the cops arrested your Mum in the flat in Middle Meadston when your Dad was at work. I know your Dad found you alone in the flat and brought you to us.”
“Did he tell you what he did, where he worked?” Alex asked.
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