Page 27

Josiah

Alexander was silent as they drove to collect his clothes from Dacre’s house. He seemed lost in thought as he gazed out over the grey water of the lost zone.

Josiah tried to imagine what his life had been like as Dacre’s indentured servant. It was one of luxury compared to the lives many still led, but it made Josiah feel claustrophobic just thinking about it. He could never submit to someone else’s orders about what he said, ate, and wore, or how he accounted for his time.

When he was growing up, many of his friends had opted to become indies, wanting something more than the damp, depressing future the Quarterlands offered. Most had never returned, but a few visited briefly, proudly wearing their houders’ ID tags and smart liveries. They spoke of a life of comfort, ease, and riches that a young Josiah could barely imagine, but he saw also the trapped look in their eyes.

IS recruiters and government officials made sweeps of the Quarterlands all the time, trying to “save” the inhabitants. But all they had to offer was a form of slavery, no matter how they dressed it up. It was either wear an ID tag and be chipped like an animal or go into the government work camps to be ordered around and treated like dirt.

Work camps were like the workhouses of old; you would at least be fed and receive minimal medical aid, but you were also put to work doing menial jobs for the government for no pay.

Conditions in the Quarterlands were bad, but at least you could come and go as you pleased and call yourself free. There was no future in the Quarterlands, though, only a lifetime of poverty, in thrall to the gangs that ran them; it was often a short life.

He could so easily have become an IS. He could have worn IS livery and worked as a security guard, or gone into the boxing ring on the underground prizefighting circuit, taking punches to earn money for his houder’s purse before being put out to pasture with his memory shot to pieces and his hands shaking from brain damage.

But that had never been an option, because of the promise he’d made to his father. Matthew Raine had been a good man but a cussed one, with a stubborn refusal to bend even if it meant he must break – a quality Josiah had only really appreciated when he was dying.

“If you take the king’s shilling, you become the king’s man,” he’d rasped, his chronic lung condition making his voice wheezy.

Josiah hadn’t known what a shilling was, and the king was a remote figure whose clean, shining face shone out from screens and on the news feeds on the sides of buildings, no more real to him than anything else beyond the Quarterlands.

He’d understood the sentiment, though, and his father had backed it up with another message, drumming it in repeatedly: “Never give up your freedom – it’s the only thing you’ll ever really own. Don’t ever sell yourself, Joe. Promise me.”

He had, and he’d stayed true to that promise ever since, no matter how hard it had been at times or how hungry he’d been.

Alexander’s freedom had been ripped away from him seven years ago, and now his very existence belonged to someone else.

Had it been worse for him, coming from a background of wealth and privilege, to adjust to such a huge reversal of status? Was it harder for him than for all those sad-eyed Quarterlands kids running away to wear a Drylander’s ID tag?

He shot a surreptitious glance at Alexander. There was an expression in his eyes that reminded Josiah of another IS, many years ago.

“Joe – I’ve had some news,” Hunt said, sitting back in his chair.

Hattie’s chin was resting on Josiah’s knee, and he was stroking her head gently, the way he always did during their evening briefings.

The easy tone of their meetings was gone, though – Josiah kept them brisk and professional and didn’t linger to chat over a box of fine dark chocolates anymore. “Sir?”

“Our mission is coming to an end earlier than expected. We’ve been recalled to Geneva – they need our supply AVs urgently. Cock-up with logistics, I suspect.”

“But if we go to Geneva now, you won’t get a chance to…”

“Take Liz to Hanover as I promised. I know.”

“Well, you can’t just drop her off here alone – this area is teeming with scavs.”

“I intend to keep my promise.”

“How? Are you going to disobey orders?” Josiah wasn’t surprised. Peter Hunt seemed to thrive on doing just that.

“No. I’m going to let you take the convoy to Geneva while I take Liz to Hanover on foot. You can tell the ‘Thorities’ whatever you want about my absence.” He grinned as he self-consciously used the Quarterlands term.

“I won’t ask you to lie for me,” he continued. “When I’ve delivered Liz safely, I’ll return to Geneva and hand myself in. I guess my time smuggling indies to safety is nearly over. It was always going to happen at some point.”

“You’ll be court-martialled and serve time in jail,” Josiah pointed out, aghast. “Or, more likely, you’ll get sold as an IS yourself – they won’t want to waste prison space on you for a crime like this.”

“Well, there’s a fitting irony to that.” Hunt gave a wry grin and leaned down to pat Hattie. “Just take care of this young lady for me when I’m gone, will you? You’re the only one she likes, apart from me.”

“No,” Josiah said firmly.

Hunt looked up in surprise.

“I’d take Hattie in a heartbeat, but I can’t see you forced to wear an ID tag, injected with a chip, owned… ”

His hands were trembling, and Hattie gave a concerned whine, nudging him with her nose. He tangled his hands in her thick dark fur to calm himself.

“Do you have any other ideas?”

“Yes,” he responded without hesitation. “I’ll take Liz to Hanover. The commanding officer of the convoy can’t go missing and turn up a week later without a good explanation, but his sergeant can.”

“And how will I explain your absence?”

“Make something up. Say you sent me on a mission.”

“Alone? Without backup? What the hell kind of mission would that be?”

“I don’t know – tell them I went missing in a scav skirmish. It’s far easier for you to cover for my absence than it is for me to cover for yours.”

“No.” Hunt shook his head. “You’ve made it clear that you don’t approve of this. It’s my risk, and one I took willingly – I can’t ask you to get involved.”

“Bugger that, Peter,” he snapped. “I am involved, whether you like it or not – and if you think I’ll stand by and watch them court-martial you, strip you of your rank, and sell you into servitude…” He paused, breathing heavily. “Well, then you’re a bigger bloody idiot than you are a bleeding heart. Sir.”

“And you’re exactly the man I always knew you were,” Peter said softly. “Thank you, Joe.”

He left early the following morning, before the unit was awake, carrying a big pack of food and bedding on his back, with Liz at his side. Peter and Hattie walked with them for the first mile, and then Peter wrapped Liz in a farewell hug.

“Joe will see you get there safely,” he told her as she clung on to him, snuffling softly into his shoulder.

“I know. I’m being silly. Thank you, Peter. Thank you so much.”

“Shh. It was my privilege.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Good luck, Liz. Have a happy life – that’s the only thanks I want.”

She smiled. “I will. At least, I’ll do my best.”

Hattie licked Josiah’s hand, then she and Peter turned back. Josiah watched them go, aware of a tight feeling in his chest as they disappeared from sight. Liz cleared her throat, and he pulled himself together.

“Here.” He gave Liz a gun. “Just in case.”

“I’m not much of a fighter,” she said.

“Well, hopefully we won’t run into any scavs between here and Hanover, but we might. If we’re attacked, use it on them. If they win, then use it on yourself.”

She stared at him.

“That’s if you don’t want to end up as the prize of one of the local warlords,” he said gruffly. “You know the way you look, and if you think your houder was a shit, you haven’t met these guys.”

She tucked the gun into her belt and kept her hand on it at all times after that.

They didn’t speak much on the first day. Liz struggled to keep up with Josiah’s pace, but she didn’t complain and trotted along valiantly by his side. They stopped for meals, and when it got dark he found them a good spot off the road where they could rest for the night.

“Can we light a fire?” Liz asked, wrapping her arms around her slender body as she crouched on the ground.

“Not worth the risk.” He flung her a blanket from his pack. “Here, this should help. Eat up, and then get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

She wrapped it around her shoulders, and they ate their field rations in silence, with his torch nestled between them to provide a little light.

“I know you don’t believe it was that bad, but I didn’t run out on my houder just because he forced me to have sex with him,” she said suddenly.

“It’s none of my business,” he replied stiffly.

“He liked hurting me.” Unzipping her jacket, she pulled open her shirt a little way to reveal several scars across her breasts. “He’d tie me down and draw the blade of his knife across my skin. I wasn’t allowed to flinch or cry, or he’d burn me with his cigar.”

Josiah felt a surge of anger. There was a sweet, child-like quality to Liz, and he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt her. “I’m not judging you,” he said, looking away.

“I know that. I just wanted you to know that I tried to be honourable and keep my side of the contract, but he was so cruel that I knew if I stayed, I’d die.”

“He paid good money for you – why would he kill you?”

“I meant die inside, piece by piece, until I was all gone.”

Zipping up her jacket, she pulled the blanket tighter around her body. Even after weeks in the back of a truck, wearing shapeless combat fatigues, she still had a luminous beauty.

“I wasn’t born in the Quarterlands like you, Joe. My family wasn’t rich, but we had our own house, and everything was fine until Mum fell ill and lost her job. Then we ended up in a government work camp.” She shuddered.

“The government wanted everyone to become ISs, so that we weren’t a burden on the state. They set up all these meetings with prospective houders, and I honestly didn’t think I had a choice. The state only paid for the most basic medical care for Mum, and she needed more.” The flickering torchlight caught the sadness in her eyes, giving her a haunted, ethereal appearance.

He ached for her. “It’s been decades since the Rising, but it seems like things are worse now than straight after it happened,” he murmured. “The systems they put in place to deal with it… I suppose it must have all seemed logical at the time, but the outcome is shit.”

“So many sad stories. Even you, I think.” She gazed at him searchingly.

“Not that bad. Not as bad as you.”

“I didn’t know what my houder was like before I signed the contract. He was kind to me at first. I thought he liked me. I thought if I did my job well, I could make him fall in love with me, maybe even marry me.” She was silent for a moment. “I was so na?ve, back then. I loved my mother, Joe. I loved her more than anyone else in the world. I would have done anything to save her.”

“I understand that.” Josiah remembered his father, coughing up his lungs as he died. “I would have done the same for my dad, but I knew if I became an IS it’d kill him faster than the pneumonia.”

“We both did what we thought was right at the time,” she said, nestling down under her blanket. She closed her eyes and was quiet for a long time. He thought she was asleep, but then she spoke .

“Peter loves you, you know.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, he doesn’t. Peter’s an idealist, full of noble ideas. He doesn’t have time for anything as ordinary as love.”

“He used to come and chat to me at night, when everyone was asleep. He talked about you all the time; I could tell how much he likes you.”

“Liking isn’t love, and even if he does love me, so what?”

“So what?” She sat up. “I saw the way you looked when he left yesterday.”

“You know how you said you used to be na?ve?” he growled. “Well, you still bloody well are.”

She laughed and lay down again. “I know when two people are in love. Why do you keep pushing him away?”

“Because it wouldn’t work. We’re different ranks, and the army wouldn’t allow it.”

“Pah! The army! Who cares about their stupid rules?” she snorted. Then she buried her head under the blanket, much to Josiah’s relief.

That conversation broke the ice between them, and Liz chatted to him non-stop as they walked the following day.

“I love Hattie. I would like a dog. Or a cat… maybe when I get to my uncle’s house in Hanover. He owns a little pottery. I want to learn how to make things… I like using my hands, making things – I think I’ll enjoy working there…”

As she chattered away happily, he realised she’d been cooped up in the back of a supply AV for weeks. Now that her difficult journey was coming to an end, she was feeling safer with every step.

“Does your uncle know you’re coming?” he asked.

“No, but he sent word months ago that there would always be a home for me with him. He’s my mother’s brother, and he knows what we had to do to survive. He left the UK a long time ago, and we didn’t hear from him for years. We thought he was dead. Do you have any relatives, Joe?”

“No,” he replied shortly. “Mum died when I was twelve, and Dad when I was fifteen.”

“No brothers or sisters?”

“Nope. ”

“What’s your ideal life? What would make you happy? You must have thought about it.”

“Not really. How I live now is fine.”

“Being a soldier?”

“Being part of something, belonging somewhere, having something important to do.”

“Ah. I think you’re a secret romantic.” She grinned at him.

“And I think you’re soft in the head,” he said, throwing a twig at her.

They stopped the next night in a forest. Liz was tired but happy, and Josiah found he’d grown fond of her – she was like the talkative little sister he’d never had.

“I’ll keep first watch,” he volunteered as usual. “There shouldn’t be any scavs this close to Hanover, but keep your gun nearby, just in case.”

“It’s beside me.”

“Good.”

Two hours later he heard a faint sound, like a twig cracking. He raised his gun and placed his hand gently over Liz’s mouth to wake her.

“We have company,” he whispered into her ear. “Get your gun. And, Liz – don’t let them take you alive. If it looks bad, use it.”

“How will I know?” she asked shakily.

“You’ll know.”

They stood back to back behind a tree, guns raised, staring out into the forest. He could feel her trembling.

“I hope you don’t die because of me,” she said.

“If I do, it’ll be a fine way to go.”

And then all hell broke loose.

The scavs came running towards them. They were only armed with knives, but there were dozens of them. Josiah fired and some fell, but more took their place.

He threw his gun aside when it ran out of ammo, an old instinct sweeping through him. Liz had already been through so much, and there was no way anyone was going to lay a finger on her while he had breath in his body.

He screamed out his battle cry, and everything slowed down as his senses ramped up a gear. In this state he could see more clearly, had more time to react, and could savour the satisfying crunch of knuckles on flesh and bone.

He and Liz didn’t really stand a chance against this many – but he fought ferociously anyway, just as he had when he was protecting Peter. He heard her screaming, and he fought even harder, but the scavs were winning.

Feeling the battle rage consume him, he let out a berserker’s cry. He was lost in the zone now, all fists and fury. Scavs ran at him and fell, and ran again, and fell… yet still they kept on coming. He laughed. He never felt more alive than when he was in a fight, the more hopelessly one-sided the better. He shouted and roared as he fought, but he knew he was losing.

It was time. Time for Liz to use her gun on herself, and time for him to go down fighting, maybe with a knife stuck between his ribs.

“Do it!” he yelled to Liz. “Do it now!”

He held off the scavs to give her an opportunity, but no gunshot came. Whirling around, he saw her hesitate as she held the gun to her head, and then it was too late. The scavs overwhelmed her, and she disappeared from view.

His ribs ached, but he didn’t stop fighting. He was easily bigger than his assailants; he felt like some huge beast being consumed by a swarm of insects.

Managing to shake them off, he tried punching his way to Liz’s side, but a scav jumped on his back, and another grabbed his legs, bringing him down. He hit the ground with a thud and knew it was over. He just hoped they’d kill him quickly.

The scavs surrounded him, and he doubled up as they began kicking him. He wrapped his arms around his head, expecting to feel the blade of a knife plunging into his back. Or maybe he’d be on the receiving end of the last bullet left in Liz’s stolen gun.

Just as he’d given up hope he heard a loud roaring sound, and a jeep appeared out of nowhere, its bright headlamps searing his vision, blinding him.

The staccato shots of a machine gun rang out, and the scavs scattered, melting back into the trees. Then everything went quiet. He saw Liz lying on the ground, framed in the vehicle’s headlamps .

“Liz – are you okay?” He crawled over to her.

“I’m fine… just bruised. What happened?” she asked.

Pulling her to her feet, he placed his body in front of hers as the jeep’s door opened and someone got out.

“Not another step, or I’ll smash your face in,” he warned.

“Don’t do that, Joe. I like my face the way it is, and I rather think you do, too,” a genial voice replied.

He almost fell down in relief. “Peter? For fuck’s sake! Peter!”

His captain moved into the light, grinning. “Did you think I’d sit around in Geneva drinking tea and playing Frisbee with Hattie after I delivered the convoy? I borrowed a jeep and came straight out to look for you.”

“Peter!” Liz ran into his arms, and he hugged her warmly, gazing at Josiah over her shoulder.

After getting into the jeep and locking the doors, they high-tailed it out of the forest towards Hanover. Josiah sat on the back seat with an excited Hattie, who was so pleased to see him that she licked his face and squeaked repeatedly for the next half an hour.

They reached the city just before dawn, Liz’s directions leading them to a small, pretty house.

Jumping out of the jeep, she ran over and knocked on the door. A man opened it, staring at her in shock, and then wrapped his arms around her, saying her name over and over again, tears falling down his face. Josiah buried his face in Hattie’s neck and kept it there for a good ten minutes, much to Peter’s amusement.