This Broken Land Read online

  “I tried once.” I tell her. “When I was sixteen.”

  “I assume you didn’t get far?”

  “As far as my old house actually. But my parents weren’t there any more. I don’t know why I thought they might be.” I try not to think about mum and dad. Even today the memory feels raw and tender. I thought the wound might have scabbed over by now.

  “I don’t blame the family who lived there for contacting the authorities.”

  Now River looks at me with interest. “What did they do to you?”

  I feel myself blush furiously at the resurgence of a buried memory. “It doesn’t matter what they did.” I have no intention of telling her. It was sadistic and clever and I’ve never tried to run away since.

  River meets my eyes again. “Do you fancy trying to escape again?”

  I shake my head. I’ve spent the last seven years trying to convince the people here I’m a reformed character, Geoff was even speaking about weekend leave. Running would destroy all that and I’d never, ever have the opportunity to leave this place any way except in a box.

  “No.”

  River pouts. “Fair enough. I’m going to.”

  “Don’t!” I tell her, suddenly concerned. “You have no idea how horrible these people are below the surface. The only way is to convince them they’ve won.”

  A line appears between her auburn eyebrows. “You mean capitulate or lie?”

  “I want my freedom!” I tell her, close to tears. “Is that so awful? I’ve learned to keep my head down and say what they want to hear.”

  We stare at each other for a moment.

  “I can’t stay here.” River says with a pout that makes her look younger than she is. “I can’t expose this rotten government while I’m stuck in this place! And I can’t bear these horrible people for long.”

  “There’s no point.” I tell her in a voice that betrays how broken I feel inside. People support NuTru. I remember my parents saying that. Somehow NuTru convinced the whole country to accept that theirs wasn’t just a different sort of government, it was the only morally right one. Any other vote was a vote for hatred, bigotry and racism. “Everyone’s on their side.”

  River flops back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. “My mother used to say that we have to fight what can be fought. Then she used to bring in busloads of protesters. It made it seem as if the whole country backed her. But it didn’t. All you need is one loud group to shout everyone down. That’s where the church messed up. They tried to be all quiet and loving. If they’d set fire to a few shops and rioted they might have been taken seriously.”

  I don’t know whether that’s a joke or not.

  “River,” I whisper. “Please don’t try to escape.”

  She gives a long sigh. “I don’t know what to do to be honest. When I saw you across the room, I saw the expression on your face and the way you tried to hide it, I thought maybe I wasn’t alone in recognising how crazy everything is. I thought I might have found a friend.” I watch her wipe a tear away. “I can’t just stay here like you. Not while this country is falling to pieces.”

  I lower myself onto the bed to sit beside her and give a long, tired sigh. I’m weary of having to hold in every thought I have. I’m weary of the pretence, the lies.

  We sit for a while, lost in our thoughts. River barely moves. I swallow, my mouth feels dry.

  “I’d like to be your friend.” I say.

  “I don’t want a friend who pretends to be something he isn’t.”

  “Then I’m sorry. I’ve worked too hard to convince these people to let me go.”

  River sits up. “And then what? If they let you go? Do you really want to live in this society? Could you do it? You’d have to pretend forever.”

  That’s a depressing thought and not a new one. “I’d leave the country. Go to Ireland or the USA. The USA still cares about freedom.”

  “Difficult to get there though. It’s a long sailing. If they still used aeroplanes like in the old days you could get there in a few hours.”

  I give a heavy sigh. “There were still a few airports in operation when I was a kid. But the attacks just got worse. Anyway, it’s not like there’s any fuel anyway.” I close my eyes for a moment and imagine freedom. That simple, precious thing that feels a thousand years away. “I quite like the idea of a long sea crossing. At least The Islamic State doesn’t own the Atlantic the way it owns everything from India to France.”

  “Hard to believe Europe used to be one of the strongest economies in the world.”

  “Hard to believe Europe used to be largely Christian, not Islamic.”

  River opens one blue eye and scrutinises me. “But that’s a good thing right?” Is she teasing?

  “The Islamic state grew from tiny roots in the mid 2010s to encompass half the world. It’s a powerful empire that we’re proud to call our ally.”

  “I read that textbook at school too. Nobody says anything critical of them at all. Just in case. I mean, how difficult would it be for them to cross the channel and take the whole of Britain the way they took Germany and France?”

  “I wonder why they don’t.”

  “Because they already have half the land and this side subsidises them heavily. Besides, they’re focused on the war with Russia at the moment.”

  I feel a buzz of rebellious excitement in my stomach. The Islamic State is not to be criticised. That’s one of the first lessons we learn even before school. Does anyone really believe the propaganda concerning the wonders of the Islamic superstate? I saw the photographs of soldiers blowing up the Colosseum in Rome and Notre Dame. But still nobody fought back.

  Nobody ever fights back. Not if they want to survive.

  And I want to survive. Somebody has to live to tell a different story when the pendulum swings back.

  ~

  Elsie

  There’s a tree on the outskirts of the village. A big tree. Hundreds of years old with fat roots that sit on the dusty rocks before plunging deep into the heart of the earth. The soil around it erodes easily, exposing a cave, half hidden by those same, twisty roots.

  Dai and Missy and I used to play in this cave. We even furnished it, our cave-house, a secret from everyone else. We put one of Dai’s tatty rugs on the floor, a broken box as a table, we brought food and cushions and cups and played house until real life got in the way of our games.

  But the tree is still here, as it still will be when I’m dust. I know exactly where Dai wants to meet.

  “Dai?” I reach the entrance in the strong moonlight and wriggle between the roots, letting myself drop into the cave below. The first time I did this I was terrified that the hole was deep, like the rabbit-hole in Alice in Wonderland, and I would find myself falling forever. In reality, the cave floor is about fifty inches below my feet and I land without even a jolt.

  “Dai?” I call again, gazing around at the location of so many childhood memories.

  “Here.”

  Dai is sitting on what was once a bed, a sack stuffed with long dried-out heather that Missy used to decorate with a pretty shawl. The silver-white of the moon filters through the roots, giving the cave a dull, tired looking glow.

  “Are you okay?” He doesn’t look okay. The light isn’t strong in here, but even in the gloom my friend’s face looks weary and more lined than usual. His ink-black hair is flat against his head, not styled as it usually is and his skin is more sallow than golden.

  “No.” He admits. “I’m not.”

  And then, because I can’t hold it back any more, I fly to his arms and hug him more tightly than I’ve ever hugged him.

  “What’s going on Dai? Everything’s gone wrong. The police want you.”

  Dai doesn’t hug me back, he just sits there, listlessly, surrounded by the remnants of our childhood.

  “I thought they might, sooner or later. I hoped it might be later. I suppose the school realised the money was gone.”

  I frown and sit beside him on the rough bed,
clutching his hand in mine.

  “What money?”

  “The money I took from the Head’s office in school.”

  Now I’m more confused. “You stole money?”

  “Why else are the police looking for me?”

  “Because they think you had something to do with Noor Blackwood disappearing.” But Dai has nothing to do with that.

  Dai turns to stare at me, his deep, dark gaze piercing mine, suddenly sharp.

  “Noor?”

  “She never made it to the BSI. They’re pissed off. Someone overheard you complaining she shouldn’t have to go.”

  Dai flops forward and buries his head in his hands.

  “Great. Just great. I mean, a thief’s one thing, but a people-smuggler? They’ll pull out the stops to find me.”

  “But it’s nothing to do with you.” Not unless Dai’s part of Gran’s smuggling ring. God knows if he is, nothing could surprise me right now.

  “Damn.”

  I think about this. “Why did you steal money Dai?”

  Dai raises his head and stares at me again. “It doesn’t matter. I need it.”

  “But why?” Dai’s not particularly poor.

  “I’m going to buy Missy back.”

  “What?”

  “You heard. I’m going over the border into the BSI. I’m going to find where Missy’s been taken, then I’m going to go to one of their filthy auctions and buy my sister back.”

  I can barely believe he just said that. Nobody, nobody admits that slave auctions are legal in the BSI, though everyone knows they are.

  “Dai, you can’t do that.” He’ll be killed. He probably won’t even get over the border.

  “Why not? Nobody else cares about Missy do they? You know, as soon as I got your text I went straight to the police. I raised hell. Or tried to. But nobody gave a toss about my little sister. The only way to help anyone taken by the wolves is to cross the border and buy them back.”

  “Dai, slave auctions, they’re just stories. Propaganda spread by Islamaphobes.” Do I believe what I’m saying? I probably did, until Missy was taken.

  “Don’t give me that crap Elsie!” He turns on me furiously. “Nobody believes that, not really. Now I’ve got no choice. I won’t just forget my sister. She’s not collateral damage. So I’m going.”

  His face softens, he reaches out and touches my shoulder. “I was hoping you could find some food for me? And maybe a bottle of water. I daren’t go to the shops.”

  “Dai, if you go, I’ll lose you as well as Missy.” I can’t bear that. I’ll be all alone. I don’t know if I can trust Gran not to get caught. My whole life is breaking to pieces around me and I’m scared. The fear is a dark, ugly, tight feeling deep inside me.

  “What about Missy? How do you think she’s feeling right now?”

  “I – I don’t know.” I haven’t let myself think about Missy any more than I’ve let myself think about any of those young girls or what might be happening to them. I suppose I’ve conditioned myself not to focus on the things I can’t change.

  We stare at each other in the dark. My heart is hammering inside my chest. I want to wake up and find these last two days never happened.

  “Please El?” Dai runs a hand over his face and down to his chin the way he does when a student can’t distinguish between the passive and active voice. “Help me.”

  It takes me a very long time before I nod. For a moment, here underground, we’re children again and the cave-house is our refuge, or our schoolroom, or our time-machine, or our spaceship, or our castle. As we grew older our games became more elaborate, but the cave-house was still detached from real-life.

  “Thanks El.”

  I climb up from between the tree’s roots and head back towards the village. A hundred thoughts are swirling around in my head. Stealing. Nobody goes to prison for stealing these days. Any decent lawyer could build him a defence in about five minutes. But by deliberately heading to the BSI, Dai’s practically accusing the BSI of operating a slave-trade. That’ll mean years in prison. Maybe even a few months in a Rainbow centre. Not that Rainbow Centres are bad, they’re only like schools really, for adults, educating people and helping to correct wrong thinking.

  It’s just, I’ve met a few people who spent time in a Rainbow Centre. They never seem very normal afterwards.

  ~

  Josh

  I don’t even make it to bed before I’m marched to Mr. Scott’s office. It’s eleven thirty at night and I’m tired.

  I’m also exhilarated from my conversation with River. I don’t want to talk to Mr. Scott.

  “So, Kessler. Sit down.”

  Mr. Scott fixes me in those sapphire-blue eyes and bumps his hip against his desk. The blind is drawn against the night but the desk lamp is glaringly bright.

  “Did you want something sir?” Of course he wants something. He always does. Most of us give him what he wants without arguing. Better an hour of discomfort than having an enemy.

  “Uh huh. You think you have us all fooled, don’t you?”

  “Fooled?” What’s he heard?

  “Sitting there, nodding like a puppet, when inside that head of yours your warped, treacherous thoughts are growing like an infection.”

  Mr Scott leans over me a little, I can see the spittle at the corner of his mouth.

  “Infections have to be killed off Kessler, do you know that?”

  I swallow. “I’m, I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Oh come on! Do I look stupid?” Does he want an answer to that? I mean, seriously?

  I shake my head.

  “I know what you’re planning Kessler.”

  “Planning sir?” Inside my chest my heart seems to stop. What does he know?

  Mr. Scott’s heavy hands rest on my shoulders, his fingers pressing into my collarbones. “Private Time is recorded, Kessler.”

  “Recorded?” I think I say that without my voice squeaking.

  Mr. Scott moves suddenly away and crosses the room. “Your sort haven’t earned the right to full privacy. Besides, the staff here see Private Time as a…….an exam, a test to see how well you function in all sorts of ways. I once knew a boy Kessler, swore blind he was fine with same-sibling attraction, said he completely accepted it as normal and healthy. I almost believed him. Then we put him in a room with his sister and the two of them spent an hour lamenting about how same-sibling relationships were depraved and revolting.”

  I swallow. What do I say? How much do I admit?

  “Is – is it so wrong to have personal opinions?”

  “If those opinions infringe on the rights of others to be fully respected, yes.”

  Mr. Scott keeps his back to me; he seems to be gazing at the poster explaining how cosmetic surgery is the best answer to low self-esteem.

  “So we know all about you now. I had my suspicions for a while.” He pauses, then turns slowly and the light falls on the hard angles of his face. “But actually, we’re willing to turn a blind eye to everything we heard you say.” I wonder exactly who we are? Did he sit in a room with the rest of the staff watching me? I bet he was disappointed. They were probably hoping for sex.

  “Sir?”

  “Director Summerday will want to see you of course, but I’m willing to add a report that says you were only saying what you were told to say.”

  I blink at him, goldfish-like. Rachael and I used to have goldfish; she cried when she realised were were going to leave them behind. I cried too, I just didn’t let her see.

  “You’re not very important really Kessler. Just a little bigot in a world that’s moved on. No, we’re more interested in River Lamont.”

  Now I feel cold inside. What’s he suggesting?

  “River?”

  “Uh huh. Now she has some very dangerous ideas. Don’t you think?”

  I don’t answer. I have no response to the way this conversation is turning.

  “Maybe you could meet her again? Draw some of her other thoughts out o
f her? What do you think?”

  He really doesn’t want to know what I think. “You mean betray her?”

  “I mean help her. She’s clearly mentally ill.” He sighs. “Skye, that sort of illness is complicated and the victim doesn’t always realise he or she is sick.”

  Mr. Scott very rarely calls me Skye. He only does that when he wants something from me he can’t take any other way.

  “She’s not ill.”

  “It might seem as if she’s not ill to you Skye, but she is. Don’t you want to help her?”

  “Not your way sir, no.”

  “I see.” Mr. Scott returns to my side, from this position I can see the smooth skin where his collar is unbuttoned. He’s so pale, leprous almost. He makes my flesh crawl. “Skye, I have a very simple choice. Either River Lamont is referred for psychiatric treatment, or you both are.”

  That’s a terrible threat and we both know it.

  “Neither of us are ill.”

  “I disagree. You’re both showing signs of extremely dangerous thinking. It’s my job to help you.”

  I don’t say anything at all. Instead I focus on my bare feet and resist my desire to punch this man.

  “Skye?” Mr. Scott is still speaking; this time his lips are close to my ear. “You don’t want to end up in a psych ward. You’ll never be released if that happens. Not ever. Some of the drugs they give you are incredibly strong. You won’t even be the same person any more. Don’t be a fool and throw your life away.”

  I swallow the tight lump in my throat. “If you think River’s ill, what’s the point in me talking to her?”

  “To find out just how ill she really is.”

  “Is this about her mother?”

  “Her mother?”

  “Diana Lamont.”

  Mr. Scott meets my eyes and the flat, cold blue makes my stomach lurch. Then he begins to chuckle.

  “Skye, she really has fooled you hasn’t she? River’s utterly delusional. She’s not related to Diana Lamont. River Lamont isn’t even her name.” He stops laughing abruptly and pats my cheek. “Take a little time to think it over. Be helpful Skye, and I just might recommend you for weekend release as soon as next month.”