Resurgence (15 page)

‘Just go,’ the King says. ‘But know we will be coming for you and everyone you know. You’ll never have a peaceful night’s sleep again. Every person that dies from
now on is down to you. If you thought we were ruthless before, then we’ve not even started yet. We’ll find everyone you’ve had any contact with, even just a sideways glance. Their
blood will be on your hands.’

I raise the trigger and tighten my thumb, watching the King flinch and enjoying it.

‘I’ve walked into your castle twice and I’ve walked out of it twice. Perhaps you should be more worried about getting a peaceful night’s sleep yourself, because maybe
I’ll come back a third time.’

I don’t bother waiting to hear if he has anything to say. I step backwards quickly, waving sweetly towards Ignacia, then nodding and winking at the Minister Prime. I don’t know what
might happen in the future, what vengeance they’ll wreak. For now, this is
my
victory,
my
moment. I take a second to breathe it in, to enjoy it.

Then I run.

My heart is hammering so loudly that I’m sure everyone can hear it as I charge across the hard concrete streets. It feels as if my legs are moving too fast for my body,
as if I could fall at any moment. The few people who are left do nothing other than stare.

The calmness I felt on the green has gone as I race without looking behind me. It’s hard to explain, as I don’t understand the composure I have when speaking to people I should be
intimidated by. In the same way that Jela is a natural with the crossbow, perhaps this is my skill? For whatever reason, I know what to say and how to say it. I can guess how people are going to
respond before they’ve said a word. The sound and screens cut out before anyone at home saw them letting me go but I had already made my point: I am willing to do anything to protect my
friends and family; the King will not do that for anyone.

When Knave, Hart and the others were trying to persuade me that I needed numbers with me, I knew that I didn’t. Even if the Minister Prime wasn’t, the King was judging me by his
standards. He didn’t think I would turn up and, even if I did, he couldn’t comprehend that I’d have such little concern for my own well-being.

I stumble over a loose paving slab, skidding and sliding along the ground, but my trousers take the brunt of the fall. My chest is desperate for a rest as I pull myself up, wiping grit from my
hands. After a moment, making sure I haven’t torn anything, I continue to move.

Most of the people who came to see the show live far away and the trains are their only way to get home. Large numbers are on the opposite side of the city, massing where the station is. There
is a toot as one of the steam trains starts to pull away, followed by a crowd running after it. There are so many people that there isn’t enough room for them all by the station. Groups are
sheltering under shells of the broken university buildings, wondering what they should do.

I try to remember Vez’s instructions about where I should be heading. From the ridge, it was easy to see the lay of the city, but the number of people has thrown my bearings now I am on
the ground. I had been navigating towards a crushed clock tower but have lost its location among the rubble and fleeing bodies. I turn back towards the stage but there is no approaching horde of
Kingsmen.

Slowing to a walk, I turn from side to side, wondering where I have gone wrong. My coat is on the green and a chill drifts across me. The rush I felt when facing the King has faded and now
I’m panicking that I have gone the wrong way.

‘Are you all right, m’love?’

A woman is holding a little boy’s hand, eyebrows raised in concern. When she sees my hair and realises who I am, she takes a step backwards in shock, almost falling. Her son is younger
than Imp and pulls his hand free as she steadies herself. He starts walking towards me, transfixed.

‘Jay,’ the mother says harshly, but her son ignores her until he is standing next to me.

‘You’re cold,’ he says.

His mother is peering over her shoulder, checking to see who might be watching. Most of the people around us haven’t noticed anything untoward. I need to go, but Jay has hold of my trouser
leg.

‘Are you cold?’ This time it’s a question.

I look at his mother, whose body is tense, not knowing if she should step towards me and grab her son, or call for help. Her gaze flickers to the tubes of the bomb that are so prominent around
my torso.

I touch Jay on the head, slightly ruffling his brown hair and hoping he will let me go. ‘I’m a little chilly. Thank you very much for noticing.’

He tugs at the knitted blue gloves on his hands and holds them out. ‘You can have these if you want?’

I hold out my hands, spreading my fingers wide. ‘I think they’re a little small for me.’

He nods, disappointed. ‘Mummy, look who it is. It’s Sliver.’

His mother steps closer, still eyeing the bomb. ‘I’m sorry; he can’t say your name properly. He tries to say “Silver” but it comes out
“Sliver”.’

Jay stammers over my name, trying to force the ‘I’ to come before the ‘L’ but he can’t manage it, saying ‘Sliver’ five times in a row before giving up.
‘Mummy, she’s cold,’ he says.

I shake my head apologetically. ‘I’m sorry you had to be here. I don’t mean you or Jay any harm.’

‘You’re really her?’

‘Yes, sorry . . .’

‘You’re not like they say . . .’ I shrug, looking over her shoulder, trying to find my clock tower. ‘They say you want to kill us all.’

‘I don’t.’

She points towards the bomb. ‘What about that?’

I look down at myself, realising how imposing I look, lines of explosives and a trigger in my hand.

‘I had to get away,’ I tell her. ‘I never intended on setting it off. I knew the King would let me go.’

‘How did you know?’

‘Because I’ve seen what he can do. He’s worried about himself, no one else.’

She squints at me, trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth.

‘Mummy, she’s cold,’ Jay says again, now tugging at his mother’s trousers.

‘I’m fine, honestly,’ I say.

She smooths her son’s head, holding him to her. ‘What are you looking for?’

I don’t have time to try to figure out her motives. She seems genuine. ‘A clock tower. I was using it to get my bearings.’

The woman points over my shoulder. ‘That one?’

I turn and see the exact pattern of buildings I have been looking for. Through the number of people and my desperation to get away, I missed what was right in front of me.

I sigh in relief. ‘Thank you. I have to go.’

I spin to head off but feel a tug on my clothes. This time, it isn’t Jay, it’s his mother. She unzips her coat and hands it over. ‘Take this and keep the hood up.’ She
looks over her shoulder conspiratorially. ‘Good luck.’

I don’t hesitate, taking the coat and pulling my hair back, tucking it under the hood. ‘Good luck, Sliver,’ Jay calls as I run towards the clock tower.

The minute of rest has helped me catch my breath and cleared my head. I remember Vez’s directions perfectly, and turn by the tower, skimming around the collapsed carcasses of a row of
houses and then racing towards a field on the outskirts of the city.

I reach the tree line and start to shout Opie’s name as a chattering roar erupts behind me. Above the square there is a bullet-shaped hull being held in the air by whirring blades.
Underneath, people are crouching and holding onto their hats and hoods as the vicious wind whips the ground. I know the object in the sky is called a helicopter but have never actually seen one. It
hovers for a few seconds and then skims quickly across the area. A hatch on the side is open with Kingsmen hanging out, pointing below, looking for me. In the distance, carriages are racing away,
taking the King to safety. Any reason they had to keep me alive in case I set the bomb off is irrelevant now the King is safe. The Kingsmen will have orders to capture or kill me on sight.

I can barely hear myself but shout ‘Opie’ anyway, hoping he has come to the right place. The chuntering of the helicopter’s blades flashing around gets louder as it hovers ever
closer. With no choice, I head into the woods. The trees are tightly packed, blocking much of the light.

‘Opie? Imrin?’

The helicopter’s noise fades slightly as it veers in a different direction, away from where I am standing. I hear my name being hissed and turn in a circle, trying to figure out where it
is coming from.

‘Silver, here.’

Opie is waving at me frantically and I hurry towards him. He is wedged underneath a bush but pushes himself out and digs into his pocket, handing me the blood bomb and the teleporter – two
things I couldn’t risk the King getting his hands upon. I unclip the tubes from around me and hide them underneath a different bush and then put the blood bomb in the pouch on my belt.

‘How is he?’ I ask.

Opie shakes his head. ‘Not great.’

‘Where are your shoes?’

He looks down at his feet and shrugs. ‘I gave Imrin my top, socks and shoes to try to stop him shivering.’

‘Did it?’

‘A little. We need to get him out of here.’

Underneath, the hedge has started to wilt, creating a dome shape within it. There is only room for two, so Opie waits outside as I slide underneath. Imrin’s eyes are closed, his breathing
shallow.

‘Imrin, it’s Silver. Are you okay?’ He mumbles something I can’t make out but his fingers close around mine as I take his hand. ‘Can you move?’ I ask.
‘Even if you crawl. I need you to come out from under here.’

‘Silver?’ His voice is croaky and sounds like someone else’s.

‘Yes.’

‘You came for me.’

‘I shouldn’t have left you in the first place. Listen, we’ll talk when we get away but . . .’

I don’t get a chance to finish the sentence as the helicopter roars nearby. He doesn’t want to release my hand but I carefully slip from his grasp and slide out from under the bush.
I ask Opie to help Imrin move and then start work on the teleport box, using the same coordinates that took us to the field close to the church under which the rebels hide.

It takes us a few seconds but we support Imrin’s weight between us. All the while the helicopter blades tear at the sky until I press the button and the three of us step awkwardly into the
orange glow together.

This time the pulling sensation is more intense as the three of us are shifted at the same time. My ears pop and it feels as if there is something inside my face, pushing behind my eyes, with
somebody else pinching my nose.

The next thing I know, I am splayed in a mud-filled puddle, screaming at the top of my voice. It takes me a few seconds to realise what’s happening. For a few moments, it was as if I was
watching myself, floating somewhere overhead. Opie is calling my name. I roll over, looking up to see him supporting Imrin’s weight, staring down at me, concern etched on his face. I know we
are in the correct place because the darkness of the trees has been replaced by the mucky grey of the sky and the outline of a hedge. There is mud between my fingers as I scramble to my feet.

‘What happened?’ I ask, confused. I’m not sure the words come out in the right order but Opie understands me.

‘As soon as we materialised, you fell forward. I couldn’t stop you because I was holding Imrin.’

I shake my head, trying to clear the stars that are hovering around the edges of my vision. Opie stretches towards me. ‘Silver, your face.’

‘It’s only mud.’

He shakes his head and I reach to my nose, smearing a mask of blood and dirt across my skin before flinging as much of it as I can to the ground. Opie gives me a look, as if to say I’ve
missed a bit, but the glare I give him back means he daren’t say anything.

Together we prop Imrin up, his arms draped around our shoulders. Mercifully, he is able to walk himself, albeit with our support. Slowly we stagger towards the church, opening the hatch and
shouting for Knave. He comes to the opening immediately, staring at my face, but I tell him to concentrate on Imrin. Between him, Opie, Hart and Vez, Imrin is taken to the medical area.

I follow, watching as they place him on one of the few beds we have. His eyelids are fluttering closed and the doctor pulls away his clothes, exposing the pulped flesh. I move the others out of
the way and bring out the second of the syringes we took from Windsor Castle.

Hart is standing nearby and I turn to him. ‘Did it hurt when I injected you?’ He stares at me anxiously. I don’t know what I look like but everyone’s attention is
annoying me. ‘Stop looking at my face!’

Hart apologises, adding, ‘It was the best feeling I’ve ever had.’

‘Tell me.’

‘It felt like there was something magical swimming through me. I could feel it coursing through my arms and my legs. My nerves were tingling and I felt more awake than I ever have before.
It was like every part of my body was working together at the same time.’

That’s all I needed to hear. I pull Imrin’s arm towards me and pump the full syringe of liquid into him. Instantly he sits rigidly up in the bed, screaming at the top of his voice.
Howling like a banshee. I grip his hand but he grabs me so tightly that I have to wrench myself away. He bellows again, his voice echoing around the hallways behind us. When I injected Hart he was
sick everywhere, but this is a different reaction and I don’t know what to do.

The doctor who helped Frank steps forward and asks for space, ushering everyone out of the room. I want to stay but Hart and Opie pull me away. They want to talk about what happened but I push
past them, hurrying through the corridors until I reach the bathroom. It is small but empty, half-a-dozen buckets of water pushed against the wall with a cracked mirror hanging from the ceiling. At
first I stare at the buckets, breathing deeply and not wanting to see what the others have been staring at. I count the breaths in and out, as another toe-curling scream from Imrin reverberates
around the corner.

Finally I pluck up the courage to face myself. The crack in the mirror streaks across the centre of my face, breaking me in two. One of my ears is entirely covered with drying mud and there are
streaks of dirt smattered across my face, but that isn’t what they were staring at. The entire area above my top lip and across my chin is drenched with thick crimson blood. I try to wipe it
away but it has already half-dried.