The Three Most Wanted Read online

  “You can’t exactly go fast at the moment, can you? It’ll get easier.”

  Jon made a face. Though free from the weight of a double pack, he still had to hang onto Bane’s shoulder for balance, pretty tiring for Bane too—Jon was taller than him, though a bit more lightly built. Jon had roamed our campsite once the tent was up, learning the locations of the trees—but for him the hiking wouldn’t get any easier.

  The little French town of Fruges lay in the bottom of the valley—a stunning view. But, hovering just inside the forestline, Bane and I were intent on the town itself, viewed through the binocular setting on his phone.

  “Are there any food stalls?” asked Jon.

  My skin had toughened up despite the week’s walking, but we were already sick of the tasteless sachets. Still, we weren’t going down there unless certain we could get food without having to scan our IDs.

  “It looks like there’s some on the main street,” I said, unfastening my dyed hair and letting it fall on either side of my face, then putting my cap back on. The picture on the highway sign had been a recent school photo—none of those with my hair down.

  Bane lowered his phone and called up a map, tracing his finger along a road.

  “With a bit of luck we can buy food at a stall and walk straight on out the other side. If we get split up, try and meet here.” He tapped the screen. “Needless to say one of us has got to stick with Jon. You two will be playing the happy couple again, so I s’pose that’ll be you, Margo.”

  He clenched his teeth for a moment, then flicked a hand dismissively. “We shouldn’t have to split up, anyway. We’re New Adults happy to reach a town and buy fresh food. We’ve no reason to cower or creep along. Happy, carefree, got it?”

  “Happy and carefree.” Jon offered me his arm.

  I took it, trying to echo him—but just ended up drawing a deep breath and gripping his arm too tightly.

  He ducked his head to me. “Come on, Margo, just think, French bread, pâté, cheese? Yummm...”

  “Oh yes, worth being skinned alive for.” The words were out before I could stop them.

  Jon slipped his arm around my shoulders instead. “No reason why anything should go wrong, Margo. Anyway, Bane’s going to be just on the other side of me, dying to engage in his new hobby of rescuing you, so there’s really nothing to worry about.”

  “I don’t want anyone else dying to rescue me...” I stared down at the town. The current tally stood at one helicopter pilot, one dismantler, one—question mark?—commandant and an indeterminable number of bridge guards.

  “I didn’t mean it like that...”

  “Come on.” Bane resolutely ignored Jon’s arm around me—practicing keeping his cool, perhaps. “Let’s just go down, shall we? We’ve got to pick up as much food as we can now, while it’s safer.”

  Safer! Our pictures will be everywhere!”

  “Yeah, okay, Margo, but the EuroGov may still think we’re with the Resistance. And once they realize we’re not, they’ll think we’re with the others… assuming the others made it to the Vatican State...”

  He trailed off—chilling realization—if the others hadn’t made it by now, they probably weren’t going to.

  “So,” he went on, “we’re probably still pretty safe at this moment. But when they find out we’re not in the Vatican and not with the Resistance, that’s when the EuroGov will start looking for three New Adults on their own.”

  I bit my lip. The thought of the EuroGov did strange things to my spine at the moment. Three of the top officials, including Reginald Hill, the so-called ‘Minister for Internal Affairs’, with his soft voice and cold eyes, had interrogated me before sentencing me to Full Conscious Dismantlement.

  Bane saw my expression.

  “They may be looking for three of us then, but with a bit of luck they’ll be looking everywhere. There’s a lot of forest in Europe, and a lot of cities. They won’t know where to start.”

  “Bane’s right,” said Jon. “They won’t even know we haven’t already managed to leave the EuroBloc, will they?”

  Depends how good their spies are... I tried to look happy and reassured—Bane wasn’t fooled.

  “We’ve got to save as many of those sachets as we can for crossing the Alps,” he said gently. “So we need other food now.”

  He was right, but I stared at the town and couldn’t move. Like a horse refusing a jump. I knew far too well what awaited me, if caught. Except I still didn’t, I knew only a fraction of the horror and even that... My blood felt ice cold.

  Bane drew me from Jon’s grasp and into the circle of his arms. “It’s okay, Margo.” His voice was soft. “But the way to true safety leads through this town. We have to do it.”

  And do it again. And again. All the way to Rome.

  “Nothing’s going to happen. And if it does... I promised, didn’t I? They’re never going to hurt you again. Never.” Fiercely, he held me close, so close I felt the hardness of the knife tucked inside his jacket, digging into my ribs. And again I couldn’t speak, couldn’t scold him for that promise.

  I eased out of his grasp after a moment, down to sit on the grass, and buried my face against my knees. Lord, please give me strength. Mine is quite inadequate, always was.

  Jon crouched beside me and put his hand on my shoulder. Praying too. Lord, please let Margo get up and move? Fair enough. My cowardly custard attack wasn’t getting us any closer to safety. Bane just stood over us like a Doberman on guard.

  Let’s have a little more trust, Margo, shall we? If you’re meant to get all the way to Rome, you will, but you won’t be teleported so you’ve got to get up and put one foot in front of the other...

  I lifted my head from my knees and got up on my feet again, marshalling a wan smile for Bane.

  “Kiss?”

  He obliged quite thoroughly and I bruised my ribs a bit more on his knife before finally stepping away from him and seizing Jon’s arm. “Come on, let’s go. Quick. Before I have another litter of kittens...”

  “Hear, hear.” Jon followed me. Bane fell into position on his other side, to stop anyone from walking into him. If anyone wondered why Jon couldn’t avoid them…

  “Everyone got their sunglasses?” asked Bane.

  “Yep.” Jon slid them down over his face as Bane and I did the same. The sun wasn’t exactly glaring down, but fortunately the sort of rich young things we were imitating wouldn’t be seen dead without their shades even in midwinter.

  “Right, we’re all sorted, then. Fruges, brace yourself for three happy, carefree New Adults.”

  I concentrated on the buildings as we walked down the slope to the road. . Though built of creamy stone much like the village hotel of Little Hazleton, Jon’s home, they looked foreign to me. The shape of the roofs was strange, little windows sticking out from them, the subtler differences harder to pinpoint. However similar the forest might seem, you’d never mistake this town for a British one.

  “Pretty place,” said Bane. “Must get loads of tourists here.”

  “Probably why it’s still occupied.” My voice was almost steady. Most of the small towns that used to dot the European countryside had died out over the years, what with the reForestation, lingering economic woes, and the attendant—or rather, contributory, though the EuroGov wouldn’t admit it—shrinking population.

  As we passed between the first houses locals moved briskly past us, speaking French, whilst families and older couples drifted along with omniPhones in hand, exclaiming over quaint nooks and crannies in a variety of departmental languages.

  “Look at that.” I drew Jon to a halt, pointing at a particularly scenic cottage straight ahead. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  “Beautiful,” lied Jon.

  “Let me get a picture.” Bane pulled out his convincingly touristy—i.e. shiny—omniPhone. “Go on, you two.”

  I positioned Jon and myself in front of the cottage. We wrapped our arms around each other and beamed for the camera, then the three of
us sauntered on.

  “Look, there’s some other backpackers,” said Bane in an undertone. “And some more, look...”

  “Here’s the stalls...” I couldn’t quite keep the relief from my voice and forced myself to speak more brightly as we made a beeline for the nearest food stall. “Ooh, look at the nice food...”

  “This looks like the stuff,” said Bane cheerfully, shrugging out of his rucksack and pulling out the reusable scentSeal food bag. “Let’s stock up. What d’you think, shall we get some of that sausage?”

  “Whatever.” Jon turned slightly as though gazing up the street, food shopping being too boring for words, you understand.

  “Let’s get some cheese...” I pointed things out to Bane, no need to pretend eagerness as delicious smells reached my nose. “Oh, and they’ve got pâté.” I switched to Esperanto and smiled at the stallholder. “Um, let’s see, could we have that block of Brie, please? My mouth’s watering already!”

  “Camping rations?” laughed the woman. “It is no good, that camping food. You have come to the right place.”

  “We certainly have! Is that a meat pie? Three of those, please.”

  The stallholder wrapped the cheeses and pies each in a sheet of greaseproof paper and then a page from a heap of old newspaper behind her. I kept ordering and Bane put each packet into the bag, packing it just as efficiently as he could without drawing undue attention to the fact, and when it was full, I handed over several twenty Euron notes and scribbled ‘Jill Patts—00647961’ on the stallholder’s record of sales. Market stalls couldn’t afford hand scanners, laudate Dominum!

  As I passed the clipboard back to the stallholder, my eye fell on what was now the top sheet of newspaper. Only the picture was visible, not the headline.

  “Actually, could we have one more sausage, please?”

  “Where are we going to put that?” asked Bane in English as I swapped a few coins for the sausage.

  “I’ll carry it. We can eat a meat pie for lunch and make room for it in the bag.”

  “Fine, just don’t get the smell on your coat.”

  “Yes, fusspot,” I said laughingly, because the stallholder was still listening and would understand the tone even if she didn’t understand our words. We all smiled and nodded and thanked her, Bane heaved his pack back on and slung the bag over his shoulder, and we walked the rest of the way through the center of the town and out the other side with only the briefest of stops to admire charming buildings. Slipping into the forest again, we walked several kilometers in a brisk, nervous silence before stopping for lunch.

  “What’s with the sausage, Margo?” asked Bane, digging into his meat pie. Jon had already started on the bread and cheese. “D’you want to smell like food to bears?”

  “No, I wanted the newspaper.”

  I unwrapped the page from the sausage and smoothed it out. A front page. Major Everington stared out expressionlessly, immaculate as ever, save there were no gardening gloves at his belt or pistols in his holsters.

  ***+***

  5

  SCAPEGOAT

  FACILITY MAJOR ‘MASTERMINDS’ BREAKOUT

  Early this morning Major Lucas Everington, Commandant of Greater Salperton EGD Facility, was arrested on suspicion of masterminding the mass breakout from his Facility last week. A spokesperson for EGD Security today confirmed that the escape—the worst in the 80 year history of the EGD—could not have happened without inside help.

  ‘All evidence currently points to the Commandant,’ the spokesperson said, ‘who is known to have had several secret meetings with reAssignee Margaret Verrall—currently on the run after being convicted of the twin charges of Personal Practice of Superstition and Inciting and Promoting Superstition in the General Population and also wanted on a charge of Unauthorized Departure from an EGD Facility. The Major has not yet entered a plea, but it is expected that... Cont. p.4

  “Damn,” I said softly.

  “What?” asked Jon.

  “They’re trying to pin it on the Major.”

  “Huh?”

  “The escape. He’s been arrested.”

  “Told you.” Bane looked over my shoulder to read.

  “I suppose he was ultimately in charge, but this is just absurd. They’re saying he ‘masterminded’ it. Listen...” I read the article aloud.

  “Makes sense.” Jon shrugged. “They just want a scapegoat, don’t they? Hardly want everyone to know a few reAssignees and New Adults got around their security with a little help from the Resistance. Give all sorts of people ideas. Much less embarrassing to blame it all on one traitor on the inside. The Menace will be delighted to stab him in the back, ‘specially if it gets her off a very sticky hook.”

  “I know they don’t like each other, but getting him executed for something he didn’t do seems a bit extreme. Surely she won’t say more than she has to,” I objected.

  “Oh, she will. She hates him,” said Jon, starting on his meat pie.

  “You sound very sure.”

  “They’ve got history. Watkins told me.” Jon nodded knowingly.

  Watkins was one of the only Facility guards I genuinely liked. A kind, older man, he’d almost derailed our escape with his quick wits, before persuading his fellow guard to go along with us once it was clear they were outgunned—thus avoiding needless violence. Hopefully the Menace hadn’t managed to put any of the blame for her mistakes onto him.

  “I never did know why the Menace hated the Major so much,” I said.

  Jon shrugged. “No, Watkins might’ve been a bit embarrassed to tell the tale to you girlies. See, the EGD have this really strict rule about officers not, er, fraternizing with the regular guards. Avoids a load of trouble, no doubt. Anyway, in the little country Facilities where there’s just a Major and a Captain it’s apparently pretty much the norm for them to, ah, socialize in bed whether or not they socialize much out of it, if you see what I mean.”

  “I don’t think those two were socializing anywhere.”

  “No, well, I’m getting to that. Apparently when Major—then Captain—Everington first arrived the previous Captain had just been promoted when the old Commandant retired—you know that’s normally how they do the promotions, ’cause they try to send the officers to their local facilities?”

  “Yeah, officers have very little leave, so the idea is their families can go there to see them. Like they’re going to want to.”

  “As if. Well, the new Major only needed to put in three years to draw a Major’s pension—would’ve been ten years to draw a Commandant’s pension and she wasn’t prepared to hang around that long. Rumor said she was off to join the old Commandant anyway, so they weren’t going to be short of cash.

  “Anyway, especially in light of that, she takes one look at Everington and goes, they’ve sent me a child! He takes one look at her and goes, old hag, not with a barge pole, and nothing whatsoever happens. Three years pass, she retires, he’s promoted to Major—Commandant before he’s even thirty, not bad—and they send him a fresh young Captain to be girl’s warden. Watkins swears she was a great deal thinner and quite a bit prettier ten years ago. So Major Everington perks right up, and she obviously thinks she’s landed right on her feet with him, only he’s a bit gentlemanly and wants to get to know her first, which is where it all goes horribly wrong.

  “’Cause he takes such a violent dislike to her he can’t be induced to go along with the, er, norm. So she follows him around for about three months like a horny puppy, really embarrassing for everyone, Watkins said. She was pretty much begging him to go to bed with her. One day, he snaps and turns around to her right there in the mess in front of all the guards and says, ‘I’m sure you’re right, my very undear Captain, that sex is just physical but unfortunately when I look at you I find myself physically unable to comply with your wishes. So sorry and all that.’”

  “Well, that told her,” snorted Bane.

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “Yeah. Watkins truly thought she was g
oing to pull out her weapon and try to plug him five or six times right there and then, but fortunately for her she didn’t.”

  “Yeah, I reckon even in EGD Security killing your superior is frowned upon.”

  “Nah, Watkins didn’t think she’d have managed it. Thought the Major would’ve killed her. He’s pretty fast on the draw, apparently. Faster than her.”

  “Oh. Killing his subordinates wouldn’t make him very popular with his superiors, though.”

  “Well, he got away with it later,” said Jon, swallowing another mouthful of pie.

  “What?”

  “Watkins didn’t tell you that one either? The Major caught a guard doing something to a boy—Watkins wouldn’t say exactly what, so it must’ve been bad—in the Major’s garden, of all places.”

  I shuddered. Was that why the Major didn’t want boys anywhere near his precious garden? He'd positively freaked out when Jon had stepped into his private enclave for a few seconds. And considering what he’d done to Finchley for assaulting me…

  “I’m guessing that was the bad idea of all bad ideas on the guard’s part.”

  “Oh yeah. The Major had the guy brought to his office later for punishment. Next thing they know, the guard’s dead on the floor with his throat cut. Self-defense, according to the Major. Said the guy got the knife and came at him.”

  “The Major was trying to cut one of his improvised tattoos onto the guard’s face?”

  “Expect so. But it ended with the Major using a paper knife on the guard’s throat. No question about it, rather messy, Watkins said. He reckoned the Major was telling the truth. He just also reckoned Everington could probably have disarmed the stupid beast without killing him—if he hadn’t lost his temper. Anyway, given that the Major was a young officer with a clean record and a lot of years service left in him? There was no trouble about it.”

  “Lucky for the Menace she didn’t try anything, then. I take it they just settled down to hate each other ever since?”