Resist

RONAN

I’ve been a prisoner in my own home for two days, and I don’t know how much more of it I can take. When we got back from the battle at The Grove, Jude Caffrey bundled me into a buggy with armed stewards and sent me home instead of letting me help contain the riots. He said it was for my own protection, but never bothered to say what I need to be protected from, and anyway, I hardly think the stewards commissioned to protect me could fend off an attacker better than I could.

The only reason I haven’t given them the slip is because I don’t want to leave my sister alone. Niamh was hysterical when I got home. She’d been in her bedroom with Todd something-or-other when the stewards barged in. They frog-marched them to the basement where they kept them until I got back. And when I did, she asked me about a thousand questions: Where had I been? What was happening? When could we leave? But I couldn’t answer her. The mission to The Grove was classified. And even if I could have answered, I didn’t want to talk about it. I went straight to my room and ripped off my uniform and dirty boots, throwing them against the wall. We’d been told we’d be fighting terrorists. Well, that was the biggest crock of crap I’ve ever heard in my life.

Neither my nor Niamh’s pads have worked since then, either. The screen’s nothing but static. Every so often raking shots are fired outside or a voice booms through a megaphone. And strangely, no one seems to know where my father is. I’m not his biggest fan, but I am beginning to feel uneasy.

“You married?” Niamh asks the steward on duty guarding us from the perils of our own kitchen. She twists a piece of hair around her finger until the tip is bluish. Todd is elsewhere.

“Give it a rest, Niamh,” I say. The guy must be forty and Niamh’s only flirting because she’s bored.

“Just making chitchat, Ronan. You might want to try it some time,” she says, lifting herself up onto a bar stool and leaning forward against the stone island, her head resting on her hands.

I go to the window. The stewards surrounding the house look like a human fence, and beyond them the street is deserted. “How much longer is this going to last?” I ask.

“Please step away from the window,” the steward warns. He’s shorter than me and thin as a whip. But I do as he says and take a jug of juice and a handful of strawberries from the fridge.

“Want something?” I ask. Normally our housekeeper, Wendy, would see to visitors, but she’s been banished to her annex, and Niamh and I have been feeding ourselves for the first time in our lives.

“No,” the steward says curtly, then tilts his head in the direction of the hall. “Wait here,” he whispers for what must be the twentieth time today. He slides along the kitchen wall until he’s out of sight. I pour a glass of juice.

“Those dirty subs do nothing but cause trouble. I hope Daddy’s dealing with them,” Niamh says. She pauses. “Do you think Daddy’s all right?” She has an arm outstretched, admiring her polished nails. She’s pretending she isn’t worried, too.

“He can take care of himself.” I don’t know anyone who’d dare cross my father—I certainly wouldn’t. But it is strange that he hasn’t called, when we’re on lockdown.

Niamh takes her pad from a drawer in the kitchen island. “Why won’t this thing work?” She bangs it on the stone top. “Hell!”

The steward reappears at the kitchen door followed by Jude Caffrey, who pulls off his facemask, unbuckles the tank from his belt, and dumps everything onto the floor. The steward spins around and stands with his back to us. “Ronan. Niamh,” Jude says. He’s wearing the same soiled clothes I last saw him in, and his knuckles are grazed. He hasn’t shaved in a long time.

“Why are you here?” Niamh asks rudely.

“Take a seat,” I say, and tap a stool.

When he comes into the kitchen, I see Todd is standing behind him. Todd rests against the arched doorframe with his T-shirt in his hand. His chest is bare and his hair is standing up like he’s been wrestling. “Is it over?” he asks.

“The pod’s been pumped with halothane gas,” Jude says, sitting on the stool. He addresses me as though Todd hasn’t even come into the room. Todd squints and steps further into the kitchen. He’s waiting to be acknowledged. Or at the very least noticed.

“And what does that mean?” I ask.

“If you go outside without a tank, you’ll black out,” Jude says matter-of-factly. But I’m not stupid; he knows that isn’t the question I’m asking.

My mouth goes dry. “Jude, is this a coup?” I ask. “Where’s my father?”

“You haven’t seen any coverage of the press conference on the screen?” he asks, his tone reproachful.

“The screens have been tampered with,” Niamh snaps. No one but Cain Knavery’s daughter could get away with speaking like this to the general of the pod’s army.

He arches an eyebrow. “You, leave us,” he tells Todd, who’s finally found his way into his T-shirt.

“So, I’ll get an airtank from the basement, yeah?” Todd says. Everyone, including Niamh, ignores him.

Jude closes his eyes and massages the lids. “Go help your boyfriend, Niamh,” he says.

“Excuse me?” Her jaw drops and she takes several moments to be deeply offended. “You’re in my house.”

“Please, Niamh. Let me speak to Jude.” I dip my head to one side, and she stomps out of the room after Todd.

Jude stands up, slides his hands into his pockets, and rocks back and forth, side to side, in his dirty boots. The creamy marble floor is covered in muck he’s carried through the house. “It’s important you’re safe. We’ll keep snipers on the roof for another couple of days, and I strongly advise you to stay indoors,” Jude says. He is broad and tall, but he looks unusually tired and defeated.

“Do you think I need a babysitter?” I ask.

“I don’t doubt you’re able to take care of yourself. It’s a precaution, that’s all.” I’ve been training under Jude Caffrey with the Special Forces since I was thirteen and he knows I could take down an assailant with two fingers. And I did—just days ago at The Grove.

Jude moves to the sink, turns on the tap, and puts his neck under the running water. He shakes his head and stands up straight, the water running into his shirt collar. Then he pushes his thinning hair out of his face with wet hands and clasps them behind his back. He’s stalling, I realize, and my gut aches. What is he so reluctant to tell me?

“The pod’s gone mad. You know the auxiliaries have rebelled,” he says.

“They have every reason to,” I snap. I’ve never questioned what the Ministry stands for, but that was before seeing the trees at The Grove, before destroying them at Jude’s command.

He looks like he’s about to say something, then changes his mind. I take a short breath. “Where’s my father?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I brace myself against the wall because it’s obvious why Jude’s so nervous. My ears ring. “Your father’s dead, Ronan,” he says.

I wince at the words. My muscles tense. “What?” I say. I’ve heard him; I need time to take it in, that’s all.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Yes,” I say. I stay on my feet, which is more than I managed when Wendy told me my mother was gone. All I could do back then was moan into the kitchen floor. Today I retain my balance. And my composure.

But I’m so damn thirsty. My mouth is dryer than ever. I return to the fridge, get the jug and drink straight from its lip, juice spilling across my mouth and all over my shirt. Jude takes the jug from me. His jacket is missing a button. A loose thread hangs where it should be. I focus hard on it. I have to focus on something. Maybe the button was ripped off at The Grove.

“You’re in shock. Sit down,” he says. He’s probably right. And if I’m feeling like this, how will Niamh take it?

She doesn’t know, and I’ll be the one to tell her. The air seems to have thinned. I pull at my collar.

Jude leads me to the kitchen table, where he lowers me into a chair. “Breathe slowly,” he says. I push him away. I don’t want his hands on me.

“I knew something like this must have happened,” I admit. I take large gulps of air as the words dead and forever spin in my head. I wasn’t my father’s