Chapter 56
Chapter Fifty-Six
Zac
Stepping into the Safe House for the first time, the weight of the world seems to vanish from my shoulders. Emilia closes the door behind us, as my eyes trail over the blue cabinets, the dishes on the side, the dirty dishcloth—honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see it again.
There was absolutely no point arguing with Emilia to stay at home; she’s a part of this now, whether I like it or not.
The thought of everything that happened whilst I was locked up still simmers beneath my skin.
Rage coils in my chest at the fact Emilia’s now at risk, headstrong and in danger. All because Kayla made a mistake.
We went to see her this morning. The girls fell into each other’s arms, both crying. The scar running down Kayla’s cheek says everything about her time at Killmoor. I can’t believe I’ve walked away with my face unmarked.
Jace and Emilia made lunch whilst Kayla and I sat in the garden sharing a bottle of vodka.
We didn’t speak.
We didn’t have to.
We know what the other went through. The pain, the guilt, and the aftermath. We just sat there, listening to the laughter drifting from the kitchen, reminding us what it sounds like to be okay.
“Zac!” Bridget barrels into the kitchen, throwing her arms around my neck.
“Bridge,” I greet the bubbly girl.
She pulls back, smiling. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
I hook an arm over her shoulder. “If anyone is going to kill me, it won’t be the fucking Enforcers,” I say, voice low as I lead her into the living space.
“True. It’ll be Emilia.” I ignore her. Instead, I nod in greeting as Kieran glances up from the table.
He smiles. “Good to see you here.”
“Good to be back,” I reply, slouching into the chair beside him. “Fill me in on what I’ve missed.”
“Over the entire month?” Bridget scoffs, resting her hands on the table. “That’ll take all day. Have you seen Em’s tattoos?”
“Yes,” I snap. Emilia’s brows lift, and she yanks a chair out across the table, straddling it before meeting my gaze.
I tear my eyes to Bridget. “Remind me to kill you later.”
She smirks, shrugging. “I tried to tell her no.”
My jaw grinds, but I force the thoughts of Emilia’s tattoos away before anger, or something far darker, can stir. I shift in my seat, resting an arm on the table.
“Jordan at work?” I ask.
Kieran nods. “Him, Claudia, and Anna.”
My eyes drop to the table. “What’s this?” I ask, picking up the sheet of paper in front of me.
“Another missing person,” Bridget mutters. My gaze drifts over the photo of the dark-haired boy with glasses.
“William Alexson,” Emilia reads quietly. “I went to school with him.”
“He’s twenty-one?”
“Yeah.”
“Married?”
“No.”
“No?” I raise an eyebrow. “What’s the updated ratio of single to married missing persons so far?” I ask.
Bridget turns to the board, her brow furrowed. “Five married, twenty-six single.”
“They’re determined to cling onto their married population.” Emilia mutters, leaning forward in her chair. “But…” Her eyes lift towards me, and the trace of pitying emotion that I hate lingers there. “We already knew that.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, chucking the page down. “We do.”
Bridget sinks into the chair beside her. “I’m not convinced their population attempts are even working.”
“How many people in the Married Sector have babies?” Emilia asks.
“Eighteen couples out of seventy-eight have a child,” Kieran answers, thumbing through the papers beside him.
“Oh!” Emilia exclaims, eyes darting back to me. “That’s something you missed whilst you were gone. The Enforcers raided twenty-six houses in the Married Sector, searching for contraband.”
My brow cocks. “Contraband?”
She shifts on her seat, eyes darting to Bridget, who just smirks, crossing her arms across her chest.
Emilia swallows before answering, “Condoms.”
“Germain sees them as counterproductive,” Bridget says, resting her elbows on the table, a grin on her lips.
“In other news,” Kieran says, glancing between us. “Bridget and Jordan have managed to obtain a few more guns and ammunition,” he tells me. “A couple grenades, too.”
I tilt my head at Bridget. “Grenades?”
She shrugs, smile widening. “I’m not one to do things by halves.”
“They’re in the basement?” I ask, and Kieran nods. “I’ll check them out later.”
“Fucking love it when people are here and I’ve got something impressive to say.” Jordan’s voice tears through the house half a second before he appears in the kitchen doorway. His eyes nearly bug out at the sight of me. “Zac and Emilia, too. What a day.” He drops his black duffel to the ground.
“What are you boasting about?” Bridget exclaims.
Jordan grins, bending to his bag before dragging something out and striding to the table. Carefully, he slams it down.
“An SA80,” I breathe, my eyes roaming over the rifle.
“Great,” Emilia says, staring at the gun as she leans back and crosses her arms. “When are we going to use them?”
“You? Never,” I retort.
She rolls her eyes. “We have more weapons than people,” she argues. “When are we going to do something about it?”
“We need an opening, an opportunity—”
“We should make our own opportunities,” Emilia cuts Bridget off and pushes to her feet.
“How long are you planning to sit here doing nothing? There are other ways to hurt the State than just waiting for the day they decide to let us walk through the front door of City Hall. We should attack them where it hurts. Where it will make them weak.”
My chest tightens at the truth in her words.
We’ve been circling for years, doing nothing but raiding for weapons.
The Resistance have carried out the odd sabotage…
but we’ve barely made a dent in the State’s plans.
Mostly we’ve been using this place as an outlet, a place to hide and survive, and be ourselves. Not for fighting.
Emilia’s right. Maybe it’s time to take the fight to them.
Kieran shifts forward in his chair. “Like?”
“I... I don’t know.” Emilia looks down as she places her hands on the table. “But there must be something we can do. Something subtle.”
“Guerrilla warfare,” I mutter, gaze locking on Emilia.
She nods. “Exactly.”
“We could,” I say, glancing at the pages scattered over the table. “It might work.”
“Maybe,” Bridget agrees. “But what would we even attack?”
“I work in the fields,” Emilia says.
Jordan shakes his head. “We can’t destroy the crops. That’ll fuck us all over,” he argues.
“I know. I’m thinking more along the lines of their cosy little supply house.”
I frown at the words. “Supply house?”
“They have this little log cabin on the far end of the farm that none of us are allowed near because it’s for the Enforcers to rest and recover when they finish their shift,” she explains.
“Kayla was allowed inside once to fetch Engleberry a bag of sugar because she’d run out.
It’s full of branded food. Stuff that we probably haven’t seen for years,” she continues.
“I have no idea where they’re getting it, but Germain mostly saves it for herself and I think she distributes some to all of her followers. ”
“What?” Bridget exclaims. “Branded fucking food?”
“Nothing that goes off too fast. It’s pre-war stuff. Probably past its prime, but…” Emilia shrugs. “Kayla said she saw the usual—rice and pasta and oats. But there were also spices, and wine, and even chocolate.”
“What the fucking hell?” Bridget blurts, mouth gaping. She slumps back in her chair. “Fucking bastards.”
Jordan runs his hand over his mouth, brow furrowed as he slides into the seat beside her. “What are you suggesting we do?”
Emilia shrugs, but the corner of her mouth quirks into a small, dangerous smile. Her eyes glance up and lock with mine, wild and daring.
“We could always… blow it up,” she says, tone casual. “It’s small, but it’s a start.”
Something stupid and utterly alive barrels through me, and a grin tugs at my lips. Fucking hell. She’s better than I’ve ever given her credit for. My cock stiffens as I take in her sinful expression.
“Kieran,” I say, not taking my eyes off Emilia.
“Yes?” he answers.
“Do you still have access to the planning room?” I ask.
“I’m back at Beeston Station next week so I’ll be able to get into it then.”
“See if you can find anything about this supply house,” I tell him. Emilia’s grin widens as she sinks back into her chair.
“Anna could look in the State offices, too,” Bridget says.
“This will need to be well planned,” Jordan says. “We’d need to make sure there aren’t any tripwires or traps around the property.”
“I can go—”
“No,” I snap, blunt as a knife.
Emilia’s face hardens, eyes flaring. “I’m not incapable!”
“I agree with Zac,” Jordan says.
I let my mouth curl into a satisfied smirk, and she just rolls her eyes, gritting her teeth and looking away.
Jordan keeps talking. “Bridget and I can obtain a Spencer Scanner from the factory. Borrow it without anyone noticing for a day or two.”
“A Spencer Scanner?” Emilia echoes.
“It’s a weapon scanner,” Bridget tells her. “Developed after the war. It scans areas for concealed weapons.”
“After the war?”
Bridget shrugs. “Apparently. Jordan heard that it comes from a different sector.”
Emilia’s mouth gapes, her eyes flicking to me. “Like the South?”
“Exactly,” Bridget says.
I shift in my chair, straightening my spine. “What else have I missed?”
“An increased production of ammunition,” Jordan says. “They’ve tripled what we were producing three months ago.”
“What the fuck are they expecting to need that for?”
“Enforcing more of their laws, probably.” Bridget snorts. “I can’t live like this much longer.”
“Without you in transport, we haven’t been able to obtain much information regarding what they’re moving, or when,” Kieran says.
“I go back Monday.”
“As in tomorrow?” Bridget splutters.
I nod. “Evening shift.”
“How dare they—”
“I went to jail, Bridget, not on a fucking holiday.”
“Even so,” Kieran says, frowning. “You’re not even completely healed from what they did to you.”
“And you’re hardly sleeping well—”
“Enough.” I slam my fist onto the table, the sound cracking through the room. “I’m well enough to sit behind a fucking wheel and drive.”
“No, you’re not,” Jordan mutters under his breath.
“Stop fucking babying me,” I snap, shooting upright just as Emilia does. My eyes dart around the room until they lock onto Emilia, both of us glaring at one another. “I wish you’d all stop fucking hovering over me. It’s suffocating. I need a fucking break!”
Emilia’s chin trembles, but it’s not from being upset. “Cocky asshole,” she snaps. For a heartbeat, neither of us move, glowering at one another. Around us, the others are frozen, watching silently.
“Jordan?” Claudia’s voice is small as she peers around the doorframe, eyes wide as they dart between us. “I’m home.”
“Look, Claudia,” Bridget says weakly, holding her arms above the table. “The gang’s back together.”
Kieran frowns. “We’re missing Anna.”
Bridget just rolls her eyes, and Emilia shoves away from the table, turning on her heel and striding out the room.
I don’t say anything, just grab the pen in front of me and launch it at the wall, wishing I had something heavier to chuck. Sinking down, I rest my head in my hands and close my eyes.