The Declaration

  ‘You took away my hope,’ she said. ‘Everything I ever wanted was wrapped up in that boy, our son. For the past fifteen years I have not lived, I have been a ghost. For the past fifteen years I have begged the cold ground to open up and take me, and even that is denied me. I have lived a half life, and it is all because of you. And now I discover that my son is alive. A Surplus. A Surplus who was brought to Grange Hall and who I nearly had put down. Stephen, I nearly killed my own child . . .’

  She felt her stomach clench again and it was everything she could do to stop herself from collapsing on the ground and moaning. But she knew she had to stay strong. Knew she wouldn’t give up now or all would be lost.

  ‘What is it that the Declaration says?’ she asked, blinking away the tears that were in her eyes, the tears which had not come for fifteen years, and which now threatened to pour out of her like an avalanche.

  Stephen, who was sweating profusely now, shook his head.

  ‘The Declaration?’ he asked stupidly. ‘I, um, well, you know . . .’

  ‘A life for a life. Isn’t that right?’

  Stephen frowned. ‘To Opt Out, you mean. Yes, that’s how it’s phrased, I think.’

  ‘Not Opting Out,’ Mrs Pincent said, her eyes now flashing. ‘A life for a life. A Surplus will no longer be a Surplus if one or other of its parents dies. Is that not what it says?’

  Stephen nodded, and his face went white as Margaret turned the gun on herself.

  ‘You’re not going to kill yourself?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Margaret, wait. Not here. Not . . .’

  Then his face went even whiter as she trained the gun back on him.

  ‘It never happens, of course,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘A life for a life, I mean. Who would have a child and willingly not be there to look after it? But our child doesn’t need looking after, does he, Stephen? Our child has rather proved himself capable of looking after himself, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Margaret, please, put the gun down,’ Stephen begged. He was shaking violently, his mouth open, his eyes filled with fear.

  ‘I would kill myself in a minute to save my son,’ she continued. ‘A minute. My life has been over for years – it would be a release to die. But then I’d never know he was safe, would I? I can’t trust you, you see, Stephen. Can’t trust you not to bury the paperwork, cover the whole thing up. Can’t trust you not to betray our child for a second time.’

  She walked around the desk.

  ‘Margaret, no, no, you can’t. Margaret, you’ll go to prison. You can’t just . . . Margaret, please. Please, no . . .’

  ‘You can give the boy in death what you weren’t prepared to give him in life,’ Mrs Pincent whispered. ‘And prison doesn’t scare me. I’m in prison now.’

  And right then, she pulled the trigger, watching as the bullet unloaded into her ex-husband’s head, forcing him backwards, his chair tipping over and depositing him on the floor in a pool of blood. Just where Surplus Sheila had lain earlier in the day, Mrs Pincent observed.

  Slowly, she picked up the phone and dialled a number.

  ‘Dad?’ she said, her voice calm and still. ‘I have some important information for you. Please listen carefully.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  ‘You want a sip of this?’ Frank offered his hip flask to Bill, who shook his head. Frank shrugged, and finished the rest himself.

  He looked at his watch. 6.30 p.m.

  ‘Ready, Bill?’

  Bill nodded, and, both taking a deep breath, they efficiently and effectively kicked the front door down.

  Kate Covey looked at her husband Alan in alarm at the sound of the front door being forced.

  She didn’t dare say a word, didn’t dare let on, even to a room empty but for him, that she might be more terrified of the Catchers than any other couple on this street. How had they got here so quickly, she wondered desperately. Why now, when they were ready to leave? They had just been waiting for darkness to fall completely; now it might be too late.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Alan had darted into the hallway to meet them, giving her time to prepare, she suspected. ‘Do you people not knock any more?’

  He sounded only mildly annoyed, but Kate knew it was masking his abject terror. The Catchers could be going to everyone’s house, and there was no reason to give the game away by appearing worried.

  But Kate was more than worried. This could be it, and she knew it. The two of them could take prison again, but not the children. They’d promised them they’d be safe. They couldn’t fail them again. Wouldn’t fail them again.

  She thought, frantically. Could Alan distract the Catchers whilst she got the children out? But it was useless – even now one of the Catchers was coming into the kitchen to find her. If she so much as glanced under the table, the trapdoor would be found. Her children would be found and taken away again, and she couldn’t – wouldn’t – take it.

  ‘Mrs Bunting, I believe,’ the Catcher asked her, and she nodded.

  ‘So that’s definitely Bunting and not Covey, then?’

  Kate went white, and looked up to see Alan being frogmarched into the kitchen by a second Catcher.

  ‘Only, we heard from our superiors that you might have changed your name,’ the Catcher continued. ‘Real name Covey, they said. Of course, they do get it wrong from time to time, our superiors. Think they know it all because they have computer screens and fancy offices. Whereas me and Bill, here, we’re in uniform, but turns out that most of the time, we know more than they do. Funny, that, isn’t it? So, what’s it going to be – Bunting or Covey? Doesn’t bother me either way, see.’

  Kate met Alan’s eyes and in them she saw the sign, the desperate message. As he passed her, his hand brushed hers and something was transferred, something small and pink, something that would dissolve on the tongue, that would bring about an ending and a beginning. And immediately, she knew what they were going to do, and she nodded, a move so slight that it was barely perceptible. But he saw. She knew that he’d seen it.

  ‘Bunting,’ he said calmly. ‘Our name is Bunting.’

  ‘Well, there we are,’ the Catcher said, a little smile playing on his lips. ‘So, Mr Bunting, let me tell you what’s going to happen, shall I? What’s going to happen is that you’re going to tell us where the Surpluses are, we’re going to collect them, and that will be the end of that. Except for you going to prison, of course. You can’t get off that lightly, I’m afraid! Serious business, keeping Surpluses. But then you know that, don’t you? Been caught before, haven’t we?’

  Kate could hardly breathe, hardly dare think about the children, hiding in the cellar.

  ‘So that’s what we’d like to happen,’ the Catcher continued, his chirpy voice grating on and on. ‘Now, if you want it to be more complicated, my friend Bill here has a box of tricks which he loves playing with. So if you don’t want to tell us right away where the Surpluses are, if you’ve forgotten, say, then he’ll be more than happy to take your wife here and cut her up a bit until you remember.’

  As he spoke, the second Catcher opened up the black leather box in front of him and took out a knife.

  Below them, Anna and Peter were staring at each other. They’d heard the door crashing in, and Anna had somehow managed to stop Ben from crying, but now they were rooted to the spot, too scared to move.

  Escape was now impossible. Getting out involved crawling out of a hole in the street, where they would be seen, heard. Staying here, silent, was their only option. Staying here, silent, and waiting for their eventual capture.

  Anna held Ben to her and rocked him gently. ‘You are not Surplus,’ she whispered to him, stroking his head gently and kissing him on the forehead. ‘You will never be Surplus. Never.’

  Gingerly, she and Peter sat down on the sofa, where they’d been a few minutes before until they had jumped up at the crash at the door.

  ‘Are you scared?’ Peter asked quietly, his face tense. Anna shook her head, unable to trust herself to speak.


  ‘We’ll escape again, if they catch us,’ he whispered, clutching her hand in his so tightly she almost cried out from the pain.

  ‘Of course we will,’ she whispered back, trying her best to smile confidently. ‘We’ll run away with Ben and we’ll find my parents and we’ll all go to the country. And then we’ll go to the desert, and it will be warm and sunny and we’ll have a lovely big house with a big garden.’

  ‘Of sand?’ Peter asked, smiling now in spite of the fear in his eyes.

  ‘Yes, of sand,’ Anna whispered firmly. ‘And there we won’t be Surpluses, we’ll just be people, and we’ll be so happy.’

  ‘And there’ll be flowers,’ Peter agreed. ‘Lots of flowers, and books. And no Catchers.’

  ‘No, definitely no Catchers,’ Anna said softly.

  She looked down at Ben and felt a rush of gratitude that he didn’t know what was happening upstairs.

  Please let him never know, she begged silently. Please let him never need to know.

  As she stared at him, he opened his eyes and smiled, his perfect, angelic face breaking out into a toothless grin.

  And then, with no warning at all, he started to cry. Not a timid, uncertain cry, but a loud howling, his mouth open wide and his previously cherubic features contorted into a bright red mass of distress.

  Anna and Peter looked at each other in alarm. This was it. They were going to be discovered. They were not going to be saved.

  Desperately, Anna tried to soothe him and coax him, putting the side of her finger to his mouth for him to chew on. But Ben spat it out in disgust and continued to howl. Peter put his arm around her. And then things seemed to go into slow motion. Anna could hear the table being moved upstairs, the trapdoor being opened. A Catcher’s face appeared at the top and her parents were pushed down the ladder at knifepoint.

  Then one of the Catchers held out his hands for Ben, and Anna screamed, ‘No!’ and the Catcher held out the knife and said he could do this the easy way or the hard way. Anna screamed that he would do it no way at all, that he would never take Ben away from his home. And then, suddenly, her father shouted, ‘Now,’ and Anna frowned, because she didn’t know what he meant. Both her parents put their hands to their mouths, and looked like they were eating something, and then her mother smiled, like she was laughing, like she’d just been given something she’d wanted all her life.

  And she turned to the Catcher, and she said, ‘You can’t touch them now,’ and he frowned, and then her mother stumbled slightly, and she fell to the ground, followed by Anna’s father. But they were both smiling, and their hands found each other.

  ‘Anna,’ her father said. ‘Anna, you’re free. You and Ben are free. A life for a life. It’s in the Declaration. We’ve been waiting for this moment. Wanting it to come. Waiting to give you life again. A real life. A real future. We’re so sorry, Anna. So sorry . . .’

  He looked back at her mother, and Anna saw him holding her hand tightly, so tightly that it was going white. There were tears in her mother’s eyes, and she mouthed, ‘I love you,’ to him. And then she looked back at Anna, and she smiled sadly, and she said, ‘My Anna. My little Anna . . .’

  Anna stared at her mother, and at her father, and as she watched them, she realised that she could see the life drifting out of them, each breath taking them further and further away. The Catchers were looking angry and confused, as if they weren’t sure what to do. And then she saw her father looking at Peter and he looked distraught, and was shaking his head, and she didn’t know why, and then she suddenly realised. Because if it was a life for a life, she and Ben were safe. But Peter wasn’t. Peter, who had saved her, Peter who had rescued her from her prison, was going to be taken away from her, and she felt like it was her own life that was slowly fading away, not her parents’.

  Anna’s mother was looking at Peter too, and Anna could see her mouthing, ‘Run, run, Peter,’ but Peter was shaking his head. Anna wanted to scream, wanted to throw herself on top of Peter, a human shield, a barrier to protect him, to keep him with her. But instead, she clutched Ben to her and watched the people who loved her so much they were dying to save her, the people she’d been taught to hate above all others. She watched, unable to move, as the life ran out of her parents, like water, until there was nothing left but the sound of her brother crying.

  Frank looked around the cellar and rolled his eyes.

  Then he turned to Peter.

  ‘Looks like it’s just you coming along with us now,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘So you’ll want to say goodbye to your little girlfriend.’

  Anna stood up.

  ‘You won’t take him,’ she said, her voice strong and low. ‘Take me instead. I’m more Useful.’

  Peter pushed her aside angrily. ‘It’s me they want,’ he said bitterly.

  ‘They’ll kill you,’ Anna said desperately. She could see glimpses of tears in his eyes. ‘I won’t let them. I need you alive, Peter. I need you.’

  The Catcher laughed. ‘Touching little scene this, Bill, isn’t it? Only, I’m afraid this isn’t a game show – you don’t get to choose who goes. So, Peter, is it? I think we’ll just call you Surplus, if that’s all right with you. And if it isn’t, then we’ll still call you Surplus. Right, follow Bill up the ladder.’

  But before Bill could start climbing, another face appeared at the trapdoor. An unfamiliar face, attached to a pinstripe suit.

  Slowly, he climbed down into the cellar, and his eyes widened when he took in the lifeless bodies of Anna’s parents on the floor before him.

  ‘Peter?’ he asked.

  Peter nodded cautiously.

  ‘Peter, I’m your grandfather.’

  The man looked at the Catchers, and handed them a piece of paper.

  ‘He’s coming with me,’ he said, looking Peter up and down as if looking for clues for something. ‘Peter, your father . . . died, today. Which means that you’re Legal now. I’m Richard Pincent. We’re . . . family, Peter, and I’d like to take you home.’

  Anna watched wide-eyed as Peter stared at the man, then at the Catchers who were looking in fury at the piece of paper they’d been handed, and then at Anna herself.

  ‘You’re not my grandfather,’ he said suspiciously. ‘I was adopted. I don’t have a grandfather.’

  The man nodded sadly. ‘I have something of yours,’ he said then, holding out his hand to Peter. As he opened it to reveal a gold signet ring, Peter’s eyes flashed.

  Anna stared at the ring, trying to see if it had a flower engraved on it, wanting it to be Peter’s ring and yet fearing desperately that if it was, it would take him away from her.

  You can’t go, she wanted to shout. You belong here with me. You’re my Peter. But she didn’t say a word. She was too weak for another battle. Too scared that he might want to leave.

  Peter looked at her then, a look that penetrated deep inside of her. He looked scared, she realised, with a shock. Scared and helpless. And the man was just standing there, waiting, his hand outstretched. Anna squeezed Ben to her and just kept looking at Peter, wishing she knew what to say, and what to do.

  Then Peter looked back at the man in the pinstripe suit, who smiled at him broadly and started to climb the steps. Peter looked back at Anna one last time, and then his eyes travelled to her parents’ bodies, and the cellar that he’d lived in for so long. And then he turned back to the man and, silently, he followed him back up the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  21 April, 2140

  My name is Anna. Anna Covey.

  I’m a Legal. That means I’m allowed to be here.

  I have the certificate right here in front of me. I’m not a Burden on Mother Nature any more.

  I can take Longevity drugs too, if I want to. The man from the Authorities who comes around once a week to see how we’re Assimilating, says that it’s very important I take them. That otherwise I’ll get ill, and suffer from Old Age and Death.

  But I don’t want to. I’m not afraid o
f dying. I’m not afraid of anything any more.

  We live in a house in Bloomsbury now – the one my parents lived in. The house is full of light from the sun, which shines through the front windows in the morning and the back windows in the afternoon because it’s spring now, even if it’s still very cold. All the walls are painted in warm colours, which I chose to remind me of Mrs Sharpe’s house. There are reds and oranges and yellows, and we have thick carpet on the floor and big sofas that are soft and covered in cushions.

  There’s a picture of my parents too, on the mantelpiece, to remind us. Because they saved us. Because they died.

  I used to think that my parents were Selfish, that they didn’t care about me. But they did care – about me and Ben. They cared so much that they sacrificed themselves to make us Legal. They left us a letter, telling us that they died because they owed us a life, and they wanted to give it to us. They said they’d always planned it this way, that they’d hoped to have had a little more time with us, but that you can’t always predict what’s going to happen, and that at least they knew we were going to be safe. And they said that we should look for Peter, and try to rescue him. That they wished they could have saved him too. The letter said the pink pills were always their last resort, when they knew that there was no alternative, when they knew that all other hope was lost.

  I wish they’d known about Peter’s grandfather. I think that would have made them much happier . . .

  ‘Anna? Where are you?’

  Anna looked up to see Peter walking through the sitting room door, and smiled.

  ‘How was work?’

  Peter grimaced. He worked in a local laboratory now, something that Anna found rather comical bearing in mind his lack of enthusiasm in Science and Nature. But he said it was better than working for his grandfather. His grandfather who made Longevity drugs. Peter hated his grandfather even more than he hated the Authorities. And nearly as much as he hated Mrs Pincent. Once Peter had found out what his grandfather did for a living, he had refused all contact.