Resistance

  Night School: Resistance

  Night School 4

  C.J. Daugherty

  Bookouture

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  21. Twenty-one

  22. Twenty-two

  23. Twenty-three

  24. Twenty-four

  25. Twenty-five

  26. Twenty-six

  27. Twenty-seven

  28. Twenty-eight

  29. Twenty-nine

  30. Thirty

  31. Thirty-one

  32. Thirty-two

  33. Thirty-three

  34. Thirty-four

  35. Thirty-five

  36. Thirty-six

  37. Thirty-seven

  38. Thirty-eight

  39. Thirty-nine

  40. Forty

  41. Forty-one

  Letter from C.J.

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Published by Bookouture, an imprint of StoryFire Ltd.

  23 Sussex Road, Ickenham, UB10 8PN, United Kingdom.

  www.bookouture.com

  Copyright © CJ Daugherty 2013

  CJ Daugherty has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-909490-33-8

  To know your enemy, you must become your enemy.

  Sun Tzu

  1

  One

  ‘You must relax,’ Sylvain said. ‘If you’re tense, you’ll sink.’

  Allie glared at him. Every muscle in her body was stretched tight as a wire. ‘I am relaxed.’

  They stood in cool, waist-deep water, gentle waves jostling them. The sand was soft beneath their toes. Allie could feel the heat of the sun strong on her skin as she looked out over the cobalt waters.

  Sylvain’s eyebrows winged up. ‘You are not relaxed.’ He gestured at her tight shoulders, and hands curled into fists. ‘Look at you. We’re swimming in the Mediterranean Sea – you act like you’re about to be tortured.’

  Allie shrugged. She was affecting nonchalance but the fact was, she could hardly believe she was really here. With him. Doing this.

  I am in the south of France, she thought, and Sylvain is teaching me how to swim. WTF?

  Sylvain was still waiting for her to say something so she muttered darkly about waterboarding.

  His lips twitched.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘It’s easy. Just … sit.’

  Looking around at the utter lack of anything to sit on, Allie squinted suspiciously. ‘Sit?’

  He demonstrated, lowering his body into the water, which seemed to pick him up and carry him, as if he were relaxing in an invisible chair. Then he leaned back and floated, weightless as a feather. ‘See? It’s easy.’

  Hesitantly, Allie let her body drop into the water as he’d done. The second she lifted her feet from the seabed she sank like stone. Splashing wildly, she regained her footing and turned to him, sputtering and outraged.

  ‘I can’t sit,’ she said, fuming, ‘on water.’

  Sylvain tried to hold a sympathetic expression but his eyes danced and his lips curved up.

  ‘That was … unfortunate.’

  ‘Unfortunate?’ Still tasting salt water, Allie seemed to have lost her ability to put a sentence together.

  ‘Look,’ he said, stepping closer. ‘Try it again. This time I’ll hold on to you.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Allie, who had just about had enough swimming for one day, stepped quickly away from him.

  Laughing now, Sylvain followed her. ‘Oh yes.’

  Allie tried to run towards shore but the sand and water conspired to slow her and in seconds his hands were on her waist. He pulled her back out as she flailed and giggled with helpless indignation.

  ‘I can’t swim. Please don’t make me learn,’ she implored. ‘I hate learning. Learning is stupid. Learning is bad.’

  ‘Learning,’ Sylvain said calmly, ‘is wonderful.’

  He was swimming beside her now and her feet weren’t touching the sea floor. His hands were steady on her waist and then she was floating in the water without quite knowing how it had happened.

  Treading water, Sylvain turned a slow circle, spinning her easily as she lay flat on her back, staring up at the perfect blue sky.

  ‘See?’ he said. ‘I knew you could do it.’

  ‘But you’re holding me up,’ she said.

  ‘No I’m not.’

  And he wasn’t. At some point he’d let go. She was floating, free.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Allie whispered. But it was true. She wasn’t sinking or sputtering. The water held her, like gentle hands. She felt safe.

  For just a second, she closed her eyes. It was so quiet and calm, the only sound the swish of the waves reaching the sand, and the sigh as the water returned to the sea. It was … perfect.

  That was when the first shot split the air.

  The explosive sound ripped through the quiet cove. Allie flinched and started to sink. Before she could go under, Sylvain grabbed her, pulling her close.

  His eyes searched the shore.

  Clinging to his shoulders, Allie followed his gaze. Everything was just as it had been: soft sand, towering boulders, blue sea. But suddenly it looked different; dangerous.

  Irrational anger flashed inside her like fire. This was the first time they’d left the compound since they’d arrived at Sylvain’s family home a month ago. Now they’d never be allowed out again. Was this how her whole life was going to be? Constantly on the run?

  Constantly afraid.

  She thought of Rachel, who she’d left sitting by the pool at Sylvain’s family’s villa. What if she was under attack, too? They had to get out of here. Get back to her.

  She sent up a silent prayer. Please let her be OK.

  Still holding her tightly, Sylvain began swimming towards a rock jetty that edged the beach, jutting out into the sea. Feeling like a dead weight, Allie tried to make herself as small and light as possible. But he was a strong swimmer and they moved with sure swiftness.

  The whole time, they both watched the shore. Nothing stirred.

  Then another gunshot rang out.

  As the sound echoed off the rocks, Allie and Sylvain exchanged a shocked look. They both knew better than to speak. Without a word, he shifted her to his other arm, putting his body between her and the suddenly deadly shore.

  The water seemed colder now; Allie’s teeth began to chatter.

  Guns. They’d faced a lot of things in England, but never guns. You couldn’t outrun a bullet. Or outswim it.

  For three months she and Rachel had moved from safe house to safe house. Each more elegant than the last. Each more isolated. Each more lonely.


  A few weeks ago they’d arrived in France to find Sylvain waiting for them. Like a piece of home.

  And they’d actually been having fun … Until now.

  I should have known it couldn’t last.

  The second they reached the rock jetty, Sylvain navigated to a hidden nook where the boulders naturally shielded them on all sides, like a house without a roof.

  They crouched down low, both of them tense.

  In the safety of the rocks, Allie felt safe enough to whisper. ‘What …?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ His voice was taut, and a muscle worked in his jaw. ‘But I’m going to find out.’

  Fear burned Allie’s stomach like acid. It must have shown on her face because he took her by the shoulders. His hands were steady and his eyes pleaded with her not to argue.

  ‘Stay here.’ Though whispered, the words seemed to echo around them. ‘Please, Allie. I’m going to see what’s happening then I’ll come right back. I promise.’

  A visceral frustration shook her. She should go with him – she was trained for this.

  But she didn’t know how to swim. If she insisted on going too, she’d make things more dangerous for both of them.

  She held his gaze fiercely. ‘Be careful.’

  For a moment he looked at her as if he wanted to say something; instead he pulled her close, hugging her hard. His skin felt wet and cold against hers.

  Then he slipped out between the rocks and dived into the water, disappearing with barely a ripple.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Allie wanted him back.

  Her chest ached. She wrapped her arms tightly across her torso.

  People kept getting hurt because of her. First Ruth, then Jo, then Rachel. If Nathaniel got his hands on Sylvain …

  Three gunshots rang in quick succession and she gasped, ducking low. A bullet ricocheted off something with a high-pitched whine.

  Allie gripped the stone in front of her, digging her nails into a crevice in the black rock. Barnacles were like razor blades beneath her fingertips and she welcomed the pain. It helped her think.

  More time passed and Sylvain didn’t return. It was becoming difficult to breathe.

  She couldn’t stay here, could she? He could be hurt. He might need her help.

  For a long while she stayed low, torn between rushing out to find him and doing as he’d asked. She counted her breaths.

  Fifty-three breaths in. Fifty-four. Fifty-five …

  He should be back.

  Finally she couldn’t take it any more. She couldn’t swim but she could wade or … walk. Something.

  She leapt up. At that precise moment, he appeared, dripping from the sea.

  Relief threatened to bring tears to her eyes.

  Some of the tension left his face as soon as he saw her. He moved swiftly into the safety of the rocks.

  ‘I was sure you wouldn’t be here,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t bloody swim.’ Helpless frustration rang in her voice and she forced herself to lower it to a whisper. ‘What’s happening?’

  His expression changed, becoming more business-like.

  ‘There are two of them. Our guards are holding them off for now but more could be on the way. We have to get out of here. We need to be fast.’ He held her gaze, his blue eyes dark with worry. ‘Stay with me – no matter what happens, OK?’

  Allie, who had no intention of letting him out of her sight again, nodded vigorously. ‘I promise.’

  Taking her hand, he bent down low as they left the shelter and slipped into the chilly sea. Fear had heightened Allie’s senses – she thought she could see things moving in the water; feel them brushing against her skin.

  As he’d done earlier, Sylvain held her close, propelling them through the waves with strong kicks. But instead of steering towards shore, he headed away from it. Slowly, working against the current, they made their way to the end of the rock jetty, and then around it to the other side.

  Here, no beautiful beach greeted them. The unsheltered coastline had been battered by waves and wind and allowed to become overgrown with scrub trees and weeds.

  Somewhere in the distance she heard shouts. Sylvain’s arm tightened around her. Gritting his teeth, he kicked harder. With the waves at their back they glided swiftly towards the shore.

  As soon as they reached the shallows, they stood and ran. Sylvain held her hand in a tight grip as they stumbled out of the sea, fighting the force of the waves tugging at their legs as if to hold them back.

  When they reached the cluster of boulders that shielded the cove, they stopped to catch their breath. The relentless sunlight bleached the scene in front of them, tinting it all with hazy gold.

  From the rocks, Allie could see their guards’ SUVs. Just beyond that a flash of bright red – Sylvain’s motorcycle.

  Shouts erupted in the distance. Unfamiliar voices hurled French words at each other. Allie couldn’t see anyone – the guards had to be in the rocks.

  ‘Shh …’ Sylvain held up his hand as he listened. Then he turned to her, his eyes urgent. ‘They’re making a move. Get ready.’

  Footsteps pounded across the hard sand. More shouts. A shot was fired.

  He pulled at her hand. ‘Now.’

  Taking off at a run, they hurtled across the sand. Thorny scrub bushes scratched at Allie’s legs, sharp shells cut into her bare feet, but she ignored them, pushing herself to run faster.

  The sun turned the sand a brutal white. Her breath burned in her throat.

  Ahead of them the motorcycle was like a beacon.

  Red. Stop. Danger.

  Then they were there. Sylvain leaped on to the bike, reaching back to help her climb on behind him. Shouts erupted behind them and he threw the helmets to the ground – there was no time.

  They both knew what would happen when he turned the key, which glittered hot in the ignition where he’d left it.

  The attackers would all come running. With guns.

  He turned to meet her gaze; his piercing blue eyes were fierce and determined. ‘Hold on.’

  2

  Two

  The roar of the motorcycle’s engine was deafening; it drowned out every other sound. Someone could shoot at them and they’d never hear it.

  Allie wrapped her arms tightly around Sylvain’s waist. His skin felt hot against hers; feverish.

  He gunned the engine. The bike shot down the dirt road as if it had been fired from a cannon. It moved like a living creature beneath them and, even clinging to him with all her strength, Allie struggled to hold on, gritting her teeth from the force of the speed.

  It felt like gravity was trying to tear them apart.

  Sylvain’s muscles tensed from the effort of keeping the motorcycle upright and moving in a straight line. The rough dirt road jostled them so violently Allie’s teeth chattered.

  Then an intersection with a paved highway loomed ahead of them. The road was crowded with late afternoon traffic; they’d have to slow down to merge on to it.

  Crouched low behind Sylvain, Allie turned to look over her shoulder. In the distance she saw a dark vehicle roaring after them. It wasn’t close yet but it was fast. It would catch up to them when Sylvain hit the brakes to merge onto the road.

  But as they grew closer and closer to the busy road, he didn’t hit the brakes. And, with sudden cold clarity, Allie realised he wasn’t going to.

  He was going to turn into that crowded road at full speed.

  There was no time to react – to say anything. To try and talk him out of it. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tightened her grip, pressing her face against the bare skin of his back.

  They hit the intersection, cutting off a small car that slammed its brakes to avoid crashing into them. Tyres screamed as Sylvain turned the bike sharply. The acrid smell of burned rubber filled the air.

  That was when he lost control.

  The bike swerved wildly. The road shot up towards them.

  Allie screamed and turned her face away just in ti
me to see a lorry piled high with produce swerve off on to the dirt shoulder, sending up a dark cloud of dust and dirt.

  Swearing in French, Sylvain fought to right the bike as it wobbled wildly. At the speed they were going, with no helmets or protective gear, Allie knew they’d likely die if they crashed. But there was nothing she could do but hold on. Holding her breath, she clung to Sylvain’s waist.

  Then, just as suddenly as he’d lost it, he was in control again. The bike steadied. He revved the engine and they tore straight and fast down the road.

  Exhaling in relief, Allie lowered her chin to his shoulder. She couldn’t tell whether it was her heart or Sylvain’s she could feel pounding but a fine sheen of sweat had appeared on his bare shoulders and she was finding it hard to breathe.

  He glanced back at her. ‘You OK?’

  No words seemed sufficient to convey how she felt, so Allie nodded her reply. As their speed picked up, he bent low over the bars. The sea was a blue blur beside them; on the other side fields rushed by, a watercolour of gold and green and lavender. He handled the bike smoothly now, passing cars without hesitation or fear.

  She didn’t know how fast they were going but had a feeling it must be well over 100 miles per hour. She wondered how Sylvain could see – the wind burned her eyes, whipping her damp hair into a weapon that sliced at her face and the bare skin of her shoulders.

  But soon traffic grew heavier and they were forced to slow.

  Sylvain swerved, looking for a way out, but found nothing. It was summer time on the French Riviera. Traffic was inescapable.

  Still, Allie told herself, at least they’d escaped the gunmen. And by now they had to be nearly back to the house. They’d made it.

  Just as she’d begun to relax, though, a black BMW swung into the lane behind them, creeping so close it almost touched the bike’s rear tyre.

  She could never be certain where it came from. Just, suddenly, it was there; its powerful engine roaring. Tinted windows hid the face of the driver, making the car seem as blank and menacing as a robot.