Impersonator (Forager Impersonator - A Post Apocalyptic Trilogy Book 1) (27 page)

Ryan came over to stand beside me and I stared at him in horror. There was something different about him, an air of authority I’d never noticed before. My mind began doing back flips and my stomach twisted in knots as I considered this new development.

“I knew you were a Custodian informer,” Con snarled, pointing his gun at Ryan now.

“Not an informer. A Custodian undercover operative. Now slowly put your gun on the ground and kneel with your hands behind your head.”

With Brandon gone, what little remained of my world came crashing down. Ryan was a Custodian! Con had been right about him all along, and there was I, the trusting fool, telling him everything.

The blood drained from my face as I contemplated what would surely follow. After he subdued Con, Ryan would arrest me and have me shipped over to the Genetics Laboratory to be dissected. How could I have gotten him so wrong? I thought he was the most amazing guy I’d ever met, a man of integrity and honesty. I even bought his story that he lost all his friends when he turned in a fellow factory worker. How gullible could I be – he never even stepped foot in a factory!

But then another thought occurred to me, bringing that line of thinking up short. I told Ryan about the breakout and that meant he could have stopped it, but didn’t. He was here without any backup, allowing us to go. Allowing me to go. Unease and nausea swept through me as I tried to work out exactly where I stood with him. Was he still the Ryan I thought I knew?

Con stared daggers at Ryan, but then turned his fierce countenance upon me. “You stupid cow, Chelsea! I told you not to tell him anything, but no, you wouldn’t listen, would you? If you think Matt, Jack and me are going to the executioner’s chair so you can walk off scot-free with a clear conscience, you’re gravely mistaken.”

“I said to put the gun down, Con!” Ryan commanded.

Con glanced at Ryan, but then suddenly aimed the gun at me. “Die, cow!” He pulled the trigger.

I thought that was it, the end of the road. But even as Con pulled the trigger, Ryan dove in front of me, taking the bullet in the chest.

Taking the bullet for me.

“No!” I screamed out, distraught. He couldn’t die, not now, and especially not for me!

I tried to catch him as he collapsed, groaning in pain. But he was a lot heavier than me and I had only one working arm. All I managed to do was slow his fall. We hit the ground together, Ryan dropping the gun beside him.

Glancing at Con, I saw him aim the gun at me again, determined not to miss this time. Incensed, and needing to distract him, I shrieked as loudly as I could near the maximum range of human hearing. He staggered to a stop, instinctively covering his years.

I immediately scooped Ryan’s automatic pistol from the ground and fired several shots at Con, causing him to stagger backwards as round after round tore gaping holes in his chest. He still tried to shoot me with his last breath, but dropped face down on the asphalt before he could. He twitched a couple of times, and fell still.

I frantically turned back to Ryan, who was somehow still conscious, and let rip with flash sonar so I could see inside his body and study the wound. I was alarmed to see that the bullet had nicked an artery, which was bleeding profusely. Without hesitation, I pressed both hands against the wound, locked my elbows, and put my entire bodyweight behind my arms. Pain shot throughout my torso, but I gritted my teeth and tried to ride it out. I couldn’t let him die!

“What did you do that for?” I demanded gruffly

“Nothing you haven’t done for me,” he replied, managing a weak smile between grimaces.

“But you could have been killed!”

“Don’t you get it, Chelsea? I care for you! Now hurry up and get through those gates before more Custodians arrive.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the open gates and the enticing glimpse of freedom. I couldn’t see the others any longer. I hoped they had reached the ruins by now, because I doubted the Custodians would go after them in there in the dark. And though I despaired that I was once again so close to freedom yet unable to taste it, I felt a sense of exhilaration that Karen and Sofia were free of this place. I hoped they’d be okay out there without me to protect them, but figured Gerry and the other foragers would get them safely to Ballarat. The ruins were their element, after all.

“I can’t, Ryan. You’ll bleed out if I remove my hands.” I didn’t even realise I was crying until I noticed tears drip from my chin onto the back of my hands. So I still cared for him, even after discovering his deception. He was a Custodian, but he was still the same selfless Ryan I had come to know. He was still my friend.

“I’ll be fine. Now go! Please?”

“You don’t understand. The bullet nicked an artery and if I reduce the pressure on the wound, you’ll be dead in minutes.”

He stared at me, no doubt recalling what I told him about my mutation, and nodded in understanding. “You’ll go to prison for your part in the breakout if you stay.”

“I know.” I gave him an encouraging smile.

Before we could say anything else, Sergeant King stirred from where he lay over near the gates. With dried blood all over his nose, mouth and chin, he quickly regained his feet. Seeing me leaning over Ryan, he drew his pistol and rushed towards to us.

“Step away from Lieutenant Hill and put your hands behind your head!” he bellowed.

“Step down, Sergeant!” Ryan said with as much strength as he could muster. As a lieutenant, Ryan outranked King.

The sergeant glanced at me, and then glowered at Ryan with undisguised animosity. “She’s one of them, Sir!”

“She just saved my life, Sergeant. Now report the breakout and get a medic over here pronto!”

“Yes, Sir,” King said, still scowling as he grabbed his radio to request a medic and report the breakout. That done, he turned back to Ryan. “How is it you’re even here, Lieutenant?” he asked suspiciously.

“Got a call to report to the warehouses that went up in flames, but then followed a hunch it could have been a diversion for something greater, so got here as fast as I could. Now get those gates closed, Sergeant,” Ryan replied.

“Yes, Sir.” The sergeant quickly closed and locked the gates, and then went to his men, who were beginning to stir. Once back on their feet, he sent two to check on those in the guard tower, and another to watch over me with his pistol drawn.

When he reached us, I could tell this Custodian wasn’t exactly enamoured with Ryan either. And that was weird. I thought the Custodians were a tight nit bunch – why did they dislike him so?

Then it hit me. Ryan’s story about dobbing in a workmate who injured another due to his negligence wasn’t a fabrication at all. He simply changed the facts.

“Ryan, you reported the Custodian who accidentally shot my father, didn’t you?” I asked.

“Worked it out at last, have you? Wondered when you would.”

I knew the Custodian standing guard over us could hear what I said, but I didn’t care. “Didn’t the other Custodians ostracise you because of that? And force you to quit the force?”

“I was universally despised, yes.” His eyes flickered in the direction of our minder. “But my request to resign was denied. They just transferred me to a different department.”

“Undercover Operatives?”

“Correct.” He suddenly arched his back with his face contorted in pain. I struggled but managed to keep the pressure on the wound. He smiled at me weekly. “Hey, I just want to say how proud I am of you. I saw what you did. I knew you’d do the right thing in the end.”

“Did you?” I snorted. “Truth is, I was just keeping a promise.”

“To?”

“My brother.”

“Where is–”

“He’s dead.”

“I’m so sorry, I know how much he meant to you. That his blood on you?”

“Yes. If you send some men over to the Derby Snooker Club’s staffroom, you’ll find him. Along with the men who ran an illegal gambling operation out of there, including Deacon and Wells, the two debt collector’s who’ve been giving me hell.”

“I heard a report of gunshots and an ultrasonic detector going off near there. A squad has already been despatched,” he said.

I stared at Ryan, conflicting emotions swirling through me. “You sure pulled the wool over my eyes.”

“You’re hardly one to talk.”

“Not like I had any choice. What about you? Why did you infiltrate the foragers?”

“Because Custodian HQ suspected Dan Smith met foul play. They also wanted to find out where the foragers got their drugs from and how they smuggled them into town.”

“Oh.”

“Care to shine some light on those matters for me?”

I didn’t know if I’d be charged as an accessory for murder if I told him what he wanted to know, but as I was probably going to be put away for life for my part in the breakout, what did it matter?

Our minder quickly pulled out a notebook and pencil, ready to record my answers. I sighed, seeing little point in protecting the villainous activities of the foragers any longer. Especially since most of them just escaped.

I proceeded to explain how Con, Matt, Jack and my brother murdered Dan because they believed he was an informer who would blow the whistle on their drug smuggling. I also told them where the drugs lab was, and how they used the interior of the truck doors to smuggle things into town.

Just as I finished relaying this information, an ambulance came roaring up the road and parked beside us. Two paramedics rushed over, faces grim.

“He’s been shot. The bullet’s nicked an artery,” I said as they knelt beside us.

“We’ll be the judge of that, Miss. Just step aside, thank you,” the paramedic said, giving me a condescending stare.

Ryan, who was now an unhealthy shade of white, grabbed the medic’s arm feebly. “Listen to her, she knows her stuff – more than you can imagine.”

Puzzled, the paramedics acquiesced to Ryan’s order. One took over applying pressure to the wound while the other checked his blood type with a handheld device and attached an intravenous drip to the back of his left hand. Ryan fell unconscious a moment later.

Stumbling back from Ryan and the paramedics, I clenched my teeth as I rode out the pain exploding in my chest now I was no longer exerting pressure on the wound.

When my vision cleared and I looked up again, I saw an extremely irate Sergeant King standing before me.

“Chelsea Thomas, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say...”

“Prisoner Thomas, you have a visitor.”

I looked up at the Custodian guard and sighed, wondering who it was. It was probably Ryan again, but maybe my mother finally decided to pay me a visit after I had languished in here for two months.

Poor woman, her life had been destroyed. First her husband was falsely imprisoned and set free, and then months later imprisoned again for drug use. Then, on another night, her beloved son was killed, her not-so-beloved daughter was imprisoned for her part in the breakout, and her youngest daughter escaped from the town. At least she didn’t have to go through the anguish of seeing her son executed by lethal injection, as I heard happened to Matt. I felt a twinge of guilt every time I recalled his fate, but in all honesty, he reaped what he sowed.

From what Ryan told me in confidence, Jack had done as I suggested. He made a plea bargain with the Custodians, giving them the names of those he knew were involved in distributing and selling drugs throughout Newhome in return for a life sentence. Oh, he also told them the breakout was my idea and everything else I did while masquerading as my brother.

His stab at revenge almost paid off, too, because the magistrate handed me a death sentence for being the instigator of the breakout and tricking the guards at the gate. However, the sentence was reduced to life in prison because I remained behind to save Ryan’s life and gave them information on the smuggling and drugs operations.

So that was it for me, consigned to spend the rest of my life behind bars making clothes for people who lived in a different sort of prison. I would never choose my own destiny, never have the ‘freedoms’ I enjoyed while living in the homeless shelter. I would live out my days as an embittered inmate, ruing the lost opportunities to escape.

I didn’t regret staying back to save Ryan’s life, but the cold reality of staying in this inhospitable, sterile prison until I died wore me down. Sometimes I found myself wishing I had let Con shoot me.

They woke us at six every morning to exercise in a concrete yard surrounded by walls topped with razor-sharp barbed wire. Then came a breakfast prepared by the prisoners, which was often inedible due to an inmate with a grudge or bad attitude seasoning it with phlegm, dirt, sawdust, or worse.

I made some friends, but the inmates backstabbed each other constantly, forming and reforming cliques in endless attempts to one-up each other.

I spent sleepless nights and painfully long days making clothes while mourning the loss of my brother. I was also plagued by guilt because I let my father down so badly, even mistaking his sacrifice as nothing more than self-preservation.

The Custodian led me out of the cramped factory workshop, through a set of iron doors, and into a private visitation booth. I sat upright in the seat, too afraid to look at who sat on the other side of the glass. I hoped it was my mother. I wanted to see her.

“Eldest Daughter.”

My head snapped up. “Father?”

He looked uncomfortable and guilt-ridden, but smiled hesitantly. He probably thought I was going to bite his head off like the last time we met. He looked much better than when I last saw him, with colour in his cheeks and some flesh on his bones.

“They let you out of prison – that’s wonderful!” I said.

“Your brother put a signed confession in the mail before he died,” Father said. “He explained that the drugs found under my bed were his, and that I put myself in prison to escape the debt collectors. Apparently, pretty much everyone in the criminal syndicate is now either dead or in prison. The magistrate even ruled that all those in debt to the syndicate be given back a percentage of the money we paid them, saying that the games were not only illegal, but had been fixed. I was discharged from prison and given two-hundred hours of community service for engaging in gambling.”

“So you and Mother–”

“Are back together, in a two bedroom flat. Someone even arranged for our furniture to be repaired and sent back to us. Still, it’s like a morgue in there without you three kids.”

The furniture was obviously Ryan’s doing, working quietly behind the scenes and taking no credit for his good deeds. I would thank him next time he came to see me, which was about once a fortnight.

“Karen got out safely,” I whispered. I wanted to tell him this two years ago, but there was no way of getting a message to him. All of our letters were vetted.

He looked at me strangely and seemed to struggle with his answer. “I heard rumours about the breakout. You think she’s okay out there?” he said at last.

“She was with a bunch of foragers, and they know the ruins like the back of their hands. She’ll be living the good life in Ballarat by now.”

“Right.” He nodded, and then with pain in his eyes, asked, “And Brandon?”

“What did they tell you?” I asked.

“Not much, just that he died taking down the gambling syndicate. Also that we have to keep his and your involvement in that, as well as his death a secret so that there are no recriminations from any syndicate members who may have slipped through the cracks.”

“He went there to rescue Karen and me.”

“That sounds like him. Were you with him, you know...?”

I nodded. “Yes, both Karen and I were with him at the end.”

He looked comforted.

“Father, why didn’t you tell me the reason you put yourself in prison? Why didn’t you tell us Deacon was trying to make you sign marriage contracts?”

“How could I? It was my stupidity that got us in that predicament in the first place. Eldest Daughter, look, I just want to–”

“Don’t say it,” I said quickly, cutting him off. “We let you down just as much, Father. We knew you were in a bad way after you got out of prison the first time, but we weren’t there for you. We saw your pain, but didn’t try to alleviate it. We should be apologising to you.”

“You did try to help, I just wouldn’t let you,” he said.

The guard came back in and stood behind me. “Visiting time is over,” he said gruffly.

My father stood.

“How’s Mother?” I asked quickly.

“Same as usual.”

“Sir, if you don’t mind?” the guard said, pointing to the door.

“Please look after her, Father. In spite of what she says, she cares for you,” I said. Which was true. She refused to join the breakout because she wanted to wait for him to get out of prison so she could take care of him.

Father looked surprised, but nodded in understanding, and took his leave.

I sagged in my seat, relieved to see him out of prison and back with Mother, and glad I finally had a chance to apologise for the way I treated him. Maybe he would keep visiting me over the years? Something to look forward to.

* * *

Two years passed since they let my father out of prison. Two painfully long years of endless spats between the inmates, sometimes mediating between them, sometimes keeping my distance.

I was in the workshop, sewing the hem onto a set of work overalls, when a guard stepped into the room.

“Prisoner Thomas, your presence is requested in the interrogation room.”

I rolled my eyes in exasperation but followed him without complaint, wondering what was up. When I was arrested, the Custodians interrogated me for hours on end, but I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of them since. All their questions had been related to the breakout, Dan’s murder, the drug dealing and smuggling. I even advised them to remove the contents of the drugs laboratory in Hosier Lane and destroy them elsewhere, rather than blow up the building. They did
not
want a war with the Loopers. And thankfully, there had been no questions about my ability to echolocate. Ryan kept it secret.

The Custodian led me to one of the prisoner interrogation rooms.

He opened the door. “Go in.”

Fearing the worst, I entered the Spartan, windowless room, and did a double take when I saw Ryan Hill sitting at the table, wearing his Custodian uniform. But why was he visiting me here and not in the visitation centre? Was he here on business? Sometimes, when I was particularly down and beset with doubts – which was often these days – I wondered why he continued to visit me. It’s not like we had any chance of ever being together, considering my life sentence.

“Sit,” he said. And not kindly, surprising me.

The guard closed the door behind us, and Ryan’s unpleasant demeanour dropped away immediately.

“Hey, Chelsea, how have you been?” he asked.

“Couldn’t be better,” I replied.

“That’s the spirit.” He studied my face for a moment, and then suddenly went to the door. “Want to get out of this place?” A wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

I rose from my seat and touched his arm. “Don’t kid about, Ryan, not on something like this.”

He smoothed a strand of unkempt hair behind my ear. “You didn’t think I was going to let them keep you locked up in here forever, did you?”

He opened the door and I followed him in a daze down the hall to reception, where the Custodian behind the desk signed documents Ryan was carrying. I glanced at the papers, thinking they must authorise my discharge from prison, but confusion reigned when I saw the document was titled ‘Prisoner Transfer.’

Before I had a chance to ponder what that meant, Ryan opened the heavy steel door and I followed him out into a world of brilliant sunlight glinting through trees that swayed violently in a strong wind, a world of crows cawing and dogs barking.

He looked at the wonder on my face. “Never thought you’d see all this again, eh?”

“Ryan, what’s going on?”

He pointed to a G-Wagon parked a further up the street, occupied by a driver and passenger. They were engaged in conversation, but were out of earshot, thanks to the wind.

“Chelsea, you uncovered in a few short weeks what we Custodians couldn’t find over several years of raids, spot searches, and investigations.”

“So?”

“So, rather than let you languish in prison forever, I found a way you can use your unique abilities for the good of the town.”

“By doing what, exactly?” I asked, highly suspicious. Alarm bells were ringing on a number of levels.

“Serving the Chancellor masquerading as a young man who can go into places that no Custodian – even one like me – could ever go.”

“My brother’s dead, remember?”

“Apart from your parents, who have been sworn to secrecy, no one knows that,” he replied.

“I won’t do it,” I snapped. Serve the Chancellor, the primary cause of this town’s problems? No way!

“You’d rather serve out your life sentence?”

“Prefer that to spying for the Chancellor.”

“I’m trying to help you, Chelsea! Why do you have to be so stubborn!”

“Didn’t ask for your help!”

“Look, I don’t know how to break this to you gently, but I told them you can echolocate when I found out this would get you out of prison.”

“You did what?” I nearly shrieked. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I trusted him with my darkest secret, the one that would result in my death should it be discovered. And here he was telling me he actually revealed that secret to the Custodians. I thought I could trust him!  And now this, the ultimate betrayal! I stared daggers at him, my head spinning in circles. I thought I knew him, but I was wrong, so wrong.

“I didn’t tell you at first because I didn’t want you to freak out when you found out where I’m sending you,” he said, oblivious to the effect his betrayal was having on me. Did he not know what they did to echolocaters?

“Where are you sending me?” I demanded angrily.

“See the G-Wagon over there? Specialist Madison Taylor is going to accompany you to–”

“Wait, the specialist is a woman? How is that even possible? What’s going on, Ryan, where is she going take me?” I asked.

“The Genetics Laboratory,” he said slowly.