Gilded Cage (Dark Gifts #1)(68)

His face was squashed up against jackets and overalls, hair and skin, as he shoved his way through. He inhaled sweat and the caustic smell of the standard-issue soap. And here and there he smelled something ranker: a whiff of moonshine alcohol, or some workplace stench that never faded no matter how long you stood under the shower.

There was something else, too. Did anger have a smell? Luke thought it might. Something that you released like pheromones. Because the atmosphere was infused with more than words. It was composed of something greater than the catcalls, the derision, the call-and-response from one side of the crowd to the other. He could hear shouts of ‘UN!’ and ‘EQUAL!’, of ‘VOTE!’ and ‘YES!’ It was more, too, than just the raised, clenched fists and hunched shoulders, the restless press and sway of the crowd.

These weren’t the sort of folk he’d met in the outer districts, being quietly subversive by wearing unapproved clothing or frying up some stolen food. No. These people were like those who’d gathered round the shop that morning and heckled the guards taking down the banner. They were angry. And determined.

He was near the front now. He had seen more than a few faces he recognized from Zone D, too, as he pushed forward. Then for the first time he had a good view of the MADhouse itself. It had had yet another paint job in the night: ‘UN-EQUAL’ sprayed in vivid yellow right across the front.

The building was ringed by guards. These were the older guys: big, tough veterans. The head of Security stood on the small balcony above the building’s stubby portico. He was a lean, hard man by the name of Grierson, who was rumoured to be ex-Special Forces. Next to him was the Overbitch. Gotta hand it to the woman, she didn’t look scared, just pissed off as hell.

Next to her was someone else Luke recognized.

Gavar Jardine.

The scumbag who had come to torture Oz. Who’d tried to shoot Jackson. Back for more. The heir of Kyneston stood there in his sinister leather coat, his flat blue eyes bored by the spectacle before him. Luke imagined this man giving Daisy orders, reprimanding her, and his skin crawled.

The Overbitch stepped forward.

‘This is your last chance,’ she told the crowd. ‘We know the identity of everyone present.’

She held up a small device with a screen, presumably linked to whatever tracked the implanted chips.

‘Those who begin to disperse immediately will receive only light sanctions: an additional six months. Those who remain will face a heavier penalty.’

There was some muttering at that, a few shouted curses. Luke was jostled as a number of people began to push their way back. But from what he could see, it wasn’t that many. Hundreds still remained.

‘As if!’ yelled a man’s voice from the middle of the pack. ‘You gonna slap us all with slavelife? Where’d you put us all?’

The Overbitch actually smiled. The effect wasn’t pleasant. Luke guessed she didn’t do it much.

‘We can always find room,’ she said.

‘Traitor!’ came another voice, female this time. It wobbled, as if the speaker couldn’t believe her own daring. ‘Oppressing your own people. We don’t ask much. Fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work. Not hard to grasp.’

‘But contrary to the law,’ said the Overseer.

‘Rubbish laws!’ the woman called back.

‘It’s regrettable that you think so,’ said the dumpy woman on the balcony. ‘Now.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Fascinating though this has been, we’ve had quite enough. As you’ve shown yourself unwilling to disperse voluntarily, I can see we’ll have to encourage you.’

‘You an’ whose army?’ yelled the first man. ‘Don’t see many of your goons here.’

‘Oh,’ said the Overseer. ‘I don’t need an army. You see, there’s such a thing as natural authority in this country.’

She simpered up at the redheaded freak. Luke felt fear grab him by the scruff of the neck and shake him till he trembled.

Everything seemed to happen very quickly after that.

There was a stirring in the crowd just in front of Luke. He recognized the woman who’d been heckling at the Labour Allocation Bureau. Next to her, a tall skinny bloke stepped forward with something in his hand – a pole, with a knife on the end. He launched it up at the balcony.

It struck the Overseer – only a glancing blow, by the looks, but there was blood and she screamed murder. Then Grierson strode to the edge of the balcony, lifted his rifle, and fired.

Once: at the man who had thrown the makeshift spear. Again: at the woman by his side.

He must have shot her in the head because an arc of gore spattered across the people standing behind. Luke’s eyes closed reflexively but he felt something warm splash against his cheek and gagged.

He dabbed at it with his cuff and blinked, then saw Jackson shoving his way towards the two people who’d been hit.

There was screaming now, and panic. The unity of the crowd had ripped apart. Most were trying to turn and flee, but many were surging towards the thin line of guards around the MADhouse entrance.

They could do it, Luke thought. There were enough of them.

‘At will!’ Grierson yelled. ‘At will!’

Luke heard more shots go off and more people screaming, but still he and others kept going. This was it, he thought. They’d get no second chances after this.