Cadesa's Caress

Frank looks from Gerard to Lindsey and back again angrily. ‘Someone owes me a damn good explanation,’ he growls. ‘First you,’ he points at Gerard, ‘start spewing out crap about knowing me better than I know myself, acting like you’re my damn creator or something and then you,’ and his finger turns to point at Lindsey, ‘you turn up out of nowhere and decide to rescue us. What the hell is going on? I want to know how you two know each other, what this crap is about and why I should actually trust you. I value my life pretty highly and dying with two creeps I don’t even know isn’t on my list of things to do.’

Gerard isn’t surprised by the outburst, but maybe it’s just not quite hitting home. He can’t take his eyes off Lindsey. She’s standing right there, in front of him and it’s been over a decade since they were this close – really, he can’t count his dreams since that wasn’t the living, breathing Lindsey he is seeing now.

He tries to make words form a sentence, but nothing is coming. All he can do is look and silently wonder. He’s sure his face is a real sight, jaw hanging down gormlessly. He probably looks like he should be carted off to the nuthouse to slurp soup through a straw.

‘So talk,’ Frank spits out.

Lindsey begins to talk, but her gaze is flicking between both men and her voice is slow and uncertain. ‘I’m ... I don’t have all the answers. I went to sleep one night and just sort of ... woke up here. It’s only been a couple of days; I don’t know what the hell is going on either. To be honest, I’m not actually convinced this isn’t all an elaborate, if completely fucked up dream. Except ....’ She stops talking and suddenly her gaze is firmly on Gerard and he actually takes a half-step back.

‘It’s crazy, but I read these books,’ she says and Gerard notices that even though she is talking directly to him, her voice is light, careful. He might even think Lindsey is a little afraid of these next words. ‘I read these books ... and they were in this world. Telling this story. The same characters ... the same setting ... only without us, Gerard.’

Gerard never understands how Frank connects all these pieces together so fast – the thief has always been smart, but this is pushing the limit, surely. Books in Cadesa are unheard of now; there were mass burnings when Coleridge came to power. The bastard cut off all forms of mass communication – gatherings for theatre performances or musical groups were banned. Gerard chose not to put computers or the Internet into this world to further remove the characters from each other. Word of mouth became the chief form of communication and that is often unreliable. What is most important though, is that the people are well and truly scared of breaking the law. And in Cadesa, breaking the law is an almost certain death sentence.

‘You wrote a book,’ Frank says to Gerard. ‘About me.’

What should he do? Frank’s outright asking for an admission of whether or not he is a fictional character. ‘Not just about you ....’ he says carefully.

‘The planet I live on is the setting of your book,’ Frank says bluntly. ‘And there’s ... stuff about me in it.’

Gerard hesitates. Frank continues to stare at him. ‘Don’t lie,’ he says and his voice is quiet, but backed with the sort of power Gerard would be afraid of in any other man. The thing is ... he’s starting to feel a little afraid of Frank too. Almost every assumption he has made about his own safety in Cadesa has been wrong so far, so is it really wise to keep believing he simply cannot die here? That his characters will not do him any harm?

Face it; he’s wasting time creating an illusion if he does that. Hell, if it hadn’t been for Lindsey he’d be dead now. She saved him from execution today – there’s no way he could have outrun the guards forever.

‘Yes,’ Gerard admits. ‘I did.’

‘I read The Ringmaster and Trance, but when I actually was here it took a while to realise that this was where I was. It was only when I was in the Plaza that I realised.’ Lindsey glances up through the hole they dropped down. ‘We can’t stay here much longer. The guards will be searching from house to house now and it won’t be long until they find us and –’

‘They will have been ordered to kill us on sight.’ That was what happened to anyone who miraculously escaped execution, Gerard thought dully. Right now he really hated himself. Why couldn’t he have written a story about a bunch of pacifists? Christ, Cadesa had about as much of a bloody history as you could get and even now it was far from peaceful, with the Ministry executing people left, right and centre for any petty crime. Many people were caught between hatred of their rulers and the terror that if they fought on the side of the Resistance they would only condemn themselves to a faster death if caught. And the chances of that happening were far from low. The Ministry frequently carried out raids across the city and in surrounding areas. It could only be a matter of time before the Resistance was located, people thought.

‘We’ll have to stay out in the forest,’ Lindsey says. Gerard wonders where this confidence in navigating around a world that is completely foreign to her is coming from. She hasn’t been here any longer than him, yet she is completely in control, rescuing Gerard and Frank, now instructing them about hiding. Out in the forest clearly means with the Resistance, both Gerard and Frank know it, but the latter does not look happy at all.

‘If you think I’m risking my life by being near those –’

‘Yes, I think you will, because they’re the only people in the whole damn city who might have a chance at keeping us safe,’ Lindsey counters.

Frank snorts. ‘Bull. I don’t need anyone to keep me safe. Have fun with your Resistance though – they’re just great at keeping people alive.’ His tone is overflowing with sarcasm and it takes Gerard a minute to realise why. Lindsey doesn’t understand, but she can’t – as far as Gerard knows she has never broken into his house and read the pages of notes detailing Frank’s history that have yet to be revealed in a novel. But Gerard knows. But by the time his brain has kicked into speed, Frank has stormed across the room and down the narrow staircase.

‘He’ll get himself killed.’ But Lindsey doesn’t appear to be in any rush to halt Frank’s exit. ‘Jesus Christ, can’t he just swallow down whatever it is that makes him so opposed to the idea of getting help in order to save his own stupid skin?’

Gerard shakes his head. For the thief, dependency is never an option. ‘He could survive though,” he ponders. ‘He is extremely good at hiding on his own, you know.’

Lindsey nods slowly. ‘But to be honest, I liked him better in the books. He’s just being an asshole now. We don’t have time to talk though. We need to get to the woods; we’ll be safer there.’

‘Do they, uh, know we’re coming?’

‘No ....’ For the time, Lindsey is in obvious doubt. ‘You don’t think they’ll turn us away?’

Actually, Gerard thinks there is a much greater chance of his ending up in handcuffs again. After all, he is an escaped prisoner. ‘It’s our best chance of keeping safe, so we have to try,’ he says, skirting any actual answer.

Lindsey pauses for only a second, before leading him over to the window. ‘Climb out, then up the drain pipe and onto the roof. I think we’ll have to keep high while we travel, there are bound to be soldiers searching for us already down below. Once we get to the woods, we‘ll just have to run like hell.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Gerard says. ‘But ... after you.’

Lindsey turns to face him and in that instant where their eyes lock, he feels reassured. He finds security in a person he hasn’t seen in over a decade and it’s ridiculous to trust Lindsey to lead him around his own novel, but here he is, following along behind her for no reason except ... he does trust her. Or rather, he trusts the Lindsey he dated for a year and was friends with for almost eighteen months.

Gerard doesn’t have a clue what’s going on, what the hell this is, why Lindsey is here, what it might mean, but now isn’t the time to try and figure it out. Save yourself first, ask questions later. He sees the same conflict in Lindsey and for a second she squeezes his hand, smiles and then pulls herself out of the window and shimmies up the drain pipe, looking for all the world like it’s costing her no effort at all.

Gerard makes the mistake of looking down and actually admitting to himself that they are on the fourth floor of the building and so there is considerable danger if he falls. Considerable danger meaning he might well die.

Lindsey has already reached the top of the pipe. ‘Come on,’ she hisses. Gerard hurries. There isn’t anyone in the street below, so he has to move now. Staying in here is akin to just resting on your laurels and waiting for the firing squad to show up and announce that the date of your execution has arrived.

Somehow, his hands don’t tremble so much that he loses his grip and he makes it to the flat roof. He takes several deep, slow breaths.

‘Let’s go.’ Lindsey is already moving, jogging to the edge of the roof and preparing to jump. Gerard follows her.

The next minutes are a haze for Gerard, always moving, leaping, eyes carefully averted to where he wants to land. Isn’t that true? That when you’re jumping you should aim to be looking just ahead of where you want to end up? Gerard isn’t entirely convinced of the truth of this, but just in case .... He needs every bit of help he can get, being no great athlete. Although, this isn’t athletics so much as it’s free-running, jumping over every obstacle that comes his way because there isn’t time to go around it. He’s no fucking master of this rapid movement though and his mind keeps sending out panicked messages. Shit, it’s a wall – WALL! Jump! Straight ahead, okay, speed up; Lindsey’s almost twenty feet in front of you – fuck, fuck, the roof ends here! Fucking jump, you dumbass!

They don’t stop running; don’t even take a break for half a minute, until they are on top of the outer city wall. Below them, guards are standing on either side of the massive gates.

Gerard is more than a little proud of Cadesa’s wall. Architecture was never his strong point, it never really attracted him, so he has always relied on making his descriptions of buildings interesting and detailed, rather than hacking into the actual feasibility of them. The wall however, was something he took extra care with. It surrounds the city completely and is a full six feet in depth, but six miles in circumference, enclosing the city. It’s plain concrete, with no decoration save the cast-iron gate they are above now. Across the top, a hollow trench-like area allows Gerard and Lindsey to crouch, hidden by the rising of either side of the wall.

To an outsider, intending to break in, it looks pretty fucking impregnable. Now, Gerard and Lindsey have to get down, past the guards, and make a break for the cover of the forest, several hundred yards from here.

‘What’s the time?’ he asks Lindsey. She was always the one of them to wear a watch. Apparently, it is a habit she has kept all these years.

She glances down at the dented clock face – she never did warm to telling the time digitally. ‘Fifteen minutes away from noon,’ she whispers back.

The guards are about to change. Gerard studies the figures below. He can clearly recognise them, but only because of their bright red hair. The Fallow brothers. On the dim-witted end of the scale and inclined to bunk off their shift early. Will they today? Who are the next guards? If they arrive early, Gerard knows he and Lindsey will be stuck up here even longer.

An agonising minute passes. And a second. A third. They daren’t talk more than is necessary – the Fallows might be dumb, but they know how to work their blasters, and unfortunately their stupidity means they are more inclined to fire on sight instead of waiting to check if their discovery is an enemy. Jax, the younger of the two, has made this mistake several times in the past and only the weighty influence of his blue-blood father, a particularly skilled bodyguard of Coleridge’s, saved his skin.

He murmurs a summary of his thoughts to Lindsey, who glances down at her watch again. Ten minutes to go.

Then Jax punches his brother’s arm. ‘C’mon Lester,’ he grumbles. ‘I’m hungry. There’s been no one through all bleedin’ morning.’

‘Mind your tongue,’ Lester mutters. ‘Dunno who could be out here.’

‘I’m telling you, there ain’t nobody coming! And when there’s no traffic, there’s no point guarding the gate, is there?’

Lester scratches his head. ‘There’s ... duty and stuff.’

‘And I don’t fancy running into Dobbyn when he arrives,’ Jax continues. ‘Last night he had another go at Boomer. The poor tyke ....’ He trails off miserably.

‘That blasted mutt!’ Lester curses. ‘The day Dobbyn finally catches that thing I’ll be ready to throw my hat in the sky, you’re more attached to it than you are to this job.’ He looks around. ‘You’re right though. There hasn’t been any traffic all morning and I’m freezing.’

‘I bet Momma’s made some soup,’ Jax says slyly. ‘Hot soup. C’mon Lester, no one’s going to miss us. We can say we were called back by the office, can’t we?’

Lester growls, ‘Fine – but if they do check too hard, I’ll make sure your head rolls first.’

Jax clutches his neck, eyes wide. ‘You wouldn’t ...’

Lester rolls his eyes. “It’s called figurative speech, twit.”

Gerard holds his breath as the brother wander back through the gates, bickering. When their sound has vanished, he peers over the edge.

‘All clear.’

‘We’ve only got five minutes now,’ Lindsey mutters. She climbs up to the edge. ‘Drop. And bend your knees when you land. It adds support.’

She jumps first, landing neatly. Gerard isn’t quite so graceful, but the impact jars him right over onto his side. He’ll bruise for sure, but he isn’t bleeding. Looking over his shoulder, he makes sure the new guards have not arrived. Good, they need a head start.

Side-by-side, he and Lindsey run down the road. It’s gravel, but the stones are well pressed down from years of carts and horses travelling across it. Speeders are uncommon here, mostly saved for the transport of goods and particularly important people around the actual space port area. And of course there is the fact that the Ministry doesn’t like the idea of commoners being able to travel quickly.

Gerard can feel a stitch in his side within minutes and even Lindsey is beginning to look uncomfortable. Sweat runs down both their faces from the heat, dripping down off their chins. Gerard wrinkles his nose at the salty taste.

They’re almost within the cover of the trees now, almost, almost, almost. Gerard has nearly kidded himself into thinking he has been hit from the guards once, but as long as his legs are pumping him forwards, he must be okay.

Neither Gerard nor Lindsey stops running when they are under shelter, but they both slow down. It’s harder to run here, with roots every which way.

Lindsey falls back into step with Gerard and they are walking quickly now, rather than jogging. Under the thick cover of the trees Gerard feels safer, but only slightly so. He remembers how easily Willis ambushed him. He looks to either side and behind him regularly, and is straining to listen for any abnormal sounds. Lindsey simply looks determined, putting one foot in front of the other.

Gerard realises that when they return to the Resistance, he probably won’t get another chance to talk to Lindsey privately. He doesn’t want to waste this time. There are too many questions to be answered, too many to ask.

‘Do you think we’d be safe to stop?’ he asks.

Lindsey looks around. ‘We better keep going. Who knows how far behind the guards are? They won’t have given up.’ She seems to have had the same thoughts as Gerard though and begins to question. ‘You really do believe this is your book?’

Gerard nods. ‘I don’t know how ... but it is. I’m sure.’

‘I don’t believe in magic,’ Lindsey says quietly. ‘But then what else is this?’

‘A dream?’

She shakes her head. ‘Dreams aren’t like this. Dreams aren’t this real.’

‘Mine sure felt real,’ Gerard murmurs.

Lindsey is looking distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Sometimes ... I think a dream is real. Sometimes I want it to be real. But then I wake up and it seems so stupid. And it’s all in the past, but at the strangest times it comes back to me. I try not to think about it, I honestly don’t want to, but I guess my sub ... subconscious or whatever just won’t let me. It’s fucking weird.’

‘What kind of dreams?’ The words slip out so naturally that it takes Gerard a couple of minutes to realise that maybe Lindsey won’t want to answer. It’s been so long since they talked this freely and maybe she won’t want to be friends again. Maybe she doesn’t trust him. Is he about to get a rebuke?

‘They were pretty abstract,’ Lindsey replies, not looking at all perturbed by Gerard’s question.

Gerard’s opening his mouth, forming the first sound in the sentence when Lindsey’s words hit him and he is jolted into inaction. ‘I –’

‘Yeah.’ Lindsey isn’t embarrassed; he can tell that from her prompt answer, but her face is faintly pink despite the semi-darkness around them and she looks a bit uneasy with the whole conversation.

‘What – what happened in the ... in your dreams?’

‘There were three ....’ Already, Lindsey is slipping into that space Gerard knows so well. She never tells a story as a recount. She relives it. Her voice is vague, but you know, just know, that in her mind it’s as clear as if this were the first encounter with it. ‘The first time there was this beach. Sunset. The sun was sinking and it was absolutely beautiful. But you know how there’s the kind of beauty that you want to draw, so you can remember it later? This wasn’t like that, it was sort of ... different. Not sacred, it didn’t felt like I shouldn’t draw it. Just that I didn’t want to. And that’s weird, because normally I would. Want to. Not to imprison the scene, but record it. I thought it should be remembered, but also that I didn’t need to draw it. I just ... kinda ... kinda knew that it would stay with me.

‘And I was walking down the beach, just feeling at peace. Totally at peace. Like I could walk forever, I didn’t need anyone else, didn’t want them. It was just me. I could have died a happy woman.’ She sighs and Gerard knows that right now, her mind is taking her on a journey back down that very beach, under the beating sun and the colours splashed across the sky. Except it won’t be quite as special. She’ll wish it could be though. But wishes are stupid, they don’t take you anywhere, get you anything. Wishes cause misery and inadequacy. Nothing ever lives up to what you wish it to be. Especially you.

‘What happened in the second dream?’ Gerard asks, but he doesn’t need to. Before he has finished speaking, Lindsey is talking again.

‘I guess it was a ship dock or something. A wharf? I’m not really sure. I got this impression I might have been in Russia though. Fucking weird, wherever it was. There were all these oil drums with rust right over them. I was running across them. Like on the beach, when I felt so peaceful, this time it was the same, I thought I could have run forever back and forth and around, but I was so happy too. It was the kind of happiness where you want everyone in the world to know about it though. I was all alone. No one was there.’

But Gerard hears underneath her words. You weren’t there. Lindsey was in his dreams, but he wasn’t in hers.

‘And then?’ Another whisper. Why is he so tense about something that was just a dream?

‘I fell. Literally, I just slipped, there was no warning. And then it kind of goes hazy in my mind. I can feel it, but I can’t see what happened. I could feel this pressure on me though and I was so cold .... My mouth tasted gross and I remember guessing that one of those oil drums had opened.’ Lindsey stops talking abruptly.

Gerard is trying to hold back from asking what happened next, why she isn’t telling him, but he gives in after just one minute of silence.

‘I don’t know,’ she answers. ‘Maybe I died. I was pretty sure that I was about to when I was actually dreaming. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. And no one was there to help.’

Gerard has goosebumps, he realises. He doesn’t like the idea that Lindsey’s simple recount of the dreams could affect him this much though, so he convinces himself the air is cold.

‘The third dream,’ he prompts when it becomes clear Lindsey isn’t about to start talking of her own accord.

‘You haven’t said anything about what happened to you though. How did you end up here?’

Gerard doesn’t push her to share, but instead gives her an abridged version of what happened to him. He tells her about waking up the day he found the blood across his face, but doesn’t mention his own dreams. It’s creeping Gerard out more than he cares to admit that their dreams are so similar, yet he isn’t making an appearance in Lindsey’s.

He decides to tell her about the day in the bathroom at Stuyvesant because hell, it’s not she hasn’t had creepy shit happening to her too. Lindsey’s reaction is a relief to Gerard: she doesn’t look freaked out – in fact, he bets she’s only wishing she could draw the whole scene. Gerard standing in front of the mirror watching himself slowly returning to health, reflected back and forth forever because of the mirrors along both walls, is exactly the sort of crazy comic strip she would create.

He recounts his final dream, of sinking through the water and she listens, silent except for the sound of her feet padding alongside his.

‘What happened to you?’ he asks. ‘How did you end up here?’

‘Not quite like that,’ she responds. ‘I was walking along a river – and damn cold it was too – there was actually ice in some places. It wasn’t a river I had ever seen before though, but it’s not like that’s weird. I mean, when you dream, your mind makes up stuff, right? It doesn’t have to be what you know.’

‘I’m not so sure ....’ Gerard ponders. ‘Your brain can only work with the information it already has stored. Like, it can change it, warp and recreate it, but it can’t invent something completely new.’

Lindsey shakes her head. ‘No,’ she says firmly. ‘I don’t believe that at all. Our brains fathom as much or little as we let them. And if we could only think of what we had already experienced, we’d never go anywhere in life. I’m surprised that doesn’t strike you as obvious; you’re a writer. Where would you be without your imagination?’

‘Uh ....’ Gerard is a little surprised at the fierce edge to Lindsey’s tone. She badly wants to convince him. ‘Let’s not debate this right now, okay? But what about today? How did you know to save Frank and I?’

‘I didn’t.’ Lindsey shrugs. ‘I was walking through the streets and then saw that people were being herded into the arena. I didn’t have a clue what was going on, but there were soldiers and the people going in looked miserable. There was a ladder leaning against the side of one house. I think the person using it might have been painting, because there was a can of paint and a big brush, too. So I climbed up the ladder and started crawling along the roof. When I saw a coil of rope I picked it up, figuring it could be handing to get back down. And it did come in useful, when I saw you.’ She grins. ‘The cloak was mine though, from my costume collection. I was wearing it when I fell asleep on the couch and dreamt about the river. Hey, are we nearly there?’

They are just about at the Kaitama Caves. Walking just another twenty feet takes them to the dip in the ground that snakes behind the shrubbery and around to a back entrance. Maybe this isn’t the best way to make themselves popular, it will certainly look as if they are sneaking in, but Gerard can’t think of an alternative.

————

‘You’re back,’ Bob Bryar says. He was the first to spot the new arrivals. He led them straight to Ray, who had been talking with Theo and Saunders and a woman with braided black hair whom he cannot name. Rhea? Something like that .... When Ray sees them he immediately wraps up the discussion, sending the woman – Renée, Gerard thinks, that’s right – to relieve the guard up the front, and the men on patrol for more wood.

Ray leads Gerard and Lindsey through to the small area where he had first spoken to Gerard. “You came back,” he tells Gerard. ‘I’m rather surprised. Most people who leave us don’t.’

‘We need your protection,’ Gerard says honestly; Lindsey agreeing with him.

‘Who are you?’ Bob asks suspiciously. He didn’t trust Gerard and clearly has the same feeling about Lindsey.

Lindsey meets his gaze levelly. ‘I’m Gerard’s friend.’ Is that an edge of pride in her voice?

‘How did you meet him?’

‘I helped him out of a tight spot.’

‘What kind of the tight spot?’

‘The kind of tight spot where he had a dozen Ministry armed guards running after him, wanting to haul his ass back to be executed.’

‘Frankly, I’m amazed you two made it back here alive,’ Ray says. ‘You must have had some very good luck – mixed in with talent for stealth, too,’ he adds. ‘But Gerard, I don’t believe your story. What you told us before about being a traveller.’

Gerard’s heartbeat speeds up. ‘Why not?’ he asks, trying to inflect some indignation into his voice, but it’s hard to defend a lie.

‘I’m good at reading people,”’ and Gerard knows it is true. ‘Your story was just too detailed, obviously trying to convince me of the truth by reciting a meaningless history. It doesn’t add up. Not to mention, it would be very uncharacteristic for a foreigner to simply leave the only place that could protect him in the middle of the night for no apparent reason. So I’m asking you again: who are you really? Why are you here?’ Ray leans forwards. ‘I can’t force you to tell the truth, but I strongly recommend it. I don’t want to hurt you, Gerard, or your friend, but this is important.’

Gerard swallows several times. If he didn’t know Ray so well, he wouldn’t believe him. But not wanting to hurt him doesn’t translate to him being kept safe. On the other hand, why the hell is he in Cadesa if not to try and help the Resistance?

He’s already been kidnapped, locked up, nearly executed and reunited with an old girlfriend within forty-eight hours. Things can’t possibly get any weirder. He opens his mouth and begins to talk.

————

They aren’t thrown out of the cave. Bob looks incredibly sceptical, but neither he nor Ray appears angry. Lindsey and Gerard are sent out of the alcove and directed to the area where many people are gathered to eat some freshly-cooked meat. It was heated over the fire and tastes strange to Gerard, but he is ravenous and eats his full slice.

The people around them are wary, recognising Gerard from when he first arrived at Kaitama. No one talks to him or Lindsey though, they just stare. The general consensus seems to be that if Ray trusts the newcomers enough to let them move freely then they cannot be too dangerous, but no one is about to strike up conversation with a man who was previously handcuffed in the cave and then mysteriously disappeared.

Ray calls them back after a full hour. Gerard and Lindsey are standing on the side of the wall, simply watching. Lindsey is as impressed and amazed as he is by the fictional characters walking and talking all around them. He sees more and more people he recognises and every time it is a jolt in the stomach, like part of himself has been pulled out and is walking around in front of him.

And in a way, that’s what is happening. No author writes about himself entirely, but aspects of yourself bleed through. Maybe a childhood memory, an epiphany from the past, an event, but it’s almost guaranteed that in every character there is something from the author somewhere. Quite often, it’s only the author who will be able to tell because it is so personal – and now, looking at his characters Gerard feels a rush of déjà vu.

Perhaps it is fortunate that Ray calls them back before Gerard is entirely immersed in the past. He’s never been the type to shut out what has happened to him previously, but he does try to keep his head firmly in the present. Living for the past is like travelling backwards. Eventually you’ll hit something and it’ll hurt like hell.

‘I’ll be honest with you,’ Ray says. ‘I don’t want to believe what you’ve told me, because it means that I don’t really exist at all. That everything I have ever known is entirely fake. But everything you have said is defied in your presence here in front of me and that makes me realise that whatever has happened to bring you to us is breaking all the boundaries we know as to what is possible and impossible.

‘But it’s more than that. Maybe if you had come on any other day, we would have interrogated you, tried to make sense of this, but we simply can’t do that now. Gerard, the Resistance has never been weaker. We’ve suffered huge losses and at any moment the Ministry might raid the forest and find us. We’re lucky every minute that we are still alive.’

‘Then why are you sitting here just waiting for them to come and get you?’ Lindsey asks.

‘We’re not,’ Bob growls. “The technical term is “biding your time until the moment is right to strike”.’

‘While your enemies get closer and closer,’ Lindsey retorts.

Ray intervenes quickly. ‘Yes, we are biding our time, but we need to boost our numbers and come up with a good strong plan.’ He glances out into the main cave, but everyone has moved into the first or second cave; no one is in sight. ‘I believe we have only one final push in us and that must be the push with which we take back Cadesa and kill Coleridge. Without him, the Ministry will be lost. Ideally, we also kill all the senior officers. The important thing to know is that this has to happen all in one sweep. Acting in stages is no good because then our enemies will just gather more support and fight back harder than we ever can. It sounds impossible when you look at us now and maybe it is, but I’m going to try. I haven’t led the Resistance this long to just give up. We just need a little more time.

‘But we need you, too.’

Gerard had guessed this was coming and he doesn’t object. He doesn’t know how the hell to get home, so it’s not like he has somewhere to be, something to be doing. And if he’s going to be here it’s only sensible to do something. He wants to help these people. It’s just ....

Lindsey speaks his concern aloud. ‘That’s all very well, but we don’t know what else that might do.’

Ray is confused and says so.

‘I mean, we’re here now, but what about for us back home? Have we just gone missing randomly? Or maybe we’ve fallen into mysterious comas or ... whatever, who knows? Anything could be happening. And then what happens when the author is transported into their story? Gerard’s written out the events to a degree, but is us being here going to influence them?’ Lindsey is frowning, trying to explain what she means. Gerard knows, but Ray and Bob are trailing somewhere behind them, a little confused.

‘Like, the story’s still going on now. And when we get home –’ Gerard notices that Lindsey says ‘when’ but doesn’t actually sound that certain, ‘–well, Gerard will carry on writing. And how will this affect the story, what we do? Because our characters can’t appear suddenly in his novel. And then if he re-writes this, then what happens to you? Say someone is hurt and then when we’re back in the real world that gets changed? It’s just totally confusing to try and think about it, but we have to figure out what will happen.’ Almost jokingly, she says, ‘Fuck. It’s way easier when you guys aren’t real.’ Maybe the Resistance leaders don’t get it, because neither of them smiles, or maybe they just don’t think it’s funny, but Gerard has to appreciate the attempt at humour.

‘Sir!’ A young girl, maybe about nineteen or twenty, runs in. ‘Sir!’

Ray rises to his feet. ‘Cassandra?’

‘Sir, Mark just reported to me.’ Mark is one of the men assigned to prowling around the city and seeing what intelligence he can pick up about the happenings inside the castle. Sometimes guards could be bribed with money, other times plied with liquor. Cassandra’s gaze flicks across to Gerard and Lindsey, the two strangers in the room, but Ray tells her to continue. ‘He says a new prisoner has arrived at the prison and he kept talking about a man –’ and her gaze returns to Gerard, ‘–a man named Gerard Way.’

‘Do you know the man’s name?’ Ray asks calmly.

Gerard can feel his heart beating rapidly inside his chest. Who...? Oh no. Surely not.

Cassandra nods. Gerard’s panic is clearly rubbing off on her. ‘Yes,’ she whispers. ‘His name is Michael.’