Free Ebony Hill by Anna Mackenzie Page A

two!”
    “What about us? They might be heading here even now.”
    The argument runs in circles of grief and fear.
    “Enough!” Truso says at last. “Until reinforcements arrive, we have no choice but to wait. We’ve already seen that we’re out of our depth.”
    “We’ve got rifles.”
    “Rabbit guns. They don’t compare to the sort of military hardware the paras used in their booby-trap. And we’ve precious little ammunition.”
    “So you’re saying that we just let them take Summertops? Our people and livestock and the land that we’ve nurtured?”
    “In the short-term, we’ve no alternative. We’ve seen what our inexperience leads to: we’ve already lost two lives. We can’t afford to lose more.” Truso pulls a hand roughly through his hair, lifting it into wild tufts. “We’re farmers not fighters. I’m asking you to be realistic. Once the scouts get here, we can—”
    “How do we even know they’re coming?”
    “What if the message didn’t get through? What if—”
    “I’m not going to just sit here and—”
    “You’ll not do anything without agreement from around this table!”
    “Who says I won’t? You can’t—”
    “Stop it!” I shout. “Can’t you see that turning on each other is the worst thing to do? We have to stand together.”
    I subside, but my interruption has served its purpose. There’s no more shouting.
    “Well said, Ness,” Jago murmurs.
    Truso clears his throat. “The way I see it, the best course is not to put any more lives at risk. We’ve sent word to Vidya and we’ve got our defences in place. No one –” Truso stares around the room, meeting every eye. “No one goes anywhere near Summertops. The paras will expect that and they’ll be ready. We already know how they intend to treat our approaches.”
    “But what about our people up there? What about—”
    “If they’re still alive,” Truso stares around the room. No one has yet voiced this fear, though I don’t doubt they’ve all thought it. “If they’re alive, they’re safer if we keep our distance; if we don’t put these para-militaries, or whoever they are, under pressure. Not until we know what the situation is and that whatever action we take will be successful.”
    There’s a heavy silence.
    “And we look at our own community. This might get a lot uglier.” He pauses. “As many as possible will be evacuated to Vidya. That way we minimise our risk.”
    Ronan meets my gaze. I can guess what he’s thinking. I raise my shoulders in a shrug.
     
    The scouts arrive just before midnight, thirty of them. The community gathers silently in the meeting room, waiting to hear what they have to tell us.
    “The governors are treating the situation as serious,” their leader, a dour-faced man called Brenon, tells us. “Two Decon teams are on their way to Dales and Pinehill. They’ll assess the situation and report to me. HomeFarm has been designated our base. We’ll reconnoitre Summertops from here.”
    Silence: assuming the threat came from the north, we’ve not given much thought to the farm communities that lie east. Dread slides around the room like fog rising from a peat bog.
    “Truso has filled me in on events to date, and on the security policy you have in place. That will need tightening.” He eyes the room. “As of now this is a military zone. Decisions will be made by me, ratified by Truso and Lynd, head of Decon. Till this is over, it’s martial law people. Your complete co-operation is required.”
    No one speaks. Brenon nods briskly, satisfied that he has us all suitably cowed, and dismisses us to our beds. Lying wide-awake I stare into the dark and think how quickly the community’s peaceful life has been disrupted. Will changing back be as simple? Will it happen at all?
     
    At breakfast the farmworkers, usually so talkative, sit shadow-eyed and wary around the table, the absence of Ben and Esha filling the room. There’s little sign of Brenon and his unit, but we