Free Havoc by Jane Higgins Page B

shoot anyone.’
    He gave me a mock salute, ‘Commandah!’ and sauntered away.
    Lanya and I had shed our squad gear for civvies. I wore jeans and a T-shirt and Lanya
wore black leggings, a short skirt and a denim jacket—a combo that would have been
an eye-opener for any respectable aunt back over the river. But, like I said to Sandor,
we didn’t look nearly smart enough to be where we were. Bethun’s terrace houses smelled
of money: their cream-coloured stone was clean, their bay windows were inviting,
their solid wooden doors had heft against the outside world, and their signs—Property
Alarmed: Armed Response—were in Breken and Anglo, just to be absolutely clear.
    We’d got about halfway through Bethun when our luck turned bad. An army ute rounded
the corner ahead of us.
    I whispered, ‘Oh, f—’ and Lanya stopped. I gripped her hand and said, ‘Keep walking.
Look like you’re talking to me.’
    The ute trundled along the street and we pretended to ignore it, but I knew the men
inside wouldn’t go past brown kids on an empty Bethun street. It stopped beside us.
    A soldier, middle-aged, middle-ranking, leaned out the window. ‘Hey! What are you
doing here? Where are you going?’
    â€˜Home,’ I said, in my best Ettyn Hills accent. ‘Missed curfew last night and she
has to get home before her father knows she’s gone.’
    Lanya hung on my arm and giggled and waved at the men. Out of the corner of my eye
I could see Sandor on the other side of the street a few houses back, one hand in
his jacket pocket—I knew he was fingering the gun.
    â€˜Where’s home?’ said the solider. ‘Show me some ID.’
    Sandor was three houses away. I had no clue how trigger happy he might be. Two soldiers.
He could shoot them both, wake the entire neighbourhood, bring any nearby patrols
crashing down on us and end everything right now.
    â€˜Which home?’ I said. ‘Town or Ettyn Hills?’
    The soldier’s eyebrows shot up. Ettyn Hills was wealthy and then some. ‘Just show
me some ID, kid.’
    I didn’t have any. Cityside IDs were unfakeable unless you had access to hi-tech
gadgetry, and imitations were so obvious that it was more dangerous to be found with
one than not have one at all. I could see Sandor hesitating, watching.
    â€˜Look,’ I said. ‘I don’t have it, okay? My father confiscated it to stop me going
out.’
    The soldier’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s your name, then? Whose your father?’
    If you’re going to lie, I thought, lie big. ‘Stepfather,’ I said. ‘Thomas Hendry.’
    â€˜Sure,’ said the driver. ‘Try again.’
    â€˜It’s true,’ I said. ‘The Hendrys adopted me and sent me to Tornmoor.’
    I gave the Hendry’s Ettyn Hills address and their townhouse address down to the last
digit of the postcodes, then looked at my watch.
    â€˜Can we go now?’ I said. Right now, I thought. Because that guy over the road is
armed and Breken and he might not think twice about shooting you.
    â€˜Look,’ I held out my arms wide so they could see I was unarmed. ‘I’ve got nothing
but a heap of trouble waiting at home if I can’t get back there soon. If you want
to know for sure and really get me in deep, you can call him.’ I reeled off the number.
‘It’s unlisted, so he’ll get mad at you as well as me, but do it if you have to.’
    I put an arm around Lanya’s shoulders, said, ‘Sorry, babe,’ and tried to look resigned.
    The other soldier said, ‘Give me that number again.’ My stomach churned. I said it
one more time. He tapped it into his communicator and pushed a button.

CHAPTER 12
    Time slowed right down until I could hold everything around us in one long moment:
the street in the early morning sunlight, quiet the way Moldam never was, Sandor
on the other side