Chapter One
When I was a little girl my grandmother used to tell me stories. My favourite was about the time her family moved to Devon. It seemed so idyllic, I sometimes wonder if it could have been like that or if time had coloured her memories. If it had I can’t blame her.
I am sitting on the roof of our building as I think about all of this, behind the barricades of course so no bullets stray or otherwise can hit me, and I look across the blackened structures and smoking rubble that is our city.
Once, I’m told, it was beautiful, but I can never believe that it was anything other than what it now is: a harrowing reminder of atrocities that should never have been able to happen, that so called normal people should not have been able to commit.
But they did and they still do.
I never saw it at the height of its magnificence; it’s golden years, when it seemed so strong and unbreakable. My father talks of it sometimes, he says it’s important that we know, that we don’t remain ignorant of what happened. Mother never speaks of before, she is a little afraid I think, to look back at what she had. Her life was so comfortable, so care free, so completely different from now.
Of course, we learnt the particulars in our lessons with Uncle Jep when we were children, how it all came about. And then after it had happened how everything was in disarray: the thought of hunger driving people into mad panic almost before the full extent of the damage had become known. There had been looting, angry mobs and so much violence. Murders had been casual happenings in the street, committed over the barest necessities of life.
You are asking, no doubt, what the government was doing while all of this happened, the answer is nothing. There was nothing they could do. The police force had been one of the first casualties to organization. The people had gone mad and there was no way to control them, it didn’t take long for the police to stop trying. The hospitals had gone on a little longer, but once the supplies ran out they too became empty, desolate monuments to the past.
In desperation the government turned to the army that some sort of order might be established, but it was too late. The army had split into factions, the military bases turning into private militia under the commanding officer of each base. They were in the enviable position of having control of vast resources. With the promise of food and stability in a world in which both had become luxuries, soldiers agreed to stay and obey orders. This having taken place, when base commanders received orders from government, these orders had been ignored and each base had acted purely in its own interests.
But their supplies had not lasted forever.
Thirty years was a long time, and now they were just tribes, the same as any other.
“Don’t sit so close to the barricade Deeta.”
Even before I look up I know whom the voice belongs.
“You worry too much, Tom.”
Tomasz shakes his head, a worried frown creasing his forehead.
“It isn’t possible to worry too much,” as he sits down beside me I feel his holster brush my arm.
As used as I am to guns and the necessity of them I shiver. Tom looks at me sharply.
“If you’re cold we’d better go back in,” he offers.
“No, I’m fine,” I smile.
I like Tom. He used to notice me when I was a kid and it was condescension on his part to pay me any attention.
“What are you doing up here anyway Deeta?”
I laugh and shrug my shoulders gesturing towards the skyline.
“Obviously I came up to look at our lovely view.”
He raises his left eyebrow, the one with scar above it.
“Has Keya been difficult again?”
When we refer to Keya being difficult, we mean bad tempered. I could use a more fitting adjective but I am too much of a lady. However on this occasion it was not Keya’s sharp tongue that had sent me scampering to the rooftop.
Tom takes out his knife and begins to sharpen it.
“You’re an odd sort of a girl aren’t you Deeta?” his eyes are concentrated on his work but I know better than to think that this means he’s in any way preoccupied.
Tom has a way of putting things so you’re unsure if he regards what he’s just remarked on as good or bad. Lots of people don’t like it, it makes them nervous of him but I think it’s cool. No matter how hard I try though, my attempts at emulating it have only been met with laughter, much to my embarrassment.
We sit awhile not speaking, in silence but for the scrape of the knife against metal and in the distance, the sound of gunshot and explosion. Bitterly, I reflect that even sitting together peacefully we cannot forget the need to fight.
“When do you go out next?” I ask idly.
“When we need to.”
At this stage most people would think that Tom was being offish with them, I am not most people. You see, Tom really believes that he has answered my question, it simply hasn’t occurred to him that something more is required of him.
I sit quietly watching him fold his knife away.
“What’s it like?” I have asked this question many times before and I guess I’m asking the wrong person as the inevitable answer comes yet again.
“More of the same,” he stands and surveys the scene before us. “Believe me Deeta you’ve got the best of it.”
That’s exactly what Dad says but I want to know they’re right, not just believe.
Of course you don’t know what I’m talking about do you? We live in a tower block in the city, I suppose you could say it is our village and we only leave it when we have to, that is, when we need something from outside. Then our army goes ‘out’ to get it.
I will never go ‘out’. The fifty-eight floors of this building are, to all intents and purposes, my world. I will never leave it. I was born here, I will marry here, I will have my children here and I will die here. My life from beginning to end will have no impact on anyone outside; to them I might never have existed. I sigh gustily.
“I wish I could see it Tom, just the once.”
“It would do you more harm than good Deeta.”
Tom is looking down at me where I sprawl and in his eyes I can see a sympathy of sorts.
Those who join the army are selected specially for their durability. Only those who have suffered a significant loss in their lives or have in some way endured hardships difficult to bear, and those like Tom who’ve spent some of their lives on the streets may join.
Those who have not experienced anything like that are protected, against themselves and against what they would see out there, against the brutality and horror. This is why I’m deemed unsuitable; because it is thought that I’ve not had the necessary conditioning.
I scramble up from my position on the floor and look up sadly at Tom.
“It’s not fair Tom, what’s so wrong with me that I can’t go?”
It’s a rhetorical question so I’m rather surprised when he pushes the hair back from my face and tilts my chin up, his blue eyes dark and scrutinizing. Though he has taken in every feature, I know it’s not me he sees.
“Sometimes I can see Tara looking at me straight out of your eyes.”
His look, burning with an intensity that’s foreign to me, lasts for several moments until he shakes his head and releases me.
“You can’t go out there Deeta you’re too soft, it would kill you to see what’s out there.”
I turn my head away to look somewhere out over the distance feeling a hot blush of embarrassed shame flood my cheeks and neck.
“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s a good thing, Deeta. You’re what we all should be but what circumstance has twisted into something else. Against all the odds you’ve remained free of all that out there,” he waves his hand in a gesture to encompass the outside world. “You’re untouched by it all.”
I feel stung by this statement and my head jerks round to him. His face is calm, trying to make me understand what he means. I know he’s unaware of the very great pain he has inflicted and I try to smile.
“I guess you’re right, Tom,” I stand, feeling the tears beginning to smart behind my eyes.
All I want is to leave before they start the inevitable course down my face. That would only make him feel bad and he doesn’t deserve to; he didn’t mean to distress me.
I think I only take four or five steps before I feel his hand encircle my wrist and pull me round to face him. I suppose I must have looked hurt, maybe even accusing, because he seems stricken as if he suddenly has understood what he said and its implications.
“Am I free from sadness? Do you really believe that Tara’s death only hurt you and Nell?”
I hold his gaze only briefly and then my head sinks in shame. It was a spiteful thing to say: of course he doesn’t think so. My loss was insignificant compared to theirs, Nella lost her sister, Tom lost his girlfriend.
“I –I didn’t mean to sound horrid about it, Tom.”
Tom shrugs his shoulders dismissing what must be for him an even more difficult subject than it is for me.
“Come on its freezing out here.”
Tom walks back to the door and I take a last look over the city.
~~~~~~~~
The building is ours but we share it with the rest of our Tribe, families who grouped together for safety, and the orphans. Tom is an orphan, Professor Jepsjon took him in when he was just a boy. The Professor had lost his wife and child and saw something in the frightened boy to comfort. At least that’s the way he tells it.
Everyone remained curiously unsurprised when Tom came home from one of the trips out with a child, a little boy of three or four. I wasn’t surprised: Tom had good reason to feel strongly about the street children having been one himself. But I was pretty sceptical as to whether he could look after him, which was foolish as Tom can do pretty much everything - and I’m not exaggerating.
The Grays live on the floor above us. Keya is their pride and joy, a redhead beauty who has most of the single men in our building falling over themselves to please her. Tom doesn’t think much to her. He says all the beauty in the world couldn’t make her bearable to live with. I told my sister Clare about it and she said something about protesting too much. She doesn’t know Tom very well; he doesn’t waste words, especially not on lies.
The Clarks live on the same floor as us; their son Jamie is considered one of the best warriors. I don’t like him very much, he’s always bragging about the things he’s done. He’s very big and good looking I suppose but between you and me, I think he’s a can short of a six-pack. Ralph his brother is much nicer. He’s only two years older than me and great fun. He’s always laughing and joking and helping people; he’s kind and in our world kindness like that is rare.
Nella lives on the floor below us with her Aunt Lea. Most people think Nella’s insane but that’s just because she cracked several of Jamie’s ribs when he proposed marriage to her. She’s my age and has been going out since she was fifteen. I’ve heard that she and Tom make a formidable team.
Dad sent me down to her for combat lessons a few years ago and we’ve been firm friends ever since. She says I have a beautiful form and graceful efficiency but I don’t know, I always feel a bit gawky in her presence.
She’s a very quiet girl around people, not because she’s shy or anything but because she’s reminded of what she has lost. Her father died ‘out’ and her mother died a few years later, leaving her and Tara, her twin sister, to their Aunt Lea’s care. She and Tara were allowed to join the army when they reached fifteen and placed in Tom’s care.
Tom says that Tara was not made for the world outside. He said that after their first expedition ‘out’ but no one paid any attention to him because Tara was an excellent member of the team. It made it all the more tragic when she died in a skirmish with another tribe.
Everyone liked Tara, she was gentle and kind. Tom, I think, was in love with her and who could have blamed him; her good qualities being crowned as they were with the kind of beauty of which poets speak. I cried when she died, tears so hot and painful the like of which I hope never to cry again. Nella didn’t cry for days. When she finally did break down I thought her tears would never stop.
Sometimes I wonder how Tom and Professor Jepsjon manage the children. Ricky is now a responsible fifteen year-old and has been replaced in the mischief stakes by Dec, an exegetic eleven year old that Tom brought back as a baby. He takes everything you say as a challenge and yet he can be so good. His round chubby cheeks, so much like the cherubs in Professor Jepsjon’s bible, seem constantly at odds with his actions, but the cheek of the boy is somehow endearing. Most of the time I find myself laughing at him when I know I ought really to remonstrate.
And so there are five of them: Ricky the eldest, Roydon thirteen and firmly fixed on any fun that he and Dec can manage, Dec obviously, Carris eight and into anything the boys are into and Tarri four, who Tom brought home as a baby shortly after Tara died and who we named for her. A soft hand brings me back to the present.
“Tarri, I’ve only just put you to bed!”
“I’m thirsty Aunty Deeta,” her voice is sweetly pleading.
“I’ll bet you are, and when you’ve had a drink and are safely tucked up in bed again, you discover that you need another blanket or that your hands are sticky—I know you cod fish even though you’re in disguise.”
I lift her on to the side and press the glass of milk into her eager hands. She watches me preparing dinner as she sips it.
“Aunty Deet, why don’t we go out?”
The knife slips from my deadened fingers and clatters on the floor; I was ten before I asked that question, she is only four.
“Because we’re safer here in the compound.”
I look at her black curly hair and dimpled cheeks with the sudden realization that she will one day enter the guard. She has a strength and curiosity that will make her the perfect asset.
She’s just a child, a small helpless child that I have loved and cared for ever since Tom brought her home, the tiniest of bundles hidden safely in his jacket and quietly sharing his warmth. Yet one day she will do what I never can; she will see the world beyond the compound.
I realize that I have been staring at her for a longish time and smile.
“Are you ready to try again?”
She drains her glass and I swing her on to my hip and take her back to her room. As she snuggles beneath the blankets she turns to me, considering before suddenly asking me a question.
“What’s it like outside?”
“More of the same,” I smile as I hear myself using the familiar phrase, and kiss her warm soft cheek.
Dec and Roydon are sprawled across the sitting room floor, their faces intent and serious whith a chess board between them.
“Why the long face, Roy?”
“You’d frown too,” he looks up at me, “what would you do?”
“Hey, fight your own battles, it’s cheating to ask for help!” cries Dec.
His cheeks are flushed an excited red and his eyes are sparkling; I know that he will beat Roydon this time too.
“Move your bishop and take his castle,” advises Ricky not looking up from his book.
Roydon subjects the board to intense scrutiny.
“If I do that he’ll take my bishop with his pawn!”
Ricky regards his ignorance with surprise.
“And if you don’t his castle will check mate you in four moves.”
Dec folds his arms across his chest in mock disapproval but I know that he’s enjoying pitting his wits against us all.
Three quarters of an hour later and Dec is deliberating his next move with careful consideration. Eventually he moves his knight and Roydon takes it with his queen, a triumphant look on his face.
“You lose Roy,” Tom’s voice comes from the doorway as he hangs up his leather coat and unwinds his scarf moving towards us where we are huddled on the floor. “Dec lined you up nicely.”
Roydon studies the board again and slaps his head.
“The knight was bait!”
Professor Jepsjon smiles and pats the boy’s head.
“The proverbial sacrificial lamb.”
Dec has jumped up from his position on the floor and has latched hold on to Tom’s hand, tugging on it until he receives Tom’s full attention.
“Well what is it?”
“Did you shoot anyone today?”
“What a repellent tyke you are — no I didn’t.”
The professor settles himself into his chair and I hand him a cup of tea.
“Is that for me my sweet Dziekuie.”
I smile as I pass Tom his mug.
“You must be so cold; it was freezing when I brought your lunch up?”
“You get used to it,” shrugs Tom.
“Never mind you can shoot one tomorrow,” says Dec.
“What did you say?”
Tom is frowning and Dec, realizing he has said something wrong, sits on his stool at the table and concentrates on his knife and fork, keeping wisely silent.
“How were the greenhouses today, Uncle Jep?” I ask as I begin to set dinner on the table.
“The tomatoes will be excellent this year, but I have lost hope in the cabbage.”
Tarri has wondered in from the bedroom and climbed onto the professor’s knee.
“Hello Tarri, have a nice sleep?”
“Mmm — yes,” she snuggles up against Uncle Jep and winds her arms around his neck.
“You must wash your hands for dinner, little one,” he reminds her gently.
As he sits down to the table he seems to remember something and turns to Tom.
“I was speaking to Mr. Green today, apparently Keya has joined up.”
Tom is carefully cutting Tarri's food into smaller pieces; he doesn’t look up as he answers.
“It’s a mistake.”
“You think so?” asks the professor.
“Yes.”
Tom finishes his task and pulls one of Tarri’s pigtails affectionately as he gives her the fork. The professor realizing he has asked the wrong question tries again.
“Why is it a mistake?”
“She’s completely selfish,” shrugs Tom, “her only reason for joining is because Nell is in the guard and she’s competing with her, she likes the idea of being classed as an Amazon.”
“You think she will be in danger, that she will be badly equipped?”
“The people in danger will be the rest of the guard; she’ll sell us out the second she’s in a tight spot.”
I wipe my hands down the front of my apron and look at the clock.
“Untie me, would you Tom, I’m going to be late for dinner again.”
I fidget impatiently as he pulls at the knots.
“Out of curiosity Deeta, why did you knot it three times in the first place?”
“I don’t know how it happens, but I’m always doing it,” I answer, glancing over my shoulder.
Tom drags the last knot free and I pull the loop over my head and cast the apron over the back of the chair nearest to me, with a quick goodbye I hurry down to my apartment; as predicted dinner has already commenced by the time I sit down.
“Deeta, I wish you wouldn’t spend quite so long up there,” my mother’s voice is worried, “you don’t want people to talk.”
I suppose I should have known right then; this conversation has taken place so many times that I should by now know the warning signs but unfortunately I don’t catch on.
“Talk about what?”
Okay, I admit it, it is incredibly dense of me not to see where the conversation is going.
“Deeta you’re up there all day every day. Now I’m not saying you’ve done anything wrong but just think how it looks.”
“Mum!” a hot flush stains my cheeks.
“Well it has to be thought of, you have to remain in good standing or you’ll never get a boyfriend and if you don’t have a boyfriend you’ll never have a husband; look at Nella, a prettier girl you’ll never see but because of that fuss with Jamie the boys stay well clear of her.”
“Isn’t that just because they’re afraid she’ll flatten them?” asks Jan drily.
“That is beside the point and you know it Jan,” replies my mother tartly. “Deeta you know that I’m thinking of you. Do you want people whispering about you behind your back?”
“But Mummy I’ve always—”
“I know you’ve always looked after the Jepsjons but you’re not a child any more Deeta, you’re twenty years old and very good looking — spiteful tongues will say hurtful things.”
“I hardly think that anything could be said when Tom and Professor Jepsjon spend most of their time on duty—besides don’t you think that five children are chaperone enough for even the most gossiping old biddy?”
“I keep forgetting that you think all women as perfect as me,” my Mother smiles, “you don’t know how catty women can get.”
“Well I don’t deny that I was clever enough to pick the best of the bunch,” laughs my Father, “but seriously Heather, Deeta is of great help to the Jepsjons and that isn’t something I want to dissuade.”
“You don’t have to worry Mum, Tom isn’t—I mean we’re not…” my voice trails off and my face glows hotly.
Under the table Jan’s hand clasps mine, I very almost shake her off; that sounds bad—I haven’t explained it to you properly. You see Jan has decided, for some weird and wonderful reason, that Tom and I are blighted lovers! I still have no idea where she got the idea from.
“I was talking to Denny in the greenhouses today and apparently Keya is joining up.”
My mother, her fork halfway to her mouth, pauses and for some moments her hand remains immobile before she hurriedly excuses herself from the table.
“What did I say?” enquires Jan bemused.
Clare purses her lips and twists a tendril of thigh length wavy hair around her finger. She is waiting for Phillip to call for her and they’ll go dancing on the forty-third floor.
“If Keya is joining up Mummy will want one of us to join up too.”
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Hi, I'm DeeDee Chant and I just wanted to thank you for reading the first chapter of 'Broken City', I really hope you enjoyed it! This is actually my second book: my first I wrote when I was 16 and my Aunt told me it was crazy! Although it pains me to say it, she was right!!! However, she did encourage me to try again, and so 'Broken City' was born! Without her encouragement I might not have written another, so thank you Aunty Jan!!! And thank you for taking a chance on me and my book!