‘Save it,’ Ewan answered. ‘If we’re leaving we’d better do it now rather than later.’
‘We can wait until nightfall. Come on, share your own.’
Ewan wanted to respond with something that would kill the mood. Maybe the time he and Jack got drunk in the cellar, after Oliver Roth had murdered David and Val Riley. Or stumbling across Mike Ambrose’s body in the generator room. Or anything else involving friends who had suffered horrible deaths.
But he restrained himself. McCormick’s own emotions must have been unsteady: this house meant more to him than anyone else. It may legally have been Polly Jones’ place, but for years it had been McCormick’s home too.
Ewan knew what his favourite memory was, but it wasn’t one he could declare aloud. It was his favourite moment for strategic reasons rather than blind sentiment.
It had been on Takeover Day, when the clones had come to raid Spitfire’s Rise, burst through the door and left without incident. He and McCormick had sheltered upstairs, having seen the platoon approach from a distance. The soldiers had entered, seen Polly Jones’ dead body, and left with the assumption that the house had already been raided. Not long afterwards, the clones had left the village altogether, allowing Ewan to leave the house and tell his friends about the shelter he had found.
In all the time that had passed since then, none of the Underdogs had been told that McCormick had been a resident at the house all along. Or that Polly existed.
I guess he won’t have to keep it a secret much longer. Once we’re gone from here, we can afford to let people know the truth . Then he can be thanked properly for taking us in .
Then again, maybe not. Once the secret ’s out, we lose the chance to ever use this place again .
‘My favourite thing,’ said Thomas, presumably for the fifth time in the conversation, ‘was when Mum told off McCormick for farting at dinner, and he just answered her with another fart!’
Ewan leaned against the wall, and gave a reluctant smile. If the conversation gave Thomas a chance to talk about his dead mother and laugh, perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea.
‘Rosanne was nice,’ said Jack, referring to a lady in her seventies who had passed away long ago. ‘She gave a “nice old lady” vibe to the place which I don’t think we’ve had since. No offence, Lorraine.’
The room went ‘ooooh’ and gave nervous laughs in response. Lorraine, aged only fifty-two, clouted him round the back of the head.
‘OK,’ said Jack, ‘let’s move on quickly. What’s yours, McCormick?’
‘Honestly,’ McCormick replied, ‘I think mine might be the night Shannon arrived.’
Shannon, sitting on the floor next to Thomas, widened her eyes.
‘I hope you don’t mind me saying it,’ McCormick continued, ‘but it revealed a lot about what kind of community we are. This war had taken a toll on all of us, but we remained the type of people who would welcome a stranger and do our best to make her comfortable.’
‘You did a better job than I was expecting,’ said Shannon, a comment which raised a few smiles. Then she offered a moment of eye contact with Ewan, and a discreet grin. Perhaps all was well.
An hour passed before McCormick brought the conversation to a close. He took a step forward, deeper into the crowd, and straightened his back. And just like that, the group knew the discussion was over.
‘Half an hour from now,’ he began, ‘we’ll be leaving Spitfire’s Rise. Before we say our final goodbyes to the house, we should establish who will be going where. My route into New London has space for four people. I need three of you on comms, and that leaves the other four to find us a new home.’
Simon held up three fingers, a confused expression on his face.
‘Yes,’ replied McCormick, ‘three on comms. Two to communicate and one to guard. This house isn’t the only place those clones might remember, but we can’t move all our resources from the comms unit in time for this mission. For better or worse, the comms team will be stuck there. Now,’ he said, with his arms spread wide across the room, ‘I’m about to ask for strike team volunteers. Before I do, make no mistake – this is by far the riskiest mission we have ever undertaken. We’re going to several locations across the northern wall of New London, some of which are on Floor B. To date, we’ve never been higher than Floor F. The mathematician in me says the odds are stacked overwhelmingly against us, even though the human in me still has faith. So before volunteering, you should know there’s no shame in wanting to sit this one out. If I had a choice, I would.’
You do have a choice, you stupid old man, Ewan thought, feeling immediately guilty for the insult crossing his mind. It’s your own stubbornness that’s telling you to chargeyour sixty-four-year-old body into a war zone, just for the sake of ‘leading from the front’.
Ewan was one of five people to raise his hand. Lorraine, Thomas, Shannon, Simon and Gracie kept theirs down, to the surprise of no one. Jack, Mark and Alex had their hands up; the latter highest of all. Kate, who had avoided the whole discussion as far as Ewan could tell, raised hers too.
‘OK,’ began McCormick, ‘Ewan, the two of us are certainties. Mark, I want you to be the one guarding comms. If the clones come, I honestly believe you’d put up the best defence.’
‘Thanks, sir,’ said Mark with a very deliberate huff.
‘Alex, I’m assuming you’re volunteering in order to get revenge. That’s not a good idea.’
‘It’s strategy,’ Alex replied, ‘I’m not a complete numpty. Unless they get up close, nobody will even know I’m human. And thanks to Ewan’s bad shaving, I’m safe from you guys shooting me too.’
McCormick left a pause, his faint nods giving away his answer in advance.
‘Alright, I won’t argue. And Jack, if you’re up for it you’re in. Sorry Kate, but I think you need more time to—’
‘To get over Raj?’ Kate barked, as if McCormick had brought her suddenly and painfully to life. ‘Just to make this clear, I will never get over Raj. Just like I never got over what’s happened to James or my parents. Just like none of us have got over anything! My hand is up because Raj died to make this mission happen. We’re using the information he gave his life for, and I won’t insult him by sitting out.’
It was difficult to read the reaction on McCormick’s face, but the length of his pause spoke volumes.
‘In all fairness,’ added Jack, ‘if you want to find a suitable home, you’ll need an analytical person with close attention to detail. I’m cut out for that, and Kate’s probably better than me in combat anyway. If she really wants it, I’ll stand aside.’
‘Thanks Jack,’ said Kate before McCormick could give his own answer. The man shrugged, and gave a small nod of his head.
‘Fine,’ he answered. ‘Shannon, Lorraine, I want you two on comms with Mark guarding. Shannon’s got the best knowledge of Grant’s upper floor, and Lorraine… well, you know why. The rest of you, follow Jack as he searches for a new home. Try to find one with comfy beds, OK?’
McCormick’s last joke fell on deaf ears. The remaining Underdogs rose to their feet, and prepared to evacuate.