This is the final chapter in a book I am writing. The book (Undercover and Investigating) is the third book in a series, you can find the previous two books here: https://writeboy.blog/my-stories/ .
The Aftermath
“The juvenile was blasted across the lawn of the Tower and his current condition is unknown. In the immediate aftermath of the sudden appearance of what (in the moment) seemed like an army, all people crowded around the technology were detained and the monarch was rushed to safety. It has later transpired that there is a strong and well-hidden terrorist organization whose influence reaches further than can be told at this time working against the interests of this country.
In an official statement the MOD revealed a previously secret branch of the armed forces known as the SES (Special Experimental Service) who have been tracking and combating the terrorist organization: Collective Power. However, it seems that this SES hasn’t been doing a good enough job…” Emily trails off.
“Continue.” I say, glaring at the fluorescent light above me.
“But,” she protests.
“Continue.” This time with more vigour, fist clenching round the paper-thin gown.
“What is the purpose of this new organization? And why aren’t they protecting us properly?” she finishes off with a sigh. “Look they don’t know anything it’s just the Weekly Post everyone knows they always waffle. Don’t listen to them.”
“Yeah but…” I trail off, wanting to be angry at the world.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Emily puts the paper on my bed and leaves, resigned. Immediately I regret it, the one thing I’m not mad at is Emily. Everything just keeps getting worse. My phone buzzes for the thousandth time, a random ‘friend’ from swimming lessons 12 years ago or a 3rd cousin 8 times removed that I met at some wedding one time. The rage explodes. As does my phone as it clatters into the blank wall. Flopping back, helpless, angry and guilty I don’t know how to make anything better.
Eventually, Emily returns (with food which always helps). We rant and vent and bounce off each other, getting everything out, it feels great just to spill everything and complain and whine. Predictably we get slightly carried away when we suggest shooting stuff to really get our anger out. The understanding that we have is unique. It’s indescribable and irreplaceable. We’re both fuming one minute but laughing the next. Depression promptly turns to inexplicable hilarity.
“It’s just the shadows were nice. No one knew what we were doing, no one talked or judged or targeted us, no one did anything. We were free…”
“Mhmm,” Emily nods through a mouthful of truly disgusting chocolate mousse, “Hospital food really is as bad as I thought it was gonna be.” She tosses the rest into the bin but partially misses.
“I guess there’s nothing we can do now though. I have no clue what will happen in anything actually.” The realization hits me. I know nothing about the future, I have no power or control. I just have to trust in the power of goodness and justice and the strength of others.
I am quickly discharged, as I keep reiterating to Emily I was only “Mildly electrocuted and a little bit concussed and had some insignificant internal bleeding.” Finally losing the itch inducing gown, and returning to my usual rugby shirt and hoody, I wander out of the room which was my cell for the past 48 hours to find the other three IMPS waiting for me. They stand (Elijah irritatingly tall now). Emily on my right, Jacob and Elijah on my left. And we prepare to face everything.
We prepare to face our friends, the media, the politics, the pressure. Our lives will forever be changed. None of us know what the future has in store for us. We are all certain that the next month or two at least will be extremely uneasy. We walk towards our introduction to the world. We walk towards a battleground none of us are prepared for, the battleground of public opinion. But we do it together, we do it as IMPS. The automatic doors slide open and cameras start flashing, questions start flying, the storm has begun…how long will it last?