The Declaration

The Catchers have gone now. Do you want to tell me what you’re doing here, Anna? Are you going to let me in?’
    ‘Don’t say anything,’ Peter whispered. ‘It’s probably a trick.’ He was sweating; Anna wasn’t sure whether it was pain or fear.
    She nodded mutely, trying to resist the temptation to rush out and thank Mrs Sharpe for sending the Catchers away.
    ‘Now listen to me, Anna. I need you to open the door. We’ll need to be careful because you never know when the neighbours are looking, but no one can see me here unless they’re in my house, and I can assure you, there’s no one in my house. Not at the moment, anyway. But they might come back, so we probably need to get you out of here as quickly as we can. Does that sound reasonable? Anna?’
    Anna looked at Peter. Under the curtains, all she could make out were his eyes, and she could see that they were fearful.
    ‘I trust Mrs Sharpe,’ she said, squeezing him for good measure. ‘And she didn’t let the Catchers find us.’
    Peter looked at her anxiously, then eventually he nodded, and bit by bit they peeled back the curtains.
    Peter got up and limped over to unlock the door, then shrank back towards Anna, his eyes darting around as if checking for an escape route if things turned sour.
    Mrs Sharpe edged around the furniture and then manoeuvred herself so that she was beside the bed which was leaning up against the wall. Two pairs of wide dark eyes were fixed on her, one set looking at her cautiously, the other looking at her like a puppy dog, grateful to her for not drowning it.
    ‘Oh, Anna,’ she said, as she took in the state of them – the dirt and the bruises and the matted hair. ‘Oh, my dear girl, what have you got yourself into?’
    Mrs Pincent narrowed her eyes at Frank, the lead Catcher assigned to the Grange Hall breakout.
    ‘You will catch them,’ she said. It was a statement, not a question.
    Frank smiled. ‘Always do,’ he said comfortably. ‘Of course, usually we’re chasing hidden Surpluses. Acting on a tip-off. It’s not often we’re chasing escapees from Surplus Halls. Don’t get that very often at all.’
    He gave Mrs Pincent a meaningful look and she glowered at him.
    ‘They got out,’ she said, her voice angry, ‘because the Authorities didn’t think to mention to me that there was a tunnel out. I can assure you there has been no other breakout in my time at Grange Hall, and nor will there be another one.’
    Frank shrugged. ‘Don’t matter either way. We’ll get them back. Haven’t got anywhere to go, have they?’
    ‘What about the Underground?’ Mrs Pincent asked, her face contorting with distaste as she spoke. ‘I think the boy might have connections. He was new, you see. Too old to come to a Surplus Hall in my opinion, but there we are.’
    Frank shrugged. ‘The Underground?’ he asked dismissively. ‘Bunch of woolly liberals, that’s all they are. All mouth and no trousers. They try to hide the odd Surplus once in a while, but we always sniff them out, don’t you worry.’
    Mrs Pincent nodded curtly. She knew all about woolly liberals. They wrote her letters from time to time, asking about the treatment of Surpluses. Sent in petitions, requesting that criminal parents be allowed to see their Surplus children on release from prison. Mrs Pincent hated liberals.
    ‘What liberals don’t understand,’ she said, suspecting that in Frank she may have found someone who shared her views on Surpluses, ‘is the price we must pay for Longevity. They live for ever in a world that is stable, prosperous and safe, and they conveniently forget what created this world for them.’
    Frank nodded, and his eyes lit up. ‘They’re ignorant, that’s all,’ he agreed heartily. ‘Poor Surpluses? Don’t make me laugh. You and I are on the front line, Mrs Pincent. We’re the ones who know the truth. If it wasn’t for us, the world would be a very different place, you know.’
    ‘Indeed,’ Mrs Pincent said. ‘Now, when you catch these Surpluses, they’ll be brought back here, will they?’
    Frank nodded. ‘That’s the normal procedure. If they’re alive, of course. Sometimes, you’ll understand, there are . . . complications.’
    Mrs Pincent looked at him for a moment.
    ‘Try to keep the girl alive,’ she said, then stood up. ‘The boy probably isn’t much use, if you know what I mean.’
    Frank grinned. ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ he said cheerfully.
    ‘Good,’ Mrs Pincent