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    Rachel's Story
    Rachel's Story
    Rachel's Story
    Ebook106 pages1 hour

    Rachel's Story

    By Jack Fisher

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Sometimes, we just want things to stay the way they are.

    Meet Rachel.

    Wife. Mother. Small business owner.

    Resistance fighter.

    -------------------------------------

    Rachel's Story is a quarter-length prequel to The New Society trilogy, which examines what happens when the divisions between us become so deep that conflict seems the only answer.

    Set in a British village amid an uprising spreading across the country, it's a story of a woman trying to do what she thinks is right, and having to face alone the consequences of her decisions.

    REVIEWS FOR THE NEW SOCIETY TRILOGY

    "Startlingly relevant" - Sean

    "Devastating" - Elisa

    "Dramatic dystopian debut" - P

    "Gripping, impressive" - Owen

    "Excellent and enthralling" - Stephen B.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJack Fisher
    Release dateNov 20, 2020
    ISBN9781005949471
    Rachel's Story
    Author

    Jack Fisher

    Jack Fisher was born in Washington DC into a large, loving family that nourishes creativity at every turn. He grew up on a steady diet of comic books, movies, and Saturday morning cartoons. That diet gave him an active imagination, one he channelled into writing. He began writing at age 16 and hasn’t really stopped since. He quickly developed a soft spot for romance, often writing fan fiction of his favourite fictional couples. Eventually, he graduated to writing stories about couples of his own creation, with a heavy focus on heated passion and powerful intimacy. He is currently single and lives just outside of DC. He is still a self-professed comic book lover and all around sci-fi geek while striving to refine his craft in any way he can.

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      Book preview

      Rachel's Story - Jack Fisher

      RACHEL’S STORY

      Jack Fisher

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Author’s Note

      Acknowledgements

      Prologue

      Rachel grips the wheel and turns. The van veers off the track and down a gap between trees. Her body bounces off the seat. She taps the brake to slow her momentum, guiding the van as smoothly as possible over the uneven ground, her head leant over the wheel, her eyes fixed on the dirt and tree trunks illuminated by the headlights. She slows to a halt in the clearing, pushes the gearstick into reverse. It still sticks, but she is long since used to it. She spins the van around, shifts it into first gear, kills the ignition and the lights, then lifts the mobile from the passenger seat and types: Here.

      She stares out through the windscreen. The canopy of leaves above is at its thickest, and the sky had clouded over before she left the house. Pitch black, she would have called it before. But over the weeks she’s been doing this, she’s found her eyes – or perhaps her mind – adjusting, learning to make use of even the faintest trace of light. She scans from left to right, checks the mirrors at either side of the van. Lowers the windows, listens out. The brushing of the wind against the leaves, the occasional lonely scratching of an animal in the undergrowth. And silence.

      She zips up her fleece against the night air, pulls her hood forward, feeling it slip smoothly over her head. It felt strange in the hairdressers, watching the dark chunks of hair slide down the black gown and onto the tiles. A moment of doubt as she looked at herself in the mirror, an urge to jerk away from the scissors. But by the following day she’d adjusted, taken pleasure in the sleekness as she moved her hands through it. Bill accepted it too, after that first evening when he’d kept glancing at her from the settee and frowning to himself. But then Bill has had to accept a lot of things. William, though – he has a way of looking at her, glancing up above her forehead, that makes her want to turn away from him.

      Her ear twitches. From the right, a faint crackling. She turns her head, stares into the darkness, her finger and thumb on the ignition key. A dot of light flickers amongst the trees. She places one foot on the clutch, the other on the accelerator. The light comes brighter, then flashes. Two short, two long, one short. She takes her feet off the pedals, folds her hands back into her lap. The footsteps grow louder, and the light is extinguished. A shape looms into the window, and she picks out Guy’s features in the darkness.

      ‘All good?’ she whispers.

      ‘Yeah.’ The tiredness creeps through his voice.

      ‘You’re the first back.’ She smiles. ‘I’ve no prize for you, though. Sorry.’

      He laughs softly. ‘A sit down will do.’

      She reaches down and releases the back door lock. His face disappears from the window, then she feels the suspension lower as he climbs into the back of the van. She hears the doors close softly, and she is left again with the faint sounds of the forest. After a couple of minutes she hears noises again, then torchlight, this time from the left. One by one they appear, flashing the signal, nodding to her through the windows, climbing in through the back doors. She counts them back: two, three, four, five, and then finally six. As always, and despite not being home yet, she allows herself a small relief. Ever since she heard them talking about the man across the valley who stepped on his own mine, she’s been terrified of not returning with her full complement.

      A rap comes against the wooden panel separating her from the back of the van. The signal. She turns the key and presses on the accelerator. They jerk back through the forest, over the bumps and stones and roots, and onto the track. Her mind drifts to William. She hopes Bill has got supper sorted like she asked. It’s not much of a birthday, she knows. But then it’s not much of a life at the moment, and it won’t be much of one in future if things keep going the way they are.

      She adjusts the wheel, straightens the van on the track. Not far to the scout hut. Then home, and she can watch William unwrap his present. Another model plane – something he can make with his hands, Bill said, persuading her. She wanted to get him more books, but she was too tired to argue. She rounds the bend and hits the brake pedal. A hundred yards ahead. A truck in the middle of the track. An army truck. Stationary, with its back to them. She tenses, then reaches her arm behind her and raps twice on the panel. A warning. The truck remains still, no sign of movement. She tries to think. Reverse? No. Try to go around them? No, too dangerous. Wait. She reaches across to the passenger seat, grabs the mobile and squeezes it into the gap underneath the seat cushion. As she looks up, the side door of the truck opens. A soldier jumps out, followed by another. Guns out, pointed. She swallows, pulls her hood back to uncover her head. The soldiers move towards her. She looks at their faces, young, callow, their cheekbones half-silhouetted in the headlights. She doesn’t recognise them. The front soldier aims his flashlight into her face, then motions with his hand. She lowers the window.

      ‘Where are you heading?’

      ‘St Mathews. I’m picking my son up from the youth club.’

      ‘Name?’

      ‘Rachel Benson.’

      ‘Where do you live?’

      ‘Mardale Close. In the village.’

      ‘This your van?’

      ‘It’s my husband’s. He’s a builder.’

      ‘What’s in the back?’

      ‘Just tools.’

      The soldier glances behind him at the truck, then back at Rachel. ‘Hand me the keys.’

      She pulls the key from the ignition, hands it to him through the open window. The soldier turns around.

      ‘Stay here and watch her.’

      The second soldier nods, while the first moves around to the back of the van. She watches him in the side mirror, holding her breath, trying not to let her expression falter, to betray the knowledge that each of the men in the back of the van is armed, that as soon as the soldier pulls the doors open he could have six guns trained on him, and that even though in theory they should be on the same side, she has no confidence that right now, with all that has gone on, not one of them will fire.

      As the soldier’s reflection disappears from the mirror, a shout comes from in front. She looks up to see a third soldier emerging from behind the truck.

      ‘Halt,’ he shouts again.

      He marches towards them. His face appears older, his body stockier. He looks the van up and down, then calls to the two soldiers.

      ‘Get back in the truck.’

      ‘Yes sir,’ they chorus.

      The first soldier walks back round to the window, hands her the keys without looking at her, then the two of them walk back, the green ribbing of their jumpers illuminated in the headlights. The older soldier moves to the window, lowers his head.

      ‘Evening.’

      She nods. She feels like she is still holding her breath. He glances behind her.

      ‘Transportation,’ he says

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