Noughts and Crosses by Malorie Blackman (historical books to read TXT) 📕

to watch. They couldn’t force me to raise my head. And if they did, they couldn’t force me to open my eyes. And if they did, they couldn’t force me to see. But I couldn’t keep my gaze lowered . . . Slowly, I raised my head, my eyes drawn to the sight, my heart disgusted by it. Angry with myself, I turned away, only to find myself looking straight at Callum. He wasn’t watching his dad either. He was looking at me – and wishing me and every other Cross as dead as dead could be. I’d seen that look on other’s faces – noughts looking at Crosses, Crosses looking at noughts. But I’d never seen it on Callum’s face before.

And I knew in that moment that now I’d never ever stop seeing it. Flinching, I turned. Back to the scaffold. A choice of views. Hatred or hatred. They were putting a black hood over Callum’s dad’s head now. The prison clock began to strike the hour. When it struck six, it’d all be over.

One . . . All eyes on the scaffold.

Two . . . The noose around Callum’s dad’s neck.

Three . . . Someone begins to weep. Loud, heart-wrenching sobs.

Four . . . A man at the scaffold nods to someone behind him.

‘Long live the Liberation Militia . . .’ Callum’s dad shouts at the top of his voice.

Five . . .

seventy-six. Callum

The clock struck five. One more . . .

‘WAIT! WAIT!’ A voice called out from beneath the scaffold.

‘The governor . . .’

‘That’s the prison governor . . .’

I strained to see him, but part of the wooden scaffold structure was in the way. I wanted someone in the crowd around us to say what was happening, but now there was just silence. No-one spoke. No-one moved.

Six . . . The clock struck six times. I hardly dared to breathe, afraid the slightest motion would spring the trap beneath Dad’s feet.

‘Mum . . .’ The merest whisper.

‘Shush!’

‘THE EXECUTION IS STAYED,’ the same voice shouted out. I saw a Cross move from behind the lattice of woodwork and beckon to the guard up on the scaffold with my dad.

The peculiar thing was, there were no cheers, no shouts, no sounds at all. Maybe everyone was like me, unable to believe or understand what was going on. What did it mean? Were they going to let Dad go? Did they have new evidence to prove he was innocent? Maybe Dad’s lawyer had done it! From the moment Dad was found guilty, Kelani Adams had parcelled out all her other cases to her colleagues to concentrate solely on Dad’s appeal. She’d told Mum and me that she wouldn’t rest until Dad was a free man. I know that even as they were waiting to lead Dad out of the prison and up to the scaffold, Kelani had been busy making desperate phone call after desperate phone call. Obviously the phrase ‘a lost cause’ wasn’t part of her vocabulary. Funny . . . it seemed to be a major part of mine.

The man who’d stopped the execution walked up the steps to the scaffold. He nodded to the guard who immediately took the hood off my dad’s head. Dad blinked crazily for a few moments, his eyes wide like he was in the middle of a nightmare and even with his eyes open, he couldn’t wake up. The governor walked up to Dad and said something to him. It looked like he had to repeat it, asking Dad if he understood. Dad shook his head. The governor put one hand on Dad’s shoulder. Dad nodded. Murmurs sprang up through the audience. This not knowing was killing me. What was going on? The governor raised his hands for silence.

‘Ladies and gentlemen and noughts, I am Governor Giustini. I have just this moment been informed that Ryan Callum McGregor has received a reprieve. His sentence has been commuted to life imprisonment. There will be no hanging today.’

‘LONG LIVE TH . . .’ Dad’s knees buckled as if the ground had suddenly disappeared beneath him. The prison officer standing beside him only just managed to grab him in time to stop Dad from keeling over completely.

And then the whole place erupted. It was only because there were tall metal barriers between us and the scaffold that it remained in one piece. Our fury was so deep, we were all drowning in it. We wanted to get to Dad, to sweep him away, to get him out of there. But we couldn’t get to him. Mum tried to pull me back but I was one of the first to push and shove my way forward.

‘Dad! DAD!’ I yelled until my throat hurt, but the tide of voices around me carried my words away.

Dad was hurried down the scaffold steps and back into the prison, along with the governor, but that didn’t stop us. We could’ve torn down Hewmett Prison brick by brick. We would’ve – but we couldn’t get past the barriers. I turned my head whilst being pushed forward. Turned to where they were sitting. I couldn’t see her. Where was she? Watching all this and enjoying the free entertainment? The Crosses were all leaving in a hurry. We were penned in and had to stand up like cattle; they had seats. We were herded in through a side gate and ushered to our part of the courtyard. The Crosses got to drive in and sit down, like they were having a night out at the ballet or going to the cinema or something. Each one of us was scanned and searched. I bet not one single Cross was even stopped.

And then they wondered why we hated them so much.

People were beginning to get hurt. I saw a man in front of me fall, and whilst those around him tried to help him up, the ones behind still pushed forward. There were screams and shouts and shrieks