Sam vaulted down fearlessly, groaning as he stumbled sideways and thumped his head on a wooden partition.

‘Come on,’ Sam urged, knee buckling as he stumbled up. ‘It’s not that high.’

‘I’ll catch you, pet,’ a big guy with a northern accent shouted as he held out his arms.

Georgia grabbed the rail and swung her legs over. She hesitated before letting go, but she could see riot cops clambering over the trashed photocopier in the doorway and leapt into the man’s arms.

‘Light as a feather,’ he joked, but bolted away before Georgia could say thanks.

Riot cops were now pouring into the gallery above. A young man who’d chickened out of jumping got slammed into the wall by shields. Georgia noticed a single cameraman still filming as she started running out of the back of the council chamber, but Sam was hobbling from his awkward landing.

‘Just go,’ he groaned, holding the wall to stay upright. ‘There’s no point both of us getting nabbed.’

Georgia shook her head. ‘Put your arm around my back.’

Sam did what he was told, and they began a hobbling jog down a long hallway. Everyone else got further ahead, until it felt like they were the last protestors in the building.

‘Eyes on two down here!’ a cop shouted eagerly from behind.

Georgia’s chest felt tight and Sam’s weight was straining her neck.

‘You can’t save me,’ Sam urged. ‘Go!’

She looked back as a stocky riot cop abandoned her clumsy shield and broke into a sprint.

‘I’ll make sure the others know what happened,’ Georgia told Sam as she started to run.

But the cop knew she had back-up and decided to leave Sam to someone else.

Sam tried to block the officer, but there wasn’t much of him and she used her thickly padded riot gear to splatter him against the wall. Georgia could almost taste freedom as she sprinted around a corner and saw an open fire door. But the cop seemed to have a rocket motor and she rugby-tackled Georgia, sending her sprawling painfully on the tiled hallway.

‘Hands up on your head,’ the cop growled, quickly finding her feet. ‘Are you carrying a knife or any other weapons?’

‘No,’ Georgia shuddered as she put her hands on her head.

The cop lifted the steamed-up visor of her riot helmet, then went down on one knee as she peeled a set of plasticuffs from her belt.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Georgia Pack.’

‘Been in trouble before?’ the cop asked as she patted Georgia down. ‘Arms together, behind your back.’

‘No,’ Georgia gasped, blinking sweat out of her eyes as the plastic cuffs bit her wrists. ‘Oww.’

‘Well, Georgia Pack,’ the cop said, giving a little laugh, ‘you’ve got yourself in a whole lot of trouble now …’

TWENTY-THREE