But you do know, Jason thought.
“I’m off to bed,” his mother said, rising to her feet. More wine sloshed from the glass onto the carpet. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Are you working tomorrow?” he asked.
“I’m not planning to,” she said, but both of them knew that meant very little.
“Good night, Mum.”
“Good night, Jason.”
Chapter 33
Saturday 8th January 2033
Antimone stared at the face reflected back in the mirror. The previous evening a technician had unscrewed the fixture from the wall and lowered it to the correct height for somebody in a wheelchair. Beneath each grey-blue eye was a crescent-shaped dark shadow. She hadn’t slept well since she had arrived. In the darkness, a sense of claustrophobia built up inside, the featureless white walls seeming to close in on her. Her breathing became tight and the thudding of her heart echoed in her ears. Only when she turned on the lights did the panic subside. During the last two nights she had slept with them on but had woken up every few hours, disturbed by the unfamiliar illumination cast by the ceiling panels.
Her gaze moved down her face. The faint tendrils of broken blood vessels adorned the top of each cheekbone, the after-effects of the contractions. A prominent blackhead occupied a position just above her left nostril. She applied her fingernails and forced out the small black dot. Instinctively she reached out a hand to grab the antiseptic face cleanser she always kept by the sink at home only to find it wasn’t there. Old fashioned soap would have to do on this occasion. Another item to ask for when the nurse came.
She washed and dried her face. Leaning forwards, she ran a finger over her cracked lips. The atmosphere down here was warm and dry. Every morning she woke up with a raging thirst. She added lip balm to her mental wish list.
Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail. She brushed a stray strand behind her ear, her eyes drawn to a small vein pulsating at her temple. She pressed it in then released it, studying the way it fluttered briefly before resuming the rhythmic pulsing. Her heart beating, something she hadn’t expected to be the case a few short days ago. In the months before the birth, she had often wondered what it would be like to be dead. No sense of feeling, no thoughts, just like being asleep except with no prospect of ever waking up. The hardest thing to come to terms with was the idea of the world carrying on without her. In a sudden epiphany, she understood the urge to reproduce and have children. It was about part of a person continuing after they died. Without that, death would be a permanent ending.
The beep of the electronic lock disturbed her moment of reflection. She swivelled the chair around and headed into the main room. A nurse shuffled in carrying a tray containing Antimone’s breakfast, a breezy smile on her face.
“How are we today?”
She had only uttered four words, but already she had annoyed Antimone.
“I’m okay,” Antimone replied, glancing behind her to emphasise the point. “I don’t see anybody else here, though.”
“Somebody’s in a bad mood this morning, aren’t they? Didn’t you sleep well?”
Antimone wanted to snatch the tray out of this smug woman’s hands and fling it against the wall, but the smell of bacon and hot coffee was making her hungry. “I think you might be bad tempered too if you were stuck in one room, twenty-four hours a day with no sunlight.”
“These lights provide the same spectrum as the sun,” said the nurse, setting the tray down on the bed.
“You don’t get it, do you? It’s driving me mad being cooped up in here.”
“But you do get to see your baby, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but it’s boring as hell the rest of the time.”
“I wish I had the time to sit around and do nothing. You’ve got your music and reading material. What else would you be doing?”
“Jesus Christ,” Antimone muttered, shaking her head. “You really think it’s okay to keep somebody locked up in a tiny room as long as you bring them food and books and let them listen to music?”
“Well, um …”
“You must lead a really boring life if you think this is fun.”
The nurse flushed and folded her arms. “I’m doing my best to help you, but if you’d rather I didn’t.”
Antimone’s lips twitched with a slight smile. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but I’d just prefer to be elsewhere.”
The nurse seemed mollified. “By the way, my name’s Rose. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Um … Thanks, Rose. Actually, is there any chance you could get some face cleanser and maybe some lip balm?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Any chemicals, medicines or things like that, I need to get Dr Perrin to sign off first.”
Antimone shrugged. She glanced towards the open door, spotting the legs of the guard seated in the corridor. “Has he been there all night?” she asked.
The nurse looked perplexed for a second then turned around to see what Antimone was looking at. “Oh, him. Yes, I think so, or at least one of his friends.”
“You never answered me last time. Why is he there?”
The nurse hesitated. “You’d have to ask Dr Perrin or Mrs Baxter. They don’t tell me that sort of thing. That reminds me. Mrs Baxter said she’d be popping in to see you later.”
“Oh, right.”
“Well, I best be off. I’ll bring Paul round in half an hour or so. He’s a pretty baby. I’m sure he’ll break a few hearts when he’s older.”
“If he ever gets out of here,” Antimone muttered.
Chapter 34
Saturday 8th January 2033
Jason yawned and examined the dial of his alarm clock. Nine thirty. He flung the sheets back and slipped his feet into a pair of brown moccasin slippers. There was a silence about the house that suggested he had it to himself. His mother had said she was not planning to go to work today, but that meant nothing. Over the past fortnight, she had seemed more distant, spending less time than usual in the house, almost as if she was avoiding him. He still couldn’t get the overheard conversation out of his head. What had she called him? A little bastard and a prick.
She was certainly not the most affectionate of people. As a young child, she had kept him at arm’s length, relying on nannies and au pairs to look after him. Apart from a perfunctory kiss at bedtime, she had demonstrated very little warmth towards him. He could still recall his abiding childhood wish to be hugged by her, but it rarely, if ever, happened. When he turned thirteen, she explained that she had adopted him. She was reticent in providing details about his birth-mother. She told him his father had succumbed to cancer leaving his pregnant mother to fend for herself. When his mother died in childbirth, Rosalind had agreed to adopt Jason. Over the years, Jason had pressed her to describe his biological mother, but she always replied that she hadn’t known the woman well. She had even refused to let him know her name, saying she would tell him when he was older.
Over the last year or two, he felt they were becoming closer. He sensed that he still came second after the company, but at least they had shared some interesting conversations. She had even discussed some key business decisions with him and seemed pleased when he offered his opinion. During the past week, the longest discourse they had exchanged was in her office. By the time he woke up, she had long since departed for work. On the occasions when she had returned home at night, such as the previous evening, it was usually late and mostly, she was uncommunicative.
Jason wondered whether she still blamed him for getting Antimone pregnant. For the past two nights he had lain awake until the early hours, worrying about the future. It was clear that someone had drugged him, but where was the evidence? The only person who truly knew what had happened was Max, and he wasn’t about to confess. The big question was what to do about it. He could go to the police and tell them the whole story, but Max would only deny it. And if his mother wasn’t speaking to him now, he could only guess at what her
reaction would be if he handed himself in.
One thing was clear though: she intended to let Daniel Floyd take the blame. The man had certainly been in the house and had at the very least been trespassing. Why was he there? Apparently, nothing had been stolen, but he didn’t trust his mother to be truthful if something had gone missing. On top of that, he was a convicted murderer so did it matter if he took the rap for another death? The more he thought about it, the more it gnawed at his conscience. It was hard to feel sympathy for somebody who had slaughtered his own wife, but the man was innocent of Antimone's rape. But what could Jason do about it?
As he rolled that question around in his head, probing it like a sore tooth, an idea came to him. He didn’t know whether his mother had revealed Floyd’s location to the police yet, but if she hadn’t, he could warn the man to expect a visit. It wasn't a complete solution, but it would at least give Floyd a fighting chance of evading capture and help to salve his feeling of guilt.
But how to contact Floyd? Ideally he wanted to remain anonymous, but that was impractical. He knew the approximate location, a derelict building close to the railway station in Bedford. He could travel there by train, find Floyd and alert him. How the man would reaction was anybody’s guess, but he relegated that concern to the back of his mind. Maybe he could get some answers of his own, perhaps find out what Floyd was doing in the house and what he was searching for.
There was obviously some prior history with his mother, but she had always been reticent on the subject. He had read about Floyd’s court case on the Internet and discovered that his mother and Floyd had studied the same course at Cambridge University. According to the report they had even been boyfriend and girlfriend for a while. His mother never talked about that phase of her life and deflected any questions on the matter.
Jason padded along the hall to his mother’s room. He pushed the door open and was greeted by a waft of expensive perfume. “Mum,” he called, sticking his head in the gap. The curtains were drawn and the king-sized bed was made. Feeling like an intruder, he crossed the scarlet-coloured carpet to the en-suite bathroom. He rapped his knuckles on the solid wood and called her name again. No reply. He edged into the fully tiled wet-room. The scent of perfumed soap and shampoo assaulted his nostrils, but it was empty. He closed the doors behind him and retreated back to the hall.
He descended the stairs and was unsurprised to find the kitchen deserted. As expected, there was no sign of a note. He opened the dishwasher and inspected the contents: a plate flecked with toast crumbs, a coffee cup and a knife still smeared with butter. It seemed that his mother had eaten her customary breakfast and returned to work. For a moment he toyed with the idea of phoning the hospital to be sure but decided against it. After all, where else would she be?
He poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat at the island in the centre of the kitchen. What should he do? What would Antimone want him to do? The right thing was to hand himself in to the police and tell them the whole story, but he wasn’t quite ready to take that step yet.
“Damn it,” he said, dropping the spoon into the bowl. His mind decided, he hurried upstairs and got dressed.
Chapter 35
Saturday 8th January 2033
Antimone glanced up as the door opened. Rosalind Baxter entered the room, wearing a matching pale blue jacket and skirt. Antimone switched off the music, her gaze following the woman as she strolled across the floor.
“Hello, Antimone. How are you feeling today?”
“Bored,” Antimone muttered. “When are you going to let me out of here?”
“We still need to run some more tests, make sure you and the baby are okay.”
“He’s called Paul.”
“Yes, I know. I have a question for you, Antimone. Do you know how many women have survived childbirth in the past fifteen years or so?”
“I’m guessing none.”
“That’s right. In all that time, not one single woman has given birth and lived. Do you know how special that makes you?”
“Yeah, but I don’t feel very special at the moment. Why are you keeping me a prisoner in here?”
Rosalind smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re not a prisoner. You’re here so we can look after you.”
“So why is there a guard outside my door?”
“This is a classified area. We need to make sure no unauthorised people are wandering around.”
“Okay, but why is he sitting outside my door?”
“It’s just a convenient spot. He can see the whole corridor from there.”
“Hmm.” The tone of Antimone’s voice indicated her scepticism. “So why can’t I speak to my parents?”
“We’ve told them you’re doing well, but we can’t risk any possibility of infection.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t talk to them, though.”
“I’m sure it’s been explained to you. The work we do down here is very commercially sensitive. For that reason, we don’t allow calls to outside lines. Mobile phone signals are also blocked. You’ll be able to see them in a few more days.”
Antimone folded her arms. “Well, that’s a load of crap. Are you telling me you can’t arrange a telephone call?”
Rosalind’s expression hardened. “You should’ve checked the contract you and your parents signed. We agreed to give you the best care available, but in exchange you gave us exclusive rights to your genetic makeup. You also gave us permission to choose the treatment we felt most suitable for your condition. What we have decided upon is to keep you in total isolation.”
“But I didn’t expect to survive.”
“We didn’t expect you to survive either, but that doesn’t change anything. It’s our decision as to how we treat you.”
“So how long is this going to last?”
“Until we’re ready to discharge you, and we still have a huge amount to learn, so I’m not going to put a timescale on it.”
Antimone frowned. “You’re saying you can keep me here as long as you want?”
“Yes.”
“But I have human rights. We studied that in Ethics at school. You can’t just lock me up against my will.”
Rosalind sighed. “Look, Antimone. Do you know how many women have died since this virus first started? Let me tell you. Across the globe, it’s tens if not hundreds of millions. And amongst all those millions, you are unique. Do you have any idea how important you are?”
Antimone shrugged. Rosalind fixed her with her blue-grey eyes and continued. “Unless we find a solution in the next five or ten years, mankind is doomed. Already the birth rate has declined to something like a twentieth of what it once was. There aren’t enough children being born to maintain the species. But you contain the answer. Somehow you survived. Think about the lives you can save. It’s no exaggeration to say that you could be the person who saves the human race. Isn’t that worth a few days of your time?”
“I still don’t see why I can’t talk to my parents.”
“Look. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. At the moment we’ve provided a wheelchair, we allow you to see your son several times a day even though it’s extra work for the nurses, you have music to listen to and books to read. Now imagine life stuck in this room with none of those things. Think what that would be like.”
“So now you’re threatening me?”
“No. I’m just saying how things could be. I hope you realise how important it is that we determine why you survived and agree to cooperate. For whatever reason, you’ve been given a remarkable gift. Don’t you think it’s right to share it with the rest of the planet?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you what. Let me speak to my parents, and I’ll let you do what you like without complaining or anything.”
The two females stared at each other in silence.
“Well?” Antimone asked.
The ring of her mobile phone spared Rosalind from having to answer. She withdrew the device from a pocket inside her jacket and held it to
her ear.
“Yes, Nigel. What is it? I’m a little busy at the moment.”
She listened while the voice on the other end of the line spoke.
“You’ve what?”
Antimone heard the tinny voice say something else but could not distinguish the words.
“Excellent news. I’ll be with you right away.”
Rosalind clicked off the phone and put it away.
Antimone glared at her. “I thought you said mobile phones don’t work down here.”
“My phone is different,” Rosalind said, turning around and heading for the door.
Chapter 36
Saturday 8th January 2033
Jason stepped from the train onto the platform at Bedford station. A handful of people hurried towards the exit. He followed the general flow and waved his phone over the reader to open the barrier. A cold wind infiltrated his blue winter jacket as he descended the steps outside. He looked both ways, attempting to identify any buildings that gave the appearance of being derelict. A row of trees obscured his line of sight. The only structure of which he had an unobstructed view was a nine-storey block of flats. Faded text extended along the brickwork above the ground-floor windows, but the lettering was no longer decipherable. Whilst it seemed a little run-down, the curtains in the windows and the furniture on the balconies indicated that people still lived there.
He passed a taxi rank of autonomous vehicles as he crossed the car park. A residential road led straight ahead, but all the properties seemed to be in a good state of repair. He debated with himself whether to knock on one of the doors and ask if the resident knew of any abandoned properties in the immediate vicinity. Instead, he decided to investigate further before approaching the locals. Glancing to his right, he spotted a green and yellow sign, just over a hundred metres away and headed in that direction. As he drew closer, his eyes picked out the words ‘Service, Tyres and Batteries’. Maybe the owners would be able to give him some hints as to where to look.
Decimation: The Girl Who Survived Page 14