by Phil Gilvin
‘I haven’t a clue why,’ said Clara. ‘I don’t know why anyone would. How did Matty – I mean–’
‘What’s a cute little thing like her doing with a bunch of down-and-outs and robbers?’ said Ma, with a wry grin. ‘We was up Amersham way one time. ’Bout a year ago. Broke into this house, and there she was – her mother was there, dead. Starved in her bed. Matty was nearly dead herself.’
‘Her mother starved to death?’ said Clara. ‘How? I mean, didn’t she get food coupons?’
Ma gave a grim laugh. ‘There’s worse criminals out there than the Scrapers. There’s worse even than the Republic. I’m guessing it was a protection deal. Give us your coupons, and we won’t burn your house down, with you inside it. Or, give us your coupons, and we won’t take your little girl away and sell her.’
Clara looked at Matty, who was triumphantly pulling something out of her pack, her eyes shining in a freckled face, and thought she could see what her mother had died for.
They walked mostly across open country that night, impeded only by tangled hedges that had invaded entire meadows, and by the occasional muddy ditch. Clara took care not to get Matty’s dress wet. At first, the feel of leg against leg as she walked had been odd, and she’d felt a mixture of shame and excitement – the way Bella, the old Bella of the Academy, used to make her feel. She secretly enjoyed the freedom it gave her, the play of the wind around her knees, the swirl of the cotton as she walked. At least, she did until they were making their way up a grassy slope and she heard a voice, low and close behind her.
‘Very nice, Clara. Almost makes you look attractive.’ It was Tesley, and he gave her a wink and a grin as he strode on past. Clara wondered what he’d meant. Was this the kind of thing Naturals said to each other, thought Clara? Did he mean she was attractive, or that she was so ugly that even a nice dress couldn’t help? Whatever he meant, how was she supposed to feel? And what was she supposed to say?
The next night she was back in her Truth Sister clothes, having explained to Matty that she didn’t want to tear her lovely dress, or get it dirty. And, since it looked like physical contact was used differently out here in the wild, she’d made herself give Matty a little hug, by way of thanks. She hoped Matty appreciated it.
At Sonning, they crossed the Thames and turned north. After another successful night’s “scraping”, Clara was allowed to keep some of the beer she’d stolen. When they camped for the day in yet another closed hamlet, Clara led Jack and Matty to a tiny cottage that smelt of mould but still boasted a broken sofa and a couple of chairs. The dawn was warm, humid, and still. Even the mosquitoes were lethargic.
Jack showed them how to prise the caps off the bottles on the edge of the mantelpiece, and soon they were slumped in the chairs, guzzling. Matty managed a couple of mouthfuls before moving to the window to watch the birds playing in the wilderness that had once been a garden.
Clara took the bottle out of her mouth with a pop. ‘So, Jack – what did you get today?’
Jack shrugged and burped. ‘Got some veg. Sassy wanted some taters and that.’
‘Who’s Sassy?’
‘Sassy’s the one who’s been cooking for you this last week, stupid. It’s her turn, see. I had this bastard of a lock to open, took me nearly ten minutes. Big house, though, so I knew it’d be worth it. And when I got in, there was this dog – fast asleep! So I had to work real quiet, and there was a box in the pantry, so I filled that up, then I couldn’t get the box out through the window – had to use the door. I had to stand on a chair to get the top bolt open.’
‘You did all that with a dog in the room?’
‘Fast asleep, it was.’
‘Lucky for you,’ said Clara, peering at him through the bottle. ‘Is this beer stronger than usual?’
‘How would you know? It’s not like you’ve drunk a lot o’ beer in your time.’
‘Well, I got lots of things tonight. I got–’
‘Yeah, I know. You done all right. You don’t want to get cocky, though.’
‘You’re just jealous,’ said Clara, and as she shifted in her chair the room spun a little.
‘What d’you mean? I’m giving a bit of advice, like.’
‘You don’t want to see me doing anything. You’re afraid I’ll be better than you.’
Jack slammed his bottle down. ‘Stuck up little tart like you. You’re one of them, that’s what you are, you’re just a rich little slut who’s got what was coming to her. You think you’re so sodding grand.’
Clara swallowed. ‘Well, you’re a scrawny little rat who’s got washed up with this bunch of losers because you can’t do anything else. You’re a – a baby!’
Matty ran between them, her hands covering her ears, her elbows stuck out to the sides. ‘Stop it, stop it!’ she cried, her small chest heaving up and down. ‘You mustn’t fight. I hate it when people argue.’ Tears ran down her cheeks. ‘It’s horrid.’
Jack stood and put an arm round her. He glared at Clara. ‘It’s all right, Matty, we never meant it. It was like a joke, see? A joke?’ And he led her away.
Clara fell back on the sofa and swore.
Less than an hour into the next night’s march, the Scrapers halted. ‘What’s going on?’ Clara asked the woman behind her.
‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘Don’t normally stop this early.’
‘Reckon we’ve took a wrong turn,’ said another woman.
Clara looked up. The moon was bright, but the clouds were building together into great dismal rafts, driven by a keen wind. It would be easy to mistake the way, even for seasoned navigators like the Scrapers.
‘I’m going to find out,’ she said, and began pushing her way up the column. In less than a minute she came upon a knot of people arguing in low voices. Ma and Acker were there, and the moon glinted on the Don’s greasy head as it turned this way and that; but beyond the group, Clara could easily see why they’d stopped. A tall wire fence, topped with barbs and supported by concrete posts, stretched out of sight in either direction. Further on, there seemed to be an inner fence, then some low buildings. Shreds of light appeared here and there, while a low drone came from amongst the trees on their right.
‘Wait,’ said someone – Clara thought she could make out Tesley’s voice – I know where we are. This is the Geneco Labs. They’re down by the river. We’re at Beale.’
‘And, may I ask, how did we come to find ourselves here?’ the Don’s whisper was menacing.
‘Look,’ said Ma, ‘it don’t much matter how we got here. Point is, what we gonna do?’
The bushes to Clara’s right quivered, and a short, wiry shadow emerged.
‘Jack,’ said Ma. ‘What’ve you found?’
‘Fence goes on for about two hundred yards,’ panted Jack. ‘Turns left just short of the river – generator’s down there, right by the fence. The place covers a good few acres.’
There was a silence while the news sunk in; then Clara heard something above the noise of the generator. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I think there are motor-trucks coming.’
Acker turned on her, pointing a finger, but then stopped. ‘Shit, her ladyship’s right. Look.’
Away behind them, a yellow brightness silhouetted the brow of the hill. The trees around it seemed to recede and advance as the light moved.
‘Everyone get back away from the road,’ hissed the Don. ‘And stay down.’ Word was passed back down the column, and soon the Scrapers were swallowed up in the shadows.
They were just in time. Four trucks crested the rise, their engines horribly loud in the still night, their headlamps dazzling the Scrapers’ dark-adapted eyes. At the same moment, the compound’s generator roared and bright floodlights sprang up, bathing the gates and the roadway in white. The trucks, dark and box-like, roared down the hill past the watching Scrapers, and in through the gates. They disappeared into the compound, and in a few minutes their engines ceased and the generator resumed its chugging. There were shouts, the screech and clang of ga
tes, and the sound of heavy footfalls on the road. And the beams of electric torches.
Clara was close enough to hear the Don’s orders. ‘Stay low,’ he whispered. ‘They cannot know we are here.’
‘Looks like they’re staying up on the road,’ said Acker. ‘Setting guard. Repsegs.’ Clara heard him crack his knuckles.
‘Mr Tesley,’ said the Don. ‘What do you know about this place?’
The floodlight scattered back onto Tesley’s smooth, pale features. ‘High security,’ he said. ‘Used to come over this way a lot. They’ve always got an armed guard on the gate. It’s supposed to be Geneco, but the government’s in deep, too. Virus weapon research, they said. We used to see Ministry vans, and there’s usually a few Repsegs around.’
‘I can see that, my friend. But what is the layout? How can we get away?’
Tesley thought. Clara could hear the guards up on the road, talking and laughing.
‘Down behind the compound you get to the river,’ said Tesley. ‘If the water’s high, it comes right up to the fence. But with the dry weather, it’s probably lower now. We should be able to get between the water and the compound, round to the other side.’
‘Any cover?’ asked Acker.
‘These trees, and another copse, round the far side, by the road.’
‘And if we make the copse,’ said the Don, ‘what lies across the road?’
‘Across the road?’ said Tesley. ‘There’s a hill. But the Repsegs’ll see us. We can’t all sneak across while they’re not looking.’
‘We can, if they are looking elsewhere,’ said the Don. ‘You know how a generator works, do you not?’
‘A generator?’ said Tesley. ‘I can run one, I suppose–’
‘Go and find Della, and get what tools you need. You, my friend, are going to disable the generator. All the lights will go out, and if we are lucky, our Repsegs will go to investigate. By the time they get there, you will have escaped round the back of the compound.’
‘But I can’t,’ spluttered Tesley. ‘I mean, on my own–’
Acker chuckled. ‘You can take a friend if you like. Take Princess, over there.’
‘Give word to all,’ said the Don. ‘Be ready to make a run for it – across the road, over the hill and keep going. As quietly as we can. As soon as the lights go out, we move. Mr Tesley, you will disable the generator in exactly–’ the light glowed on his wrist again ‘–fifteen minutes. We will cross the road, then make for the copse. There we will wait for five minutes. If you have not joined us by then, we will move on.’
Tesley pushed past Clara, swearing and shaking his head. As he disappeared under the trees, Jack materialised at Clara’s side. ‘Now you’re for it,’ he muttered.
‘What do you mean?’ whispered Clara.
‘You got a job to do. You’ve got to go with Tesley.’
‘Go with Tesley? I’m not going with him. He’s got to disable the generator.’
‘Didn’t you hear what Acker said?’
‘Something about taking a friend? Who’s Princess?’ Then Clara jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder.
‘Come on, Clara,’ said Tesley, ‘let’s get going.’ He loomed out of the darkness, carrying an axe, another thing with two long handles, and a dark lantern, which he gave to her. ‘Take this, and mind you keep it dark.’
Clara looked at Jack.
‘Told ya,’ he said.
‘I can’t – that is – he didn’t mean me, did he?’
‘Come on,’ hissed Tesley.
After one more irresolute glance at Jack, Clara found herself blundering alongside Tesley, through the trees.
‘Bloody Don,’ muttered Tesley over his shoulder. ‘Here, you go on ahead with the lantern.’
Following the fence, they hurried down the long slope that led to the river. For ten yards outside it the trees had been cleared, leaving a mixture of stumps, moss and tussocky grass. Clara held the lantern low, but for the time being there was enough light reflecting out from the compound for them to see.
‘It’s always the same,’ went on Tesley. ‘He hates me, that man. It’s never anyone else who gets the dirty work.’
‘I thought Acker liked to do some of it?’
Tesley snorted. ‘Acker’s fine if he’s the one with the knife. If there’s an unarmed old woman to get rid of.’
Inside the fence the shapes of long, low buildings were silhouetted by the floodlights. The rumble of the generator was getting closer, but as they descended, Clara became aware of another sound. ‘Have they got animals here?’ she whispered.
‘No,’ said Tesley. ‘Not animals. Stop here,’ he added. ‘Keep out of the light.’
To their left, the last of the buildings ended. Beyond it they could see an open yard and, at the turning of the fence, the generator cage. The generator itself was secured by a thick steel housing mounted on a concrete plinth, but the insulated cables that ran from it were exposed.
Tesley nodded towards it. ‘All we’ve got to do,’ he said between his teeth, ‘is cut through the first wire fence, then chop through the main cable.’
‘Er, is that safe?’ said Clara.
‘It’s safe for the Don,’ said Tesley. ‘And let’s face it, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?’
‘It’s dangerous, then?’
‘This axe,’ said Tesley, ‘has got a wooden handle. It shouldn’t conduct any current. Shouldn’t.’
Again, Clara heard what she thought were animal cries, like wounded dogs, or maybe like the apes that men used to keep in zoos. She looked at Tesley, his face pale in the gloom. ‘What’s behind this building?’ she said. ‘What’s in the yard?’
Tesley put the axe down and pushed something on his left wrist. A faint glow lit up his face. ‘Still ten minutes to go,’ he said.
‘Can’t we go back under the trees?’ Clara whispered. ‘We can come out again behind the generator.’
‘Yeah, good idea. We can wait there for a bit.’ He wiped his brow. ‘It’s warm tonight.’
They ran under the trees and hid behind some pungent bushes with leathery, hand-sized leaves. From here they could see the outline of the generator and hear its throaty cough, but now the bushes obscured most of the yard.
After a minute, Clara said, ‘Do you know this place, then?’
They were crouching close enough for her to smell his sweat. She felt, rather than saw, his head turn. ‘Oh,’ he said, his voice barely audible above the generator, ‘I lived with a girl in Pangbourne for a while. It’s not far from here. I had a delivery job – servant’s wages – used to deliver up here sometimes.’
‘So you saw things?’
‘Yeah. And overheard things, too. There was always something going on at Geneco.’
Clara was about to ask Tesley whether they ought to get on with the job, when a great howling went up from the yard. There were yells, and fierce, bestial growls – growls that had a horrible familiarity. Clara’s heart skipped a beat. Drawn forward, they pushed aside the leaves and peered out. And when Clara realised what she was seeing, she had to push a fist into her mouth to stop herself crying out.
The yard was a blaze of floodlights. At the far end, one of the motor trucks had reversed through tall steel gates topped with barbed wire. A dozen women – not Repsegs, by their uniforms – had fanned out into the yard and were brandishing long sticks that crackled as they swept them through the air. They advanced slowly, driving their quarry before them, towards a ramp that led into the van. But it wasn’t animals they were driving. In form they were like naked children, bleached white in the fierce light; but their heads were oddly small, and their limbs and chests rippled with huge muscles. Despite their size, their voices were deep and throaty, and Clara was reminded vividly of the riot on London Bridge. The children leaped this way and that to avoid the sticks, keeping their distance as they roared and spat at their captors.
At first, Clara had no idea what the sticks were, and why the children were scared of them; bu
t then one, more reckless than the rest, evaded a lunge and leapt onto one of the guards, forcing her down and sinking its teeth into her face. Even as the guard screamed, another leapt forward and struck the child with the end of her stick. There was a loud crack, and the child lay twitching on the ground, its jaw clenching and unclenching. The incident enraged the others, who yelled and spat still more; but now they were more afraid than ever of the sticks. The guards drove at them, and within a minute the van was full. Recovering their groaning comrade, the guards threw the stunned child into the van with the others, and bolted the doors. With a guttural roar and in a cloud of smoke – Clara could taste the fumes from where she stood – the van pulled away. The gates were slammed behind it. For a minute or two the half-dozen remaining children yelled and threw themselves at the gates, but then they seemed to realise the futility of it, and faded away into the corners of the compound.
‘By the Teacher! What are they?’
Tesley looked down at her. ‘They’re Geemos. There’s a war on, and whoever’s got the best fighters is going to win. Geneco keep trying to design better ones – soldiers who can’t feel pain, who’ll keep fighting till they’ve no blood left in them, who are happy to die for the Republic. This lot look like another failed experiment.’
‘They’re Geemos? The Republic breeds Geemos?’
‘Have done for years. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.’
‘But – you said about soldiers – don’t they need soldiers right now? I mean, they’ll take years to grow big enough to fight, won’t they? So they’ll be no use. The war could be over.’
‘Think again. Geneco have a nice little motto for their military project. From egg to front line in a year.’
‘They grow that quickly?’
‘I’d say this lot are probably four or five months old – half way to maturity. But something tells me they’d be no good at obeying orders. They’re taking them for disposal.’
‘Disposal …’
‘Well, they’re no use, are they?’
Clara looked again for the remaining children, but they had all hidden in the shadows. ‘They’ll kill them? That’s awful. It’s barbaric.’