by Phil Gilvin
‘Ha,’ said Tesley. ‘Welcome to the Republic. Come on, time to get this generator.’
They hurried across the space between the trees and the fence and crouched behind the plinth. Besides the rattle of the engine, Clara could now hear the hum of an electric transformer, and smell the hot wires and grease. She tried to concentrate, to forget what she’d seen.
‘Make sure the lantern’s okay,’ said Tesley. ‘We’ll need it when the lights go out. When they do, get back under the trees.’ He grabbed the long-handled tool, and Clara saw that it had a pincer-like pair of jaws. Despite his shaking hands, Tesley worked quickly through the links of the outer fence, snipping each in turn. Soon he’d cut through from top to bottom. ‘Give me a hand,’ he said, and together they peeled back the wire, creating an opening big enough to slip through. Now they were in the space, about four feet wide, between the inner and outer fences. Just inside the inner fence was the generator, and at their feet ran the main cable.
Tesley checked his watch. ‘Two minutes,’ he said, swallowing hard. ‘Pass me the axe.’
Clara touched his arm. ‘You won’t get electrocuted?’
He tried to smile. ‘Not if I’m quick.’
They crouched with their backs to the inner fence, the noise and fume of the generator filling their senses.
‘Is it time yet?’ asked Clara. ‘I don’t like it here–’ She broke off as a muscular arm clamped itself around her neck, fixing her against the wire. There was a stench of rotten meat and she could feel something digging into the back of her head. She couldn’t breathe. The arm locked itself under her jaw and forced her head upwards. She tried to scream, but only a choking sound escaped.
There was a rushing in her ears, and little lights began to flash in her eyes. Tesley was crying, ‘What shall I do? What shall I do?’ Then she heard shouting, and the fence shook behind her. Once, twice, the wires crashed away then bit back into her shoulders, the vibrations rattling along the fence. Then the throttling hand was wrenched away, twisting Clara’s neck to her left as she fell to the ground, gasping.
‘Clara! Clara! Are you all right?’ Tesley’s voice, from far away.
She rolled onto all fours. ‘The cable,’ she croaked. ‘Do it – cut the cable.’
For a moment Tesley stood, irresolute. Then swinging the axe high, he slammed it down and through the main cable. There was a loud crack and a brief spark – Tesley staggered backwards – and all the lights went out. The generator, robbed of its loading, surged and changed pitch. Behind her, Clara could hear the grunts and yells of the monster-child that had grabbed her, as it now pounded the fence in frustration.
Blinded by the throttling and the sudden deep darkness, Clara groped around for the lantern until, as her eyes adjusted, she found it lying a couple of feet from the fence. She uncovered it, and held it up. ‘Tesley!’ she called. ‘Tesley, where are you?’
‘Here,’ he gasped. ‘Over here.’ He lay sprawled on his back, the axe clenched in his right hand. He struggled to his feet. ‘We’ve got to go. This way.’
Clara crawled away from the fence then hauled herself upright, her legs trembling. Inside the compound, they could see the yellow beams of electric torches. ‘They’re coming,’ said Tesley. ‘Wait, don’t forget the cutters.’
Clara followed Tesley as he headed for the trees. They slithered down the sloping ground to the river, doubling the end of the compound fence before toiling back uphill through a wild meadow of long grass and nettles. She felt her strength ebbing. Her windpipe was swollen and there was a throbbing in her neck. She began to feel dizzy, and as she followed Tesley into the copse she staggered and fell. His hands were under her armpits; she was lifted to her feet. He helped her to a tree and waited as she leant on it, gasping.
‘Ready?’ he said. ‘We’ve got to get across that road and up the hill.’
Clara nodded, but she had to lean on Tesley’s arm as he led her between the trees and back to the road. ‘What’s happening?’ she whispered.
Tesley looked down the road. There was a commotion within the compound, but as yet, no movement outside. ‘Quick, across the road,’ he hissed, dragging Clara with him as he hurried forward, holding the lantern low. Then they were struggling up the hill, their feet sinking into thick turf.
Clara realised that Tesley was still holding her arm. ‘I – I can manage on my own now,’ she panted.
Tesley released her without a word and pressed on. As Clara struggled after him, she heard him mutter: ‘I can’t stand this anymore. Can’t bloody stand it. Can’t go on.’
They reached the top of the hill. Down in a field, a dark lantern cast the faintest of glows. The Scrapers had made it. Clara and Tesley were only allowed two minutes’ rest before they set off again, and Clara staggered and stumbled as they marched through the rest of that night. Nobody asked how she was, nobody offered to help; but she noticed that Jack was following her close behind. There was no pause until, just before dawn, they halted near Shillingford. Another night’s trek would bring them to Oxford. Despite her bruised throat Clara was overcome with weariness. As she fell quickly into a deep sleep, she thought she heard the sounds of marching feet, of horses and women.
‘The rains will come soon,’ said Catwall, peering up at the sky. The day had been a cool, with a low mist, and few of the Scrapers had slept. Now the night had come, but the near-full moon was hidden behind a thick blanket of cloud, and there was a chill in the air. Clara hugged her cloak around her as she kept pace with the old woman. ‘They will be bad this year, I think,’ Catwall added.
‘How can you tell?’ said Clara, who’d learned enough about the old woman to take her seriously.
Catwall glanced at Clara, then patted her arm. ‘I have seen too many rainy seasons in my time. Even if I try, I cannot forget them all. And they are getting worse. Some years better than others, but always getting worse. This feels like the summer we had twelve or thirteen years ago. Those were the worst rains I remember.’
At a busy stream, they stopped to drink and to refill their water-bottles. Clara found Jack crouching at the water’s edge.
‘D’you think this water’s clean?’ she whispered, stooping down beside him.
Jack looked up. ‘Yeah, the small streams are always better,’ he said. ‘How’s the neck?’
‘Oh,’ said Clara, turning to look at him. ‘Thanks for asking. It’s sore. But I’m getting used to people trying to strangle me.’
‘What’s that?’ said Jack. ‘It’s happened before?’
‘Not long before you found me. An old – an ex-school friend. She tried to kill me. Maybe I deserved it.’ She stood up. ‘I don’t think I’m a very good person to know, Jack.’
Jack stood and followed. ‘How did you get on with Tesley?’
‘Okay. I mean, we did the job. That Geemo would’ve killed me if Tesley hadn’t saved my life. He’s a bit strange, though. Sometimes he seems like an overgrown boy.’
Jack grimaced as he threw a stone in the stream. ‘I reckon you’re right,’ he said. ‘He seems a bit weird to me. I’d trust Acker more’n him.’
Catwall took a pull from her bottle as they set off again. ‘Ah!’ she said, smacking her lips. ‘Sweet water from the streams. They’re good and clean here. There are not enough people left to pollute them. Even the Thames is mostly clean, up here above the reservoirs.’
The night was dark, and Clara was having to concentrate on where she was putting her feet. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
Catwall looked around. ‘People do not believe me. But listen. Why is it that most people in the Republic are docile, hey? Why do they never rise up? Why do we have to work so hard for the Revolution?’
‘But why should they rise up?’
‘Why should they?’ sneered Catwall. ‘Why should they? Because people are starving, children are dying, and the young ones are pressed to war. That would be enough to make anyone rise up. But nothing happens. And why? That is what I ask. And then I see thes
e tons of chemicals going in the reservoirs.’
‘They say it’s to keep the water clean.’
Catwall waved a hand. ‘No. Maybe there was a time, when the land was full of people, that the rivers got filthy. And yes, in those days, maybe they needed to clean them up. But you look at the rivers now. They are pure.’ She shook her head. ‘No. There is more to Aquaster than keeping water clean. You are a Natural, I think?’
‘… Yes.’
‘Well, Natural is the right word. It is natural to breed, is it not? To mate, to copulate?’
Clara didn’t know what to say. She thought of her mother, and James, behaving like animals. It was disgusting, or so she’d been taught. But it was how she’d come into existence.
‘So,’ went on Catwall, ‘if it is natural to breed, why isn’t everyone doing it?’
‘Well,’ said Clara, ‘I suppose there aren’t enough men?’
‘Tchah! If you want a man, you can find one. Of course, you can keep it private – but you cannot keep it secret. If many people were breeding, we would all know.’ She gestured a rounded belly. ‘No,’ she went on, plucking at Clara’s sleeve. ‘People are just not interested. And why? It is because of Aquaster, that is why. It keeps us quiet, docile – and not interested in sex.’
‘What?’
‘Not interested in breeding. It takes away the natural desires.’
Clara frowned. She remembered Bella having to drink bottled water, and what Dr Daniels had said about the water supply. But she said, ‘No, surely it can’t be. If the Republic was changing us, controlling us all, just by putting chemicals in the water – surely someone would know. We’d find out.’
‘How?’ sneered Catwall. ‘Would you read about it in The Republican Woman? Would they announce it in the streets?’
‘There’d be a record of it,’ said Clara. ‘Somewhere there’d be a record.’
They could hardly tell when dawn broke the next day, under a grey mist that lingered in the fields and collected in the hollows. This close to the busy town of Oxford, the Don had selected some woods for their halt, away from prying eyes. Clara and a few others were detailed to collect wood for the cooking-fire.
The woodland was mixed, and Clara found herself in a grove of pines, the ground springy with needles. She’d heard that pine cones were useful for starting fires, so she pushed a few into her pockets. It was harder to find decent-sized twigs and branches, so she wandered beyond the pines in search of more.
‘Hello,’ said a voice.
Clara turned. Tesley was sitting on a fallen bough, arms folded on his knees. A pile of sticks lay beside him. ‘I always like to watch the dawn.’ he murmured.
‘Not much to see this morning,’ said Clara.
‘No, but I like the feel of it. Listen to all those birds.’
Clara sat near him, and listened. Songs and chirrups of all kinds filled the air above their heads.
‘They say it’s a blessing for the birds that humans have nearly died out,’ said Tesley. ‘There’s so much space for them nowadays.’
Clara shivered. ‘It reminds me of – of the woods near home.’
‘Do you get lonely sometimes?’ said Tesley. ‘Even amongst people?’
Clara nodded. ‘Yes, that’s exactly it.’
‘Me too.’
Clara looked at Tesley. This man had saved her life, so she was grateful. And now it seemed they had more in common. ‘Uh, you said you were living with a girl, in Pangbourne?’
Tesley gave a rueful laugh. ‘Yeah, I was.’
‘Living – you know – like Naturals?’
‘Ha. Yes, just like Naturals.’
‘I used to think I was a Clone,’ said Clara. ‘I’ve spent all my life despising Naturals, and now I find I am one.’
‘It must be hard for you.’
A robin settled on a branch just above their heads. ‘Yes, I’ve got so much to learn. What happened to your friend? Did she get arrested?’
She realised Tesley had been staring at her. ‘No,’ he said. ‘She just left me.’ His voice trembled. ‘So, like I say, I’ve been very lonely.’
‘Still,’ said Clara, ‘at least you’ve got the Scrapers.’
‘I mean, lonely for women, Clara.’
‘But the Scrapers are mostly women.’
‘None of them like me. But I think you like me.’ He slipped his arm around her shoulders.
Clara twitched away. ‘Yes, but–’
‘There’s nothing to be afraid of,’ said Tesley, his voice cooing. ‘I can help you to be Natural, you see …’
Clara realised he’d slipped his hand under her tunic and was rubbing it up her back. His skin felt rough and cold, and she gasped. ‘Don’t–’ she said, but in an instant his mouth, wet and bristly, covered hers. She twisted her head away.
‘Come on, dear Clara,’ he moaned in her ear.
She pushed him away and leapt to her feet, her heart beating fast. Then from nearby she heard a voice, one of the other Scrapers: ‘Tesley, Clara! Where are yer?’ said Don. ‘Where’s all the firewood?’
It was enough to break the spell, even though the speaker was out of sight. Clara turned and hurried up the slope, but before she’d got far she felt her wrist grabbed.
‘Get off me!’ she panted.
Tesley was sneering. ‘You’ll come back to me, love. Now you’ve had a taste, hey?’
Clara snatched her arm away. ‘I’m going to tell the Don,’ she said, turning away.
‘Ah, no you’re not.’ His grin was twisted. ‘Not unless you want your little friend to have an accident.’
Clara gasped. ‘Jack?’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘Or Matty?’
Tesley raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, yeah. Thanks for that – I hadn’t thought of Matty. Yeah, so no word to anyone.’ He went off chuckling.
They had settled for the night. Clara lay as close as she could to Ma, and tried to position herself so that Tesley couldn’t reach her without treading on someone. She felt hot and angry. A couple of women, lying in their blankets near Clara, were still talking.
‘I hear they’ve got super-clones now,’ said one, ‘that can go without food for days. And they’re easy to make, too.’
‘Where d’you hear that, then?’
‘The Don told me,’ said the first woman. ‘And there was all that about guns, and all. They’re getting more of ’em. Got all that steel in London, ha’n’t they?’
But Ma had begun to snore and Clara gave up trying to listen. Instead she lay thinking. First, she had to get away from Tesley. She couldn’t bear to think of him always watching her, always ready to creep up on her again. Was he the “typical man” she’d learned about in so many lessons, the man who controls women and forces them to do his will? So was the Republic right about men? She thought of James. He and Sophia must have mated, it was true; but she remembered the fire in Sophia’s eyes when she’d declared how much she loved him. Then the Don, and even Acker: they seemed harmless enough, if you didn’t count a tendency to knife Repsegs. But then, Tesley had seemed harmless at first. And what about Jack? She liked Jack. He was helpful, if a bit moody and a bit childish. But how could you tell what a man was like? She had so much to learn. But Tesley – she would never trust him again.
Second, they were about to reach Oxford, and in Oxford was the Republic’s second library, the Bodleian. Clara knew that the Republic’s records had been deliberately divided between there and London. That way, if enemies destroyed one, at least some records would be safe. So there was a lot of information to be had at the Bodleian, including the records of the Fortis College, where Repsegs were trained. There were other things that Clara wanted to know, too. And wasn’t a library where she really belonged? So the best thing would be to leave the Scrapers.
In any case, she hated stealing from people. Even though she’d carried on thieving like a good Scraper, she’d never been able to forget the weeping woman in the lonely house. No, she’d have to leave. She’d miss Ma, and Matt
y, and Jack – but none of the others. She wasn’t one of them, and she never would be.
A roughness on the floor – a stone, or a root – was pressing into her back. As she turned over, something rustled in her breast pocket. She fished it out, and even by the weak daylight she could see what it was. It had survived a soaking and a drying, and was still legible: her Letter of Introduction from Mater Hedera, the letter she’d used that day long ago, when Harriet Butcher first took her to the Republic Library. And as she re-read it, she had an idea.
Before she fell asleep an hour later, she’d checked three times to make sure Tesley was nowhere near.
They trudged amongst the oaks and beeches of the Great Thames Wood, on the approaches to Oxford. The rain had passed, and the waxing moon was rising as the stars peered through gaps in the canopy. Twice tonight they’d heard far-off wolves, and Clara was sure she’d seen eyes reflected among the trees; but so far, the Scrapers’ numbers had kept the animals away. Occasionally a night-bird sang in the thick branches overhead, as the river gurgled nearby.
The dense undergrowth of fern and nettle was still wet from the day’s rain. Clara’s trousers, slimed and soaking, stuck to her legs. It began to feel as if she’d spent her whole life ploughing through unseen obstacles in the dark. Jack slouched along beside her. Although she was bursting to tell him about Tesley, she dared not.
‘Do you always keep going like this?’ she asked instead. ‘I mean, don’t you ever stop in one place?’ As soon as she’d said it, she knew what Jack’s answer would be: something about it being obvious why they couldn’t stop, about how they’d get caught if they did, and about how stupid she was for asking. But she was wrong.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Sometimes feels like it’d be good to do that. See what things look like in the daytime.’ He gave a rueful chuckle. ‘But we do all right, I guess.’