End of the End

by Paul Kane, Simon Guerrier

  “But it didn’t work,” said Jack. “What went wrong?”

  “Shut down and SCRAM deals with the problem in the short-term,” said the Ranger. “But a nuclear power station can’t just be switched off, it must be properly decommissioned.”

  “And what with everything else going on, that didn’t happen,” said Jack.

  “We assume the technicians died in The Cull or in everything that happened thereafter. The Blood Hunters were active in that area, until the Rangers dealt with them.”

  “And all that time, the power station is sitting there, like a ticking bomb. So, back to my first question: what can be done? We send the experts up there...”

  “That’s been done,” said the Ranger. “The library supplied us with the best information available on the decommissioning process. From the Blood Hunters, we have a limited stock of protective suits. So Professor Owens led a team of delegates from all the different regions.”

  “Which helped knit you all together,” said Jack. “This new government forged in the time of England’s greatest need.”

  The Ranger didn’t smile. “Owens was successful. Heysham is in the process of being decommissioned, the pile disposed at sea.”

  “But there’s still hundreds, maybe thousands of people, who’ll get sick or die from contamination already in the air,” said Jane.

  “That’s one problem,” said the Ranger. “Of more concern is that Heysham was just one site. There are nine more nuclear reactors, all around the country. They all need urgent attention.”

  “So,” said Jack, “you leave a group at Heysham, and send Owens and his team to each one of the others in turn. But I guess then it’s political; where do you send him first?”

  “Owens didn’t survive his time in Heysham,” said the Ranger. “Only two of the delegates did. We’ve lost the knowledge of those who died. We’ve lost the suits they were wearing—though the protection they gave was clearly limited anyway. The books they had with them are contaminated, and cannot be moved from the site. So we’ve a pressing, widespread problem, requiring expertise we don’t have. As you put it yourself, what can be done?”

  Jack didn’t know. He turned to Jane. She stared coolly at the Ranger. “You’re asking for volunteers.”

  The Ranger simply nodded.

  “But who in their right mind would do that?” asked Jack.

  “You should think better of your subjects, Your Majesty,” said the Ranger—which got a mumble of approval from the other members round the chamber. “We already have volunteers for most locations. They know their chances, but they know what’s at stake if someone doesn’t come forward.”

  “Right,” said Jack, awed by the thought of such sacrifice. “It sounds like you’ve got it all wrapped up. So where do we come in?”

  The Ranger hesitated. The members around him sat forward, eager for this moment. Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

  “Your Majesty,” said the Ranger, “there are two nuclear reactors at Dungeness, in Kent. If either explodes, no one will be able to use the Channel Tunnel. Even by boat, it’s the shortest crossing to France. It would effectively cut off this country from Europe.”

  Someone muttered from the back bench that that might not be such a bad thing. There was a roar of laughter, a welcome release of tension. Then all eyes returned to Jack.

  “Well,” he said. “A nuclear meltdown isn’t exactly us controlling the border. We should send people down there as a priority.”

  The members agreed with his sentiment, a little too keenly.

  “Dungeness is fifty miles from St Mark’s,” said the Ranger.

  “Right,” said Jack.

  “He means,” said Jane, “that it’s our responsibility.”

  After a moment, Jack understood: what the government wanted, and how perfectly they’d gone about it. His heart hammered in his chest.

  “You want me to volunteer to walk into two nuclear power stations that might be about to explode any moment and somehow make them safe?” He got up from his seat to address them all. “You want me to give up my life because of some noble sentiment about the good of the country?” He was practically shouting by now. “You want me to die, to kill myself, for the benefit of your new government?”

  He let the words ring in the air above the horrified members. Then Jack grinned. “Well, of course, I accept.”

  “YOU’RE A LUNATIC,” Jane told him later. They’d been found a room in the castle where they could freshen up. They shared a bowl of warm water and the luxury of clean towels. The room had no window and no furniture but two chairs. Apart from the plush carpet, it might have been a prison cell.

  “I know,” said Jack, mildly. “But they didn’t leave me a choice.”

  “You could have said no.”

  “How would that have looked?”

  “It doesn’t matter how it fucking looks!”

  “And what if I don’t go? Think about it. You said about that president whose past caught up with him.”

  “This isn’t like smoking a spliff.”

  “But it is. If I don’t go, I’ll never live it down. ‘Oh, he wants to be King and it’s all about serving the people, but the moment you ask him to do anything...’”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “If I don’t go, I’m a coward, a hypocrite. That’s how they can play it.” A thought struck him. “I think that’s what they wanted. They hoped I’d turn them down. That would make sense of what happened before. They knocked us about, humiliated us in public, then put this in front of us. They thought I’d tell them where to get off.”

  Jane studied him, as if seeing him for the first time. “Do you want to be King this much?”

  “The country’s in trouble. There’s still too much fighting between different groups and no vision for the future. And anyone else I can think of would be a whole lot worse.”

  “You could make a difference,” she told him. “You might even do some good. But are you ready to die for it?”

  “If I have to.”

  “Well, then. Good luck to you.” She went over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “It is kind of noble. And maybe you’re right: a crisis to unite the country. So I’ll tell your story. Make sure the children grow up knowing your name. King Jack. The fucking lunatic.”

  ONCE THEY WERE washed and had shoes on—Jack was brought a new pair—they were taken to a drinks reception in the chamber with the members of government. The mood was meant to be sombre, but many of the members clearly saw something to celebrate. They had won. But Jack wouldn’t let them crush him so easily. He mingled, shook hands, swapped pleasantries, and looked them all in the eye.

  It had been a long time since Jack had drunk wine, and he made a point of not letting them refill his glass so he could keep track of how much he was drinking. Jane, he noticed, was doing the same, covering her glass with her hand when the waiters came around. While Jack moved from person to person, she got stuck in the orbit of the Ranger who’d addressed them before. Jack went over to rescue her.

  “You’ll have everything we can do to support you,” the Ranger assured him. His name was Dr Ranjit, and before The Cull he’d worked in a bank. “I think you’ve met General Singhar, who has offered to go with you. He’ll take a couple of soldiers to make sure there are no problems en route.”

  “And that Jack doesn’t run off?” suggested Jane.

  “I’m not going to run off,” Jack told her.

  “In addition,” said Dr Ranjit, pretending not to have heard them, “we can offer two technicians. They’re library staff who assisted Professor Owens in his research, and among the most qualified people at hand to advise on what must be done.”

  “Great,” said Jack. “For a minute, I thought I was going to have be the one to press all the switches.”

  Dr Ranjit nodded. “You will be. Our technicians have vital knowledge. We can’t afford to let them go into the reactor buildings. As you make your way to Dungeness, they
’ll brief you on the procedures. They’ll have notes that you can read on the way. We’ll need those back, as well.”

  “Okay,” said Jack, feeling suddenly very sober.

  “You think he can learn it all in that time?” said Jane.

  “We have every faith that he’ll do his utmost,” said Ranjit. “And, of course, you’ll be there to assist him.”

  Jane just about held her cool. “Jack spoke for himself. I’ll be going home.”

  “Ah,” said Ranjit. “My mistake.”

  “Yes,” said Jane.

  “A shame, though,” said Ranjit. “You clearly understand the physics involved. The neutron chain reaction. His Majesty might have found that of use.”

  Jane actually laughed. “You had the extent of my knowledge before. Your technicians will be more than enough.”

  “And I understand you’re a doctor,” said Ranjit. “Again... Well, never mind.”

  Jane almost said something and then thought better of it. She turned to Jack.

  “I don’t want Jane with me,” he said. “She’s needed at St Mark’s. And she’s got her son.”

  “That’s perfectly reasonable,” said Dr Ranjit. “Although there is a complication. If she isn’t part of this operation, which is so urgent that it takes priority over any other concerns...”

  “What concerns?” said Jack—but he already knew.

  “There’s the matter of a serious breach of city rules. You brought a gun into Oxford. You brandished that gun at our citizens. When searched, you were found to have other items.” He turned to Jack. “Items you admitted, in front of myriad witnesses, were ‘very dangerous weapons.’”

  “A paperclip and pencil,” said Jack. “Come on.”

  “The rules are very clear. As are the consequences.”

  “Now, wait,” Jack began. But Jane put her hand on his arm. She didn’t need defending.

  “I just want to know why,” she said. “Him, I get. He’s a threat to you. To the new government you’ve got. But I’m not anyone. Why are you so keen to kill me?”

  Ranjit’s eyes were cold as he smiled at her. “It isn’t personal. But you are a doctor and you understand physics better than he does. The operation stands a better chance of success if you’re there. And we need success. As does St Mark’s and your son.”

  Jane nodded. “All right,” she said. “I can see you’ve stitched us up. I’ll go, I’ll do this. But there’s something I want in return.”

  Dearest Lee,

  You’re a good boy, I love you and I’m proud of you and wish I could be with you now. But there’s a bad problem and if I don’t help fix it a lot of people will be very hurt. That includes you, and I’d do anything to save you from danger.

  I’m going to try and fix the problem, which means going somewhere dangerous, but it’s the right thing to do. Sometimes it’s not easy to do the right thing, but you have to be brave.

  I’ve done a deal with them. If I go, they’ll send you this letter and they’ll share the books that tell us how to make sick people well again. It’s the best I can manage. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do.

  I hope one day you can understand; and forgive me. I wish I had more space to say more. I love you so much. Be a good boy for Caroline. You’ve always been a good boy.

  Mummy xxx

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TYRES THRUMMED ON tarmac as they hurtled down the motorway. Jack glanced round to see Jane grinning just as much as the rest of them. It was a glorious morning, the sun on their faces and knuckles as they gripped the handlebars. Ancient cars sat rusting all along the wide expanse of the M40, but they easily cut round them.

  There were nine riders: Jack and Jane on mountain bikes; General Singhar on a Raleigh racer, looking like an old print Jack remembered of Don Quixote; Kit and Nina, the two teenage boffins who hadn’t yet realised they were in love; a Ranger called Barnden who didn’t say much; a Steamie called Jaye who never stopped talking; and two of Ahaiwe’s patrol, Nathaniel and Alice. Huge and muscular, Nathaniel wore thick glasses held tight to his head by a strap of elastic. Alice had a hook instead of a right hand. It didn’t seem to affect her cycling, but seeing it made his left leg twinge.

  As they rode, Kit and Nina called out lessons to Jack and Jane on nuclear reactors. Jack tried to concentrate as they explained “decay heat,” “coolant loss,” and “core melt incidents,” but feared it wasn’t going in. It didn’t help that he had to cycle as well, but the children weren’t the best teachers anyway—to them this was all painfully basic stuff and they couldn’t hide their impatience. The more Jack failed to grasp the concepts, the more it showed Dr Ranjit had been right: he depended on Jane showing him what had to be done.

  “Fuck’s sake,” said Jaye, riding past as Jack got it wrong again. “Decay heat is the heat you get from radioactive decay! The radiation—”

  Everyone joined in with the answer: “—whether alpha, beta or gamma radiation, is converted into a thermal movement of atoms.”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Jack. “Okay, next one.”

  For all the horror that might await them, they were eager to get on. Itwasn’t just the mission; they also knew they would be targets for bandits. So, ignoring their aching muscles and the sheen of sweat, they kept going. Sometimes there were hills to ride down at break-neck speed, Jane calling for caution in case there was an accident, and everyone else ignoring her. They made good progress and just before noon—about five hours after they set off from Oxford—they passed an abandoned village that looked no different from others they’d seen along the way. Nina’s hand-drawn map identified it as Fulmer, the last landmark before their turn-off to the M25.

  “I think we should stop before we enter London,” announced Singhar, climbing wearily from his bike. The others pulled up beside him, watching as the old soldier withdrew a blanket from his backpack.

  “Lunch,” he told them, spreading the blanket out beside the road, setting out a picnic.

  All eyes turned to Jack. Not that he was in charge; it was more a courtesy the others paid to a condemned man. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Before we do London. And my bum is killing me.”

  Nathaniel and Alice volunteered to keep watch by walking further up the road. The others settled on Singhar’s blanket and ate bread and ham and cheese. Jack and Jane reluctantly continued with their lessons in physics.

  “Fuel cladding,” said Nina.

  “Um,” said Jack. “It protects the fuel from coming apart—corroding—and spreading through all the system. But it isn’t meant to interfere with the reactions, so it’s made of stuff that won’t absorb neutrons. Which means it doesn’t count as shielding. Right?”

  Nina nodded curtly. “Core catching.”

  “That’s to do with a big meltdown,” said Jack. “But remind me what.”

  They persevered. But as they reached the end of the pages of handwritten notes the two young boffins had brought with them, they were distracted by Singhar telling Jaye a rambling story about his days in the Army. Jack exchanged glances with Barnden, all braced for some tiresome anecdote aimed at building team spirit. But it soon went a different way.

  “It seemed to us,” explained Singhar, “that Trenchard being such a shit, we should repay him in kind. So one evening we came up with a marvellously convoluted plan to lace his evening meal with laxatives.”

  “No!” said Kit and Nina together.

  “I remember once, when I was with my crew—” Jaye began, but Singhar didn’t let her take over.

  “It took a whole team to put the plan into effect,” he said. “Someone to get the potion, someone else to make sure Trenchard’s food was served up early and set on one side. I was part of the distraction in the kitchen so no one would see the plate being dosed. And then, very pleased with ourselves, we went into dinner, all eyes on Trenchard as he guzzled it down.”

  He paused, enjoying their rapt attention. “Oh, we’d been promised by our supplier that this stuff would w
ork strong and quick. By God, he was right. Except Trenchard sat there happily stuffing his face, no cause for concern. Well, there didn’t seem to be much we could do, so, thinking dark thoughts about our supplier, we got on with eating our own grub. And that’s where the trouble began. You see, due to a small miscommunication in the pipeline, the laxatives hadn’t been added to the plate set aside for Trenchard. They got stirred into the pot for the rest of us.”

  After a moment of shock, the others started to laugh. Singhar sighed. “In a matter of moments the whole mess... Well, ‘mess’ was the operative word. We all came down with the most explosive diarrhoea—every one of us but Trenchard.”

  The laughter mounted, contagious—the more they tried to stop, the harder they laughed.

  “No way!” said Jaye. “Like I was saying, there was this time...”

  “Now, really,” Singhar persisted. “It’s no laughing matter. It’s really most unkind. You see, we had only a limited number of toilets. God, it was awful, crap every which way. I’ve never escaped that smell.”

  “What happened to Trenchard?” asked Jaye.

  “Oh,” said Singhar, eyes twinkling. “It all looked rather suspect, being as how he was the only one to escape. Command hauled him in front of a tribunal and then booted him out of the Army. So, a happy ending.”

  “And you got off scot-free,” said Jane.

  “Ma’am,” said Singhar with his eyes lowered. “The guilt has been an awful burden all these years.” But his smile faltered and he looked quickly up the road. Alice was coming down to join them.

  “If you’ve finished eating, we should be on the move,” she said.

  “Is something wrong?” asked Jack.

  “We’ve got a job to do,” she told him, but she kept glancing round. The north side of the road was flanked with slabs of concrete, a curtain to stop the trees spilling out on to the road. South, the road looked down on a plain of untended trees and brambles. Jack saw no immediate cause for concern.