UK2

by Terry Tyler

  We could go to Lindisfarne. I think they would have Nish and me back. People like Vicky and Lottie, Kara and Phil; they wouldn't turn us away.

  But how do we get out? There's a big lockdown at the moment, because bands of dangerous Outliers are gathering force, and heading this way. Or so they say. I went to the meeting about it, but now I wonder if this story is even true. I wonder if it's another lie, an excuse to keep everyone locked up.

  I wake up early, and there is a knock on my door. I had a bad night's sleep because my baby was kicking, and I'm staggering around the apartment in my dressing gown, pulling out boxes of tea bags; I feel so zonked I can't make a decision between green and peppermint.

  It's Grant. He has a letter for me.

  "From that chap Doyle, up at the Hub." He leans forward, and whispers in my ear. "For your eyes only. Be careful."

  I thank him, shut the door, and do that silly thing people do in films: instead of tearing it open, I stare at it and wonder why Doyle is writing to me. I hardly know him. He talked to me after the meeting, but I was in a world of my own and can't remember what he said.

  Just in case anyone is watching me on the cameras that I suspect, now, are in our flat, I put the letter in the pages of an old mother and baby magazine, and sit down, so I look as if I'm just having a read with my morning tea.

  The content of the letter is so staggering that I have to read it three times.

  They've upped security not because of a band of dangerous Outliers, but because the virus is back, and it's worse than before. There is no new vaccine, and the original one doesn't work against the new strain. Four people have died from it already, including Erika and that nice nurse, Abbie.

  Abbie and Erika.

  Oh, dear God!

  Tears spill out of my eyes onto my cheeks.

  Two days ago I asked Alex when Erika was coming back, and he told me she was staying in France. He looked so sad, and I felt sorry for him, even though I don't like him any more.

  But she was already dead.

  And Abbie. They killed her, by putting her in with Erika as an experiment.

  Dex and Alex killed her.

  The letter tells me that if anyone is under suspicion of doing something wrong, they are put on two-hourly observation. That I mustn't worry too much, because you have to so some very bad things to be on constant 'obs'. That's a relief; I relax, and take the letter out of the magazine. I don't think they'll be watching me yet.

  Doyle has gone. He says Chester and I should go, too, because if there is a further outbreak in Central it will be a death trap, with everyone living so closely together.

  Of course, Chester is the last person I would tell about this, or maybe he already knows; he's part of the Maxlo inner circle, isn't he? Doyle says we must get our chips taken out, that Jared will do it, and I must get in touch with Storm in Rez 1, who will help us escape. But I must tell absolutely no one, before we go. He suggests writing a letter, as he has done.

  'Be careful who you tell, because a mass panic will make the situation worse. I don't even know if I am doing the right thing in telling you, or if you will believe me, but I have to try. This place is not what you think. Verlander doesn't care about any of us; we're all expendable.

  Leave your chips in your flat before you go, to give you a chance to get away before your disappearance is discovered. Go north, I suggest Lindisfarne, but do not tell anyone where you are going. You can trust Jared, Storm and Grant, but that's all. Don't go anywhere near UK Mercia, it's a dangerous place. Now destroy this letter, and good luck.'

  I tear the letter into tiny pieces, soak it in water and washing up liquid, screw it into a soggy ball and throw it in the bin. My heart is beating so fast and my chest is all tight and panicky, but I have to stay calm. The last thing I need is to suddenly go into labour.

  That would be the end.

  I'm seven months pregnant, and I've got to go on the run. I don't know where or how I will give birth to my baby.

  I am very, very frightened. I feel weak, huge and terrified.

  Oh Jesus in Heaven, what am I going to do?

  I slide down onto the kitchen floor, and pray like I've never prayed before.

  When Chester gets up, it takes all the strength I possess to act normally. I put my arms around his neck, kiss him, tell him I love him, make him tea. He pretends he loves me, too, and nuzzles my neck, strokes my back and my huge stomach, says he can't wait until 'li'l Harlan is crawlin' round and callin' him Daddy'. I'm not calling my baby Harlan. Stupid name. He will be Bobby Holden, after my father.

  I give Chester one last chance to 'get real', as he would say.

  I bring in his cup of tea and some toast, and, for the first time, I resent the fact that I am expected to wait on him.

  "Ches, I've heard rumours that the virus is back."

  He hardly even looks up from the TV. "Yeah?"

  "Mm. There's a fear that it might arrive here, in UK2."

  His eyebrows raise, just slightly. "How 'bout that?" He's not even interested; he laughs at something on the screen. Does he know? I can't tell. He looks up. "If it gets bad, we'll be cool. Dad will fly us somewhere safe."

  Then I wonder. Mr Odenkirk must know what's going on. So why hasn't he already flown us to safety? Maybe he's not that bothered; Chester has complained about being the least favoured son, more than once.

  "What if it's already on Logan Island?"

  "Couldn't be." He takes a piece of toast from his plate; he hasn't even thanked me for making it. Daddy always used to thank Mummy for every single meal she made him. He said things like, 'That was delicious. You're a miracle!' even if it was only a snack.

  "How do you know?"

  "Logan's totally safe. And there are other, even safer places around the world to decamp to at the first sign of trouble. If there's any danger, we're out of here."

  "But what about everyone else? The eight thousand people in Central?"

  He wipes his mouth with his hand. I hate that. "Who cares? It's every man for himself, these days."

  In this moment, I don't just not love him any more. He disgusts me. If it wasn't for my little Bobby, I'd feel sick that I've ever shared a bed with him. I will bring Bobby up to be good and kind, and nothing like his father.

  Just before eleven, Chester wanders out to lounge at his desk for a few hours, and I sit and think some more. I can't tell Bronte and Nish until I have a plan, because they'll start panicking, but there is no way I am leaving without them.

  I need to find Storm. I've never spoken to her, but I know who she is. She's the sort of woman who makes me feel intimidated; she strides around in army gear, and uses bad language. I'm a bit confused because I thought she was Dex's girlfriend, but nothing surprises me these days.

  After lunch I feel a bit more perky, and take a trip down to the Rez Zones, but she's not there. The guard at Rez 1 tells me she's out all day. Won't be back until curfew.

  The day seems to last forever.

  Chester is out again in the evening; I'm glad. I take his small backpack (what he calls his 'daypack'), fill it with essentials for my escape, and hide it under the sink. It's safe there; he only ever enters the kitchen to look for a beer.

  Next morning, as soon as Chester has left, I go to find Storm. Walking down there, I look at everyone going about their day, and I want to scream at them, you're not safe! Hide, run, get away from here! I remember the beginning of bat fever, and I want to tell them it's happening all over again. And I'm scared, but if anyone is watching me on the screens I can say I'm doing a recruitment drive for Juno; Storm is in the C block, where all the single people live.

  When she lets me into her tiny, almost bare apartment, I am reminded again how stupidly privileged I am. She invites me to sit on a horrible, hard sofa, but doesn't offer me a cup of tea.

  I begin to talk about Doyle's letter but she shuts me up; she already knows.

  "We can't save everyone, so you can forget that idea right now," she says, when I s
ay I need to alert my Juno friends. "I'm sorry, but that's more likely to get them killed. If there's a peasant uprising, they'll activate Code Amber."

  "What's that?"

  "Shooting to kill. And if the virus does get out, or someone brings it in, your friends will be best off locking themselves into their apartments and staying there. Which they'll probably do anyway, without any suggestion from you. Juno's already been stocked with enough supplies for a siege."

  "But I've got to warn them—"

  "And then there will be mass panic, and more chance of them catching it. Worst case scenario, one of them tells Verlander or Dex, then we're all in the shit. At the moment, the virus is contained. If it gets out, there's the possibility of Code Red Containment, which you seriously do not want to happen."

  "What is it?"

  "Forget it, you'll be away before that goes down. The best you can do for your friends is to select someone who's got their head screwed on and leave a note to suggest they tell everyone to stay indoors. Dex told me one of the guards who was sent in to dispose of the bodies is still healthy, so immunity is possible, like before."

  "But can't—can't you help them escape?"

  She laughs at me. "What, a mass exodus of pregnant women? You don't think that might be noticed? No, sorry. I'll get you and your boyfriend out, and that's that."

  "Not him."

  She raises an eyebrow. "Like that, is it?"

  I don't respond to that. "My two friends. Bronte—she's pregnant—and her partner, Nish. Can I take them, instead?"

  Her sigh and the silence afterwards are so long that I think she's going to refuse. But she doesn't.

  "Okay. Just the three of you. Jesus, two pregnant girls; I must be going soft. Right, you wait at home, and I'll get instructions to you. Wait until you have them before you tell this Bronte. You've all got to do exactly as I say, all of you. Any airhead behaviour, and it's not happening."

  Grant brings my instructions a few hours later. Leaving Day is two days hence.

  I go straight to tell Bronte and Nish, which is when I realise what Storm means. Nish starts pacing round the room, talking about climbing the perimeter that night, or going to Verlander and demanding he tell everyone what's going on. It takes Bronte and me ages to calm him down and make him understand.

  I think it's more scary for people who had the vaccine early on, like Nish and me, because we haven't had to face catching it before. Bronte, who's immune, lived with that fear for months, until she was out of danger.

  Next morning we go to see Jared one by one, and once my chip is out I feel more vulnerable than I've ever felt in my life. I put it in a plant pot, and wear pyjamas in bed, instead of my flimsy nighties, so Chester won't see the dressing; I say I've caught a chill and need to keep warm. Every time he comes near me, I have to move to make sure he doesn't touch my shoulder. It's a long, long night. I hardly dare go to sleep in case he discovers it, and then I daren't sleep at all, in case I don't wake up. As soon as Chester starts breathing deeply and evenly, I set my alarm to wake me at six, and put it on 'quiet', under my pillow so that he won't hear it; I know the vibrations will wake me even if the noise doesn't. But in the end I don't need it, because I lie awake fretting.

  I creep about; thank goodness Chester is a heavy sleeper.

  I meet Bronte and Nish at the front door, and Grant waves us through.

  "Good luck," he whispers, even though there is no one around. "Be safe." I pass him the letter I've written for Lily and Christian, as Doyle advised; Grant will give it to Lily when we're safely away. I couldn't risk her reading it and flying into a panic before we've gone.

  We're travelling with Storm and her friend, Lisa, who is also in the resistance; they've been sent to a laboratory supplies warehouse in Sussex to stock up on protective clothing and chemicals that kill bacteria. I bet they don't kill the bat fever virus.

  We have to hide in the back of the van, covered with blankets, to get past the guards. During the journey I actually sleep, because I'm so tired.

  The laboratory is on an industrial estate, but it's only a mile to a town where, Storm tells us, we will find a car, if there isn't one we can find abandoned in one of the car parks. They give us a big can of petrol, and Lisa suggests finding a vehicle and showing us how to hot-wire, but Storm says no.

  "It'll take too long. They'll be on high alert since Doyle escaped, and we don't want to raise any suspicion if they're watching us; we need to get in, get the stuff and get out."

  It's a horrible day, windy, drizzly and cold, and I'm in my silly cloak, which isn't going to keep me dry; I should have worn something practical but I didn't think. I'm very scared, but I feel sort of happy at the same time. Bronte is shivering, and Nish has his arm around her; he looks petrified.

  Storm shakes my hand, and wishes me good luck. It's the first time she's shown any measure of warmth towards me at all.

  "Thank you," I say. "Will you leave soon, too?"

  "Oh yes," she says. "Soon as I've sorted a few things out, I'm tail lights."

  "Go to Lindisfarne," says Nish. "It's a good place."

  She smiles, almost. "I will. Ta. See ya."

  And then she jumps in the van and slams the door, and we watch them drive away until they're out of sight.

  "Best we find a car, then," says Bronte.

  "Um. Ladies," Nish says. "I didn't like to say anything before, but I can't actually drive."

  "What?" Bronte looks horrified. "I thought all guys could!"

  Oh dear, I hate admitting this. "Bronte, I can't either."

  "It's okay, Bronte can," Nish says. "You told me, didn't you? About driving your boyfriend's car?"

  She shakes her head in disbelief. "I only ever had ten lessons, Ben was trying to teach me to do it properly. I can't reverse, or park, or do a three-point turn."

  "But we won't need to park or do three-point turns," Nish says. "You just need to know how to make a car stop and go."

  "Okay. I can do that." She grimaces. "Usually."

  We're in Sussex, with no car, no proper driver, and we need to travel all the way up to Northumberland.

  Above us, a bolt of lightning crashes through the sky, and the clouds open. Everywhere is so silent that you can hear the rain falling.

  It's sort of beautiful, in a weird way.

  "Well, at least we don't have to worry about traffic," I say. "We find a car, we point it north, and just go." I link my arm through Nish's. "But first, can we find some waterproof clothes?"

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Lottie

  March 19th-20th, 2027

  Dan says, "You'll never fucking guess who's just turned up!"

  None of us can, but we find out five minutes later.

  It's the Lincolns.

  Bloody hell!

  They walk into the pub, and Davina and the two kids burst into tears.

  They all look terrible; dirty, scared, thin and exhausted. Like they've been on the run, which of course they have, as we are to discover. Davina rushes over to Mum and cries all over her, and Avery hurtles at me, hugging me like I seriously never want to be hugged by another girl.

  "Oh, Lottie, it's so good to see you!" Crikey. Anyone would think we were BFFs. But then she lets me go and I study her, closely. She must have been through some seriously bad stuff. Her eyes look like she's been crying every day for a month, and her lush blonde hair that I was always so jealous of is dull, straw-like and greasy.

  I look at Paul. His cheeks are hollow, and his hair is far greyer than it was seven months ago.

  "Jesus," he says. "I never thought I'd be so glad to see you lot."

  His face crumples up and he starts to cry, too. It's always shocking to see a grown-up man cry, and especially someone like Paul. His shoulders are shaking and he covers his face, like he's ashamed, and I have to admit, I feel sort of moved.

  It's pretty intense. Jez actually puts his arm around him and says, "Howay, mate, you're alright, you're back with friends now." We get them t
o sit down, and people are despatched to get food and drink, while Paul clutches Davina's hand and pulls Sam to him.

  "You wouldn't believe what we've been through." His lip starts to quiver again, and Luke shoves a large whisky in front of him. He downs it, put the glass out for another, and then he begins to tell us the whole, awful story, which is even worse than the one we've just heard from Doyle.

  Everyone listens in almost total silence; all you can hear is the odd gasp.

  "UK Central is a bloody con," he says. "Basically, you live in a tiny box, and work your fingers to the bone so you can eat your own body weight in bloody baked beans, and that's about it."

  Doyle gets a bit emotional in a quiet sort of way, so he has to have whisky, as well, and goes to sit with the Lincolns. They look pretty surprised to see him.

  "At least we got out to tell the truth, right?" Doyle says.

  Paul just gulps and nods.

  "But we could watch films!" pipes up Sam, and that lightens the mood. Sometimes I think I'd give a year of my life for a night with Netflix.

  "Yeah, and you're safe from what's outside the walls," Paul says.

  "But not from what's inside," says Doyle.

  "Ain't that the truth." Paul nods, dead sadly.

  "There's stuff you can 'buy' with your credits, like they said," says Davina, 'But only the select few can afford much apart from the basics. You do get enough food, but if I wanted to buy, say, a game for Sam, some beers for Paul, a bit of make-up for Avery and rent a couple of DVDs for Saturday night, that would be my weekly luxuries budget out the window.' She pulls out the front of her hoodie. 'The only clothes you can buy is stuff like this. All that talk about shopping malls and cafés, that was all it was—talk. They made out like they were going to happen really soon, but there was no sign of them being built when we got there seven months ago, and there's still not."

  "They started on the Leisure Zone after you left," Doyle says, "It's just a few pool tables and a bar, and I couldn't believe it; the majority are so brainwashed into thinking that Verlander is their saviour that they think it's brilliant. There are a few who see what's really going on, but not enough to start a revolution, not by any means."