by Terry Tyler
"Come on, love, it's alright." The ground beneath her floats away as Billy scoops her into his arms. She pushes at his chest, hits out at him; he calls to Maura to help him, and the next moment she feels more arms holding her tight.
"I promise nothing bad is going to happen." Maura's voice is gentle, soothing. "I don't know what's been done to you, but you're safe with us. We're going to take you back to where we live, get you warm, find you a bed, and in the morning we'll see if you're ready to talk, okay?"
Exhaustion washes over her, and her limbs will function no longer. She allows Billy to put her in the passenger seat of the musty old truck, and then they're moving, away from the woods, on a road.
She sleeps.
When she wakes up, she's lying on a mattress in front of a roaring log fire. Her head is on a pile of cushions.
She sits bolt upright, eyes desperately searching for a familiar face, but she knows none of them, she doesn't know where she is, and the panic engulfs her once more—she tries to stand, but the woman is there, beside her, putting her arm around her shoulders, telling her she's safe.
"She might not be, if whoever did this to her is looking for her," says a new voice, one she hasn't heard yet.
"We can't put her in the oubli." Another female voice. Girlish. "Not yet, not while she's in this state. It'll send her demented."
"Aye," says a voice she recognises as Welsh, from last night, "but we might have to if someone turns up. It's okay. We'll get enough notice, if the lookouts don't fall asleep on the job."
"Best not put you out there then, eh!" That's Billy. The one who lifted her up and carried her to the truck. Some of them laugh, and Leah likes the sound.
Maura brings her some weird smelling tea. A piece of cake, tasting of honey. She can't swallow it. She's vaguely aware of Maura and Billy ushering the others away, to 'give her a bit of privacy'. She's still wearing the guard's jacket and that horrible green dress, inside out; she can feel its sparkly bits scratching her skin, and she pulls at it, wanting it off her, but her voice is stuck in her throat, like the cake.
"Do you want a bath and some clean clothes?" Maura asks, and she nods—but then the door flies open and Welsh dashes in.
"They're here. Get her in the oubli, now!"
The 'oubli' turns out to be a tiny room accessed from under a goats' feeding trough in a dark shed; the goats stare at her for a moment then turn away, without interest.
"It's cold and dark down there, but I promise you it's the safest place—they won't find you," says Billy. "Here's a torch, and there's water, cushions, food and an air vent. Please try not to panic—it's just until we've sent them on their way."
Leah likes being in the oubli. She feels safe. She has to climb down into a small place lined with concrete and steel. She shines the torch around, and sees a rack of guns, lots and lots of them, which makes her feel even safer. There's enough room to curl up on some cushions, above which are names, written on the wall:
Cal 27.2.62. Bog Man 14.10.60. Shelley 5.6.59.
A list of others, men and women. Had they run away from bad people, too? They comfort her, Cal, Bog Man and Shelley. They were like her, maybe.
She sleeps.
The sun is coming up by the time they let her out.
"They turned the bloody place upside down looking for you," says Billy, cheerfully, "and I was scared shitless when they got those robot dog things out, but the oubli is sealed up tight."
"Why's it called oubli?"
Billy tells her it's short for oubliette, but she doesn't know the word.
Maura says, "There were drones up there all night but they've gone now; you'd better come in, but you mustn't go outside again without asking one of us if it's safe, and stay away from the windows. Now, how about that bath?"
They don't rush her; Maura takes care of her, like Kayla did when she was little.
She stays in the rundown cottage with ten of them—some have caravans, while the owner and a few others live in a big posh house across a field.
"Alex leaves us to get on with it," Billy tells her. "Long as the place runs smoothly, he doesn't interfere."
Leah likes the cottage. It's scruffy and not very clean, but it's the best place she's ever lived in. She spends her days curled up by the fire on a tatty old sofa, reading books—physical books, in which she escapes into a world about which she knows little. The world before the 21st century. There were no physical books in NPU, and they were not taught history.
Maura gives up her bed for her and sleeps on a mattress on the floor, because Leah is scared of being alone. After a few days she begins to speak, to divulge hesitant, jumbled scraps of information about what happened on that awful night. A woman called Debbie writes it all down; Leah can see their frustration when she keeps breaking off, mid-sentence, but thinking about it plunges her straight back into the nightmare. Eventually she is able to impart the whole story, which sounds like horror fiction even to her own ears; Debbie, Billy and Maura's mouths drop open. After she has finished, they sit in stunned silence. Maura is crying.
Debbie says, "They won't stop looking for you. Because you know what they're doing; you can tell people. You're safe here for now, but you won't always be."
At this, Leah tenses, her chest tight with panic. "But where can I go? What's safer than the oubli?"
"Don't you worry 'bout that." Billy grins at her. "I made up my mind days ago; I was just waiting until you were ready."
Chapter 40
Aileen
15th ~ 16th October, 2062
Every day hope recedes a little further; last night Xav said that NPU Teens is like Fort Knox.
"We don't have the connections we used to have, not since last year; they're conditioning people to be on the alert if anyone asks even a vague question about something outside their own little box."
"That's the 'need-to-know bubble'," said Tara. "Wankers."
Xav laughed. "Is that what they call it? Seriously?"
Tara nodded. "Thing is, you get used to it when you live there. Always watching what you say."
This morning I'm washing up after breakfast when she and Xav come in. I know as soon as I look at them that it's over.
Xav comes straight to the point. "Aileen, I'm sorry, but I don't think we can spend any more time waiting to see if Leah can be found. Tara is wanted for attempted murder—we need to get her out of here, and my friends in the Netherlands can get a boat to us this week."
"And it's not fair on Nick," Tara says. "If they find me, he'll get done for harbouring a fugitive."
I know they're right. I've got to accept that Leah is lost to me. That we have to go, away from the UK, never to return.
"You're okay with that?" Xav asks. "I'm sorry, but there it is. Can I make the call?"
"Yes." I stand up. "Of course. And thank you so much for trying."
As I walk out of the room I see him tapping out a message.
I go about my chores in the kitchen for the next couple of hours feeling flat, like something has come to an end, though of course it hasn't, but there was always a smidgeon of hope before. I don't even feel angry any more. Just sad at what might have been.
"Aileen! Come on. You've got to come downstairs, now!"
I'm asleep on my little mattress in the attic storeroom, and for some reason Tara is shaking me awake in the middle of the night.
"What's up?" I rub my eyes. "What time is it?"
"About three. Get up."
Panic overwhelms me, and I bolt upright, throwing a hoodie over my t-shirt—which is when I notice that Xav's mattress is empty, the covers pushed back as if he's got out in a hurry.
"Are they here?"
"If they were, we'd be in the priest hole, wouldn't we? Come on. Downstairs. There's something you've got to see."
"What?" I look down at my leggings and thick socks. "Should I get properly dressed?"
"It won't matter. It's all good. Come on!" For some reason, Tara is grinning like an idiot. She hurries ou
t of the door and clatters down the stairs, lit by lamps on the walls; I follow her down to the hall and through to the back of the house, to Nick's private sitting room.
The only light in the room comes from candles on the mantelpiece and the fire, which Xav is poking to bring to life; he adds a couple of logs.
Nick stands next to a man I don't know, and I register another person sitting in a chair, with a hood up; it's dark and I can't see if they're male or female.
The man steps forward. Long black hair, beard, big smile.
He holds out his hand.
"Howdy. I'm Billy from Sunrise off-grid. North Yorks moors—I've just driven a hundred miles in the tin can we call a truck." I take his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Aileen. It really is."
"You too—but what is all this?"
Billy gestures to the person sitting behind him, in the chair. It's a girl. She stands slowly, taking her hood down, and moves into the light, so I can see her.
I know her face.
She is small and slim, with long, blonde hair. She looks … like me.
No. No.
Don't be stupid.
Don't hope that, even for a minute.
But they're all looking at me. They look happy. Pleased.
She takes a step forward, and gives me a nervous half-smile.
I gasp, hand to mouth. And I can't say the words because even now I daren't, in case this is all some cruel joke, or a dream, or—
She says, "My name's Leah Phillips. I think you're my mum."
This absolutely cannot be happening, but it is. It's my baby. My little girl.
She's all grown-up, but her face hasn't changed.
"But how—" I turn around to Xav. "You found her?"
My mouth is open, tears stream down my cheeks. I dare to hold my arms out to her, at last, and she's crying too, but this time it's because she's overjoyed to see me.
"They told me your name was Janine, and said you were dead. I asked about you, I remembered your name—I thought you might be my birth mother—"
I stroke her pretty hair, hold her face in my hands. "Not birth mother. Just mother."
"Yes. Mother. Mum." I see that face that used to look up at me from her playpen, the dear, dear face I thought I would never see again. "They told me the lady called Aileen was a social worker. I felt unsure about that, deep down, but I didn't know—they lie to you, there. I know that now."
"They do. They lied to me for years."
"When I was thirteen—I asked if I could see you."
"Did you? Oh, did you?" This time I'm trying not to overwhelm her, to not suffocate her with all the love that's been stored up inside me for over fourteen years. "Oh, sweetheart—I waited and waited—"
"That was when they said you were dead. And my father—have I got a dad?"
"His name is Eric," I tell her gently, "but he left us when you were eighteen months old, and I haven't seen or heard from him since. I had no money, I couldn't support us both, and that was when I was fooled into thinking that NPU was the best solution. It was supposed to be just for a few months. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
"It's okay. You can tell me everything that happened, but I already know it wasn't your fault." She is thin, nervy, a bit shaky. I hug her to me—which is when I notice that Tara, Nick, Billy and Xav all look concerned.
"What's the matter? Is there a problem?"
Xav steps forward, crouches down by the sofa where we're sitting, and takes my hand. "Aileen, I didn't find her. She ran away, from some very, very bad people."
He warns me that Leah's story will be difficult to hear.
"And difficult for her to tell, all over again." Billy sits on the arm of the sofa and puts a hand on her shoulder; she clutches it, and smiles up at him. "Took a while before you could tell us, didn't it, babe?"
"Was it you who found her?" I ask. He nods, and I feel a tear roll down my cheek. "Thank you. So much; I can't—"
"All part of the Sunrise service!"
I turn to my daughter. "W-will you tell me now? What happened?"
Xav says, "Do you feel up to it, Leah?"
She nods. "I do."
We sit at Nick's dining table, and he produces brandy and glasses.
I ask if I'm going to need it, and Tara says, "I'm afraid so."
So I brace myself, but nothing can prepare me for the story that comes out of my beloved daughter's mouth.
I scarcely feel the brandy going down.
Chapter 41
Tara
16th ~ 24th October, 2062
Clinton Bettencourt. Jerome. Sickened, disgusted—there isn't one word that describes the horror we're all feeling.
Leah told us about the 'guests', and said she remembers some names.
Which is good, for what Xav has planned.
She's agreed to be recorded telling her story, after which Xav is going to flood the dark net and Molenet with it, in the hope that it will fall into the right hands. This will happen once we've left—all four of us, for the Netherlands, which has no extradition agreement with the UK.
I don't feel like we'll ever be safe again. All we can do is live day to day, and always be ready to run. I just want to be gone. Now. But we've got to wait until King can get the boat and pick us up on the east coast—which means being driven across the Pennines in Billy's tin can in the middle of the night and hoping that a) it makes it and b) we don't get stopped.
I am over the moon for Aileen. She says that for the last fourteen years she would have given the rest of her life just to be with Leah again for one week. I can't imagine what that sort of love must be like. I still ache to be with Ned, every day, but I wouldn't give up my life for him. I wouldn't give up my life for anyone.
Does that make me a selfish person? Hard? I don't know.
I told Xav that, and he said, "No, it makes you a survivor."
Back in the fucking priest hole we go. They're here, again.
Every morning we put our mattresses and bedding back in bin liners under dust sheets in case we get a visit, but I always panic in case we've left something out by mistake.
Not much space in here with four of us. Aileen gets cramp and has to bite her finger to stop herself yelling out. A thorough search of the place takes a long time, and every time we hear noises outside I nearly crap myself, because if they do find us there won't be a sodding thing we can do about it.
Xav said something interesting about the hunters at Clinton's 'party'; he said that psychopathic tendencies can go hand in hand with great power and wealth.
"To be that successful in the first place means stepping on a hell of a lot of others, and always putting their own needs and wealth above everything else. The 'little people' become nothing more than units of humanity through which they will get what they want."
"Yeah, but hunting people, for sport? It's un-fucking-real. I can't get my head around it at all."
"I imagine their jaded palates are no longer titillated by sky diving, safaris, gambling, orgies, white water rafting, whatever, and they're so powerful and indulged that they believe any urge must be fulfilled, however perverted. It's nothing new; it went on in ancient Greece, and during the Spanish Civil War. The gentry would hunt peasants for sport—and that was in the 20th century."
I think about this, sitting here in the dark. I think about Leah's ordeal, and her terror when she realised what was happening. Xav says she's got some serious PTSD going on, but we haven't got time for that now. Mental health issues are a luxury you can't afford when you're trying to stay alive.
It's weird out here at Lake Lodge. We're cut off from the real world. Or maybe this is the real world, and the megacities are cock-eyed virtual reality that couldn't function if all those screens went dead.
Yeah. This is the real world.
The key turns in the lock at last, and we fall out into the storeroom.
We have to wait two more days for the boat, so we spend the time making the video; Xav said we should do so sooner rather than later
, in case anything 'happens' to us.
A grim thought, but he's right.
We use the cellar, so there's no risk of background noise that could betray where we are. Leah looks kind of hollow, like she's only just holding it together, but she says she's good to go. Brave kid. What I went through at the hands of Clinton Bettencourt was a fun day out in comparison. I’ve told them what Clinton did to me, but we all agreed I should keep quiet for now, because the appearance of an alleged felon, wanted for attempted murder, would dilute the impact of Leah’s revelations. What with the megacities’ attitude towards ‘negative social interactions’.
Nick vids while Xav, Aileen and I sit close to her for moral support; first Aileen talks briefly about how she came to put her daughter in NPU, and how the scheming bastards stole her away.
She finishes by saying, "I was robbed of my daughter's childhood, and Leah was robbed of a normal relationship with her mother, but the main point of this recording is to tell the world what happened when she and her friends were chosen for Clinton Bettencourt's Rise programme. In case you don't know, Clinton Bettencourt is the Vice President of Marketing at Nutricorp UK, and Rise is a mentoring opportunity for young people who want to enter the working world at the age of sixteen. Unfortunately, some of them never return from assessment weekends at Clinton Bettencourt's private residence somewhere in the North Yorks countryside. I'll let Leah tell you what happened to her; I warn you, her story is extremely disturbing."
From a calculated point of view, I have to say Leah does look the part: pretty, huge watery eyes, long fair hair, waif-like. Aileen wanted to cover up the dark shadows under her eyes, but I said no.
"The more haunted she looks, the better. Sorry, but we need to work with what we've got."