by M. T Hill
Greenley falls to the road, shoulder first. Martha rolls his body into the long grass beneath a bough of ripening berries. This way, she tells herself, the falling ash can’t settle on him.
* * *
Martha drives the campervan through the burning allotments, and directly down the steep hill towards the main road out of Dillock, using Agnes’s recent tyre tracks as a guide. Too late does she notice the fox track its passage and move to intersect her; too late does she notice it skitter and roll down the hill behind the van, teeth bared and unnaturally bright in her mirror. The van nose hits the flat of the tarmac. The chassis meets the verge. A bomb-crack, then the protest squeal of springs. It feels for a second like the van’s chassis has split in two.
The camper bounces, skitters across the road. Wrong side, veering back, where it slows, judders and stalls. Passing cars with automatic braking slow off in sequence. The camper’s radiator is steaming. She looks right as the fox clears the hill with uncanny speed. It’s coming directly for the driver’s door. It’s going to hit her.
She turns the key but the old van chokes, won’t start. Her hands fumble at the ignition barrel. The fox is metres away, full tilt. Jaws closed and eyes perfectly set. Turn the key again. Into gear, just as the clutch pedal slides out from under her foot. Mud and gravel spraying, then a lurching movement, and momentum. Despite herself, Martha finds second, dumps it. The campervan roars and weaves under its own torque, tractionless on its wet, grassy wheels. At last it digs in properly, rocking back, and Martha fights to keep the wheel steady. Just off target, the fox hits the van’s sliding door behind Martha; the weight of the impact splits the old panel windows and fully bursts one of the kitchen units. Then the fox rallies – from nowhere it has come under the van and climbed the passenger door, using the left wing mirror to scramble over to the bonnet. Here the fox starts rending back the wipers, gnashing at the glass. Martha accelerates hard, screaming, as the fox gets right down into the wiper motors, narrow eyes fixed on her. She can smell the fox through the ventilation system – stagnant water and heated copper. It has its forepaws on the window, its torn mouth slobbering on the glass. The engine’s howling, so Martha slams into third gear, and the fox begins to beat its face and head against the windscreen with a terrible ferocity. Some of its teeth shatter and its snout seems to break, starts foaming from splits above the lips and gumline. Its neck slackens. And then the windscreen cracks enough to allow the fox’s lower jaw inside, where it bites futilely at glass, paws scrabbling desperately, its tongue dripping a foul oily liquid into the van. Martha seizes the opportunity: she pushes the fox’s mandible right up into the glass, stands on the brake pedal, and gives the steering wheel a sudden wrench. The fox’s lower jaw detaches with a bright pop; the rest of the animal shears away. Martha glimpses what might be steel plate beneath the matted fur of its chest and belly. The lower jaw falls into the cabin with a metallic ring. Framed in her rear-view mirror, the fox rolls over on itself, limp and wet. It doesn’t stand up.
Martha reaches down for the fox’s mandible, a greasy thing lodged behind the gear stick, and weighs it in her hand. She recognises alloy and composite beneath the distressed skin. Her father’s electric fox. She winds down the window and throws the mandible outside. The co-op’s work is on the chip in her top pocket, and that’s enough to keep. The rain is easing. The fox is already well behind her. Martha changes into fifth, cruising gear, and the campervan, ancient and untrackable, continues along the cold electric road. Into the unknowable future, freed from the certain past.
PART V
2041
ENGLISH COMBINED TASK FORCE INTELLIGENCE
CASE REPORT: BLACK COUNTRY/309921
STATUS: FROZEN
RATING: HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL
Introduction
On 10 October 2041, combined task force intelligence THEMIS detected a breach of Scotland Yard’s encrypted case archive. An anonymous user spent eighty-nine seconds scraping internal records pertaining to the recently declassified COLD VEIL case of 2032 [see supporting material 1a], with searches focused on author LAUREL M. BRACE and one named follower, ANGELIKA SEMOLT.
Based on case sensitivity [incl. ongoing investigation – see notes under 1b], THEMIS responded to the violation within 0.3ms. THEMIS routine FENCER logged a defunct browser and modified mobile operating system in breachspace, and probed for locale. While sophisticated countermeasures [chaff, Garblr] concealed the user’s activity, THEMIS successfully commandeered ~1,300 nearby devices to produce detailed magnetic imaging of approx. 70m3 of local environment, inside which were found fourteen people. Of these, only one person was seen to be using a handheld device during the infraction window. This suspect was profiled as female, approx. 160cm in height, 26–36 years old, with comprehensive dazzle-tattoo coverage.
THEMIS bugs determined the infraction space as an outbuilding beside a small town named BILMSTEAD, less than 10km south of BIRMINGHAM. In 2038, Bilmstead was designated one of Birmingham’s suburban ‘no-go zones’. Given the case material scraped, and Bilmstead’s proximity to the 2032 ‘zero bomb’ attack site [see supporting material 1c], the case was assigned priority status.
Owing to restricted jurisdiction in the area, and with limited operational signal available, a budget for human investigation was approved by THEMIS committee.
OFFICER QE of Black Country sector was sent by dropship to Bilmstead.
Officer QE’s statement
I arrived on the outskirts of Bilmstead at 1600 on Saturday, 12 October 2041. The town’s border was protected by a concrete wall, around 10m in height and crenelated with anti-drone turrets. On the ground, militia guards conducted patrol cycles around a well-fortified checkpoint. The footing was good, the weather was clear.
I began my search of the target building, a derelict warehouse overlooking the wall. It proved empty across three levels except for a single mattress on a mezzanine and some discarded ration packs and sanitary items. There were no obvious subfloors, nor signs of disturbed earth/ excavation works on the ground floor. I judged it unlikely that tunnels ran from the warehouse into Bilmstead, so I left and approached the checkpoint. As expected, militia guards sought my documentation. Ingress was achieved by means of [REDACTED].
Inside Bilmstead’s walls, I found the remnants of what I would describe as a traditional town square. Hanging baskets of flowers hung from crude breeze-block shelters, whose doors were brightly painted. A bandstand was being constructed in the square’s centre. I gathered that locals filtered rainwater from the multiple bowsers positioned around the site. Solar generators appeared to supply power, with abandoned shopfronts housing batteries and ancillary plant. Despite these simple amenities, the town’s roads appeared swept and well maintained. Rumours of open sewers, malnourishment and ‘cholera pits’ were clearly false. Almost all of the locals were dressed in workers’ overalls or denim. None appeared downtrodden or oppressed.
Within forty minutes, I was stopped four times by locals seeking donations towards ‘the cause’. I took the opportunity to offer money in exchange for information on recent movements in and out of the town, particularly around the time of the recorded infraction. All four locals were somewhat offended by the idea, refusing payment. I was told my donation required ‘only time and expertise’, as money was not necessary or even circulating within the town. I took from further responses that people could enter and leave Bilmstead freely. One woman, perhaps fifty years old, suggested that Bilmstead having its reputation for violence and destitution provided ample cover. Then she told me that a growing number of people were arriving at the community every month, and made it clear I would be welcome to join them.
Elsewhere in the settlement I found evidence of rudimentary schooling. While mapping the square for THEMIS analysis, I came across a thin rope lashed to a wooden telegraph pole that had been implanted with several plant species. As I got closer, I noticed the rope was teeming with leafcutter ants, which were harvesting the plants. I followed th
is rope for approximately 30m towards a large terrarium in the corner of the square. Observing the ant colony were several children, overseen by a single male adult. EyeDent logged him as MOSRI ROTRA, M, 28, a lapsed dissident reported missing from London five years previously. The children with him were unregistered. Rotra told me they were learning about ‘teamplay’, and we struck up a conversation. During this exchange, I asked what it was like to live in Bilmstead; Rotra told me he was contented, ‘even if it doesn’t last’, and that, ‘It means something to feel looked after in these times.’ I tried to press Rotra on these points, but he became distracted by two of the children squabbling. I took images of the terrarium and returned to the square.
With my mapping completed, I continued to [REDACTED], an approved observation point inside the wall. Here I established a weak THEMIS link and uploaded my collected data. It was then agreed that I should pick up my inquiries the next morning. Based on committee analysis of my uploaded map, I was to make use of a communal shelter in the square, presenting myself as [REDACTED] to evade suspicion.
THEMIS analysis of my images revealed the presence of a synthetic queen ant inside the terrarium. This was of secondary concern to the operation, but if possible, I was to take a soil sample at the first opportunity.
By promising to volunteer my time, I was able negotiate the use of a private room in the town square’s communal shelter. The room was sparse but comfortable, with a window facing the wall and checkpoint. A sweep for monitoring devices found nothing.
At approx. 0120 on Sunday, 15 October, I was woken by the sound of machinery moving outside. Through the window I watched a crane being wheeled into position near the wall. The crane then elevated a narrow section of the wall and held it in place. This, it transpired, was to allow the safe passage of five despatch cycles with human riders. Each rider wore a bubble-carrier of the kind associated with blood transfer. Presently the wall section was returned to its original position, and the crane was taken away. I could see no other locals outside, and because this felt significant, I dressed and prepared to go and inspect the wall section at close quarters. When I tried to leave the room, however, I found that the deadlock had been engaged from the outside. Despite repeated attempts, I was unable to open the door, and had no means to call or communicate with the front desk. I decided my time would be better spent observing the wall. I recorded no further incidents. None of the hydrocycles returned. I was told that THEMIS was unable to detect any of the hydrocycles on the local road network.
At around 0700, I found my room’s deadlock had been disengaged. A notice was fixed to the door’s exterior that read: SLEEP BETTER, MEATSWEEP. I saw no other guests or workers in the shelter. No receptionist was present on the front desk. Outside, I knocked on the doors of other shelters in the row: no less than six residents denied hearing anything during the night; a seventh laughed at me and closed their door without speaking.
With my cover essentially blown, I consulted THEMIS on the best mode of extraction. While I did not feel unsafe, nobody approached me, and the square seemed much quieter than it had the day before.
Instead, THEMIS endorsed a deeper incursion. I was ordered to travel three miles north from the village into open countryside, where I would collect various samples for analysis. I undertook to walk, using a route planned for me with recent satellite imagery. I saw no ground vehicles. Curiously, there were no birds. The wind was brisk and carried the smell of latex. Beyond wildflower headlands, healthy-looking oilseed rape and wheat fields lined the road towards a large industrial unit at Bilmstead’s north wall. In places, the road surface bore marks of heavy transporters. Autonomous crop harvesters lay dormant in the fields; much of this equipment appeared to be in good working order.
On reaching my target location, I took various samples of local soil. My field analyser reported contaminant levels were nominal, with lower than expected traces of lead and mercury. Air samples were also normal. I then spent around half an hour imaging local insects in several locations, including a large ants’ nest on the verge of the road, and a zone of adult wheat where ladybirds were being used to control aphids. While imaging the ladybirds, I was surprised to see that large clusters of ladybirds were actually repairing damaged wheat stems with what I would describe as a bile-yellow secretion. In just five minutes, I watched approximately 300mm of one stem being ‘reconstituted’ in this way. This secretion set quickly, leaving a metallic finish, and then the ladybirds moved on. I decided to catch three ladybirds to test their origin; though my kit could not materially confirm their exact composition, all three ladybirds were synthetic.
At approx. 0930, I became aware of a faint hum on the air. I used my optics to identify a small drone circulating a flightbox above a distant section of the wheat field. The drone became immediately twitchy, as if it had caught me looking. Seconds later, the drone began a rapid approach, making a series of low passes clearly intended to intimidate me. In line with rules of engagement, I pulsed the drone with my PDW, causing its motors to stall. On reignition the drone rose to face me, hovered for around ten seconds, then immediately set course for its original area of operation. I followed it through the field.
I lost visual contact with the drone as I ran into a tall, opaque fence, disguised with photorealistic images of wheat. On the presumption that the drone was monitoring (or protecting) whatever lay on the other side of the fence, I climbed it. At the top I found a large sheet-like structure covering approx. 50m2. Like the fence, the surface of this sheet was also rendered to appear from above like the fields surrounding it.
I made a small slit in the sheet and descended from the fence. Beneath the sheet, which let in only a small amount of natural light, I was met by a grid of tightly plotted hedges, divided into squares. Each of these squares was being tended by its own highly advanced-looking machine. These machines were equipped with agricultural manipulators, and bore no corporate logos. Their operation was silent. I went between the hedgerows and found growing what appeared to be synthetic body parts, including limbs, organs and large swathes of what I can only describe as bioluminescent skin. Owing to the darkness, or possibly to jamming systems in use beneath the sheet, I was unable to capture any useable images.
At this point I sensed a disturbance in the air, followed by a light pressure exerted around my trunk. A numbness spread through my arms and legs, and I was struck by the sensation of vertigo. Something whistled behind me, and with some difficulty I turned around to find myself opposite a woman in a khaki-coloured vest top and shorts, her hair tied up in a bandana. Despite the dimness, I noticed that she had intricate dazzle-pattern tattoos on all visible skin up to the chin, with obvious implants in both eyes. There was also a distinctive fox tattoo on her left bicep.
The woman approached me with a hand raised above her head, but said nothing and did not appear armed. Noting the woman’s likeness to the primary suspect – her age range, height and tattoos were certain matches – I challenged her and used a verbal command to engage EyeDent. Apparently the suspect recognised this, and had darted into a space between two hedges before a full scan was complete. Moments later my sense of paralysis gave way, and I was able to pursue the suspect for approximately twenty seconds, constantly attempting a lock with EyeDent. The woman remained silent as she moved, and scaled the fence with unnatural speed. I followed her, but caught my foot near the top of the fence and fell down heavily on the other side. There was a brief, searing pain in my wrist and neck. I heard boots in the soil near my head, and somebody sighing. Then I lost consciousness.
Additional notes
At 1100 on the morning of Monday, 16 October, ~23 hours after her last contact with THEMIS, Officer QE was delivered to an EPIONE health intelligence clinic in Birmingham city centre by persons unknown. She was treated for the mild side effects of an undetermined sedative.
Key witnesses at the clinic report seeing at least two people arrive with Officer QE in a Mk. II GILPER FLECHETTE, later found alight on a chargin
g forecourt less than 1km away. Both people wore what witnesses describe as ‘partially invisible clothing’. Neither of their heights or builds matched that of the primary suspect. Combined surveillance footage of the care facility and its surrounds has proved inconclusive. THEMIS returned no positive ID of the persons responsible.
Forensics confirm that Officer QE’s comms had been deliberately blacked out, and a vitals monitor tampered with. Officer QE had made no attempts to communicate with THEMIS or operational control. Tissue scans suggested a corrective operation had been performed on Officer QE’s scaphoid bone, with bruising indicative of shoulder and neck massage. Organ and blood scans yielded otherwise normal results.
Officer QE has no memory of being recovered, operated on or transported out of Bilmstead. She was released for THEMIS debriefing at 1615, and later demobilised for a period of two weeks. Therapy was offered, but declined. Officer QE has complained of some intense nightmares and hallucinations of insects, but no other effects.
