UK2

by Terry Tyler

  Doyle is not invited to join in. Nor does he look that enthusiastic. I've decided I like him; if he's a friend of Travis's he's got to be moderately cool.

  I dunno, I feel like I did at our meeting with Marcus Willmott when we first got here. Like we're not going to be told the full story.

  Barney yaps on about the flattening of towns and cities riddled with vermin and disease, though he doesn't say what's happened to the poor twats still living in them. He keeps gesturing to the photographs of this UK Central place, available for everyone to look at after his presentation. He talks about jobs in admin, catering, retail, building, clearance, medicine.

  "Basically, every position you can imagine in a new and ever-expanding community."

  Paul Lincoln stands up. "Sounds good, but what's our incentive? Sorry, I'm not being rude; there's nothing I'd like better than to get back to normal, do a real job and provide for my family, but has money made a comeback? You got banks, or what?" He frowns. "Will I have to pay off my old credit cards? And where do we live?"

  Slime-ball Dex steps in, and introduces the whole Lincoln family.

  "Good questions, Paul, and I'm here to answer all of them," says Barney. "Far as debt goes, and mortgage, whatever, you got a clean slate. The old financial system don't exist no more; forget it, it's over. I know, mate, it's a hard concept to get your head round! We're starting from scratch and looking to the future with a new society. UK Central is all about brand new; have a look at the photos. You take a job, y'flat's part of the deal. No bills to pay, no rent. Now, I ain't saying it's fully functioning yet; Rome weren't built in a day, and this is recovery in its very early stages. But it's exciting to be in on the ground floor of the new world, yeah?"

  "So how do we get paid, then?" asks Paul.

  Barney puts up his hand. "You wanna talk money, I get that. How it works is, your wages—or UK2 credits—are paid into your own personal account, just like before." He rummages in his pocket, and brings out something that looks like an old bank card. "Look! Debit cards are back, UK2 style! Bet you never thought you'd use one of these again, did you?"

  I don't get it. They're all going 'ooh', and straining their necks to take a look. Why are they so thrilled at the prospect of having jobs and bank accounts again?

  We're standing in the sunshine on our lovely island, as free as the birds in the sky, and they want bank accounts?

  "You're given one of these when you sign your employment contract, and you use it to pay for everything: food, clothes, a beer on Saturday night, whatever." He holds the card out to Paul and encourages him to pass it around—"Don't lose it, or I won't eat for the next week!"—and stands there looking pleased with himself. "It's a great system. Simple; no cash involved."

  "Hang on a minute," Nicole calls out, and everyone turns to look. "What you're saying is, you want us to work for you in return for everything we're already providing for ourselves. We're growing food, we scavenge, we find fuel, meds, clothes, and we've got houses, so we don't need this, do we?"

  Barney's smile looks fixed. "Your name is?"

  "Nicole."

  "Okay, Nic, let me explain. So you're growing food. That's great. You're scavenging; we've all lived like that since the fall, right? But think five years down the line. By then, it'll all be gone. There'll be no more petrol to siphon; when that's over, you're gonna be stuck here, existing on what you can grow and catch. What if y'crops fail one year? In UK Central, we got the Grow Zone—mega-sized, temperature controlled growing tunnels, under the care of experts who know what they're doin'. We're building another centre up Lincolnshire solely for food production. We got brand new, fully stocked medical facilities; forget all them old buildings that might be contaminated with disease. Then there's the Learning Zone for the kids, the Supplies Zone for all y'non-perishables, fresh produce, clothes and household needs—yeah, and one day we'll have working pubs! It's a thriving community, expanding all the time. Which is why we need you guys. There's proper sewage systems in place, a power supply—this is real life, Nic, not making do and getting by. You want that, right?" He looks around, arms spread wide.

  "Not if they're all like you, mate," says Lucas, just that bit too loudly.

  I snort with laughter.

  Barney ignores him. "But it ain't only about food. The world's a dangerous place these days, as I'm sure you've already found out."

  "Too right," says Paul. "We've been invaded; people died."

  The bruiser puts on a sympathetic face. "There y'go; after food, the most important thing UK Central has to offer is safety. A guarded perimeter, twenty-four-seven. And we're setting up our Contract Enforcement Team, to keep order inside the walls. The entrance to every block of flats is fitted with a panic button; you get any trouble—'cause I have to admit, some types've had a hard time shaking off the methods they've used to survive over the past two years!—and the team will be at your door, pronto."

  "What does 'contract enforcement' mean?" calls out Kara.

  "Well, that's very simple, love—"

  "The name's Kara, not 'love'."

  Hands up. "Sorry, babe, my bad. Lemme explain. When you come to live and work in UK Central, you sign a contract. Basically, you agree to be a law-abiding citizen. You break the terms of that contract—by stealing, vandalising properly or causing trouble in any way, shape or form—you're bang to rights. Zero tolerance for anyone breaking UK2 law."

  There's loads of murmuring and nodding at this, from the straights.

  Barney lets us digest the information and talk amongst ourselves for a few minutes, then he invites Doyle to tell us why he decided to quit his life of freedom. Doyle stands up and makes a couple of jokes about flushing toilets, but he peters out halfway through and sits down; it's a bit embarrassing. I feel like he doesn't really want to be here.

  Barney covers for him by starting a conversation with Dex about the problems of community organisation in the New World; it seems staged, and I think I'm going to puke.

  Phil asks how involved the UK government is, and who is governing the city. Barney says the rebuild is administered via a central government with selected representatives overseeing each county chosen for the first stage of renewal. He says the words very carefully, like he's learned them, and I want to laugh. Who gives a stuff? Whoever it is, it'll be The Man.

  Then Phil starts asking about the rest of the world, and if it's the same everywhere, and Barney says 'yes', and tries to shut him up by laughing at something Phoenix is doing.

  Dex smiles and simpers along with Barney, like he's part of the fucking presentation, and I remember how he used to be. Totally against The Man. What happened? As we walk up to look at the pictures, I mention this to Martin.

  "Catastrophe makes different animals of us all," Martin says. "Remove money, law, all the basics of a civilised society, and many previously hidden aspects of people's characters come to the fore."

  No kidding.

  The pictures show grid-like roads with blocks of apartment buildings, all the same. It looks sterile, not real, like something out of a dystopian film. Not somewhere I'd want to live, not even for the sake of a flushing loo. There are pictures of the inside of the apartments, too. Martin laughs.

  "They're like estate agents' photos. Cleverly angled to make a shoe box look big enough to actually live in!"

  Ollie, Glenn and Luke appear with crates of bottled beer, wine and soft drinks, and it's time to get informal. Barney and Doyle offer to answer any questions. I sit back down with Mac, Parks, Martin and Nicole, which is when I notice that Jax isn't here. I want to talk to him before I talk to Mum.

  "He went out yesterday morning, said he needed a couple of days on his own," Parks tells me. "Don't worry 'bout him, pet; he'll be back."

  By which time all hell will be let loose. Never mind all this UK Central crap, I've got to do the deed tonight or I'll explode.

  I sit back, drink my beer, and watch. The Lincolns, Flora, and other random straights cluster round Barney and his pret
ty pictures. Tom and Alice—they of the plant remedies—keep saying the word 'sustainable'. We're split into two groups: those who are falling for the bullshit, and the cool people. I think Barney must be tired of all Paul's questions, though, because he stands up, claps his hands and, when he's got everyone's attention, tells us that he doesn't expect anyone to make the decision right now. Their other drivers are currently 'lodging' in the Lindisfarne Inn, though the room service leaves a bit to be desired, ha ha ha.

  If anyone wants to travel to UK Central in their own vehicle, they can fill up everyone's tanks, along with a spare can apiece.

  "It's a big decision, we get that," Barney says. "But, hey, mull it over, talk to your friends and families. Come and have a chat. You want a bit longer, take it; we'll be off in the morning, and you can always come later; just point your car south, we'll give you a map. But come tomorrow, and it's your opportunity to have your pick of the jobs, take part in an induction in three days' time. And we provide your petrol; you can't go wrong!"

  "What if we get there and don't like it?" calls out Suzanne.

  Barney laughs. "Won't happen, love, I promise you! But if you have any concerns, we'll be happy to address them."

  Is it my imagination, or do I see Doyle glance at Travis and give a tiny shake of his head?

  Barney announces that Dex has kindly offered to put him up at the castle, but he'll be around for the rest of the day, to answer questions.

  Mum comes to find me. "Sorry, darling, we'll have to rethink tonight. Dex wants me to help entertain Barney up at the castle tonight; can we do it another time?"

  I give her a hug. "Okay. How about tomorrow?" I can't wait any longer. I can't.

  She folds her arms. "If I'm still here."

  What? "You're not thinking of going, are you?"

  She looks up at the sky. "I don't want to, no. Dex is interested, though."

  She kisses me on the cheek, squeezes my hand, then turns and walks off.

  Martin takes my arm, stopping me from following her.

  "This might work out for the best, all round."

  I whip my head round. "Yeah? Like how?"

  "Think about it. If Dex just ... goes, then it's job done, isn't it? No one need be hurt by the truth."

  I wrench my arm away from his. "You what? So that would be it? He'd just go, to live some super-duper life down south, and get away with it?"

  Martin shrugs. "What's your principal aim? Isn't it to get him away from your mother? To keep her happy? I don't see what else we can do; it's not like we can report him to the police. Even if this new set-up has a legal system, we'd be hard pushed to prove what he did."

  "Well, Jax won't see it like that, he'll—"

  "He'll do what?" He smiles, frowns and bites his lip, all at once. "Stab him in the neck, like he did Wedge? Is that really what you want? For your seventeen-year-old friend to have not one but two murders on his conscience?"

  "I don't know, I—"

  "Don't worry, I do see your point, and it was only a suggestion." He puts his arm around my shoulders and kisses me on the side of my forehead. Like a dad. "We'll see what transpires tomorrow, dear heart. You know where I am if you need me."

  He walks off into the crowd of people, and I have to stop myself calling him back.

  Mac's getting pissed and reminiscing with the lads about the Hadrian's greatest hits, so I wander off.

  I join Doyle and Travis; Travis is describing the work they do on the farm, then Doyle tells us about this boat he lived on all through the first winter—it sounds awesome, but he had some piss-head friends who burned it down. Then they tell me how they escaped from the underground place where they worked, which sounds fairly awesome, too.

  I say, "Okay, Mr Doyle. Truth time. If you were us, would you go?"

  His eyes flicker over to where Barney is belching out bollocks to all who will listen, and he takes a sip of his beer. "It works for some people. We're all different. If your freedom is important to you, it might not suit. That's all."

  He's being careful. I get that.

  "So it's like being in the army?"

  "No, not the army." He glances at Travis. "But—well, I suppose it's a place for those who lived a fairly conventional sort of life back in the old world, and don't question authority." He looks at my NWA 'Fuck Tha Police' t-shirt and grins. "I'm guessing that's not you."

  I grin back. "Not really."

  "Didn't think so." Doyle lifts his face up to the sun. "It's great here. I always hoped to find somewhere like this—I was on my own for a long, long time, which is how I ended up at Central." He frowns, and picks at the label on his bottle. "Truth is, I was desperate. But no, I don't think it would be a good fit for you. Seriously."

  He puts the bottle to his lips but carries on looking at me, like he's trying to convey how seriously he means 'seriously'. I get the picture.

  Travis returns to the subject of crop fertilisation, and I'm just wondering who to plonk myself down with next when Barney stands up and demands our attention.

  "Sorry, guys, but I'm afraid we must say goodbye to Brian, because he'll be off in ten minutes to spread the good news to another community—we've got a lot of people to see, as you can imagine."

  Everyone turns to look at Doyle, and he stops, mid-sentence, and frowns. He looks dead surprised, like he didn't know he was going to be leaving. He gets up and goes over to Barney and mutters in his ear; it looks like they're having a bit of an argument, though Barney is trying to play it down by grinning a lot and slapping him on the shoulder. Doyle looks well pissed off, I suppose 'cause he wants to stay and talk to Travis, then Barney announces that he's about to radio through to his colleague, Madison, to make her way over from the Lindisfarne Inn, so perhaps we'd all like to say our goodbyes?

  It's all a bit weird. People are going up to speak to Doyle before he goes, and it's obvious he just wants to talk to Travis, but he hardly even gets a chance to say goodbye to him and then it's time for him to go. Travis looks pretty gutted, too.

  Whatever.

  I take a wander.

  Flora, the Lincolns, Suzanne, Naomi, Tom and Alice have pulled two benches together, 'cause they're all in the same club now, talking with great excitement about all that UK Central will offer. I'm surprised to see pizza-making Julie sit with them and join in, and say as much.

  "We've got children to think of," she says. She has care of two kids called Sophia and James, whose parents died in the refugee camp they were in, back in the early days.

  "That's right," says Alice. "We have to make selfless choices, based on their best interests." She and Tom hold hands, dead smug.

  Naomi strokes Phoenix's head. "We're the guardians of the planet's future. There can be no greater calling."

  "Amen to that!" says Tom, and they all clink their bottles of J20.

  "I'm just looking forward to doing an honest day's work for an honest day's pay," says Paul.

  Funny what people find important. I always thought going out to work must seriously suck. Mum liked her job at the Book Exchange, but she used to moan about it when it was a nice day and she wanted to go to the beach.

  I take another wander.

  Nurse Abbie is under pressure from the Exit crew, but she says she's not leaving Lindisfarne because we need her here. Good girl. None of the Elmfield gang are going, although Scott says it might be nice to have something proper to do; he's missing his computer screens.

  "Yes, but at what price?" Ruby says. "Bet you anything it's more regimented than Fatso's letting on."

  I remember Doyle's slight headshake that I might have imagined, though I'm damn sure I didn't.

  And I absolutely cannot let Mum go.

  Out of nowhere, I get this funny feeling in my chest of major urgency, and for the first time since Heath died I am one hundred per cent sure of what I must do.

  I don't care what Martin said; whether Dex leaves or not, I am telling her.

  You never know when that right time is going to be un
til a little voice in your head says, 'Do it now!', and I've just heard that voice.

  I'm deep in thought, fired up with determination, when Barney calls for attention yet again.

  "Okay, guys! Meeting over, sync watches, and departure time is ten am tomorrow at the coach park. I'll be around this afternoon if you want to talk some more—but please, not tonight. Tonight I'll be dining at the Lindisfarne Castle courtyard restaurant, with my new friends, Dex and Vicky."

  I look at Mac, and he nods. "Tomorrow, pet." He gets it. He always gets it.

  Barney is chatting with Dex, who has his arm around my mum, and then he's bringing in Naomi and Phoenix to join the throng like they're all one big happy family, and I'm panicking; he is not taking my mum away with him.

  No fucking way.

  Surely she won't go if I don't want her to?

  Martin is at my side, like my fairy godfather.

  "Okay then. We'll do it. Tomorrow morning?"

  "Yes." My voice comes out as a whisper.

  "Good. I'll come to your house around eight."

  Tomorrow morning I am going to tell Mum the truth about Dex, and she will probably never speak to me again.

  Chapter Ten

  Dex

  8 am, August 8th, 2026

  As he washes in the old bath, with water boiled for him by Vicky, a sense of satisfaction warms his body. Under his leadership, Lindisfarne has taken on the challenges of the new world and won, but his personal path has reached another fork in the road, and luck is all about choosing the right direction.

  Life on the island is grand, right now, but he will not wait until its fortunes progress to a tipping point, which they will, sooner or later.

  Barney is right; the obtaining of supplies will only get harder as the months and years pass, and more will turn up at the barricade, desperate people, perhaps with the means to fight and overcome their small group.