UK2

by Terry Tyler

  "We have a sound team of health care professionals," he says. "Each individual gets a full hour of one-on-one attention. Tears may be shed, tissues and TLC provided. And by the time they've unburdened themselves and feel at home in their new safe space, they're happy to be taken through to the clinic and let Jared insert their chip. Because the bond of trust has been cemented."

  Meanwhile, Verlander holds a meeting for those selected for managerial and team leader jobs. Dex notices that Verlander singles him out, often, and that people listen with the same rapt attention his students did, long ago. He can't believe he wasted all those years trying to interest teenagers in ancient literature, or running pointless websites.

  He thanks the new world yet again, for helping him find his true calling.

  Verlander suggests that his role should be one of observation and analysis. "I'd like you to deliver a weekly report on how the workers are responding to their new environment. Going forward, I will expect you to suggest proactive ways in which our new society can progress."

  Dex can hardly wait to get started. "And will these reports be delivered to your superiors within the Renova Group?"

  "Of course."

  "So when do I get to consult with them directly? I was thinking, they might like to see the study I've been working on for the last year—"

  "In time." Verlander does not meet his eyes. "After you've undergone your period of assessment." He looks at his watch. "Hey, aren't you due for a one-on-one with Brian Doyle in data analysis?"

  Doyle demonstrates how the tracking works. Dex loves it. He could sit and watch those red dots all day. This is how you stay in control of a community.

  "So what happens if someone strays off-route?"

  "Three strikes, and they're put on Standard Observation—SOBS. I try to intervene where possible, see if I can sort it out before taking it to Verlander and activating SOBS."

  Dex frowns; he senses the same lack of co-operation in Doyle that he saw back on the island. Everyone seems to be totally on the same page, working with enthusiasm for UK2, except him.

  "And that's okay? Isn't it your job to report?"

  "Verlander's a busy man; if I can remedy a problem without bothering him, everyone's happy. I think it's called initiative."

  Dex isn't so sure. "If you're told three strikes then SOBS, I'd say it's important to adhere to the requirements of your individual contract." Verlander has told him his new (as yet untitled) position comes under the heading of Level One management; thus, he is above Doyle.

  "Sure. Whatever."

  Doyle is wary of him. This is good.

  Only half the cubicles in data analysis are inhabited; Dex wanders round and looks over the shoulders of the busy worker bees. One young man, whose badge announces his name as Akram, shows Dex his tally of how many alcoholic drinks each construction worker purchases, how many packs of cigarettes, even how many items of confectionery and packets of paracetamol.

  "This way, we can see if a worker is overindulging in pursuits that might be detrimental to his physical or mental health," Akram tells him, parrot fashion. "If so, he may be given an appointment with a Wellbeing Advisor. This is for the benefit of the individual."

  Of course it is.

  In the huge, open-plan admin area he talks to Recruitment team leader Storm, who shows him the programme for the clearance of the settlements.

  "We take an initial trip to each one, like we did to Lindisfarne, then wait a while and go back; by then, there are always those who wish they'd come along with us the first time round. On the way, we pick up stragglers, too, and hear about other, small groups of people that might have previously escaped our radar."

  "Then you go in and invite them to UK Central?"

  "That's right." Storm sticks her hands in her back pockets, and her nicely rounded breasts jut out; Dex is sure he can see a hint of nipple. "The initial visit sets the ball rolling. For instance, out of a group of eighty-odd living in a school in Thetford, we took thirty-four. You break up a group, the others become weaker. Less able to defend what they have. When we go back, they'll be more amenable."

  "And if they're not?"

  Dex decides he'd like to fuck her. She's wearing combat pants and a black t-shirt; sexy as hell, especially with that short, shaggy, platinum blonde hair.

  "Different teams have different methods. Some are more aggressive than others."

  "Are you aggressive?"

  She holds his glance just a moment too long; yes, she wants to fuck him, too.

  "Sure, but not when it comes to recruitment."

  Bingo! He'll give it a day or so. Keep her sweating.

  In Clearance, he learns about the destruction of the diseased towns and cities, those overrun with vermin and feral animals, stinking middens of rotting corpses and human waste.

  "What about anyone who might be living in these places?" Dex asks.

  Young soldier Dale shrugs his shoulders. "Casualties of war, mate. Anyone still living in a built up area will be as feral as the fucking animals; we don't want 'em in Central. Prob'ly doing 'em a favour; they gotta be starving or have dysentery by now, anyway. We're not fucking social workers, we're trying to build something clean an' decent from the wreckage."

  Dex is impressed. "Must take a strong stomach to do the work, though."

  Dale nods, with pride. "Yep. I was up Norfolk when it first started. Shipden, yeah? Boring as hell, I felt like a fucking nursemaid. I wanted to get into something worthwhile. There's no room for soft fucks who can't get the job done, not on Clearance."

  Walking back to his apartment that evening, Dex considers all he has heard. The mention of Norfolk gave him an uneasy feeling that he did not examine at the time, but now he does. His brother. Guy. Who lived in Norfolk, and who he assumed must have gone to one of the refugee camps. He hasn't given him so much as a thought in months.

  What the hell. They were never close. And he's had no indication that Guy tried to find him, either. Works both ways.

  Dex is relaxing on his couch and revising his manuscript for possible examination by the heads of the Renova Group. He has enjoyed a glass of wine and a sandwich—bread from the bakery, eggs and tomatoes courtesy of the Grow Zone—when there is a knock on his door.

  Whoever it is, he doesn't want to be disturbed.

  With reluctance, he drags himself from the comfort of the couch, and opens the door.

  Verlander is dressed in off-duty attire: a white t-shirt, loose-fitting jeans, navy deck shoes.

  He smiles his Colgate-white smile, and holds out a bottle of wine.

  "Hope I'm not intruding on your valuable leisure time!"

  He is, but Dex smiles, shows him in, and fetches another glass.

  "I watched the tape of one of the psych evals this aft," he says, and a memory flashes through Dex's mind: Lottie's observation that the abbreviated language of texting and internet messaging was now a thing of the past. Evidently not. How much extra effort would it take to say 'psychological', 'evaluations' and 'afternoon' in full?

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah!" Verlander picks up his glass and swirls the contents around, sniffing it. "Little lady I earmarked when she walked into the holding bay, and since I've learned more about her my interest is seriously, mahoosively piqued. She's one of yours, actually. Flora Holden."

  "Flora?" Dex laughs. "She's a bit young for you, isn't she?"

  Verlander threads manicured fingertips through his shiny, dark hair. "I didn't mean like that." He laughs. "Well, I wouldn't climb over her to get to you, but—no, not like that!"

  Dex sits back. "Like what, then?"

  Verlander rolls his glass between his palms. "I want you to reach out to her tomorrow, and tell her about an exciting new project we know she's going to want to get involved in."

  "Sure. What is it?"

  "I'll get to that; I just wanted to sound you out first."

  "Why me?"

  "Because she knows, likes and respects you. If she has any doubts, your prese
nce will reassure her."

  "Doubts about what?"

  Verlander smiles. "You know that cute new residential block of apartments near the Hub, that you were asking about? It's for our baby, the flagship project of UK2." He pauses for effect. "We've named it the Juno Initiative."

  Dex smiles. "Which is?"

  "All will be revealed in the fullness of time, Dexter, i.e. in about five minutes. And Miss Flora Holden is exactly the girl I've been looking for."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Flora

  UK Central

  I say, "Yes, I'll do it".

  And I know I've made the right decision because Dex gives me a big hug and thanks me, then Erika Thiessen takes my face in her hands, tells me how pretty I am and kisses my cheek, just like Mummy did when I was a little girl. She hugs me, too, says she knows I won't regret it, and Alex Verlander tells me that I am doing a great service not only for UK2, but for the future of humankind.

  "And now there's someone very special I'd like you to meet," Alex says, and he, Dex and Erika all grin at each other, and beam at me, then Erika gets up and opens the door—and in walks the most yummy boy I've ever seen.

  "Flora Holden, meet Chester Odenkirk," says Alex.

  I feel my mouth drop open, and shut it, quickly; Mummy always told me girls should retain an air of mystery. Oh, but he's gorgeous, super fit, with broad shoulders, dark blond hair with a cute quiff, huge blue eyes and such a beautiful, soft smile that I feel weak!

  Dex, Erika and Alex seem to fade away, because Chester Odenkirk is looking at me like I'm the most beautiful girl on the planet, and he walks straight over, takes my hands in his, and says, "The world is a wonderful place, Flora. And I want you to help me make it even better."

  He's got this totally dreamy American accent—it's like finding myself in a room with one of the boys off Riverdale!

  The last few days, since leaving Lindisfarne, have been the most exciting of my life. Yes, it was a bit sad saying goodbye, but to be truthful, I couldn't see why the others chose to stay behind on that cold island, kneeling in the dirt to dig up potatoes and heating up water to have a wash, when they could be returning to civilisation.

  Crazy!

  I absolutely loved Barney, who took the meeting; he's a bit rough and ready, sort of a cheeky chappie, but his presentation was so motivational, and there was never any doubt in my mind that I'd be going with him.

  I travelled down with the Lincolns in their car, and Davina, Avery and I were chattering nonstop about what lay ahead of us. Little Sam was a bit truculent because Davina told him he'd be going to proper school again, but the rest of us were in such high spirits. It was so good to be travelling south. Daddy used to say that the south is more civilised than the north. Adam and I travelled up because he had some relatives in a village near Lancaster, but of course when we got there they'd been dead for ages.

  The drive didn't seem to take as long as it might have done, because the roads were empty. We saw remnants of old barricades, either army or built by civilians, but anyone manning them was long gone. There were bodies, too, but Davina whispered to Avery and me to distract Sam, so we played lots of funny games, and it was a bit like going on holiday, years ago. Paul even had a tin of travel sweets in his glove compartment. That made me feel sad because Daddy always had those.

  When we got here we had to wait in this big holding bay. That wasn't very nice. We got camp beds to sleep on—single men got thin mattresses—but it meant queuing up for the lavatory, and for cups of tea, bowls of soup and sandwiches. Still, at least we'd arrived! Paul wandered around talking to people, but I just lay on my camp bed and read, or played Snakes and Ladders with Sam. There was a big hullabaloo because Avery went missing; she was found drinking vodka and chatting to some of the guards. I think Paul must have found her just in time.

  Paul and Avery moaned about having to sleep on camp beds, but I didn't mind, I've slept in loads of worse places.

  At the induction meeting two days later, I felt so happy. Alex and his people are so positive, and it's exciting to be part of the beginning, when everything is being built, all new and clean.

  We were some of the last to be allocated our apartments in Rez Zone 2, and we couldn't move in until after the meeting; we had to spend two nights in the holding bay, so we were very excited to see our new homes. But when I went along with Paul and Davina to theirs we were a bit disappointed because it didn't look like the photos. It was tiny, with thin walls; you could actually hear people talking next door and the sound of their television. Davina kept saying to Paul how good it would be to take showers, but he was stomping about and criticising the construction. Avery was moaning that she would be able to hear her dad snoring through the walls. I just stood there, feeling guilty because I was getting a single person's one bedroomed flat all to myself, in the block opposite. Avery asked if she could come and live with me, to give them more room; she said she would sleep on a camp bed in the living room. Paul and Davina were happy about the idea, but I wasn't keen; I thought she would bring boys back.

  Just when I was wondering how I was going to get out of it, the lady in charge, Cheryl, said that it wasn't allowed, and Avery had to say with her family unit.

  "How come?" Paul said. "We're going to be paying our way, aren't we? So why can't we live where we want? If I say my sixteen-year-old daughter can live with our friend Flora, who is eighteen and a legal adult, whose business is it?"

  Cheryl said, "Sorry, Paul, it doesn't work like that. Family units go in the A blocks. Flora is in 2C—C blocks are for singles."

  He carried on moaning but I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Cheryl told us all about who goes where. Childless couples go in D blocks but you can't just share with a friend, you have to register as a couple, which sounded a bit peculiar.

  "We prefer not to have youngsters of the same sex living together, unless they're a same sex couple," she explained. "Two young, single girls or boys living as roommates can encourage each other in the excessive use of alcohol and raucous tendencies, generally, whereas our research has shown that they'll behave in a more community-friendly fashion if living alone. They can visit, but they have to be back in their own apartments by curfew."

  That seems fair enough, I suppose.

  My flat didn't seem tiny, once I was in it. Cosy, not tiny. And I liked that I could hear people next door; it made me feel safe.

  Next day I had my psychiatric evaluation. I was really scared, but it was fine. I sat in a nice comfortable room with a lady called Libby who reminded me of Suzanne. First she asked me about Lindisfarne, how I fitted in, if I saw the community as an opportunity to 'do my own thing', or if I was more of a team player.

  "Oh, no, we all pulled together," I told her. "Dex, who was in charge, he was brilliant!"

  She liked that. "You got on well with him? You didn't have any problems with his authority?"

  "No, of course not." Strange question; did I look like a rebel? "Dex was elected to lead us, so that was that." Libby liked that even more, and started asking me about my parents' views on authority, and how they'd brought me up.

  "I was brought up to respect it. When the outbreak first happened, my dad said that people like us were the sort the government looked after."

  "And did you feel let down by the government?"

  I thought about that one for a while. "Not really. Daddy said he'd been told that the crisis would be over in six months, but of course it wasn't, it just got worse, but I don't think that was the government's fault. I think it was just that too many people got ill too quickly, and they couldn't keep up with the vaccination programme."

  She nodded a lot, wrote stuff down, then asked me to tell her more about Mummy and Daddy. She was so nice that I felt comfortable enough to tell her about Mummy's nervous breakdown, which I have never told anyone about, not properly, not even Suzanne. I managed to make it quite funny, with an amusing story about the time Mummy used all our drinking water to have a bath in bec
ause she felt so dirty, and Daddy was very, very cross.

  Libby didn't laugh. "That must have been awful for you."

  I told her what Daddy taught me about not thinking about bad things; she said this wasn't always a good plan, as not facing up to pain can have a detrimental effect on the psyche.

  "Well, maybe," I said, "but I prefer to concentrate on the positive." Then I told her about leaving my home, the group I ended up with, and running away with Adam. I managed to be very calm, because I attained closure during my talking therapy with Suzanne, but Libby's face showed lots of emotion, and at one point I thought she was going to cry.

  "You poor girl," she said, in a gentle voice.

  "I'm fine," I said. "I just don't think about it any more. I'm not always this sensible, though; I was a horrible crying mess when I got to Lindisfarne, and then Adam got killed—"

  "Oh, my dear. You lost Adam, as well?"

  "Yes," I said, and I could hear how matter-of-fact I sounded, as if I was looking down at somebody else talking, not as if I was the person that all that horrible stuff had happened to. "I used to cry all the time, but then I just decided to stop, because it's silly to dwell on horrid stuff. What's the point of all that crying? It doesn't get you anywhere. It's best to put a lid on it."

  "I don't know if that is always wise, I really don't," said Libby.

  "Well, I'm very sorry, but I think it is," I said, and I started to feel a bit cross. And then something really weird happened. My face sort of collapsed, I began to cry and cry, and all this stuff came out of my mouth about Mummy and Daddy and Adam, and all the terrible things those men did to me after they'd said they would look after me, and it was awful because I couldn't stop sobbing, however hard I tried. Libby was lovely, she put her arms round me as if she was my mum. It seemed to go on for ages, like I was having a nervous breakdown myself, and when it was over I felt exhausted, and just wanted to sleep.