by Terry Tyler
"You were going to get married?" Kara reaches over and puts her hand on his forehead. "Is multiple personality syndrome catching?"
"Hey, I was young, and life was peachy." His face drops. "Then all of a sudden it wasn't. My mate, Jon, he came back from travelling, and he was all big smiles, bleached hair, adventure stories and suntan, and my Annalise, she fell arse over tit in love with him. She left me, for him. To cut a long story short, he got my life. He got my girl, my job, my apartment with the balcony looking out over the sea, and a nice place in Daddy-in-law's will. 'Cause he married Anna a year later."
"That is shit," I say.
"Yeah, that's some bad luck, my friend," says Hawk.
"So what did you do?" Jax says. "And what's this got to do with me wanting to off Dex?"
"I'm coming to that. But immediately, I hit him; pity he was bigger than me." We laugh. "I'm not kidding; I'm tall, but he was like a freakin' Greek god. You know, the guy with the world on his back."
"Atlas," says Phil.
"Yeah! Anyway, Ma and Pa, my mates, they were sorry for me but their attitude was, dude, that's the way the cookie crumbles. I couldn't accept it, though."
"What did you do?" Travis asks. Bet he's thinking of Heath and Aria.
"Oh, I made every possible attempt to ruin what was left of my life." He shakes his head as if remembering, and helps himself to more wine. "I drank myself mental, got fired from the job I thought I was going to be leaving. I was a shithead to everyone, all my mates, my family, any girl who came my way. Bitterness and self-pity morphed into serious anger. It ate me up. I wanted revenge. I tried to get everyone else to hate Jon too, to shun him 'cause of what he'd done to me. For two whole years I stormed around the place, getting drunk and telling anyone who would listen how he'd robbed me of my life. People were sympathetic at first, but after a while they told me I had to, like, deal with it, and move on. But I couldn't. Once my mates started to avoid me, I'd go drinking on my own, and, 'cause I was a fairly hot looking geezer in those days, the chicks still flocked. They'd hear my story and feel sorry for me, take me home, but after a few nights they'd realise I was more interested in talking about how much I hated Jon than how much I liked them. My desire for revenge on the guy who stole my life was my whole reason for being. I didn't realise I was stealing my own life. I scared the hell out of one girl, talkin' 'bout making a voodoo doll and sticking pins in it. I thought that if Jon was gone, I'd get it all back. Quite rightly, the chick got the hell out."
Kara says, "Ozzy, if you refer to women as 'chicks' one more time—"
"But you got over it," says Seren. "How?"
Ozzy smiles. "I had a moment. A real fucking moment. I was sittin' round Ma and Pa's one Christmas Eve, 'cause I had no one to go drinking with; nobody wanted a face like mine putting a damper on the Christmas cheer. And this friend of Mum's came round, with her son. He was a couple years older'n me, and in a wheelchair. Paralysed, from the waist down, since an RTA when he was sixteen. And he was such a great guy. Peter, his name was." He leans an elbow on the table and strokes his furry chin. "He was funny, happy, talking 'bout all this stuff he was into, like painting, visiting ancient dudes in care homes, doing hospital radio, charity wheelchair marathons; he had a great life. He sat and listened to my troubles, like he really cared, and when I'd finished blubbering all my shit out, he grabbed my hand and said he really hoped I could find a way through my pain. He was sincere. He meant it. I mean, the guy couldn't even jerk off, and he felt sorry for me! And that was what changed my attitude. 'Cause, you see, by then it wasn't even about what I'd lost. It was about the bitterness I felt towards Jon. It was ruining the life I had left, my relationships with my family, friends, ch-women, all of it."
"No," says Jax, "Jon did that."
Ozzy waggles his finger at him. "You're wrong, Jaxy. Annalise fell in love with him. She can't have been that much into me if she could fall for another guy. And he fell for her, too. So who the fuck was I to say they had no right to be together? 'Side from that, the only person I was really hurting was myself. Jon and Anna didn't give a shit, apart from the odd pang of guilt. I was eating myself up with bitterness and anger, 'stead of making the most of my youth and my health. But I couldn't see that until I met Peter. Which was when I decided to let it go."
"Are Jon and Annalise still together?" I ask.
"Yeah. Happy as Larry. Well, they're probably dead now, like every fucker else on this planet, but they had a great life. I never got the closure I wanted, but gradually—and I'm not saying it happened overnight—I learned to live my own life as best I could. 'Cause we only get one of those things." He looks at Jax. "An' that's what I mean, buddy. You hate Dex, and you have every right to. The guy's an odious cunt, I ain't disputing that. But he's not sitting in his apartment in UK-fucking-Central thinkin' 'bout you, Vick, or your dad. He's probably doing just fine. An' while you're sitting around, letting hatred eat you up, plotting an act of revenge that will probably get you in serious turdsville, you're wasting your life. Not opening yourself up to its freakin' manifold possibilities." He opens his long arms, nearly knocking over several wine glasses. "Living well is the best revenge. I'll tell you one thing that would piss Dex off. All of us, totally happy and getting our shit together on this beautiful island, and never giving him a moment's thought."
We all sit and think for a moment; I notice Seren and Hawk look at each other, like they're communicating something. She nods, slowly, and smiles, and he does the same back.
Wonder what that's about.
Ever since they've been here, they've been walking around chatting to everyone, in and out of houses. At first I thought they were writing a book. Then I wondered if they were spies from UK Central. I don't want to voice that, though, 'cause everyone likes them.
Hawk's asking Jax about his intentions, even now. And how he feels about violence as a solution, in general.
Hmm.
"You have no idea what you might be up against down there," Phil says. "If we're right about Barney killing Lucas and burning the farm, which I am a hundred per cent sure that we are, and if there are more there like him there, ditto, I don't rate your chances of getting back here very highly at all."
"And your father would never forgive us for letting you go," Mum says.
Jax doesn't answer, but I can tell by his face that he's thinking about all we've said.
I take his hand. "Jax, you're not going. If you go there, you will die. And Dex will still be alive."
Ozzy nods. "And that's all she wrote, matey."
Chapter Thirty
Doyle
UK Central
March 2nd, 2026
"You're not very happy, are you, Mr Doyle?"
Verlander has called me into his office. He looks full of good cheer, but that means nothing.
"I'm okay."
"Okay, schmokay. You're not happy. I see your glum face every day, remember?" He leans forward, arms on desk. "Look, I'm pleased with your work. You get to the crux of a problem with very little data. It's all good."
He little knows that I give him only the absolute minimum of information.
"But I'm thinking you could do with a new challenge, right? Some extra responsibility."
Which is boss speak for 'I'm going to give you extra tasks but no extra pay'.
"Yeah?"
"Yes indeedy! Starting next month, you'll be training our new data analysts." He gives me the full-on Hollywood white grin. "You're welcome!"
"Thank you. Sounds good."
"It will be. As UK Central continues to provide sanctuary for survivors, we'll be recruiting more analysts to maintain stability. So, you up for the challenge?"
I smile and say yes, I thank him for the 'opportunity', because I am keeping Verlander sweet. I am playing ball. This way they won't watch me, and, thus, when I activate my escape plan, they won't suspect anything until I'm far away.
Lately I've been visiting the supplies and medical centres; I wander around, talk to
people, and I hear murmurings of dissatisfaction everywhere.
"If it wasn't for the security aspect, I'd get the hell out of here."
"It's a bloody police state."
"I hate the thought that they can see where I am, any time of the day or night."
"Verlander and his lot, in their ivory tower, they couldn't give a shit. They just want us to work for them."
I form my findings into a report, but of course there's nobody to give it to.
March 5th, 2026
Big V calls a meeting, for the medium and slightly smaller guns, i.e. me and the other Level Twos, and the team leaders.
It's in the boardroom, and features a pictorial presentation. As rebuilding continues, there will be other colonies around UK2. We already have Mercia and North; soon there will be Anglia, Cymru (which he pronounces 'Sim-roo', the fucking moron), Borders and, eventually, smaller outposts. The clearance of old towns and inner cities continues, alongside; in the future, the colonies will be linked together via a road network, all of which will be electrically fenced off from the devastated remains of what used to be. Meanwhile, Grow Zones are being established in good agricultural areas, while certain factories are having a revamp.
When I first came here, Verlander talked about the new UK being a centre for learning and recreation, but I wonder now if that was just a lure. All I see is agriculture, though it's true that a few places of historic interest, ancient universities and picturesque villages, have been left intact. Who knows? So much of England has gone. Wales, then Scotland, will follow. Fuck knows what's happening in Ireland. Once Recruitment has weeded out every last straggler from every last nook and cranny around England and Wales (and I'm betting some can still outwit them), the army will be rebuilt, and Scotland will be taken.
Go, Scotland, I say. Don't let the bastards in.
This was our chance for a shiny new dawn, but it's arrived with the Renova Group logo plastered all over the back.
"Dex tells me our long-suffering workers are experiencing some discontent now," Verlander says, "but it's up to you team leaders to keep underlining to them that what we lack today, we will gain tomorrow. That we're working together for a brighter future."
He really hasn't got a clue.
Erika is still away, setting up the Juno Initiative in France. She's been gone a long time; I wonder if she has escaped.
The team leaders are dismissed, and Verlander gathers his cronies—Dex, Barney, Cheryl, and Harry and Lennie of CET and Perimeter Security respectively—and the rest of the In Crowd—me, psychologist Libby, Doctors Porter and Carson and the Zone managers—to one end of the table, where he will, he says, 'outline his plans for optimum personal empowerment and productivity'. He's just about to launch into what this latest bullshit line actually means, when the satellite phone rings.
It's Erika. He can't take the smile off his face; I see a pink tinge under his suntan.
He puts her on speaker. "Great timing, honey! We're just having a management meeting. You called to tell us all about the success of Juno France?"
There's a short silence, then she says, "Uh, yeah. Alex, I didn't call to talk about Juno, but yes, it's going great. Hey—okay, fine, maybe it's best if I do talk to all you guys together. So you all understand the importance of keeping panic to a minimum."
Panic about what?
I see Dex nod his head at Verlander; he looks away.
"Ah—sure you don't wanna do this in private, Erika?"
"No," Dex says. "If it's important, we all need to know about it."
Verlander picks up the phone.
Dex lurches up. "Don't you shut that speaker off, Alex. Erika, let's have it."
"Okay." I hear her breathe in, deeply. "The virus is back. Only this time, it's mutated. It's worse. And the vaccines don't work against it."
"Oh, my God," utters Libby. "Oh, God, no."
"Fucking hell. Jesus," says Harry.
I say the same as Libby and Harry, but only in my head.
Into my mind floats that picture of my brother, in his bed—
"Jeez Louise," says Verlander, shaking his head.
He sounds oddly unsurprised, and he and Dex exchange glances for just a moment too long.
They knew. They already knew.
"Are you sure?" Big V says, far more calmly than he would if he'd just heard this news for the first time. "Or is it just a rumour?"
"Tanya called André, on the sly, a while back; Ludlow said not to, but she said Europe ought to know. I only found out myself the other night, and André's heard nothing from her or Ludlow since; we can't get hold of them. With no more information, or alerts from higher up, we assumed it was a minor outbreak that was isolated; she mentioned CRC."
"What's CRC?" asks Libby.
Neither Big V nor Erika answer this. "It started in Tas," Erika continues. "Tanya was told it had probably lain dormant, adapting itself to its environment, rather than dying out. André was insistent that there's no cause for alarm but, to be brief, last night we had refugees turn up. From the islands; our people. It's reached the Middle East."
Verlander coughs. "How about, um, the inhabitants of Logan?"
Pause. "They're safe, but temporarily incommunicado. We'll talk later. Sorry, guys, classified information, for Alex's ears only."
"Who are the inhabitants of Logan and what's CRC?" I ask. Nobody answers.
Verlander doesn't look at any of us. "So, these refugees; they're in high risk quarantine?"
"Of course."
"Then it's under control."
"Yes. Here, at least. One guy I spoke to, he said some of our people were making for New Kazakhstan."
"How many have died?" Dex asks.
"No one knows. Thousands."
Nobody speaks.
Lennie's voice booms around the room. "We're an island. We can remain isolated."
Verlander nods. "Get onto Chris at Dover. Alert him."
I don't like to point out that Dover is not the only entrance point for the UK. That we have two thousand odd miles of coastline no longer policed.
As if reading my mind, Verlander says, "We need to identify and get drones into every vulnerable area, along with a full guard. Lennie, Cheryl, Barney, this is your baby. Go." Then he picks up the phone and switches off the conference facility.
"Babe, you still there? Okay. Keep yourself isolated. You're a hundred per cent certain there are no new cases? Good, good. Tell André to commence CRC. Yes. I know. I don't care. Okay, well, tell him I strongly advise it. No, tell him to just fucking do it. Call me in one hour."
He switches off the phone and looks at us all. "You will mention this to no one. Not your friends, not whoever you're currently fucking, not a soul. Anyone who does will find themselves under lockdown, no exceptions. Harry, you'll assist Lennie in doubling the perimeter guard. Tell Julio to redeploy the building and recruitment teams; we won't be taking anyone in until this crisis is over, anyway. Selected individuals must be trained to commence CRC if necessary." He points to the doctors—"Juno's medical resources are to be moved onto the complex"—and to David, who runs the Supplies Zone. "Make sure there's enough food and basic supplies in the Hub stores and Juno to last three months, at least. Move large freezers in. And be discreet, all of you. We must not, under any circumstances, create a panic."
He sits back, twiddling his pen; he looks angry, as if the new crisis is a personal affront. "Fuck it; Harry, up security all round the Hub and Juno. Single guards, evenly spaced, but be quiet about it. Dex, send Storm and Andy Dawson to me; I'll have some missions for them. You're the ideas man, right? You'll need to explain the extra security to gen pop tomorrow morning. Everyone here, stock up with supplies. This is just a safeguard in case we have to hunker down, ride it out. I strongly doubt it will even reach the UK, but we've got to look at worst case scenario."
I feel weird; it's funny, but I'm not scared.
The extra security will make my escape plan harder, though. Not that I'm exactly sure wh
at it is, yet.
I ask again what CRC is, but am told that I don't have security clearance for such information.
An official meeting is held in the holding bay. The workers are packed in like sardines but still there is not room for them all. Dex stands on a makeshift stage and announces that we are taking precautions against a serious threat: a large band of Outliers from Scotland and the Borders region have been gathering an army and are said to be heading this way. Not only are they ruthless and brutal, but it is believed they practice cannibalism.
Until further notice, no one will leave UK Central apart from those on special assignments. Meanwhile, normal life will be maintained within Central, with all facilities functioning as usual.
"Anyone required to switch jobs will be informed over the next two days and given full training. Please don't be alarmed by the increased amount of security; if there are guards on every corner, they're not there to intimidate but to protect you. You are safe inside the walls of UK Central; you have Alex Verlander's word."
Some people dash straight back to their apartments, talking about locking themselves in. Hanging around, though, I pick up on other reactions.
"I've lived in two communities in Scotland, and they were just normal people trying to get by, not cannibals."
"The most brutal people I've met since this thing started are the bloody CETs."
