by Terry Tyler
"And is it secure?" Phil asks.
"Yes. The sides facing Jutland and Sweden are mostly rocky outcrops; even if you manage to navigate your boat through, it takes a skilled rock climber to get up and over. North beach looks accessible enough, but there are hidden, rocky shallows there too. All the same, we keep a two-man lookout on all three sides. South beach is vulnerable, but we maintain a constant armed guard of six. Trouble is, that leaves only thirty people. Eight of those are kids. So, twenty-two adults to farm, fish, maintain sanitation systems, and people need to sleep, have a bit of downtime—look, you know the problems."
"We do," Kara says.
"Nine months ago," says Seren, "Jewel asked Hawk and me to go out and find people. She gave us the brief, and we thought we knew what we were doing, but we screwed up. We brought back four men who were wrong. So wrong." She shivers. "We didn't spend enough time getting to know them, observing how they live, like we've done here. They'd been camping on another island, a former nature reserve with no residents; they were just fishing and foraging, really. We chose them because they were strong, and eager to join us. But they didn't work out."
"Whole story, please," Kara says.
"Axel, he was the main guy," says Hawk. "They'd gone a long time with no female company, and there were complaints of him hassling the women. He raped one of them. And when we tried to boot 'em off, it went bad." He breathes in. "Very bad. We sustained injuries. Axel and his men came off worst. We had to kill to keep ourselves safe; nobody wants to do that, nothin' like that has ever happened on the island before, and we gotta make sure it don't happen again. But we still need more people."
"I thought Jewel wouldn't trust my judgement a second time," says Seren, "but then she mentioned Lindisfarne; I'd told her about it, many times. I remembered it as being like our community. So she sent us out again, to see if it still existed, and, if so, if there was anyone we wanted to invite to come back with us."
"Because it's better than here," Hawk says. "You'd be safe on Baldur. But, having lived amongst you, we can see that it's not an option, 'cause if, say, fifteen of you come with us, you'll face the same problems: not enough bodies to comfortably support life."
I look at Mum. I can tell by her face that she wants to go.
"All the same," Hawk says, "we've given thought to who would be the right fit for Baldur, by getting to know all of you."
"I knew you were up to something," I say. "I've been watching you. At first I thought you were writing a book, then that you were just nosy, then I wondered if you were UK2 spies."
Everyone laughs, except Kara.
"So who's got the golden ticket?" She sounds super-sarky.
"Please don't think of it like that," Seren says. "It's a matter of who will fit in. What works in one community doesn't necessarily work in another. We weren't just looking at it from our point of view; it's a case of who will be happy with us, too."
"Who, then?"
They glance at each other, and Hawk speaks. "You five. Scott. Travis, obviously, 'cause him and Seren are living their own romance novel"—pause for laughter—"Jax, 'cause we know he's, like, your family, and we think it would be good for him. Martin. Luke, John, Ruby, Audrey, and Ozzy and Myra. Ozzy wasn't on the list at first, but when we heard his story the other night we knew he was good people."
"That's it?" says Kara. "So we lucky few get to sail off over the horizon, and leave our friends here to face the music? Fuck that." She shakes her head. "You don't know us at all."
I can tell Seren is trying hard to keep smiling. "Well, like we said, as we spent more time here we saw that the original idea wasn't feasible."
"Ruby won't go without Parks," I say. "Parks won't go without the rest of the Hadrian, and I won't go without Mac."
"Yeah," Hawk says, leaning forward on the table. "The plan was shit. We can't say, hey, you've been chosen, but sorry, you haven't. So what we're saying is that the offer is open, because you all need the chance to be safe from those assholes who burned down your farm. There is not one person here who we wouldn't welcome to Baldur. Some might feel uncomfortable at first—your biker guys, say, might find it a bit hippy-dippy. But we find that the more diverse our community is, the better it works."
"That's right," says Seren. "Yes, there is the hippy-dippy aspect, I won't lie; a few longer-term residents are into chanting and whatnot—I'm not, and nor is Hawk—but Jewel's vision was never for us to be cloistered away from the world, hugging trees. It's a working island; it's real life. One day, we hope we'll find other island communities to trade with. Start expanding."
"But that's the future," Hawk says. "This is now."
They pass round photos (and it looks awesome) while we bombard them with queries about farming methods, soil quality (that's Phil, not the rest of us), fishing stocks, housing, sanitation, all the practicals, but what Mum wants to know about is the justice system, if there is one.
"Forty, fifty or sixty people can't live together in perfect harmony, day in, day out," she says. "What if there's trouble? A punch up? Power struggles? Ration disputes?"
Good for Mum. Pre-bat fever, she would have been all smiles and, ooh yes, sign me up, let me just go and pack a bag, with me doing mega cringes behind her.
"I'm not saying we never have disagreements," says Seren, "but we have an elected council to whom Jewel listens, though she has the final say, always. She has the respect of everyone. We live as equals on Baldur, though obviously leaders and followers emerge; that's human nature. But we try to resolve areas of conflict before they grow into serious problems. We have a policy of complete transparency."
Kara sniffs. "It all sounds a bit earnest. We're less idealistic here."
Hawk laughs. "Maybe we shouldn't have rehearsed our pitch so well."
"So go on. Never mind all this 'transparency' and early conflict resolution; tell me how it really is. I want examples."
"And we need to know about anything negative," Mum says. "You've got to tell us, if you're asking us to abandon our home."
We talk for a long, long time, and it's midnight by the time they leave.
We have a lot to think about.
In bed, later, Mac says. "This island. I want to go there."
I feel as if I'm being disloyal to Lindisfarne, but I do, too.
Meeting time.
In the pub, Kara tells the remaining islanders, the Lindisfarne hardcore, about Baldur.
"I could have chosen not to tell you and asked Seren and Hawk to leave so that I could keep you all here, but my name's not Dex Northam, I'm not in charge of your lives. You might see this as a wonderful opportunity; I can't stop anyone leaving, and I won't try. If you think you'd like to live on Baldur Island, where you'll be safe from those bastards at UK Central, then go, with our blessing, and if you're not happy and want to return, Hawk has promised to bring you back and you'll be welcomed with open arms. Seren and Hawk are our guests for as long as they want to be; they'll answer any questions you want to ask, and please do ask; you need to know all the facts."
Feels like UK2 all over again. Except that this time we're getting the full picture.
Problems start. Ruby wants to go, Parks wants to stay. 'Cause Jez says he's not leaving, which means Wyatt and Zoot won't, either.
"I'm not leaving me brothers, pet," he says. "We're the Hadrian; we stick together. Life and death."
Ruby blows smoke through her nose; I'm surprised it's not fire, she looks well pissed off. "Get over yourself. There's only five of you left, and Mac's going if Lottie does."
"Aye, well, I can't comment on that; it's his decision. But I took an oath—"
"Jesus Christ, what are you, fifteen?" Ruby grinds out her cigarette so harshly that the ashtray scoots over the table, and storms out in a huff.
Parks winks at Jez. "Sexy as fuck when she's angry, isn't she?"
Kelly wants to go, Bev and Rob don't.
This is going to take some sorting.
Oddly, Audrey wants to stay.
"Marcus and I started this community because we love the island, and Marcus is buried here. I'm going to stay until I'm marched off at gunpoint, and maybe not even then."
Rowan fancies it, but she's seriously in lust with Kyle, whose mates on the barricade don't want to go and live with 'a load of Scandi tree huggers'. Gareth feels the same.
"All they eat is dried fish, innit? And them bits of cardboard my Mrs used to eat when she was on a diet."
Ozzy mentions something about Scandinavian women walking around naked and being into group sex, and Gareth thinks he might be able to put up with the dried fish and crispbreads, after all.
I am sure Mum and I will go, so I feel very, very sad when Kara and Phil say that no way are they leaving Lindisfarne.
"But we can't split up," I whine. "We've been together from the start. The Elmfield Nine, right? If you don't come, and Rowan doesn't, we'll only be the Elmfield Five!"
Then Jax says he's staying with the Hadrian. And his dad.
Ozzy tries to persuade him otherwise, because Heath's dead, and he's alive.
Really, we're all scared that he'll bugger off down to find Dex if we're not around to stop him.
Seren says they told Jewel they'd be back no later than the first of April, preferably before, because new people will be needed to help with the spring planting. We have just a couple of weeks to make a decision that will affect the rest of our lives.
Ruby's had a totally awesome idea. We've taken some leather-covered journals with blank pages from the museum shop, and we're making the Book of Lindisfarne.
It's a record of everyone who has lived here since our community began, like the old parish records (Mum says). There are pages empty for those who come after us, and two whole empty books. They will be kept in the pub, so that everyone who comes here can look at them, kept in a glass cabinet to keep them safe from beer spills.
Every person has a page, with a photo if there's one available; otherwise, Ruby does a drawing of them (she's an awesome artist). We record their date of birth, if we know it, what they did before the virus, what they did while they were here, who they were shagging/married to, etc, and when/why they left. Or their date of death.
We also write a little bit about their personalities, so it's not just a list of facts.
We had a good laugh making the page for Neil the geologist who got evicted for bonking Avery. Ruby drew a cartoon of him looking lecherous, with a sneaky expression and a beckoning finger, and I wrote 'Date left: April 2025. Evicted for having sex with an underage girl. Fun Fact: Perv Yard, up by the old school, is named after him, as this was where he lived'.
"I'll make a proper road sign to put at the entrance to Perv Yard, too," Ruby says.
I imagine future historians coming across the book, and our Fun Fact being added to the Wikipedia page about the island, if the internet ever comes back!
Two people have not earned a page. Wedge and Dex, who should disappear from history. Phoenix has just his mother listed, and the only mention of them is on Heath's record. It says 'Died March 4th, 2026. Murdered by Alan Wedgebrow and Dexter Northam'.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Doyle
March 17th, 2027
I'm sitting in a nondescript house in a nondescript street in a village near Newark, in Notts.
I left UK Central approximately twelve hours ago.
I expect they discovered my absence a short while after that, when I did not appear at my desk in the Hub.
I wonder if they've looked for me. I wonder if anyone has got into trouble over my escape. I worry for Jared and Storm, who helped me; I don't suppose I will ever find out if they're okay. So here's to you, Jared and Storm, and thank you for your bravery. In a moment I shall light one of these candles for you, and pray to something (not sure what) that you're safe.
At first, my only concerns were self-preservation and getting up to Lindisfarne to warn them about the new, super-fucked-up bat fever. But then I began to think of those I would leave behind. They needed to be warned, too, but I couldn't jump in without thinking it through; if I told the wrong person the news would get out, panic would ensue, and I'd be in deep shit.
So I chose carefully.
I wrote a letter to be delivered just before I left, and kept it on me at all times.
Next, my plan: I would hide out in the next vehicle leaving UK Central.
I looked on Julio's timetable to see who was going where, and saw that, two days hence, a van was going up to Mercia to take supplies of weapons, ammo and medication.
Andy Dawson from Recruitment was to drive, with Storm alongside.
My spirits plummeted; Andy is a Verlander robot, and everyone knows that Dex is knocking off Storm.
But with the current halt on Recruitment and Clearance, it could be my only chance.
The (locked) vans are kept in the (locked) car park behind the Hub.
How the fuck I was going to sneak into one, I hadn't a clue.
First things first, though, and that first thing took me a whole day to pluck up the courage to do.
Before I went anywhere I had to remove my chip without doing myself serious injury. My stomach churned every time I thought about it. I'd need antibiotics and the right equipment, something to sew up the wound, and this meant finding a legitimate way into the Hub clinic, where the decent meds are kept.
I needed a real accident. One that would validate my request for antibiotics and extra sterile dressings.
I gritted my teeth and chopped into the palm of my hand with a bread knife.
I'm not good with pain and blood. I thought I was going to pass out.
Winding a t-shirt round it, I hared across to the clinic, and didn't have to feign panic; I was actually scared I'd cut too deeply.
I bashed on the hatch and hollered through the intercom, and Jared let me in.
"Jesus, what have you done?" he asked. I was dripping blood everywhere. "Come on, let's get this stitched up."
My plan, though I didn't know quite how I was going to execute it, involved distracting him and nicking a scalpel. I know, it's lame. I'd bought a sewing kit from the Supplies Zone the day before.
As he stitched me up, I said, "Can I have some spare dressings? And some antibiotics, just in case?"
He gave me a bit of a funny look, and said, "Sure."
He applied antiseptic cream and dressed my wound, good and tight.
So far so good.
Now I needed that scalpel. A Stanley knife would have worked, but with every purchase on record I didn't want anyone wondering why I wanted one, especially not alongside the sewing kit, and especially not if I was under observation, which one always has to presume one is, in jolly UK Central.
Jared turned his back on me to wash his hands, and I saw just what I was looking for in a tray near where I was sitting.
I reached out.
Crash!
I caught my sleeve on the edge of the tray, and the whole damn thing fell to the floor.
Jared whipped round. "What happened there?"
I forced a laugh. "Not sure!" Then we both looked at my hand. I was holding a scalpel.
He looked at me, frowning. I was crapping myself. But then he said, so quietly I could hardly hear him, "It'll need stitches. When you take it out. Do you want me to do it for you?"
Had I misheard? "What?"
He moved closer, and spoke in a soft voice, right by my ear, whilst pretending to examine my cut hand. "I'll take it out for you. Your chip. I can give you a local anaesthetic. You do it yourself, it'll hurt like hell and you'll probably mess it up."
My heart was thudding. "Yes." Then I started panicking. I could have just given my whole game away. I hardly know Jared. I had no reason to think he was anything other than a totally loyal UK2 guy.
I didn't speak again.
He did. "I suspected as soon as you asked for antibiotics. And you're nervous. I've seen it before; I've taken a few out. Don't worry."
I had to make a decisi
on quickly. I either trusted him or I scarpered, and would have to start my plan from scratch.
I decided to trust him.
"Take it out."
"Okay. You know there are cameras everywhere?"
"Of course I do."
"So we can't do it in here. It's likely nobody's watching, but we can't assume anything."
We did it in the toilets. Jared said he was prepared to say that we were having a romantic liaison, should we be caught on camera going in there, and I would have to do the same. At first I said no fucking way (no, no, of course I'm not homophobic, but—well, you know, it's a straight guy thing), but Jared said, "Would you rather have Verlander think you're gay, or be shipped off to Mercia?"
I cannot describe how wonderful it felt to get that thing out of me. I felt free already, and I hadn't even stepped outside the walls of Central.
My chip was still active. It had to stay in my pocket until I left.
"What's the plan?" Jared asked, as he was sewing me up.
I told him about the van going up to Mercia.
"Who's going?"
"Andy Dawson, and Storm."
"Oh, good. That's good."
"It is?"
"Yeah. I'll have a word with Storm; she'll let you hide out."
"You what? She's fucking Dex!"
Jared laughed. "The primary reason for that is to get extra supplies and inside info. Verlander's not the only one who knows about networking—hey, keep still, will you?"
I couldn't believe my ears. "What are you, the resistance?"
He laughed again. "Kind of."
"Who else?"
"Some you wouldn't know. The boss security guard, Grant, at the Juno Complex; he's a main player. Couple of guys on Clearance."
Now was the time to tell him about the virus threat.
He accepted the information calmly.
"Storm's been feeling this one out; Dex is under strict instructions not to say anything to anyone but it's amazing what an expert blow job can achieve—her words, not mine! Mutation has always been a possibility; I'm not surprised. But you say it's contained at the moment? For sure?"
