by Alex Scarrow
‘Why they wearing those?’
Nathan shrugged. ‘It’s, like, to show they belong here. You have to earn a band to live here. Guess it’s like a passport or something.’
Jacob quietly observed the activity all around them.
‘A work day,’ said Nathan. ‘Just like back home. Everyone’s gotta get their hands dirty outside.’
He led the way. Most of the cafés and restaurants were closed. One of them, however, was being used as a canteen and groups of workers sat outside around the tables and slurped at warm steaming bowls of food.
At the end of the boulevard they stepped into an open area, a vast foyer, where Nathan led Jacob out of the large glass-fronted doors of the dome’s main entrance.
The morning sun beamed brightly down onto the approach plaza, warming the smooth ground beneath his feet. Spread out in front of them across what was once a wide apron of car-parking reserved for coaches, he could see endless rows of greenery sprouting waist-high from neat rows of long grow-trays. Further along, workers carrying buckets emerged and disappeared down a maze of head-high walls of runner beans and pea vines, climbing frames of bamboo and plastic webbing.
‘It’s one huge farm,’ said Nathan. ‘Much better than ours. They got all sorts of food growing out there.’ He waved his hand to their right. ‘And the Thames is just over there. It’s clean now. They say it’s so clean you can drink it straight out of the river.’ Nathan shook his head. ‘Fuckin’ awesome.’
Jacob nodded. ‘Yeah, this is cool.’
He could imagine Mum approving of this. This is what she’d been trying to set up, somewhere that could sustain itself, feed everyone without having to rely on whatever could still be foraged from forgotten storerooms or overlooked depots. That’s what it looked like they’d managed to achieve here.
Staring out at the rustling sea of leaves before them, he could see this place had so much more potential than their hanging gardens of Babylon out in the North Sea. There was much more growing here than there was back home. Their effort paled by comparison.
If Leona was on her way back to the rigs to tell Mum what had happened to them, then maybe she saw that they were rescued, maybe she saw a hint of the dome, perhaps she understood there was something here worthwhile.
Mum needs to know about this place. Mum needs to bring them all here.
He looked at Nathan. ‘This is so cool.’
‘Yeah.’
Jacob had been hoping to find a bustling city, street lamps aglow and - shit, why not? - maybe even one or two buses picking their way through the centre of London once again. But he realised now that was pitifully naive. A dream like that was still years away. But this . . . he realised with a growing certainty as he watched hundreds of people at work, the slashes of turquoise armbands flickering and moving dutifully amongst an undulating carpet of green . . . this, was where that bustling future was going to start. This place, the Millennium Dome of all the odd places, was going to be ground zero of a new United Kingdom.
He found himself laughing with excitement. Nathan joined him.
‘This is it, isn’t it?’ he asked his friend. ‘This is really it.’
Nathan nodded, knowing exactly what he meant by that half-question.
It. This was definitely it.
Chapter 45
10 years AC
Shepherd’s Bush, London
Leona gazed out of the small study window at the cherry tree swaying gently in next door’s front garden, caught in the morning sun, the blossoms seeming to glow from within. A lovely view. She’d seen Dad a million times sitting in his office chair gazing out of the window.
Probably loving that same tree.
She smiled. It almost felt like he was there in the room with her somehow. Not the body upstairs in Mum and Dad’s old room . . . not that. That wasn’t Dad any more, it was just the fossilised remains of a cadaver beneath a rotting quilt. No, sitting here, at his desk, looking at the faded Post-It notes stuck to the side of his monitor, the walls, a year planner with jobs and contracts penned in and still yet to do, articles from oil industry magazines, charts and graphs pinned to the cork board, a Gary Larson calendar on the desk; one fresh cartoon for every day. It was still on Monday 4 July - the day he left here for his last job over in Iraq just a few days before the crash happened.
This study, the room itself, was Dad.
Nanna said Grandad was the one who discovered the oil was all running out?
Leona smiled at the memory of Hannah’s voice.
Was he a famous science man?
‘No, just a geologist and an engineer,’ she said aloud. She shook her head. ‘And no, he didn’t discover that. Everyone knew, they just weren’t bothered about doing anything.’
The whole oil business knew it was running out. Dad just wrote the report about how bad it could get and how easily the entire industry could be disabled by taking out no more than a dozen distribution nodes.
‘He just wrote a report about it.’ Hearing her own voice deadened by the walls of Dad’s book-lined study was strangely reassuring. ‘He wrote this big essay about it. A big chunky thing. Wrote it way back just before the new millennium, when I was just nine. And he warned what might happen. How someone could make oil stop with just, like, a few bombs in all the right places. They paid him a lot of money for it.’
She shrugged. ‘And then ten years later it happened. It happened exactly as he’d written it down. Bomb after bomb . . . as if he’d predicted the future.’
Wow! Was Grandad a wizard?
Leona laughed. ‘No, not a wizard, Hannah.’ Her gaze drifted back to the window, the glowing cherry blossoms outside, her mind a million miles away. ‘My mum never told you kids when she did the peak oil class, though - never told anyone, in fact - that the people Dad wrote the report for were the same people that made those bombs happen.’
She laughed again, bitterly this time. ‘In a way, you could say the end of the world all started right here, in this little room. Dad - he sort of wrote the plans for it. Showed how it could be done.’
People . . . bad people?
‘Yes, bad people.’ She shook her head vaguely. ‘Never really knew for sure who they were. Dad thought they were oil people. I guess they weren’t.’
Evil terror-men?
‘We’ll never know. Doesn’t really matter who it was now, does it? Or why they’d want to do it. It doesn’t matter any more. They’re all gone. It’s history now.’
Something skittered across the floor above; it could have been a rat, or a wild cat chasing a rat. Their home’s new tenant, mother nature, was clearly impatient to move in.
How long?
Not Hannah’s voice any more, just her own.
How long?
She opened her mouth to answer her own question and realised she honestly didn’t know. ‘Jacob and Nathan might yet come,’ she uttered softly. She didn’t want her little brother coming home and finding her, like Dad, tucked up and dead. Because, yes, he must have made it out of there. He must have. So, maybe the boys had found their lights and new friends and a future, or if not, were well on their way back home.
So how long?
How long indeed. There was food in the trailer outside, and water. Enough to keep her going for weeks, if not months. But that wasn’t the plan.
‘I’m home,’ she whispered.
And that was good enough for now. Her eyes drifted back to the shifting cherry tree outside.
Chapter 46
10 years AC
O2 Arena - ‘Safety Zone 4’, London
Jacob looked up at the young man, flanked on either side by two others. All three of them wore tatty neon orange waistcoats with the word ‘staff’ stencilled across them in fading white. He’d seen others like them walking in pairs around the edge of the huge plantation outside, observing the people tending the crops.
‘Security,’ Nathan had said; the Zone’s ‘police’ keeping the peace.
‘My name’s S
noop,’ said the middle one. His smile revealed a gold tooth. ‘Heard you was up and walkin’ about. So the Chief wants to talk with you.’
‘Right now?’ asked Nathan.
Snoop nodded. ‘Now.’
They were led out of the infirmary and along the boulevard. The canvas ‘sky’ above was beginning to dim as the sun outside set and the tall, high-street façades on either side cast a deep violet shadow between them.
‘Lights should be comin’ on any sec,’ said Snoop.
They were entering the open area of the entrance foyer when a distant chugging sound started up and almost immediately a floodlight atop a tall tripod kicked in, bathing the floor with a cold clinical glare.
‘This way,’ said Snoop.
To their left was the main entrance. Through the glass front wall Jacob could see the acres of green outside and an approaching stream of workers coming in for the evening. To their right - the direction they were being led - a large sign invited them to enter the O2 Arena. Nathan had pointed that out to him earlier today and told him the central stadium area of the dome was off limits to everyone but staff - the guys wearing orange jackets. Jacob had asked why and Nathan had shrugged, saying he guessed it was where all the supplies, medicines and guns were kept.
They entered an archway and pushed through a turnstile that clacked noisily as it admitted each one of them in turn. Jacob could hear - actually feel - the steady bass thump of something coming from ahead of them. They climbed a short flight of steps and found themselves emerging onto an aisle between endless rows of pale blue flip-down auditorium seats that arced in both directions around a circular stage ahead of them.
Both Jacob and Nathan gasped at the sight. The stage at the centre of the O2 Arena was an Aladdin’s cave of flickering, pulsating lights and jangling noise. The floor covered with criss-crossing nests of power cables, pinball and arcade machines.
Above the stage, on a circular lighting rig, spotlights of different colours spun and flashed on and off.
Nathan shook his head, his jaw hanging loose from a thread. ‘Oh, man, you’re shittin’ me!’
Snoop turned back to look at them both, amused by their reaction. ‘Fuckin’ wicked, uh? Tonight’s Party Night. Chief puts the light show and arcade on for us one night every two weeks.’
Jacob watched as dozens of boys played the machines, moving from one to another in lively groups, laughing giddily, popping to the bass-heavy music pumping out over the sound system.
‘Come on,’ said Snoop. ‘Can’t keep the Chief waiting.’
He led them down the central aisle towards the stage, around the bottom of it towards the rear, both Jacob and Nathan’s eyes glued on the fun and games going on around them. Finally they came to an entrance beyond the last block of seats and a ramp leading down to double doors with the words ‘Back’ on one and ‘Stage’ stencilled on the other.
Beside the doors stood another young lad in an orange staff vest. Snoop casually raised his fist and knuckle-kissed.
‘Hey, Trix, we good to go in?’
The boy nodded deferentially to Snoop. He pushed through the heavy doors into a dimly lit area beyond. Burgundy carpet lined the walls and dim recessed spotlights in the ceiling reminded Jacob of a plush cinema he once went to as a kid.
‘Chief!’ called out Snoop. ‘I got here the newbs we picked up.’
‘Thank you, Edward, you and your boys can go join the party if you want whilst I have a chat with them.’
Snoop made a face. Jacob guessed he preferred to be called Snoop rather than Edward. He turned nonchalantly on his heels, casually flicking his wrists at the other two to follow him. They turned and left, pushing through the heavy, acoustically shielded doors which let in a momentary cacophony of jangling arcade bells and pumping dance music before swinging shut and muting the noise to little more than a muffled rhythmic thud.
Stepping into the pool of light cast from a spot in the ceiling, a white man in his late fifties emerged; stocky and short, a face like a grizzled East-End barrow boy, pockmarked skin barely covered by a silver and grey close-clipped beard that was never going to look anything other than patchy.
‘All right?’ He extended a hand. ‘I’m Alan Maxwell.’
He sounded just like he looked: like an ill-tempered sales manager.
Nathan grabbed his hand and shook it. ‘I’m Nathan Williams and this is Jacob Sutherland.’
Jacob smiled as they shook. ‘I just want to thank you very much for taking us both in—’
Maxwell waved him silent impatiently. ‘Sit down. I want to have a chat with you.’
Both boys did as they were told at once. There was something about his gruff commanding voice that told them he didn’t stand on ceremony, he didn’t swallow bullshit, nor did he take ‘no’ for an answer.
‘So? You like the place so far?’
‘You kidding?’ Jacob grinned. ‘It’s amazing. All those games machines and the disco lights and everything. It’s brilliant!’
Nathan just nodded. Playing it cool.
‘Safety Zone Four. One of twenty-seven regional emergency rallying points in the UK,’ said Maxwell. ‘And the only one to survive.’ They nodded silently. Maxwell tidied away a folder of papers he’d been scribbling notes on when they’d entered.
‘It survived because I made a deliberate choice to disobey the emergency authorities’ instructions during the crash. This place should have taken in about sixty thousand civilians and provided them with food and water for twelve weeks.’ A dry half-smile on his lips. ‘Twelve weeks . . . that’s a bloody laugh. That’s how long they reckoned it would take to tidy the streets and get everything back the way it was.’
He looked at them both, locking them down, in turn, with a long uncomfortable stare. ‘I allowed in just under two thousand lucky people. Then I stopped.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose the other fifty-eight thousand I should have let in are all probably dead somewhere. But I’m okay with that. I sleep all right.’
He shrugged. ‘Sounds harsh but that’s the way it is. Bottom line . . . I turned out to be right. The world didn’t fix itself. The supplies in the other safety zones ran out and they ended up in a complete bloody mess.’
He stroked his clipped salt-and-pepper beard thoughtfully. ‘Anyway that explains why we’re still here. I asked Edward to bring you over so we can talk. I do this with any new waifs and strays we take in nowadays. It doesn’t happen quite so often.’
‘There are still people out there,’ said Jacob. ‘In fact there’s dozens of kids living in that exhibition place across the river.’
‘Them? Oh, they’re feral,’ said Maxwell. ‘No more than wild bloody animals now.’ He looked at the expression on their faces. ‘Don’t feel sorry for them. Most of them can barely talk. Many of them were small children when it happened and they still are in a way.’
‘I don’t feel sorry,’ said Nathan. ‘They nearly killed us.’
Maxwell nodded. ‘Every now and then we come across packs of them and have to scare ’em away. Otherwise they’d be trying to get in. Anyway,’ he continued, ‘the pair of you clearly haven’t gone feral so I’m guessing you’ve come from somewhere else that’s managed to sort itself out.’
‘Yeah,’ said Jacob. ‘But not as big or as cool as this place.’
Maxwell shrugged. ‘Unfortunately, that’s what I suspect - that this is probably, by far, the largest going concern in the country. Where’ve you two come from?’
‘Norfolk,’ said Nathan. ‘A place in Norfolk.’
‘You walked down?’
‘No we got some bicycles.’
‘What’s it like out there? Did you come across many people?’
Jacob made a face. ‘Nothing really. It’s just lots of empty towns.’
‘Yeah, we was hoping we’d see other groups an’ things. But it was just a load of rotting buildings an’ stuff,’ added Nathan.
‘So, what about where you came from in Norfolk?’
‘Well actually
it’s off the north-east coast,’ said Jacob. ‘On a bunch of gas rigs.’
Maxwell’s frown lifted ever so slightly. ‘Really?’
Nathan nodded. ‘But it’s rubbish up there. It’s always wet and cold, ain’t it?’
Jacob nodded.
‘Shit,’ nodded Maxwell, ‘it must get very cold out there.’
‘Oh, but we got heaters in some places,’ said Jacob. ‘And the gas gives us some electric anyway.’
‘How many people living there?’
They looked at each other. ‘I think it’s about four hundred and fifty now, isn’t it?’ said Jacob.
Nathan shrugged. ‘About that.’
Maxwell’s eyebrows arched. Impressed.
‘So, where’d you get all your ‘lectric from?’ asked Nathan, nodding towards the double doors and the soft, insistent pump of a dance beat from beyond.
‘Ahh, well we have a sizeable reserve of diesel here and four emergency generators. I put all the lights and the arcade machines on for my boys once a fortnight. It keeps them happy.’
Jacob frowned. My boys?
Maxwell noted that. ‘The staff . . . the ones in orange vests? They like to call themselves praetorians.’
‘Pry-tory . . . ?’
‘Praetorians, like the Roman soldiers that used to guard the emperor,’ said Maxwell. ‘They think of themselves as my bodyguards. I suppose they’re sort of that. But they’re also the security here. The zone’s police, if you want.’
‘But they’re . . . some of them look young. I mean, younger even than me and Nathan.’
‘Yes . . . yes, I suppose some of them are.’
Nathan cocked his head. ‘You got kids in charge here?’
‘Bollocks to that,’ Maxwell huffed. The closest, it seemed, he was going to come to a laugh. ‘No, I’m in charge here. But they’re my police force. And in exchange for the work they get special privileges.’
‘Privileges?’
‘You know, I treat ’em.’
