End of the End Read online

  “Sorry, ’scuse us, mate,” said Jack, but the man didn’t move. Jack glanced back down the alley, where the other four men were approaching.

  “No cause for alarm,” said the man who had spoken in the pub, sounding posher than Jack expected. He held his arms out in front of him, showing his empty hands as he held them up in surrender. “I apologise if I scared you. We forget how it is outside Oxford. You folks must be wary of strangers.”

  “Who are you?” said Jane. “What do you want?”

  “Messengers,” said the man, approaching slowly. “Got a message for you.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “Well,” said the man, lowering his voice. “It’s a rather sensitive matter. About what’s been happening. We don’t want the whole world to hear.”

  Jane turned to Jack—she looked just as surprised as him. But what could they do? There was no way they’d push past the big man behind them, and they were curious. Jane nodded to Jack to remain where he was while she made her way back down the alley to meet the spokesman.

  Who punched her hard in the face.

  Jane collapsed backward, blood spouting from her nose and lip. Jack hurried forward to help her but the man behind him grabbed his shoulders and propelled him into the wall. Jack hit the bricks with the side of his head and his attacker clamped a hand round his throat, scraping Jack’s face against the wall while he strangled him. Stunned and stupid, Jack tried to get purchase on the man’s powerful hand. He tried to kick out, he tried to do anything, but knew that it was hopeless.

  “Why?” he managed to say.

  The men weren’t listening. They looked down at Jane, prostrate on the floor. She held a small pistol up at them.

  “Naughty,” the well-spoken man told her. “That’s a capital offence.”

  “Worth the risk, it turns out,” said Jane, getting to her feet. She nodded towards the man still throttling Jack. “Let him go.”

  The hand eased from round Jack’s aching throat. He leant against the wall, gasping for air.

  “You get out of the way,” Jane told the man who had throttled Jack. “We’re leaving.”

  “I mean it,” said the man. “The patrols catch you with that, you’re done for. They’ll do your boyfriend, too, for being an accomplice.”

  “Who are you?” Jane asked him. “Why pick on us?”

  The man glanced involuntarily back at his friends. “Tourists. Don’t know your way around town. Easy pickings.”

  Jack’s throat was so raw he could barely get the words out. “He’s... lying.”

  The spokesman only smiled.

  “Someone sent you to kill us,” said Jane. He didn’t answer, so she raised the gun, pointing it right in his face.

  “Nothing quite so permanent as that,” said the man. “Call it a friendly warning.”

  “From who? About what?”

  “Oh,” he said, “I can’t tell you that. You really would have to shoot me.” He saw her finger tighten round the trigger and he smiled again. “I think you could do it, too. But I’ll remind you you’re in Oxford and there are strict rules about who can and can’t carry guns. Actually killing someone? The gibbet, if you’re lucky.”

  “He’s right,” said Jack, woozily. “We don’t want the aggro.”

  “No,” said Jane, her gun still on the man. “We never do, but it comes all the same.” She glowered at the man. “Right now I’m the messenger. Friendly warning for whoever sent you our way. You don’t fuck with us.”

  Still with his hands raised, the man bowed politely, then backed away down the alley with his men. The man who had throttled Jack was already gone.

  Jack went over to Jane. Blood poured from her nose, but it didn’t look broken. From the look she gave him, he was in a similar state. “You brought a gun into the city,” he croaked, frowning.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “But if they find it...”

  “They’re not going to,” she said, and started to slip it back into the holster in her sleeve.

  “Um,” said a voice behind them. “Actually...”

  They turned. At the end of the alley stood Constable Ahaiwe, and two masked patrolmen with assault rifles.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I’D BETTER TAKE the pistol,” said Ahaiwe. Her hand trembled as she held it out, as if she thought Jane might shoot her.

  “Five men just attacked us,” said Jane. “If I hadn’t had this on me, we’d be dead.”

  “It’s true,” said Jack. “I mean, look at the state of us. We weren’t all bleeding when you spoke to us earlier.”

  “I see,” said Ahaiwe. “Where are these five men now?”

  “You just missed them,” Jane told Ahaiwe. “Conveniently enough.”

  “You must have seen them,” said Jack. “Five great big blokes. They were right here.”

  “Did you see anything?” Ahaiwe asked her patrol.

  They shook their heads. “No, ma’am,” one man grunted.

  “They were your thugs,” said Jane, slowly.

  “I don’t know anything about it,” snapped Ahaiwe, though she wouldn’t meet Jack and Jane’s eyes. “But if they’re not here now, you can give me the gun. Please. I don’t want to use force.”

  There didn’t seem to be any point arguing, not with the patrolmen and their assault rifles, so Jane handed over her pistol. Ahaiwe took it gingerly, as if it might bite her, and stowed it away in the pocket of her uniform.

  “Good,” she said to the patrolmen. “Take them to the castle.”

  The patrolmen gestured for Jack and Jane to move. Jack glanced back down the alley, but there was no hope of reaching the door to the pub at the end. He shrugged at Jane and led her the other way, out of the alley and on to the main street.

  It was still early evening, a good hour before curfew, and there were plenty of people about. Academics discussed their studies, young couples held hands, a group of teenage boys shared a joke. It looked idyllic; to Jack, it seemed false. This was a police state, conspiring against him and Jane.

  People turned to watch as they were led down the street by Ahaiwe and the two patrolmen. Jack held his chin up and walked with purpose. This would be part of the legend, he told himself. They’d remember his dignity and poise at this moment when, sometime in the future, he had become King. Yeah, he could hold on to that thought. He even grinned at Jane and she gave him a rueful if bloody smile in return.

  “Um,” said Ahaiwe behind them. “Could the prisoners both stop?”

  Jack and Jane did as they were told. What now? They waited, but nothing more was said. Jack started to turn round but something poked him hard in the back—the end of a rifle. He stayed resolutely still. A crowd gathered round to watch, keeping their distance. This had to be something out of the ordinary.

  “Yes,” said Ahaiwe after a moment, speaking to the patrolmen. “I’m sorry but the, er, operational directives are clear. When a concealed weapon is located, the officer must be sure that there are no further concealments.”

  Beside Jack, Jane sighed. “You mean you want to search—oof!” She, too, had been jabbed in the back.

  “Um,” said Ahaiwe. “You must both remove your clothes.”

  “What, here?” said Jane.

  “It’s kind of a public place,” said Jack. “Lots of public. All staring. And it’s cold.”

  The gun ground into his back. “Son,” sneered the patrol man, “you were given an instruction. You get your bits out or we’ll do it for you.”

  THEY STOOD COMPLETELY naked in the street, watched by what felt like the whole city of Oxford. Ahaiwe took her time gingerly examining their clothes, as if at any moment a garment would explode. Jack tried to keep his composure, but it was fucking freezing and he couldn’t help shivering—and shrivelling. People pointed and jeered. He was acutely conscious of his prosthetic leg. This wasn’t helping the legend.

  His head throbbed from being bashed against the wall earlier. He was also bothered by Jane. Her nose had sto
pped bleeding, which was good, but she just stood there, staring straight ahead, blotting out the world. The same dead-eyed look she’d had all those years ago when Lee—little Lee’s father—had died. It had taken her a couple of years to fully come out of it, basically when her son was of an age to demand conversation.

  “Um, okay,” said Ahaiwe after what might have been an hour. “I’ll take these.” She’d found a blunt bit of pencil, a paperclip and the key to Jack’s flat at St Mark’s.

  “Very dangerous weapons, those,” said Jack.

  Ahaiwe ignored him, quickly turning away. “Take them to the castle.”

  “Wait,” said Jack. “Can’t we get dressed first?” Again, a gun jabbed him in the back—so hard he stumbled forward. Naked it was...

  Jane nonetheless quickly scooped up her clothes in a bundle. Jack did the same, though one shoe had rolled away towards the crowd, and when he made to collect it he got another jab in the back. They marched through the streets, awkwardly pulling on clothes as they went. When Jane stopped to put on her boots, a patrol man shoved her forwards. They went on, barefoot but otherwise dressed.

  They marched west, away from the pubs and colleges to a wide open space with the remains of white markings on the tarmac. It had once been a car park, but the cars had long since been taken away. They crossed the empty space, heading into pitch darkness. Oh, shit, thought Jack.

  He considered making a break for it, but the car park offered no protection from the guns. Besides, he didn’t fancy being shot in the back.

  They came to the edge of the car park and a shape loomed from the darkness. There wasn’t enough light to see, but the military police ushered Jane forward and she stumbled up a narrow path. Once he was on it, Jack could just make out the gravel pathway winding up the side of the steep hill. The stones were agony on his feet. Not being able to see didn’t help—the ascent was treacherous. They must have climbed the equivalent of four of five storeys, still nearly blind, when they heard the creak of a door.

  “I can’t see where I’m meant to—” said Jane, and her voice cut off abruptly.

  “Hey!” said Jack, starting to turn. As a result, when the patrolmen shoved him forward, he fell arse over tit through the thick curtains masking the door, landing in an undignified heap in the blazing light.

  Spots danced before his eyes as Jane helped him up. “You’re an idiot,” she told him.

  “I know. Ow—I can’t see a thing.”

  “Electric light,” she said. “Electric light!”

  They were in a sumptuous hallway, with plush red carpet under their aching feet. A slightly chipped statue of a lion grappling with a unicorn took pride of place. The patrolmen with machine guns had not followed them inside.

  “Where are we?” said Jack.

  “A court house, I guess,” said Jane. She turned at the sound of footsteps.

  An elderly, thin man with an immaculate uniform and an immaculate moustache gave a little bow. “Your Majesty, ma’am: if you’d care to come this way?”

  The alternative was to rush back outside to the dark and the patrolmen, so Jack and Jane followed him. He led them down a corridor and up a staircase. Lush paintings of English scenes—all of them post-Cull—adorned the walls.

  “I should say: I am General Singhar and this is Oxford New Castle, the largest brick building constructed anywhere in the country since The Cull. We’re all jolly proud.”

  “Right,” said Jack. “Very cosy. And it’s where you sentence us to death?”

  The man found the thought amusing. “Not quite, sir. It’s the government building.”

  “If the Council knows we’re here,” said Jack, “they could put in a word for us. Get us off the charges.”

  General Singhar rubbed at one of the gleaming buttons on his uniform. “I’m afraid the Council no longer exists.”

  “What?” said Jane. “Since when?”

  “Since just over a month ago,” said the general. “It’s rather been superseded. We now have a provisional national government, made up from all the regions—or at least those willing to take part. This is where they meet.”

  Jack stared at the man. “Nobody asked us to take part. I mean, St Mark’s. The whole district of Kent.” A horrible thought struck him: perhaps some communities in Kent were a part of this, but had kept the fact from him.

  “Well, ah, no,” said General Singhar. “The initial member communities felt, rather strongly I’m afraid, that a break should be made from the former system of governance. Some were very keen that the new government should not be based in London, let alone at Westminster.”

  “And there’s some who don’t want Jack being part of it,” said Jane. “They need to see us brought down. That’s what just happened out there.”

  The general looked uncomfortable. They had reached a pair of double doors, guarded by a man and a woman in robes that didn’t quite hide their body armour. The general kept his voice low so the guards wouldn’t overhear.

  “I’m an old-fashioned soldier,” he said to Jack and Jane. “Politics isn’t really my thing. But a long time ago I made a vow to serve the monarch of this country. Frankly, I don’t see how the end of the world should make one damned bit of difference to that.” He stood up a little straighter. “So, as much as it’s practicable and for the little it might be worth, I am, humbly, Your Majesty’s servant.”

  Jack overcame his astonishment and extended his hand. General Singhar shook it gratefully.

  “So what now?” said Jane.

  “Now,” said the general, “you’re called before the government. I hope it all goes... well, the best it can, in the circumstances.”

  “Hang on,” said Jane, indicating the doors. “You mean the government’s in there?”

  “They’ve been waiting some time for you. I’m afraid they can be impatient.”

  “But,” said Jane, “we can’t go in like this. I’ve got blood encrusted down my chin and His Majesty has a black eye. We’re not even wearing shoes.”

  The general nodded. “Battered, but unbowed,” he said. “Give ’em hell.”

  He gestured to the guards, who opened the double doors onto a chamber crowded with people.

  Jack stood up straight, sucked in his stomach and put out his elbow. Jane took his arm and they strode boldly forward to address the new English government.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AAMNA MOSS DIED in agony. A copy of the one-page medical report listed the efforts not to save her life but to make her death less appalling. Jack scanned quickly over the unsettling details. Jane would be able to explain the technical words to him later, but Aamna had died bald and burned and withered, literally melting away as a result of what she’d been exposed to.

  And yet, weak and sick as she had been, Aamna had dictated several pages of what she’d seen at Heysham. A V-shaped tear right the way down the shore-side wall of the power station, and billowing smoke that glowed amber. A last page, written by one Professor Owens, offered some analysis of what those things might mean.

  “A nuclear explosion,” said Jack, putting the pages down on his lap to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. “Or a... core melt?”—glancing back down at the notes—“which caused an explosion.” He looked around the room. “So, what can be done?”

  He and Jane were sat on two not very comfortable chairs in the centre of the chamber. Around them sat the sixty-four members of government, in two rows of benches arranged in a horseshoe. Clerks and a stenographer stood off to one side, so it was just Jane and Jack in the ring. But Jack’s question seemed to impress the members of government. Yes, the thing was to look for solutions.

  “It might help,” said Jane, “to know what you’ve done already.”

  One of the members got to his feet. He was a Ranger, one of fourteen in the government. It was odd to see Rangers with their hoods down and not carrying bows. This man was of Asian descent, and had a flap of hair slicked flat across his bald spot. He spoke with cool authority.

/>   “When we had Aamna’s report,” he said, “the Rangers began an evacuation of Lancaster and the region. It was already too late. The poison is in the air. We’re seeing the effects now over more than a hundred miles.”

  “Christ,” said Jane. “It’s a national emergency.”

  “So,” the Ranger went on, “we sent a delegation to Oxford to consult the books. And it seemed appropriate to summon the Council while we were here. The Council identified Professor Owens as a project lead.”

  “He’s a nuclear physicist, is he?” said Jack. There was a murmur of discontent from the members around him. “Sorry, go on.”

  “Before The Cull, Owens was an astronomer. But there was no one else. He had a grounding in physics and read up what he could—and identified the problem. When The Cull hit, the technicians at Heysham did what they were supposed to. They instituted the shut down and SCRAM procedures.”

  “You mean they ran away?” said Jack.

  The Ranger glowered at him. “Does His Majesty understand the mechanics of a nuclear reactor?”

  “Um,” said Jack. “Not exactly.”

  “It’s to do with neutrons,” said Jane. “You fire a neutron at an atom of the right kind of element. The neutron is absorbed but splits the atom apart. The result is that you produce a bit of energy, and—if it’s the right kind of element—two more neutrons. They fly off and hit two more atoms of the stuff, splitting them to release more energy and four more neutrons. You quickly get a chain reaction: neutrons whizzing off everywhere, releasing more energy. If you’ve enough of the element in the first place, the reaction is self-sustaining. So lots and lots of energy for very little effort. Right?”

  The Ranger smiled. “Very basically,” he said. “And, very basically, you can slow the reaction by inserting rods of material that absorbs the neutrons. In an emergency situation, you insert all the control rods, absorb all the neutrons and so stop the reaction. Then you leave the building. That’s what they did at Heysham at the time of The Cull.”