Frank Tayell - Work. Rest. Repeat.

“Oh, enough,” Arthur snapped. “If you want to count them like that, then there are thousands of deaths on each of our hands. But the scales are balanced by the lives we’ve saved.”

“ After Fern’s death,” Robin had said. “I told Gabriel that we shouldn’t kill. That we shouldn’t become like them. I thought he’d taken it to heart. We went back to our original plan. We’d set off the charges, and rescue the children. Gabriel and I went to plant the bombs. On the way back he saw those nurses . I couldn’t stop him. And then he died in that stupid accident. Do you think his death was justice? Do you think it was just?”

“ I don’t know,” Ely had replied.

“Twelve thousand people, Ely, the future of our species. Individuals don’t matter, they can’t,” Arthur said.

“Is it just twelve thousand?” Ely asked. “Are there no others?”

“It’s just us,” Vauxhall said. “The Tower, the City of Britain.”

“It was a great nation once,” Arthur said, pointing at the buildings. “I’ve read the books, it controlled the world. From its ruins an even greater nation will arise. With your help.”

“ Where were you going to take the children?” Ely had asked.

“ We found a farm. It had been abandoned a few seasons before. Crops had grown wild in the fields, but they were there. The buildings were empty, but people had lived in them, and recently. We thought that perhaps we could find them.”

“Now, are you finished with the questions?” Arthur asked. “Because we do have work to do. We need to see if the Tower can be repaired. If it can’t, then we need to act quickly to maintain control of the situation.”

“I’ve one last question,” Ely said.

“What?” Arthur snapped impatiently.

“If there are no ships being built, then what is it that everyone’s doing in the Assemblies?”

“Keeping busy. Keeping occupied. Staying useful,” Arthur said. “That’s all anyone ever wants out of life, isn’t it? To be safe, to be comfortable and to have a purpose.”

“I see.” Ely glanced between Vauxhall and Arthur. Then he looked up. A solitary bird flew out of the window above him. It circled overhead once before coming to settle on a twisted lamppost.

“So, unless there’s anything else, it’s time to make your choice,” Arthur said. “I told you that time was coming. I gave you that gun. I see you’ve still got it. So join us, or shoot us now. It is time for you to choose.”

Ely took another step. He was thirty yards away from the door to the tunnel. Arthur was closest, at around twenty yards away. Vauxhall stood ten feet behind and a dozen feet to the right of the old man. Both, he noted, still had their hands behind their backs.

Slowly he moved his hand to the pistol at his waist. As he did, he saw both Arthur and Vauxhall visibly relax. He took the gun out, then tossed it through a broken window.

Arthur looked surprised. Vauxhall looked relieved.

“What now?” Ely asked, he took another step forwards. “I mean, if you want Vauxhall to lead the people, what happens to you?”

“Like I said, the Tower was my life. I’ll stay, once everyone else has left.”

Ely stopped, suddenly, and stared at the ground.

“What’s that?” he wondered out loud, as he bent down.

“ It’s a beguiling story,” Ely had said, as he’d raised the pistol again. “And I can see that some of it’s true. But how much? You’ve no proof that Fern was Finnya Greene’s sister. And if there ever was any, it’s now been destroyed.”

“ Proof? You want proof? You want more proof than that what you can see? If you pull that trigger, you will die. That’s not a threat. It’s a fact. The gun’s rigged. Where do you think we learned about explosives? Out in the wild? We were taught by that old man. There’s a button on the side. If you press it, the magazine will come out. At least if it was real gun with proper ammunition in it, it would.”

Ely looked down at the pistol.

“ Try it,” she had said. “It’s not a trick.” She’d raised her hands, and this time Ely saw they were empty.

He’d pressed the button. The magazine fell, but only by half an inch. Carefully, he’d pulled it out. There were no cartridges, just something wrapped in silver coloured plastic, with two wires leading from it back into the body of the pistol.

“ They’ve tried that before,” she had said.

“ Why me?” he’d asked. “Why are you telling me? Why did you want me to follow you?”

“ I told you, we only came back because of Finnya’s family. I’m going to honour her wishes and take the children somewhere safe. As for you, for at least the last five years you have been culpable in all the deaths this Tower has caused. But you were an unwitting accomplice, Ely, a prisoner like all the others. We decided we would give you back your life, we were curious to see what you would do with it.”

“And what about me?” Ely asked, still kneeling.

“The workers will think you’re leading them,” Vauxhall said. “You just won an election. You fought the killers that had been terrorising the Tower, and in doing so you discovered the truth. You’ll lead them out here.”

“And then where?” he reached down to his boot, and palmed the spring powered bolt gun.

“And that’s why you’ll be the leader in name only,” Vauxhall continued. “I’ve found a spot, somewhere not far. There are buildings there that we can use. I’d hoped that—”

In one smooth motion, Ely stood and raised his arm, pointing the bolt gun at Arthur. He pulled the trigger. The bolt flew out with barely a sound. The old man collapsed. Ely turned. Vauxhall’s arm came up, a pistol in her hand. She fired. Ely was hit. As the force of the impact spun him around his finger tightened on the trigger. The bolt flew.

Expecting another shot, he twisted his head. If he was going to die, he wanted the last thing he saw to be the sky. There was no second shot. Vauxhall was down, but not dead. The bolt had hit her in the thigh. The pistol lay on the ground three feet from her, and she was crawling towards it.

Ely staggered over to her, bent, and picked up the gun. She didn’t seem to notice him for a moment. He found the catch, and ejected the magazine. He nodded.

“Ely, please, you can’t.”

“You killed them in their sleep,” he said. “Not just the Greenes, but everyone. They always died in their sleep. I suppose it was Arthur who changed the archives, made it look as if that was how people had always died. I thought that was normal. Why would I think any differently?”

He replaced the magazine.

“Please. Don’t. It would be murder,” Vauxhall pleaded.

“No, it wouldn’t. Didn’t you hear what the Chancellor said? The sentence for the killer was death.”

Ely pulled the trigger, twice. He glanced over at Arthur. The bolt had lodged in the man’s chest. He was dead.

The gun was heavy in his hand. He wanted to drop it, but he knew that he would need it in the days to come. He glanced at his shoulder. He had no idea how severe the wound was, nor what he could do about it. He limped a short way from the bodies, to a slightly larger grass covered mound. He sat down.

Time passed.

“I’ve a bandage if you want one.” It was Robin. She stood in the doorway to the Tower, two children behind her.

“It’s over,” Ely said.

“Yes, it is.” She walked out of the shadows. The two children followed. They weren’t the Greenes. Another pair came out, and another. And then he saw Simon and Beatrice Greene.

“You’re taking all the children?” he asked.