The voice echoed across the silent blue-grey light of pre-dawn.

‘Hello?’

Leona’s leg jerked. She couldn’t believe she’d actually fallen asleep. She turned on her side, propped herself up and looked over the top of the rusting hulk of the storage drum she’d been sheltering behind. There was a man on the walkway, about a third of the way across. He held a rag of white cloth in one hand.

‘Hello? Can I speak to your leader, Jennifer Sutherland?’ he called out.

The praetorians were all awake and crowded along the edge of the platform opposite - she could see flashes of their orange vests, the glint of gold chains here and there.

Next to her, Mum stood up.

‘Mum!’ hissed Leona. ‘Get down. It’s a trick!’

She ignored Leona, stepping out from behind cover. ‘I’m Jennifer,’ she replied.

Leona looked at Adam. Her face said can’t you stop her?

He gave her a shrug. Too late.

‘I’m Alan Maxwell, by the way!’ shouted the man. ‘Can you and I meet in the middle?’

Jenny stepped onto the walkway and slowly made her way a dozen yards along and finally stopped. ‘Just here is fine for me. I can hear you well enough.’

‘So.’ He shrugged and smiled. ‘This is a bit of a bloody mess, isn’t it?’

Jenny said nothing.

‘Thing is, it’s not exactly a stalemate. We’ve got a whole load of guns over here, and, well . . . you’ve got these,’ he said, holding up one of their improvised bra-slingshots. Some of the boys laughed at that. He scratched his salt and pepper beard. ‘So, if we have to come over there and get you it’s just that you’re going to annoy my lads even more if your lot decide to carry on throwing things at them on the way over.’

‘That’s exactly what you’re going to get if you do.’

Maxwell laughed. ‘I figured that. In fact, during the night I’ve had time to do some thinking. And you know what?’ He shook his head. ‘This is really very bloody stupid! That’s what it is. Stupid. Fighting like this, when, let’s face it, we’re probably the two largest organised groups left in Britain!’

He laughed and took another step forward. ‘I mean, we’ve got to rebuild, haven’t we? Make Britain Great again.’

‘We were doing just fine before you attacked us.’

‘And we were doing okay in London,’ replied Maxwell. ‘But, you know what? Your group and my group are what’s left. There’s no bloody government. In fact, you and me . . . I suppose we’re the government, aren’t we? It’s down to us to do something about the country. Get it on its feet again!’

‘And this is how you go about doing that?’ she replied, her voice echoing across the stillness. It was surprisingly quiet. The sea was chastened like a child scolded, lapping softly at the legs a hundred feet beneath them. The endless North Sea breeze just a soft flutter.

He shrugged apologetically. ‘No, maybe you’re right, Jennifer. Which is why I’m standing out here like a right lemon.’

‘So?’

‘So . . . why don’t we call an end to the fighting? Pool our resources. I’ve got about eighty lads here with me, and another one hundred men and women who’ll be arriving soon. And we’ve got barges stuffed full of supplies. Together, your lot and mine, that’s, what? Nearly a thousand people?’ He spread his hands. ‘You know what I call that?’

‘What?’

‘A bloody good start.’

‘And of course you’ll be in charge,’ said Jenny.

‘No,’ he shrugged. ‘Shit, you can be if you want! I’m just trying to make a deal here. There’s been enough bloodshed, for fuck’s sake.’

Jenny looked past him at the boys gathered around the entrance to the walkway. ‘And those boys?’

He turned to look at them. ‘They’ll do what they’re told. Alan knows best.’ A fresh breeze tugged at his anorak, flipping the hood up. He smoothed it back down. ‘Look, we’ve got loads of goodies to share and you’ve got oil or gas, you know? We’re both bringing something to the party—’

‘Oh, we don’t have oil or gas. That’s for sure.’

Maxwell’s eyebrows arched. He looked perplexed.

Jenny laughed drily. ‘Oh, I get it . . . I see,’ she shook her head. ‘That’s what you came for, is it?’ She nodded towards the drilling platform. ‘You thought we were pumping stuff out of the sea?’

Maxwell said nothing.

‘Take a look,’ she said. ‘The drilling platform . . . see?’

Maxwell turned to look, craning his neck one way then the other to get a look past the low structures on the production platform to see the empty support jacket on the far rig. After a few moments squinting at the structure, he turned back to her, a look of confusion on his face.

‘There’s no drill apparatus, do you see? It’s just an empty jacket. This field was dry even before the crash.’

He smiled and wagged a finger. ‘You’ve been running a generator,’ he replied. He looked up at a loop of power flex dangling from the roof of the cage and flicked it with a finger. The heavy flex swung and creaked. ‘Oh, you’ve got power all right.’

‘We did. But we’ve never been pulling up oil or gas. Like I said, this place was dead. Being mothballed.’

Maxwell laughed. ‘Don’t be modest now. You expect me to believe that?’

‘We had a generator running on methane. Running on human and chicken shit. That’s all.’

Maxwell looked stumped. ‘But . . . but it’s a gas rig,’ he said again. ‘It’s a fucking gas rig! Why the fuck would you be living here in the middle of fucking nowhere, Mrs Sutherland, if it wasn’t producing something? Hmm?’

‘To keep away from bastards like you.’

Maxwell laughed a little too shrilly.

‘We managed to produce enough methane to get a couple of hours of light a day. That’s all,’ said Jenny. ‘You could quite easily have done the same yourselves.’

Maxwell looked sceptical. ‘All this cabling . . . you’re telling me all this . . . for just a couple of hours of light?’

‘A couple of hours of light, sometimes less. But not any more. We had an accident. There was an explosion several months ago. I’m not even sure we’ll ever get it working again.’

She noticed, over Maxwell’s shoulder, the boys keenly listening to the shouted exchange. She could see them looking at each other, whispering.

‘Maxwell,’ she said, raising her hoarse voice a little more to be certain all the boys were hearing her loud and clear. ‘Is that what you’ve been promising those kids? Unlimited electricity?’

The man seemed momentarily stumped for a reply.

‘Because you’re a terrible fool if you did. All we’ve got here is what little we manage to grow. You’d have been far better staying wherever you came from.’

Maxwell put out his hands, as if trying to hush her voice. ‘No, course not. This is—’

She laughed. ‘You did, didn’t you? You stupid fucking idiot!’ She leaned to one side to address the boys directly. ‘There’s no gas or oil here! There’s no power! He led you here for nothing!!’

‘Shit!’ snapped Maxwell, lowering his voice. ‘Shut up!’

‘You wasted your time, lads!’ she called out again. ‘You stupid idiots! There’s no power here! No lights! There’s nothing!! This man is a fool!’

Maxwell turned away from Jenny to face his praetorians. He sighed. ‘All right, boys, maybe she’s right. We’ll find out for sure soon enough. But we’re here now, aren’t we? And we’re nearly done. Over there are several hundred new women for you to enjoy. So let’s get on with it, boys. You can have a couple of days’ fun, then we’ll grab everything worth taking. And I suggest we head back to Felixstowe. What do you say to that? Hmm? Who knows how many more containers of grog we’ll find there?’

Snoop emerged from amongst the crowd of praetorians and stepped onto the walkway. Maxwell glanced at him and smiled. ‘What do you reckon, Edward? That sound like a plan?’

‘Sounds like a really shit plan, Chief,’ he replied.

Maxwell’s eyes narrowed and then he nodded. ‘Oh, I see, and this is the point where you’ve finally decided to take charge of the praetorians, is it?’

Snoop said nothing.

‘You know absolutely nothing, Edward. You’re still just a child. A big boy who knows nothing more than the dome. What? So you’re going to take charge now? Find food for these boys? Care for them? Plan for them? Educate them? Are you that organised, Edward?’

Snoop shrugged. ‘I know enough that we can’t just live on the shit we find in containers for ever. Or did you think I was too stupid to figure that out for myself?’ Snoop turned round to face the boys. ‘The shit out there ain’t going to last for ever. You boys know that, right?’

‘Edward! Give it a fucking rest, will you?’ snapped Maxwell.

‘Our shit can’t jus’ be one party night after another. You gettin’ that, right? You all figured out the party’s gotta end one day?’

Some of the boys glanced at each other.

‘Edward!’

‘Well,’ continued Snoop. ‘The shit needs to change, or one day we end up like them fuckin’ London wild kids an—’

‘Edward! SHUT UP!’

‘Or what?’ He spun round. ‘You gonna’ do what, fool?’

‘You’ll be kicked out, that’s what! Kicked out of the praetorians. I’ll make . . . I’ll make Jay-zee my new top dog!’ He leaned round Snoop and addressed the cluster of faces watching events from the far end of the walkway. ‘You hear that? How’s that sound, Jay-zee? You want to be my new top dog?!’

He looked back at Snoop. ‘Now why don’t you shut up and let me finish what I’m—’

‘This place,’ Snoop cut it, ‘this place has figured it out. You see all this green shit everywhere?’ He pointed at the rustling leaves dangling from every level, on the platforms either end of the walkway. ‘That’s all food. That’s all grow-again, come-again food. That’s like making a real future.’ He jabbed a finger at Maxwell and turned to address the boys. ‘And you know what he is, what the Chief is? He’s like a piece of the past. The use-it-up past. And when whatever shit lying around is all used up we’ll be fucked, too.’

‘He’s right!’ called out Jenny. ‘There’s no future in this.’

‘Oh, don’t you start,’ snapped Maxwell. He pulled a handgun out of the pocket of his anorak and levelled it at Jenny. ‘You really need to shut up now.’

Snoop pulled the assault rifle from his shoulder and aimed at Maxwell.

‘Chief!’

Maxwell turned to look at him. ‘EDWARD? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?’

‘You should lower the gun,’ replied Snoop hesitantly. ‘Lower the fucking gun!’

‘Or what, Edward?’

‘My name’s SNOOP, not EDWARD!’ he replied.

Maxwell laughed. ‘No, you’re just a stupid twat called Edward, who thinks he’s some sort of hip-hop gangster!’

‘Fuck you!’ A dozen rounds ricocheted up the walkway, spinning Maxwell and knocking him heavily onto his back.

Leona was on her feet. ‘MUM!!!’ she screamed. She grabbed the gun lying beside Brooks, leaped over the storage drum and into the walkway cage.

‘NO!!! NO-NO-NO!’ The scream filled her ears as she watched her mum’s knees slowly begin to buckle. She collapsed on her haunches, sitting uncomfortably on her bottom, swaying unsteadily, both of her hands clasped over her left breast.

Leona clattered down the walkway as Snoop looked on in confounded silence. She slewed to a halt beside her mother. ‘Oh, God, Mum, no!’

Jenny looked up at her, with an expression of puzzlement. ‘I think I got hit,’ she said matter-of-factly. She looked down at her hands, both clamped over a small hole, several inches below her collar bone, that was vigorously pushing blood out between her spread fingers.

Leona dropped to her knees and pressed her hand against the wound, three hands, hers and Mum’s, all trying to do the same futile thing; stem the flow.

‘Mum . . . Mum . . . Mum,’ she whimpered. Jenny wobbled sideways like a drunkard and Leona caught her in her arms. ‘Mum . . . please!!!’ She looked up. ‘WHERE’S Tami? WHERE’S TAMI?!’

She looked down at her. ‘Mum . . . please . . . don’t . . .’

Jenny looked crossly at her. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Leona, you’ve got my mess all over your hands.’

Leona shook her head and cradled her mother’s. ‘Mum, don’t do this.’ Her voice broke into a pitiful whine. ‘Mummy . . . please . . .’

‘I’m all right, honey . . . just a bit tired . . .’

Jenny’s head began to loll heavily against her daughter’s arms. ‘Just like your father . . . so messy . . .’

‘Like you, Mum,’ she whispered, ‘I’m like you, Mum.’

‘. . . You’re . . . you . . . like . . . ?’ She wasn’t making sense, her eyes were losing focus, starting to roll to one side as a single line of dark blood emerged from one nostril and streamed down across the bumps of her scarred cheek.

‘You’re so strong, Mummy.’

‘. . . Hannah? Now be a good girl . . . just . . .’

Her head kinked over slowly to one side and her eyes seemed to be regarding the sea below, visible through the walkway grating, softly swirling eddies between the rig legs. One last breath came out as a protracted sigh of relief.

Then she was gone.

It was quiet and still there, a hundred feet above the grey void. A breeze rustled through the wire and whipped playfully with the corner of Jenny’s tan cardigan. Leona heard the clang of feet slowly approaching and looked up to see the tall black kid in a tracksuit approaching her. He wore an orange vest with the fading word ‘staff’ stencilled across it and wore several heavy gold chains round his neck. He was holding a gun in both hands. It wasn’t pointed at her, it was pointed down. No threat. Instead, he looked almost chastened; like a schoolboy asking for his ball back having broken a pane of glass in a greenhouse.

She vaguely recognised him through a foggy recall of the aftermath in that small room that stank of her own faeces.

‘That your mum?’ he said quietly, not seeming to recognise her. ‘I’m sorry. Real . . . real sorry what just happened. Don’t know if it was me hit her . . . or . . .’ He glanced at Maxwell’s body, skewed awkwardly across the walkway, the gun still held in his hand. He might have fired it, might not have.

Leona could see the boys gathered beyond him at the mouth of the walkway, looking much the same way as he did. Lost. Not sure what should happen next.

More fighting? Or something else?

No longer Super Army Soldiers . . . just lost boys.

‘Yeah.’ Leona nodded slowly, stroking her mother’s scarred cheek. ‘Yeah, that was my mum.’

The boy squatted down beside her and reached for one of Jenny’s wrists, feeling for a pulse. Leona already knew she was gone. Perhaps to somewhere she’d be happy. Perhaps not.

She pulled herself to her feet. ‘All of you,’ she croaked. She cleared her throat, dry as parchment, hawked, spat and tried again. ‘All of you boys,’ she said, her voice louder, stronger.

‘Why don’t you put down those guns?’