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 Snoop,’ 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