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.’
‘Like the arcade machines outside?’ asked Jacob.
‘Yeah. We’ve got all sorts of things for my boys; arcade machines, Xboxes and PlayStations, a little cinema. Other treats. Every other Saturday night I crank up the second and third generators and they get all that.’
Jacob and Nathan exchanged a glance.
Maxwell’s lips stretched far enough to almost call it a smile. ‘If you’re a good pair of lads then you might be able to join them. I’m always after boys I can trust. Young lads I can rely on.’
They both grinned. ‘We’d like that,’ said Jacob.
‘Well, we’ll see. For now you can stay on probation until I’m sure you’re not going to be troublemakers.’
‘Oh, we ain’t troublemakers,’ said Nathan. ‘We came looking for something exactly like this. That’s why we came to London, isn’t it, Jay?’
He nodded eagerly.
‘We just knew there had to be something like this here. Somebody getting things sorted. A new beginning an’ stuff.’
‘Yeah and we were—’
Maxwell silenced them both with a hand. ‘You’ll be on probation. And I’ll talk to Edward about you . . . see what he thinks. See if you’ve got the stuff to make it as praetorians.’
Both boys grinned.
‘But for now you’ll remain with the civilians outside. Edward will find you somewhere to sleep and assign you to a work group.’ He waved a hand towards the doors. ‘Off you go then. We’ll talk again soon, I’m sure.’
Jacob and Nathan rose from the seats.
‘Thank you,’ said Jacob again.
‘Yes, all right,’ said Maxwell impatiently. ‘Go find Edward, he’ll take you back to the workers’ area.’
Chapter 47
10 years AC
O2 Arena - ‘Safety Zone 4’, London
Maxwell watched the doors swing to, shutting out the annoying din coming from the arena. The noise reminded him of the cheap seaside camping holidays his parents used to take him on when he was a boy; amusement arcades, slot machines, bumper cars, two-penny-push machines. The incessant blinging and flashing lights; simpletons all around him quite happy with that.
He shook his head. The world was full of simpletons.
Although somewhat less full now.
He returned to the task at hand. An audit of the supplies left downstairs on the mezzanine floor. That floor had been full once. Now the subterranean space was mostly bare green linoleum, dotted with islands of pallets of goods; shrinking islands.
Day to day life for Alan Maxwell had become a precarious balancing game; a very complicated game, the principal goal of which was to eke out what was left downstairs as long as possible without his people realising how little of it was left.
So far he’d played the game very well; lasted much longer than he thought they would. Some food was being grown outside; the basics, dreary vegetables of one kind or another, some fruits too. But nowhere near enough to keep over two thousand people alive indefinitely. What it was doing was helping to pad out the supplies of tinned foods, making what they had go a lot further.
Most mealtimes his people were served thick broths and soups, of which their freshly unearthed vegetables constituted most of the volume. The few dozen tins of corned beef added to the mix made it almost palatable. This summer’s crop had been better than last, but come winter, when there was very little left to dig out of the troughs of earth outside, they were going to be once again wholly reliant on these dwindling islands of canned food.
Month on month, year on year, the game he played was about reducing the amount of stored food he handed out. An accountant’s game of allocating calories per head; lowering the calorie count in a carefully controlled way. Giving less to those deemed least useful to the community;