side of the dome. They’ve got the barges lined up there. They’re loading stuff on.’
‘If we don’t get home first,’ said Leona, ‘if they get up onto the rigs before us, then it’s all for nothing. We might as well stay here and just wait for things to fall apart.’
‘How long’ll it take Maxwell to float his way up?’ asked Walfield.
‘My guess, it might take him three or four days,’ said Adam. ‘Say, two days if the sea’s millpond calm.’
‘So how’re we getting there?’
They heard the shrill scream of the work whistle in the distance.
‘On foot,’ said Leona. ‘Bicycles if we can find some. Shouldn’t be difficult - first retail park we come across there’ll be a shop.’
‘How long will that take us on bikes?’
‘Two days,’ she replied. Her eyes flickered towards Adam. ‘Maybe three . . . four.’
‘So,’ said Adam, ‘that’s why we need to get away first.’
The whistle blew again.
‘We’re out of time, lads. So, tonight we’re going for it. Okay?’
The other three men nodded as they pretended to shake off and tuck away.
Adam looked at them all. Very quietly he spoke, little more than a whisper. ‘Right then. One hour after the bedtime whistle blows.’
‘Where do we meet?’ asked Walfield.
Adam thought about it. ‘The rainwater pool.’
Leona knew where he meant. He was talking about the large family-sized paddling pool. It was to the left of the dome’s main entrance, towards the river’s edge.
‘Got that, lads?’ said Walfield. Both lance corporals nodded. ‘Back to work then.’
Leona watched the three men turn and make their way through the cluster of stinking plastic butts towards the plantation, converging with all the other workers.
Adam stirred. ‘All right, Leona? You okay with them?’
She knew what he was asking of them. ‘They seem like good men.’
‘They are. They’re good fellas.’
‘And you were, like, in charge of them?’ she asked.
He shrugged awkwardly. ‘Once upon a time, yeah. I was their CO.’
‘Like an officer?’ she asked.
‘Exactly like an officer. Flight Lieutenant, to be precise.’
‘That sounds impressive.’
Adam led the way through the butts back towards the aisles of beans where they’d been working this morning. ‘It’s not. I was a junior officer really. I was only twenty-five when the crash happened.’
‘Flight Lieutenant . . . sounds like you ought to be flying a plane.’
‘RAF regiment,’ he sighed. ‘Air Force grunts. I’m not a pilot, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh,’ she replied.
Adam laughed softly. ‘And that’s exactly the response I used to get from girls.’
‘I’m sorry, that was rude of me.’
‘Don’t worry, doesn’t mean anything now, does it?’
‘My work group’s on root-crops the rest of today,’ said Adam, pointing to the other side of the plantation, near the old boarded-up entrance to North Greenwich tube station. ‘We’re digging up whatever runty little potatoes and onions are left in the grow troughs. So, I’ll see you later.’
She smiled. ‘Later.’
‘Enjoy the rest of the day,’ he said.
‘It’s going to drag,’ she replied.
He laughed and she thought she saw a smile under that dark beard that she could grow to like.
Chapter 67
10 years AC
‘LeMan 49/25a’ - ClarenCo Gas Rig Complex, North Sea
Valérie Latoc’s jaw set in quiet deliberation for a moment. Finally he looked up across the table at everyone who had crowded into the mess to hear his judgment.
‘God has not given me guidance on this,’ he said caressing the bandaging wrapped around his right hand. Dark brown smudges of blood still showed through the layers of cotton and lint. Beneath the wadding his hand ached dreadfully.
He’d been incredibly lucky . . . blessed even. Jennifer’s shot had been poorly aimed, kicking to one side as she’d pulled the trigger. Some of the pellets from the round had caught the hand he’d raised to protect his face. He’d lost his little finger, and the top half of the next finger along. The rest of the shotgun’s pellets had whistled harmlessly past, rattling off the compression chamber’s far wall.
‘You should decide what is in your hearts,’ he told them. ‘And let that guide your decision,’ he added sombrely.
There was a silence for only the briefest moment, then Alice Harton broke it. ‘They should both be tossed over the side! She’s a fucking psycho. She’s bloody well dangerous. And Walter . . . he’s . . . he’s scum!’
Murmurs of approval from those standing behind her.
‘Jennifer is a very distressed person,’ said Valérie. ‘And it is understandable. Surely it is also forgivable?’
‘She went at you with a gun!’ shouted someone at the back of the room.
‘She shot you!’ added Alice.
‘Yet here I am alive