London Eye

They had all heard many stories of the Exclusion Zone, read plenty of eyewitness accounts of what it looked like, and over the past two years there had been at least a dozen drops of photographs of this place close to Camp Truth. But some things simply had to be seen.

Jack could barely believe that such talent for destruction could exist in humankind.

There were buildings around the church-houses, shops, and the blocky outline of an old school. They all seemed to be abandoned. Beyond them, to the east, was a place where similar buildings had once stood. Now, there was only ruin. No wall had been left standing, and the piles of rubble, some higher than Jack's head, disappeared into the distance. They reminded him of scenes he'd seen of the Sahara, only these dunes were of brick, slate, and stone, rather than sand. Many areas had been scoured by fire, scars on the grey landscape that had reduced the rubble to dull black boils. A few tree stumps were visible, but even these had been bulldozed down or destroyed in explosions.

Here was the Exclusion Zone, created by the Choppers to protect the rest of Britain from what had happened in London. Here was the terrible evidence of the government's scorched earth policy, an attempt to create an unbreachable cordon across which no one could go, and nothing could come. Here was destruction, and beyond, perhaps two miles distant, Jack could see a line of buildings standing in the hazy summer heat.

There was London. There was the Toxic City. And somewhere beyond the boundary of those buildings-maybe even in one of those he was looking at right now-his mother, and perhaps his father.

“We're so bloody close,” Sparky said.

“What have they done?” Lucy-Anne whispered, her voice broken, face wet with tears. Jack touched her, and she fell shivering into his embrace. He felt the wetness of her tears against his shoulder, and his own eyes blurred.

“There's no going back now,” Jenna said.

“This sight is something many of you may have imagined, but never seen,” Emily said, slowly panning the camera across the staggering ruins. “But viewers, beyond this image is a lie about to be uncovered. Prepare yourselves. Soon, you will witness the truth of the Toxic City.”

Chapter Seven

The End of Beauty

The culprits for these cowardly acts are still at large. All Londoners should remain at home and await further instructions. Do not attempt to flee the city. Do not attempt travel of any kind. Further attacks are expected. The prime minister will be giving a live statement on all TV and radio channels at 7:00 p.m.

— Government Statement, all-channel broadcast, 6:15 p.m. GMT, July 28, 2019

They lowered the clematis back across the window and ate the food they had brought. The church was still a beautiful place, but the air was marred by the knowledge of what lay beyond. Once they left here, Jack suspected they would be leaving that beauty behind.

The robin returned to watch them eat. Sparky threw a bread crust its way, but it hopped back and ignored the offered food. Jenna crumbled the crust from a jam tart and sprinkled it across the undergrowth. The bird watched her, head jerking this way and that as though expecting ambush at any minute.

Emily crawled forward with the crusts from her own sandwich. She broke them into many pieces, then held out her hand as far as she could stretch.

“Not a chance,” Lucy-Anne said, but she grew still as they watched the little bird. It hopped from the wisteria and came close, eyeing them all suspiciously, but was apparently unconcerned at Emily's presence.

Jack saw that she held the camera in her other hand, the lens trained on her hand offering the crumbs.

The bird hopped closer, hesitated, then jumped into Emily's palm.

Jack heard her intake of breath. He wished he could see her face.

Eventually the bird hopped away, and their small group was taken with a flutter of excitement. They finished their food and passed a water bottle around, all of them aware that every mouthful and swallow brought them closer to leaving this place.

“I never liked London,” Sparky said. “Shit-hole. Bloody place made my brother what he was.” He toyed with a long leafy plant stem, winding it around his finger. “What he is.”

Jack was surprised. Sparky rarely talked about Stephen, and certainly not to an audience. Sometimes, after a few ciders, the two of them would discuss him for a while, but it always ended up with Sparky getting angry, his voice turning hard and exuding violence. Jack had always thought that talking, really talking, was just what he needed.

“How?” Jenna asked, and Jack could have kissed her.

“Went there to join a band,” Sparky said. “Mum and Dad didn't want him to go, said he should stay on in school and go to university. More they said that, the more determined he became.” He laughed. “Band was called Deep Shit. Steve liked that, said that when they made it big he could always answer people asking what he did by saying, ‘I'm in Deep Shit.’ Well, he soon was.” He drifted off, concentrating far too hard on the plant stem. Jack noticed his friend's face flushing.

“What sort of band was it?” Jenna asked.

“Punk. Real punk, not the pop sort that was popular a few years back. Music with bollocks. But the singer, Charlie, was a waster. He wasn't really there for the music, not like Steve. He thought they'd make it big, make loads of money, do what they want. Thing is, he spent it before they made it. Booze and drugs, and girls attracted by the glamour of it all.” Sparky shook his head, as though amazed for the first time at what had happened to his brother.

“It's strange what some people see as glamorous,” Rosemary said. Sparky glanced up, and for a moment Jack thought he was going to shout her down. But then he nodded.

“Yeah. Steve never did, not really. But being aware of how crap all that stuff was…it didn't help him. Mum and Dad blame him completely, but I blame them. Never let him do anything he wanted. Kept him at home, trying to protect him they said, because they had this thing about how big and nasty the world was. They knew it was, ‘cos they saw it all on telly, read it in the papers. Huh.”

They waited quietly, letting Sparky take his time. Even Emily was silent, leaning against Jack as if for protection from where this story was going.

“So he rebelled,” Sparky continued. “What a bloody cliche, eh? He took the drugs to get back at Mum and Dad. Least, that's what I think. They just blamed him, disowned him, never took his calls. And he stayed there in London when the band fell apart before it had really begun, and…” He started crying.

“I think we all know the story from there,” Rosemary said after a while, and Jack winced and closed his eyes, because now surely Sparky's fury would fly.

But sometimes grief can overcome fury, and smother it. “That's just it,” Sparky said, his voice sad and lost. “None of us knows, not really. We know what happened to London. But something like that…it's not one story, it's a million. That's why I want to find him. Need to find him. To hear his side of the story.” He lowered his head again and wiped at his eyes, unashamed in his sadness.

After a minute or two Jenna stood and went to him. She sat by his side, not touching him, silent, but Jack could see that her simply being there meant the world.

Jack and Emily went first. The churchyard was even more overgrown than the ruined building itself, and it was impossible to hurry without risking a fall. There were still gravestones showing their humped grey shoulders above the undergrowth, and hidden beneath would be tomb slabs and other promises of broken bones. But the lushness also provided good cover, and they crawled their way towards the church's boundary.

Over the road, into the ditch, right, and then left. It sounded so easy. But