time; at least this time, she might be in pain from the dozens of healing punctures in her flesh, but she wouldn’t be carrying so much weight.
Clothes. She needed clothes. And shoes. Her own had been taken when she arrived, and even if she still had them they would no longer fit her. She had grown upwards as well as sideways over the last five years. She knew Dorcas kept a wardrobe of assorted garments and footwear on this corridor, for the rare occasions she took her livestock out of the farm to village events such as Christmas concerts or fêtes. That hadn’t happened for at least a couple of years, since the drive for more and more fuel had become the new norm. But presumably the clothes were still there.
The first time she tried to have a look, pretending she needed to go to the toilet again, Agnes whisked out of a room at the end of the corridor and Primrose had to turn away quickly and pretend she was just on her way into the bathroom. She waited a good ten minutes before going back out, but Agnes was still there, dusting the staircase, and Primrose returned to her room frustrated. She waited another hour, then groaned, clutched her stomach and moaned that she had to go back to the loo. Alise looked at her with indifference and continued crunching her way through a bag of imported crisps, her reward for passing her weight gain target the day before. The rest of her booty – chocolate and a tin of biscuits – lay scattered over her blanket.
This time the corridor was empty. The wardrobe was past the bathroom, set back in an alcove. After checking there was still no one about, Primrose opened one of its two doors and was rewarded by the sight of coats and shoes. She grabbed a coat at random and a pair of shoes that looked like they should fit. The other door revealed shelves of folded clothes and a rail of dresses. Wanting loose garments that wouldn’t aggravate her wounds, she grabbed a dress and what looked like a jumper. Too scared to take the time to look to see what else was there, or to check for fit, she closed both doors.
Now what? She couldn’t take them back to the room while Alise was there and awake. The bathroom had a cupboard for storing the threadbare towels and sheets for this landing, and she headed there as fast as she could limp, burrowing in to the back, stashing the clothes where they would stay hidden until the next bed change, which shouldn’t be for another few days unless everyone became incontinent at once. Heart beating wildly with elation, she closed the door and turned to find Agnes, come to retrieve the bucket.
‘What are you doing in there?’ Agnes was only a couple of years older than her, but she was looking at Primrose as if she had true seniority, rather than a job skivvying for Dorcas and carrying shit around. Primrose felt a blush rise up her neck and, in that moment, she hated the other girl.
‘I was looking for sanitary towels, I think I’m about to come on,’ Primrose improvised, amazed at her own ready response. She clutched at her belly to back up her story and winced as the pressure bore down on the punctures from the liposuction.
‘We don’t keep them in there, Dorcas has a store cupboard upstairs. And you don’t go getting your own, you know we bring them to you.’
‘I know, I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to make a mess for you to have to clear up.’ Primrose smiled ingratiatingly and started towards the door behind Agnes, stooped over and holding her belly.
‘Surprised you can feel anything with all that medicine,’ Agnes huffed, but she made way for Primrose and picked up the bucket. ‘I’ll bring you some pads in a minute, and a hot water bottle. Just got to deal with this.’ Her nose wrinkled, and Primrose felt ashamed of the pulse of hatred she had felt a moment ago. Agnes was just as trapped as she was.
*
A cold wind was blowing in off the waters of Plymouth Sound. Clouds were clearing to reveal a new moon coming up in the eastern sky. Will’s mum, a keen believer in astrology, would have seen it as auspicious at the beginning of their mission, and approved. Thinking of her, and his dad and his sisters, Will felt a moment of longing that made his heart clench. It had been months since he had seen or spoken to his family. Alone in the darkness, hoping his part in the events of the night would not be necessary, he felt afraid, scared he’d mess things up and let everyone down, even more scared of what would happen to him if he got caught. He tried to control his breathing, as he had been taught, to calm himself and focus on the present moment. It helped a bit.
Which was when he became aware he was hungry. All he had was a bag of last year’s walnuts and a flask of water to see him through. In the end, there had been so many questions the night before there hadn’t even been time for more than a couple of the home-made biscuits Mrs Mason had brought with her. Which she was now, presumably, eating with the Major while they waited for the boat. The hours between had been a rush of small missions, carrying information and equipment to other teams, with little time for more than a sandwich.
In the truck, before he and the others headed for their boats, the Major had roused his team by reminding them that Spight’s grip was strong, but heavily dependent on three things. Inertia, and his control of goods coming in from outside Devon’s borders accounted for two of them. The destruction of the road and rail bridges at Saltash, the mining of the A30 and A39, checkpoints at all minor roads crossing the borders and control of its ports and harbours, meant that very little came in that he didn’t then disburse through an efficient system of bribes and cronyism. And – which was even more damaging according to the briefing seminars Will had fidgeted through – he controlled the types of goods imported, setting up trade deals with regressive fiefdoms such as the Real USA’s New Jersey, Ohio and Florida, as well as Poland, China and Saudi Arabia; choosing fossil fuels, junk food and substandard electronics built without guarantees or safeguards and thus needing frequent replacing. Crap that fulfilled an immediate want but no actual need.
With global demand for gimmicky rubbish at an historic low – as more socially developed states put the cooling of the planet above individual whims – these retrograde states were totally dependent on each other for trade.
The third thing Spight exploited was energy. With no access to cheap fuel, he had a monopoly on all energy supplies within the county. In the first few years after Devolution, thousands of trees and hedgerows had been cut down by people desperate to heat their homes during savage winters and cook their food year-round. Once he became Mayor, Spight had taken control of public woodlands and set up licensed groups to manage them (taking a share of the licence money), to ensure trees were planted as well as harvested: fast-growing varieties such as willow, hazel and sycamore. He befriended or threatened those with private woods, persuading them to allow similar groups on their land, in exchange for some of his imported goods. Everyone was entitled to a share, but allocations were controlled by patronage and favour, and anyone found with more than their allocation was at risk from a judicial system administering penalties that began with public shunning and escalated rapidly to summary execution.
Their Stage One mission tonight was to attack the first two things propping up Spight’s regime. By intercepting the scheduled delivery, due in from New Jersey, they would hit Spight where he kept his feelings – in his pocket – and show him up as fallible. Once this had been achieved, Stage Two – drawing him out – would follow on naturally. From there, the Major promised them, it was but a short step to Stage Three.
Will’s part in all this was simple. As one of the youngest and least experienced of the team, he was to stay out of harm’s way, and report back to Mal via walkie-talkie from his observation post, in shadows at the water’s edge of the deep-water dock in Plymouth. If anyone came to disrupt the blockade he was to alert first Mal and then the Major, but to stay out of any violence that might ensue. He was secretly relieved by this. He was nervous enough without the fear of being obliged to get into a physical fight. Two years of fight training and six months of active deployment had not obliged him to hurt anyone, and the thought of doing so filled him with nausea.
The
