He pulled his face into a smile. “I’m sorry you had to come today. This is really embarrassing for Eighth East.”
His uncle clapped him on the back. “It was a good opportunity to see you, though. It’s been too long. Murphy tells me you’ve been doing really well. I’m glad. I knew you had it in you. I knew stepping up would be the perfect distraction for you after…” His uncle waved his hands in the air, seemingly unwilling to finish his sentence.
“Khyan?”
“Yes.”
Noah turned away, closing the subject. “Shall we grab a quick brew?”
“Let’s.”
His uncle found a table in the corner of the dining hall. The kitchen left a tank of boiling water out for anyone to help themselves, and Noah prepared their drinks. When he returned, his uncle was looking unusually sombre.
“There’s a particular reason I’m glad to be able to talk to you today, Noah.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” A hundred scenarios flashed across his mind, each more anxiety-inducing than the last.
“Before I continue, know that everything I say in this conversation is highly confidential.” His uncle leaned forwards, dropping his voice even lower. “I mean it, Noah. This is between us.”
Noah glanced around the dining hall, but there was nobody within earshot. What was going on? He clasped his hands together in his lap, digging his nails into his skin. Icy dread settled over him.
“In my role as Chief of Defence, I am privy to certain information.” The older man took off his cap, revealing a balding head. “I’m just going to jump straight to it. Things are looking bad, Noah. Really bad. Everybody is putting on a brave face so as to not cause mass hysteria, but the shit is going to hit the fan. We’ve got six months. Maybe less. All our infrastructure is collapsing.”
He stared at him, dumbfounded. “Like what? What do you mean?”
“We’ve done incredibly well to sustain some semblance of normal life in the remaining cities over the last decade. But there are things we’re running out of. Things we can’t make enough of, quickly enough—”
“Like ammunition?”
His uncle seemed to lose his patience. “No, Noah, not just that. Everything.Everything. The tiny mechanisms used in the electronic shutter gates. Button cell batteries. Small pins needed to create new firearms. And yes, ammunition too. We’ve scavenged and made do for years now, but our supply options are running out. Food supplies are scarce as well. We still import a lot from Birmingham, but they’ve drawn up new contracts offering us twenty percent less from June. But worst of all is the economy—”
Noah had heard enough. He stood up, leaving his drink untouched. “I need to go. My squad needs me.”
“Sit down, Noah.” His voice slipped back into the authoritarian tone he’d used in Noah’s childhood, when he was misbehaving with his brothers. “Please.”
He remained standing, arms folded.
“The economy is about to crawl to a standstill. Dozens of small businesses are going under every month. We’re reaching a point where very soon, money will become obsolete.”
“So?” On some level, he was aware he was beginning to sound child-like and idiotic. “Maybe a money-free society is a good thing. Didn’t they used to say money was the root of all evil?”
His uncle sighed. “You were all so young when the world fell apart. I think we forget that sometimes.”
“I was almost an adult.”
“Hardly,” his uncle said, but with a hint of a smile. “Have you been into the city recently? I think you should go soon. Take a walk around. Have some fun. It might be your last chance.”
“Before what?” he whispered.
His uncle tapped his fingers on the table. He reached in and took out a small brown package from his coat. “I know how committed you are to this job, Noah. It makes me so proud to see. But if there ever comes a time when you need to escape, I want you to have… options.”
“If London falls, we’ll be evacuated somewhere else, right? Just like Rotterdam.”
Noah worked hard to repress most memories of that awful night, when the city he’d grown up in fell. One image however, always refused to be squashed. Him with his uncle’s arm around his shoulder, in a cargo helicopter, looking down at hundreds of terrified faces. Their arms reaching up towards them, as if the helicopter was a lost balloon they could grab on to.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” General Forrest looked tired as he slid the parcel over the table. “Within that box are several keys and detailed instructions on the whereabouts of a yacht. It’s in a garage in Leigh-on-Sea, not too far from here. It should be in good working order. It’s self-powered with a backup generator.”
“But… where would I even go?” He laughed, a manic note to it, and pushed the parcel back across the table.
