

We, The Lucky Few

The Surge Trilogy

Book 1

P.S. Lurie
Copyright © 2015 P.S. Lurie

All rights reserved.

Cover, spine and back art by Matt McSherry.

ISBN-13: 9781520128580

'Each time I think this night reaches its lowest point I'm mistaken.

I stop and let the twisted truth sink in: it's only going to get worse.'

6 P.M. - 7 P.M.

Theia

The sea is closer to my house today than it was yesterday and not as close as it will be tomorrow.

A quick check of my watch proves this: it takes me ten minutes quicker to walk back from the coast, which would make sense if I had hurried but, if anything, I dawdled at the market. The inescapable truth is that the world is drowning. Never receding, never bowing to anything in its path and never selective in its devastation, the tide pulls ever closer. Apart from the highest reaches, our pathetic planet is all but submerged and I make a crude, pitiful estimation that my house will be underwater within the next three months, before I turn sixteen.

With the water to one side and the Fence on the other, we in the Middlelands have nowhere to turn. In denial, we have watched on from the impermanence of our homes, ignoring the pleas of the Lowerlanders as their own homes vanished. One by one each family beneath us has become homeless and migrated through our roads to set up camp under the shadow of the Fence; a pseudo-exodus, a constant reminder that time is against us.

At first our world leaders calculated how far the water would rise but once it exceeded the level scientists deemed possible for Total Flood, obviously a defunct term, our questions turned to survival: Will there be enough land for eight billion people? Will there be enough resources? When will it stop?

Then we were down to a population of seven billion, and rapidly six billion, then five and then... instead of counting individuals we spoke of lost cities, then countries, then continents, until a few thousand of us remain in an area we call the Middlelands in addition to however many live safely in the Upperlands behind the Fence. We don't know much about them other than during the Surges. Tonight will be one of those times.

This evening my street doesn't even reflect the number of living. It's devoid of life because everyone is clustered in their front rooms waiting for the latest announcement. I brace the cold altitude alone, clutching my backpack tight not just to keep me warm but to conceal the items I traded my necklace in for at the market. I tell myself it was worth swapping for these old-world objects because I have no use for jewellery, however much sentiment it holds. Sentiment won't save us. I wonder if my family will notice I'm not wearing my mother's hand-me-down or whether they'll be glued to the television set waiting for electricity to trickle through.

I tuck my mousy hair behind my ears and feel the biting wind brush my face. Living at this elevation would be a curse if it were another time but in the present circumstances it's the best I could hope for. I bring my hand to my chest and feel my heartbeat underneath my thick jacket. I can't help but feel anxious about tonight even if experience tells me that I should prepare to be let down.

The breeze carries the smell of fish, the only thing in this world of which there is too much, besides water of course. The pungency casts my mind back to a dog-eared poster on my junior classroom wall with the slogan: Give a man a fish and he can eat for a day but teach him how to fish and he can eat for a lifetime, only the writer forgot the final clause: Give him the strength to build defences against the oceans or all the fish in the world will mean nothing.

But we are still alive and we persevere. Every day men in the Middlelands set off on tugboats, navigating the eroding buildings that stand like limestone stacks, and fill buckets with the last remaining source of sustenance in this world. The commute with the haul is shorter by the day and reminds me that the sea not only provides life but has the power to take it away.

Scientific advances are a thing of the past and all we do is watch and wait. And hope. Hope the water recedes. Hope the Upperlanders with their monopoly on electricity ring true on their promise to offer us salvation from behind the Fence. Hope the Surge brings good news. Hope that each time another family is made homeless our turn will not be next. No one any longer questions whether this was the fault of man or fate or a punishment from above or even how to stop it. No one asks what causes the tides to rise and cover all except for the highest peaks. With the focus solely on hunger and survival, no one has the time or energy to solve it.

Fatalistic, perhaps, so instead we hope. And our best hope for salvation is news from behind the Fence.

The Surge is our name for the televised announcements from the Upperlands. They are too few and far between for our liking but it is worth keeping otherwise redundant technology in good working order. Tonight's Surge has renewed an unlikely flare of optimism inside me. Until now the broadcasts have amounted to little more than a recognition of our plight, a thinly veiled pretence for keeping us subdued but rumours are that this one is the game-changer, that tonight the Upperlanders will concede to open the bolted gates and offer us a safe haven. Even the typical atmosphere of dejection around the marketplace had been replaced this afternoon by excitement, with most stallholders shutting up early to join their families at home. It has taken the Upperlanders long enough but, however often the messages let us down, they are preferable to the alternative of admitting defeat.

In his optimistic manner my best friend and next-door neighbour, Henry, patronises me when I respond downtrodden to the Surges. 'Which would you rather,' he asks, 'hope not to be disappointed by the Surge or resign ourselves to the fact that if we don't drown today there's always tomorrow?' Or something equally pompous but I can't be angry with him because he's right.

I reach the front of my house, open the gate that creaks unless you lift it just so and make it halfway down the path before I turn to face the eerie street. The hum of electricity hasn't been heard for over a decade. I'm not sure I can actually remember what it was like to have background noise. Maybe it's a false memory, like how I maybe remember the days when my father would laugh where now there's just prolonged silence.

Rusted cars that no longer run are parked neatly in parallel lines but windows are smashed and tyres deflated. The supply of oil, petrol and batteries disappeared with the need to travel and the metal shells serve only as temporary homes. I've never been inside a moving vehicle. The roads aren't maintained anymore and are no longer safe and, besides, there is nowhere to go.

But the cars serve a new purpose, acting as dividers for three lanes. As an unspoken rule we stick to the pavements whilst the homeless take the middle path. It's easier to keep some distance from those already living our future and to pretend that we are different from them even if in time we won't be.

Lampposts that won't turn on except briefly during Surges dominate the skyline. The sun is high but already the crescent moon is out. Apart from the occasional candle it will provide the only source of light in a matter of hours. Self-placed curfews prevent us from being outside after sundown. In the dark, the homeless claim the pavements too. As I said, the roads aren't safe.

I scan across the gardens that sit in front of each of the terraced houses. Some keep an air of modicum but most have withered. There's plenty of water close by flooding more of the Middlelands with each passing day. Lack of access to water isn't what's killed our plants. It's apathy. To those with bright flowers, like in the Ethers' garden, the purpose is to convince one another that our society is fully functioning and not a lost cause. To the rest of us, it's false advertising. Look around, even a glance, and it's easy to detect the collapse. What appears to be peaceful suburbia is a living museum, a relic to the past from which we can't move away. I don't remember much of how life used to be even though I was born when electricity ran freely through our house, unlike my younger brother, Ronan, who wasn't alive then. It puts things in perspective when I consider that at least Ronan will remember what it was like to have a house at all, unlike Leda, our baby sister.

According to the Surges, those in the Upperlands have begun to rebuild civilisation. I've seen the mammoth Fence up close countless times but there is no way to see through to the other side. The sheer number of homeless people acts as a human moat around the perimeter and makes it that much more impenetrable. If they have nothing left to lose and can't scale the Fence then what chance do I have? Once in a while I hear murmurs of rebellion but no one has ever surmounted the concrete wall and the antagonism dies as quickly as it begins.

I feel pity for the homeless but mostly they make me nervous because all that separates us is time. Privilege became less about wealth and more about location and I suppose I'm lucky in that sense because my house is only eighteen blocks from the Fence.

My father, if he can muster the energy, speaks of Current Days when electricity was plentiful as opposed to the present situation but his pun wears thin and no one else adopts this term. Even if I don't remember well, it's obvious that life was easier then, when the refrigerator wasn't merely for storage, when shops were overstocked rather than reverting to our unhygienic, lousy market, and when all food, even land animals that weren't then extinct, could be cooked in a matter of minutes. Piping hot, uncomplicated, convenient. My mother threw the microwave out eight years ago when she accepted that electricity was lost to the past. All this has happened in my lifetime.

My mother is probably at the hospital and won't be back until later but I lock the front door all the same, always wary of the passing homeless who eye up their chance of a night under a roof. I breathe a sigh of relief that I didn't bump into anyone on my way back and feel relieved that the streets are deathly silent rather than be spooked by this. No one can know what items I traded my necklace for. Not yet anyway, they'd only be mad.

The Surge. My stomach flips each time I remember it's looming. We haven't had one for months and the last was as disenchanting as ever. We hope to Rehouse you soon. We need to make preparations. Our sympathies are with you. Rehousing, a distant promise and just one more redundant term like Total Flood. Murmurs have spread through the market linked back to a conversation overheard by a homeless couple at the Fence, something to do with reshaping the Middlelands, but the game of Chinese whispers mixed with optimism negates any remnants of truth. Still there're only so many times I heard the rumour this week before I couldn't shake it myself. Henry would laugh if he knew I had an optimistic streak.

I hide my bag under the pile of heavy coats in the porch, masking the suspicious rise in the fabric before anyone notices I'm here. I take a breath before I join my family. The announcement is due to begin in less than an hour.

I've kept both eyes firmly on the encroaching tide for years, somehow content in the knowledge that one day it will catch up to me, but that has distracted me from a truth more dangerous: that there is something worse to fear. Not that I can know it yet, not explicitly anyway, but by the time I hear the warning screams from my neighbours' houses in a matter of hours it will be too late to escape the horror that has already descended on my loved ones and will tear us apart before sunrise.

Henry

There must have been a time when parents would never dream of telling their child he or she was a mistake but now it's not only acceptable but expected. When the land began to rapidly disappear civilisation made a pact that no child would be conceived. Why bring someone into a world that was bowing out? My parents were newlyweds when Total Flood failed and they agreed to remain barren.

The school classrooms continue to be heaving and prove that this agreement was futile. Maybe some parents-to-be were optimistic and others selfish or careless but I was never anything more than a mistake. I don't mind because my parents follow that revelation by insisting I was the best mistake they ever made. It's their way of an apology and I've never been angry about it. Strangely, as we sit here, the three of us, I consider my other friends' parents and I am comforted by the honesty of mine.

The announcement should begin soon so we wait expectantly and with trepidation. Rumours that this is the big announcement, the one that decides our fate, have been hard to ignore. My parents and I are all invested in what we are due to hear; my parents need to know that I will have a future and I need my parents to have something to keep their faith strong. We all feel guilty I am alive.

My father pushes the power button on the television and joins us on the sofa, sandwiching me between my mother and him. We stare ahead at the blank screen and wait for the promise of electricity to rush through and bring it to life. Twenty minutes to go but the electricity could flow anytime before then. Sometimes it spans only the length of the announcement whereas on other more generous times the Surge flows for much longer.

Electricity hasn't been freely available since soon after I was born. When we are indulged with a Surge I don't become as excited as my parents whose hearts' leap at the prospect of charging the generator, our most treasured item that gives us a few nights' warmth through the harshest winters if we're sensible with our usage, and just enough comfort to remind my parents what they once had and will never have again. I'm not sure who is luckier, me for not missing it or them for having something return even if for a fleeting moment.

'Is everything ready?' my father asks.

My mother and I reply in synchrony. 'Yes.'

We have a system to make sure everything is properly connected and storing power. I am delegated the bedrooms and bathroom. Chargeable objects, such as a digital clock and toothbrushes, are in my domain. I'm not stupid, these are luxuries. My parents share the generator and the kitchen between them as they are the appliances that matter.

Theia and I agree that the announcements are never in our favour but we don't disclose our frustration as that would only upset our parents. We only use the same amount of electricity as you. She's better at predicting their phrases but it's a fun game all the same given the circumstances. We are all in this predicament together. It's impossible to disprove it but I can't believe the Upperlanders suffer like we do. We hope to Rehouse you as soon as we make provisions. Yet there is one thing that triumphs over the bad news and I daren't even tell Theia for fear she'll roll her eyes at me and think I'm weak. We haven't forgotten your plight. Hope.

Anytime now the red light at the base of the set will shine, a beacon of tidings, good or bad. The water has almost reached our neighbourhood and it is only a matter of months before the announcements will no longer matter.

The messages are pre-recorded, abrupt and always arrive at specific times. Never once have the Upperlanders broadcast an announcement early evening and I am excited at the prospect of what this means. I can't avoid the feeling that tonight will determine our future. I glance sideways towards each of my parents and see the looks of anxiety strewn on their faces. Only then do I feel how tightly they have clenched my hands in theirs. I squeeze back. They too are hopeful, not because they believe the outcome will be good for us but because the alternative is unfathomable.

Our silence is broken by a noise but it is not the stagnant television, not yet the Surge. It is another noise. A creak overhead and we all tense. I go to speak but my mother beats me to it and puts her index finger to her lips. My father gingerly lifts himself from his seat and reaches for the closest item, which not coincidentally happens to be a hammer. He pretends he has been using the tool to fix the joints around our house for if the water, no, when the water reaches us but I know he keeps it nearby to defend our house from the homeless. I've never seen any anger flare in him and can't imagine he could be violent but then again he has never had to protect us, until now.

Creaks come from the stairwell. My father grips the hammer as firmly as he gripped my hand, ready to strike.

Selene

I shouldn't be here.

My breath turns the inside of the wardrobe muggy and airless and I know that I can't hide much longer. I stand to stretch out my cramp but have to crane my neck as I'm too tall. I've always been too tall, which is why people think I'm older than fifteen and why my mother thinks I can take the torrent of abuse from her.

I push open the door and step outside into the empty room. It's so quiet that if I didn't know better I'd think it's just me in the house but Henry and his parents are huddled together downstairs waiting for the Surge to begin. I tread as carefully as my oversized feet allow, on tiptoes, until a creak spreads along the floorboard so I change tact and have better luck spreading my weight under my whole foot. I stop in front of the window that overlooks the street.

Henry's room calms me and all the horrors of the outside world disappear. Even when my mother arrives to march me home Henry's parents refuse to break this sanctuary and ask her to wait downstairs. I just want to check on her. I'm sure she'll be here shortly after the announcement, anger muted and the promise of no repercussions for my lack of helping out with the Surge. I'm sorry that I upset you. The wrath will come later. How dare you embarrass me? It'll be easier to go than put up a fight and deal with whatever punches come my way. Let that be a warning to you. Still I go because I learnt the difference between battles and wars a long time ago.

I look across the room towards the direction of the sea and remember how I used to dream that when the waters reached Henry's street the house would simply break away from its foundations, rise above the surface and float along on our own private Noah's Ark, just the two of us. I never let him in on this fantasy when I was younger and if I told him now he'd say I had plenty of growing up to do.

I hear a noise outside and creep to the window. Since electricity only pulses through our neighbourhoods during the Surges our ears have attuned to lesser sounds. I peer from the corner and spot Theia walking up the path next door into her house. Perfect Theia Silverdale. My mother never fails to recount all the things about her I'm not: proportioned, calm, collected. Smart. If only you aspired to be a bit more like her. I have my own descriptions of Theia but keep them to myself. You're a waste of space. It may be petty and causes a headache for Henry but so what if he has to divide his time between us?

Theia turns towards the desolate street and we both sense the quietness, like if you concentrated enough the nearest sound would be the waves lolling against whatever they had conquered as the newest, and closest, part of the shore. The danger of the rising tide is that it creeps up without warning and then swallows anything in its path, like an outburst of anger.

Theia puts her hand to her chest and I mimic her. My heart beats faster than usual as I know that soon I will either be discovered or I will have to confess I am here. Theia's lucky with her perfect, large family, a younger brother and sister, two parents pathetically in love. Henry tells me we're all in the same danger with the same losses ahead and that, while it may be a few days' difference between our streets, we'll all find ourselves homeless and helpless soon enough but he's wrong. I've lost already. I rub my rake-thin arm but it's tender and I take in the various shades of purple that are taking form. I hate when Henry compares Theia and me. When he hugs me he has to reach up around my lanky frame whilst is arms fit perfectly around Theia's waist. My mother likes to remind me of this too.

Theia enters her house and the road reverts to its empty state. Everyone is waiting for the Surge where they should be, except for me. I am glad my mother will be alone during the announcement. This is my way of retaliating against the latest onslaught. I don't feel guilty.

I check the analogue clock on Henry's desk and know I have some time. I cross the room and put my ear up against the door to the rest of the house. The Argents won't be irritated by my presence but instead saddened I'm not with my mother. I don't like disappointing them.

I swallow away any hurt because showing weakness in front of anyone is something I forbade myself from doing too many years ago to admit defeat now. I'll be safe here, I tell myself, but it'll be in an hour's time, after the Upperlanders' announcement of our fate, when I will realise just how wrong I was.

Theia

'Where have you been?' my mother asks me with infuriation.

She isn't at the hospital after all. I scan the kitchen and see more plates of food than I have ever witnessed along the sideboard. She must also believe that this is the big announcement and there will be cause to celebrate. If she's wrong then at least we have plenty to eat away our disappointment.

'I wanted some air,' I lie. There's no way I can tell her where I've been or why I went there. 'What can I do?'

'Offer your grandparents a drink. And check on Leda.'

'Grandma and grandpa are here?' I am beyond surprised since they have been in the retirement complex for over a year and this is the first time they have returned to the house. With my mother spending her days in the hospital, my incapacitated father unable to look after himself let alone anyone else and my efforts directed on Ronan and Leda, it wasn't fair on my grandfather caring for my grandmother alone. Plus we didn't trust her around a baby then and, since her condition will never improve, we still don't.

I make my way into the living room. To one side my father wearily places cutlery around the table. He doesn't acknowledge my presence and I don't bother to greet him. My grandparents sit on a couch, their walking sticks propped up and tower over them. My grandmother stares into space.

'Hi,' I say, but it comes out awkward as if I am asking a question. I bend down and kiss them both on their cheeks. Their skin is dry like sandpaper, like they have been through a drought. Ironic, given the water crisis.

Ronan sits to the side of my grandmother on the floor. 'Hey Ro.' I kiss him on the forehead and he tilts his head upwards to beam at me. 'What have you got there?' I ask when I notice the object in his hands. He turned six a few weeks ago and has unwrapped a present my grandfather must have brought. A yo-yo. I don't know where my grandfather found the money but it is wasteful. Ronan looks bemused by the gift. He has enough toys. Many years ago my father went into our attic and came down with a collection of electronic boxes and discs. He explained they were computer games that linked up to the television. It was hard to see why they would be fun without him demonstrating. When the electricity runs freer he promises to show me. I'd rather trade them in for clothes for Leda but they have no value. Believe me, I've tried.

My mother brings in the meal. It is the same humdrum food as always but much more of it: a few root vegetables that can grow on alpine terrain and an abundance of fish. I won't go hungry tonight. I am hypnotised by the plates until I catch her out of the corner of my eye, raising her eyebrows at me. I almost forgot.

I walk down the hallway and climb the staircase. Henry's house is laid out exactly like mine but mirrored, with a wooden fence between the two although its magnitude is nothing compared to the Fence north of us. I put my head against the wallpaper and imagine his family sitting together waiting for the announcement. I wonder how much food they have. We agreed I'll go over later to make fun of the transmission; easier to mock the phrases than be glum.

Leda is fast asleep when I enter my parents' room but, as always, the slightest noise wakes her immediately. She has always sensed when someone checks up on her. She smiles at me as naively happy as she ever is. My sister has a lot to learn and a lot to be disappointed about when she gets older. She'll have to attend school, if there is such a place by then, and that will consist of reading, writing, basic maths, history, swimming and, depending on the current state of our land, geography. My father told me that school lasted for twelve years when he was young but, soon after the resources started to drop along with the world population, so too did the need for detailed education. So we learn the basics until we turn fifteen. It's not riveting stuff but I reckon school only exists now to give the youth somewhere to be.

I remember every term there was a new map on the wall, each with a little more blue and a little less green than the one before. The teachers explained we were the lucky ones. Anyone who argued against this fact would be sent out of the room and conditioned to not question the state of the world.

I reach down and pick up Leda. She is heavy for a nine month old and I am not surprised given how much nutritious food my mother forces down her throat even though supply is low. My mother is a doctor when she isn't having babies. She returned to work eight months ago and has always cared for the sick so I am somewhat surprised she's here tonight and not in the hospital. That she not only brought my grandparents over but is also here means she must really believe something is going to happen with this announcement. The rumours have spread like wildfire and no one has escaped the buzz of our fortunes turning.

I rock Leda in my arms and sing a lullaby to her. She is wide awake and gurgles to the song. 'Ok baby. Let's go eat.' Leda almost slips out of my hands when I hear a distant shriek. It's probably my mother dropping a bowl of vegetables. 'Oh well,' I say to no one in particular. 'It's not like we'll go hungry.'

Selene

I scream at the hammer hurtling towards my face.

The world stops and everything happens in slow motion. Henry yells when he recognises me and his hand reaches out to obstruct his father. Mrs Argent clasps her cheeks in horror. Fortunately for me, Henry's father brings the hammer to a standstill an inch in front of my nose, just before it hits me square on.

I need a moment to regain my composure but the adrenaline kicks in and my heart begins to race, reminding me of unpleasant memories. You brought this on yourself. It's not like I haven't been hit before but never this violently, never with a weapon, although the level of force has been escalating over recent months. You'll get what you deserve. If I had just told Henry I would rather be here than stay with my mother he would have let me. It's not like I don't spend most of my time here anyway. It would have saved me from almost having my face caved in.

'What are you doing here?' Henry asks, as if he doesn't know the answer.

'I almost killed you.' Mr Argent finds his way to the couch and collapses on it. He realises he's still holding the hammer and lets it drop to the floor. They all stare at me, waiting for a response but they know what I am going to say so I don't bother. It is the same reason as always, only the bruises aren't visible this time.

Mrs Argent is the first to spring into action. She cradles her arm around me. 'I'll boil some water. I was going to serve some food after the announcement but if you're hungry I could make you up a plate now.' I shake my head and smile at her kindness. Boiling water is hard work and a far cry from flicking the switch on a kettle. She goes to the kitchen.

'Why didn't you tell me you wanted to come here?' Henry asks me.

'I knew what you'd say, that I should be with my mother and that I should keep trying with her. You'll never understand. Especially when you have them for parents.' It doesn't feel strange to have this conversation in front of his father. Mr Argent has heard it enough times and, anyway, he's spaced out from nearly killing me. I feel bad and lean over to him. 'Can I do anything?'

'No dear,' he says, looking into the middle distance. He appears to have aged ten years in the last two minutes. The resemblance between him and Henry is uncanny. Henry is often told by traders and the other fishermen who work with his father what a handsome man he is becoming. He usually just shrugs but sometimes he storms off. It's not that he doesn't want to look like his father; rather he doesn't want to think about a future we may not live long enough to see.

'I'm sorry,' Henry says.

'You haven't done anything wrong.'

'I mean I'm sorry for you. Anyway, you're here now so watch the announcement and eat with us then we'll work out a plan. What was it this time?'

I shrug because I could cast my mind back to the argument with my mother but there was no trigger as far as I'm aware so what good would it do to recount the events of the afternoon? Always stupid, trivial fights that escalate until she goads herself on enough to take screamed words into physical attacks.

Henry's mother comes back balancing a tray of cups. She perches it on a side-table and hands each of us a drink. Like everything, tea is a commodity that is available but, due to it becoming ever rarer, it is now rationed for even those who can afford it. Bags are a third stuffed full of leaves compared to a year ago and it is up to the individual whether they are happy to drink it weak or combine a few bags for fewer but stronger cups. I notice mine is a darker brown than the others. Mrs Argent turns to me. 'This should,' she starts to say but is cut off by a whirring.

The red light blinks on the television. The Surge has begun.

Theia

'Quick,' my father says.

I don't have time to ask what my mother has dropped or broken, or even if that was from where the yell emanated because time is limited and slowing down the process would only irritate my parents. 'Give Theia to me,' my grandmother says and I avoid her outstretched arms and settle Leda onto my grandfather's knee, hoping he isn't too frail as to drop her, and then hurry to complete my duties.

As with Henry, I am on secondary Surge tasks and sprint up the stairs. We practised together when we were growing up, timing ourselves one after the other to see who could complete their routine quickest. Then, when we realised our houses were almost identical in layout, only reversed, we raced at the same time. The first to stand in front of their window looking onto the other's bedroom would be declared the winner. It was a game because to think of it as anything else would be miserable, even though Henry was faster and won every time.

I click all the switches in place and make sure everything is charging in the bathroom before setting all the clocks and other electronics, first in my parents' bedroom and not forgetting Leda's hand-me-down electronic toys. I stick my head around Ronan's door to see that everything is on its green light and then I rush into my room. I don't bother checking anything. I am used to going without and prefer it that way, finding the withdrawal worse than not having any in the first place. The real reason I hurry is that, just once, I want to beat Henry. My pride in beating him at this childish game overrules everything else. I swing around my bed and slam my hands into the window with a thud. I prepare to accept defeat as...

The winner. I won.

I count in my head. One, two, three... Henry takes another thirteen seconds to appear. This is specific but every second mattered when we were practising. Sixteen seconds longer than he has ever taken before. For a Surge, this can amount to a huge difference.

I am about to gloat from afar but he has a troubled look on his face and I restrain from grinning. I give him a slight, concerned wave then he mouths something but I can't read his lips so I shake my head. He holds a finger up to indicate I should wait and disappears from behind the windowpane, I guess to fetch writing materials. Our parents tell us off for wasting paper but we like communicating this way and have perfected the art of writing small enough for legible reading whilst saving on space.

I don't have time to wait for his return as my mother calls to me upstairs that the announcement is beginning. I hesitate and then leave. I don't want to miss the news and Henry's message can wait. I walk down the stairs and have no idea that in the next five minutes my world will be devastated, and that I will learn what people mean when they say hearing bad news can feel as brutal as being kicked in the stomach.

I will wish that my mother hadn't brought my grandparents to the house tonight and that they were still in the retirement home, far from our reach. I will wish my mother was at the hospital, where she normally is, rather than choosing her family over her job for the first time on the worst possible occasion. I will wish Leda and Ronan had never been born. Scrap that, I will wish that none of us had ever been born because the announcement will destroy any last hope we have clung onto. Because this hoped-for announcement will be far from hopeful.

Because the consequences are too grave to at first comprehend.

Because, in ten hours' time, only one of us will be allowed to live.

7 P.M. – 8 P.M.

Henry

I return with a scribbled note but Theia has left to watch the announcement and I might not have a chance to prepare her for Selene's presence before she comes over afterwards. There's already been one potential hammer to the face incident and I'm not sure the two of them post-broadcast is a good combination.

I also wanted to ask where she's been. It's the first time I've seen her all day, which is unusual because on Surge days we normally pass the time speculating on the lies they feed us. I tried her house a few times during the morning but her father was unexpectedly in charge of Ronan and Leda and didn't know where she went. My father had already left for the shore to fish and since Ruskin wasn't around I spent the day alone kicking up dirt, then stuck my head in a book, a fiction about a shipwrecked boy, but took no notice of the words as my mind turned to conjuring up the Upperlands' phrases. We all face these grave times. We each and every one of us have sacrifices to make. We are all suffering together. And then I pictured who would be delegated to sit in front of the camera this time. A woman or a man. Old or young. Harsh or softly-spoken. I'll never see that person again but each of the previous announcers has stuck firmly in my mind's eye. Their face, their voice, their safety, their effortless lies.

I decide my message to Theia can wait, not that I have a choice. I crumple up the paper and find Selene downstairs, awkwardly on the sofa and not one bit relaxed. My parents join us from making sure all of the sockets are charging although my father keeps a watchful eye on the generator in the corner of the room, conscious of how disastrous it would be to blank out now. The announcement still hasn't started so this should be a pretty decent Surge. My parents will be delighted. If Selene feels guilty about leaving her mother to deal with the electricity she doesn't show it. Mrs Gould should have no problems with this extended Surge but had it been any shorter it could have made for a few more uncomfortable nights of no heating or light compared to the rest of us.

The screen now has a picture and, as usual, the callousness of the Upperlanders astounds me. Each announcement is different: the speaker, the setting, the time of day, but this one aggravates me immediately. The television displays a golden yellow corn field on a hot summer's day. Whilst the sun begins to set outside my house, and the streetlamps have done their rare thing of turning on only to flicker off as soon as the announcement is over and leave the night to settle into its darkness, we stare at what might as well be another world. It's amazing this much open space exists beyond the Fence whilst we clamber onto our dwindling land.

My mother hears me scoff. 'It's a good sign,' she says, although I can't work out how she comes to that conclusion.

'Yeah, yeah.' Perhaps this scene is meant to reassure us that there is space for us and that promises of Rehousing aren't hollow but it's downright insulting. A patch of dry land bathed in sunlight? It couldn't be further from where we are right now. Of course, given the time of day, the feed verifies that this is a pre-recorded message as they all are.

The camera turns a fraction and locks onto a woman, predictably another new face. My mother thinks that using a different person each time signifies that we are all part of a larger society but I can't share her optimism. I sway more towards Theia's belief that there is a lack of authority and no one wants to take responsibility for failing us. Selene has settled on the conspiracy that we hear around the market, that a powerful group hides behind the announcements. As with the rest, we'll never see this woman again. She could be anyone, anywhere. The lack of a consistent figurehead and the inclusion of anonymous conduits is something Theia and I tirelessly argue about but we are not the only ones; around us, dissent in the marketplace grows stronger and so far this announcement will do nothing to quash the enigma of who is in charge, which I disagree with my mother as being more unsettling than comforting. I brace myself for the typical message and guess how it will begin. Dear Middlelanders, your best interests are being looked out for. Tell that to all the homeless at the Fence.

This new woman has straight blonde hair, darkening at the roots. I am about to mention that whilst we are clutching at electricity this is a woman who has access to hair colouring products when something stops me in my tracks. My unease grows as I realise why. The woman is different to the others that have appeared before her in one striking way. Forget the plain white shirt or that she faces us head on, there's something about her eyes. No, that's not it. Just beneath her eyes. No makeup can hide the blotched, puffy redness.

She has been crying, and until recently by the looks of it. Then I notice that her body shudders as she prepares to speak. She is on the verge of tears.

Selene grabs my wrist noticing it too. I shake my head. On the off-chance they haven't cottoned on, I don't want my parents to worry.

The woman clears her throat but her first words come out dry and flat. I turn to my father who has scrunched his eyes in disbelief. Something is seriously wrong here. This is nowhere near as professional as any prior announcement. Usually we have to listen to some preamble about the state of the world but tonight the message is blunt and brutal:

'The unprecedented rise of the water has exceeded our predictions about Total Flood. We cannot know when and where it will end and, as such, the Fence is our best defence. As you are aware the Lowerlands cease to exist and your Middlelands are diminishing rapidly. Strategies to prevent further catastrophe have been met with little success. It is time to act on all of our best interests. The Upperlands does not have the resources to provide for all of you but we are not careless barbarians. We share your pain and tonight we will offer you the best compromise that ensures maximum benefit. Benefit to all of us. To this end, we extend a welcoming hand to the Middlelands. No family will be unfairly treated.

'At 5 a.m. tomorrow morning, guards will be sent from behind the Fence to collect one member of each family, and one member only, to be Rehoused in the Upperlands. Shortly before this time, we ask this person to stand outside their door with one suitcase of belongings and wait to be taken to their new barracks.

'To prevent difficulties, we apologise for what needs to happen. Listen clearly: at this time the guards will terminate anyone else that is still alive. Further, to maintain calm, anyone trying to leave their house throughout the night will be shot on sight.

'Before sunrise family members may, on this rare but necessary occasion, be allowed to end their own, or others', lives as they wish.

'It will be your choice who dies and how this should happen.

'Due to limited resources, we will only Rehouse those who do not require extra care. Therefore, only those six years and above will be eligible to be Rehoused. Parents that have made the decision to bring their children into this world will have the honourable duty of removing them from it.

'Special rules will be conveyed to anyone currently in a public building in due course.

'I hope you are all pleased with the kindness we extend. Each and every one of us has a sacrifice to make, whether it is population or space. We appreciate your mandatory compliance with this process, which will enable the Middlelands to continue on in spirit through those chosen to be Rehoused.

'As a courtesy, the electricity will continue through the night to allow for you all an agreeable final evening. Thank you for your cooperation and we look forward to meeting many of you tomorrow.'

With that, the television channel fuzzes out.

I take the woman's sickening words in and play them over in my head. One person from each house will be moved to the Upperlands. Rehousing is finally happening. At least they came through on that. But then...

The caveat, the unmistakable horror that penetrates every bone in my body as it takes shape and makes me aware that I haven't been dreaming: everyone else will be killed, either by the guards or by one another.

Selene jumps up. 'I need to go.'

I'm too stunned to do anything but sink farther into the sofa. All I can think is that the future has caught up to us. I sink fast because, whilst we were waiting for gradual drowning, tonight is a flood.

Theia

Somehow I find myself standing next to my mother, holding Leda, taking in the reactions of my family and ready to laugh with them at the unfunny joke but all their faces have been washed of colour and I guess mine is a similar shade of murky grey. Only Ronan and my grandmother don't seem affected, staring on at the television even though the picture is blank.

My mind is in overdrive, half lost in a daydream of disbelief and half echoing a phrase I just heard. Six years and above. Ronan makes the cut but Leda is nine months old. Without preparation I am already imagining a cruel, unbelievable list in which I can work out the family member to be Rehoused. There are my parents, my grandparents, Ronan and me. Six of us. According to the announcement, and forgetting Leda, only one can survive tonight. I shake that thought. I would never let anything of the sort happen. It's all too... I don't know... I'm dumbfounded.

My father clears his throat and I expect a speech about how this must be a mistake or that it's implausible or that he will shout at the television screen but my father lost his fighting spirit years ago and instead he just smiles softly and speaks in his monotone voice. 'Penelope has made a delicious meal. Let us eat before it becomes cold.'

He sits at the table and gestures for us to follow suit. My grandfather helps his wife of forty-nine years to her seat, which takes a while as she is frail and unsteady, and Ronan sits the other side of him. I watch the way he plays with his fork and doubt that he understood the announcement. My mother and I are left, side by side. She must be in more shock than me because I am the one to guide her to a seat before she collapses. She trembles the whole way and, even in autopilot whilst dishing out vegetables, she shakes so much that she spills most of the first spoonful onto the table.

I look along the hallway towards the street through the ratty net curtains hanging in front of the bay windows and think how strange it is that the streetlamps are still on. After a normal Surge our generator would keep our house lit for a few nights so the bright conditions in which we eat aren't perplexing but the rest of the street is also lit and reminds me that not only will this be the last night to have electricity in this house but, if I am to believe the announcement, this will be the last night for us to be in this house at all.

I take over from my mother whose hands are uncharacteristically shaking, not a good trait for a surgeon, and fill everyone's plates except my own as I have no appetite. I have effectively raised my siblings alone and cooked the meals whilst my mother has worked in the hospital but I don't begrudge her. I owe it to Ronan and Leda after what I did all those years ago at the coast.

Of all days I went to the coast today. I can't think about that right now, so I shake my mind clear before it latches onto the memory.

My mother raises her hand to her mouth. 'The hospital,' she gasps.

My father takes her fingers and wraps them into his. 'There is plenty of staffing tonight. You're here with your family.' He turns to the rest of us. 'I do not want to hear a word of this over dinner. We will eat. Ronan tell me about school.'

I see what my father is doing and admire his drive; this is the most I've heard him speak for months. But I don't respect him for succumbing to the announcement without any outrage or scepticism. Ronan starts to talk about something trivial but my mind wanders and I tune out. I swallow hard as I make a rational decision to accept that death has been directed towards us and, looking at my passive family, I cannot ignore that it may be down to me to find a way out of this.

I push my chair aside, and walk out of the room and towards the front window. I stare out at the glowing houses across the way, at neighbours I have grown up alongside and wonder how they are taking the news. The street is still and I can't fathom why there isn't more commotion. Then I hear shouting from next door.

Selene

I'm in the hallway before Henry or his parents can stop me, the perk of being built like a gazelle, a kind of lanky animal that used to roam before it, along with most other species, went extinct. I wonder how far towards our own extinction this night will take us. Didn't someone once teach me that animals in their last throes of life will lash out? I feel my arms tense and rub my hands together to calm them but to no avail.

'It's not safe,' Henry says, but I ignore him all the same. 'They said anyone trying to leave will be shot.'

'Ridiculous. It's a hollow threat to stop us climbing over the Fence.' I think of the few times I have heard of someone trying to sneak into the Upperlands. It's hard to separate truth when multiple accounts come from those who actually witnessed these attempts and those who like to exaggerate, but no one could deny the seldom gunshots that would ring out across the neighbourhood. Even if a few people have attempted to scale the Fence no one has ever made it.

'Don't take the risk Selene. Please.'

If the announcement is serious, and there's no reason to dispute it, I can't afford to stay in this house any longer. It scares me that I'm so willing to accept tonight's proceedings but I put my acquiescence on hold for now. 'My mother will be worried,' I lie. 'I need to be with her.' The truth is that the announcement has put an expiration date on all of our lives and my being here lowers the Argents' chances. I wouldn't put my life above any one of theirs so the obvious conclusion is to leave.

'Stay and we'll work something out. Maybe we can find a way to contact your mother,' says Mrs Argent.

'No, I should leave now. Maybe it'll be safe outside for a while.' Our police occasionally patrol the streets but not every night, leaving the housed to fend for themselves. I wonder what I have to lose by going if I'm going to die anyway. Besides, it'll be easier than a drawn-out goodbye.

'Please,' says Henry.

'I should have stayed at home after all,' I snap back. 'Would've made for an easier night for all of us.' I consider my mother and I have been given a free, no-holds-barred pass to inflict pain on one another and... I'm not sure polite, mutual restraint would have lasted long.

I open the door and take one step outside when a shadow paces up the street and stops in front of the house. The silhouette extends to a gun, which glistens in the light. Even when intervening with trouble our police force never carried weapons, more than anything due to a lack of resources.

'Stop right there,' the man shouts with a heavy drawl that sounds foreign but I can't place it.

'I need to go.'

'No one is to leave their house tonight. Did you miss the announcement? I can read it out for you. Maybe you need reminding.'

'This isn't my home,' I plead as well as I can but my husky voice comes out more gruff and aggressive than I wanted and causes the man to take a step forward, under a streetlamp so that I can see the snarl plastered on his face.

'It's your home for tonight.'

I wonder how he can be so cruel yet calm, but I have no hesitation that he would shoot me if I took another step forward. Then his words seep through. I can read it out for you. If he has the announcement on paper then he has also had plenty of time to mull it over and come to terms with the news. We share your pain and tonight will offer you the best compromise that ensures maximum benefit. Perhaps he even believes that this death warrant is for our benefit. Benefit to all of us. I picture the image of the animal lashing out on its decline and remember that it was Henry who told me about it from one of the science journals his parents forced him to read. Something about only the strongest surviving, and my instinct tells me that tonight isn't about kindness but selfishness, even if I don't understand yet the motivation the guard has for Rehousing a few of us and leaving the majority dead.

In that moment I consider what little chance I have of surviving the night. Why would I want to be the scared animal struggling on for a few more hours when I could be put out of my misery? All I have to do is step forward. Run towards the man. A quick end.

But something stops me from giving up at this time. What is it, I can't quite place yet.

Henry is by my side and wraps his arm around my waist. He is half a foot shorter and looks more like a younger sibling. The policeman obviously agrees when he nods at Henry. 'Smart brother you got there,' he says with a laugh, aware that only one of us can survive the night.

Henry whispers to me. 'Come on. We'll work this out.' He closes the door, trapping the four of us together. I slink down against the wall, more helpless and pitiful than any time my mother knocked me to the ground. I feel sick at the thought of Henry wanting to protect me. The pit in my stomach grows even bigger when I consider Henry also cares about his parents, both his mother and father, and they there's only one spot for the three of them.

Survival of the fittest. That was the phrase. But choosing who lives isn't just about strength. It's about love and compassion and all those other weaknesses that compromise us. I wonder how many families will sway towards sacrifice and how many others will do what it takes to outlast one another.

Then I wonder how much fight I have in me. I hope to god there's another way to survive.

Theia

I crane my neck and push my forehead up against the glass but I can I can only see what looks like a heavily-armoured policeman who's definitely not one of ours facing down Henry's house. His presence brings the threat of this night one step closer to fruition. He wears a darker uniform than our guards and raises his sunglasses to rest on top of his head. Sunglasses at this time of day, when the sun is already out of the sky? It seems overkill but it adds to his menacing stance. I could stretch as far to say he looks ridiculous but since he's holding a gun I suppose that what I think about him isn't going to bother him too much.

The man jerks the gun towards the house and I let out a yelp but no one can hear me from here. I can't let him kill anyone because this must all be a misunderstanding and another announcement will surely rectify it. But I can't pretend this isn't our fate: one way or another, our deaths have already been ordained.

The policeman lowers his gun and I breathe a sigh of relief but I crease my brow at something else peculiar. I am aghast that not one member of my family has risen from the table and joined me, instead that they have chosen to ignore the altercation next door. Henry's parents are their friends and Henry is mine. I can just about see my parents through the doorway and neither seems the least interested in the raucous.

The window bay is at a difficult angle and I can't see farther than halfway up Henry's path so I am not sure who the policeman is talking to. For a better view I unscrew the bolt on the pane and lift it up although it has been a long time since anyone tried to unlock it so it takes some effort. The window is heavy and grates on itself so I can only raise it a fraction but enough for me to hear the policeman.

'Smart brother you got there.'

Henry's an only child and I have no idea what he's talking about.

I tug at the window and it budges enough for me to hear Henry's door close but I don't have time to see who was involved in the conversation. The noise I created draws the policeman's attention to me. 'Stay in your house little lady.' He pats his gun in the holster, lowers his tinted glasses, although I still don't see why when the night is settling in, and smirks as he walks past my house and out of sight.

I close the window and screw the bolt tight. A memory that has been lost for years awakens.

One wintery day when I was much younger, still in the phase of enjoying school and still far from realising the predicament the world was in, my teacher led the class into the assembly hall. Excitedly Henry and I recognised our parents in the crowd and waved whilst orchestrated onto mats in the middle of the room, aware that we were given pride of place. Our attentions were turned to a white canvas that took up most of the front wall and then there was a whirring as the screen came to life. This was shortly after electricity stopped flowing and was one of the earliest Surges. I can't remember much that was distinguishable about the man in front of the screen other than he told us this was a treat from the Upperlands, who had neither forgotten about our plight nor the recent demise of the Lowerlands. At this time the borders were more obscure but already land had been renamed. The phrases we heard sounded fresh but we would learn over the years what little truth they held.

I do recall that the man wore bright tailored clothes and donned a neat beard. His cool demeanour enamoured me. As soon as he had stopped talking, the screen took to life with a montage of scenes of famous movies, from back when they were still being made and carefree people had nothing better to do with their lives than fill them with frequenting cinemas. My father was something of a storyteller at that time and I even recognised some of the scenes being played out from his bedtime tales. The clips went on for hours and not a single person could draw their eyes away from the bold colours and glorious music. We grinned at love stories, laughed at comedies, gasped at action films, and shrieked at the few horror clips, which were all over before they began and no parent intervened at the terror in front of us; nothing matched the horror of our own world.

Stay in your house little lady.

The policeman's words sounded like the actor in one scene that my father told me later was a western, about cowboys living on ranches, attacked by outsiders. He mocked their language and the way they'd yell dramatically. Then he'd make me hysterical by riding an imaginary horse and throwing around an imaginary lasso.

The way the policeman spoke perfectly encapsulated the style of the cowboy and I shiver at the idea that this man is enjoying his role.

I took one other thing away from that afternoon in the school hall, which was the panic that was brought to us as soon as we stepped outside into the bright setting sun that hurt our eyes after being in the dark for so long. People had come from the boundary at the Upperlands and reported that, whilst we sat in the makeshift movie theatre, steel walls went up around the Upperlands.

We called it the Fence. The divide happened that quickly and cruelly.

Henry

Selene is furious and I don't blame her but I also don't know how to calm her down. She thinks the policeman was bluffing but when given the authority to kill any one of us what is there to stop him? A conscience? A pang of guilt? Refrain at killing an innocent teenager?

I'm not stupid. From the novels and non-fiction tomes my parents have made me read, people put into difficult situations will comply when commanded to do so. I'm sure the policeman has his reasons.

I want to talk to Theia about this, to get her take on things and see what solutions she's come up with. I try to imagine what she'd make of this situation and how she would rationalise it but I come up blank. I figure her mother is at the hospital and try to remember what the woman giving the announcement said about public buildings. Weighing it up, it's probably a good thing she's there. That leaves Theia, Ronan, Leda and their father and my heart sinks for them all.

Selene breaks my chain of thought. 'I have to go,' she says again.

'You saw the gun,' I say with irritation, displacing my anger onto an easy target. 'It's not safe out there.' I see the hurt on her face and regret any time I raise my voice to Selene as I think of her mother shouting and know that she doesn't deserve it coming from all sides.

'So I just wait here a few hours and get shot come morning? That sounds marvellous. You can't stop me from going.'

'It's suicide. Stay for a while and we can work out what to do. We can,' but she cuts my foolish mouth off with a simple gnarl of her teeth.

'We can ask Theia right? That's what you were going to say. That she'll know what to do? Let me guess, Theia's probably immune from this.'

I notice that my parents have slunk away to the living room and I realise that arguing is going to get us nowhere but I rack my brains for something to rectify the situation and again the words fail me. I must look pathetic because not even Selene carries on berating me. Her expression crumbles into despair. She sits on the bottom rung of my staircase, staring ahead into the middle distance, playing back the announcement in her mind.

'I'm sorry,' she says after a while. I join her on the stairs. 'I'm being selfish. Can you believe this?'

I shake my head.

'I don't know... the announcement must seem crazy to you but deep down I knew it would come to this. Not this exactly but we knew what the Upperlanders must have been like to put off Rehousing for years whilst the world flooded around us. They're heartless and sadistic but I didn't think it would be this bad. I told you they'd never let us through the Fence but this is sick. Is it a game to them? To watch us destroy one another? Who'd even want to go tomorrow?'

'My parents,' I whisper, afraid they can overhear but it's not like they are thinking any differently and it's not my job to protect them from what's happening. There's no going to sleep and ignoring it and waking up in the morning to see that the horror has passed over our house. In just over ten hours there will be a knock on the door and I'm not sure leaving our fate to an intruder is preferable.

I head up the stairs and Selene follows me into my room, which seems smaller than it used to, no longer a refuge from the dangers inside but a prison cell on death row, a depraved holding block we unnecessarily and mercilessly learnt about at school.

I stretch out on my bed and Selene takes a spot next to me on the side in which she always sleeps when she stays over. From this position, the window is above head height and, whilst I can usually see into Theia's room when standing up, my view now scrapes her roof and carries on towards the starless sky. There is a mouldy glow around the quarter crescent moon from the pollution and, unlike the peacefulness of a full moon devoid of the cover of electricity, the sharp edge cuts into the cloudless sky as if slicing it open. I look around my room at my belongings and start imagining weapons out of my possessions. We've been primed to think about death.

'We could escape Henry.'

I thought of this too, I want to say, but the same idea must occupy every household around the neighbourhood yet not one person will be leaving their house. For the whole of the Middlelands with this predicament, escape must sound like the best bet, except there's one problem that outweighs all the many reasons for trying: we have nowhere to turn.

'To where?' The words hang heavy in the air, suffocating us until it is unbearable and I let out a heavy sigh. Selene knows it and I know it and everyone else that has thought it must know it too. Escape is impossible. So little of the planet remains habitable. Not so long ago we thought we were the lucky ones to have a home on solid ground but even that has been eroded away and any plans to build floating masses on the seas failed. To one side is the ocean and to the other is the Fence. Some of us may be Rehoused in the morning but for the rest there is nowhere and nothingness.

Selene breaks the silence. 'We could take a boat.'

For the briefest moment my body tenses as I flashback to a few years ago. It was not our fault, I tell myself. I've played the game of denial so long that I almost believe it. I've waited for punishment that maybe tonight is karma and my turn to face up to what happened. I wonder if Theia is thinking the same. I swallow the thought away, my underlying guilt from that day the last thing I need to resurface right now.

'We could try,' Selene says, recapturing my attention.

I pawn off her suggestion. 'Let's say we evade the patrollers and make it to the ocean, what then? We'll sail for the rest of time, living off raw fish and salty water? All of us, cramped into a rowboat.' It comes out more sarcastic than I entailed but it's better than entertaining the option. To the displeasure of my father, who wanted me to continue with his line of work, I haven't been near a boat for over three years and I have no desire to consider it now, even if I thought it was a possibility.

'Come up with something better then,' she says, irritably.

'I'm out of options.'

'I have another idea. We could fight.' Selene towers for her age, for any age really. She'd be mad if she heard me describe her like that but it's the truth. I've never seen her start a fight but she's ended plenty, not through punches but intimidation. Most of the boys around here, even the older ones, left her alone, which means they'd leave me alone too. There isn't much to do with our time than pick fights so it was good to have Selene on my side. Not that it matters anymore as I guess they have other things to think about now.

Selene probably would be up for fighting. 'It's not a terrible idea,' I say, surprised at the words that come out of my mouth. I've never once wanted to hit anyone let alone kill them but I've listened to vitriol against the Upperlanders build up for years and I know there will be those in our neighbourhood who will want to retaliate at the announcement.

'It'd be an unfair match though, what with their guns and that bastard knowing I was about to leave,' Selene says, and she's right. Maybe the policeman's arrival was a coincidence but somehow I don't think so. Somehow he knew.

'Hmm,' I say, but only to fill the silence.

Selene takes my hand in hers. Her fingers are bony and chilled and I know that no amount of compassionate gestures will change anything. I don't know why I have accepted the announcement so easily but maybe it's because it hasn't come as a surprise. Maybe it's been inevitable. What group forces another to implode, helping them to die out? More intriguing, I wonder why they chose tonight to exact this plan. Selene may be right in that we need to take action. Still, I'm not ready to quite let go of her hand just yet and leave this bed behind.

I stare up at my ceiling, unwilling to turn towards her in case I see any tears that roll silently down the side of her face. If I'm honest, I don't want her to see that my own eyes are red.

'Hmm,' I say again. But that's all I can muster. I don't know what else I can say.

Selene

I predict the odds and they may be in my favour, especially with the element of surprise.

Henry's father and I are roughly the same height and he wouldn't see it coming. I could use any number of kitchen utensils, or there's the hammer. Henry's mother would never enact violence on me so I could save her till after. And Henry would be all too easy to take care of, right now, here in his room with a pillow, his screams muffled so that his parents would have no idea. After taking him out, his parents would be easy.

This plan forms in my mind and I despise myself. I know that thinking something does not mean the same as actually doing it or my mother would have died long ago, but I feel guilty all the same to even have fleeting thoughts about hurting the Argents. Henry can have no idea what I'm thinking and I'm grateful for that because, in this case, the thought alone is too awful and makes me a heartless creature. This family has protected me my entire life and the fact that I would even entertain the idea of living over them disappoints me.

I clear my mind of violence but reflect on what I've learnt about myself. Why I began to formulate the idea of killing Henry and his parents is the same reason as what stopped me from running into the path of the policeman's gun: I'm not ready to die.

I want to survive this night.

But if I want to survive then so do others. Of course Henry's parents would choose him over me so the only chance I have is to leave. I'm not sure when or how but it'll have to be soon.

Yes, I want to survive this night. How I do that is another matter but Henry's explanation of survival of the fittest comes back into my mind.

I want to survive. How can I be blamed for that?

Theia

It's less hassle to pretend to eat than have my mother badger me so I force myself two mouthfuls of tasteless fish that are easier to swallow than expected but do nothing to restore my appetite, then I swirl the rest around my plate into smaller piles to create the illusion that only dregs remain. The sound of chewing frustrates me but so did my father's attempt at banal conversation with Ronan. My mother is still elsewhere in her mind and I notice the similar expression on my grandmother's face.

'Doesn't anyone care about what's going on?' I blurt out, my thoughts no longer captive in my mind.

My father glares for a split second but lowers his head and fixes his gaze on his empty plate. Exasperated, I try my mother who would typically be the go-to person at the hospital in a crisis but is strangely deflated now. I don't expect her to be enthused by the situation but I expected more of a fight from her. I try to ignite her spirit by directing my question to her. 'Mum? What are we going to do?'

My mother lifts her head but her eyes look past mine towards nothing in particular.

'Don't you care?' I'm shouting now. 'What's wrong with you? We need to deal with this.' My chair flies back as I stand and throw the plate against the wall hard enough that it shatters on impact and leaves a splattering of green stains against the off-white flaking wallpaper. The juice dribbles down the wall and it could be funny in another situation but not even Ronan in his immaturity sees any humour in my action. I can feel my face redden from more than anger; rather it is incredulity, not just at my outburst but also my parents' lack of a reaction.

Then Ronan starts to cry and my grandfather puts his arm around him. My parents don't budge and that's when I realise that they're scared but also resigned. It has taken me a while longer than them but I now process that only one of us can survive and it must be devastating them over and over again.

As my breathing calms I look at each of my family members in turn and play a sadistic game in my head, working out whom we would nominate to live. I hate to dismiss Leda but do so for the sake of the exercise. So then I take a guess at each one of our choices, whether ourselves or someone else and the answers are obvious: we would unanimously opt for Ronan. Only then do I notice that even though my father looks deflated his chair is pulled up so close to Ronan's that their arms are touching.

This realisation immediately frees my mind and I feel relief soar through my body, a sort of reverse adrenaline that results in a pleasant numbness, as if this decision to Rehouse Ronan resolves the tension I've been carrying. I'll have to come to terms with my own life being over soon enough but for now I need to prepare Ronan for the morning. I forgive my parents, aware that the responsibility I thought I bore alone was shared by them and has now been relinquished.

'Theia,' my father says, without looking up. 'You will need to be strong.'

His voice is hazy but draws me back to the room.

'There's a large suitcase at the back of our wardrobe. You should take that.'

'What are you talking about?' His words sink in but I can't fathom them. Why does it matter how strong I am now? We've agreed that Ronan will be Rehoused. That's the obvious decision. That's what matters.

'Theia, listen to me.'

'No. Why are you saying that? Ronan is six. He's eligible to be Rehoused.' I look at Ronan who is sniffing, upset at my flare-up and confused that we are now arguing about him.

Neither my mother nor grandmother stir but my grandfather drops his head and makes me feel ashamed for discussing who should live and die in front of my fragile family. We've struggled through the changed world and there is no energy in them left to fight me. I look towards Ronan who still has much to learn about the injustices of the world, then my grandfather with his feeble but kind heart, and glance at my father with his loss of inertia from whatever feelings of failure have built up inside him over the last decade and attacked his core. Then there is my mother who is so strong in her hospital work but incompetent in this crisis that I can't even recognise the same woman that I thought I took my strength from, and next I turn my attention to my grandmother whose mental deterioration has allowed her to escape reality and only she, apart from Leda, seems unfazed by not only tonight's events but what's to come. Finally I look at Leda who is as always content, disturbed by nothing and unaware of the world that used to be and the night ahead.

My father stands so that we are level. 'You're the strongest of all of us Theia. You're the only one who could endure this world after tomorrow. It's clear who must carry on so please don't fight this decision. It's final. The burden of living has to be on you.'

I take his words in. His explanation is unfair. I don't want to be strong so I do the best I can to be the exact opposite and hurry out of the room, up the stairs and crash on my bed, taking the option of playing the immature teenager because in that moment I want to be anything else than what has made my father think I should outlive any one of them. I pound my pillow but it does nothing to relieve my fury and look around for something else to calm me down.

I need to talk to Henry. I take some long breaths, walk to the window that looks onto his room but he's not there.

Henry

My clock says it's coming up to eight and even with the announcement my stomach rumbles with hunger. My earlier memory of learning about death row at school comes back to me.

We were taught that prisoners were offered a last meal of anything they'd crave within reason. We salivated throughout the afternoon's activity of designing the meal we'd most like to eat and it struck me as mean-spirited even then to be forced to think about food no longer in supply. I didn't realise it until later but teachers did a lot of questionable things as the Middlelands grew narrower and the Fence taller. My mother found me crying that night and attempted to explain the lesson as one about facing our reality, trying to console me that some people saw the world as an extension to death row.

I told her I didn't want to go back to school but she insisted that the teachers knew best, although I could tell she despised the world as much as I did that day.

I hear a steady pattern of inhales and exhales from Selene, who must have been burnt out to fall asleep, and I lay still so as not to wake her. I'm mentally exhausted too but my mind still races with trying to make sense of what's happening so maybe she was right that she accepts the Upperlands' decree easier than I do. Her mouth is pursed and she wheezes with each breath. I decide to let her sleep as long as she likes and avoid the nightmare that must be far, far worse than anything in her dreams. My parents are too polite to eat without us and will be waiting patiently downstairs but I'm in no rush to have a conversation with them about what needs to happen by tomorrow morning.

If I don't survive the night my last meal will be tough stringy vegetables and salty fish with fiddly bones weaved throughout the flesh. It's not exactly what dreams are made of but there is obviously a decent supply of sea-salt that can turn any drab meal palatable. It's what I'm used to. Even with the death sentence hanging above us, there is no luxury of choosing a final meal. My stomach growls, causing Selene to shuffle but not wake up.

I delicately shift my weight to my legs and raise my chest up off the bed to sneak downstairs and tell my parents not to wait. In doing so the mattress squeaks.

'Henry,' Selene calls out hazily, somewhere between sleep and awake.

'Yeah.'

'Stay with me.'

'Of course,' I say, and lower my body back to the mattress. I close my eyes and for a few moments manage to lull myself into a relaxed state with nothing but the sound of Selene's breathing to fill the air.

Then I hear the screams.

Theia

I wait at the window for Henry but he doesn't show and I have no other way of contacting him except going next door but that's out of the question when the guard is patrolling the street. I look into his empty room opposite mine and think I see a shimmer of movement but it must be my eyes playing a trick on me. I guess Henry is downstairs eating with his family, discussing the announcement more rationally than how I handled it. I know I should try to explain my argument but I can't bring myself to talk about Rehousing, especially when I keep flipping between accepting what's happening and not believing it.

I span the length of my bedroom, which is too large for one person considering the number of homeless but I have had the argument of setting up temporary beds across the floor too many times with my parents and now it no longer matters. The space gives me an idea. I work out whether it would be productive to gather up resources and barricade ourselves in the house but eschew the idea as quickly as it came because the Upperlanders have guns and we'd only starve to death if they, or the water, didn't reach us first.

The room covers the whole length of the house, an odd design that snakes around Ronan's windowless cell and alongside my parent's room looking out onto the front. It means I have three windows and makes the room exceptionally hot during summer, cold during winter and, tonight, with the street lamps glowing from the extended Surge, it is bright enough for me not to rely on the electricity so that I don't need to light any candles, nor do I have to worry about the fused bulb that has been blown for years and I never bothered replacing through trading something in for a new one at the market. I remember the items in my bag downstairs and it only hits me how redundant they are. I feel the absence of the necklace and regret my earlier decision.

One of the windows looks out onto the street at the far end of the room and the other two, at right angles, face Henry's room and the back garden, which is not huge but has a few trees and plants lining the outskirts and a solid patch of grass in the middle. Even miles from the coast the lawn already has a spongy feel from the seawater that permeates the surface. On the hottest days the sun can dry the soil but otherwise walking on the grass muddies feet enough to stain the skin up to the ankles and even the gravel on the road outside doesn't feel solid anymore. If Leda had a chance I imagined she'd grow up in a world in which she would spring her way through life. According to the Upperlanders she's the only one who has been given no odds at survival. My parents knew the choice to have children was a grave decision that would have repercussions. The honourable duty of removing them too. No one could have expected the threat would be so literal but I'm not surprised by the inhumanity.

The garden is divided off by fences between my next-door neighbours and the parallel row of homes behind us. The Argents, Henry and his parents, are to the right of us and the Ethers live to our left. Stephan and Joyce Ethers are a similar age to my grandparents but are nowhere near as feeble, perhaps from never having children of their own, although they would sometimes babysit us until I was old enough to look after Ronan and Leda myself. The fences between all of our gardens are low enough that Henry and I could climb them as a quick way to each other's houses yet I would never do anything as impolite as entering the Ethers' garden that way.

Stephan Ethers was a fishmonger in his youth and, whilst the resources warranted it, had a walk-in fridge built into the side of his kitchen to store stock and sell it directly from his house. It meant a stench that would hang permanently but also meant that whilst my mother was at the hospital and my father was fishing they would be around to look after us. Sometime through my earlier years the fridge door broke and we were forbidden from going near it as it was not child-proofed and had the tendency of locking from the inside. I remember the way the generator would hum and being fascinated at how the door slid along the floor, letting icy steam spill out. Now, in Stephen Ethers' and the electricity's retirement, the fridge is used for storage alone and they have no reason to turn it on following a Surge. We live day to day. There is nothing to preserve.

I look out across the garden. The Middlelands aren't expansive but large enough so that I don't know everyone. I have no idea about any of the families in the three houses behind mine, Henry's or the Ethers'. All I know is there are no teenagers or children our age and, since it is normally too dark to see across the way, I'm clueless as to who occupies them. But tonight is different because of the Surge so all the houses are lit up and I can see activity in all three.

Directly opposite me is a family of four with two girls who look to be in their twenties sitting at a table. There doesn't appear to be much in the way of interaction. To the left, behind the Ethers, are another old couple sitting on their sofa holding hands. The announcement finished nearly an hour ago and I cannot imagine how they or the Ethers will make the decision of who will be Rehoused. Only when I view the family of three to the other side do I consider how the setups of their houses reflect ours. An image flashes in my mind of this triptych of families replicating itself across the neighbourhood: an elderly couple and a small unit sandwiching a larger family.

The family of three behind Henry's house are all in different rooms. The father is in the living room stacking up plates, his daughter who looks a little older than me sits at a desk in her room upstairs staring intently at her desk, while the mother is hunched over the kitchen sink deliberating over whether to bother washing up. My first instinct is that we are all leaving the Middlelands one way or another by sunrise so she wouldn't waste her time but she turns on the tap all the same and seawater flows through. I guess she is house-proud. Or restless.

The girl looks up from her desk and it is impossible to tell if she has noticed me but seems to stare in my direction. I raise my hand and wave. She must not have seen me because she looks on blankly then lowers her head. I squint, trying to get a better focus on her and notice how fair her skin is against her jet black hair. I might have seen her somewhere but can't place it. I scan my brain to think where I recognise her but nothing comes to mind. Perhaps she had been a few years above me at school but something tells me this isn't the explanation.

I am still staring in her direction when she lifts a piece of paper with writing on it. The words are overtly large so that I have no problem reading it.

Hey Theia.

My heart skips a beat. I am embarrassed that I don't know who she is but I find that her message calms me. In some way I am no longer confined to this house and now that I have someone else to empathise with I suddenly don't feel so isolated.

I have all the equipment needed to write a message from my exchanges with Henry but I don't know what I should reply with. Hey, would be rude without her name to follow. I simply smile and hope she doesn't find me impolite. I shouldn't have worried because she returns the smile then curls over and furiously scribbles on the paper. Whilst I wait, I unscrew a pen lid to prepare my response.

It takes her some time as she goes over each letter a few times to embolden them. The words aren't as big as her previous message but I have no problem reading her sentences.

I am going to the Upperlands. How about you?

My eyes glance at the silhouettes of her parents downstairs who are now in the same room doing something but I can't work out what. I train my eyes on their task and it becomes clear that that they have relinquished their chance of being Rehoused and are removing photographs from frames and placing them in a pile.

It's not a conversation I could ever imagine having and it would be unthinkably rude to ignore her yet I don't know what to write in response, and I'm not sure all the time in the world would be enough as nothing could possibly suffice. Do I congratulate or commiserate her? Tell her my quandary is on-going? Check she is alright with her parents' sacrifice or be envious that she has no siblings?

I write what comes to mind and hold up my paper to the expectant girl.

I'm not sure yet. I'm glad you know what is happening.

Glad? I am mortified and curse myself for lacking compassion towards her parents. There's nothing gladdening about this. My message must be insulting or patronising in some way but everything else I could have written seemed equally bad or worse. I want to apologise profusely to her but no volume of paper will amount to enough space. She doesn't seem offended, at least from what I can tell this far away and she writes another message. This time it is quicker.

I don't think I can do this.

I am about to reply with something pathetic about how she needs to be brave but drop my pen when I hear a scream. The girl hears it too and her expression of terror must mirror mine.

I scan the neighbours' windows and see that the scream came from the house next door to the girl, from the house directly behind mine.

From her position the girl at the desk can't see the horror erupting within the larger family. It must be unnerving to remain clueless about what is happening but I envy that she can't witness this. In the living room, which was tranquil minutes ago, mayhem has exploded onto the scene. One of the daughters holds a knife in the air and the tip glistens red. I watch as she steps over her mother's lifeless body and approaches her father and other sister who cower together in the corner. I should turn away but I force myself to watch on. Not because I want to see what happens next but because I need to.

The threat of death from the announcement has come true and makes me wholeheartedly accept that this night is really happening. It swiftly teaches me there is no escape from death, whether it will be my own or my loved ones and, in this moment, as I watch the murderous exchange from one sister to another, I focus on one thought alone.

It is just beginning.

8 P.M. – 9 P.M.

Henry

I leap up but Selene beats me to the window even from her dozing state and points me towards the house opposite Theia's where a family is killing one another.

The sun has set behind this house and causes something of a halo effect around the roof with the illusion that this is a spectacle on a stage for the world to observe. It's easy to forget that this should be happening in the privacy of the four peoples' shared space alone. Only, I can't believe my mind considers that because this shouldn't be happening at all.

I stare on, wondering how this family who gathered together an hour ago under the illusion of possible salvation could so rapidly turn inwardly on themselves. The stabbing continues, with knife plunges so loud yet from this distance the sound must be a figment of my imagination. The father and his weaponless daughter hug as the other girl with the knife approaches and blocks their path to the door.

Kill or be killed. Dog eat dog. Prey on the weak. So many violent sayings that teachers used when lecturing us about idioms and figures of speech. Never have they been so literal before this night. I could explain away what is happening simply as fear but it's incredible that it could be enough of a driving force to kill those you love. There must be more to this. At least I hope so or we are all doomed because everyone in the Middlelands must be petrified.

The man stands and even with his stature seems shrunken in comparison to his daughter. He holds out his hands to plead with her but she jabs the knife through the air, cutting towards him. Her aggression is not about defending herself. Neither of the others have weapons themselves. She wants to survive but I'm not sure it's triumphant to be the last one standing. Her father lurches back to avoid her plunges but loses his footing and falls on top of the other girl. The daughter with the knife descends on them.

The screams are audible through the pane and continue on incongruously long after the girl has stabbed the knife countless times into the pile of her father and sister's limbs and that's when it occurs to me that it is the killer who continues to scream. In the game of survival she is the winner. She is the one to be Rehoused yet after this evening has passed and she has time to process the price of her success she will also be the person who has to tolerate this outcome. This will be the cost of living.

Selene notices my green complexion and the murmurs of retching long before I feel the sickness bubble its way from my stomach, and the bile spills from my throat as she drags me to the bathroom across the hallway. I don't make it on time and a trail of my vomit falls across the tiles and up the toilet bowl. Selene leaves me hanging over the murky water as she reaches for towels and begins to clean up first my mess and then my face.

I vomit for a second time at one more thought. As I was hurried out of the room I glanced towards my other window and saw Theia, who was also witnessing the horror.

Selene

I mop Henry's forehead and allow myself to feel pity for the family but only for the briefest moment as there are still plenty of hours until daybreak and massacre should not have been the solution. Not yet, not ever.

But the image of the bloodshed is burnt into my retinas and I am not able to physically rid myself of the disgust like Henry has done so I am left with it. That it doesn't sit well inside me is reassuring, that I am inclined to be disgusted rather than hungry for violence, which may surprise quite a few people in our neighbourhood who are sure that I'm always looking for fights when the truth is I have never hurt anyone. I understand their reasoning: my height, my mother, genes, but it's just not true. Not once have I retaliated and resorted to punching back, not even in self-defence. I was always more impressed with my mother's ability to source alcohol, a rare commodity, so that by the time I realised she was inebriated it was all I could do to avoid conflict and remain passive, not even resisting her the time she threw a chair and then herself at me. But the misguided belief about the girl from 3 Fitzroy Avenue works in my favour as people are wary of me and leave me alone.

The truth of the matter is that I never hit back because I didn't know if I had the strength in me and I still don't. I can't imagine what it would be like for my fist or leg to connect with someone and inflict pain. I'm scared that if it turned out that I was pathetically incapable of doing any damage I would lose my threatening aura. But there's a darker reason still.

I'm not sure I'd be able to stop.

I've watched my mother goad herself on and justify each punch more easily to herself. I'm afraid that if I started I would wish for a next time and a time after that until violence became intrinsic to my core and there would be no end in sight. I'm worried that one day I could snap and kill her. So I take away something good from the self-destructive family across the garden: that I have no desire to see out this night by killing those around me. Especially not those I love.

Henry sobs into the toilet bowl and the hunger rears up again as I picture slamming his head against the porcelain. I shake myself out of it and take the impulse with me but it's too late to keep a memory from emerging from a murky place in my head, although I manage to rebuff it before it is fully formed. I tell myself that the urge to kill him was nothing and that it has passed.

I am not violent.

But self-defence is rocky territory, a fine line that the Upperlanders have pushed us over tonight and is now barely a dot on the horizon. I wonder what I would do if I find myself in a situation to the family opposite as the target of someone who has panicked and no longer views me as a girl they watched grow up but instead sees me as a threat, as competition. The memory rears itself again.

I am not violent, I tell myself once more in protest of my recollection.

To consolidate this fact I mutter it on my lips. 'I am not violent. I am not violent.'

'What did you say?' Henry removes his head from the toilet, too disoriented to have heard my mantra. The colour has not returned to his face.

'Nothing,' I say, but he doesn't hear as he begins to throw up again.

Theia

What's happening?

The girl holds up the message but I shake my head at her then scribble a reply. It's better you don't know. It's not fair to suggest that and naive too to think that she doesn't have to worry about what is happening in our neighbourhood because she will be Rehoused and there should be no repeat in her own home but I wrote it all the same because I don't want to have to write down a recap of what I endured. Instead I point away into my house, ending our communication at least for now. I need to check my family didn't see what I did.

First, I look across and take a final mental snapshot of the living room-turned-crime scene. The surviving girl sits in one of the chairs above her motionless family. Apart from the knife and the bodies around her a passer-by might think she is merely lost in a moment squandering the time away. In a way I suppose she is.

Downstairs, my family all look to me for an explanation of the screams. 'A girl killed her family. She'll be Rehoused in the morning.' It's blunt, brutal even, which I hope goes someway to unnerve them enough for them to snap out of their denial.

'Dessert,' my father says in reply.

I shake my head, astounded by his reaction. I should march each one up to my room and force them to stare out at what could be us before sunrise. My parents could argue that we're nothing like that family but I don't imagine the girl woke up this morning plotting to kill. Anyway, the announcement made it clear: more than one family member being Rehoused is not an option.

My mother chews on a fingernail, which is unlike her. They are normally trim and clean but I notice all of her nails are now devoid of any tips.

'Dessert,' my father says again, waking her out of her daydream.

She walks zombified into the kitchen and I follow her, having given up on my father who has conceded to the announcement rather than contest it but I am not surprised when he relinquished his fighting spirit years ago and adopted an apathetic stance for life, which has not been a secret but something we never discuss. I decide that shaking my mother or shouting will have little impact so instead I attempt to summon the fearless doctor she is at the hospital.

'Remember the new oath,' I say. 'Who deserves to live. It should be Ronan. Are you listening to me?'

My mother pulls six plates from a cupboard and deliberates over serving the unappetising spongy concoction here or at the table. She reaches towards the cutlery drawer for a knife. The sharp blade reminds me of the murders across the garden and I jolt, not at the thought of dead people a short distance away but about the access we all have to potential weapons.

My mind plays a heartless trick on me and I worry about my mother's next action; she's acting out of sorts and I fear for my safety. I grab her hand with the knife in it and she automatically tugs her arm away as she looks at me with fearful eyes. Her expression implies that I was going to harm her and I wonder if paranoia is the chief instigator of danger amongst families in our neighbourhood.

I could apologise for upsetting her but after what I have seen I am the one trying to prevent harm to my family and am therefore insulted she thinks I could do something similar. After all, I am the one trying to make sense of this evening when everyone else has resigned themselves to death.

'Did you hear me?' I say more forcefully. 'It should be Ronan.'

She speaks in a broken voice. 'Who would look after him?'

She is right of course. Even in this world where we have had to grow up quickly, Ronan would be incapable of living self-sufficiently. He would struggle to look after himself physically let alone emotionally. In extreme circumstances he may be able to adapt and take on independence but we have no idea what will be waiting for us on the other side of the Fence; maybe not luxury per se and maybe not even safety, although it's hard to imagine what the Upperlanders would have in store following this night.

Would Ronan be ok? There would be others to look after him but maybe that's not enough. With my mother's absence at the hospital and my father's sluggishness, I have overcompensated by doing everything for him. He'd have to grow up fast but I'm not sure he'd have the resilience. But there will be plenty of children being Rehoused tomorrow morning. I can't imagine parents choosing themselves to live so the Upperlanders must have taken this into consideration.

I catch my mother's gaze. 'Six year olds are allowed to be Rehoused. They must have thought it through.' I hear the disquiet in my tone. They. As if their compassion has driven this night. And then I change my approach. 'Everything about this is wrong.'

'Yes. So very wrong,' my mother says. With that she places her arms around me. She lowers her head into my shoulder and cries but I tense my back ashamed that I am still thinking about her holding the knife. 'This is why your father says it needs to be you.'

I restrain from pulling away but hate myself all the same for checking that the knife is on the sideboard and hate myself even more that I feel relieved. But I know we're not the same as the family who back onto our garden. My mother couldn't hurt anyone. Could she?

When I was much younger, shortly after the Fence was erected and the fortifications began, my mother let me watch an operation after I begged and pleaded to see her in action. She asked a training nurse, Melissa, to pick me up from school and walk me to the hospital. Supplies were low and it was all the staff could do to sterilise the building and equipment so as to not cause more infections but they were working without electricity and healthcare was already compromised. With most of the Middlelands struggling, my mother was an important figurehead and I idolised her, with aspirations of following in her footsteps. No story of surgery was too gruesome. It was that, market work, teaching or fishing.

She met me at the entrance and explained that I was going to watch open heart surgery. I could sense the ambivalence in her voice that a seventy year old woman would take up a lot of resources, with no guarantee that she would recover. It was not the same world my mother had trained in, where anyone was deserving of treatment; now, doctors' time and effort had to be stretched across the population and it made for difficult choices. Although I had been to the hospital plenty of times before and since, I had never seen her in action and my nervousness soared.

I stood in the room, a few feet back, as the routine surgery took place in front of me. I was in awe and not disturbed by the proceedings, until something went wrong. The medical vocabulary went over my head but the panic was glaring. I have no idea how much time passed whilst last-ditch attempts to save the patient were carried out but at some point my mother commanded the others to stop and she stood back as the woman on the table stopped breathing.

I waited for the end of my mother's shift and we walked home together in silence. I guess she didn't expect me to witness a death but she didn't want to talk about it either. I bit my lip, unable to label the emotion I was feeling, but later that night I knew that I was angry when I started to act irritably. 'Why did you let her die?' I said confrontationally. 'Why didn't you try harder?'

I wanted my mother to reassure me that they had done everything they could but it wasn't what I heard next.

'Maybe we could have saved her but we're low on blood reserves and there are more deserving people.'

'Why wasn't she as deserving?'

'She had as much as we could afford to give her. I hate it as much as you, Theia, I really do. A long time ago my profession rested on a thing called the Hippocratic Oath. My job was to do everything to keep someone alive no matter what.' She took a long pause as if she was still processing the change herself. 'You are a smart girl. You can see that the world is no longer what it was. It's not just each life that we have to consider but the greater good. Life is now about compromise. Sometimes there is nothing more honourable than sacrifice.'

My mother slides herself out of the embrace and walks across the kitchen to the sink.

'See if there's a bottle of wine in the cupboard,' she says to me. 'No point saving it for a special occasion.'

She's right of course; tonight isn't special but what other time will my family have to drink it? Alcohol is more precious than most commodities and hasn't been produced for decades but every once in a while a bottle turns up at the market and causes a stir. The auction draws a crowd, even if the majority have no chance of affording the prize. I'm not surprised there's wine here. Throughout her career my mother has politely declined some of the gifts patients and their families bestowed upon her but every once in a while some of them wouldn't take no for an answer.

I peer into the mostly bare cupboards and feel a sense of duty to apologise to my mother for misunderstanding her. I also want to say that I admire how strenuous her career has been so I turn back but stop myself from blurting anything out when I catch her slide a black box from under the sink into her pocket. She closes the cupboard door and I spin back around in the hope she didn't catch me staring.

I locate a maroon bottle layered in dust. I heard my mother stand up and brush down her trousers and only then do I pretend to find it.

'Let's take this all in,' she says, sounding more composed.

My mother places the bowls on the table and asks me to dish out the dessert before excusing herself. If I wasn't aware that she was smuggling something out of the room and didn't want anyone to know about it I wouldn't have noticed her strange behaviour but I glance at the bulge along her hip and then I panic that she's going to do something detrimental to herself. I listen as she chooses to go upstairs rather than opt for the toilet on the ground floor and I am beyond suspicious. My family wait for me to serve them food so I plop the sponge into each bowl as fast I can and then excuse myself too.

By the time I have crept up the stairs and have my ear against the locked door all sorts of disturbing thoughts have crossed my mind. My mother has easy access to whatever medication is left in the Middlelands and she'll know what a lethal dosage is. It wouldn't have been hard for her to smuggle pills out of the hospital. My heartbeat pounds so heavily I worry it will give me away. I commit to listening for a moment longer before deciding what to do.

For a while there is silence and I consider banging on the door to stop her from hurting herself with the potent medication. Pills, solvent, poison. My mind scans through all the things that my mother could store under the sink. I remember that she keeps medicine to treat those in our neighbourhood out of hours. She's told Ronan not to go near that cupboard so there must be medicine in there that could cause irreparable damage.

Then the silence is overtaken by static from inside the bathroom. The fuzziness is followed by a rasping voice and, although faded, the words become louder and clearer. Although my mother whispers it is clear that she is having a conversation with a man and it hits me that the object she pocketed isn't medicine at all but one of the communication devices the staff uses to call one another's attention at the hospital. I think they're called walkie-talkies and one of the few rare pieces of tech that has a wind-up option but that our community also allows the low supply of batteries to be allocated to. I flashback on one time Melissa, by then a qualified nurse, showed me how they worked whilst I was waiting for my mother to finish her shift. I have no idea where the other walkie-talkie is but if it is at the hospital I had no idea that the signal could reach as far as our house.

'Did you hear me? We had an extra announcement, directly to the hospital,' the man says and I place his unmistakable voice immediately as the other doctor that is equally respected at the hospital. Adam Jefferson. My mother raves about his creativity during surgery. He's a similar age to my parents but childless, more devoted to the hospital than my mother if that's even possible, and always kind to me. Both my mother and I wait for his next sentence and I am aware of the way he employs dramatic pauses.

'No patient will be Rehoused and only one staff member from each department will be allowed to live. No one can leave here until tomorrow morning.'

I hear my mother's gasp. 'Please survive this. I couldn't bear to lose you.'

The static feeds in and I miss some of what he says but I'm too fixated on my mother's words. I couldn't bear to lose you.

'There are only a few of us left. One nurse has shown no mercy. She shouted that she was blessed as she can be reunited with her husband on the other side of the Fence as he is home alone. I am so glad you aren't here tonight.'

'Just be safe,' my mother says. There's no two ways about it, it's a nice way of saying 'Kill everyone'.

I can't believe what I have just heard or why my mother would be having this conversation with Dr Jefferson. And then I can't believe my naivety. They are having an affair. Suddenly her actions make sense. No wonder she has been so upset about the hospital. No wonder she is always absent. I realise that she has ignored my cries of despair tonight, that she has wavered her allegiance to her family and disregarded our safety.

'What about you Penny?' he asks.

There is a pause and I remember my surprise that she was at home tonight and that I don't know her at all. I am not sure I could stomach my mother signing our lives away to be with Dr Jefferson.

Her answer is not cryptic. 'I will see you soon. I love you.'

'I love you more,' Dr Jefferson replies, and the static cuts out.

I hear my mother shuffle about in the bathroom and close a cabinet, probably to hide the walkie-talkie. I pull myself away and sneak back downstairs as silently as possible so that I am at my seat offering people a second serving when she reappears. She has no idea that I overheard her upstairs and she sits down but hardly touches her dessert.

So much in life should be clear cut. The oath to keep people alive no matter what for starters but I learnt years ago at the hospital that was no longer true. I think back to only a few years earlier at the coast and that my mother is not the only one with secrets. I justified lying then and my mother probably justifies it to herself now. At school we learnt that lying was wrong, cheating was wrong, stealing was wrong, and of course killing was never justified. But tonight we have been ordered to kill.

Again I tell myself that my mother couldn't hurt anyone but I no longer know what to believe. I think of the family and possible countless others that are dead and I think of the hospital staff and the patients and how many lives have already been taken. But that is all outside the safety of my house. I watch my mother bite another fingernail and for the first time tonight I am genuinely worried that we are not immune.

Henry

I want to spend as much time as possible with my parents when I consider that it is time above anything else that has become invaluable and we are running out of it, even if it just to sit in silence or to read one of our favourite books together and find solace within its pages. With Selene's impulsive attempt to leave we haven't had the opportunity to discuss the announcement. It's not something I'm looking forward to broaching. I can't imagine my parents are thrilled either.

I strip off my vomit-stained shirt and drop it in the laundry basket but only out of habit; it doesn't matter what I do with the top because whatever becomes of me I will never wear it again. I clean off the spit stains that hang on my chin and find another shirt. Selene, Theia and I have grown up together so I am not bothered about being topless in front of either of them. It's different for them of course. I've sneaked the occasional glance. Selene has smaller breasts than Theia and doesn't wear a bra most days. Anything we don't have to have in our lives is a bonus and locating items of clothes that aren't frayed takes effort so in this sense Selene has it easier.

The new shirt I put on reminds me of Theia's twelfth birthday and how we celebrated down at the coast as we always did, unaware that it was becoming tradition. That year the water had reached two thirds of the way up the Lowerlands.

Plenty of books at school depict the old coast gravitating towards its rightful habitat, ebbing in and out around the same stretch of shore, but unexpectedly the sea pushed on and now pulls in debris, no longer sand but also gravel and concrete and collapsed buildings and anything else in its path. Fishing is a requisite but the shore is treacherous territory, one wrong footing and dry land gives in to the depths of the ocean without any warning.

The best situation for the fishermen is when the flood approaches fields as they make for easy access for the boats, although these opportunities for clear sailing disappear as quickly as they arrive so most of the time the coast is nothing but a series of inlets around houses. Beaches are a thing of the past and any reports that where sea meets land was once a holiday destination has now transformed to little more but a warpath of devastation.

We never made a big deal out of our annual excursion on Theia's birthday, although the day she turned twelve was the last visit we made together.

The two of us would remember one another's birthday when everyone else forgot; it's hard to care about turning another year older when the reason becomes obsolete, meaning less about celebrating and more about surviving. As expected, I was the only one to remember her twelfth birthday that year. Thirteen was the big one, becoming a teenager was a sign that we weren't yet done for although I'm not sure those made homeless and already living under the Fence shared our sentiments. Theia and I were desperate to be teenagers, dreaming of the day we could call ourselves thirteen, the first milestone of survival for the new age. To Theia, twelve felt equal measures anti-climactic and exhilarating as there was the uncertainty we would see it but she could also begin to count down through months and days to her next birthday rather than whole years.

Theia's parents were busy as usual, with her mother in the hospital and her father in his last few months taken up by fishing and trying to keep himself well. Her grandparents had long moved out and Theia opted out of school to look after Ronan and Leda. I could tell from her irritability when I congratulated her that she was upset she had been forgotten about even if she tried not to show it. Ronan was only three years old and Theia was already caring for him more than her mother was. She wanted to forget about the day and instead look after Ronan and possibly later go to the market to see what she could swap for some trinkets, which tellingly were birthday presents from previous years.

I suggested we take up our usual trip.

'Why go there?' she snapped back. 'Who would look after Ronan? What's the point?' None of these questions demanded an answer and I didn't risk it.

I told her to at least clean herself up before we headed to the market and that I would keep an eye on her brother in the meantime. Whilst she was washing in third-hand salty bathwater I took Ronan next door to the Ethers' house. With no electricity to maintain the walk-in fridge Mr Ethers was retired and he and his wife were happy to look after Ronan for the day. They made for excellent caregivers and I never found out why they were childless.

But Theia was furious with me and it took some convincing for her to agree. It was a three hour walk downhill and we didn't talk much on the way there, too busy making the calculations in our head. At this rate, we had a good three or four years before our neighbourhood was the newest coast.

A good three or four years. What a ridiculous notion.

My parents smile when we enter the room.

'All fine up there?' my father asks.

I hesitate because they could not have seen the killing spree from the lower ground as our back fence stands in the way but they must have heard the screams even if they don't acknowledge them.

'Just chatting,' Selene says.

'Food's still warm but I can heat it up a little,' my mother offers.

'It will be great as it is. Are you sure there's enough for me?'

'Of course. There will always be enough for you,' my mother says, and then I see it, the sadness in her eyes, that this is a hollow offer.

'Thank you.' Selene sits and loads her plate.

'This looks great,' I say, but I am still lost in my memory.

'We'll be teenagers before we're homeless,' I said to Theia as we neared the coast. It seems much more than three years ago but I vividly remember there being little encouragement in those words even then.

I also remember it as the day we attempted to escape, which not only failed but ended in tragedy.

Theia

I don't want to arouse suspicion but I need time to make sense of what I overheard outside the bathroom and that means having space to think. I can't fathom my mother choosing her life over Ronan or any of us but five minutes ago I couldn't imagine she would choose another man over my father, even in his mental debilitation. I doubt he knows. My parents, despite my father's depression, are a team. They may argue about trivial things but never anything serious or lasting. Except for one matter.

Henry's parents never wanted children. In spite of this, Mrs Argent found herself pregnant. 'One too many', I overheard them tell my parents on more than one occasion but they follow this with delight at how everyone that crosses Henry's path says that he has turned out to be 'a charming young man'. He isn't gorgeous like Ruskin Peters with his friend's chiselled jaw and blonde curls but he does have these piercing eyes and messy brown hair and a face that endears everyone to him and I can see the charm they describe, at least on days we haven't bickered. Henry's parents were honest about their disappointment that he was a mistake pure and simple, a cruel result of an accident sixteen years ago that they would come to regret.

My own case is worlds apart. My father was adamant he wanted children whilst my mother was resolute that she didn't, that her work came first and we would be an obstruction. 'Why bring more people into this godforsaken world?' she asked him repeatedly. 'Why not allow ourselves the happiness from a family?' he would retort. 'Why can't we be a family?' she would argue. 'We could be so much happier,' he shouted. 'We are happy,' she screamed. Despite this long-suffering difference they fell deeper in love.

On it went as months became years until the couple could not separate even if they wanted to. But my father could not be satisfied with what little my mother craved and even though she cared for none of it accidents happen and I was born. The Silverdale family extended by one then my mother found herself pregnant twice more and, whilst I was blessed with siblings, she never held back that it was not what she wished. She loved my father enough to go through with the pregnancies and loved us and resented us equally, and as little as a few weeks after each one of us was born and my parents found ways of sharing the load so that my mother could return to work, they fell in love all over again.

'Theia? Earth to Theia.'

I snap out of my daydream and look around the table, too disoriented to place the voice. 'Sorry?'

'Don't be rude to your grandmother,' my mother says.

I want to scoff at her hypocrisy and I could shut her up in an instant but I don't. I conceal her secret for a while longer and let her off the hook, avoiding World War Four. 'Sorry grandma, I didn't hear you.'

'How's school dear?' she asks in between weak breaths.

I've been out of school for over a year but am unfazed by her confusion. Her dementia means she can't remember my name so understanding what is happening tonight is a big ask and for that alone, for the illness that causes her to be absent, I'm jealous. It's more concerning that my mother might not even be addressing me in the first place as she often believes I am my mother, her own daughter, at a younger age. I've learnt it's easier to play along than resist or correct her.

I decide she is the luckiest out of all of us tonight, luckier even than Leda because she has at least had her time. My mother diagnosed her mental deterioration around the time Ronan was born as being in an early stage of the degenerative disease. Her incoherence rises in conjunction with the encroaching sea. To her benefit she would have forgotten the announcement immediately after hearing it so I don't know whether in that moment of comprehension it would have distressed her or if it washed off her carefree. If so, lucky her when, for the rest of us, the knowledge of death approaching is inescapable.

I opt for a vague response. 'School's interesting, thank you.'

'You need to be a good girl. You'll have a brother or sister any day now.'

I nod and watch as my grandmother looks at the young faces around the table and at the contradiction between their presence and her words. Ronan tugs on my father's sleeve. He is too young to understand why she has never acknowledged him.

My father leans in and whispers something I can't hear and Ronan laughs. I cherish these moments when my father reappears and still has the ability to diffuse situations with the words we need to hear.

My grandmother makes a little 'oh' sound but my grandfather stays resolutely silent the entire time.

'Has everyone had enough to eat?' my mother asks. No one has time to answer before we are rudely interrupted by a gunshot. A few seconds later the sound of a second blast reverberates around the room.

Selene

I gasp for air but can't breathe.

The food lodges in my throat when I am startled by the gunshot. Panic overcomes me and I can feel my chest burn. My vision blurs and I can't see if anyone else has noticed I can't breathe. In that brief moment two thoughts occur to me, that I'm going to die but at least it solves one problem for the Argents. But I don't want to die. Somehow the next blast that comes a few seconds later catches me unguarded once more and reverses the choke because I jolt and this helps dislodge the food. I gulp and clear my airway. It occurs to me that a death somewhere in the neighbourhood may have prevented mine. My eyes stream and I swallow some cold tea to help the chunk of food slide down.

Henry did notice and is out of his seat ready to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre but I put my hand up to stop him, no longer needing his assistance. 'Are you ok?' he asks.

'What was that?' My voice is hoarse.

'Two gunshots,' Henry says, stating the obvious. 'A few seconds apart. Nearby. Theia?'

'No,' says Henry's father. 'It's not the Silverdales.'

He doesn't know that but I'm grateful all the same because Henry would be beside himself and I don't want him worrying about Theia right now when he has me to contend with.

'That's more people believing the announcement', Henry says. 'Why are they giving up so easily?'

His innocence has been a wonderful trait through his life but lets him down tonight. It's obvious to me why this is happening but I don't want to be the one to break it to him. Still he wants an answer. Whether he will receive an adequate one is a different matter.

'Why?' he asks again.

Henry's mother clears her throat. 'They're not giving up. They're stepping aside.'

'But there is still time.'

I think of my mother alone by herself. She has no one to compete with and no one to step aside for so she has plain sailing to being Rehoused. Yet even through our fallouts and disagreements I wonder how she feels about me not being there. A terrible thought races through my head that if my mother and I were in the same house and alone together what would be the outcome?

I say a silent prayer for whoever was on the receiving end of that gun. And I say one more for whoever fired it.

Theia

The clamour of the gunshots disorients me but I think it comes from the Ethers' house next door. My ears ring and my mother's voice sounds distant.

'Stephen and Joyce,' she says in disbelief.

My mind races with competing versions of what happened. Leda does her rare thing of crying. My grandmother says, 'There there Penelope,' and my father wraps his hand around Ronan who is demonstrably pale. I cradle Leda, once more ignoring my grandmother's open arms and give my mother a cursory glance as she sits by doing nothing at all.

But we are all safe. The shooting happened too quickly to run out of the room or dive for cover and even though a bullet could still pierce through the wall and ricochet into any one of us we remain in our seats. Two shots. I can't prove it but I sense that there will be no more danger from the old couple's house.

'One for each of them,' I say. I wager that Mr Ethers must have shot his wife and then himself thus dying together rather than one living without the other. If this is true then the retired fishmonger took on the burden of ending his wife's life.

'They died with dignity,' my mother says, having come to the same conclusion as me.

'Why didn't one of them,' I start but realise the alternative is unimaginable. The Ethers never argued a day in their lives and the main reason for building the walk-in fridge into their house was to spend every day in one another's company.

My father speaks up for the first time since his declaration that I will be Rehoused. 'Tonight death is not a mark of weakness. We cannot judge the decisions people make with or against their loved ones. Ending life may be the most honourable and bravest act.'

I picture the scene. The Ethers offer the other the chance to survive but they know each other better than their words meaning anything more than a polite gesture. They know they will die in their house and Mr Ethers insists that he carries out the shooting. They make themselves comfortable and he instructs his wife to close her eyes until there is nothingness.

This is conjecture but makes sense to me given the circumstances.

'Who do you think did it?' my grandfather asks.

'Mr Ethers but that is purely an assumption,' my mother says, again agreeing with me. Then she adds something naive. 'Why did he have a gun?'

I guffaw, unable to stop the sound of incredulous laughter spill out of me before everyone turns to face me, confused that I could find the situation funny.

'Sorry,' I say. My family think I'm being inappropriate and I suppose I am but since we are discussing a dead couple's demise as they lay lifeless nearby I can't see why my response makes much difference. 'It's just,' but I can't go on as I laugh again. 'Why did he have a gun? Are you serious? He wanted to do anything to protect himself and his wife from the homeless and then they were out of options. They took control of their lives.'

'Theia,' my father warns. 'That's enough.'

'Come on.'

'Theia, I'm warning you.'

'I need some air. Do something useful,' I say to my mother as I pass Leda to her.

The announcement never said the garden was off-limits and in my state I'm willing to risk it so I enter the back room, open the sliding door to the outside and close it behind me.

The wind is appropriately bitter and pierces my skin where laughter now gives way to free-flowing tears over the old couple. I can't believe the Ethers are dead.

I didn't know the family behind me and it shocked me rather than upset me. I could rationalise their deaths as malicious and that the girl despised the rest of her family but I knew the Ethers loved one another and have now made the announcement more real again. If I don't wipe away the tears soon I fear the moisture will freeze down my face but I leave them there for a moment of remembrance and I only brush them away when I grudgingly accept that more of us will die.

The moon has almost dominated the sky above me but there is still the husky hue of sunset but no, it's not sunset, it's the streetlamps behind the houses. I had forgotten they were left on but it's eerie as it's been years since light filled our houses after sundown and my eyes have to adjust to the glare. Besides the lamps, a shade of navy blue hangs low and prevents blackness from conquering the horizon but I know that won't be for long. A lack of electricity meant that the stars have always been vivid, even in the most urban sprawls of our neighbourhoods, but not tonight. I used to stare up and fixate on a star, envious how each basks in its own glory, aware how far removed they all are from our drowning planet. I can't see the stars because of the light pollution and feel remorse that I might never see them again. We only appreciated the electricity when it was gone but we never appreciated the stars.

Sunrise will be around five in the morning, which is when the Upperlanders will collect the survivors. Maybe I will be alive to see it but I have no idea what the rest of the night will hold and this thought alone chokes and overwhelms me. Terror that I have bottled down rises to the surface and causes my knees to buckle so I steady myself against the sturdy tree in the corner of the garden.

I look up but the girl with the messages is not in front of her window and I turn my mind to questions of when and how her parents will die. I turn a fraction but can't see into Henry's house from here and I deliberately don't look in the other direction towards the Ethers' house even though I couldn't see anything sinister from here. Then I think about the murderous girl behind the fence and whether she's still in the room with the dead bodies and whether she's in disbelief and whether she feels regret.

Standing out here and knowing that for even those Rehoused there will be no happy ending becomes too much to abide. Fate has brought me here. Where I was born has determined that I am likely to die soon whilst those in the Upperlands have limitless time. I re-evaluate this and realise it's not fate at all. The Upperlanders are fortunate in where they reside but they are guilty. They are the ones to blame. They could rectify this right now. Anger pulses through my body and then leaves it just as quickly but it has served a purpose: it has reignited my spirit.

I won't accept what everyone else around me has. Everyone else has forgotten that there is always another option no matter how improbable. But I need time to think. Space too.

Henry would only distract me and I don't want to disturb his family.

'I can work this out,' I say out loud to myself and, before I question my sanity, my feet have taken launch and I find myself climbing over the fence and jumping down into the Ethers' garden.

Henry

I watch the hand on the clock push on with each passing second and it's painful how long it takes for it to move full circle but the minutes accumulate and I waste time in which we should be acting but instead are doing nothing. The silence is more unbearable than gunshots because at least with murder or suicide the frustration of waiting is removed. Violence has not entered my house but it is only a matter of when and how.

With the impending tide life has always been a time bomb and the reminder of death crawling towards our front doors made it hard to not end each day with a sigh. Now the day is upon us and I should cling on to every remnant of life and appreciate it for what it was. I should tell my parents I love them, read my favourite passages, do something wild, but I just can't see the point. Or I could put myself out of my misery and then it will no longer matter but I come to the same conclusion I always do, that always keeps me striving for the next day: there's still hope. A second announcement could retract the first and explain this was a mistake and that we will all be Rehoused.

Hope may be fading but it's still there in the back of my mind, desperate to be heard.

I considered being a teacher so that I could inspire children and give them the encouragement many of their parents and teachers were unable to offer. I didn't want to follow the rest of the neighbourhood into fishing. Not after what happened when I was last there. I also couldn't be a fishmonger like Mr Ethers or it would be a constant, depressing reminder of the ocean as it won its battle. None of that matters anymore.

My parents and Selene run through all the families in the neighbourhood. 'Who seems unstable?' 'Who has access to a gun?' 'The noise was loud. Does that mean it was close?' 'Does that mean one person remains? Or was it a suicide pact?' 'Were tears shed as well as blood?'

They go on and on becoming increasingly numb to the violence with each question. 'Was that policeman involved?' 'Or was it a family?'

I listen but don't contribute as I don't see the value of speculating on our neighbours apart from how it allows the time to pass before it is our turn. They don't see the bigger picture. Two homes have suffered already within our vicinity and, whilst one family may be an anomaly, two families is the start of a contagion. That's only two houses we're aware of but there must already be many other silent, private deaths behind closed doors.

I'm certain Selene won't be here come sunrise but keep it to myself. She's fearless and impulsive and I'm confident that if there's a way to leave the house before then she'll take it. I don't let her know this because it would encourage her and make me feel responsible if she did leave. If she does go then that will leave my father, my mother and me, and all the declarations of pacifism will mean nothing. Only one of us can survive. Inflicting violence doesn't sit well with us but I saw the rise of an attack in my father when he swung the hammer. I wonder what this night will do to people's morals.

I turn my attention back and forth between my parents and think of abundant reasons why either should be Rehoused and only one for why they shouldn't: that they wouldn't put their life in front of mine. Both my parents must have considered this even if it has gone unspoken but I am no different in my own thinking; I'd rather die before taking the place of either of them.

That gets us nowhere.

Selene's situation is different but no better as I'd hate to know if her mother is worried or elated. I am clueless as to whether selfishness or selflessness is a better position to take tonight.

It's nearly nine, which takes me by surprise because the on-going Surge is disorienting and the light makes me not feel as tired compared to other nights that are cut short with no electricity, with nothing to do than sit by candlelight and stay warm. The threat of the night is not going to let me sleep. Then it hits me like a bolt of lightning.

Night. Of course, I realise. It's why this announcement happened as the sun went down. The broadcasts have always been at specific times but were never random. One came the morning after a storm that helped to raise the water levels at an unprecedented rate, which ensured our fishermen still set off to catch fish despite the lethargy that set over our community. Another occurred just before lunchtime one wintery day when we were told to hold off on eating too much as stocks were low and we were starving ourselves before the Upperlands finished their provisions. The middle of the night when the Fence was refortified and kept us away, so that no one had enough stored electricity or energy to protest. Each time there was an announcement we were tired or anxious or in the middle of sleep but this evening we were fuelled and hopeful. The timing ensured every family was congregated together in their homes, which has made orchestrating our interfamilial destruction simpler. Had the Surge happened during the day we'd be dispersed and the Upperlanders wouldn't have been able to keep us in our cages as easily as if we were running amok or strengthening our numbers to oppose them.

But I am astounded that if I am right that the timing was specific then the explanation runs even deeper and for a more sadistic reason than rounding us up in small groups alone. It explains why the Upperlanders are willing to expend so much electricity during the continuous Surge. Why tonight is bright. Why the light will continue till morning. It is not a goodwill gesture. There is a secondary gain to the wastage of electricity and it's not just so that the policeman can restrain us without fuss.

The evilness is more calculated and it's so obvious I'm impressed.

The lights are on so we can see into each others' houses and take inspiration from the spread of death.

Theia

I slip in through the kitchen door. I have been in this house many times but it's different now that its elderly owners are dead, smaller somehow as if the walls have narrowed in on themselves, a coffin with no breathing space. Speaking of enclosed spaces, the fridge buzzes in working order and this surprises me as there is nothing of value inside so the Ethers must have turned it on for the duration of the Surge, perhaps a final reminder of their service to the community.

I begin to creep through the rest of the lower floor but I haven't prepared myself to spot the bodies so I hesitate in the hallway. The first dead body I ever saw was at the hospital. The only other was long before tonight but I shudder to think about it and wipe the memory from my mind. I wonder if tonight has reminded Henry of what happened.

I needn't be so quiet but a feeling of disrespect washes over. I remain taciturn and enjoy the silence as I enter the dining room. It sickens me that all this space was reserved for a couple but the Ethers were good people and the dilemma of opening up our houses was solved by locking the doors to everyone for fear that we would be overrun. I know that's an appalling state of play but it was easy to agree on when the majority in our neighbourhood voted for that, under the illusion that when it was our turn to be flooded out of our houses we would leave with no complaints.

The spacious dining room is a luxury in this neighbourhood but the house is sparse and my father often described it as a poor substitute for no children. I smell the food before I see it. A marvellous spread has been laid out, untouched as with more money to go around and fewer mouths to feed there is just as much food as at my house but it seems like more. I wonder if my mother sits anxiously at the table finishing her meal or whether she has excused herself again, and then I wonder if anyone realises I am gone.

The vibrancy of the food steals my attention. Although it is untouched there are so many varieties and colours of fish that I have never seen before, presented next to garnishes that are again rare, that I know the Ethers aimed for an exuberant meal. They must have also suspected tonight would be memorable but the announcement had obviously stolen their appetites from them.

It is not only the rarity of this food but the presentation that reminds my stomach that I am starving, having skipped lunch to focus on my errand and not eating with my family following the Surge. I take the chair I always sit in when I am here as I feel awkward enough to eat this food and it would be a step too far to sit in Mr or Mrs Ethers' seats. I serve myself a full plate and tell myself they would not want it to go to waste before tucking in and learning just how hungry I am.

I eat ravenously, barely digesting the new flavours and textures before stuffing more in my mouth. I only stop to gulp down water, careful to avoid the wine which I've been warned clouds judgement. Wine here too; the prelude to the announcement really riled people's excitement up. My stomach stretches to its limit and I sit back, rub the protrusion and allow some of the discomfort to settle.

Overcome with hunger, I cast my mind to the gunshots. I can't believe I haven't searched for the bodies. The temptation to eat surpassed my fear and I curse myself for now feeling sick from the copious portion that will only make coming across the Ethers that much more difficult to stomach. I force myself to leave the dining room and walk towards the front door where the staircase to the upper floor begins. As I turn around I yelp as I catch sight of a pair of eyes staring at me.

Only they're not staring at anything. They're part of a lifeless upside-down grim-looking face with a bullet hole straight through the woman's forehead.

Mrs Ethers' limp body slopes downwards, spread across eight stairs, her head struck back with trails of blood lining the carpet either side of her. Only when I tilt my head do I recognise the raised eyebrows and the emotion they convey: fear.

The scene doesn't make sense. Logically, Mrs Ethers should be in a comfortable chair or tucked into her bed so why did she agree to be shot on the stairs? And why does she look scared rather than sad? And then there is the ultimate question of why she is alone. And where is Mr Ethers? My heart pounds inside my chest before my brain catches up and logs that something is not right.

I think back to the gunshots I heard. One, two, three, I count in my head. Three seconds. That's not enough time for Mr Ethers to get any distance between himself and his wife. I scan her body once more and my stomach doubles over when I realise my glaring error. There is not just one gunshot wound but two.

My mind races to come up with a plan – Run Theia, it finally screams at me – when my fear is verified. I am too late to escape because I see a pair of feet move their way around the upper hallway and reach the top of the stairs. Mr Ethers stands above me and looks down with hatred. He points a gun at me with his finger on the trigger and I know that I am about to be killed.

9 P.M. – 10 P.M.

Theia

I'm back in the past, sitting in the hospital behind the reception area that is strewn with paper since electronic records are unreliable and any electricity in surplus is stored for the most complicated of surgeries. And I'm in my own body, ten again and helping a nurse alphabetise some files in eerie silence, a calm before the storm that is my mother and Dr Adam Jefferson who burst through the doors to our right with a man on a stretcher, shouting instructions at one another. I'm frozen to the spot and unable to do anything but watch as they rush past. The nurse too is motionless but snaps out of it quicker than I do and returns to her task. 'That's what they do,' the nurse says. My hands take a few minutes before they return to organising the paperwork confidently.

On the walk home I look in awe at my mother who explains it to me. 'There are two ways to deal with panic, one is to fight it and the other is to freeze.'

'But why don't we all react the same way?' I ask. She is braver than me and I know that fearlessness is needed to survive in this world. Still, there must have been a time when she was not as quick-witted and I wonder what the turning point is.

'I've had longer to master it but it doesn't come easily Theia, but when you're confronted with life and death situations on a daily basis you soon get used to it.'

Mr Ethers stands at the top of the staircase, a few steps above his wife. He holds the gun at me and I can't move from fear. Enough time has passed for me during the flashback that contains the lesson from my mother for him to react but he hasn't shot me yet. Already tonight I have frozen three times: at the policeman outside Henry's, watching the girl kill her family across the gardens and at the double gunshot that turns out wasn't from a suicide pact but a murder. And now this. My mother would be disappointed I haven't mastered the fear yet.

To Mr Ethers I am an intruder and dangerous and he has the upper hand, whilst I don't have the strength to flee so instead I brace myself for the pain of death. As much as my body is incapacitated my mind races and tells me that now my parents have no option but to focus their efforts on Ronan. Then I think of Henry and all the unsaid things between us.

I must have regained control of my body because someone speaks and it is not Mr Ethers. 'It's me, Theia Silverdale,' I catch myself saying. I raise my hands up slowly to show I am unarmed. 'From next door.'

'Don't go near my wife.'

'You used to babysit me. You still sometimes look after Ronan and Leda, my brother and sister.'

'What did you do?' I watch his gaze flit between his wife and me and he doesn't understand this any more than I do, as if he has just now found her dead. How could that be?

'Mr Ethers, please,' I start to beg but I stop when he shakes the gun at me and places his finger over the trigger. He crouches down and with his free hand he reaches for his wife's ankle. He keeps his gun fixed on me as he feels for a pulse.

'What did you do?' he asks again, slower, taking in the fact that she is not coming back.

'Nothing,' I stutter. 'I didn't do anything.' I fumble over my words and know I should run, that his confusion may distract him long enough from reacting, but running would make me look guilty and I don't even know if I have the energy in my legs to move away fast enough. I work out how my presence must look to him: I must have broken in and killed his wife. Yet that can't be right because he holds the weapon and a shiver runs down my spine when I realise there might be an alternative explanation, which terrifies me even more. What if neither one of us killed her and there is a third person hiding in the house? More adrenaline shoots through me.

'We could both be in danger.'

'We agreed,' he replies but the words don't follow on from my warning.

Mr Ethers sits on the stairs and his eyes glisten with sorrow. He lowers the gun but I'm not reassured because I'm still not in the clear. I muster the strength and think I could sprint to avoid injury but he is unstable and I can't risk it. I feel dizzy so I shift a foot to regain my balance and he perks up. He raises the gun back in my direction so I stand still.

He continues on with a calm tone. 'We watched the announcement. It was clear what we had to do.'

My heart beats against my chest and I am now certain that Mr Ethers killed his wife during some sort of mental break. If the Ethers were unable to trust one another there must be many more loved-up couples across the neighbourhood dying miserably.

'Neither of us were hungry given the news. Joyce wanted to disperse the food to other families but she tried to leave and a guard stopped her. He threatened us. Not that it really mattered but there's a difference being killed and choosing how to die.' His voice breaks as he struggles with his confession. 'We agreed to end our lives together, in our house, on our terms. Joyce was scared for my soul if I was to pull the trigger and she pleaded with me to take charge. I don't know what happened next. She panicked.'

I think back to when the Ethers babysat for me. I was happy here. As far as could be in the circumstances they spoilt me, and I remember being taken aback by their generosity. They were good people and I don't doubt it is the circumstances that now make me question Mr Ethers' sanity rather than his disposition alone. But there's nothing I can say to help calm his distress and nothing can take back what has been done. He begins to fondle the gun. He is unstable and I am still in danger. Finally my senses come to me. 'You can help.'

Mr Ethers looks up at me with surprise.

'Now you can be Rehoused. Who knows what we'll find behind the Fence but you can look after the orphans because god knows there will be plenty come morning. You are great with children. You can make the new world an easier place.'

'How could I live with myself?'

'By helping others. People will need support.'

He slowly nods as he takes in my plea and begins to stand. 'You're a smart girl.' He smiles as he lifts the gun to his temple. 'But I can't.'

'No,' I cry out, but before Mr Ethers can pull the trigger, the front door bursts open behind me. The lock shatters through the force and the door is knocked off its hinge. In the split second this happens, and before I can turn around to see who this uninvited guest is, a bullet screeches past my ear and smacks Mr Ethers in the stomach. My neighbour looks at me for an explanation, a confused wreck of a man in the process of seeking forgiveness, but taken out before he can kill himself. His expression is not necessarily that of a man looking for an explanation of who killed him but it is bigger than that, he is searching for how this abhorrent night spiralled out of control. Mr Ethers drops to the floor and his body bumps down several stairs, coming to a halt when he is side by side with his wife.

I tense my back ready to also be shot but nothing happens and I turn around to find myself face to face with the policeman from outside Henry's house, donning a full-length uniform, a helmet and the same sunglasses. The door swings back on itself behind him but doesn't line up with the frame and bounces twice before coming to rest. Why he hasn't killed me yet is only explained when the guard removes his glasses and lifts off his helmet. It is not the same man as the policeman from beforehand. He is tall and has a handsome face but looks only a few years older than me, too young to be killing people, still a boy. He looks past me unable to take his eyes off the bodies on the stairs.

'You're safe Theia.'

Henry

I wince in pain as I cut my upper gum on a fishbone at the sound of a distant third gunshot but this is much delayed after the first two and I don't imagine they are related.

'I thought I removed all of them,' my mother says crestfallen, having noticed my accident.

'It's delicious,' I say. When she looks away I push my tongue against the side of my mouth to stop the bleeding.

My mother places her knife and fork together on the table and clasps her hands together as if she has let us down. 'Our last meal as a family.'

'It's fine.' I use the bone as a toothpick. 'Look.'

'Henry stop that,' my father says with annoyance. 'It's impolite.'

My father has been more irritable than usual tonight but it's understandable so I don't take it personally. I look to Selene to diffuse the tension but she stares vacantly towards a wall. My father swallows his mouthful and his nostrils flare, which is his warning sign for a speech.

'We have brought you up better than that.' He continues to eat.

I'm surprised by this. I was expecting something more profound or helpful and all he can do is keep reminding me to consider my manners. Stopping himself from talking about our decision must be driving him mad and if he's not willing to strike up the conversation then maybe it will fall to me to do so.

I consider how to broach discussing our deaths when it dawns on me that tonight will have repercussions for all of us, even those who survive. Discipline has no place in tonight's proceedings when killing is accepted. But my father is right because my parents have brought me up better than to be rude, despite the circumstances. My mind is a mess. If anything I'm trying to make sense of tonight but my thoughts are rambling chaos. 'Sorry,' is all I manage to say and I sheepishly return to my meal.

I catch sight of my father who flickers his gaze towards Selene and wonder if he is waiting for her to leave before talking to me, but I'm stopped from considering what leaving would mean for Selene when a thud at the door disrupts the short-lived calm.

'My mother,' Selene says. She is out of her seat before I can reason with her. Never in a million years would her mother risk her life by braving the guards to fetch her. Selene's reaction is heart-breaking and it's not the first time I've witnessed that under her cold exterior she just wants to be loved.

Selene opens the door but I put my palm out to stop it. I give her a look that says it's dangerous to proceed but I won't be able to stop her if she uses brute force to push me aside.

Before she can try again I call out, 'Hello?' and raise my eyebrows at her.

There's no answer so I lean in and look through the peephole but I can see nothing on the other side except shadows along the street that have come out to play as the day settles into night and the streetlamps scatter their glow around.

'Mum?' Selene asks.

And then we hear the sound. The whimper, of an animal.

Theia

The man knows me and I recognise details in his face as belonging to someone my age: Ruskin Peters, Henry's good-looking friend. But the guard is older and some features slightly different. It's not Ruskin, it's his brother.

'Jason? What are you doing here?' I barely know him, have never spoken to him, but sometimes he kicks a ball around with Ruskin and Henry.

'What are you doing here?' he asks back.

'I live next door.' That doesn't answer his question but my head spins with plenty of my own.

Jason closes the door as best he can, trapping us inside the house with the dead couple and two guns in the mix but I guess I'm out of harm's way for now. We stare at each other with a hundred questions each until Jason leads me away from the hallway but I refuse when he suggests the dining room as the smell of the food is enough to churn my stomach. We settle for the kitchen at the back of the house where I snuck in. Jason sits on a stool in front of the breakfast bar and places his sunglasses on the counter.

I lean against the surface and take in the sight of Jason in his heavyset uniform. It looks thick to prevent from the cold on his patrol but the fabric is tight around his body and reveals his definition. He is only older than me by three years but the uniform ages him more.

'Ruskin?' I ask.

Jason's brother and I aren't close but I've spoken to him a few times through Henry, usually when I'd meet Henry at the end of one of their matches.

'Ruskin and my parents are fine. They're in the Upperlands Theia.'

'How?' My tone is harsh and Jason appears hurt. I am only frustrated at Jason because he is here and I'd be the same with anyone who could give me an explanation. I'm learning that the rules the Upperlanders set us are more complicated than the announcement had us believe.

'I was approached a few weeks ago by someone who wouldn't give me their name but told me it was a proposal I wouldn't want to refuse. I don't know how they selected me or what they wanted but I was told to not tell anyone or the offer would expire. No one would have turned this down.'

'You mean Rehousing your family whilst the rest of us died.'

'I didn't know that at the time. All I knew is that if I complied with patrolling tonight my family would be safe. It was only later when,' but he trails off. 'They made me sit tests. All I could tell was that they were looking for particular traits: family loyalty, lack of emotion, violent tendencies. It wasn't hard to see what they were after so I swayed my results that way.'

'You really didn't know?'

'Not initially. They only explained what was happening this morning before dawn. My family had an hour to pack some belongings and leave before the neighbourhood woke up. I had a chance to save my family. The people in charge said they'd hurt them if I warned anyone.'

I put myself in his place and consider what I would do but I didn't have to think hard as the answer is obvious. 'You put them first. It's what anyone would do. I'm not angry at you.'

'Henry always said you were smart.'

I blush and the more I try to stop myself from burning red the hotter my cheeks become.

Jason smiles at this unwanted revelation. 'He had no idea.' I don't know what he means but before I can ask Jason's expression turns serious. 'There were about fifty others at the meeting point. It's not safe to be skipping fences. Guards are everywhere.' He drops his head. 'Some are enjoying this.'

'What have they asked you to do?' I already know the answer but I need to hear it.

'Kill anyone that tries to escape.' He breaks eye contact, ashamed of himself.

'You protected your family. No one can blame you.'

'You don't understand. They were disappointed with me when they found out what I'd agreed to. They didn't want to be saved over others.'

'They were confused Jason. It isn't an either or. Imagine if you'd refused?'

Jason gives a small series of nods but he remains unconvinced.

'What about you?' I ask.

'I go to the Upperlands tomorrow morning after,' but again stops short.

'After what?'

'It's too awful Theia. We need to get you home.'

A thought occurs to me. 'How did you know I was here? How did you know where Mr Ethers was?'

Jason gestures towards the glasses. 'Put them on.'

Slightly too big for me, they slip down my nose but I hold them in place and gasp in shock. The lenses turn everything into solid colours and I only see a red blur where Jason sits. The rest of the room is black.

'They're heat sensitive. I can see into all of the houses. They work better from the street.'

I work through the timing of the announcement. 'That's why this is happening at night. Enough light from the lampposts to reveal the police but not enough for us to run. And you can see every move we make.'

'You wouldn't want to swap with me Theia.' Jason realises his mistake and apologises. 'Sorry. I just mean you wouldn't believe how quickly the red fades from dead bodies.'

I look through the glasses towards the stairwell. Even through the wall I can just about make out a dim red solitary figure where I know there are two bodies.

I turn to my house but I guess these sets of walls are too thick. The alternative that my family have all died in the last thirty minutes is too awful to entertain. I place the glasses on the table. 'Not that I'm ungrateful but why did you save me?'

'I was randomly assigned this neighbourhood to monitor along with one other guard. Ruskin asked me to check on you and Henry and I saw you sneak over the wall. I knew there was someone still alive here who had just killed another. You think I could've lived with myself if I let you die?'

I don't let on that Mr Ethers turned on himself at the end, and instead my heart leaps. 'Is Henry alright?'

'Fine, for now but I thought he was an only child.'

'He is.' I am cut off from asking what Jason means by his heavy sigh. 'Jason?'

'I'm just exhausted. I haven't eaten all day.'

'Go eat,' I say. 'Then we can both leave.'

'Maybe you're right. Would you sit in there with me?'

'If it's alright I wouldn't mind a moment on my own. I came here to clear my head.'

'Of course Theia. I'll be back in a minute but then we really need to leave this house.'

Jason exits and I sit on one of the stools. My ears tune into the sound of him eating, which distracts me too much to concentrate. I lean over and flick a switch on the wall. There is a lag and then the whirring of the walk-in fridge dies down. I flick the switch again bringing it back to life. I focus on the electrical hum, which has become such a novel noise, and let my mind wander. I'm taken back to a memory of Ruskin and Henry sharing a joke as I approached them. They quickly cut out their laughing when they noticed me. Henry wouldn't tell me what had been said.

I wonder whether the two will see each other again.

Henry

'It's a dog.'

My parents are now also by the door and we crowd around listening to the yelps. 'It sounds injured. Why would the owners let it out?' my mother asks.

'Maybe they're dead,' Selene says.

'Or it could be a stray,' my father says.

I reach for the handle. 'We won't know unless we check.'

'What if that guard is still here? What if he thinks we're leaving?' I'm surprised Selene is the one to bring up this risk.

'I'll just open it a crack.' No one stops me so I assume they agree. I unlock the door and wait for the dog to nuzzle its way in through the narrow crack but instead I hear a scurry from outside and then panting. I peer round the door and see a shaggy golden dog sitting expectantly with its tongue hanging out of its mouth. Only, the dog's not completely golden; in the dim streetlight the dog has smatterings of red on its fur and the colour anything but natural. 'It's covered in blood.'

'Oh goodness. Do you recognise it Henry?'

The dog has a collar and tag. 'No but it's not a stray.' I reach for the nameplate but the dog backs away disoriented and cautious, which is not surprising after what it must have experienced tonight. I look around at the empty street and then crouch down and put the back of my hand out to the dog. 'We're not all bad.'

I don't make any sudden movements and the dog deliberates before nervously licking my skin. It backs off again when I try to pet it but I catch the name on the plate. 'Good boy Charlie.'

He perks up when I say his name and moves closer. 'It's ok.'

My mother goes into the dining room and returns with a piece of fish. I take it from her and place it in the doorway. Charlie sniffs and then gobbles it down like a bolt of lightning. I open the door farther but am greeted with the sound of footsteps that rush towards us. Charlie hears it too but instead of scurrying inside he bounds down the path and into the middle of the street where he is exposed. I call his name but he doesn't respond.

Selene slams the door shut before the same policeman as before reaches the front of our house. His sunglasses are off and we lock eyes as the door closes between us. His are filled with disgust where mine express fear because, apart from the absent Upperlanders, everyone I know in the Middlelands have come together to form a society of apathetic peacefulness, resigned to our collective fates. This is the first person I have encountered who wants me to know that I am different to him, that I am under his control. If he could say anything to my face I'm sure it would be that this is my second warning. I'm not sure how many more he will allow.

'What did I say before?' he shouts through the closed door, confirming my suspicion that we are testing his patience. I look back through the peephole but he doesn't approach the house and I assume his threat is not going to be followed up for now.

'Let's go back to the table,' my father says. 'There's nothing left to be done.' He leads my mother by the hand away from the door but Selene and I stand our ground wanting to do something for the helpless animal. 'You two should come,' my father snaps, which isn't a suggestion but an order. I put this down to him wanting to protect us from witnessing whatever the policeman may do if he catches up to Charlie. My father's temper has flared more times tonight already than I can remember over the last few years.

'The poor thing,' my mother says as she walks away. I love her for caring about everything, whether it's her family or someone else's pet, but she follows my father's orders and doesn't look back.

'Henry.' Selene beckons me over to the window from where she peers out between a crack in the drawn curtains. She pulls the cord so the curtains spill open and we both watch on as the policeman takes his time walking a full circle in front of our house, tapping the gun against his hip. He lowers his sunglasses to his eyes and looks around but I still can't work out why other than there must be some benefit. He turns to face the middle of the street, cocks his head to the side and fixes his gaze on something in the distance. Calmly, he walks past our house and then past Theia's and the Ethers' and stops in front of a rusty, hollowed out grey car.

He turns to us and it doesn't matter that I can't hear him because he makes sure I can read his lips. He overemphasises his words so that we know what he's saying and that we remain his captive audience.

Here boy.

Selene

I will Charlie to have scarpered but I watch on helplessly, knowing he has not gone far. The policeman walks with purpose towards a car then crouches down because somehow, even in the low-lit street, he knows exactly where the dog is. I tighten my fists and want to burst out of the door and scream at the man but I could never get close enough to him to try. Watching the family die across the way was no less horrific than what is happening now but I don't know what led to that decision to kill. Maybe the family argued about who would be Rehoused and each selfishly nominated themselves. That family may have had their reasons but this is an innocent dog.

I watch on, neither brave nor foolish enough to cause a distraction even though hatred towards the policeman grows inside me. He has no gain in upsetting us even more or encouraging us to die and, as if he reads my thoughts, the uniformed man straightens up and walks away so maybe he has some decency after all and his actions are mere bravado. He moves farther down the street and out of sight.

Henry manages to open the window. Above the soundless night Charlie's whimpers are clearly audible from under the car.

'He must be mixed up about whether to stay put or move on.'

'We should help him.'

Henry remains stoic. 'No. He might not be in danger and we can't draw any more attention to ourselves.'

'I thought you'd be braver.'

'I thought you'd be smarter.'

'That's Theia's job.' My retort is pathetic and neither of us is in the mood to bicker but there's also no need to apologise to one another because our friendship supersedes that so we let it go.

I chew on a fingernail and hope Charlie remains hidden for a while longer but then I see at first a paw emerge and then a wet nose. Charlie's tail is the last to appear from under the car as he slinks low to the ground.

'I'm going to call him,' I say.

Henry's silence means I have my way. I've been told countless times I'm stubborn and defiant. I don't disagree with this description. Instead I take comfort in it; what everyone sees as flaws I see as strength. I go to open the door just as the policeman comes back into view, marching towards the car.

'Charlie,' I scream to him.

Charlie senses my haste and picks himself off the road. He starts to build up speed but is distracted by a wolf-whistle from behind him and makes the fatal flaw of stopping to look back. Realising that he has been tricked. he dashes towards me but it is too late as a blast shoots out from the policeman's gun and Charlie tumbles to the floor.

Henry is at my side restraining me from leaving the house. He must be holding on tight because I feel like a cartridge of bullets couldn't stop me yet I haven't moved anywhere.

Charlie's breath slows but he's not dead yet. A trickle of fresh blood mixes in with the already stained fur. The policeman takes his time to reach the dying dog and stands over him. A second bullet to the head ends Charlie's life.

The policeman directs his attention to us and shrugs. 'I told you. No one is supposed to leave their house.'

Henry closes the door and tries to calm me down but I walk away.

I've only been this angry once before many years ago. A girl in the school year under mine caught sight of the bruises on my stomach. Whilst it was common knowledge my mother hit me no stranger would bring up the topic, until this girl.

'If your mother hates you that much you should consider a new home. I hear the Lowerlands is perfect this time of year. '

I ignored her because if anything I liked that she felt intimidated enough to want a reaction out of me but it was her next words that made me lose my cool. 'Your mother should join you.'

I lost any rational thought, my vision blurred and my ears filled with blood. I couldn't even hear my own thoughts and I only remember what happened in those moments later as if my brain had shut down and my body had gone on autopilot. If Henry hadn't stepped in and guided me away... I don't think it's far from the truth to say I would have killed her.

As much as I hate my mother I felt the need to protect her that day. It's just the two of us and she means more to me than I care to admit.

But I learnt a second thing about myself later when I was on my own, which I've tried to forget until now. It's what I tried not to think about earlier tonight when I was upstairs. On that day the anger was still bottled up inside of me and I punched a wall. It hurt like hell and my knuckles bled and took a few weeks to scab over and heal but, as soon as my fist connected with the rough bricks, my anger was resolved better than any deep breathing or words of wisdom from Henry.

I don't want to consider violence as an option but that feeling of a release hangs over me and I crave it. It's what works best.

I wish I hadn't let myself remember that.

Theia

'What will happen to the survivors?' I ask Jason on his return from the dining room.

'Other than that they'll be Rehoused I don't know.'

'They'll be safe?'

He shrugs. I suppose if we have to hope for one thing tonight it's that the Upperlanders will take care of the living. I don't ask any more questions about what tomorrow might hold as it clearly distresses Jason and he seems to know little more than what the announcement told us.

'Have your family discussed it Theia?'

'They want me to go to the Upperlands but there's Ronan and Leda to think of.'

'They're not old enough to qualify are they?'

'Ronan is six so he should be the one to go. Anyway, even if Leda is a baby I'm not giving up that easily.'

Jason mutters. 'If only the Middlelands had a bit more of your fighting spirit we could have built our own Fence or taken down the existing one.'

I'm not finished discussing my siblings because that's at the forefront of my concerns but I am through with discussing what could have been and what the Middlelanders should have done; years of tough talk from our neighbourhoods amounted to nothing more than a standstill so it's too late for hindsight. 'I'll do whatever it takes to protect them. That's why I came here, to clear my head and work out a plan. Is there another way out of here?'

A gunshot from the street causes us to tense but only for a short while and I can't work out if becoming accustomed to the noise is a good thing or not.

'Even if you avoid the guards on the street there's nowhere to go. When was the last time you went to the coast?'

'A few months ago,' I say but it's a lie. I don't like making my trips public because then people will want to know why I go there if I have nothing to do with fishing. I could never tell them I go not to grieve our futures but someone else's past. 'Why?'

'It's rising faster than ever. Any thoughts we had that surely there couldn't be more water to come are wrong.'

When the tides started to rise scientists fobbed us off with technical calculations that proved that all the water in the world wouldn't amount to much of a flood and that civilisation would be largely unscathed. Then other theories were thrown into the mix to explain away when the water surpassed Total Flood levels. The craziest was that the world was collapsing in on itself rather than the oceans rising. It didn't matter what people believed or didn't because it was clear we were doomed. No explanation was comforting so they stopped being talked about.

Jason continues. 'The makeshift docks are starting to break apart under the pressure of the waves more rapidly than ever before. I'm sorry but the Middlelands will be gone sooner than we thought.'

'That's not good enough,' I say with despair. My eyes well up but I forbid myself to cry. Jason puts his arm around me and I shrug him off. 'I don't need your pity. There must be a way.'

'From what Rus told me, if anyone can figure it out you can.'

I don't smile at the compliment. I rack my head thinking of the major buildings nearby, working out if any one of them is a safe haven. The hospital is clearly out of the running. The market is empty at night but a breeding ground for the homeless and I don't feel safe at the thought of getting past the hoards if they have cottoned onto the announcement. 'The school.'

'You can try but the whole neighbourhood will be stormed first thing tomorrow morning. Anyone caught hiding will be killed on the spot.'

'You haven't killed me.'

'And I could be punished if they find out. My family too.'

I'm putting Ruskin and his parents in danger by being here and the realisation deflates me further. I'm convinced that the authorities would have no hesitation in making good on their threat. 'Are you sure there's nothing else?'

'Five a.m.'

'Huh?'

'Tomorrow morning. We've been told to be at the fence at five. Vans will be picking up the survivors shortly after that time. That gives you thirty minutes or so before then when the guards will be heading back to the Fence. You could move then but where to I don't know. If you want my opinion that's what I'd do. The sun will be up and you won't be tracked by any policemen as their glasses will be inoperative. I'm not sure where you could go but it's your best bet.'

'We won't be monitored?'

'They expect most of you to be dead by then.'

I think through these repercussions. Even this afternoon I never believed families could kill one another but after watching the scene across the garden I know I was naive and that I overestimated people. If Jason's right it's a glimmer of hope so I put aside the obvious next step of where to actually go. All I need to do for now is keep my family safe until that time. I check my watch: nearly ten, which gives me less than seven hours to come up with a destination.

'Thanks Jason.' Then I remember his earlier words. 'You have to be at the Fence too?'

'It's what I couldn't tell you earlier.' He is about to divulge but clams up.

'Please. It can't be any worse than what I've already heard.'

'Promise me something?'

'Of course.'

'If I don't see Ruskin or my parents and you do can you tell them I did this for them?'

'They know you did.'

'Promise me.'

I put my hand on his. 'I'll tell them.'

Jason takes a deep breath to prepare himself and I know the revelation must be bad. 'We've been instructed,' but he is unable to finish his admission when we hear someone open the front door and step into the house.

We both reach for the glasses and I am the first to grab them. I make out a red figure in the hallway moving towards us.

'The broken door,' I whisper. It will have given us away. Whoever's approaching will spot us any second and if it's a guard he will have seen us already through his own glasses.

'Quick.' As quietly as he can Jason slides open the fridge door and I don't have time to push back as he thrusts me inside. I turn around, eyes wide open with horror as he slides it shut between us. Promise me, he mouths as the door closes and leaves me trapped in the fridge and Jason trapped in the kitchen.

It's freezing inside but not anymore than when I go outside in winter without furs on. I want to rejoin Jason as two of us would surely be better than him alone dealing with whomever it is but I tug the latch to lock myself in and hope that the stranger is harmless.

Despite the electrical hum of the fridge I put my ear up to the door to listen in and work out who has stumbled upon us.

Henry

Despite the world surpassing Total Flood I used to think humanity would never become as bleak as tonight. Above all the pain and suffering and uncertainty I was convinced kindness would pull through, that communities would support one another to live through the darkest days. That a secondary Fence would be constructed or we would be allowed into the Upperlanders. It's amazing how many years passed where I still clung onto this hope but tonight's continuous and pointless bloodshed knocks me sideways. What purpose does it serve? I remember the vast yellow field from the announcement. There's plenty of space. I can't accept the Upperlands' reason for not Rehousing us all. I can't believe they will allow so many of us to die.

Decisions are yet to be made about who lives and dies. A dog may not seem worth mourning over but if I don't cry for this dog should I not cry for a stranger? Or a child? A friend? A parent? Is tonight about numbing ourselves enough so that we lose our humanity?

I remember an important lesson my father taught me years ago although it only makes sense now. I was furious about something so trivial I can't even remember what it was and he told me anger is borne out of a feeling of injustice, the belief that one had been unfairly wronged. If he is correct then I deserve to be as angry as hell. What he didn't tell me was how to deal with the fury. I suppose he'd say I had to find a way to displace it or allow the emotion to wallow and then seep away, but I want to let my anger guide me into revenge. Somehow I need to demonstrate my disapproval to tonight. Somehow I need the people who created our misery to be reprimanded. I need to act rather than be passive to this attack. I wonder how many of us must be feeling like that and how it only builds on our helplessness. Or hopelessness, or both. I'm not sure anymore.

It's not revenge exactly that I want. I don't want the Upperlanders just to die because that would only put us on the same level and I'd be no better than the guard with the gun. Instead I want justice. Like those on death row undergoing trials, I want to hear the Upperlanders' reasons and excuses and defences and then find them accountable for all the deaths that they instigated. It's a long-winded process but it would be the fairest way, and it would allow me to understand because, after all, not knowing why they chose this path is as perplexing as anything. I let the trial play out in a daydream despite the faceless leaders of the Upperlanders whom I can substitute in later. The daydream helps to displace my anger. Then it flares up again when I come to the end of the film and find them guilty. I deliberate over a suitable punishment but nothing I conjure up would ever be enough.

It's a distant prospect that will not make me want to outlive my parents or Selene but I tell myself that if I am Rehoused I will fight to see that justice prevails.

Until then I will mourn every single death, from Charlie to families to whole streets.

Theia

'What are you doing here?' the person asks Jason.

Although muffled through the fridge door I place the voice without problem. It belongs to the policeman who stood outside Henry's house earlier tonight taunting his family. I know Jason must not be an exception, a scared young man with a family to think about, but this other guard proves that not all of the policemen are unhappy about their being selected so, with no one else directly to vent towards, my hatred pours towards him. Still I wonder if he has a family that he has saved and if there is any forgiveness in his actions. I haven't seen him kill anyone and that's when it occurs to me that Jason killed Mr Ethers. He did it thinking he was protecting me but all the same I didn't thank him and the death must play heavy in his mind. I need to tell him I'm grateful even if it was misguided.

I strain to hear what's going on in the kitchen so maybe the two have bonded over their fear of what is happening around them, and that maybe this other guard has disclosed that he is just as scared and has been pretending to complete his duties, his nasty demeanour nothing but an act. Maybe he and Jason even know each other and we're not in danger. I don't unlock the door because if it's safe Jason will tell me the coast is clear.

The coast is clear. A terrible idiom that has long lost its meaning, no longer true or reassuring, and it sends a shiver down my spine in the already chilly air.

I only then realise I'm still clutching onto the heat-sensitive glasses so I slide them on but they don't work in here except when I hold my hand in front of my face but even my own body is a paler shade of red. The fridge must be surrounded by a sturdy metal casing, plus it's so cold in here that little heat can be detected. The guard must not have been wearing his glasses when he entered the house or he would have seen me one second and then disappear the next. I tremble again and rub my arms.

I strain to the beat of their conversation but it's hard to tell what the mood is and I'm scarcely able to differentiate between the guarded tones of the two men.

'Why are you in this house?'

'A commotion.' It's not a particularly convincing answer from Jason since the evening is full of, as he puts it, 'commotions', as if families murdering one another is nothing more than a bit of a racket.

The other guard isn't convinced either and presses Jason for a better explanation. 'You killed one of the residents.'

'He pointed his gun at me,' Jason says. They're both louder now and I can hear every word although I don't like the way the conversation is going and I doubt the outcome will be of them walking away from one another.

'Which wouldn't have been an issue if you remained outside so I will ask you one more time, did you have a reason why you stormed in and killed someone?'

'I thought someone was in danger.'

Only silence follows. Nothing Jason says is making any sense and the truth will not satisfy the guard. I could unlock the fridge door and reveal myself, which will explain everything but it's a risk because either Jason would get the first shot in or both Jason and I would be killed. Jason has already killed one person in this house so it's a close call whether it means he'd have little difficulty shooting a second person or if he'd be more hesitant to take another life.

I hate this.

It's my fault that Jason's in danger and if anything happens to him it's because of me. I should never have left my house. I think of Ruskin and his parents and what would happen if Jason is reported to be a traitor. I doubt the Upperlanders would be disappointed to banish three Middlelanders who haven't earned their place.

The only sensible thing that I can do is to remain in the cold yet I can't shake the fact that it's also the cowardly thing to do. I want to believe that I'm still in the fridge to protect myself and Jason so why does it feel like hiding?

'I will ask you one final time. Is there a reason I shouldn't report you?'

Jason doesn't answer.

'By command of the Upperlands I hereby,' but the policeman doesn't finish his sentence as a gunshot radiates out and the sound of someone hitting the ground is unmistakeable. Above the mechanical whirring I hear footsteps around the kitchen then they stop.

I slide down the door to the fridge floor as quietly as possible and squeeze my knees in tight to my chest. I'm frozen to the bone but if the policeman is still alive I can't let him detect me and if Jason is alive he will let me know. For now the only option is to wait in silence until Jason gives me a sign. So why is he taking so long?

The footsteps start up again and each one makes it more likely that Jason was not the victor.

Suddenly the latch shakes above my head and I almost jolt forward but that would give me away. The person outside attempts to open the door again but since I have locked it from the inside it is wedged shut. The rattle stops then something slams against the outside of the door. Jason would call my name instead of attempting to force the door open and I concede; it is all the proof I need that Jason died saving me.

After a few breathless seconds the policeman gives up trying to enter. I wait until I hear him leave the kitchen but stay put shivering in the frozen air in case he is lying in wait for me to appear. Anyway, I am not ready to leave because Jason's death is my fault.

I wonder how many people will die because of me tonight?

Freezing in here a while longer will be the start of my punishment.

10 P.M. – 11 P.M.

Theia

I'm used to keeping the cold at bay and know it's the biggest killer of the older generations, at least before tonight, so if I stay in the walk-in fridge any longer I could suffer from a respiratory problem or hypothermia, although leaving doesn't guarantee my safety either. I must be affected by the temperature because I try to stand and lose my balance so I have to lean against the door for support and compose myself. I look around the fridge but apart from some empty boxes and fishmonger equipment it is empty. I scan the utensils and see a machete underneath some of the other filleting gear but the blade looks rusty from years of severing bones so although I consider taking it with me it would be ineffective against a gun trained on me from a distance.

The machete reminds me of the knife in my own kitchen, the one I feared my mother was going to use against me and then I'm taken back to my mother's affair. I wish I'd told Jason about her and Dr Jefferson if only to say the words out loud and make her swaying loyalty real but I still feel numb about it and the coldness isn't helping. I leave the machete where it is and fumble with the latch until it clicks out of place and I can slide the door open.

It can't be hot in the house as there is no heating but a wall of warmth hits me as I leave my icy prison behind. I take some deep breaths but the air isn't fresh. The putrid, already stale smell of blood fills the room and in front of me is Jason's inert body spread out on the floor.

A pool of blood nestles under his chest and trickles along the grooves between the floor tiles. I stare for a while as it spreads further outwards and I step back when it reaches my shoes, just like how I'd instinctively step back every time I visited the coast and the tide rushed up towards me.

Jason's face is calm but his eyes are open wide as if he is still surprised he is dead. I lean over, careful to avoid the blood, and draw his eyelids shut. He looks at peace. I always wondered why the doctors did that. I assumed it was for the dead to be laid to rest but I now think it's for the reassurance of the people left behind.

I am too consumed with warming myself up and dealing with Jason's body that I don't immediately have time to check that the policeman could still be nearby. I eventually put on the heat-sensitive glasses and already Jason's body is a cool orange where it should have been a bold red. I scan a full circle but there are no signs of life around me; Mr Ethers doesn't show up in the glass.

'I'm sorry,' I say to Jason. He can't hear me but I speak forcefully. 'I promise that I will find Ruskin and,' but I stop at the thought of Jason's earlier words. Any policeman to abscond would amount to putting their families in harm's way, so what if Jason's killer somehow identified him and escalates the report? What would happen to Ruskin and his parents? Equally bad, what happens when Jason doesn't turn up in the morning? I wish there was a way to warn them.

I pick up Jason's gun and slide it between my jeans and belt so that it holds firm. I don't want to bring it into my house but I think ahead to the morning and it might come useful if I need to protect Ronan and Leda from those who will, what did the woman from the Upperlands say, 'storm the house'.

Jason was cut short from telling me about tomorrow morning so all I know is that something awful is going to happen and from the way he reacted it will be something worse than what is already happening. I stare at Jason a while longer as I imagine what could be worse than this.

Selene

We sit in silence with no appetite left to finish the meal but neither of Henry's parents has looked up from their plates and made eye contact with me since we returned to the table. I question whether this is paranoia on my part or if there's truth to it, so I test out their engagement with me. 'Do you remember the swimming gala where Henry took second place?'

Henry's mother glances up at me but lowers her head back towards her plate whereas Mr Argent doesn't react at all. Henry looks confused at my question and then when he notices his parents' inertia.

'What about it?' I can tell Henry's only half-interested in my question and focuses most of his energy on watching his parents.

'Well,' I start but I'm not really sure where my story is going. The pools were maintained above most other services in the neighbourhoods due to the necessity of learning to swim so that much of the school day was spent in and out of the water, with teachers finding new ways to keep us in longer; competitions were one answer so this is what I roll with. 'You were always a great swimmer.'

'No I wasn't,' Henry snaps back.

'I thought you should have come first. Ruskin is taller than you so of course he'll reach the end first but it's an unfair advantage.'

The statement is idiotic and we both know it. Regardless of Ruskin's stature he was the faster swimmer, just like I won every race against the girls in my class not because I was taller than them but because I was a keener swimmer. I wouldn't want someone to undermine my efforts.

'Thanks,' Henry says, 'But it doesn't matter because the whole point of those galas was to teach us about water safety.'

Henry mutters something I can't hear then catches himself and turns white but I can't think why. I look at his parents but they still avoid eye contact with me and it's hard to believe they took in any of our rambling. Henry too has lost any interest in the topic but I try one final line that always sparks a reaction.

'Do you think that story was true? About the drowned twins?'

We'd all heard the tale of the identical young brother and sister who'd sneaked off to the coast to watch the fishermen in their boats. They couldn't see from the shore so climbed onto the top of an almost sunken car and spurred one another to push on. They jumped from one rooftop to another when far out to sea a dilapidated building collapsed next to them and the current pulled them into the drag and underwater. The story follows that they had never learnt to swim and were caught in a riptide in which they drowned. Their bodies were discovered days later, washed up, entangled in an embrace.

The twins never had names and their ages changed according to who told the story. No one admitted to knowing them and the teller was always a friend of a friend, schooled before we were old enough to remember. I never believed the siblings existed but it was a menacing enough morality tale for us all to become proficient swimmers.

'How old do you think they were?' I ask.

Neither Henry nor his parents respond and my eyes well up although I almost never cry because I have always had their support but now I am aware that they have abandoned me, if not yet physically then emotionally. I've trained myself to hold back my sobs when my mother attacked me with both words and fists but I can't bear Henry's parents turning their backs on me and at some point between the announcement and now they have accepted that I am too much of a threat to be here. I knew I would be unwelcome at some point but I didn't expect it would be this early into the night, not yet midnight. Despite my disappointment I'm not angry because I owe them too much. I can't blame them either because they didn't choose this. Instead I thank them silently for not making me leave sooner, then I think of what to do next.

I could show all three of them my appreciation by leaving the house in the next few minutes but even I know that the street is to be approached with caution and I don't want to die with a final thought that the Argents have given up on me even if I know, or at least hope, it isn't exactly true.

But I need proof of this so I walk to the front of the house and reach for the doorknob. Mr Argent jerks his head up. 'Don't.'

Regret of him stopping me flashes across his face but his initial reaction is enough to comfort me and I'm resolved that I have to leave, if not quite yet.

'Can I wait until after midnight? I'll leave then.' I want to see what possibilities the early morning holds.

Mrs Argent can't face looking at me as she replies. 'Of course.'

I know delaying the inevitable only makes my departure more painful but staying for a few more hours buys me some time. I go upstairs and into Henry's room and am pleased that he doesn't follow me because I need to be alone. I want to cut the world out and lose all my senses.

I step back into the wardrobe and where I once hid from my mother I now hide from everyone.

There is no one to see me cry so I allow the tears to flow.

Theia

I skip the fence and am back in the confines of my house, which is the safest place for now although I've learnt that can change in an instant. I am stopped in the garden by a noise overhead. I hear a faint humming similar to the fridge next door but heavier and distant. I look up into the black sky and at the surrounding houses but can't locate the sound.

I rejoin my parents and Ronan in the lounge, where they all sit in front of the television but no amount of willing the screen to come back to life is going to bring to fruition a second announcement. Tonight the Upperlands won't show any pity or remorse or retract their earlier decree. I still don't understand how they can inflict this on us and there's nothing we can do about it but I've mulled this over in my head for too many hours of this night already so I decide to stop questioning it and focus on planning our survival.

Ronan plays with the yo-yo but it is a mess of string.

'I'm back.' I untangle the toy and pass it back to him. 'There you go Ro.'

'Thanks,' he says and goes back to tying knots in it and it doesn't fill me with confidence that he would be able to deal with the new world.

'Is it cold out?' my mother asks and I am astounded that she thinks I was in the garden the entire time. Did she not hear the other gunshots? Did she not care whether I was safe? At the hospital my mother is fearless but I look at her small frame. She is wracked with worry and I wonder how much of that extends to Dr Jefferson.

'Where's Leda?' I blurt out, struck with panic that something has happened to her.

'In Ronan's room,' my father says.

'Sleeping?'

'Why else would she be up there?' he replies but realises what I insinuated.

I'm more realistic than my parents. I've already seen six dead bodies tonight, most of them killed as I watched on, whilst my parents have only heard gunshots and I consider that they need a rude awakening.

'Where are grandpa and grandma?'

My mother points upstairs. 'They wanted to lie down in our room, which is why Leda is in Ronan's bed.'

'Can I sleep in your room tonight?' Ronan asks me.

'Sure Ro.'

My father emphasises his next words. 'They wanted to rest and asked us to not disturb them.' He may not be so naive after all and too many contradictory thoughts about this rush through my head to allow me to think straight so I lose my temper.

'Rest until what?' I shout back then sprint upstairs and hope it's not too late.

Henry

'What was that?' I demand an explanation from my parents. I admit I wasn't great with Selene because of the memory she triggered when asking me about the twins but at least I wasn't rude by ignoring her. 'As far as I'm concerned we're a family of four. You've always said Selene is one of yours.'

'You're our son Henry, our flesh and bones,' my father says whilst my mother nods in agreement. 'We need to think about your safety.'

I know these words have been coming all night but I'm still not ready to hear them. 'This is wrong.'

'It's best for all of us.' my mother says. 'We can't allow Selene to take your place.'

'Why are you talking like this?'

'Like what?'

'Like it's been decided I'll be Rehoused over you?'

My father uncharacteristically slams his fist against the table. 'Enough.'

'You will,' my mother says quietly. 'You will be Rehoused.'

'Don't I have a say?'

'No,' says my father. 'I don't want to hear another word about it. Selene will leave and your mother and I will come to some arrangement.'

'Arrangement? That's what you want to call it? Say it. Go on, say the word.'

'No Henry.' My mother is angry but I don't care.

'Say it!'

My father slams his fists against the table even harder. 'Death. Our deaths. Are you happy now?'

I know I'm wasting my breath but I also know that wishing us all to be Rehoused is even more foolish than arguing over which one of gets to live. 'I love you both so much but if you make Selene leave then,' but I trail off because there's nothing to threaten them with that they haven't been threatened with already. Except there is one thing: my safety. 'Then I'll go with her.' I pinch the top of my nose and sigh with exhaustion.

'I wish there was some other way,' my father says.

I mutter my response. 'You haven't even tried.'

'Listen to the neighbourhood. Everyone is trying to think of a way out. And they're failing. There is no alternative,' he says. 'You need to prepare for the future.'

I want to speak to Theia. Selene has always made me laugh, has always been like a sister to me but it's Theia who I need right now. In my daydreams about the future the floods have receded and the life is getting back on track and it is her who I picture alongside me. If I have any chance for us all to see tomorrow I know that Theia would be the one to have the solution.

My mother reaches across and takes my hand. 'What happens should be up to you.'

I don't respond because although it sounds like she's suggesting I get to choose who is Rehoused out of us I know exactly what she means.

She continues. 'Let's assume Selene goes in a few hours leaving the three of us.'

'Selene isn't going anywhere'

'Please Henry, for the sake of the argument.'

'Ok. What then?'

'At five you will sit on the doorstep and wait to be Rehoused. We are all agreed on that.'

'No,' I say. 'We're not.'

Before I can express my disapproval my father holds up his hand to stifle me. 'We are all agreed on that,' he says.

I decide that I will have to argue my case later tonight when they aren't being obstinate and listen on.

'You have to live with the consequences of how we die. Therefore, you must decide how we end our lives.'

I shake my head.

'Listen to me Henry.'

'I'd rather not thank you.'

'Did you hear what I said?'

I stare at him with disgust but I know that we can't all survive so I should at least hear him out. 'Fine.'

'I can think of three possible solutions: either we end our own lives, the police kill us in the morning whilst you listen on, or you help us.'

'Help you? Help you? This is crazy. You want me to murder you. You're sitting there asking me to decide how to kill you. I can't believe this.'

'Believe me,' says my mother. 'This is not easy for any of us. You have to deal with the consequences of this evening for the rest of your life. Our deaths will provide you that chance for life so you need to think carefully about how you want to do this. You have to consider what's best for you.'

I sit in stunned silence, unable to stomach the idea that my parents have just asked me to determine how they die and what part I play in it.

'Henry,' my father says. 'We don't need an answer right this second but time is not on our side.'

I want to scream Fuck you both but it would fall on deaf ears. Still, they've asked me to do the impossible so I have to bite my tongue. It doesn't last long.

'Fuck you both,' I say, conceding. I shoot up and the chair slams backwards from my force and topples over. I head towards the garden, aware that I'm only fifteen and I'm allowed to be a teenager and say impulsive disrespectful things and shy away from responsibilities. But I also know that whether or not I like it my parents are right and I'm going to have to grow up pretty quickly.

Theia

I screech to a halt at the top of the stairs when I narrowly avoid a collision with my grandfather.

'Where are you going in such a rush?'

'I thought you and grandma,' I pant. My grandparents have not been a large part of my life for various reasons and I don't know my grandfather well enough to be having this macabre conversation.

He chuckles to himself. 'You always were on the ball. I never had any worries about you.'

I ignore his compliment. 'Is grandma alright?'

'She hasn't been alright for a very long time. But yes, she's sleeping at the moment. Theia I'm sorry I never got to know you better. Your mother said you were a smart girl, which makes me wonder where you got that from.' He winks at me.

I've never been around my grandfather long enough to learn his traits and it surprises me that he is charming and quick-witted but I assume my naivety comes from grouping him in with my grandmother. I didn't like the retirement home, not because it gave me the creeps but it was a reminder that there were people at an age I was unlikely to reach. The few times I did visit this past year my grandmother mistook me for my mother or confused the present with another time; it upset me to see what could happen if the tides reached me in youth but it also scared me to imagine what could happen if I did live long enough for old age. I considered the Ethers next door as grandparents during my childhood and now, standing in front of my maternal grandfather, I feel guilty.

I admire how he never stopped caring for his wife even when the woman he knew disappeared into an empty frame and I regret not spending enough time with them to appreciate the burden of caring for her. Whilst my mother gave people life-saving quick fixes he stayed by his wife's side for the long haul. I should have helped but I was busy looking after Ronan and Leda, which I think is a decent enough excuse yet still I apologise. 'I'm sorry I didn't visit you.'

'Don't be ridiculous. The young have to live their lives. Besides, you're raising Ronan and Leda and don't think that goes unnoticed.'

I value his insight. My parents became so used to my involvement that I never wanted awe but just some recognition from them. I've never asked my grandfather for anything but the rest of the family have not acknowledged tonight and I suddenly feel like I have missed a huge source of support. I want my grandfather to reassure me that things will work out tonight even if what he says can only amount to meaningless words.

My grandfather fishes something out of his pocket and shows it to me. A generous handful of pills. 'I need your help with something.'

'What are they?' I scrutinise the tablets but I already know the answer. It's what my mother didn't take when she smuggled the walkie-talkie. And I thought that was bad enough. I feel my body grow heavy with despair.

'I borrowed them from your mother's stash. Think she'll mind?'

My heart sinks. I know all the risks of overdosing. Not enough can lead to neurological complications but enough can be fatal, which I assume is the plan. 'They're not to help you sleep are they,' I say with rhetoric.

'Theia you are far stronger than your parents. Look at you trying to work out an escape plan whilst they sit by idly counting down the hours until all hope is gone.' My grandfather is more perceptive than I knew. 'I want you promise me you'll stand guard outside our door for the next thirty minutes. I don't want your mother trying to resuscitate us. That wouldn't help with your situation.'

My grandfather notes my hesitation. 'My time has come to an end. I'm just an obstruction and your grandmother cannot go on alone. Imagine she's the one we choose to be Rehoused.' He laughs heartily at what he's decided is a ludicrous notion then composes himself. 'Who would look after her? Do you really believe that at the end of this night one of us should be Rehoused over any of you?' He pauses and I can see that he has come to terms with his decision. 'That would be foolish.'

From heaviness to weightlessness, my body feels strangely at ease and I hope it's not because I'm relieved by his decision and that it's two fewer people for Ronan to be Rehoused over. I hope instead that it's empathy and compassion. I don't try to plead with him. It is my father's words that comfort me and I am surprised that his one moment of valour for years has stuck. Tonight death is not a mark of weakness. We cannot judge the decisions people make with or against their loved ones. Ending life may be the most honourable, bravest act.

I agree with my grandfather's reasoning; my grandmother should not survive him, yet my conscience wants me to inform my parents and give them the option to argue with him but I know this would only cause unnecessary stress so I decide to not include them. My willingness to acquiesce confirms that there is no denying the Upperlands' announcement.

I offer him one final get out clause because I don't want him to be doing this because of martyrdom. 'Don't go through with it. If you are Rehoused you could live your years out without the burden of caring for someone.'

In thinking about my grandfather's wellbeing I am effectively suggesting he kill his wife and then the rest of us must somehow die. Ronan and Leda, and my parents and me.

'Theia, caring for your grandmother has never been a burden. Exhausting yes and devastating at times too. What I would give to have my wife back the way she was but this is love and I cherish every moment with her. I wouldn't want to live one second longer than her.'

I imagine this is not dissimilar from the Ethers' conversation but somewhere between agreeing to die together and going through with it something went wrong for them. I have never been in love and can't pretend to understand either my grandfather or the Ethers' decision. There is so much I don't know about my grandparents and I have lost my chance to learn about them: where they grew up, how they met, what their wedding looked like. I feel ashamed for being ignorant. Too many stories will be lost tonight.

'Tell me what I should do. I want Ronan to survive.'

'You know I don't have those answers to give you. I wish I could. You'll learn that there are people who spend their lives trying to convince you of things that they couldn't possibly know themselves. They should never be trusted. Adults like to deceive themselves because somewhere in adolescence cynicism and wonderment is lost. Hold onto those two things Theia. Cynicism and wonderment. You're wiser than anyone I know so I have no doubt you'll manage what the rest of us don't.'

My grandfather hugs me and I squeeze him tightly back.

'My old bones,' he groans, then chuckles to himself.

'I love you,' I say. I wish I'd connected with my grandfather earlier in my life but I've learnt tonight that it takes tragedy to bring out people's true emotions. I love you. I'm not sure I ever felt the gravity of those words before. I've said them so few times.

'I love you too. Now then,' he says and with that I know it's time. My grandfather closes the bedroom door behind him and once more I am on the opposite side of a door of someone who is about to die although this time I can stop it happening, unlike with Jason, but I do nothing apart from keep guard.

Even in the next ten minutes my mother would know how to force my grandparents to cough up the pills but that would defy my grandfather's wishes. Bringing him back to life won't increase my chances of being Rehoused but this isn't why I'm allowing them to die. I'm doing this for Ronan. But would I readily allow my parents to die as well if that means saving my brother? I detest that I am attempting to validate something for which there is no justification.

I stand firm and block the door, not that anyone is coming upstairs. Tonight I've made Jason a promise and now I've made my grandfather a promise, and I am determined to let neither down whatever it takes. I check my watch.

Not even four hours have passed since the announcement but death has already crept its way into my house.

Selene

Loneliness plagues my thoughts. Henry hasn't come to find me. Perhaps his parents have convinced him I am too much of a threat to be around. Perhaps he will ignore me and wait for me to leave or, worse, force me out.

Violent images come to my mind. I can argue the Argents' deaths as self-defence. I was only doing what it took to survive, I will tell others through the gates to the Upperlands. Perhaps this is a test to find out the most selfish of all us and I'll be shamed. No, the other survivors would understand because many of them would have had to kill too. The Upperlanders are even more selfish; in my position they would have killed willingly. Isn't that what they're doing indirectly anyway? Maybe they won't shame me but instead they'll commend my strength of character.

This attempt to convince myself that killing the Argents would be an asset is hard to swallow. Even if I manage to hurt his parents I couldn't harm Henry. I either have to leave here or die here and I'm probably dead either way. My fantasy of the Ark is long gone.

For the second time tonight my legs cramp inside the wardrobe and I step into Henry's room, repeating my actions from earlier this evening but now in an extreme circumstance. I almost wish all I had to worry about tonight was my mother's usual attack. If only I had stayed at home... different complications to work through but not these ones.

It is coming up to eleven and the night is as dark as it will get, what with the moon and the streetlights going strong. The girl who murdered her family is nowhere to be seen. Her family members lie in a heap on the floor. I wouldn't want to be in the same room either.

A family of three, next door to them, are still alive. The young woman and her parents chat in their lounge and I wonder if they are still debating who will be Rehoused or whether they have moved past that awkwardness and are now spending their final moments together. More likely they are avoiding the question in the same way we avoided the tide. I figure the girl will be Rehoused but that raises the question of whether it is a good thing for her at all; choosing who to Rehouse is only a short-term goal and I bet no one is discussing what happens after then because sacrificing oneself for a loved one only to then be maltreated in the Upperlands doesn't bear thinking about. I wonder how much parents are honestly considering what is awaiting their children. Maybe under this uncertainty a quick death is kinder.

I look through the other window into Theia's room but she is not there. Henry liking her is pretty much why I don't, not that I'd ever let on that's the pathetic reason I have. I've seen the way he looks at her and defends her. She never understood why we fell out but it was over jealousy; it tickles me somewhat that everyone describes her as smart yet she never clocked this. I wonder where she is and my gut tells me she must be up to something, figuring out a plan to save the day.

For once, I wouldn't mind hearing it.

Theia

I leave my post after thirty minutes. It's too late for my mother to do anything now. She can be angry with me later; I can only be blamed for not allowing her the chance to say goodbye but in the eyes of my grandfather I have done nothing else wrong. A small part of me wants to punish my mother for having an affair as she sits next to my father downstairs, waiting for news on Dr Jefferson. I wonder how many times she will sneak herself away to the bathroom to listen to his updates. I wonder at what point she will turn against him or us. I wonder who she will choose.

I don't enter my parents' bedroom. I can't face more dead bodies yet, even if these two may look peaceful on the bed, no blood spilling from their bodies.

I return to my room and look around at my possessions. Most of them are tatty, too girly for Ronan but gathered for when Leda is old enough to appreciate them. I have no attachment to anything in here. Anything valuable is long gone, sold to the market for food. The world has gone backwards, trade is primitive, advance is a thing of the past. We just struggle to survive. If all we're doing is waiting to drown then that doesn't sound worth waiting for. It's a question that rears itself relentlessly, especially for those who have already been flooded out of their homes. Maybe culling the Middlelands isn't a bad idea after all. Hurry the process up. Maybe the Upperlanders are doing us a huge favour.

I look out of my window and try to comprehend the expanse of sea that makes up nearly all the planet's surface. Maps became redundant decades ago. Henry and I often dreamt up all the possibilities of life somewhere across the oceans. Other lands and other people. If we believe the Upperlands' reports then we are the only survivors; our neighbourhoods high enough to rise above the water but not too high as to freeze to death. From what I understood in geography lessons, most metropolitan cities were formed near river mouths and lowlands for trade. They were the first to go, taking the mass of people and technological epicentres with them.

Henry and I used to debate whether travelling by boat in a straight line around the world would bring us back here or whether we would hit unknown ground beforehand. We guessed how long the journey would take to return full circle. It was a push as to whether we would make it back before the foundation-deep Fence indicated that the Middlelands had vanished. To be in the only place left on Earth. There's nothing more isolating and terrifying.

I haven't been to the coast for a while before today. After what happened on my twelfth birthday, taking a boat is out of the question. I pull myself out of my musing and realise I still haven't spoken to Henry. I saw him briefly before the announcement but that was hours ago. I want to know what is happening in his house. I guess we've both been distracted. I consider hopping the fence into his house.

I look through the window and see someone but it takes me by surprise. A girl. Selene. 'What are you doing there?' I say to myself.

I rack my brains figuring out how she avoided the police and wormed her way inside. The only realistic explanation was for her to be there before the announcement. Henry didn't say but then I remember he wanted to tell me something when the Surge came through. It must have been about her. She must have surprised him too. She's done it before. She chose a bad night.

So that's why the wicked policeman and Jason thought Henry had a sibling.

My comfort that Henry had plain sailing to the Upperlands is now blown apart. Whatever his parents want, he'll never turf her out. Selene is like a daughter to them and, considering her own mother, she needed them.

I can't see Henry. I tap on the window. I don't think Selene hears, then she stops and turns towards me. For the first time in forever Selene's immediate reaction is to smile at me. Not huge but big enough to know that she's not displeased I am here. I can just about make out her swollen eyes. I've never seen her cry.

She comes up to the window but I wave to stop her from opening it and shouting across. She could be heard and that might count as some sort of rule break. I don't want to draw any attention to us and hold up the paper and pen on my desk. She follows my lead.

Are you ok? We hold up the same message, and both nod in return.

Henry? I write.

He's fine.

There's a pause as she furiously scribbles something. She's clearly not used to communicating this way as the writing is illegible. I squint and just about make out her scrawl. I need to get out of here.

Something nags at the back of my mind. I have no solution for myself tonight but an idea starts to form in my mind. I can't quite focus on it but I allow it to take shape as I wait for her next message. The great Theia out of ideas.

She smirks but I know she's only frustrated, and this time not at me. This is Selene's way of asking for help. Past experience tells me it's as good as I can expect from her. Then the solution knocks me sideways. There is something I can do to help her.

I write hurriedly on the paper, itching for her to read it. Get Henry and meet me at the back of his house.

Henry

'Henry!'

Selene rushes down the stairs, ignoring my parents. I suppose they deserve it. I emerge from the kitchen where I was returning the leftovers, bewildered by her outburst. 'What is it?'

'Come with me.'

I follow her past my impassive parents to the back of the house. She closes the door behind us so that they can't see. 'What are you doing?' I worry she's planning something that could put us in danger. The fences aren't too high out there but even if we leave by the garden there's nowhere to go. 'Selene I can't just run out on my parents. I'm not going anywhere.'

'Shut up.'

'Tell me what's going on.'

Selene unlocks the door to the garden. 'You'll see.'

'What are you...' I stumble over my next words when Theia appears in front me. 'You're...Theia,' I stutter.

'Hey Henry. Selene.'

'Hi Theia,' says Selene. They embrace, as if they're best friends.

Theia steps into the room and what she says may change everything. 'Selene, I have a plan.'

11 P.M. – 12 A.M.

Selene

Henry stares at Theia with more than just admiration and it's obvious he will never fall for me. Still it's a relief to see her for once, when her invasion of our time usually drives me crazy. The way she hopped over the fence impresses me; she's more fearless than I gave her credit for.

Henry hugs her and she squeezes back. I'm not sure I want to hear Theia's plan just yet. I can't stay here for much longer but I'm also terrified what will happen if she comes up with something that will help me leave.

'What are you doing here?' she asks me.

'I didn't want to be at home.' I bite the side of my mouth. 'Petty bad timing hey.'

Theia remains business-like as usual. 'Is everyone alright?'

Henry looks embarrassed and I answer on behalf of us both. 'His parents would rather I wasn't here.' Before he can protest I add, 'I can't blame them.'

'My parents love you but they're conflicted,' says Henry.

'It's fine. I understand. I'm sure if I hopped over to Theia's they wouldn't want me there either.'

'Selene,' Theia says. She's firm, knowing the conversation is only going to go round in circles. 'If you could leave now, where would you go?'

I haven't thought about this too much. 'I suppose home. But I'd be putting my mother in jeopardy. She wouldn't be thrilled.'

'She'd give her life for you,' says Henry.

He doesn't sound convinced and I don't pretend to agree. 'She's not your mother Henry. Nor yours Theia. You don't have to understand.'

'Right, my mother the hero,' Theia scoffs. I note the sarcasm but don't press for more. 'I think I can get you out of here.'

'Just me?'

Theia nods. 'I can't guarantee what would happen but I think you'd have a good chance of getting away safely.'

'What about the policeman?' Henry asks. 'Have you seen him?'

Theia shrinks up, smaller than her usual brash self. I guess she has. 'I'll take care of him.'

'Are you doing this to save Henry?' I blurt out.

'That's not fair,' says Henry. 'That's not what she means.'

'I'm only half serious. Leaving here is my top priority. Theia, if you can help... there are no words. What about the two of you?' I have no idea what Theia's own situation is like.

Henry looks towards Theia expectantly, for plans to help not just me but his family too.

'The best bet is to wait and not do anything rash. I saw a family.' She doesn't finish her sentence.

Henry puts his hand on her shoulder. 'We saw.'

'So what does this plan involve?' I ask, breaking their moment.

'Give me ten minutes. I need to get something. Are you sure you want to do this Selene?'

'Absolutely,' I say without hesitation.

'You can stay and we can figure this all out,' Henry says.

'And then what? Your parents decide to save me instead? Theia's right, it's time for me to go.'

'I've never heard you say that,' says Henry.

'What?'

'Theia's right.'

'Don't expect to hear it again.' My joke falls flat. It's unlikely we'll all be in the same place ever again. 'Henry it's the right thing to do. We're wasting time.'

Theia looks at me with steely determination. 'The policeman from earlier.'

'The one that killed Charlie?'

Theia doesn't know about this. 'The one that talked to you after the announcement.'

'Same guy. Friendly,' I say.

'Right. Remember his uniform? What if I could acquire one?'

'You mean I dress like him?'

Theia nods.

'That's too dangerous,' says Henry. 'What if you're caught?'

'What if I stay here? How do you have access to a uniform?'

She glances at Henry and seems ashamed, as if she doesn't want him to know. 'Long story.'

However she acquired it I'm impressed. Her idea is better than anything I could have dreamt up. 'What do you need me to do?'

'Wait for me to come back. Actually there is one thing whilst I'm gone.'

'What's that?'

'Don't get yourself killed.'

Theia

Henry looks weary, more like his father, and I suppose we have all aged tonight.

'What's happening at your house?' he asks.

'Do you mean, what are my prospects?'

'I didn't...'

I cut him off. 'I have a brother and sister to think of.' I don't tell them about my grandparents, or my mother.

'But Leda...'

'Leda what?' I know it's unfair to snap but it's anger directed away from my parents towards an easy target. I'll apologise to him later if I have a chance. Despite Jason's warning it's relatively easy to climb over the walls that separate our houses. I figure the girl at her desk is waiting to talk to me and I glance up and spot her. She looks anxious but I don't have time to check in with her. I think about the rest of the fences in our street. I could climb over them in a line but it would only take me to the end of the enclosed block and any of the houses might be dangerous to cross; I thought the Ethers' house would be safe and that was an error. Still, if I hadn't explored the house Selene would not have this opportunity. Jason's misfortune provides her with a chance. I think he'd like that. He saved me and now possibly her tonight.

I cross my garden and head for the next fence. As I have one foot into the Ethers' garden, the overhead buzz I've heard a few times this evening strikes up once more. I freeze, balancing precariously on top of the fence. It's louder than the hum of electricity but distant and I still don't know what it is. The din quietens down and I worry what repercussions it could have for us. I have the outline of an idea that it could be the vehicles picking up those to be Rehoused but it's not yet midnight so they would be hours too early. There are too many unknowns tonight and not enough certainties.

An approximation would place the number of houses in the Middlelands at about five thousand. Ignoring the municipal buildings, such as the hospital, if each house contains on average three or four people, the number of dead will reach way over ten thousand by morning. I know what is happening in the hospital but don't want to consider what the nursing homes and orphanages look like. The homeless are another mystery; I can't begin to guess what their rules are but the streets are emptier than usual so the Upperlands must have considered them in the equation. They must all be gathered at the Fence waiting. Jason was trying to tell me something about dawn but he never had the chance.

Then there's the population in the Upperlands but that remains an enigma. I was too young to remember how it looked, back when it was free to pass between the two settlements, back when boundaries were unmarked. With the exception of the announcements it's impossible to know what it looks like now. They have no direct access to the sea so I assume they trade with some of our leaders for fish but they must also have their own food sources. Henry's father, working with the fishing nets, swears he doesn't know anything about dealings with the Upperlands and I doubt they're concerned about this; whether they obtain fish or not, the videos during the Surges suggest they have plenty of space for growing vegetables and raising livestock.

Plenty of space, and they're willing to Rehouse only a handful of us.

I re-enter the Ethers' house, alarmed to find myself back here so soon after Jason's death. The stench of blood hits me. I have it in my head to strip the uniform from Jason as quickly as possible. I tell myself that he would want me to do this rather than be embarrassed at what I was exposing underneath. Only, I'm in the kitchen and something is very bad. I look down at the pool of blood.

Jason is not there.

Henry

Although hardly surprising, I've never seen Theia alarmed and on edge and I hate to imagine how the weaker in our neighbourhoods are faring; when I first heard the announcement I couldn't believe anyone would act on it but now I fear murder will come easily.

Selene and I wait in the back room for Theia to reappear. Until she comes through with the uniform I won't tell my parents what's happening and, since they haven't come to investigate, I'm in no rush to update them. Selene looks deep in thought, perhaps about where she's going next.

'How are you feeling?'

'Great.'

'I know you too well for that.'

'There's nothing to talk about. You wouldn't stay if you were at my house.'

It's a valid point. I don't want to consider what happens if Selene leaves here but I equally don't like the thought of her staying. 'I'll be worried about you.'

'Good but let's face facts Henry, you don't have as much to worry about as the rest of us.' She pauses. 'I'm sorry. That was unfair.'

Selene's right. If my parents have their way I'm in no danger, not compared to her or Theia, but it doesn't mean it's any easier for me. I change the subject. 'Do you think I was insensitive to her?'

'You're an idiot,' Selene says, with a smile. 'But a caring idiot.'

'Promise me you'll be safe.'

'I can't promise that.'

'I mean, promise me you won't take any risks.'

'Like what? Pretending to be a policeman and walking the streets? I promise I won't do anything like that.'

'Selene, don't look for fights.'

'I've never looked for a fight Henry. Fights have always looked for me.'

'Promise me that much.'

Selene leans in hunched over, and kisses me on the lips. It's unexpected and a bit strange and only lasts a few seconds and, as I am too shocked to react, she is the one to end the embrace.

'What was that?' I ask.

'I just wanted to try it. And I promise to try and stay safe. Thanks for caring about me. And Henry?'

'Yeah?'

'Don't tell Theia about that.'

'The kiss?'

'Or maybe do. I don't know.'

'What are you talking about?'

'She loves you Henry. She may not know it yet and you definitely don't have it figured but she really does.' She smirks. 'Just remember that I was your first kiss.'

I don't follow her reasoning or what she's getting at but it hits me hard that I might never see her after tonight. This is all too sad and hideous and the thirst for revenge rears its ugly head in me once more. The Upperlanders aren't just letting people die but they're tearing families apart. Not only families but friends and couples and those who haven't had a chance to say goodbye to one another.

I turn and rub my eyes before tears form, and shrug it off as a yawn. Selene tuts at my display of emotion.

'What do you think,' Selene says. 'Should I go in or leave her in peace?'

'Your house? Of course you have to go in. Your mother needs to know you're ok.'

'And then what? She's never been legally allowed to kill me before. '

'Talk and work it out.'

Selene laughs. 'Sure.'

'Where else is there to go?'

She's annoyed by my reasoning and mutters. 'I was thinking of the coast. I don't know, I thought it might be pleasant down there tonight. Peaceful even. For once the sea is no longer our main concern.'

I listen to my best friend and consider that not only is the sea no longer our worst enemy but how incredibly brave she is. She's leaving the one place she feels safe and heading into the unknown. Once she leaves here, Selene has no one protecting her. I'm not ready to let Selene go and don't feel the slightest concerned that Theia has taken longer than ten minutes even though I'm aware that I'm only delaying the inevitable.

But there's nothing else to say so we wait in silence.

Theia

Where is Jason?

I want to rush out of the kitchen and back to my house to hide in my room at the thought that I have failed Selene but a burst of courage prevents me. Or pride. Either way, it allows me the time to compose myself and work out what's happened to his body. I don't want to have to tell Selene and Henry that I let them down.

I take in the scene. Jason's helmet still rests on the counter, undamaged. A trail of blood leads off from the stained outline of his body on the tiles farther out into the hallway. My first guess is that the policeman came back, maybe with some others, to remove the body, and it would have been obvious that someone else had been here in the meantime because the fridge door is open and Jason's glasses and gun have been removed. If this is the case, and they identify him, Ruskin and his parents are in certain danger, if not dead already.

However, on second glance, only one set of staggered, bloody footprints leads away from the kitchen. I follow the trail and find Jason's body, lying halfway between the hall and the dining room. He didn't get far but how he moved at all sends a shiver through me. I check his pulse and then hold the glasses up to his nostrils; a trick my mother taught me but they don't fog up from breath so once again I call it but this time he actually is dead.

I want to scream. I'm beside myself with anger for leaving him the first time when he still had a fighting chance to survive instead of bringing my mother to his aid. She might have refused but I had a gun and, even more persuasive than that, I know her secret.

I think back to an hour earlier when Jason seemed dead in the kitchen. I wasn't poised enough in the aftermath of his shooting to deal with the situation. I feel useless. Even worse, it dawns on me that he died alone. He was still struggling on and I left him to die with no one by his side. Each time I think this night reaches its lowest point I'm mistaken. I stop and let the twisted truth sink in: it's only going to get worse.

The only upside to Jason moving from the kitchen is that he managed to rub most of the blood off the uniform along the tiles and carpet, to the point it looks relatively clean. A bullet hole pierces the material but in the dark of night it will hardly be noticeable.

I prepare myself for undressing Jason but it feels wrong. I can't strip him and leave him in that state. I was foolish to think I could act so crudely and there's no way I could live with myself if Ruskin and his parents found out that I'd left him in this state after he saved my life. I have to act fast; Henry and Selene must be growing inpatient by now.

The uniform is zipped in the back and turns out to be an all-in-one suit. Even the shoes are attached. Jason is muscular and heavy and lifting him is an ordeal so I give up attempting to strip him with any modicum of decency. Eventually I manage to pull the final part of the suit away, leaving Jason naked. I can't help admire his toned body. I've never seen a naked man up close but I am horrified that it is happening in this circumstance. I fetch a bottle of semi-filtered water and a cloth from the kitchen and dab his body where the bullet entered. The blood has clot against his skin and I have to scrub some of the tougher spots before they fleck off.

There's no way I can leave Jason naked. At this point it will be obvious someone has disturbed the body so dressing him will make little difference to their suspicions but, whatever the risk, I owe it to him. If I want clothes this means getting past the dead couple on the stairs. I have to push against the handrail just to keep my balance on pointed toes so that I don't disturb them.

I feel sympathy for the elderly couple but I am already behind on my agreed time and have neither the will nor the energy to move them into a more respectable position. I check my watch. It's half past the hour. Already twenty minutes have passed.

Ronan used to hide in Mr Ethers' wardrobe so I know exactly where to look. I find the cleanest shirt and trousers, although the concept of clean nowadays is a stretch. Most of the clothes have been worn over decades and their colours are drab and faded. Some are moth-eaten and ratty but it's been a long time since anyone cared about fashion. I opt for a white shirt and brown trousers as they seem the easiest to slide onto Jason. They're not a perfect fit as he's a little taller than Mr Ethers but I stand back and admire how smart and attractive he now looks.

I am exhausted by the time I button up the shirt. I don't have the strength to lift him onto the couch so I move his legs close together and align his arms by his sides. I sweep his hair to the side and am satisfied with what I've achieved for him. I'll have to elaborate the truth at a later stage if it comes to it.

I scoop up the uniform and am about to head to the kitchen when I turn and make a detour to the stairwell. I pick up Mr Ethers' gun. I decide to give it to Selene and keep Jason's for myself.

Selene

Henry's mother finally investigates and, even through gritted teeth, can't hide her delight at the turn of events. They know Henry would never allow me to leave without some reassurance that I was going to be fine. I try to hide my disappointment but Henry can't hold back and tells her to leave us alone. As penance, I remember my violent thoughts towards them. I won't give them the satisfaction that we have all let each other down but it reminds me that at our most basic is the need for individual survival, or at least kinship within the family.

It's been far longer than Theia stated and I deplore that I'm only concerned she's ok because of the consequences for me. Henry's parents grow tired of waiting for her and return to the back room to enquire about the hold up.

'I'm sorry for what happened. For how I treated you before,' Henry's father says to me.

His wife agrees. 'Please send your mother our regards.'

'Of course.' I'm disinclined to say much more. I'm not even sure I'll see her.

Henry is quiet and I try to view my departure from his point of view. Once I'm gone there's nothing else to keep his parents from making sure he's the one to be Rehoused. It hadn't occurred to me that he could soon be completely alone. I decide to talk to him privately about this before I go.

The feeble part of me is secretly pleased Theia has still not returned but I know this doesn't solve anything. 'I'm sure Theia will be here any minute now,' I say, proverbially tapping my feet in anticipation.

'How are things in her house?' Henry's mother asks him, aware that there is more than one child in the family.

'I'm not sure,' says Henry. 'Theia didn't say much.'

I don't want to wait with Henry's parents any longer. 'If it's alright I'd like to go to Henry's room one final time.' I don't say that it's because I want to be alone but it's hardly cryptic and the Argents figure this out. They know the room means more than just a refuge to me. I fight back the tears at the thought that I'll never return here, whatever my fate.

Theia

I throw the uniform over the fence. It's sturdy but obviously not durable enough to stop bullets. I climb over with the helmet. I wonder if anyone in the neighbouring houses would betray me by informing a policeman but I decide they would have nothing to gain from their disclosure. The light is off in the girl with the messages' window so I don't know whether she is there or not. I lug the equipment across my garden and repeat the process into Henry's side. He must have seen me because he helps me over. It's the first time tonight I've been alone with Henry.

'Thanks.' I pant.

'This is it?' Henry inspects the uniform. 'It's different up close.' He holds it up but the legs and shoes drag on the floor.

'It's too long for us,' I say. 'But it should fit Selene.'

Henry takes a long hard look at me. 'Would you have tried to escape if it fit you?'

It honestly hadn't occurred to me. 'I only considered it when I saw Selene was at your house. I can't leave my family behind. Not again.'

Henry knows what I'm referring to and breaks his gaze but it's a conversation we agreed to never have. He holds the uniform away from him with disgust. 'Where did you get it?'

I debate whether to tell him the truth and decide he is the most likely to pass the message to Ruskin if I can't. 'It was Jason's. Jason Peters.'

Henry looks aghast.

'It sounds unbelievable but he saved my life. He's dead Henry.'

'What was he doing in a uniform? Was he running away?'

I keep the story short. 'If you see Ruskin you have to tell him that Jason died a hero.' My breath is visible in the cold air. 'It's almost midnight and won't get any darker than this. Let's get Selene on her way. Where is she?'

'My room.'

I could have guessed. Selene is her boldest in there. Somehow the room gives her the courage to feel brash.

'I'll tell her you're here. My parents want to say hello.'

I'm not in the mood to see Henry's parents. I can't face more awkward goodbyes but I owe it to them after they have treated my siblings and me so well. I feel grimy and desperately crave a wash to rid the stench of death away. I know that's asking too much so instead I follow Henry indoors.

Henry

Each step to my room bears down on me, a heavy continuous reminder that it is time for Selene to leave. She sits on the end of the bed clutching at one of my shirts and not even trying to hide her tears.

'You want to take that?'

She puts it down. 'No. Is Theia downstairs?'

I nod.

'She came through.'

'I wish you'd been friends.'

'Me too. I hope you understand.'

I've been thinking about the kiss and what Selene said and I think I do, but this evening is already more uncomfortable than it should be than to open up that minefield so I put it on hold. It's a problem that doesn't warrant effort because there is a likely solution that none of it will matter in a couple of hours. I can't think about the repercussions of that. 'Selene, I...'

'Henry, do what's best for you and your parents. It will be difficult but remember how much they love you.'

I nod but don't want to think about that just yet either; there's a lot I'm trying to delay. Selene looks at me with mild disapproval, knowing I haven't absorbed her words. 'Let's get this girl on the road.'

Theia

Selene takes one look at the uniform. 'Neat'. She stares at me with her mouth pursed and then she hugs me. I settle into her embrace. She's all skin and bones and I hope the uniform traps heat. 'I can't believe you did it. Thank you.'

'The next part is down to you. Don't mess it up because it's been too much effort to have you die.' This makes her smile.

Henry pats us both on the back. 'So it's taken this to bring my two best friends together.'

'Don't get too cocksure Henry. If Theia and I were locked in a house together I'm not sure we'd be hugging the night out.' She winks at me.

'Yeah, what she said.'

Selene slips off her clothes in front of us, leaving just her non-matching underwear on. I help her don the suit. It takes some manoeuvring to fit her feet into the tight shoes but that's the hardest part because there is enough slack in the rest of the uniform. She is similar in stature to Jason and fits pretty well, and definitely better than if it were Henry or me.

'Do I want to know whose this was?' Selene asks.

'How about I'll tell you tomorrow?' We're being brave and the camaraderie helps to keep all of our nerves at bay. I zip the back of the suit and Selene looks incredible. Tough, unflappable, invincible. Henry picks up the helmet and passes it to her. She slides it over her head. It hides her hair but her figure gives her feminine silhouette away and, for all we know, all the recruits are men. I remove the glasses from my back pocket and hand them to her. 'The pièce de résistance. Try these on.'

Selene's mouth hangs open as she places them in front of her eyes. 'Whoah.'

'What?' Henry asks.

'Heat sensitive,' I say. 'She'll be able to detect people coming. It's how the policeman knew when she was trying to leave your house earlier.'

Henry digests the information. 'And how he found Charlie.'

'No wonder they did this at night,' Selene says. She takes off the helmet. 'You're resourceful.'

'If you think that was enough,' I say. I pass her one of the guns that is tucked into my belt. 'Use it wisely.'

Henry panics. 'Or not at all.'

Selene grips it and slides it into a buckle as if it was an extension of her that she innately knows how to operate. 'Thanks, both of you.'

'One more thing,' I say. 'At five o'clock something is going to happen. I don't know what but it's going to be at the Fence. If you're not in your house...'

Henry interrupts. 'Which is where you will be.'

I ignore him. 'If you're not in your house I'd head there.'

Selene thanks me again then hugs Henry. 'I appreciate all of this but I still don't know how to leave safely. The policeman will see me.'

'All part of my master plan.' Actually this last part I only worked out whilst undressing Jason. 'It's coming up to midnight. We're almost halfway through this night. Wait for my signal. Let's agree to try this when the clock strikes the hour as I should be ready by then.' I turn away, knowing it could be the last time I speak to Selene. I should apologise for all the petty squabbles we've endured but we're past that.

With a graceful vault, I'm over the fence and back in my house. Ronan is asleep on my mother's lap. My father finally asks me what I've been doing but I ignore him. I go to the porch and uncover my bag from the bottom of the pile where I hid it earlier this afternoon. I almost blush at the thought of what's inside. I am meant to be the sensible one rather than swapping a prized possession for the contents on the off-chance the Surge brought good news to us.

I pull out three fireworks I'd traded my necklace for earlier. I had to beg the stall owner to swap them, and even had to give him my money too so that I went without lunch. The announcement was supposed to be the big one, the one to save us. It's almost pathetic that I bought fireworks but I did it for Ronan. He's never seen them and I thought we might have cause for celebration. I guess I was more hopeful than I cared to let on.

The stall worker traded three different sorts: a Catherine Wheel, a Big Dipper and something named The Extreme, but he couldn't tell me what any of them did. All he warned me was to prop them upwards, light them and wait for the explosion in the sky, oh, and to stand back.

But the fireworks are no longer for celebrating. They're a symbol of fighting this night, a sign of resistance of the Upperlands' decree. No longer frivolous, the fireworks will serve a purpose.

I sneak my bag upstairs and enter my room; my parents' room would've been preferable for what I have planned but I don't want to see my grandparents and their deaths that I permitted in my own house. As far as I'm aware, my parents haven't discovered the bodies. I need to focus on the task at hand and the vantage point my front window, although smaller, will suffice.

I crack open the window that looks out to the front of the empty street. I can't see anyone on patrol but that doesn't mean they can't see me through their sunglasses and wouldn't arrive in an instant. Only then do I marvel that the Upperlanders have this technology at all. They have resources and time and space to develop advanced gear and I lean my forehead against the window and sigh; the Upperlanders have more than we could ever imagine.

I shake myself out of my misery. If my plan works, it may be the only way that Selene can leave the house undetected.

I set the first firework on the windowsill, propping it so that it faces a car in front of a few houses farther along the street, far away so it won't draw attention to Selene's escape. The firework consists of a rectangular box with a pointed head and a wire that leads from the other end. I've never seen one in action but I know the basics: point and shoot, soar and explode.

I light the Big Dipper with a match that I took from the kitchen. The flame burns up the wire and only when it nears the end do I remember the man's instructions to stand back because they can be temperamental, although I ignore his other advice of not setting them off indoors. I race backwards and trip over my bed. I hope Selene is ready.

The fire sizzles as it eats up into the box and then...

Nothing happens.

I give it a few seconds but I know in my heart it is a dud. I curse the man but I am the idiot for trusting him. I didn't know fireworks had an expiration date or maybe the fuse is too wet. I suppose everything in this world is damp and that can't be a good thing for something that relies on heat so I put its failure down to another side effect of the tide. The seller could have been more honest but I'm the fool because everyone in the market is desperate enough to deceive anyone to get ahead. I wonder how he and his family have fared tonight.

I throw the piece of junk to the side and set up the Catherine Wheel. This is different to the others but I don't want to light The Extreme if I can help it, based on the name alone, and know it will be my last resort. This one is round with different tips but they all face the same direction so I prop it in place of the Big Dipper. My hand trembles as I light the fuse. This wire is much shorter, splitting off to each nib, but this time I am prepared instinctively and move a few steps back.

The good news is the firework isn't a dud. The bad news is that it's doing something terrifying by spinning around and sending off mini flares into my room. Then the curtain catches on fire.

I run to the bathroom and dump a bucket into the bathtub of salty freezing water and return to extinguish the flame, which has shot up the fabric but not enough to get out of hand and I manage to prevent my house burning down. The whole purpose of this is to create a diversion for Selene but I'm not sure setting my own house on fire is the smartest move. I hope no policeman saw the burst of red through their glasses. The smoke clears and I know that I'm running out of time and options. I look down and, even with the fire, there are no police on the street but I'm sure they won't be far away. If the final attempt fails then Selene will have to leave on her own accord and hope luck is on her side.

I position The Extreme towards the car and light the wire. This time the firework whistles and explodes with an almighty roar as it jets off away from my house at speed. However, the force shunts it sideways and the firework slams through the window of the next car along to my target, too close to our houses than I would have preferred, but I am relieved that it hit a car and not a house because the repercussions would have been beyond awful.

I stare at the car, willing something to happen, and hope Henry and Selene didn't think this was my signal. 'Give it a second,' I say to myself, and hold my breath. Then I think that maybe this is all the firework does and Selene should attempt to leave before the police arrive from the sound of the explosion. Finally, a bright light emanates from inside the car, which turns into a mini fire and, quicker than I predicted, goes up in flames. Soon there is a bonfire in the middle of the road. Fortunately, if there is such a thing as fortune tonight, the wind is weak and the fire doesn't spread to the nearby houses.

As I expected, a policeman races towards the car, followed by a second, then a couple more. I don't know if the man who murdered Jason is amongst them. They stare at the car and, as I hoped, they have to remove their glasses as the glare is too strong. I look down towards Henry's driveway and realise I'm still holding my breath.

Selene

It's almost midnight and I stare out of the front window alongside Henry and his parents, waiting for Theia's signal. It's been too long and I consider that I will have to leave if nothing happens soon.

Out of nowhere there is a tremendous noise and something shoots across the road but it is too fast to make it out. The object crashes into a car to the right and I have no time to make sense of what Theia has done but I know this is the signal and I put the helmet over my head.

'That was it?' says Henry. The sound echoes inside the headgear.

He's right. The explosion only draws attention to the road rather than acting as a distraction but I slip the glasses on all the same and look at the people next to me. The Argents are all shades of red, deeper hues around the head, chest and joints. Then I turn my attention to the street and notice a speck of red inside the car. It takes some time but the colour spreads, until the entire car is ablaze and I have to look away. Whatever Theia did caused a fire.

'She did it,' I say. I turn to Henry and his parents. 'Take care, all of you.' I can't say any more or I'll falter.

I watch as four policeman arrive and they shield their eyes from the fire. I count to ten and no one else arrives so I leave the house and pull the door shut behind me as silently as possible, despite the sound of snapping metal masking the noise.

I slink down the path, away from the fire, past Henry's gate and onto the street. I keep the sunglasses on to protect my identity even though the fire makes the whole world a bright red that hurts my eyes. I daren't look back towards Henry but I see figures staring onto the street from windows along the opposite row of houses. Most homes contain more than one person and it encourages me that the majority have not yet given up hope.

One of the policemen screams aimlessly. 'Stay in your houses.' He doesn't notice me escaping, even though I'm not sure if escaping is actually what I'm doing; if he does see me he must assume I'm like him.

I should press on but I allow myself to turn towards Theia's window. I catch her staring back at me and I nod towards her before walking away. I smile at the thought that earlier our positions were reversed and that things have a funny way of turning out, and who knows what the rest of the night will hold now that I'm in the open.

That thought doesn't last long; when I think I have reached a safe distance and the world is mostly black once more, a guard appears, hurrying towards me, and I am sure I have been caught out already. I force my legs to walk at a relaxed pace even though my body has clenched up but he ignores me as he runs past, towards the fire.

I walk on, away from the fire, but I still don't know where I'm headed.

My body feels warm inside the uniform and I surprise myself by just how comforted I am by the weight of the gun attached to my side. Then I notice a digital watch face built into the sleeve of the suit and read the time.

At the stroke of midnight, with exactly half of my remaining hours down until the Upperlands' deadline, I walk away from the fire and into the unknown.

12 A.M. – 1 A.M.

Theia

I watch until Selene is out of sight and breathe a sigh of relief that my plan worked. I train my eyes on the guards who tend to the fire and, despite their menacing appearance, they are just young men who took the opportunity to save their families. At least most of them must be. At least I hope so or it is not just the Upperlanders who have betrayed us.

The policemen have no idea how to extinguish the flames but do the sensible thing of using group strength to move the surrounding cars away; a fire spreading through the neighbourhood would solve one problem of taking us all out but could cause a lot more hassle for them in the long run. For starters, their glasses would become redundant under the glare. Also, in the havoc people might be inclined to run, they only don't now because they aren't prepared and have no camouflage. Unlike Selene. But where would they run to? At least Selene has a destination.

The police needn't have bothered moving the other vehicles away as the car is reduced to a shell with little burnable material left and the flame dies down on its own. I absentmindedly stare at the mass of policemen but I don't recognise any of them. I'm certain the cruel recruit isn't there or he'd be enjoying himself too much, threatening any onlookers, looking for the culprit, itching for retaliation.

The Middlelanders looking out along the street accept that they missed their window of opportunity to escape and return deeper into their humdrum houses. The police disperse and I'm let off the hook with no attempts to suspect which of us started the fire and how. I join my parents and Ronan, who is now awake, at the front window but they don't hear me approach until I begin to explain.

'It was a firework. I was going to set it off later tonight.' I say this with some admittance of guilt but more so to let them know I'm actually doing something rather than share their passivity.

My father is incredulous. 'You started the fire?'

'Why?' my mother asks.

'Selene was at Henry's. She needed an opportunity to leave. It's midnight. We have five hours left.'

'How did you know that?' my mother asks, ignoring my warning.

'I was over there.' My parents' confusion is impressive, even for them. 'I've been pretty busy.'

'Theia, it's too dangerous to be skipping fences. What if they spotted you?'

'It's too dangerous to leave, it's too dangerous to stay, thanks for reminding me. Before this you didn't seem to mind where I was. What were you going to do? Wait until the problem is out of your hands? Let the police sort it? At least grandpa showed courage.' I instantly regret my slip-up.

'Theia?' My mother deserves an explanation.

'They took pills. They're dead.'

'How could you?'

'How could I what? Let them? Not tell you? Sit outside the door whilst they died?'

Ronan doesn't understand the argument but he's groggy and cries at the accusatory tone in our voices. His way of coping is to turn back to the window and watch the remnants of the fire. He's hypnotised by this novelty. In a world made of water, it's quite a contrast.

The doctor in my mother emerges as she does the mental arithmetic. 'When?'

'About two hours ago.'

I see her work through the timing but her face can't hide that she's already too late.

'They didn't want you to stop them,' I say. My mother has never looked more disappointed in me, as if I was the one to bring death into the house, forgetting that I am the one trying to prevent it. My only regret is that she didn't get to say goodbye to them. Despite our argument I'd be devastated to learn of my parents' death this way.

'Henry is going to be Rehoused,' I say, changing the subject. 'His parents are sacrificing themselves.'

'As we are for you,' my father says.

'And Ronan?'

'He will stay here with us,' my mother says.

'As if you care about this family.' I gather from her confused expression that she isn't aware I know her secret.

'That's enough Theia,' my father says.

Ronan can't take it anymore and buries himself into my body, finding solace only when we stop arguing. Maybe he understands more than he lets on about what my parents are suggesting happens to him because it is me who chooses. I hold his head close to my chest, and he wraps his arms around my leg. 'He must be exhausted,' I say. 'Ro, do you want to sleep? Grandma and grandpa are in mum and dad's room and Leda is in your room so do you want to sleep in my bed?'

He nods amidst the sniffles. I lead Ronan upstairs with no protestations or snide comments from my parents. I look back and catch my mother's heartbroken gaze and this reminds me that I have been unfair on her. Her parents have ended their lives, she has to choose one of her two children and the third cannot be saved. Moreover, the one she is set on keeping alive has accused her of not caring.

'Is it a pirate ship?' Ronan asks as we turn into my bedroom.

'Sure thing Ro.' Our make-believe worlds tend to revolve around water. Pirate ships, mermaids, submarines. I guess it unconsciously came from preparing Ronan for the drowning world.

His face lights up, already over his crying fit. He jumps on my bed. 'I'm the captain.'

'You sure are but even a captain needs his sleep.' He bounces a few more times but doesn't need another warning as he is drained and happily drops to the mattress. I pull the sheet over him and his eyes droop.

'Theia.'

'Yeah Ro?'

'Why is everyone arguing?'

'We disagree about something. It's not important.'

'Oh.'

'There is one thing we agree about though.'

'What's that?'

'We all love you more than anything.'

Ronan's eyes are closed and he's still so I don't know if he heard me. I sit on the side of the bed and watch him for a while. I wish I was tired and could fall asleep. No, that would achieve nothing. My mind continues to race. I need to work out what to do next.

Selene

The world feels quieter than usual. No one roams the streets, and I mean no one. Since walking away from the fire I haven't seen another policeman. I use the heat sensitive glasses as a precaution before turning down new roads but I see no one except families in their homes. The fire must have drawn quite a crowd of guards. Was I just unlucky that the police chose Henry's street to monitor? I shake my head clear of this thought; the danger isn't the policemen outside. My mother will be my biggest threat. My heart pounds.

My forehead sweats under the solid helmet but it is better to perspire than be detected. Theia risked her life to give me a chance and I owe it to her to stay alive. I don't know how she started the fire but it was genius. I wish I could return the favour. I didn't even ask if I could help, I just took what she offered. I'm not embarrassed to admit that I was impressed with how her plan came together. I don't want to think about where she obtained the uniform.

Trees block the sky. The eerie glow of the streetlamps weighs down on me and gives the illusion that I have endless spotlights trained on me, as if I am being monitored. It can't be paranoia when there's a real possibility I will be caught at any moment.

I pick up the pace. I know these streets blind; I traverse the route between my house and Henry's on a daily basis but never at night due to the threat of the homeless and I am thrown off by the shadows and occasional gunshots. I had no idea there were so many guns in the neighbourhood. I wonder what prompts each shot, whether in defence or on the attack. Apart from screams, gunshots are the only announcement of death. But there must be many more silent modes of killing that I am unaware of. I wonder how close I walk to murder and suicide.

It is not just the police who are absent but so too is the usual shuffling of the homeless. Maybe they received their own announcement. Or perhaps the police had free reign to do with them as they pleased. Whatever the reason, it works in my favour.

I almost miss the narrow turning that cuts off a chunk of the route and leads directly to my street. During the day the path is shaded but tonight it is unlit and each jutted opening of garden gates along the way holds the threat of something lurking, waiting to pounce. It's only when I look at my hands and will them to stop shaking do I remember that I am the one in the uniform and it is others who have reason to be scared of me, not the other way around. I contemplate whether this is the reason for many people when they are violent; it's less threatening to be the person hitting than the person hit. It's a superior position to take, whether it makes you feel better later on or not. I don't know if that explains my mother's actions but I can't see how violence won't play a part when she sees me and it makes me once more doubt my decision to return home.

Yet autopilot kicks in and my legs march on towards my house. There might be police nearby so I might not have the chance to enter. And if I do? I work through what I'm going to say to her but come up empty.

Theia

'You've always been good with him.'

My mother stands in the doorway to my room but I don't turn towards her.

'He's my brother.'

'Sometimes I regret not being around more. In many ways, you were more his mother than I was. For Leda too.'

'You were saving lives. I did what I had to.'

My mother joins me and sits on the other side of the bed. 'When did you become so brave?' she asks. I take her questions as rhetorical and don't respond. She wipes a bunch of hair from Ronan's forehead and sweeps it to the side, which reminds me of how I left Jason and I shudder that, if it was left up to my parents, Ronan could soon face a similar fate. He doesn't budge from her touch but he is lightly breathing so I tell myself not to raise my voice.

'Theia, what you said downstairs.'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

She ignores me. 'What did you mean when you said I don't care about this family?'

'It was stupid. I was angry.'

My mother reaches over and lifts my chin up so that we are eye to eye. 'Whatever you think you know remember that I love you more than anything else. You should not question my loyalty.'

I assume that she knows I have learnt her secret but there's nothing else to say about it other than to argue. Instead, I revert to a more practical topic. 'What are we going to do? We're running out of time.'

'I don't know. I'm not in the business of ending lives.' For the first time tonight I respect my mother for her honesty. Just because she's older why should she have any more of a clue about how to proceed?

'I think we should talk about it,' I say. 'You, dad and me.'

'Maybe I can explain to the police officers tomorrow morning that I have several children. They may take pity on us,' she says, naively. 'Maybe the announcement forgot to mention that.'

She's clutching at straws. She needs to accept what's happening. 'Go to my back window,' I say. It comes out as a barking order.

My mother walks to the window looking onto Henry's house. I direct her to the other window and join her. The dead family are in clear view and the surviving girl is back in the room staring at the disarray. My mother's eyes glaze over. But it's not like she hasn't seen dead bodies before.

'Look,' I instruct. Like splashing cold water on your face in the morning, seeing the murder scene of a family not dissimilar from ours is a wake-up call. 'Do you know them?' I ask.

'I knew the mother. The girls are twins.'

I correct her. 'Were twins.'

'What happened?' she asks.

'The same that is happening in every house. People are turning on each other. What other option is there?'

My mother returns to the bed and sits so that I tower over here. She speaks softly. 'I can't believe it.'

'Start believing it. Unless you want us to go that way, we need to come up with a decision. One that we all agree with.'

'Theia, I think you need to leave this to your father and me to work out.'

'No. I don't trust you.'

'You don't trust me or both of us?'

'We're running out of time. I cannot emphasise this enough.'

'Whatever you're angry about with me you have to trust me that I have yours, Ronan and Leda's best interests at heart. It's not fair to punish me. I didn't ask for this.'

'You'll wake Ronan.'

My mother takes the hint and goes to leave the room. She stops at the door. 'Ok. Come down when you're ready to talk.'

I turn to her, staggered by her hypocrisy. 'When I'm ready? I can't...' I'm looking for a fight but she has already left.

I want to believe my mother but I can't shake her conversation with Dr Jefferson. By the end of this evening there will likely be no couple in the Middlelands left together, with the possible exception of my mother and the doctor. It would be a unique relationship. I wonder how they'd live with themselves.

Selene

I arrive at the top of my road and don't detect any police. I am versed in my neighbours' lives, less out of genuine interest and more as a way to distance myself from my own unpleasant household. I look through the glasses around the street that I have always detested and see few signs of life in the nearby houses. It is as if the vitriol from my house has dispersed and brought more violence upon this street compared to any other. Most of the red figures are lonesome. Their threat is over. I can't see inside my house from here.

The heavy uniform slows my pace and, under the difficulty of navigating the gloomy streets, it has taken me a while to arrive but, even still, it was not long enough.

I stand outside my house and the dread I always feel upon entering fills up inside me. It's impossible to work out if I am safer in my house or outside it. There is no patrol here but I notice a woman from two houses along glance through her curtain at me and draw it when I stare back. If only she knew the truth.

An overgrown thicket blocks the view into my living room. My mother's inability to tend for any living thing is clouded by everyone else's apathy at gardening. It's one more misconstruction that serves to mask her true persona.

She has left the curtains open. I shift my position until I can see into the room.

My mother is slumped on the couch and my heart beats fast at the sight of her. She might be dead. I do something risky by walking up the path for a closer look until my nose is a hair's breadth in front of the window. If she's not dead but spots me it could give her a shock. If a policeman spots me I could suffer more than that.

At first my mother appears to be motionless but I hold my breath for a few seconds and notice a gentle rise and fall around her stomach. With her eyes closed and her hair swept away from her face she even looks peaceful. Her spiteful aggression towards me flashes across my mind. Still, to anyone seeing her for the first time, she looks innocent.

But I know that innocence is far from the truth. I think of all the accusations and hatred and force she has thrown my way. Blaming me for my father leaving us, telling me I have ruined her life, showing me I am worthless.

Despite this, she really does look innocent. Like one of Henry's childhood storybooks about a sleeping princess waiting for someone to rescue her from her eternal torment. Yes, innocent. Harmless. Peaceful.

Undefended. Her guard is down, as if someone could sneak up and end her life.

Theia

The door to my parents' bedroom is ajar. I figure my mother checked on her parents and the absence of commotion suggests she found them in an irreversible state. I don't want to see them but can't help but consider that of all the ways to die tonight my grandparents had it pretty good. Maybe after seeing all the victims it would be good to see the deceased who took control and ended their lives on their terms. Together and comforted. No betrayal. No pain. In the absence of living, it's not a bad way to die.

The light is on from behind the closed door to the bathroom. I grow suspicious and tiptoe to the door and listen in. Sure enough, my mother speaks to Dr Jefferson. His voice is shrouded in static but most of his words are audible. 'All the patients are dead. Most of the faculty has been taken care of. The nurse with attitude is going strong but I'm loaded with weapons. I think I can do this.'

My mother doesn't reply.

'Penny?'

A pause. 'Yes. I'm here. I'm worried for you.'

'I'll be fine. But I should go now. I don't want to reveal my hiding place. I figure I should wait until the others tire themselves out.' Dr Jefferson's tone makes him sound like he's embroiled in a harmless game of tag. A game that he is enjoying. It disgusts me further when I consider my mother is attracted to him.

'Penny?'

'I'm sorry. The connection's bad. You should go.'

'What's happening there?'

'My parents are dead.'

'Good,' he quips back. Good? Again, she's attracted to him?

But I realise tonight is a numbers game and we all need to die for my mother to survive. Dr Jefferson shows no compassion towards her family, which is a strange attribute for his line of work or his apparent ability to impress her. Honest and blunt, yes, but this uncharitable trait is anything but charming. Maybe this is what it takes to survive: self-preservation for the new world. Perhaps Dr Jefferson is the most realistic person out of all of us.

'The kids?'

'Adam.' My mother doesn't say anything else.

'Do what you have to. Someone's coming.'

I hear a distant scream or maybe it's the screech of a weapon or something equally horrendous an my imagination runs wild. My mother evidently can't bear to listen in as the static clicks off. I head downstairs before she detects me. Her earlier words to me hang in the air. I have your best interests at heart.

I wish I could believe her.

Henry

Three of us remain: my father, my mother and me, and we are back to where tonight should have started but no further than that. If the evening follows my parents' plan, soon only I will be alive.

Once Selene is out of sight I head to the bathroom and urinate. I flush the toilet and sit on the lid. I'm not ready to continue the discussion my parents thrust on me from before. I don't want to be left alone and I don't want my parents to die to make this happen. I came into this world a mistake and have complicated it further for my parents. I wonder if they regret my existence more tonight than at any other time. If I had never been born would it be my father to survive, the physically stronger of the two, or my mother, the more self-sufficient? Or would it be neither?

I look around the bathroom at the scraps of products. I could probably end my life in here with a poisonous concoction. I tell myself that I couldn't do this for the sake of the distress it would cause my parents but that argument is only to hide that I wouldn't attempt suicide tonight because I am a coward.

My mind is full of questions no one should have to dwell on but I am left with the only conclusion: I will be forced to decide the manner of my parents' deaths.

Selene

I watch my mother sleep, angry with her ability to rest when I could be in danger. It doesn't bode well for the odds of her welcoming me with open wide arms. I'm convinced she wouldn't give up her life to save mine but this is unfair and I know my judgement is skewed.

I could enter the house and settle my apprehension but any plans are put on hold at the noise of approaching footsteps. I spin around and, after fumbling with the glasses, see a red figure draw near. I drop behind the bush and hold my breath but I realise my mistake that the plants won't deter the guard's heat sensitive glasses – if I can see the policeman through the bramble then there is no reason he can't see me – so I stand up and reach for my gun.

'Hello?' a young, nervous voice whispers.

I rise to full height, keeping the gun by my side, which is hidden behind the mass of shrubbery but ready to be used if I am forced to.

He must be overheating as he carries his helmet by his side. The policeman is no older than a teenager. I don't recognise him. His rests his glasses on the top of his head.

Intuition tells me he is terrified and has no maliciousness within him. I could break my cover that I am female by speaking but instead I nod and he composes himself and returns the gesture. He doesn't look sadistic, not like the other policeman. He can see that I am not willing to talk and so he walks away. I watch him until he is out of sight before removing my own glasses.

I was lucky this time. Whatever I decide, I need to do it now.

Theia

My father waits at the bottom of the stairs. 'Everything ok with Ronan?'

'Yeah, he was exhausted.'

'And your mother?'

I lie. 'With grandma and grandpa.'

I stop on a step a few away from the bottom so that we are at eye level. When I was smaller, I used to hop on his shoulders from this height and go on rides.

'I'm sorry Theia.'

'This isn't your fault?'

'For not listening. We should've thought about this earlier. What do you want to happen?'

'I don't want to do this.' I know this conversation is fruitless. That my father finally wants to discuss it proves he's still in denial that Ronan should be saved.

'You told me to open my eyes. Now you want to shy away from the truth?'

'No, I don't. I never did. What I don't want to do is give up.'

'This isn't giving up Theia. This is acknowledging that the end of the line is in sight for all but one of us. I am making amends for ignoring that. I'm making amends for all these years that I've given up.'

His slump into depression is something I no longer feel anger about, or at least I don't blame him for. Disengagement with the world and the people you care about is a more complicated matter than simply failing to care about it. But I equally don't want to pander to his pithy apology now.

I try to walk past my father but he puts his hands out to stop me, at first creating a barrier. 'We need to talk about this.'

As I struggle to get past he becomes more forceful and grabs my wrists. 'Let go of me,' I say. I try to remain stoic but I whimper at the pain. I shake him off but he just holds on tighter.

'We need to talk about this,' he repeats.

'Richard?' My mother is at the top of the stairwell, too shocked to say or do anything else.

Appreciating that he is hurting me, my father lets go and doesn't follow me as I walk away.

Henry

I mull over Selene's departure. I'm happy for her but can't accept that she isn't going to return. My thoughts of what will happen to her are interrupted by a knock on the door.

'Wait a second.' I unlock the door and am stunned by who it is.

'Hey,' says Theia.

'You're back.' She rubs her wrists. 'Are you ok?'

'Not really.'

It is second nature for us to go to my room when we want to leave the world behind. 'Selene really loved this room,' I say.

'She's a fighter.'

'I know.' I guess she must have arrived home by now. I can't imagine what happens next for her.

Theia walks to my back window and stares out to the night sky. 'Did you see the girl?'

I join her. 'The one who killed her family?'

'No. There.'

She points to window in the next house along. My eyesight isn't as good as Theia's but I recognise her. It brings back a horrible memory from a few years ago. 'That's Melissa Wren.'

Theia looks shocked. 'Oh my god, that's Melissa?' She scrunches her eyes. 'Her hair's dark. But she's blonde?'

'It's definitely her. You remember her from that day, don't you?'

Theia continues to stare at Melissa. 'Of course I do. She's being Rehoused. Her parents are...' She backtracks. 'I can't see them.'

I look around the house. Most of the lights are on but only Melissa is visible. She holds up a sign. Always looking for danger, you two. Hi Henry. I guess she remembers us too.

Theia writes a note from my stash of paper. We're fine. Just need some time to think. She holds it up to the girl.

'You've been communicating?'

'You were busy with Selene. I guess Melissa can't help us this time.' Theia walks away from the window in a hypnotic state. She sits on the end of my bed and I perch on my desk.

'You're being Rehoused,' Theia says.

I don't react.

'Guess you feel overjoyed.'

'Over the moon.'

'What would you rather happen?' Theia waits for an answer, as if I have something insightful to offer.

'None of this.'

'My mother is having an affair.'

Her announcement catches me off-guard. I'm too stunned to reply.

'With Dr Jefferson,' she continues. 'I heard them on the walkie-talkie. He's in the hospital. He wants her to survive.'

The world has always been a dire place but at least I knew where I stood in it. Now it is too complicated for me to comprehend. Selene's mother has never hurt her beyond repair but only because it was illegal. Whilst I can imagine Selene's mother acting out of self-interest I never saw that from Theia's mother. With Theia's announcement I'm not sure that's true anymore. I try to reassure Theia by fobbing it off. 'She wouldn't do that.'

'Do what? Have an affair or kill us?'

'Does she know you know?'

'I think so. I think she wants to be with him.'

'She'd die for you Theia.'

'Only if he was dead first.'

'You don't really think that's true? I don't think you have to worry.'

Theia jumps up. 'I don't have to worry? Are you for real? You're sorted so you wouldn't understand. I sent Selene on her way so she'll be fine too.' She laughs. 'I don't have to worry? I have Ronan and Leda to worry about.'

'Theia...'

'No you're right. It's fine. I shouldn't bother you again. I'll just figure this out myself. Thanks for your help.'

'Where has this come from?'

'I don't know? Maybe the announcement that said all of my family but one must die?'

'Let's work this through.'

'Don't tell me to calm down.'

'I didn't? I think you're stressed and...'

'Oh so you think I'm stressed,' Theia shouts. 'What an insight.' She storms out of the room.

Of course I said the wrong thing by dismissing her fears. I'm too disheartened by the truth that there is nothing to offer her to run after her. There's nothing I could say to make things better. Theia's right, her situation is dire. The most disconcerting thing is that Theia never loses her temper. She's always the rational one. I've never seen her blow up like this. I wish I could do something but I can't.

I decide the best thing right now is to give her some space. I'll either write her a message or hop the fence in an hour or so when I come up with something to say that can help. Finding a solution for her will at least distract me from my own problems.

Selene

With the policeman gone I return to watch my mother, who stirs on the sofa. She rubs her eyes, as if she's waking to a world that she has been absent from for too long and all the rules have changed. That's actually a pretty accurate description. In her vulnerable state, she looks beautiful. I've never caught her unaware, when she hasn't worn a snarl.

She looks at her watch then looks towards the door to the living room. She calls something and I lip read. Selene.

The scene plays out in my head: I enter the house. For a moment she shows concern then she embraces me and cries tears of relief.

No. I enter the house and tensions grow and she pulls a weapon on me.

I can't take the risk. If I leave now my lasting memory of my mother will be a pleasant one. She called my name. I can leave here, imagining that she wanted me to return home. I don't have to experience the nasty aftermath that is sure to follow.

I could reveal myself to her, to let her know I'm safe but I make my decision; the way to ensure her own safety is to keep my distance. With my mind made up I feel a change within me. I no longer feel angry about all the years of abuse because that is behind us. I have allowed myself to be set free. She owes me no apology or explanation and I don't need to offer her any forgiveness. I am now responsible for myself.

If I allow my mother to be Rehoused then we no longer owe each other anything.

So I do what is best for both of us and, before she sees me, I walk away but this time it is directionless.

Theia

I've shouted too many times tonight at Henry but his words infuriated me. I wanted to vent at him, just to have him listen. I knew there was nothing he could say to help but instead of sitting with the unbearable reality of tonight he pawned me off with nonsense. He can't understand my situation. Neither can Melissa.

My pen pal is Melissa. I can't believe I didn't recognise her. I had no idea she lived so close to me. I haven't spoken to her since the day at the coast but she promised us to never discuss it and for all I know she has kept her word and told no one what happened.

I saw Henry's parents earlier tonight whilst I waited for Selene to come downstairs but I storm past them without offering niceties. I realise my mistake. I shouldn't be here, corrupting their final moments together with their son. I'm a jerk. Henry's going to lose his parents. I can't believe I shouted at him. I should go back up and apologise but stubbornness takes hold.

I walk outside and approach the connecting fence but I don't want to return to my house. I'll have to face my father and continue the conversation or the fight. Neither sounds like a great option in my current mood but I have nowhere else to go. Selene took the only means with which to escape.

The unexplained whirring in the distance grows in volume but I ignore it. It's been present intermittently for most of this evening but is now louder than ever. I reach for the top of the wooden fence and push one foot against a horizontal plank to lever myself up and over. The mechanical noise hits an all-time high and a bright light swings towards my direction until it highlights my whole body. With the worst timing I work out what the noise is, as something I thought belonged to the past.

I've never seen this contraption before except for in books and that one time watching a war film on the day the Fence went up. Despite never seeing one in the flesh before, I recognise it immediately: a helicopter.

Something throttles past my face. And then a second burst scrapes my cheek. Bullets. I'm being shot at from up high.

I tumble and hit the ground on my house's side of the fence. I land on my wrist and cry out as pain shoots up my arm. Another bullet hurtles past me. Someone from the helicopter is trying to kill me.

Finally tonight, in a moment of terror, I'm able to fight the will to freeze on the spot, unlike in the Ethers' house. I slink as close to the ground as I can without putting pressure on my hand and hug tight to the wall until I scramble behind the tree.

The helicopter attempts to track me and the light covers the garden, moving up and down in straight lines, covering the vicinity. I was given forewarning that attempting to leave will result in death and I have broken a rule. I fear the police will be ordered to storm my house now, hours earlier than the deadline and kill us all. I have signed a death warrant for my entire family.

There might be a way to stop this from happening. I can reveal myself and save my family but I'm not really saving them all, I'm just giving them greater odds at surviving.

I don't want to be remembered as the girl who got herself killed by hopping fences. All I can think about are Henry and Melissa and anyone else watching. I'm embarrassed that this is my fate. Too many people have died because of me tonight. Mr Ethers. Jason. My grandparents. I consider that I even sent Selene to face her death.

But there's a chance I can stop it. I can reveal myself and have my life ended in the next few seconds. I've failed, causing my own life to be taken before I could save both Ronan and Leda. How many more people will be killed because of me?

A warning bullet hits the ground, near the centre of the garden and I know time is running out. The helicopter hovers directly overhead and the engine roars. The police must have been called by now. I can't believe the Upperlands have functioning helicopters and they're being used to monitor us. What else have they held back? How advanced is their society? I forget the slight possibility I may have had of ever finding out and brace myself for death.

I pull myself up but my legs feel weak. I'm not sure I can even walk to the centre of the garden but I'll be dead before I get that far.

I tear myself away from the shadow of the tree.

And then I see the figure walk out of my house. Her silhouette is radiant. She turns her head towards me. She doesn't manage a complete smile before a bullet smacks into her. Then a second. Cruelly, the bullets keep coming, slamming into her chest before she even hits the ground.

Satisfied with the onslaught, the helicopter hurtles off, leaving my garden to settle back into the dim light of the moon, exposing nothing but my dead mother.

1 A.M. – 2 A.M.

Theia

And me. Exposing nothing but my dead mother and me.

The silence following the helicopter's departure is filled by the reverberation of gunshots in my mind and then I am aware that the noise of screaming is coming from me, not trapped in my head. The raucous brings my father to the back door but loiters just inside the house, afraid to come any closer. On first glance, at the sight of me standing above my mother's corpse, it appears I have killed her. Indirectly, I suppose I have.

The woman whose job it was to save lives is no longer of help to anyone. My eyes focus on her corpse but she takes a deep breath. She is not yet dead and I freeze as I watch her eyes attempt to meet mine but give up and rest on a spot below my chin.

'Your necklace?' she mouths, confused and disappointed, then she becomes lifeless. These are her final words. She uses her dying breath to ponder the absence of the necklace she gave me.

I feel the void around my neck and remember that I traded the necklace for fireworks. My mother will never know this or how upset I was to leave the piece of jewellery at the market. I can never explain my reason to her, that I did it for Ronan and for us to all celebrate. My mother died thinking I'd given up on her. Aware of my father watching on, I want to scream again but I choke up.

My father is delayed in his reaction but then runs over and crouches by her side. It's a pointless endeavour but he feels for a pulse, then he attempts to breathe life into her. He has lived passively for most of my upbringing so it's surprising to see him act on passionate despair. Ironically, it has taken the threat of tonight, topped off by my mother's death, to bring him back to life.

He looks up at me with disappointment filling his eyes. 'What did you do?'

I stammer. 'Nothing.'

'She's dead.' His words aren't just full of disbelief but nasty. Venomous and accusing.

'They shot her from the sky.'

'Why?'

I realise that my father seeks to dredge up not what happened but why it happened. Regardless of who killed her he wants a motive. I muster the courage to admit what led up to it. 'I climbed over the wall. They thought she was me.'

In his hunched position, my father loses his balances and tips backwards. It is only a short way to the grass but his body, heavy with numbness, slams into the ground and the thud echoes against the brick walls around us. I figure that if people weren't watching before they definitely are now and I hate that we are the latest spectacle, perhaps the first of this new day. I'm embarrassed that I so freely watched the girl killing her family hours earlier. I don't know what to do but I force myself to stay facing away from Henry's house because what if he saw?

'She died to protect you,' my father says.

I've never heard a more loaded accusation than this and the guilt does a strange thing to me. Instead of an apology or despair or straightforward tears I spit back equally nasty words. 'She had nothing left to live for. She didn't love any of us.' My father is in front of my face before I take a breath but I carry on with my provocation. 'Maybe we're safer now she's dead.'

His open palm stings my cheek before I see it coming. My father has never deliberately hurt me until tonight when he grabbed my arms and now this. The slap shocks both of us. After hearing second-hand accounts of Selene's mother and her skewed understanding of discipline I never imagined my parents could allow themselves to do the same.

But I deserved the hit after what I said to instigate it. In a sense, the physical pain eases my mental anguish. As my father and I stare at each other, both clueless as to what to do next, I consider that whatever my mother had wanted to do, she died saving me.

I yearn to rewind the last five minutes and start over, for her not to come into the garden, for me to be under the helicopter's spotlight before my mother has time to sacrifice herself. No, earlier than that. If I hadn't argued with Henry I might have stayed in his bedroom a while longer and the helicopter would have passed overhead. Farther back in time, I should not have gone next door. But I did go, and wasn't that my father's fault? Shifting the blame around could continue back to the Upperlanders if my mind let it but stopping on my father as the culprit gives me the ammunition I need to attack him. 'I wouldn't have been outside if it wasn't for you. You know that's the truth. Go on, slap me again. Or punch me. Your choice.'

'Shut up,' he says, with a vociferous tone, unlike anything he has managed for years. He rubs his hand from where it must also sting. 'What did you mean that she had nothing left to live for?'

I begin to explain about Dr Jefferson but I force myself to stop. What good would it do? As I pant to catch my breath I work out what happened. Whilst I was next door she spoke to Dr Jefferson for a final time and heard him die or his murderer conveyed that information. With nothing to lose, my mother lost sight of her life and walked into the line of fire. I have my answer. She loved him more than us. Saving me was just a ruse.

I will never tell my father. He may have struggled to keep going with us through the past decade but he's never abandoned us. He deserves to think the best of his wife, which as a result means he has to think the worst of me. 'Nothing,' I say. 'I meant nothing.'

'Theia.' He knows there is more but I hold my ground. He glances at my cheek, which burns against the bitter air. I put my hand to it and wince more than it deserves. The pain in my wrist from falling over the fence is greater but I don't let him know that. I use the pretence of pain to walk towards the house, away from him, as if I am his victim, but stop when I see Ronan. My brother stands in devastated silence, tears streaming down his face and I hope he didn't misconstrue what happened, that I was not the murderer here. My father can hate me but I don't want Ronan to think badly of me.

I can't explain without bursting into tears about the final memories of my mother and brush past Ronan, leaving my father to pick up the pieces.

Henry

What just happened? I shielded my eyes from the helicopter's beam that flooded the room and my worst fear came true when I heard the shots. I couldn't make out anything from the window until the light settled once more on Theia's garden. The blasts buried deep into the grass until they locked onto a target whom appeared from nowhere. I cannot fool myself that she is alive as the helicopter moves off. I grip the windowsill to maintain my balance Theia ran from our fight into death.

I cry out but there is no one to hear me. My parents, as they have for the majority of the night, stay away from the edges of the house, deeming it the safest place, as if external influences are their biggest worry. As if the real danger won't likely come from within.

If I hadn't spent the earlier part of the evening retching up the little food I have eaten I would be sick again but I gag and nothing comes up. Then I see a second person reveal herself from behind the tree, a blind spot to the shooter in the sky. My eyes settle on her figure, her hair, her clothes and it is clearly Theia. My relief feels misguided when this means her mother is dead.

I watch on, not knowing what I'd do if Theia glanced back and caught me. It seems unfair to invade on her tragedy but I can't tear myself away. I don't hear their argument but Mr Silverdale hurries into the garden, bends down over his wife, then rises and slaps Theia's face before she has a chance to flinch. I don't condone his actions but he is looking for someone to blame. Theia may have drawn the helicopter's attention but he is wrong to accuse her; it is the Upperlands that are guilty.

There's nothing I can do to intervene that would help. I can shout at her father and threaten him with violence but then what? Staying in our houses was the rule and I'd only be putting myself at risk by communicating with them or going over there. He needs some time to process this. It's not for me to reprimand him. Or console him.

A horrible thought runs through my mind that at least this lowers the competition for Theia's survival by one person but I bat it away as quickly as it dawned on me.

I pick up the pen. It's safest to communicate with Theia this way. I'm in no rush so I'll wait here and Theia can respond when she's ready. The only problem is that I stare at the blank paper but I have no idea what to write.

Selene

I have to remind myself that, in this uniform, I am the apparent threat to the families I pass by but I keep slipping into the mind-set that I am a wild animal on the run from its hunter. I was fortunate the policeman outside my mother's house wanted no trouble but the next could be bad news and I have no desire to thrash it out. I just want to be left alone, which I suppose is what everyone would choose in hindsight between either the announcement or silence from the Upperlands. And then I remember that silence only means a slow drowning over the coming months.

My concern above any encounters is about where to go next. My mother will spend the rest of her life not knowing what became of me but her consolation is that she will live, having probably the easiest pathway to Rehousing of anyone tonight. I leave my street and turn towards the direction from which I came, purely out of habit for my usual route, but I can't return to Henry's house; it wouldn't solve anything and I'm not sure I could fight the temptation to work my way back inside. The Fence is likely teeming with guards, stopping any last-ditch attempts to scale it. I may return at sunrise but only out of curiosity about what will happen. There are a few communal buildings in the Middlelands that do not serve as housing. The hospital, but people are always there. The school, although I can't imagine that I will find anything of interest. I could hide there but the fractured memories of my childhood deter me.

I settle on the market. It may provide shelter but there should be some products worth ransacking. I have no qualms about stealing stock that have will be off bounds come morning. It's likely many of the stall owners are already dead.

I realise I have forgotten something obvious. As long as my gender doesn't betray me, this uniform will give me right of way into the Upperlands after the cull is finished. It's too risky to loiter at the Fence but if I can stay alive until morning that will be my best bet. I can figure out what to do after that once I'm inside. I reconsider my plan. The market is known for attracting the homeless at night whereas the school is locked up outside of its opening hours. It would be safer to hide there until morning.

I stick with my first instinct. I'm parched and more likely to find water at the market. It's not far from here. As for staying alive until morning, I'll have to see what the rest of the night holds.

Theia

I should end Leda's life now. I killed my grandparents and my mother and since Leda doesn't even have the chance to be Rehoused it seems the next logical step in my family's demise. It hits me that despite my attempts to save my family I'm the bringer of death, the one who has instigated every murder. I stand over my baby sister but, unlike my mother, she has not done anything wrong. I have a gun. My father couldn't stop me. But she's innocent even if there is no hope of rescue for her.

Leda will never have to experience this miserable world, or find out about the family that was taken from her during one twisted night. She'll never know that her sister, who pretended to love her more than anyone else, let her down the worst. Leda is peaceful and wide awake, as she always is whenever I approach. Our mother will never be the first person she sees upon waking and she'll never cradle her again at night.

'Oh baby, I'm sorry.' She'll never be held or comforted by my mother.

My mother died being neither held nor comforted.

Leda lifts a hand to signify she wants to be picked up. I rock her in my arms. I've never known a baby to cry less. She's unaware that she should be distraught and innocently gurgles something that amounts to contentment. I sway but more to comfort myself.

Ronan hurries into the room, taking up a position behind my leg, hiding himself away from the door. I nestle Leda in one arm and scoop the other around Ronan's shoulders. For as little space as the three of us now take up in the vast world, only one of us is allowed to be Rehoused. 'It's my fault, Ro. Be mad at me.'

He doesn't acknowledge me. 'Daddy hurt you. He hurt mummy too.'

I put Leda back on the bed and kneel so Ronan and I are the same height. 'No. Dad is upset. He didn't hurt anyone.'

My father enters the room and Ronan tenses. The remaining members of my family, four of the seven of us, are now in the same space and I can't guarantee our private dilemma won't be over imminently.

'Ronan. Don't be scared of me.' The damage has been done and nothing my father can say will affect Ronan's state. No six year old has the ability to reason these issues out.

'I'll sort it Dad,' I say, if only to disperse us into separate rooms and neuter the chance of more violence. 'Take Leda.'

Ronan whimpers as my father approaches. I hand my sister over. 'It's ok.'

'I'll be downstairs,' my father says. He leaves with Leda and I hope her smiling face will help with his loss. I'm pleased my father and I are civil for the sake of my siblings.

'I want to go to your room,' says Ronan. I try to walk him out of his bedroom but he clings to my leg so it is easier to pick him up and carry him. I sit him on the bed and crouch in front of him. 'Tell me what you think is happening tonight,' I ask, to gauge his understanding.

Ronan glances at the door, too distracted to answer me, as if terrified for anyone to approach. I suppose this answers my question. He has this night figured out. We can wait as long as we like to delay the inevitable but, eventually, families will be forced to turn on themselves.

Selene

I have a few speculations about the lack of policemen, which is not so much concerning as odd. Theia's distraction may have caused enough chaos to attract guards from all over but I don't see smoke from above the houses so doubt that is it. Perhaps Henry and Theia and everyone on their street were randomly allocated one of a handful of recruits, fewer than we were led to believe. Maybe areas of the Middlelands have overpowered the patrol but that can't be right or I'd surely hear about it. Or maybe I have been looking at this from the wrong point of view. It's not just us who are fearful but the police may also want nothing to do with the killings and are in hiding, keeping themselves away from confrontation until dawn breaks through. The policeman outside Henry's house could be the anomaly whilst the man outside my mother's could better reflect the others. Maybe they too are hiding, avoiding any clashes. Whatever the reason for the absence on the streets, and as much as surges of hope rise inside me albeit briefly, it doesn't matter because the deadline looms with or without the patrol. So for now the lack of passers-by is short term relief.

The presence of light from the streetlamps overhead is misleading. The night is at its darkest but it doesn't appear to be that way, at least not for every few paces. But it is freezing out and even with the full-body uniform I have to trot every few minutes to keep myself from shivering.

I reach the market, congratulating myself on achieving one more goal before dying. If I pace myself like this, focusing only on what is immediately in front of me and within my control, I may have a better prospect of making it to morning than dropping my defences and thinking too far ahead. The glasses suggest the area in front of the market is clear. A few faint patches around the west entrance indicate small fires that have burnt out. It's unlikely the homeless had anything but scraps to eat so they were probably made for warmth. Whoever lit them is long gone.

I approach one of the piles of ash and I see bones. And feathers. I underestimated the homeless. I don't know how they caught birds but desperation has resulted in resourcefulness. I wonder if this has been a long-standing habit but I have never heard of it, which doesn't mean much as I closed my eyes to the homeless problem as instructed by those in the Middlelands many years ago.

The market entrance is wide open, which it shouldn't be. At night the converted factory is locked up. At least it used to be. The building only has small windows, circling the tops of the walls so visibility inside is low even during the day. It makes unattractive-looking fish passable. Inside are makeshift walls dividing off areas for different goods: fish and shellfish and any other protein sourced from the sea, vegetables, clothes, kitchen goods and other miscellany, and finally toys. Regardless, the whole place smells rotten. There is little hygiene here; my stomach may have adjusted to the substandard food we rely on but my nose still turns at the smell of days-old guts.

There is a simple ethos to trading implemented across the market: bargain all you want but the stall owner has the final say and the final price is not going to be far off what they started at. It works out to be pretty fair because no market worker has a monopoly and is also a customer to the other stalls like the rest of us.

I have never heard of a homeless person breaking in. They only huddle near the outer walls for protection from the elements. There's not much here for them but, apart from the Fence, it seems to be a popular spot in which to camp. No one is in charge but security rotas keep the place secure. In exchange for the homeless people's compliance, off-cuts and unsellable items are left in a far corner of the compound as freebies.

I debate whether to go inside. Since it's warmer from the trapped air and should help bring up my body temperature my mind is made up for me. I use the heat sensitive glasses. I can't be sure due to the corrugated dividers but it looks safe to enter.

It's much darker in here than outside as the windows do little to let the sun and moon in and there has been no electricity for lighting since before I can remember. I leave the glasses on but the trade-off for seeing any living object is that I bump into stalls and piles of tat repeatedly. Even with the floors scrubbed with seawater each evening the smell of decomposing fish is overwhelming. There is little wind travelling through and the stench wafts around me.

I take baby steps, with my hands outstretched, feeling for any collisions. I look behind, with my glasses raised, but the door is out of sight and I am in pitch black. All I hear are my own footsteps and deep breathing and I've never been more scared. The darkness disorientates me and I feel some fabric that I work out to be clothing, which tells me I have already travelled far into the market and navigating my way out could be a problem. In the absence of light I can't remember why I was determined to come here. Oh yeah, water.

My thirst has to wait as I hear a scuttle. I freeze. I hear it again, somewhere to my right. Not my footsteps. More than one new set. I shouldn't be the one who is afraid; I have the uniform on that indicates I am the person who should be out of harm's way. None of that encourages me to do anything but hide. I crouch down but remind myself that if it is another policeman they will identify me through the glasses without difficulty.

I stand upright and it is the best decision I have made so far. Any later and it would have looked incriminating because a light shines on me, revealing my presence.

Henry

Theia carries Ronan into her room. If anyone can comfort him it's her. Who comforts Theia is a different matter. She's never once asked for support from her parents or me and I pity anyone who tries. Then I consider that Theia not only returned to my house to vent but to talk through her situation. That's quite a breakthrough for her typical self-reliant disposition. If she doesn't want to talk about her mother she's better distracting herself by consoling Ronan.

I don't want to interrupt them and drop the pen on my desk.

As predicted, my parents sit in the corner of the living room, away from the extremities of the house. They rustle through a pile of books. 'What's all that?' I ask.

'We want you to take these.'

'Books?' I know my parents take pride in our collection but this is ridiculous.

'You're allowed a full suitcase. Take some clothes and fill the rest with some of these. We're choosing which you should pack but they're heavy.'

'Stop talking like it's decided I'm going.'

'You are,' my mother says fixedly.

'What do I want with books?' My parents have pulled some ridiculous stunts in their time but this is bizarre even for them. I'm well-versed in literature and there are many others in the neighbourhood who don't read but I'm pretty sure snobbery is not going to be the most effective means for any of us settling into a new community.

My father explains. 'These are our most valuable possessions. We tried to trade a few at the market but no one wanted them. However, the people at the Upperlands might be better educated and respect you above the others or at least want to purchase them.'

Their logic makes sense. I'm actually impressed. That is assuming the Upperlanders have a demand for the books. Otherwise they're nothing but glorified firewood.

'The photos are for you,' my mother says, and I note a small pile of pictures. I only then realise my inattentional blindness to the empty frames that are now back on the walls. I wonder what purpose the effort to re-hang the frames serves. They are few and far between but have pride of place on the wall above where my parents sit. With this odd decor the room resembles a show home although it has been over a decade since anyone bought or moved house.

A feeling of admiration for my mother washes over me. Despite the horrors surrounding her she has not lost her calm. I kiss her on the cheek then, for fairness, I kiss my father too. He puts his arm around me and, after a moment's hesitation, pulls me into his bulk and holds me tight. I hear his voice distort under the emotion. 'We love you so much.'

'I love you. But don't think this means I'm happy about going.' I pull back from them and wipe my eyes. 'Theia's mum is dead.'

My mother looks surprised, although she can't have been deaf to the helicopter. 'How?'

'Her garden. It's a long story.' It's not that long but I don't want to talk details.

'And Theia?' she asks. My parents know how much she means to me.

I shrug. She's alive but hardly living. What can I say?

'Poor girl.' My mother is wide of the mark. She'd be a poor girl if she was the one who had to kill her mother. Theia's mother killed herself for her daughter. It's only what my parents are planning for me.

I swing a chair round to face my parents and sit. 'Ok. Let's talk about this.'

'It's up to you what happens to us,' my father says. 'I know it's not easy but it's right.'

I solemnly imagine the ways my parents can die but my father mistakes my mental list for a refusal to answer.

'The police could come in after you leave and...'

'No,' I interrupt. 'I'm not going to sit on the stoop outside and wait for you to be executed.' I grimace at my word, a sharp contrast to my parents, whom nod in silence.

'I can end your mother's life and then my own.'

It's a disturbing thing to hear but I'm becoming less distressed by it and I worry that I will soon be immune enough to agree to the idea.

'Or...'

'There is no or.'

'Or you do it for us,' my mother says. 'I know that doesn't sound like something you'd consider.'

'No,' I snap back.

'But it may be the only way that works.'

I sit in silence, losing myself in a fantasy that allows me to be somewhere else, and I start to imagine I'm back at the sea. Henry? The word filters through my stream of consciousness but I let it fade away. My mind locks onto another memory, one where escape actually was on the horizon.

I'd convinced Theia to accompany me down to the coast. I'd saved up enough by starving myself for days so that, as the market opened, I stocked up on enough snacks to resemble a picnic, choosing the morning of her birthday to make sure it was all fresh, even though evening is a better time for the deals. Theia wasn't keen at first but after handing over Ronan to the Ethers she acquiesced.

It was an overcast day and her mood was just as gloomy. She didn't want to admit she was upset that I was the only person to remember her birthday but the farther we walked the better her affect, as if the pressure of caring for her brother whilst her father idly sat by had anchored her but the distance had set her free. We hit the coast by midday and, as usual, we had no idea what the shore would resemble. It wasn't as terrible as other times. The water was struggling to climb a hill so there was a natural descent to its surface, which meant that the houses the sea had already taken hold of were almost entirely submerged and the next in its path would be safe for quite a while yet. There would be no additional homeless for at least a few more weeks.

From the vantage point of being up high the horizon stretched as far as we cared to see. Working fishing boats were few and far between, most men choosing to go early morning and a few opted for the evening. With the fishermen and women out first thing or late, and with the commute, it meant that families rarely spent time together but it was a necessity to allow for trading of the freshest fish during the daylight hours. My father had always been long gone by the time I rose for breakfast whilst Theia's father remained in her house.

The boats were tied up as best they could, to anything sturdy and out of immediate peril. We scrambled down the hill up to the shore and away from view of anyone above us. Hardly anyone other than the fishermen ventured to the coast, with the exception of school trips that were designed as warnings for exactly what we were doing: using the water as a destination to visit. Despite its sharp reminder of our fate, Theia and I liked to go there to escape our lives farther inland. Whilst Selene and I were happy in my room, as that was far enough for her to remove herself from her mother, Theia dreamt big, and together we imagined all sorts of possibilities across the ocean.

I presented the food hamper to Theia and she was impressed. We settled down to eat and shared out what I had managed to gather even though it wasn't much and we were far from full by the last mouthfuls. 'Thank you,' she said. She kicked off her shoes and rested her head. It was one of the few times I'd seen her relax. She took a deep sigh. 'I could get used to this.'

'I wouldn't stay there for too long,' I joked but it passed over her.

'What difference? Here or back home, it's going to get us eventually.'

'Don't think like that. I heard it's slowing.'

'When? Three years ago? Last week? It's the same story.' Her bitterness was cruel.

'So let's not wait. Let's get out of here.' I'd said it before - everyone had claimed they'd set sail - but something about this time made me thing it wasn't just empty words.

Theia looked over at me, down her nose. 'Sure.'

'Come on.' I jumped to my feet and trotted over to the nearest rowboat. I don't know what I was thinking other than wanting to impress her.

'What are you doing?'

'Leaving. With you. Now.'

'Where?'

I don't know. Anywhere but here. You don't think the water's going to stop. If that's true then why wait around? Let's discover a floating island.'

It's something we'd discussed often whilst passing the time. Selene and Ruskin enjoyed just the knowledge of being far from the water, but Theia thought about the long game. Maybe it was the frustration that no one remembered her birthday or burnout from caring for Ronan but she did what I least expected. She stood up and brushed the dirt off her legs, then calmly walked over and climbed into the boat. 'Let's go.'

I didn't need telling twice, something about Theia's expression told me she wasn't joking. I unhooked the rope that anchored the boat and it drifted out. It wasn't a brilliant plan because no sooner had we left the shore than we both started to doubt ourselves. We had no food or water or direction or knowledge of sailing, and my rowing skills were lousy at best. I was capable of lifting the oars but they took some getting used to, and I found myself dragging them against the water to no avail. Still, there was a tranquillity to just floating along although we could've been in serious trouble had we been caught.

I was careful to keep near the shore but already we were some distance away and the water was pulling us out. Theia was quiet, as if stuck between the guilt of wanting to go and the excitement. Her remorse won over and we agreed to head back to land but, in the process of turning the boat, the bottom grated against something under the surface, a hidden rooftop or a pylon or streetlamp. Whatever it was, it was enough to jerk the boat to the side and tip us over. We struggled to hold onto the side but the force sent us flying and we were thrown into the icy water.

We knew how to swim but the temperature shocked us and our clothes weighed us down. I forced my eyes open although the salt stung and watched as Theia kicked her feet and rose to the surface. Before I followed I looked at our drowned world. It was dark but the sun was bright enough for decent visibility. The view was of a street, not dissimilar from ours, but soaked through, preserved and uninhabitable. It terrified me to think that this would be our future.

Henry?

I was mesmerised but my chest was burning from lack of oxygen so I kicked hard towards the waterline. But the surface didn't come. Instead I hit my head against the upturned boat and all I remember after that was the sensation of passing out as I began to sink.

Henry?

The memory fades. Each time it returns to me I yearn for it to have a different ending. One where we escape. One where we are far from here. One where no one has to die. But it's always the same ending. No matter how hard I try to change the past I can't. I should forget about it and focus on the present but I fear I can't change that either.

Selene

I stare at a reflection of myself, the person in the identical uniform and helmet looking back at me, with the exception that a narrow light shines bright from under the left shoulder blade.

'What are you doing here?' the voice asks me. One more young man if I'm not mistaken.

I swallow and take a deep breath. If only men have been recruited then my cover will be blown as soon as I speak. The only way to survive this is to bluff so, with as much confidence as I can muster, I reply. 'Patrolling.'

It's enough to stop the current line of questioning but he grows curious at this revelation. 'You're a girl.'

'So?'

'I thought they only took on men?'

'You thought wrong.' I remove my helmet and allow my hair to fall freely.

The guard touches his shoulder, twists a dial between his fingers and the light no longer dazzles. I'll have to remember that if I survive this encounter. He also takes off his helmet but gasping for fresh air is not an option in here. He seems to be a bit older than me, with some stubble around his mouth. I've never seen him before. 'I thought I was the only one assigned to the market.'

'I was asked to check in with you. See if you needed assistance.'

He's as clueless as me. 'You killed anyone yet?'

'No. It's quiet.' I want to stop there but I add some impromptu details for effect. 'Families don't seem to need much help.'

'I killed six.' He smirks, proud of his achievement.

My stomach churns that he is not like the policeman outside my house who wanted to be left alone but instead sides with the cruel policeman that killed Charlie. Nothing will satisfy this person more than making me his seventh, especially since I am duping him. Out of nowhere he holds up his finger to his lips.

I hear it too. The footsteps from before. I wasn't mistaken, so there was more than one set. We are not the only ones here. If I hadn't realised it before, I now know that the market was an error.

'We're all friends here,' he says. He switches off his light completely, lowers his glasses and pulls out his gun. He fires a deafening shot, even though he knows exactly where his target is. The guard brightens his light once more and marches with purpose towards a stall. He gestures to something but from this angle I can't make it out. Deferential to his command, three people emerge. A man, a woman and a child.

Theia

Ronan finally opens up to my persistent questioning.

'I saw grandma and grandpa on the bed but they weren't moving. And mummy was on the grass.'

I'm not prepared for the death talk. 'Everyone dies Ro. I'm sorry it had to be tonight.' If I had more time I'd break it to him gently but this will have to do. I estimate how old I was when I first accepted the finality of death. Probably a little older than Ronan but it wasn't at the hospital but instead at the coast, on my birthday three years ago, that I could truly fathom it. 'They're not waking up. Not even to say goodbye. But you can still say it if you want to.'

'Can they hear me?' he asks.

'They can't reply.' I bend at his sombre expression. 'But yes, they can hear you.'

'I want to say goodbye to mummy and give her a kiss.'

'Sure thing.' I have no desire to see my mother but I can't refuse Ronan this. He will never forgive me, not even long after he is Rehoused and he thinks back to this night.

The witching hours rage on and my soul feels absent. The darkness and cold and emptiness of people dying around me make me wonder how this will all end. I hope for their sake the Upperlanders will be happy with the conclusion of tonight but no one else will. I walk with Ronan down the stairs, past my father and Leda, who both look at me, one with intrigue and the other with concern. I throw my father a smile to say it's under control, which satisfies Leda too. I don't know if what I'm doing is appropriate but I have little guidance on matters like these.

My mother has not been moved, apart from her newly-drawn eyes, which makes me think of Jason next door and that I have no idea what happens to a body shortly after it dies and what state he will be in now. The gloom masks the blood-stained grass so that she looks little more than a sleeping caricature, waiting for her prince to give her the kiss of life. Even still, I prevent Ronan from kneeling on the grass. I don't want him to be shocked when he is back inside with the realisation that his clothes are stained with blood. I hold his hand as we approach.

'What shall I say?'

'What do you want to say?'

'I love you. I miss you.'

'That sounds perfect.' I squeeze his hand.

He repeats his words, then adds, 'Goodbye mummy,' but I'm not sure the extent of what his farewell mean actually sinks in. Despite my intention to keep him off the grass, he bends down, leans his head on her chest and kisses her face.

I'm proud of him. He's braver than I gave him credit for. He's holding it together really well, whether he computes her state or not. 'Want to stay here a bit longer? Remember, you can't see mummy again.'

'Have you said goodbye?' Ronan asks me.

'Yes,' I lie. I'm not sure what I'd say. I'm too angry with her. I'm angry that she died before helping me work out what I should do. I'm angry that it was my fault the helicopter spotted her. And I'm angry that just before she died her loyalty swayed away from her family towards a man she worked with. I'm not angry that she fell in love with him; I'm sure it's more complicated than just lust. But I'm angry she lied. I'm angry she ended her life because she couldn't be with him and gave up on us in the process.

She'll be remembered as dying for me, her foolish child, when really she died knowing she couldn't be with the man she loved. She didn't care about any of us at the end. Have I said my goodbye? I don't need to.

Ronan is ready to leave and I take him back to my room. He settles under the blanket but doesn't drift to sleep as easily as before. 'Theia?'

'Yes Ro?'

'Can I see mummy in my dreams?'

'Sometimes. Not all the time. Only when you really need to.'

Ronan falls asleep with a weak smile on his face. Satisfied he won't jolt awake anytime soon, although I can't guarantee a nightmare won't disturb him, I leave him in peace and go to the bathroom. It's been a long night and my bladder is full to burst. I hear a sound from the cabinet. Unmistakeable. I've heard it plenty of times tonight. Static.

Curiosity takes hold and I retrieve the device from the cabinet.

I turn up the volume but am greeted with only white noise. 'Hello?' I ask into the abyss. I wait, hoping more than anything that I was correct and Dr Jefferson is dead.

I almost give up but then a voice speaks back to me, bringing with it my worst fears.

Selene

I'm not good with ages but the girl doesn't look old enough to be in school yet, definitely not six years old, which is the only age tonight that matters.

'How old are you?' the policeman asks her directly, as if reading my mind.

She doesn't answer but also doesn't look away from him. He raises his gun.

'Four,' the mother stutters.

'Ah,' he says with an ambience of menace. 'Too young for tomorrow.'

The family don't look the homeless type so I figure they tried to hide because their daughter isn't eligible for Rehousing. With escape their best form of protection, they had to try their luck. I guess luck was against them. I want to throw them a sympathetic smile but what use would it serve? They must despise me as much as the actual policeman. It's not like I can excuse them and wish them luck on their plight.

'You've defied orders,' the policeman says. Neither parent attempts to counter him. He turns to me. 'Six to zero. Here's your chance to catch up by three.' He gestures that they are my kills if I want them. I'm not sure his offer comes with the option of turning it down as he now holds his gun towards me. Maybe he's suspicious that I am not who I say I am, or that I am a weak recruit and came here to hide from the carnage. I have no doubt he'll shoot me if I don't act quickly. I can't even pretend I don't have a gun because it's clearly tucked into its holster.

There's no point regretting my decision to come to the market as I have to concentrate on my current peril. I can't kill three innocent people just so I can live longer. In terms of numbers that is lopsided. However, the policeman will only kill them after finishing me off, ridding the world of ten people in one night and counting.

'Shouldn't have recruited women,' he mutters to himself impatiently.

The family focus on me through petrified eyes and resign themselves to death. I raise my gun towards the father. He says the most honourable thing he can, having accepted he cannot evade death. 'Kill my daughter first. I don't want her to see this. Then my wife. Me last. Please.'

The woman doesn't argue with this and the policeman laughs. What he considers pathetic I see as unbelievably selfless. Under the watch of the policeman, I train my gun on the child. My arm shakes as I move my finger to the trigger.

Before I arrived at the market I believed being the person with the uniform was the better position but now that I am expected to kill it's impossible to hold it as true. The position of authority is a curse in disguise.

'Come on,' the policeman says. 'We haven't got all day.' He means it literally and laughs at his unwelcome humour.

All I have to do is shoot. But I can't. I lower the gun. Whatever happens to me as a consequence is better than the alternative.

'Too bad,' the policeman says. He swings his gun towards the family and pulls the trigger. The bullet hits the young girl straight in the stomach and she falls.

I wail and turn my gun on the policeman. Or shoot first. I don't know because it all happens too fast. Either way, the bullet connects with him. Maybe he thought I didn't have it in me to kill anyone and he'd take care of me after but, by the time he has realised what I am doing and swings towards me, I have gunned him down. However, I save valuable milliseconds by not bothering to lift the gun up to his trunk as I turn, meaning he is hit in the foot. The pain causes him to stumble before he can attack me and he falls. His hand is still on the gun so I put another bullet into his now inoperable arm and his grip slackens.

The parents don't worry about their own safety and are already on the floor cradling their dead daughter. If I acted sooner perhaps I could have saved all three and a hint of anger directed towards myself boils up. I imagine Henry's disappointment. Why didn't you save her? I imagine my mother criticising me. Theia would have known what to do.

But my head is too clouded to take this argument with myself further. In the last few moments a child died and I shot another person. But the man is not dead yet, even if he deserves to be.

The policeman sniggers from the floor. I fumble with my uniform and find where the light switch is. I flick it on and hover over him. I spit my word out. 'What?'

'Kill me.'

I stare at him in disbelief. 'I wouldn't give you the satisfaction.'

'Do it. You think my first kill was easy?'

'Shut up.'

'Believe me. The second was a breeze. You have the thirst now.'

I hate this man more than anyone I have ever despised in my life. My mother in the moments she lashed out. The policeman outside their houses hours earlier. Even Henry when he gushed over Theia. I hate this man because he's right.

I have spent my life avoiding violence. He even used the word I feared. Thirst. Just like the time I punched the wall. And now that I know how it feels to make someone bleed there's no denying that it felt good.

'Six to one,' the man says. I try not to listen but the need to avenge the girl overrules any inhibition and I shoot him in the head. Then it dawns on me: I just took my first kill.

I stare at his limp body and the relief that he can no longer taunt me is gratifying. But he has the last laugh because he mocks me from beyond his death. His words will continue to haunt me. This brief encounter has changed my core and I will never be able to shake off what he has unleashed. I am a killer.

The couple watches me in complete distress, hopefully aware that I have saved them but at the same time knowing I didn't save their daughter. 'Kill me,' says the woman.

I fight back the urge. 'No.' I can end their misery but that will mean the policeman wins. Six to three. I point at their daughter's murderer. 'His gun is there. Do what you want.'

I put my helmet on and turn the light nozzle on my uniform up until it exposes the route out of the market. They can hate me for what I did and they can shoot me in the back should they wish. Right now, I deserve it. I may not be their daughter's killer but I didn't save her. I walk away.

I go slowly, allowing the parents to decide what to do with me. I do not even feel anxious. I don't feel anything.

From within the silence a gunshot startles me and makes me jump but I continue to walk without looking back. A second blast but, by this time, I know that the parents weren't aiming at me and they won't be aiming at anyone else.

Theia

'Penny?'

I don't answer.

'Are you there?'

Dr Jefferson's voice is enough to make me crumble to the floor. My anger towards my mother was unfair. His next sentence provides the evidence I need at just how wrong I was.

'I'm the last person alive.'

My mother hadn't chosen him over me. She died not because she had lost him but because I was in trouble. Dr Jefferson was still fighting for her but she turned away from him. She died for me and I despised her as she lived her final moments.

My mother died for me, loving me more than I realised, and thinking I didn't love her.

'Penny, I made it. We can be together.'

2 A.M. – 3 A.M.

Selene

I killed a man. Maybe I was foolish to think I could leave Henry's house with a gun and survive more than a handful of hours without having to kill or be killed, but I hadn't prepared myself for when it would finally happen. And now I can't change the fact that I killed a man.

I walk without purpose, aimless as to what I should do next. All I can think as I walk is that I killed a man. Everything has changed.

I am not violent I tell myself. I am not violent.

But I killed a man.

Theia

I switch off the device and drop my head to my knees. The desperation in Dr Jefferson's voice asking for my mother plays over in my mind. How he and I treat this night can't be more extreme. He has killed in order to protect the person he loved whereas I tried to protect the people I love but they are dying anyway. There is one similarity between us. My mother died with us both believing she hadn't fought hard enough.

It sickens me to think that I was incorrect. She gave up her life, and her love, to save me. I don't know if her choice extends to my father but she will never be loved again by either man. I want to tell her how sorry I am for doubting her. In her final moment, she lived true to her character: she fought the panic and hurried out into the garden. I froze, nothing like her, the opposite of brave. Cowardly and worthless.

There is only one way to repent, to make it up to my mother, and make her proud. I can't give up or her death would be in vain. Instead I have to protect Ronan and Leda. I don't know how but all that matters is that I don't stop searching for a way out.

I owe Dr Jefferson an explanation. If I was him I would want to know. Maybe there's a part of me that wants him to share my pain and that I can break his heart in the process. He has murdered too many people tonight and some humility would not go unwarranted. The walkie-talkie has been overworked and doesn't turn on. The battery is dead but there is a handle on the side that I wind. It powers the machine and the static filters through. 'Dr Jefferson?'

He responds at once. 'Who is this?'

'Theia.'

'Where's your mother?' He doesn't pretend that I need shrouding from the truth and I won't do him a disservice by skirting around the issue either.

My throat is dry and the words don't come out immediately. 'She's dead.' I turn off the device and let it fall out of my hand.

'She's dead,' I repeat over. When I can't face saying these words any longer they swim around in my thoughts.

Henry

It's time to start packing up some of my belongings, to start the sequence of events that make survival over my parents real in my mind. Apart from necessary clothes, the thickest I have considering I am going to a higher altitude, there is little I care enough about to take with me that is either valuable or meaningful. The more I think about my parents' plan for me to take books the more outlandish it seems. There is nothing we have that the Upperlands won't have in more supply.

Except death. Tonight we definitely have more death.

I retrieve the suitcase from under my bed, not that it has ever been used for its actual purpose. It is one of three my parents acquired at the market many years ago following an announcement that hinted we would all be Rehoused. As with all the messages, it dissipated to nothing but that particular one, not that I remember its content, evidently did more to inspire than any of the others. It saddens me to think that they traded badly that day because when the time has come to be Rehoused we only need one suitcase between us.

The lining is frayed and the zipper is rusty and sticks. It nearly breaks off in my hand when I tug it but the metal eventually unclogs itself. The material is stretched thin and unlikely to support anything too heavy so I only pack a feeble amount of clothes and leave plenty of room for the books. I feel reassured that my parents are selecting the books downstairs, not only taking their mind off their plight but regaining some control where they have little else but subservience.

I have never been that popular like Ruskin, or tough like Selene, or smart like Theia, and I consider what being Rehoused means. What can I offer? I can make a new start. Better myself. Not be pushed around, be braver, stand my ground. But I know I will continue on being the same person because any different would be disrespectful to my parents. There will be one difference, whether my parents like it or not, and that is my focus on vengeance. Selene was always the angry one and I spent my childhood calming her down, explaining that retaliation was not the solution. Now I think that perhaps it was inside me all this time, clawing for a release, holding on until the day it could emerge.

Theia returns to her room and I hurry to my window, ready to check in with her. I glance at her mother's body and by the time I have written my message and hold it towards her she has set her sights on Melissa and is communicating with her instead. I don't know what Theia writes but I read Melissa's responses. Most are miserable at best but I have to read the last one twice because it shocks me to the core.

You have to kill all of them.

Theia

I creep through my room. I don't want to wake Ronan and make him relive the past few hours just yet. At some point I'll need to talk him through the process for being Rehoused and check he understands it. The worst would be for him to freak out and not wait on the doorstep. If need be, I'll wait on the other side of the door until he is picked up. I'll then give myself up to whoever comes for me. The downside to this plan is that Ronan won't leave knowing I am still inside. I might have to die before five o'clock to ensure he has nothing to wait around for. I need to discuss this with my father. We need to talk about Leda too.

I spot Henry out of the corner of my eye but don't let on. I can't talk about this with him. He wouldn't be able to see past my death. I need to talk it through with someone more removed. Melissa is at her window, the rest of the house still veiled in darkness. We both confronted death a few years ago and this bond makes me think I can talk to her, as if the conversation we put on hold back then has been burning up, waiting for its time to be unleashed.

How are you? I hold up to her when really I want to be blunter by writing, Are you the last one alive yet?

She scribbles something but it is too small, so I shake my head. She takes more time making her letters legible. My parents are in their room. They can't end their lives and don't want me to do it.

Will you be able to leave them there? In other words, I ask if she will be able to sit outside her house and listen to a guard shoot them.

She writes. I can't.

I know that this cannot end happily for her, whatever happily could possibly denote in this situation. I don't want to argue that killing them is preferable but she will have to hear the moment in which her parents die at the hands of a stranger and then she will have to follow this stranger, trusting that he or she will act on her best interests. It doesn't start her reliance on the Upperlanders in a particularly enamouring way. I think about her predicament and how it mirrors what is happening next door for Henry.

She holds up another sign. You're braver than me, Theia. Her evidence is that I once tried to escape. She sees that as courageous but only because she doesn't liken escape to running away.

I'm not being Rehoused, I write back.

Melissa looks confused. You must. You're strong. Plenty of people will need you instead of another kid to look after. Of course she knows about Ronan and Leda, having worked with my mother, but I don't like how she reduces them to nothing more than a nuisance. My mother. I wonder whether Melissa saw. She hasn't mentioned it. What would she say? Sorry? How could you? She died saving you? It's better that it goes unwritten.

I never thanked Melissa for what she did that day, only begged her to not tell anyone. My parents would have been shattered had they heard I tried to leave without them. I never want my brother and sister to learn about my ultimate betrayal to them. I won't leave them again, unless in death. Melissa may see them as an inconvenience but I have nothing to live for if not for them.

I had wondered why Melissa spent much of the night watching me. She hasn't expressed regret about my mother even though they worked together. She hasn't tried to help me deal with my grief. She hasn't once communicated anything other than barking orders at what I need to do to stay alive. There's only one reason for this. She's testing me out, living through me to see what I can do, if killing my family is possible, then she can follow suit. As she admits, she's not as brave as me and needs my encouragement before she can go through with her own murders. It makes sense and sends a shiver down my spine. I look up at her and there is a new piece of paper, which affirms this.

You have to kill them all.

Selene

I pass hundreds of houses, each closer to being flooded than the last. I'm not sure when I worked out I was heading towards the coast, although it was probably when I decided walking past desperate but intimate families was lonelier than going to the most deserted place imaginable.

The air is crisper the nearer I get. I try not to think about each house and the story unfolding inside but, every once in a while, curiosity takes over and I invade strangers' privacy through the heat sensitive glasses. I'm not sure what I expect but, with a few hours to go before the deadline, I am surprised by just how many houses are now occupied by only one living person. From the stature of the glowing figures, most are children. At one point I stand and watch the colour drain out of two bodies on the floor, moving through a spectrum of red to orange to green to nothingness. That's when I place the glasses in my pocket, even though it gives policemen the advantage of spotting me first. I haven't seen anyone on the prowl since the market so I take the chance.

My head doesn't feel tired but my legs lag. The built-in boots are heavy and weigh me down, causing my journey to be more strenuous with each step. I want to remove the uniform but I am now unseasonably warm inside the suit and stripping off will expose me to danger from enemies and the elements.

The farther I go from the market the less what happened there feels real. I almost convince myself I didn't end a man's life. But I can't make myself forget the bullet hitting the girl. Each time I recall her death I remember my finger hovering above the trigger mechanism on my gun. My hand doesn't stray far from the gun. I'm primed to shoot quicker the next time someone ambushes me.

I tell myself the family no longer have to face this drowning planet but that doesn't excuse their deaths. I don't value the policeman but my life wasn't worth three others. Deep down I know that I couldn't have changed the outcome for the family but I don't rid myself of the turmoil that I was partly responsible. I want to feel guilt, or without that I'm one step closer to losing any remaining compassion. All that will be left is survival, of my life above any other.

I smell the ocean before I see it. Geography teachers showed us pictures of how the coast used to look. Rocky, sloped with sand, or man-made harbours. Whichever, the tide would gently roll in and out, never straying too far. But I've only seen this in textbooks and have to take their word for it. All I've ever known of the sea is that it is a force that destroys anything in its path, sometimes meandering but always succeeding to erode whatever it has submerged.

It's hard to believe that the coast was a pleasant fixture, a location of fun and relaxation. It provides dirty water and tasteless fish, both of which keep us alive but that can't outdo the danger it also brings. I'm lost in this thought when I step into water.

The coast takes me by surprise. Even though it has been this way my whole life, it seems unreal to appear between houses, drowning those further along the street and flooding the higher ones. There is no warning of the shore. I don't recognise this street but, even with my calculations, I am alarmed at how far the sea has travelled inland. I have only walked an hour or so since leaving my house, not including the delay at the market. It should be at least twice that distance.

Those in the Upperlands must have discovered this fact. I don't understand why the fishing parties kept the news of the speeding up tide to themselves but, once more of the Middlelands got wind of how quickly it was moving, they might have felt panicked into an uprising against the Fence. This is why the Upperlanders have acted now and no later. Too many of us scrambling for land would only cause problems for them. Would we be able to overpower them? Or chip away at the Fence until we broke through? Or a mountain of us until some could scramble over? Better for the Upperlanders to let us kill one another pitifully than exert any effort in fighting a rebellion.

The water stretches halfway up the steep road. The houses along the bottom are almost completely submerged but those near me are only ankle deep. I lower my glasses but there is no sign of life in the entire street. Either they are all dead or they moved on before tonight. I predict the former; the houses wouldn't have been habitable for much longer but the upper floors would offer some protection from the water and the alternative of moving out is no better.

I think about the families in the houses a few streets back from where I came and how they must have been feeling about the imminence of becoming homeless. Would they appreciate each time they woke up with a roof over their heads, or not? Would they count down the days until they could no longer stay? I suppose it doesn't matter anymore.

The fortified Fence serves two purposes. One is to keep us out and the second to keep the water out. I overheard a conversation in the market that the Fence was tall enough so that all the water in the world would not reach its heights. Whoever the engineers were probably had sophisticated methods of calculating this but it didn't inspire me with much confidence; I'd heard their assurances before. The water was supposed to have receded long ago but I resigned myself that this was not going to happen before I had finished school age. I had made it past that but the outlook was bleak. Not that I wanted the Middlelands to vanish but if it were inevitable I willed the water to not stop at the Fence. The Upperlanders deserved to know how it felt to live with the threat.

It is too dark to see farther than ten or so houses' distance, so I rotate the dial on my uniform and the light shines at full kilter. It is surprisingly powerful and reveals an endless sea. The closer houses prevent an immediate view of the water but the night sky blends in with the horizon straight ahead.

I crane my neck and spot the moon hanging behind the house to my left, low in the sky, preparing to settle and make way for the day to break. I turn off the light. There are no operable streetlamps here as the water must have affected the Surge's flow. However, the wiring must be faulty in only some places because a few submerged houses must have power as they glow from under the surface. It's really beautiful.

The moonshine adds to this, white flecks bob on the water's surface, but I make myself remember that, even thought the tide is soft, the waves are deceptive. They don't recede. They only forge ahead.

I take my helmet off and place it on the ground, far back enough that it is protected from becoming wet, although that wouldn't be the case if I left it for too long. The cold air chills my head but I embrace it. Without thinking through my plan, I unzip the uniform and wrestle it off. I remove my underwear and stand naked in the street.

My feet touch the shallows first and grow numb so that I can't accurately sense just how cold it is. I wade up to my waist. It only stings against my skin when I move so I try to hold my body still. I don't worry too much about what lurks underneath. The gravel is loose and gritty but hasn't had enough time to disintegrate to the point where it is too precarious to stand on. The moon's reflection is still out of reach. I brace myself and amble farther in.

A car roof pokes out from beneath the surface and I remind myself that anything could be underneath, invisible to me. I lift my feet and swim breaststroke. School didn't teach me much but the swimming lessons now prove invaluable. I push on away from the shore until I lower my feet and can't touch solid ground. I reach the rippling water that glows from high above, until I am bathed in moonlight. I turn so that I am on my back. I spread out my limbs and allow my body to float.

Theia

Melissa's suggestion causes our conversation to end abruptly. Who is she to shy away from ending her parents' lives only to tell me that's what I have to do to two innocent children?

I turn towards Henry's window and see him staring back but I'm fed up with writing messages. It doesn't achieve anything. His expression is miserable, pitying me for what he must have witnessed in my garden. If I looked down I could see the body and I'm sure Henry has an even clearer view of my mother from his vantage point. He must've watched it unfold. He throws me a smile but can only muster a small one. I nod in return. I can't find it in me to raise a smile.

Want me to come over? He holds the paper up into view, already written. Selene is somewhere in the Middlelands and I have been to the houses either side of me but Henry hasn't been anywhere. He's been locked up all night and must be going stir crazy. Still, he's soon to be Rehoused to a life behind the Fence so he can wait a bit longer. After what happened the last time I jumped the fence it's too risky. Besides, I don't want to explain what happened because that will mean admitting that my mother chose me over Dr Jefferson. I shake my head at him.

Although there is no chance I could sleep, tiredness hits my body and I have to prop both hands against the desk to steady my balance. I take a big gulp of air and slowly exhale. I have a strange sensation that there is still so much left to play out but we are nearing the deadline and most of this terrible night is behind us. Maybe I'm not physically tired but mentally. Maybe I just want this to be over. I realise that I might be feeling relief.

Henry holds up another pre-written sign. Want to run away together? This time he gives me a defiant smile. It's the first time I laugh all evening.

Sure, I scribble and hold back.

Henry has this all planned so there is no delay in his responses. I hear beach holidays are nice this time of year.

No, let's go on safari. We'll fly. The joke can't hold for much longer but he has calmed my nerves and, dare I say it, cheered me up. I need to speak to my father, ok? I write.

He has to write the next sign so I wait. Sure, but make sure you come over before... anything.

I smirk at his inability to find a better word or phrase than anything, which holds enough negative connotations for a lifetime. If I were honest with myself, I would rather be with Henry right now having our stupid petty fights than anywhere else. But I have to make arrangements with my father and they take priority.

I enter the hallway and catch myself still smiling at Henry's ability to cheer me up. I walk into Ronan's room but recoil when I see my father leaning over Leda, pressing a pillow down on her face.

Henry

Theia rarely cracks a smile, let alone grins, so I feel that I have achieved some good tonight. Selene knew all along; I've always been in love with Theia but was never able to show it. Selene's words come back to haunt me. Before tonight is over, no matter what happens, I need to tell her how I feel.

Not as a written message. Face to face. I can handle whatever her response will be, more than likely she'll be angry at me for burdening her with trivial matters, but I would regret not telling her. She'll reject me of course but what do I have to lose? Then I think that maybe it's a terrible idea. If she does like me we've wasted time and I don't want to think about whether the two of us will live long enough to see what could develop. But the urge to know how she feels in return trumps any reservations.

Theia is the most beautiful girl I've ever laid my eyes on but she's also the smartest and most courageous. Selene is effectively my sister and I love her in a different way. She was born to the wrong parents. I sometimes have a fantasy that there was a terrible mistake and she actually is my sister. In a way, my parents fulfilled my dream, with the exception of tonight, where it was obvious that she is unrelated to them. I no longer feel anger at the way they felt threatened by her presence. Tonight was about self-preservation and, when that wasn't possible, having to prioritise those you love the most. There's not much I can do for Selene but hope deep down her mother loves her as much as my parents love me.

However, I can do something for Theia. I've been friends with her long enough to know she won't allow herself to be Rehoused over Ronan. But Ronan needs her and I know what needs to happen: she should have my place.

It's radical and my parents would never go for it but I suddenly feel the terror of this evening sweep away. I've been the only person during these early hours who hasn't once had a target over their head. This easy ride to the finish line has been unfair from the start. Giving up my spot for Theia makes me understand how it feels to accept death.

I need to talk to her, to make her understand. And I need to explain it to my parents.

Selene

I need to get out of the water soon or my body will not be able to warm itself back up. Wanting to keep going reinforces my determination to survive but leaves me blind as to where I should go next.

I crane my head up to take in the surroundings and something that has been unsettling me finally makes sense. There are no fishing boats around this section of the shore, which is odd as they usually line the entire coast, always docked where they aren't threatened by obstructions. The thought jolts me upright and I look around. It's dark in every direction outside of the moonlight and the low visibility makes me feel unsafe, like anything could attack me from all around. Or underneath.

I try to imagine what happened to the boats. Perhaps the police destroyed them or set them loose and allowed them to float away into the vast oceans, deciding that escaping and dying of thirst was too long a death sentence for any of us. Or maybe the people from these now empty houses took their chances and rowed away. The risk of what could face them out at sea could not be any worse than what was waiting for them by remaining here.

The rumours are probably true. There is nothing out there. No inhabitable land. No one else. But why did we believe these stories so freely? My first instinct tonight was to escape this way. I feel stupid for not trusting my intuition and now it is too late. It must be coming up to three o'clock, which only leaves two hours until the deadline. The sun hasn't shown any promise that it is ready to rise and I calculate that, even if I run all the way to Henry's house and the streets are as devoid of a patrol as they have been so far, we probably wouldn't make it back here before time runs out. We'd also need a boat. And Henry would need to be alive. There are too many factors that would have to be in our favour.

I swim back, deflated by my failed plan, and almost hit the shore in between the houses where I left my uniform when I bump into something in the murky water. I stop, only for something else to brush past me from the other direction. I push the floating mass away but more obstructions line my path back to solid ground. I am inland enough to put my feet down and use my force to clear a path.

I shiver as I pick the uniform up and hold it close to my dripping body. My worst fears are realised when I fumble with the light dial, eventually switch it on, and aim it towards the sea. At least fifty dead bodies float on the surface.

Theia

'Don't come any closer Theia,' my father says, holding the pillow on Leda's face.

'What are you doing?' I ask but I already know the answer.

'We knew this moment would come.'

'Stop it,' I shout. I can feel time running out for my sister, if it hasn't already.

'No Theia.'

'We can figure something out.'

'Your mother's dead. There is no point in any of us living if we can't be together. This is the right thing for us.'

Time stands still and I hear Selene's sarcastic voice telling me I should know what to do. And Henry's, and Jason's, and my grandfather's belief that I can work this out and, finally tonight, calmness in me doesn't lose itself to panic. If everyone believed in me then there must be some element of truth. I use the only thing I can think in the moment to catch my father off guard. Confusion. 'She loved another man.'

My father slackens his grip. 'What?'

'I tried to tell you before. She was having an affair with Dr Jefferson.'

'I don't believe you.' I can tell from my father's stutter that he does believe it, that he's thought it for a while.

'She wanted to be with him. She was going to kill us all. She only died for me because she found out he was dead.' My words are harsh but brief. Leda counts on me.

'How?'

'The walkie-talkie. It's in the bathroom.'

My father seems convinced by this. It's too elaborate a tale to make up on the spot although I do wince at corrupting the memory of my mother, at twisting the truth about why she really died. I justify my lie by intending it to save Leda's life.

With my father side-tracked, I rush at him and knock us both to the ground. The pillow falls away and I will my sister to gasp for air. I can't hear any sound from her as we scuffle. She is such a quiet, jovial baby but surely even she should be crying by now.

My element of surprise gives me the upper hand and I pin my father down, realising I have no idea what to do next. He clips my elbow. My shoulder gives way and I fall off him. He picks himself up. I reach for my gun, if only to threaten him, but he punches me in the side of my face and my head slams against the floor. The gun flies off to the side. My eyes are dazed and can't focus but I sense him bend down over me and reach out across the floor.

I hear the click of the trigger, ready to be fired.

'Don't,' is all I manage to say but the next sound isn't a gunshot but a groan.

I use all my remaining strength to open my eyes. My father is on the ground next to me with a knife sticking in his back.

My grandfather stands in the middle of the room.

3 A.M. – 4 A.M.

Theia

The blood seeps through my father's shirt and his lifeless expression denotes that I am an orphan. His eyes rest in my direction but I know he is not looking at me. I've seen too many pairs of unhinged eyes tonight. On closer inspection his face shows fear, that he was killed by surprise. My parents died within two hours of each other.

I scramble away from him but my head pounds and I only make it a few paces before I have to stop to regain my breath. I push myself up but pain prevents me so I sit against the wall, cradling my head in my hands. I take some deep breaths and remember Leda. I try to check on her but I'm too weak.

I find the strength to steady myself and push up from the floor and stumble to where Leda is. She's alive. Quiet and still, as usual, and alive. Relief passes through me. I pick her up and hold her to my chest and only then does she start to cry, as if she didn't want to be a bother before. Fortunately for her, she's too young to remember what has happened tonight, even if that means she will never know our parents.

My grandfather stares at my father, his son-in-law. I don't know where to start. By thanking him? 'Are you alright?'

'Yes, I think so,' he says. 'Are you?'

I nod. My head is sore but it's nothing when you consider bullets to the chest or a knife to the back. 'Mum's dead,' I say. I crease my eyebrows, lacking the energy to ask him anymore but he takes my cue.

'I gave your grandmother all of the pills. I didn't want to risk, well, this. Where's Ronan?'

'He's in my room, but I doubt he could sleep through that. You saved my life.' And Leda's and Ronan's I realise. I work through my father's plan. He'd kill Leda, then Ronan and me, and then himself, if he had the courage. My father hasn't had the conviction to carry through anything for years so if I wasn't disgusted with his actions I'd be impressed.

'I'm not sure you should thank me. I was on the bed, wondering what to do and I thought about slitting my wrists. I sneaked downstairs to find a knife. I didn't want to scare you or complicate things. Then I heard the commotion.'

'Good timing,' I say, not wanting to consider what would have happened had my grandfather overdosed or found another way to kill himself. He doesn't need to know about my mother, how she died, her secrets, and that she died to protect me. If he heard the accusations I told my father he doesn't mention it. 'What now?'

'I want to join my wife. It's time already.'

I panic at the thought that if my grandfather ends his life it is just me, Ronan and Leda. I've been like a parent to them but there have always been adults nearby. I'm not sure I could handle the responsibility. 'We need you.'

'Help me with this sweetheart.'

Leda stops crying. She grips one of my fingers and her clutch is tight. I could have left the gun in her bed and she might have been able to protect herself.

My grandfather is determined his time to die is overdue and I'm only delaying what's inevitable. If I don't help he will find another way to end his life. He's shown he is resourceful with the pills and now the knife, which sticks out of my father's back. He doesn't reclaim it; I'm not sure he'd want to use it on himself. My grandfather has killed two people tonight, both out of love but only one in a violent manner. I should believe all killing amounts to murder but each death I have witnessed tonight has had a different antecedent. 'What do you want me to do?'

'You have a gun. I don't think I can shoot myself. I'm not sure I could end my life.'

I listen to my grandfather's tone but am distracted by the image of him watching as my grandmother drifted into death. If this is true, he has spent hours with his dead wife, hiding from us, listening to arguments and shootings, waiting until he couldn't stand the absence of nothingness any longer.

But didn't Ronan say he saw both of them asleep? My imagination must be in overdrive. If I do survive tonight, as unlikely as that seems, it will be so hard to give these events a cohesive narrative. Already, I'm starting to doubt some of the things that have happened because accepting them is devastating.

'I can't.' So far tonight I have watched too many people die. I even tried to shoot my own father but I have not killed anyone. 'I'm not ready to start,' I say, which lacks clarity but should make enough sense to my grandfather.

'Think of it like putting an injured pet down. It's the kindest thing.'

I remain diffident.

'Theia, I'm not being Rehoused over any of you. I don't want to leave without my wife. And I don't want a stranger to kill me.'

'Fine.' I don't want to hear any more reasons because they all make sense.

Selene

I count each and every body. Sixty-two. A suicide pact or a mass cull, I don't know.

I lose sight that each of these people had a story, a family and relationships and I can only focus on the fact that, collectively, death has an overwhelming presence in quantity alone. No one will identify them, or mourn them, or bury them. They'll never have satisfaction in leaving this world ceremoniously. Individually, these people are to be pitied. Collectively, pity does not begin to cover it.

A rowboat floats to the side, being swept along the shore behind the bodies. I wade back out, trying not to come into contact with any of the cadavers but it proves impossible. The feel of them on my skin gives me shivers even in the freezing water. There's not much I can do to clean myself of them and I can't turn back.

I grab the hull and pull it towards land. I figure it could squeeze up to six at a stretch. Others must be out there, somewhere in the darkness, floating towards salvation or a miserly outstretched death. But they are the ones with a chance; for those who cannot go to the Upperlands together, this is the only solution for staying alive.

The boat's oars are attached which is one of the few lucky breaks I have tonight. This boat may begin to explain the escape attempt for some of these people but I can't see any other boats and I am still clueless as to how they all tried to flee. This boat should be big enough for what I scheme in my head. As I pull it the hull scrapes along the ground and I pant as it comes to rest far enough inland so that it won't float away immediately but any farther and I'd risk damaging its base.

There's not much I can do to camouflage it and anyone could use it themselves if so inclined, or damage it beyond repair. The area seems deserted so I will have to risk it. I'm nowhere near dry as I step into the uniform but the dampness helps ease me into the restrictive material. The sea-salt is likely to rub but I can't worry about chafing. I have to ignore it and focus on the task at hand.

The way back to Henry and Theia's road from here is straightforward and now that I have discovered the light on the uniform it should be an easier ascent than my journey down to the coast. Every minute that passes reduces our chance to arrive back at the boat before sunrise. I have to try. I can't think too far ahead to what could be waiting out at sea and I definitely can't worry that I am racing back to nothing but dead bodies. I could be a hero. And I don't have to be alone.

I break into a trot. And then I sprint. I carry the helmet in my hand with my wet hair slapping against my face. Already I begin to tire and my body overheats. I won't be able to keep this pace up for much longer but, for now, I run as fast as I can.

Henry

'I want Theia to take my place.'

As soon as I say it, I realise my mistake. My parents look horrified and I'm not surprised; this is effectively the same as letting Selene remain in the house till dawn. What I should have done was defy my parents' wishes after they had ended their lives.

My mother doesn't say anything but my father stands to my level. 'We are not having this conversation.'

'She has a brother and sister. If she comes here, at least two of them can survive and look after one another.'

'After all we're offering you and you want to die for your friend?'

'That's not what I want at all,' I say calmly, but actually I suppose that is what I want. I've dug myself into this mess so I need to work my way out of it. 'This is my chance to do what you're doing for me. I can offer someone my spot that deserves it more. That needs it more.'

My mother pipes up. 'Why do you think Theia deserves to live over you?'

'Listen to me.' I try to explain again but I am getting confused and regret starting this.

I look back to my father and am surprised by how red in the face he is. I knew he was angry but it is disconcerting how heavily he fumes. 'First you want Selene to live over us. Then Theia.'

'Not over you. You have to understand...'

'No. You have to understand. You're a disappointment. I've done everything I can to protect you and you want to throw it away. You're weak.'

I look to my mother, to see if she's also hearing what I am. My father, the pacifist, the calm man, who could never hurt anyone, is screaming at me. I've never heard him like this. I grow more concerned when I note how petrified my mother looks. She shrinks into the couch, and even flinches when my father swings his arm in the air for effect.

I'm scared my father won't calm down. His words come out fuelled with more bitterness than before. 'I hate you. You should never have been born. You destroyed the happiness your mother and I had. You and your awful friends. You're nothing more than a mistake.'

My father turns away from us and I wonder where he's going. He has changed from caring father to tyrannical beast in the space of a conversation and he's not going to settle down however much I try to reason with him. I need to get away from him now; his words are unpredictable and I can't decide whether this will extend to his behaviour. I can't go without my mother. She looks at me for reassurance that he's going to calm down but I can't guarantee it.

I gesture for her to lift herself up but my father turns around and she freezes.

'Where are you going?' he bellows at her. 'With him?'

My mother yelps and sits down again, resigning herself to not going anywhere. My father moves towards the kitchen but stops by the door and fixes his eyes on something to his side. The hammer. From earlier this evening when he almost hit Selene.

I don't know what he's capable of doing. Yesterday I couldn't believe he could hurt my mother or me, deliberately or unintentionally. It is as if all his anger that has been subdued for too long has all at once been unleashed so I wouldn't wager on his pacifism any more. He reaches for the hammer and I know I have no time to waste.

I grab my mother's arm and jerk her up from the couch. 'Go,' I shout at her.

She scrambles out of the room and up the stairs. If I was leading the way I would've headed to an exit to the house, preferably the garden, willing to bet it is safer outside than remaining inside with my father cornering us. But I can't split off from her so I follow.

I look behind me at a thud, as my father trips at the bottom of the stairs. It allows us some distance on him but only angers him further. My mother chooses my room. I don't know why, maybe this is her way of handing over the responsibility of what we do next. I slam the door behind me and turn the lock, with complete awareness that my father has a hammer and can break through with enough force.

'Help me with this,' I say to my mother, as I start to drag my bed towards the door. She caves herself into the corner of the room, terrified by the turn of events. The bed is too cumbersome for me to deal with on my own. 'Come on.'

My father slams himself against the door but it holds together. Next, he hits the hammer against the wood. I drag the bed across the room but it is slow going and will be a close call for who, out of my father and me, will achieve their goal first.

Theia

My grandfather acknowledges what he has asked of me. 'I'm sorry. I can't believe,' he trails off, wanting my help but feeling guilty for it.

As angry as I am with my father, his words come back to me for a second time tonight. 'Dad said that killing someone can be honourable. I'll do it but first you need to help me.'

'Anything.'

'What do I do? About Leda? And Ronan?'

'I wish I had the answer for you. I still don't.'

I'd forgotten we had that same conversation. So much has happened since.

'If anyone can figure it out you will Theia. And if you don't, no one can say you didn't try your damn hardest. I'm proud of you.'

Any more from my grandfather and I'll cry. I put Leda down although I feel bad about leaving her here. I take the gun from my dead father's hand and a level of panic rushes over me when I realise if the fight didn't wake Ronan the gunshot definitely will.

I follow my grandfather to my parents' bedroom. My grandmother lies peacefully on her back. It looks almost romantic, as if she is shrouded in moonlight, but I know it is only the glow from the streetlamp. My grandfather positions himself on the bed next to her. He takes her hand in his and clasps a different finger between each of hers. 'Thank you Theia.'

I raise the gun and my eyes swell. My arm shakes and I know I have to do this soon. I have never shot a gun before. I'm not sure I can aim so instead of attempting to look through the target I just point it where I think I should hit: my grandfather's forehead.

'I love you,' I say, broken.

'I love...' my grandfather manages to say. He doesn't finish because the bullet hits above his eyes, a little off centre, and instantly kills him. If I waited any longer I couldn't have gone through with it. I accept what I have done and let the ringing in my ears fade out as I stand guard over my grandparents, knowing that they are now together and out of any more threat. Gunshots have been deafening all night but each time someone has been shot I have been that much closer and now I am the one to pull the trigger. My eardrums ring but it is nowhere near enough to chastise myself for what I have done.

I have to save Leda and Ronan somehow. I cannot kill again. Only we are alive and I am their sole hope. I cannot let them die but I have no idea how that can be possible.

I allow my ears to continue to throb as I scramble for an idea, aware that if one was going to come to me it probably would've happened already.

Henry

If my mother had helped we could have blocked my father's path but she is paralysed with fear. Alone, the bed is too heavy on the carpet and friction prevents it from travelling far enough. A few forceful hits with the hammer and the latch shatters through the door. I abandon my task and watch as my father pushes the door open and steps into the room, with his sight set on me.

He has beaten me. My mother whimpers and I instinctively stand and move to the side so that I am in front of her. In my heart I know there is no way to protect either of us. I can't fight my father and come out on top, even without his advantage of holding the makeshift weapon.

'Let's talk about this rationally,' I plead with him, but I sound anything but calm.

'I think it's a little late for that.' He takes a step towards me. 'I don't have much time.'

Selene

I have already passed the market and taken a shortcut that skirts the school perimeter but I have slowed down. It has taken too long before I am even two-thirds of the way to Henry's street. I jog, slightly faster than a brisk walk and, even at this pace, my body burns and my throat is parched. I try to distract myself with thoughts about escaping and having time to rest then. The quicker I make it back, the more time everyone will have on the return leg.

I must be about ten minutes away or a little more if I slow down. I don't figure an obstruction into my timing until I see a shadow in the street ahead of me.

'Stop,' the man says.

I think about running past him but a warning bullet shoots past my head and forces me to skid to a halt. 'I have to get to my friends,' I say, in between breaths. The man doesn't seem to notice.

'You're one of those patrollers. I didn't know they recruited girls.'

'No, it's not what you think.'

He steps out of the darkness to underneath a streetlamp, with his gun still aimed at me. It is obvious from his clothes and scraggly beard that he is not a policeman.

'What do you want?' I need to get away now or I might as well surrender for good.

'Tell me the truth. What is going to happen at the Fence?'

'I don't know?'

'I won't ask you again. What happens at five? Rumours are spreading through the streets.'

Every second the man holds me here is more time wasted but he won't be fobbed off. I consider telling him who I am and that I have no idea about what he wants to know but I doubt he cares or would let me live long enough to explain my circumstances. I could offer him to come to the boat with us but he speaks first.

'I won't wait much longer. I have nothing to lose by killing you.'

I figure he must've killed someone with a gun to acquire it. I remember the policeman from the market and his words. You think the first kill was easy? The second was a breeze. Giving the homeless man a satisfying answer is my best bet but since I don't know what will happen I have to lie. I think fast. 'They're Rehousing one person from each home and then they'll take care of the homeless after that.'

'What does that mean?'

'That's all I know.' I realise what I've said doesn't actually answer anything but my imagination is lacking. I'm not Theia. She'd know what to say. The man mulls over whether he believes me and I'm not sure I will come out well. 'Please, I really have to go. I won't hurt you. You can have my gun.'

I reach down for it but he shouts. 'Wait.'

'Ok,' I say, and pause in my crouched position. It's clear from his expression he's as confused as me. Neither of us has a plan but it seems too late for us to walk away.

'Slide it to me.'

I can't justify that my life is worth more than his but now that I have the chance to save others I am willing to sacrifice his life for theirs. It means killing a second person, and the policeman who haunts me will take glory from this, but it is something I will have to come to terms with when all of this is over. For now, I have to accept that if I have the chance to kill him I'll take it. I gradually pull the gun out of its holder and grasp the handle in my fist. I look up towards him.

The man has no experience with this and naively lowers his gun, thinking he is now safe. My reaction is faster and I pull the trigger before he realises his mistake. The slug hits him in the hip. A healthier person may have recovered but the man has no meat on him and the blood gushes out. I might have hit an artery.

I have no time to check on him or grieve or console him, and anything I do would be insincere anyway since I am the one who has caused him to bleed to death. I've lost valuable time and, without fully regaining my breath, start to run past him. I look up to the night sky and already the lowest part of the horizon is not as dark as before. I estimate that we have approximately one hour remaining before time is up.

I sprint against the rising sun. It might be enough.

Theia

I close the door behind my grandparents, allowing them to rest in peace.

Panic rises inside of me. All night I have been trying to save my family but nothing I have done can change what has happened. We have gone from seven to three and I know that's still two too many for the Upperlands. I think about what I have achieved. I gave Selene a way out, I reassured Jason he had saved his family, I have comforted Melissa, and I have protected Ronan and Leda. But Jason died, Melissa will face the unknown, I could have sent Selene to her death, and all I have done for my siblings is extended their misery.

As for Henry, I have done nothing but lash out at him. It's nearly four in the morning, which means I have one hour left to see him as well as come up with a plan.

I check in on Leda. She is already fast asleep, breathing steadily. Ronan too, miraculously. I allow him to sleep longer.

I don't value Melissa's input. I have neglected Henry's opinion all night, the one person I know to count on. He will understand where my loyalty lies and why I'm willing to die for my siblings even if he doesn't want me to.

I almost head down the stairs to see him, listening out for the nearby buzz of a helicopter, but return to my room when I consider that his parents are going to end their lives anytime now and it would be thoughtless of me to arrive unannounced during their goodbyes. I go to my window to check it's a good time to climb over the fence.

Henry and his parents are in his room. At first I think they are helping him pack but the scene looks all wrong. Henry's bed is halfway across his room, his mother has recoiled into the far corner and his father holds a hammer.

Out of nowhere, Henry tackles his father and fists are thrown. He manages to pin his arm so even though Mr Argent doesn't drop the hammer he can't swing it. There is no way I have misunderstood what is happening and I don't need to understand how they got to that because my own family and thousands of other families beat them to it. I also don't hesitate that I will kill Henry's father if I have the chance because, if I don't intervene, Henry will surely be killed.

I aim the gun towards the bedroom. So much for saying I wouldn't kill again.

Even through two window panes, a bullet shouldn't stray too far before it hits its target. But Henry and his father are wrestled together and I can't get a clear shot, let alone reassured that I would be able to hit his father from this distance even if Henry was on the other side of the room.

I swivel the gun a fraction to the side, but Henry manages to get some force behind him and is now in my sightline. Henry's father pushes back and they separate to regain their breath but already they start to move in to fight some more. This may be my only opportunity.

I pull the trigger as Henry's father lurches forward. The bullet strikes him in the neck but only after he has swung the hammer and it connects with Henry's chest. Mr Argent drops to the ground but Henry staggers for a moment before stumbling and falling to his knees. I figure that I have successfully killed again. Before collapsing, Henry turns in my direction me to work out who took down his father but he doesn't look relieved or scared. He doesn't reveal anything, other than that he is badly injured.

Barely ten minutes ago I promised myself I wouldn't kill again, and I am dismayed that I not only went against my word but I have acted too late.

Ronan wakes from the sound of shattering glass and the gun blast and he screams at the sight of me holding a gun, which I only make worse when I turn in his direction and he must think I am a threat to him too.

I can't deal with Ronan in this moment. I look back to the window and watch as Mrs Argent springs back to life. She looks at me, working out that I have killed her husband. I don't know if she hates me or thanks me for it but it is Henry she is more concerned about. She moves to her son and crouches to the floor, out of my sight and I can't see if he is alive or what she is doing to save him.

'Henry,' I shout, as loud as any gunshot.

My answer comes when Mrs Argent's scream overpowers mine and deafens the neighbourhood, announcing that one more family has succumbed to the evil of this night.

She stands up in full view, holding the bloody hammer and turns the sharp edge towards her. She keeps eye contact with me as she slits her throat open.

'No,' I yell and reach forwards, as if I could do anything from here.

Blood spills from her and she too falls to the ground.

I have to hope, because hope is all that's left. I race down the stairs, into the garden and past my mother. I don't waste time worrying about helicopters or heat-sensitive glasses. I leap over the fence, ignoring my sprained wrist, and hurry to Henry's side, only stopping momentarily by his broken door at the sight of the bloodbath.

Henry

It all happened so fast. My father and I are both on the floor. My mother too.

My body feels limp and I look down at my chest. My t-shirt is soaked in a deep red and I know that this is how it feels for life to slip away. I can't move my head to see if my parents are alive. When my mother removed the hammer from me the blood gushed out faster. I must have looked dead to her. I know why she took it but there was nothing I could do to stop her. I couldn't open my mouth or form words or even blink. My parents lie either side of me, not sandwiched waiting on the couch for the announcement but dead, submissive to the Upperlands' decree.

I know I'm dying. I wonder whether I would've stood a chance had she left the hammer in my wound but I doubt it as Theia's mother is the only one who could've helped and she won't be coming. I float as if gravity has let go of my body, finally allowing me to rise above the engulfed world. I slip in and out of consciousness and lose sense of time or even if I am alive or dead.

Then I see a face in front of me, a mirage to comfort me, exactly like once years ago.

I have no recollection of what happened after the boat smashed into my temple and knocked me out, apart from feeling my lungs were about to explode from the pressure of the water. Theia told me later what happened. I'm not sure how much she played it down but the boat hit a submerged house and we were thrown overboard. When I tried to resurface I hit the wooden hull and knocked myself out. She dived down to rescue me but I was too heavy.

Theia explained that a man appeared underwater, having seen us from nearby, and helped pull me up, but somehow his trouser snagged on a submerged wall. Theia had to choose between getting me out of the water and helping him. She glossed over it and all I could do was apologise.

She explained that she went back for him but he had drowned. Then she went to resuscitate me by the water's edge. I'm not sure how long it took but I coughed up the water. A gash on my forehead was pretty nasty but I couldn't feel much. Theia's face was the first thing I saw when I came round, informing me I wasn't dead yet.

Theia tied the cloth from the hamper around my forehead to reduce the blood flow and dragged me towards the hospital. It was a long walk and we didn't get far. She didn't tell me about the man who had died saving me until much later. All she did was keep me conscious and tell me her mother would help. However, I fainted, not far into the ascent. Theia raced to the hospital and found Melissa.

Back then, Melissa, with her blonde hair, was a training nurse. I don't know how she dyed it, maybe some chemicals in the hospital? Apparently, there was a life-saving operation going on and Theia's mother was held up. Melissa raced back with Theia to me and stitched me up then and there.

Melissa did an impressive job and the cut healed without a scar. I told my parents it was from a stupid football accident but both Theia and I got colds from the sea and she was pretty angry with me for ruining her birthday more than she thought possible. When I tried to ask Theia about it, when she agreed to speak to me a few days later, she told me to never talk about it again and that she'd made Melissa promise the same. Only when I pushed her did she tell me about the man. I worked out she wasn't mad at me, she was mad at herself; in our moment of madness she had agreed to leave her family behind and someone had died in the process. The guilt we have both felt has been so hard to bear. We never found out who he was and we never returned to the sea again.

After that, Theia never strayed too far from Ronan, and then Leda when she was born. She took it upon herself to give them everything she lacked growing up but she also punishes herself by sacrificing any of her own freedom.

I owe Theia my life. I imagine her face fades back into view and that she is here to save me again, just like when she resuscitated me. Her face felt like a mirage then but it wasn't. Maybe this time too, it's not just my imagination...

A beautiful face, but tear-stained and that makes me more devastated than anything. Theia is here, but I am no longer sure where here is or if she is actually here at all. I want to reach out and hold her but I can't remember how to lift my arm.

I feel the corners of my mouth rise and guess I can muster a smile. She scoops me up, places herself under my armpit and drags me across the hallway to my parents' room. It doesn't hurt but equally doesn't help the blood flow. I figure she doesn't want me to die there.

I slump on the floor, too heavy for her to prop me on the bed. She holds her hands up to the opening in my chest but it is too late. I strain to open my mouth and short words come out. 'It's ok.' I must imagine that I spoke those words because she continues attempting to save me.

'Theia,' I say, and she stops. She is on her knees in front of me, looking at my wound through all the grief in the world.

'I can't stop it Henry.'

'Come here,' I whisper. She leans in waiting for my hushed words but, with the remainder of my effort, I tilt my head forwards and find her mouth. I kiss her as hard as I can, as my eyes well up with every emotion imaginable. I taste her lips. Despite our saltwater world, they're every bit as sweet as I expected.

Theia doesn't back away but I run out of energy and have to break the kiss to lean my head against the bed frame before I won't be able to lift it back up.

'That'll be my biggest regret,' I say.

'Kissing me?'

'Not kissing you sooner.'

'I am so sorry Henry.'

'Don't be. You've been saving me my whole life. I love you Theia.'

She pauses, absorbing my words. I don't worry that she doesn't say them back. I didn't expect it. Then she speaks up. 'I love you Henry.'

She kisses me again. I can just make out her face but everything else in the periphery fades away. 'I can't do this without you,' she says. Tears run freely down her cheeks.

'You're stronger than that,' I say, but the power behind my voice withers. With a final push I open my mouth. 'You can save them. I had a plan for us.'

I see Theia say something but have lost the ability to hear. I wish I could spend a little more time with her, to hear her laugh once more, to see her roll her eyes at me and tell me I'm a fool, to run away once more but succeed this time, to not leave her like this, to kiss her just one more time so that I

4 A.M. – 5 A.M.

Theia

This night has thrown up one more tragedy, which the Upperlands will only rejoice in. They'll never know Henry, or his parents, who were good people until the end.

He was given a free pass to being Rehoused and I was happy for him. Now not even that is true and I am more alone than I have ever felt before. I bury my head into his lap but there is no rise and fall from breathing. I have to leave him here. I still have Ronan and Leda to think about.

Unlike Jason, there is no one left to ask about Henry. Since I am the only person to grieve for him I can't leave him in this state. I manage to lift him onto the bed, although I don't like the idea that he lies on his father's side. I position him similarly to Jason.

I always knew what Henry meant to me but I never let it develop. He was too much of a risk. I saw what happened to couples: houses that couldn't last, children they couldn't bear to have, a shared life with no optimistic future. Nothing but torment.

But the kiss. I feel childish to describe the lasting feeling as butterflies in my stomach. I'd roll my eyes at myself and would even appreciate Selene being here to knock me down a peg. I wish I could hear Henry say those words again. They echo in my head but already fade as if I can't hold on to them for much longer. I wonder whether my mother felt butterflies for my father as well as Dr Jefferson. They're hard to ignore.

I believed love was one more irritation along the path to a devastated world but maybe the thing I feared most was the one the thing that could have brought me happiness. I only experienced love in a fleeting moment but it was enough to teach me that there is something in this world worth fighting for. I wonder how many people died tonight never feeling the butterflies.

I remember what else he said to me, his final statement. You can save them. I had a plan for us. There's a way to save my brother and sister. I want to throttle his body, shake him back to life, if only to hear whether he was speaking the truth. Why didn't he tell me sooner? Maybe he tried throughout the night but was hushed by my shouting at him.

I have under an hour before I run out of time. I've spent all night avoiding death but running into its arms. Going to the Ethers' house. Giving the uniform to Selene. The fireworks. Protecting my siblings. Ending my grandfather's life. Watching Mr Argent die. Cradling Henry's body. Too many experiences I will never be able to wipe from my mind and I know that if I survive tonight and move to higher ground the images will come with me. But now I have a chance to rewrite some of the wrongs. If Henry says there's a way, I should be able to think of it.

Whatever I do, I have to check on Ronan. I left him screaming and I can't give up on him now. He can't be Rehoused on his own. I finally accept what my parents told me at the beginning of the evening: he can't face this alone. But I won't take his place. And I won't kill Leda. I have to believe that Henry was right.

Selene

I reach the street, having to make a few detours due to policemen along the route, spotting more the closer I get to the Fence. Maybe they weren't deployed too far from the Upperlands. Circling around has delayed me and I have less than an hour to gather everyone together and make it back to the boat.

The blisters on my soles burn with each step but I don't allow myself to hobble. I pass the burnt-out car and stand in front of Henry's house. I lower the glasses but they don't work as well in the early morning. A light blue reveals wispy clouds above the rooftops.

I look along the street to check it is clear before I enter the house but, inside, there are only three masses of a faded colour, life long gone from their bodies. I don't understand how this is possible. Even if his parents are dead, Henry was supposed to survive. I am too late.

I glance to the side, and watch as a figure climbs the wall between Henry's house and next door. It must be Theia. Upstairs, I see her siblings, still alive. She has spent the evening darting around the neighbourhood. She comes from Henry's house, from where he is dead. I don't want to accuse her of being embroiled but it's too easy to project my distress her way. I can't understand how she could have anything to do with his death but why didn't she protect him?

I hear someone approaching and know I don't want to deal with whoever it is, be it a policeman, homeless person, or escaping resident. I no longer welcome Theia and her siblings to come with me. Although she helped me and it makes me a terrible person I am too upset at the thought that Henry is dead. I don't want to hear that she was involved. I would only kill again.

As soon as I walk away I know that I have no desire to return to the boat and seek solace in the oceans. If am not leading a group of refugees I am not a hero.

I find myself en route to the Fence.

Theia

As soon as I see Ronan the solution comes to me. Henry won't have died for nothing. But I cannot believe Henry had thought of the same because that means he gave up on himself being Rehoused. Only I can, because putting others first was in Henry's nature.

Ronan has calmed down but still shakes when I approach. 'Ronan. We can both leave here together. How does that sound?'

'What about mummy and daddy?' Ronan has woken from a dream into a nightmare.

'They have to stay.' I gather a selection of clothes from my drawer. Nothing logical in my choices.

'And Leda?'

'I don't know Ro. Leda might stay here.'

'And grandpa?'

I stop in my tracks. Why didn't he ask about our grandmother?

'He's dead.'

'He's pretending. He said it was a secret.'

I sit on the bed. So he had seen my grandparents in the bedroom after all. 'Grandpa was awake but now he's with grandma.'

'It's not true. I spoke to him.' Ronan becomes distressed. There are too many deaths to explain to him.

'It's just me and you Ro. Want to help me pack?'

'I don't want to go anywhere.'

'We have to leave here. But you have to go on a big adventure with me first. Think you're brave enough?'

Ronan's interest piques at this. He always wants to prove his courage despite being a big ball of shyness. 'Yeah.'

'Wait there.'

I go into his room where my father is slumped on the floor and Leda wakes at my heavy footsteps. I pack some of his clothes in a small bag. No time to pick out his favourite toys or photographs. He can hate me later but right now I have no time to waste.

'Be right back,' I say to Leda, and she smiles at me.

Ronan paces around the room, although he avoids going near the back window. My mother's body waits for the morning dew to soak through.

'Your mission is to be a spy.'

'I can be a spy,' says Ronan. 'What's my name?'

I take a deep breath. 'Henry.'

'Henry's your friend.'

'I know. But you have to have the same name as him. And if anyone asks, you live in his house.'

'Why?'

'Cause it's a game.' It's a throwaway line but I realise that to some people tonight this is all a game. If they want us to play by their rules I'm going to bend them as far as they will stretch.

'Ready?' I ask, aware that it's expecting a lot too quickly from Ronan but I have no more time to spare.

Ronan nods. As if he has a choice.

In the garden I shelter him from seeing my mother. First I throw the bag over the wall. Ronan's trepidacious but excited. He's never been into Henry's house this way. He's tried but never been tall or strong enough to scale the height.

I look to the sky but it is already light and I can't see or hear any helicopters. I also figure that the police will soon lose their advantage in detecting us. 'Put your foot here.' I offer him my hands.

Ronan can't grip the top of the fence and I don't want him to slip and injure himself. 'Ok, climb on my back.' It's hefty work but I clumsily manage to get us both onto Henry's side of the fence. Ronan looks around animatedly but then turns to the wall, anxious that he is no longer in our house, away from the rest of our family.

I lead him into the kitchen and find a timer. I wind it for a twenty minute countdown. We move to the front door. 'Take this. When it stops I want you to open the door, take the bag and sit outside. Close the door and wait there. Tell me what you need to do.'

Ronan repeats my instructions.

'It's really important Henry.'

'My names Ro,' he starts, but realises that I was testing him. 'I'm Henry. I live here.'

I'm not sure what Ronan understands but he at least seems to follow what I am asking of him. 'I love you Henry,' I say, conflicted as to who I'm directing that at. 'I'll see you soon. One more thing and I'm really serious. Don't go upstairs. You wait here until it's time. Ok?'

'Ok.'

I kiss him on the forehead, maybe the last time I will ever do that, and leave him to wait on his own. I want desperately to go upstairs and curl up with Henry and wait for my time to come so that I can be with him but I have a chance to protect Ronan and he can't survive this alone.

I climb the wall. I have been into Henry's house many times this evening but that has to be the final visit.

My attention turns to a bigger problem. Leda.

Selene

The light breaks through rapidly and I pocket the now defunct glasses. For the first time tonight, families have complete privacy but I fear it'll be too late for most of them.

I head towards the Fence. Other policemen walk that way too. Most have their helmets off and I can see their faces clearly. They are all young men. They walk in groups, as if friends after a day of work, but not one person talks. I wonder what has led them to this. I wonder how many of them have killed tonight. I wonder how they will go to sleep next and wake up knowing what they have done.

I think of my mother, and how she has spent the past few hours. Asleep? Packing? Worrying about me? Dead?

Then I think of Theia's suggestion, or was it warning, about what is going to happen at the Fence.

Whatever the sky suggests, this night is far from over.

Theia

Ronan needs me. Even if giving up my spot for Leda was an option, I couldn't leave the two of them to face the future alone.

I stand above my baby sister. As usual her face radiates warmth and happiness. If she was able to crane her neck over the bed she'd see onto the ground where our father sprawls out dead. A few steps down the hallway and she'll see grandparents she has never had the chance to know. And if she was able to walk down the stairs and into the garden she'll set eyes on the woman whom she will never see in action as a great doctor or as an even better mother.

She'll have me, the person who has inadvertently allowed everyone to die, to thank. A tremendous sister.

Leda is nine months old. The rules say she must die within the next fifteen minutes.

My father tried to suffocate her. Perhaps he was right. I have a gun, with plenty of bullets. I'd only need one. It would be quick for her. Kinder than a pillow. Painless.

Or I could leave her to the police and absolve her from depleting my conscience further.

I may be able to save Ronan but Henry alleged I could save both. I worry that he was delusional but then that would void him telling me he loved me and I don't want to believe that wasn't true either.

This evening results in me standing with a gun to my harmless baby sister's head. There are too many people in the Upperlands who have no idea how this feels. I want to avenge every Middlelander whom has experienced tonight, every single one of them, alive or dead, those who have been killed and those who have killed.

As with my grandfather, the quicker I act the more likely I will be to go through with it. I think of all the other deaths in my household. My grandfather lived his life, my father tried to kill me and my mother saved me. Leda is innocent. Her life is only beginning.

I have no tears left. I take a few steps back so I am out of her eyesight. I hold the gun straight. My aim has been pretty good this far.

Leda smiles. She's a placid baby.

Just as with my grandfather I can't deliberate any longer. There is no other option.

I count down from five.

Theia

Time passes as I manoeuvre my way around the house like a zombie until I find myself standing by the front door. The suitcase with my belongings is next to me, propped on its side.

I should probably do something significant like bid a final farewell to my home, or say something meaningful but there are no good memories left here, only painful ones.

Ronan needs me.

I check my watch. One minute to the deadline remains.

I pick up my luggage and open the door. I feel no satisfaction in surviving this night; there is still much that could go wrong and get me killed.

It's time. I step outside into the changed world.

5 A.M. – 6 A.M.

Selene

The approach to the Fence is misleading. An optical illusion of scale. There was no reason for the boundary to be where it is except the steepness of the roads leading up to it, and what used to be a lengthy nature trail distancing it from the houses in the Middlelands, so when you think you're nearly at its base it's not even close. The flat surface spans a height of about thirty men standing on top of one another, so any attempts to scale the Fence are nearly always over before they've begun.

I've only been here a few times in my life, each more upsetting and confusing than the last. There are too many homeless people and they grow in numbers. It was widely contested why we couldn't accommodate them in our oversized houses but it was forecast that this would lead to disputes and complications. Instead, it was decided that each family would retain their sole property deeds up until they were flooded out of their homes and, at that point, the family would lose all of their privileges too. Those closer to the Fence were perfectly happy with this arrangement but there were many others with grievances. Some of them acquired boats but the exhausting struggle to keep close to the ever-moving coast hampered this way of living. There was the occasional breaking and entering in our neighbourhoods but generally the homeless resigned themselves to their fate. It's beyond me why they accepted this state of affairs.

For Theia, Henry and me, the water was a long way off and we knew that, if it reached us, we wouldn't just be homeless but groundless. When the future is bleak there's little point worrying about it and our apathy is probably what led to the Upperlands surprising us. Maybe if the Middlelands had worked together, rather than selfishly, this night could have been avoided. Maybe if we'd worked together we would have built our own fortifications.

The last time I was at the Fence was over a year ago and it was nothing like this. A few thousand people had camped along the barrier in makeshift tents, with their own markets, but illness and the cold easily kept numbers down. I've never considered it like this but the persecution we received from the Upperlands is the same as the homeless receive from us, just quicker.

Now there are tens of thousands at least and, whilst impossible to count, the masses heave against the barrier, keeping each other warm, unable to stretch out. As I saw earlier, the tide had travelled farther than I deemed possible and must have destroyed a lot of houses during this time. It's depressing how the occasional family taking their belongings up to the Fence is easy to ignore but collectively this mass of people at a dead end is overwhelming.

Although the homeless seem busy for this time of morning, they don't appear to be perturbed about what is happening nearby. Surely they must have caught wind of reports about what has been happening in our homes, or heard the gunshots and screams and maiming and seen the helicopters throughout the night.

I stand in my dark uniform, gun in tow and no one bats an eyelid at me.

And then I decipher the expression on many of their faces and I realise they know exactly what is happening to us: for some reason they are smug. We ignored their cries of help and now they know we are suffering worse. How they know this I have no idea. But something else doesn't make sense. Why aren't they worried about their own safety?

Static fills my ears and gives way to a man's voice, which echoes against the Fence. I notice loudspeakers positioned at various points along the perimeter. A second announcement for the homeless. The voice is more confident than the one we heard last night.

'Dear Lowerlanders and Middlelanders. The looming tides have forced us to make a decision regarding your fate. We can only apologise that it has taken this long whilst living in miserable conditions before our infrastructure was ready... to Rehouse you all.

'Any sooner and we would not have been able to cope with the migration but now is finally the time. At five a.m. the gates will open and a police force will move you into the Upperlands as swiftly as possible. Please wait by the Fence and remain calm as we carry out this complicated procedure.

'We understand your plight and hope the future holds more hope and success for you all.

'Those still in houses have been asked to wait until you are first cleared and will then follow in due course. We are doing this to offer you the first round of migration. It is only fair.

'We look forward to welcoming you to the ways of the Upperlands.'

Their complacency makes sense; if this recording is on a loop, they have been reassured numerous times tonight.

It explains why the homeless have kept away from the streets and not learnt about the killings. But the news is a lie, I know this first hand. I worry that if the Upperlanders have lied about the Rehousing process then what else have they lied about?

I don't need to wait much longer to find out because, as the static cuts out, the mammoth Fence gates open.

Theia

Ronan followed my instructions. He sits on Henry's porch next to his small case. He has understood that much but looks towards me full of fear and I have to put my finger to my lips to instruct him to be quiet.

The sun is already above the houses but low enough to dazzle everything in front of me. I have to strain to look around the neighbourhood. What was a night of violence was mostly kept behind closed doors so that, with the exception of the burnt car, the street appears no different than at this time yesterday.

A quick tour through the houses would change that opinion.

Ronan calls me to me. 'Theia.'

'Shh,' I say, as quietly as I can so no one but him can hear me. No threat of that from the house to my other side. 'We'll talk soon.'

I prop the suitcase gently on the edge of the step and sit beside it so that it blocks my view of Ronan, deciding that the obstruction may hinder his attempts to converse.

I look ahead at a house opposite mine, the one I nearly blew up with the firework during Selene's escape. A woman, about my mother's age, sits in front of her door. She stares at me but as if I'm not there. I know her family well enough that she has a husband and a teenage son, younger than me. Or she did. Or she still does but not for much longer. I don't know her story, and I'm not sure I would ever want to.

My father's words come back to me again. We cannot judge the decisions people make with or against their loved ones. I agree with my father for the most part but I think he forgot that people will have to live on with their conscience. I killed people I care about, both inadvertently and otherwise, and I will never forgive myself or let myself forget. I'd like to think I saved lives too but the number of living does not outweigh the number of dead. Too many people died so that I am here now and this will bear heavy on me for the rest of my life. For now I need to think about the imminent situation. I will allow myself to grieve the dead when I am settled. When the last of us are settled.

From my vantage point, I can see some other people in the street but only half of the houses present someone. Mostly the survivors are my age or younger. There are few adults.

I hear a noise from my left and a young girl, no older than eight, who attends the same school as Ronan but in a different class steps out of her house. Rather, she is pushed out of her house. Her cries fill the road and everyone turns to her. I am not sure the decision to leave her without her loved ones can amount to the right one but who am I to judge?

She sees us, the despondent leftovers of our street, and continues to cry. She tries to open the door. A woman, who I assume is her mother, cracks the door open and shoos her away. With the girl stunned, the only sound to be heard is the click of the lock. She regains momentum and pounds on the door for a few moments longer but yields and takes her position on the step. I feel the pit in my stomach collapse in on itself. I thought anyone left alive would be outside, not willing to succumb to the policemen's hands. But the killing is far from over; we are going to have to hear more people die.

I haven't braced myself to hear the police storm the houses and kill any stragglers.

I put my arm around the suitcase and pull it towards me. This is not over.

Selene

Policemen, dressed the same as me, begin to appear from the circumference of the area leading up to the Fence. Now, all of them have their helmets on, even with the sun starting to make them feel unbearably stuffy. Once more the men, and I only saw men, become anonymous. I suppose that revealing themselves after what they have done is graver than sweltering in the heat. I'll soon be proved wrong. It's not what they've done. It's what they're about to do.

The homeless don't approach the open gate. Yesterday they wouldn't have missed this rare opportunity but now they can hold on for a while longer under the belief that they will soon have access to the other side. The announcement repeats itself often, hypnotising and misleading in a way that our televised announcement couldn't. We heard our rules once.

Naive as this may seem, their hope is no different to the hope we held on to before last night. When all efforts to stay alive have failed, hope is all that is left.

I watch as vans, seating about twenty each, stream out of the gate, identical and never-ending. It has been a long time since I have seen an operable land vehicle. I'm not surprised the Upperlands has a store of petrol to run these vans and my mind conjures up all the other luxuries its people have held back from us.

Two guards, dressed the same as me but without the helmets and heat-sensitive glasses, sit in the front of each van but otherwise the vehicles are empty. They continue to spill out in single file, at least one hundred of them. The Upperlands must be larger than I thought. I'm relieved that at least they kept to their word of Rehousing some of us.

The vans continue into the Middlelands, only spreading out when they pass the homeless, aiming for different neighbourhoods. As the final one leaves the Upperlands, the gates turn back in on themselves. A few of the more desperate homeless, angered at the thought that they had been forgotten about, make a beeline for the opening but don't reach it in time. There's nothing much they can do other than saunter around, continuing to hope that the announcement rings true.

I have been so consumed with staring at the vans that I don't notice the hundreds of policemen who have been patrolling the streets now stand in a line alongside me, spanning off in both directions and trapping the homeless between us and the Fence. The speakers blare out an alarm. Three discreet beeps. Immediately the policemen lift up their guns.

The homeless only stare on, weaponless, as it dawns on them that they have been duped.

Theia

The van turns the corner and parks outside my house, which approximates the halfway mark from either end of the street. There must be direct orders for how the two policemen deal with our stretch as their method of starting with the farthest houses seems counterintuitive. It will take forever this way but anyone taken to the van and is foolish enough to run off will have no luck whichever direction they choose. Anyway, there will only be other vans and policeman nearby. I will be one of the last to be Rehoused but I'm not sure if it will be better for Ronan to be escorted to the van before or after me, or whether seeing the Ethers' broken door may lead to suspicion of foul play.

The policemen walk away from one another and soon return with a survivor each and their luggage. A man, around my grandfather's age, with little more than a rucksack slung over his shoulder, and a girl of about twelve with a smallish suitcase on wheels that she struggles to drag. Neither takes much; a compromise of memories to hold on to and experiences to leave behind.

The police continue this as the sun rises so, by the time they are a few houses away from mine, they have darted both sides of the road and the van has seventeen people sitting in it in silence. They watch on in eagerness as to who will be accompanying them. Most are children. I know for a fact that there are at least three houses on my street with babies. Of course, they are too young to come with. I stop myself thinking about Leda. I have to remain strong.

My heart only starts beating when one policeman looks towards Henry's house, at Ronan, but then turns back on himself and enters the house opposite. He comes out and it is empty. No one will be Rehoused from there. I manage to see past the van as he moves to the next house and accompanies the girl into the van, throwing her suitcase into the back, and then returns to check if anyone is left alive inside. I brace myself, knowing that unless the mother has done something drastic in the last fifteen minutes she is out of time.

He kicks the locked door a few times and it gives way before he steps in. I hear a single gunshot but it is distant compared to some of the more recent and it doesn't even cause me to stir. The girl, on the other hand, is traumatised and panics. She climbs out of the van and begins to run.

I don't scream as this will distract her or make her intentions known to the police. Instead I will her to turn back. Her mother has protected her all night and now fear has clouded her judgement. The girl doesn't stop, not even when she runs into the other policeman, who aims his gun at her for the merest moment and ends her escape attempt. Not satisfied with her condition he stands over her and shoots again.

Selene

I shouldn't be here. Witnessing this. Partaking in this. Surviving this.

But I am.

All the homeless can do is cower behind each other but it only delays their eventual death. The policemen shoot relentlessly. People are blown back, their hope spilling alongside their blood.

I watch on horrified and want to run, but I'll only be targeted as weak and a traitor. I stop myself. I owe it to those who have died in my place to not give up yet. Curiosity does more to keep me going than anything. I need to know who survived and why Henry didn't.

I shut my eyes to shield myself from watching anymore but something nudges me from the side. I look over my shoulder and freeze when I recognise who it is: the malicious policeman from the beginning of the evening, with a trigger-happy smile across his face. I turn away to hide my face in case he notices who I am, if he isn't too busy shooting people to remember.

He taps me again. Over the din he shouts at me. 'Shoot.'

I lift the gun with fear that he'll turn on me if I don't. Pretending to shoot my weapon is not going to be convincing enough. Instead I point it in front of me and pull the trigger. I do as much as I can to miss anyone nearby. It should be impossible for him to know that I purposely avoid the targets. It seems good enough but I can't help but feel responsible for being a part of this mass murder.

Eventually, the noise dissipates and the distance between gunshots grows, until silence reigns. All around the Fence are tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of lifeless bodies. Innocent people. The only difference between us was where we used to live.

Gradually the guards leave the line and proceed to the gate.

Most keep their heads lowered, almost if they are ashamed of what they have done but I watch on as the vile policeman kicks a few of the bodies in his path. I am determined to settle the score when the time is right. I will keep my eye on him. The taste of violence lingers in me, impounded by the circumstances. But I tell myself I had no desire to shoot the homeless and I am grateful that my thirst is not without reason.

I follow the stream of police. I am nervous that I will be expected to give identification, in which case my ruse will be up but somehow I can't imagine this has crossed the Upperlanders' minds; they have given us far less respect than we deserve and I am sad that, on the whole, considering how quickly people killed their loved ones, they were right to.

I am not sure who I will be reunited with on the other side of the Fence, and whether our relationships can move past this night. I don't know what life will hold for me once I step through but there is nowhere to go but forwards. I reach the gates and turn back. I look past the bodies, towards the Middlelands, and doubt I will ever return. I hear the distant sound of vans Rehousing the lone survivors, and a distressing thought occurs that perhaps it was all a subterfuge, as it was with the homeless, and no one will be Rehoused. That the killings were an easier way for the authorities here to handle the numbers and that butchering only one member of each family will be hassle-free. I may be the only person who started off this night trapped in a house, with a death warrant above my head, to survive.

I have to continue to hope that the Upperlanders will keep true to their word. It's too late to regret not trying for the boat. Maybe one of them can, but Theia and her brother and sister will not all join me together. If it is Theia that survives then I will hold her responsible for Henry's death and make her aware of it. But if I do see one of them again, whoever it is, I will reveal my secret that I stood by, after Theia saved me, and didn't rescue them at the last hurdle. I will face whatever punishment they deem right.

Whatever happens next, I owe it to my family and friends, and all the nameless strangers I have left behind, to continue on and live for them. To avenge them.

Yes, I say to myself, I owe them that much. My life is destined for vengeance.

I pass through the gate, and all my thoughts vanish because I am too consumed with what's in front of me, astounded by what I see.

Theia

I wonder how indoctrinated this man must be to carry out the death of a young girl without the slightest hesitation. How could the future of the Upperlands possibly be better off without allowing her some leeway?

The other policeman looks on for a brief moment before he turns towards Ronan.

The killer, without pausing to process his victim, reaches the Ethers' house and enters. It takes him a while to search inside and I visualise his route. Over the dead couple up the stairs, around the top floor, down again and around the lower ground, next to Jason's body and onto the bloodstain in the kitchen where he was shot.

If he spent more time in there he could have worked out that a few things don't make sense. Why is the boy wearing the old man's clothes? Why doesn't he have a bedroom of his own? How would the three of them die in the way they did without external influences? Why is the door broken? But the policeman seems in a rush, and leaves the house satisfied that there is one fewer person to be Rehoused.

He doubles back, meaning that once Ronan has been sorted out, I will be the last to be dealt with.

I peer over the suitcase as Ronan is approached. 'Name,' the guard says.

My brother doesn't reply. He looks over to me, and the policeman follows his gaze.

'Name.'

I mouth the alias to Ronan.

'Henry,' he stammers.

The policeman says the one thing I hoped he wouldn't. 'Identification.'

'I don't have it,' my brother says.

The policeman gives him the once over. 'None of you kids do.' He picks up Ronan's bag and leads him towards the van. Ronan drags his feet along the path and the policeman gives him some forceful shoves. 'Hurry up.'

I watch Ronan climb into the van and stare back at me. He may appear safe, and it may be more than I thought feasible when this night began, but I can't be complacent yet. There are still plenty of things that could go wrong.

The policeman returns to Henry's house but no one is alive inside. I hate that this man will be the last one to traipse through the house. It is sacrilegious to the family; it is awful that he will look at Henry and his family and judge them for all being dead. All of these families across the neighbourhood will be judged, whittled down in numbers, to be forgotten as weak.

The other policeman sees that I am the last to be Rehoused and climbs into the van, leaving the man walking out of Henry's to deal with me. He turns up my path. 'First teenage girl,' he says.

'Only child,' I lie. 'Just my parents and grandparents.'

'Must've loved you,' he says, showing some humanity.

I speak through gritted teeth. 'They did what they had to.' I haven't quite worked out how last night unfolded and I'm not sure I want to. It feels odd to be speaking to this stranger. Against my expectations he drags out the conversation, as if he too is holding onto some last piece of normality before we leave. I wonder if he is a Middlelander or someone from behind the Fence but, without giving my insider knowledge away, I can't ask.

'Name.'

'Theia Silverdale. Pleasure to meet you.' The policeman stares at me. I must be the first person to answer back. It's too late before I can stop myself but even though I shake with fear, the anger inside me rages deeper.

'Anyone alive inside?'

'No, so don't waste your time.'

The policeman brushes past me, doesn't even bother asking for identification. I guess that was a pointless exercise since most of us don't have any. Did he think we holidayed? Do the Upperlanders travel?

I worry that I have only aroused his suspicion. He comes out after what feels like hours.

'Thought you said you were an only child.'

I begin to panic but don't reply.

'There's more than one child's bedroom and sets of clothes.'

I think fast. 'My brother and sister died a few months ago from the sickness going around. My parents weren't ready to let them go just yet. I guess it was a blessing in disguise.'

The policeman tries to detect if I'm lying but he looks exhausted. Who knows if he has other roads to sort out or if he's been up all night patrolling? 'Is that all you're taking?'

'Yes.'

He bends down to reach for the handle but I lurch to stop him. 'I'll take it.' I carry it in my arms, rather than dragging it.

The zip is only half done up. 'Things might fall out,' he says, pointing.

'It's fine.'

He leads me down my path, away from my house, past the gate that creaks unless you lift it as you push. At the back of the van, he tries to take the suitcase to place it on top of the others. I resist but he is stronger and grabs it out of my hands. The pile is high so he swings to throw it.

'Please don't,' I say, as calmly as I can even though he is getting fed up with me. 'I have valuables in there. Respect that at least.'

He sighs and places it gently on top of the other pile. 'Will that do?'

I stare at the suitcase, hoping that he doesn't detect a thing. 'Thank you.'

I am marched to the side of the van and climb in. The chill of deathly silence fills this vehicle. We are all that remains of this street, mostly scared and lonely children, with the rest left behind to be consumed by the tide. No proper funeral or ritual or farewell, the houses eroding with our memories of those inside.

I sit in the last remaining spot next to Ronan. There are far fewer seats than houses. They didn't think many of us would survive. At least not one per household. They were right.

Ronan is quiet and I am proud of him for remaining brave. I don't breathe a sigh of relief but I do allow myself a moment of reflection that I may have achieved more than I thought possible, although it doesn't detract from my terror that something could still go wrong.

The policeman slides into the front and starts the engine. I have never been in a moving vehicle before. The vibrations make my stomach turn. I lower my hand to my side and subtly take Ronan's in mine. I squeeze tight.

So many bad things have happened to allow the two of us to be sitting side by side. I feel fortunate to have my brother next to me. I can't think of my sister right now.

I contemplate my family, Selene and her mother, both of whom I can only begin to speculate about, Henry and his parents, that kiss, the Ethers, Jason, Ruskin and his parents on the other side of the Fence, Melissa and her neighbour, and all of the other families who have suffered through the evening and all I can think of is that we, the remaining few, owe it to those who didn't make it to carry on.

What happens next, I have no idea, but I will never forget my heritage or those that had to die for me to live. Yes, whatever happens next, I will forever tell myself that, however tough life may be from now on, and however I may disagree with what happened, and however many times I might regret living over others, and however often I question what the purpose of remaining alive is, I cannot lose sight that it would be ungrateful of me to think anything other than that we are the lucky few.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

'We, The Lucky Few' is the first book in The Surge Trilogy, concluding with 'We, The Grateful Few' and 'We, The Final Few'.

Also currently available by P.S. Lurie is 'The Eleventh Labour', a mystery thriller set in Greece, the first in the Chace Hellis adventure series.

