

## Supernice

### Petra Jacob

Copyright 2020 Petra Jacob

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, or events used in this book are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, events or locales is completely coincidental.

E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

### Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter One

In New Delhi, Mr Patel was halfway through explaining Pythagoras' theorem to class 8B when he fell asleep. He gently slumped into the white boards, smearing the bottom angle of a red triangle across his face, his blue-striped tie rumpling up to his chin. This would have caused delight to his pupils, except that they too were all asleep. Some gently snoring, some hanging from their chairs, but every one blissfully unaware of the world around them.

At the Zenith Heights Casino in Las Vegas, it was nearly midnight, but instead of the usual bustling drama, customers were folded and crumpled across fruit machines and tables. While Celine Dion wailed over the speakers, a young, balding man had fallen against a slot machine, his fingers around a pork rib taken from the buffet. Just out of sight of the machines, a hostess wearing a glittery costume, a peacock headdress and a thick coating of makeup was lying with her face in a line of coke, straw dangling from her nose.

Although most of Mexico City was asleep since it was two in the morning, the red-light district was still filled with punters. Car horns were blaring non-stop as sex workers had fallen back from the policemen they were straddling. Late night clubbers and early morning delivery drivers in London had all collapsed where they stood. And fifty miles away, in Icking, near Worthing, Natasha had stopped getting ready for school. Halfway through putting on her socks she had tipped sideways onto her bed.

The minutes ticked by and the sleep continued. The insomniacs, the busy, the lazy - all united in slumber.

Outside Natasha's house a light rain had started, speckling the cars. A black cat sat licking its paws at the side of the road. Then it stopped, looked at the ground in alarm, and in one graceful movement leapt onto a wall, making a low yowling moan, its tail waving as it sniffed the air. Nothing happened for a moment, and then with the faintest creaking the road lifted up and a small tarmac wave rolled down the white lines. The cat bolted along the wall and disappeared over a fence. Then another wave lifted and rolled beneath the cars parked along it. A large removal truck sailed down the road towards the battered Ka belonging to Natasha's dad. As the truck hit the bumper, another wave lifted and carried it away.

Not only the tarmac was morphing. Cars wobbled and bulged, small bubbles of paint were popping and settling. Lampposts bent as if the weight of light was too much, bowing to the liquid road. With a slight shiver, and the smell of freshly mixed concrete, paving slabs shifted as if they'd been laid on molten lava. Then the slabs themselves became square pools of concrete with insects skating on the surface between stones that popped up and bobbed. Natasha didn't wake when the mattress she was lying on bulged and collapsed beneath her, the material oozing into her mouth and around her eyes. She didn't wake when the walls bowed in, squashing the furniture so it dented like marshmallow.

At the local supermarket, the shelves creaked as the metal struts puddled on the floor, then slowly rose again, leaving only a few packets of cornflakes spilled onto the now liquid ground.

The postman of Icking was leaning against a wall, three bills and a package containing a hairdryer still clutched in his hand, as the bricks against his cheek became as soft as dough and oozed around him. His nose was slowly sinking when with a pop he bounced back out, unharmed, still sleeping.

For three hours the streets, buildings and vehicles across every continent wriggled and floated as curious, intrusive intent took control, flexing and claiming. As the hours moved on, the movement slowed. All distorted objects came to rest exactly as they had been.

When everybody woke up four hours and sixteen minutes later, the world looked virtually unchanged, nobody suspected all life was now waiting to upend. Nobody knew that the Wave had begun.

Nick woke groaning as usual. His eyeballs felt too large for their sockets, his left foot had gone numb and a line of drool connected his face to his shoulder. He experienced a few moments of the usual suffering before he realised his situation was all wrong. He wasn't in bed as he should be, but sitting on the floor with a sock in his hand. And the sun was up, which it shouldn't be unless he was late getting up. Very late. He spent another minute refusing to believe this was the case before finally throwing the sock aside and panicking. He would be late for work. There would be complaints and his boss would sulk. His daughter Natasha would be late for school, then the school would fine him and Natasha would get in trouble. He could already see how these misfortunes could turn to issues, issues to disaster, disaster to catastrophe.

'Alexa, what's the time?' he shouted at his virtual assistant.

Alexa spun a blue light around her perimeter and said in her soothing, unchanging tone, 'At the moment it's five degrees. Later you can expect a low of four degrees.'

'The time Alexa!' said Nick jumping up from the floor, but one of his feet was still sleeping and he fell heavily across the carpet. Then Natasha, his fourteen-year-old daughter, burst in.

'Dad! Dad! Why didn't you wake me? Why are you on the floor? Why didn't my alarm go off?'

Nick tried to look calm and in control from where he was sprawled, rolling over and leaning on his hand. 'It's all fine, noodle, a little over-sleep, that's all.'

'But it's gone one! Why didn't we wake up? Why didn't our alarms go off?' Her voice was a jumbled mix of hysteria and anger. She was clutching her phone and kept looking at it in disbelief.

'There must have been a power cut, that's all,' he said, while gingerly climbing on the bed.

'But it's battery-operated!' said Natasha.

'This is not the time! Get your things together as quickly as possible and we'll go.'

Natasha crashed out of the room and he could hear her shouting at her own Alexa.

For the next twenty minutes, time conspired against Nick. The faster he tried to get things done, the faster they went wrong. He put the toothpaste on his electric toothbrush and then forgot to put it in his mouth before switching it on, so white and red paste spattered across the walls. He started shaving with his razor, so ergonomically designed that it shot out of his hands and onto the floor where it split in two. He put the buttons of his shirt through the buttonholes of his cardigan. He got the pin-code to his phone wrong three times and then it wouldn't recognise his fingerprint.

'Of course it's my finger! Who else's would it be? Look! It's attached to me!' he wailed, showing his hand to the phone in the hope it would see the error of its ways. He tried shouting instructions to Alexa to tell him the traffic situation and to stick the kettle on, but she kept saying, 'I don't understand what you want me to do. Do you want me to sing a song?'

'No Alexa, call my boss!'

'You're the boss!' said Alexa agreeably, then she began to sing. 'Bring me sunshine, in your smile.' Unshaven, with drops of toothpaste on his mis-buttoned shirt, Nick ran downstairs. Natasha was standing in the porch in bare feet, staring out, not moving.

'Right, I'm ready,' he said, realising he wasn't. The he started looking for his phone. 'Come on Tash, get your shoes on,' he said, then realised he'd already put his phone in his pocket, but now his keys had vanished.

'Dad,' said Natasha.

'What? Where are my flipping keys? I had them last night.'

'Dad, come and look.' There was urgency in her voice, but it was focused out the front door instead of the crisis at hand.

'Did you move them?' Nick lifted up all the items on the table: the book that should have been put away, the plates left out from dinner, his small toolbox. His keys weren't there.

'Would you like me to make a sound like a pig?' asked Alexa from the kitchen unit.

'Dad!' said Natasha.

'What?' Nick said angrily, annoyed that Natasha wasn't panicking.

'Look,' she said. He walked to the front door and looked out. The cul-de-sac would normally be empty at this time. Apart from the stoners at number twenty-six and Mrs and Mr Wollstaff next door, they should all be at work or school. Instead, everyone was in the street. Most were looking at everyone else in the street. Many had shirts flapping or held pieces of toast in their hands. Some were making frantic calls on their phones, not having yet noticed the others around them.

'It was everyone,' said Natasha. 'None of us woke up.'

Chapter Two

Two weeks had passed and around the world, the day was happening as usual. Some got up with the sun, some hid from it. Some were standing in the light of the moon, others reading by lamplight. Only those who should be asleep were asleep.

In Icking, Natasha broke from a dream with a start, then relaxed when she realised it was six a.m., just like it should be. Then she panicked because that meant she'd have to go to school and face the mundane horrors there. Six a.m. was never good.

'Alexa?' she said, turning her head. Alexa spun a blue light around her plastic surface to show she was listening. 'What's happening?' Alexa reeled off the news headlines and weather reports, while Natasha stared at the ceiling, enjoying this excuse to stay in bed a bit longer.

Natasha's dad struggled to make rent at the end of each month, but he loved his gadgets, and for them, money could always be dredged up from somewhere. They had three different gaming systems, four Kindles and an Alexa in every room except the toilet, where Natasha insisted it would be weird to have technology talk to her.

In her bedroom, Natasha would chat to Alexa without thinking and often didn't bother to listen to the reply. And she wasn't listening while Alexa told her about the traffic. Instead she was deciding that this day was going to be different. This day she would take control. As she told herself every day.

She stood in front of the mirror brushing her wiry brown hair, then used gel to get it into a style that made sense. For a few moments she got the messy, bedhead look that appeared in magazines, then it sprang back to the squashed-by-misshapen-hat look. By fourteen she had hoped for hair which did as it was told, and felt aggrieved this hadn't happened. She peered at the blackheads on her nose, and then sneered so she could see her wonky teeth. Her face was like a patchwork of flaws, held together by pasty skin and spots. The only features she considered half acceptable were her brown, almost black eyes. But Rosie had called them the eyes of a cow on Friday, so now she liked them less.

'What a beautiful day!' said Alexa, spinning her blue light.

'Alexa, did Dad tell you to say that? Because it's wrong. It's a crappy day. Another crappy day.'

'Okay,' Alexa replied.

Picking up her phone and flicking through Twitter, Natasha trudged downstairs to get some breakfast.

'I'm scrambling!' Nick was singing into his spatula to the tune of Jammin' by Bob Marley, shaking his hips enthusiastically. Natasha sighed and got the bread out of the cupboard.

'Morning Dad,' she said, checking the bread for signs of mould.

'Twenty reasons to eat breakfast. Number twelve will shock you!' said Nick. Before his brain had properly woken up, he would resort to clickbait headlines in place of conversation.

'Yes Dad,' she said, relieved she could hide in her phone. With one hand she swiped the screen, with the other she put the bread in the toaster. Natasha found that by looking at Instagram she could check on the mood of her classmates and be prepared for impending disaster. This morning most of them were angry it was Monday. A few were again lamenting they couldn't have another mysterious worldwide lie in. This was an ongoing joke across Earth, countries united by a meme. Once breakfast was made, Nick and Natasha sat at the table eating and looking at their phones.

'Would you like me to tell you a joke?' asked Alexa, giving her blue-light salute.

'Not now, thanks,' said Nick.

'Don't you like jokes?' asked Alexa.

'We're fine right now, thanks.' He leaned over to Natasha and said quietly. 'She's not been the same since the Big Sleep. She's probably gone senile.'

'Oh good,' said Natasha. 'Senile A.I. in charge of the house.'

Then she checked Twitter to find out the news in more detail.

Nick looked up from the article he was reading about the ethics of scaring cats for laughs. 'The Nickster is going to go make a vid in a minute,' he said. He often referred to himself in third person when he talked about his channel. 'I thought I'd do one about painting today, what do you reckon?'

'Sure, Dad.'

'You can be in it if you want. All the kids at school will envy you if you're in your own YouTube video, eh?'

'I already told you, they've all got channels, Dad.'

'You could become a me-me!'

'Dad, it's meme. You know it's meme,' said Natasha.

'Alexa, how do you pronounce me-me?' asked Nick, leaning his back in his chair.

'Me-me is pronounced me-me,' said Alexa.

'That's not fair!'

Nick chuckled.

'What are you doing at work today?' asked Natasha, adding two spoons of hot chocolate to her coffee. Nick worked for a communications company, providing the best solutions for all your business communication needs. According to the website, anyway.

'It's complaints day, so I'll be fending off criticism.'

'Why don't you build a radio that works properly, then you wouldn't even need a complaints day?' she said, adding a couple of marshmallow pieces to her coffee. She didn't really like coffee. She drank it because adults seemed to think it was important and she hoped to figure out why.

'Oh Tash, it's your child-like innocence that keeps me going sometimes,' said Nick, ruffling her hair, while she squirmed away and slapped his hand. He got up and stepped outside the kitchen and into the hall so he could squint into the full-length mirror.

'You know, they're saying it's lack of sunspots now?' said Natasha, flicking through the headlines.

'What is? Have you got any concealer? I'm sure I've got a zit coming,' replied Nick, poking at his chin. 'I can feel it under the surface.'

'The Big Sleep! They're saying everybody in the world fell asleep because there aren't enough sunspots.'

'Well, they can cause some freaky effects, strange atmospheric pressure and stuff,' said Nick.

'Right, so everyone fell asleep because of pressure, and no cars crashed, no one fell off a boat or a bridge. No one working in a power plant dropped a nugget of plutonium and set off a nuclear explosion. Everything was fine.'

'That's not how power plants work, noodle. They don't just carry plutonium around,' said Nick.

'If everyone fell asleep, things should have gone wrong. Why didn't somebody have a heart attack? Why didn't planes crash? Why did nobody die? It can't be a natural event, and scientists must know that. Why aren't they saying it?'

'Tash,' said Nick, leaning into the kitchen and setting his face into his wise-grownup expression. 'Most of the time nobody has a clue what's going on. Those in power need to pretend they do, because if we all knew how little they're in control, we'd go nuts. Everybody is winging it.'

'But that's not good enough!' said Natasha, who was a firm believer in logic and constantly frustrated that no one else was.

Nick carried on. 'Doctors, lawyers, politicians, scientists. They're all making stuff up, so they keep coming out with statements of definite fact that all contradict each other.'

'But why don't you change it? Make it better?'

Nick shrugged. 'Where would you start?' He returned to the mirror. 'Should I get a tattoo?'

'No!' said Natasha in horror.

'Why not?'

'Because you're old! And uncool!'

'I could get your name.'

Natasha mimed retching and fell to the floor clutching her stomach.

'Your name emblazoned across my neck,' said Nick, warming to the theme, while Natasha pretended to die on the lino.

Natasha slung her school bag over her shoulder and pulled on the huge puffa jacket which gave her personal space, acting as a buffer zone between her and other people.

'Bye Dad! Don't forget -' she shouted.

'I know, take out the bins and feed the cat,' said Nick poking his head out the kitchen door.

'We don't have a cat,' she said.

'Oh, just take out the bins, then?' Natasha sighed and pulled the door open, a task that that took three kicks. She fired up a Billie Eilish track on her phone and headed out of Roedown Close. She liked the routine of the morning, knowing that on the corner of her road she'd see Keiron, the awkward man with the sandy blond hair, who hunched over his cigarette by his garden gate. They'd nod to each other, but never speak. She liked that on the main road she'd hear the rattle and clap every day of the same kid whizzing up behind her on his scooter as he raced to catch the bus. Then the number sixteen bus would pass her to head down Logan Street. These reassuring details proved life was fine, and maybe the Big Sleep was an inexplicable but harmless blip, like everyone kept saying. It seemed unlikely, but the alternative was a dark hollow of the unknown where unfathomable forces could control reality, forces even more terrifying and illogical than school. She checked Instagram as she walked. There was a new post up by the binman she followed: a picture of some paintings somebody had thrown away. Even being a binman looked glamourous on Instagram.

Icking was a little town, next to the sea, accessed by one road off the A283 and another that weaved along the cliff edge next to the sea. It was like an afterthought, a town plan thrown together at the end of a meeting when everyone wanted to go to lunch. Rows of identical prefab houses looked as if they'd been built on a production line and dropped by swarms of helicopters. The houses were originally built to supply homes for workers on the industrial estate, but most of the factories had closed down, leading to an exodus of many under fifty. Natasha climbed the small hill, walking through the scrubland as it dipped down over a hillside to the sea. It wasn't the quickest route to school, but it gave her perspective that there were places to be other than school. Along the path, sandy dust stirred around her feet and chucked stones into her shoes. One side was hedged by trees, leafless but hugged by ivy, the thin bare branches poking out like skinny arms from a huge jumper. The other side was a cliff edge with the crash of waves far below. It was a desolate path. There wasn't even Internet up here, and Natasha loved it, a spacious and abandoned route. Tourists rarely ventured this high and townies preferred the concrete slabs to walk on. She could taste the salt from the sea and feel the stones digging their way through the worn-out patches in her shoes. It was a last gasp before making the descent into the pit of school.

She could see the town far below, and the new unfinished road weaving out of it. Smooth tarmac abruptly ending in rubble and empty diggers. Ten years ago the town had acquired a mayor who had big ideas for Icking. He wanted Icking on the map. He wanted change and productivity and anything newsworthy. And a knighthood. Not a believer in gradual change, because he knew nobody gave praise for gradual change, he was a man of wild ideas but with no staying power to see them through. He had introduced community bikes, most of which had ended up in the river. There were half a dozen windmills turning but connected to nothing. Tracks laid for a tram system that never had trams. The town was a graveyard of abandoned schemes.

The road was another one of these schemes, half-built, then left strewn with machinery. Seen from a distance it looked like a kid had been playing but was called away for dinner.

Then, as Natasha stared, the tarmac buckled, as if someone had taken two corners and shook it out like a sheet. Ripples shivered through the white lines. Trees on either side of the road leaned, then sprang upright again. Natasha stared in disbelief and took out her phone, wondering if she should call someone, not sure who or what she could say. There was no signal anyway. Now the road looked perfect and untouched, as if it had been an optical illusion. Then, another ripple appeared, smaller this time. Like a mole was scurrying beneath the road's surface, weaving from side to side. Natasha held her phone up and tried filming, but all it recorded was a blurry mess. She stayed staring at the road for a long time. Something was definitely wrong.

Chapter Three

'Is it only me who loves to see a fresh coat of paint? Instantly makes a room happy,' said Nick into the camera as he smoothly pushed the roller up the wall, creating a neat, pale blue stripe along the diamond-patterned wallpaper. 'If you're bothered by those paint fumes, then add a drop of vanilla essence to the paint tin and it will soothe the smell. Not too much though, you don't want to water it down!' he said. He gave a big grin to the camera, careful to keep his head at the right angle so his nose didn't cast a shadow.

Nick wasn't especially good-looking, but he had a comfortable face: twinkling brown eyes and thick black hair peppered with grey. His face had no sharp angles, and he grinned constantly. Or Nickster did, anyway. Popular YouTuber Becky B had recently described him as 'a holy hot tamale', and it was one of the proudest moments of his life.

He always spent a good ten minutes taking practice video before shooting the final product. On too many occasions he had shot a whole segment and then realised a bogey was poking out of a nostril. Or the light was shining at an odd angle making his forehead look huge. One truly hideous time, he hadn't realised until nearly a hundred people had seen the video that his flies were undone, and his stomach still curdled with embarrassment when he thought of it. His cheery DIY videos were never going to set the Internet alight, but they got him a few thousand views, some grateful comments, and they led to him becoming friends with Becky B.

_My Life is a B Movie Becky_ was a single mum, living in Los Angeles. She had started out making content about what it was like to struggle on welfare and ways to make every cent stretch to a dollar. Plus the occasional, highly-entertaining rant about her bad dating experiences and erratic parents. She had a fresh-faced enthusiasm, bordering on mania. Even when saying unpleasant things, good cheer shone through her unremarkable features and made them pretty. She'd found Nick's videos in those difficult days, and with his instructions she'd fixed her leaky sink and rattling windows. Soon they were leaving comments for one another, then messaging, and finally built up a Facetime affair. It wasn't love for either of them, but it was fun flirtation. Then, while Nick's channel had trundled along at the same pace, picking up a few more subscribers a week, Becky's had exploded. Soon she no longer did videos about struggling with a budget. YouTube made life easy, so she made content about other YouTubers. This was even more popular, as Becky wittily dismantled the self-delusion of a spoilt trust fund kid or an anti-vaxxer. She skilfully walked the line between concern and bitchiness. She had become polished. Natasha hated her.

Nick dipped the roller in the paint tray again.

'The secret to avoiding splashes is to get the right amount of paint on your roller, but it takes practice.' He looked over to the camera, 'so don't get frustrated with yourself if you get it wrong at first.' He stood up and rolled the paint onto the wall again. And then stopped and looked closer.

'Oops!' he said. 'Looks like I didn't quite match up the rolls of wallpaper here!' he chuckled, running his finger over the giraffe pattern, the head two inches from the neck. He had only put up the paper three weeks previously and wondered how he'd missed such a glaring error. Then he stepped to the left, raised his roller and stopped again. He peered at the wall.

'It doesn't match here either.' He was now talking more to himself than the camera and hadn't noticed he was splashing paint on the floor. 'That's not even a different sheet, it must have been printed wrong.'

'Here's your reminder. It's time for work,' said Alexa.

'Very odd,' said Nick.

'It's time for work,' said Alexa again.

'Right, yes, okay, thanks,' said Nick, then switched off the camera, put the roller back in the tray, and began the daily search for his keys.

Natasha's attention was on her phone as she walked through the school gate. She tried to breathe slowly and look normal, keeping all her concentration on Instagram. Icking High School was a forward-thinking, vibrant and dynamic place of learning where young minds could be nurtured; so their brochure read. It had a zero-tolerance anti-bullying policy, so no child ever needed to feel unsafe. The four girls who had campaigned for the policy - Rosie, two indistinguishable Rebeccas and a Katie - all stood waiting for Natasha as she walked towards the school building. With their sweet smiles and adorable demeanour, they were loved by teachers and looked up to by any kids who mattered. They were clever, but not so clever they became annoying, unlike Natasha. They did crafts, cooed over kittens, and posted inspirational quotes over pictures of out of focus, pretty women on Instagram. They were perfect.

Natasha usually got to school early, so she could find a space in a secluded corner and stare at her phone. However, she'd spent too much time watching the rippling road and had arrived late. She saw Rosie and her friends were standing between the gate and anywhere she could hide.

'Hi Tash!' said Rosie brightly, her voice lingering a bit too long on the syllables. 'How are you today?' As Natasha walked past, her head down, the two Rebeccas and a Katie all made _hmming_ noises, like a chorus of insincerity. Natasha mumbled a response and walked on. Her phone buzzed and she looked, already knowing who it would be from.

_Smile! I made you a present :)_ it said. She carried on trudging inside and opened her locker. Silly string and glitter had been sprayed and thrown around, so that her books, gym kit and spare jumper were covered. She sighed, fetched the classroom bin, and began to clean up. For a year now Rosie, two Rebeccas and a Katie had hated her. It had started with snide comments on Twitter whenever Natasha joined a conversation. It had escalated to silent stares if she spoke, followed by eye-rolling. It had spread like a virus throughout the class, through the teachers and then the school. Soon after, she started to get the presents. Sometimes she could go days without a gift from Rosie, then she'd find her schoolbooks decorated with Justin Bieber surrounded by hearts, or a bar of chocolate in her locker, but melted so it dripped all over her pencil case.

Wanting to help, Nick had got her The Art of War hoping this would give her an idea of how to fight bullies. But Natasha felt that Sun Tsu didn't really understand how brutal and strategic teenage girls could be.

Nick pushed open the door of the police station with a heavy heart, and reminded himself that once the radio system was up and working, he could move on. Hopefully to a fancy office with free coffee and biscuits. Inside the station there wasn't the kind of hustle and bustle that Nick expected from a busy crime-fighting hub. Officers here didn't stride, they trudged. He blamed this weariness on the police chief.

The chief could wear down a lump of iron if he talked to it long enough. He was a perfect example of a big fish who needed a big pond to swim in. In a little town like Icking, he only ended up crushing all the other fish. He'd decided Nick was 'one of the good guys', and kept slapping his shoulder, so that Nick spilt his coffee all over his trousers.

'These radios are going to revolutionise the police force!' declared the chief that morning, slapping his desk, while Nick tried to turn down the volume in his head. He didn't have a chair to sit in, so stood awkwardly, while the chief walked about his office. 'Brown! Brown!' the chief shouted. PC Brown opened the door slowly, as if to cushion the force of the chief's personality.

'Yes, Chief?'

'I was just telling Nick about how these radios are going to revolutionise the police force, eh?'

'Hmm,' said Brown carefully, shuffling his feet. 'Although there are a few small issues and -'

'Nonsense!' blared the chief, rocking back in his chair and splaying his legs out wider.

'Issues?' asked Nick. Brown hesitated, then launched into the complaint with gusto. Clearly he had prepared this speech.

'You see, the radios have a tendency to switch from a private conversation to blasting out to all the radios at once.'

'Hmm, if you stay on a call for longer than the allocated time...' Nick started to say, while the chief nodded and grunted helpfully, but Brown carried on.

'Yesterday the findings of a cavity search were broadcast to all constables in the street, and passers-by were quite disturbed to know where Bug-eyed Pete had hidden his heroin stash.'

'Ah,' said Nick.

'And during a raid on a factory making counterfeit iPhones, the radios began transmitting Nigel's birthday celebration going on back at the station. Just when surveillance were about to burst through the door, a chorus of 'happy birthday' started playing, which didn't help much with the element of surprise. Perhaps we could tweak...'

'Whatever Nick says! He's the man!' said the chief, clapping Nick on the back. This time Nick was able to avoid getting coffee on his trousers and got it on the floor instead.

'Sure,' said Nick. 'I'm on it.'

'See?' said the chief. 'A good man! He's on it!' Nick quickly put his coffee on the desk, while Brown left the room, his face drooping in weary resignation. He had failed.

'But you haven't experienced any of these problems, Chief?'

The chief slapped the table. 'Oh, I don't use the radios! That's for the monkeys! If I want to speak to someone, they come running!'

Nick nodded. The chief leaned forward, looking like a slice of angry ham.

'You know what our biggest problem in Icking is?' thundered the chief.

'You said it was yobs,' said Nick, who'd had this conversation three times this week.

'It's yobs! Me and the mayor are expected to turn this pile of scrap town into some kind of paradise, and yobs come and wreck it all. You know what that's like, Nick?'

The chief sat down and rubbed his hand over his face. Nick was alarmed he might start crying.

'I have slaved! Slaved for this town! I've seen things no one should see. The life of a police chief, we see things... Like when I broke into Frank's place to find he'd died four weeks ago and had turned into a puddle! Or had to tell the Johnsons about their dead son. You know what that's like?'

'No, it must be tough,' said Nick, thinking the chief was the last person he'd want to hear bad news from.

'These worthless shits won't break me!' shouted the chief, thumping his fist into the table. It gave a desperate creak of resistance. 'They try. They'd love to see me fall. But no!' He slammed his fist into the table again. A whiff of burnt wood floated up. The chief got up and walked towards the door, while Nick stepped back. He was about to follow, when he saw in the surface of the desk two deep imprints in the shape of the chief's meaty fists.

'Was that...?' He stopped and stared again. 'What just happened?' He touched the dents. They were warm and slightly soft beneath his fingers, and he recoiled in shock.

'Come on!' roared the chief from the next room, and Nick hurried out, glancing back at the desk as he did so.

Chapter Four

Natasha should have done well at school. She was clever and hard-working and felt cheated that these things counted for nothing in girls. Teachers had found her frequent corrections of their mistakes irritating, and now she tried to keep quiet to avoid their looks of lethargy when she spoke. The morning's class was Mr Meeser for Biology and he was explaining parts of the cell. Mr Meeser's eyebrows had spread across his face over the years and now the hairs sprouted in single lonely strands on his forehead and between his eyes, occasionally on his nose. He was known as Meeser the Tweezer Geezer. Someone in the year below had set up a Twitter account to chart new hairs. This was the kind of joke Natasha used to be a part of, but now she was on the outside and when new names appeared, she didn't understand them. She didn't know why the chemistry teacher she knew as Toady McToadface had become Mrs Toddle. It was a stupid name.

Mr Meeser asked the class if anyone knew what the largest known cell was, and Natasha shot her hand up first. She'd seen a discussion about eggs on _QI_ and knew an ostrich egg was the largest single cell. She knew Mr Meeser saw her; there was a momentary look of distaste on his face before he looked around the class and picked someone else, who got the answer wrong. Natasha tried to swallow the redness out of her face and look as if she'd never cared anyway. Nobody liked a know-it-all, but she kept hoping this would change at some point.

As much as she didn't like classes, lunchtimes were the worst. As Rosie had plagued Natasha's social media accounts with threats veiled in sweetness and passive-aggressive comments, Natasha had shut down Facebook and gone anonymous on Twitter and Instagram. Muted from the main source of school communication, Natasha's friends had drifted away and now she spent lunch alone. She felt like she'd been ghosted by the whole school, except for those she wanted to be ignored by.

She walked around like a lost soul, pretending she liked it that way, and dreading the moment when she'd next become a visible target.

For Natasha, the canteen was a hot spot for trouble. She stood in the queue for food, wishing she were smaller. The only other loner in the hall was Darek, a boy in the year above her. Darek chose to be alone, but she told herself they had a connection through isolation. Mostly she didn't think that much of boys. They seemed to swagger about the place being foul to show how funny they were. But Darek was different. He was quiet to the point of sullen. He looked as if he had intense thoughts he never voiced, which went deeper than farts and willies. Most boys spoke constantly, and never let an idea silently take root. Each was out and blaring before any depth had formed. But Darek was silent, still water running deep. She just knew it.

She shuffled forward in the queue with her tray, eyes on her phone.

'Oh my God,' said Rosie, as she, the two Rebeccas and Katie walked up to the join the queue. Natasha had a theory that the way Rosie used the words _Oh my God_ comprised a whole new language by itself. Depending on how she said it, Rosie could express surprise, anger, excitement or humour. Right now, the joyless sneer Rosie was using to say the words suggested it was mocking disgust.

'Your fashion sense is _literally_ an act of violence against me,' she said, as if it was a joke, and her friends laughed to prove it was. They were now crowding around Natasha, with their eyes wide and empty.

They all wore the same uniform for school, but there were subtle ways of tweaking and personalizing it: rolling up sleeves, pulling the tie askew, wearing a camisole underneath the shirt. All girls were expected to stick to the latest trend; it was part of the girl code and showed a willingness to belong. But Natasha never did. Her socks were the cheapest from Tesco and she didn't wear neon bangles hidden under her jumper. She found the whole idea daft.

'Perhaps you could try highlights,' said Katie, twirling a finger in Natasha's hair.

'Okay,' said Natasha sweetly. 'Thanks!'

Natasha treated the abuse like a science experiment. Each day she devised a new method to keep out of trouble to see which one worked. So far none of them had. Today, Natasha was experimenting with niceness. As Rosie blocked her way, Natasha gently put a hand on her shoulder and started to say a compliment. Rosie screamed, and clutched at her arm in horror, 'Oh my God! Did you see her attack me?'

'That's assault,' said a Rebecca.

'That's bullying. That's not allowed,' said the other Rebecca.

'I didn't attack you,' Natasha tried to explain.

Now the other kids in the queue and the dinner ladies were expressing their shock.

'You should report it if she's bullying you,' said a dinner lady with kind eyes in a doughy face.

'I didn't attack her!' wailed Natasha.

Rosie gave an exaggerated sigh and said loudly,

'It's okay, Tash. I know you have _issues_ , but you really need to find a productive way to express yourself.'

'That's very mature of you,' said one dinner lady.

'You're lucky she doesn't want to take it further,' said doughy face to Natasha.

Natasha was relieved to escape the dinner hall and sit on a low wall outside, flicking through Twitter trends to see what was going on in the world and pretending to not exist in real life. In amongst the names of dead celebrities, political tantrums, and sinkholes appearing in London was one odd hashtag: #dent. She clicked the link and her phone froze. Then a group of kids walked near. One shouting, 'Do the wall! Do it!'

Mark Dresden, known as Hammer, punched the wall and Natasha scoffed to herself. More childish displays of machismo. She noticed a couple of the other boys stood holding their hands, blood dripping from the knuckles.

'But why's it only you?' asked Chippy, a small boy with a squeaky voice who hung out with Hammer to feel bigger.

'You've got to _mean_ it,' said Hammer.

Natasha looked at the section of wall he had punched. Then she stood up to get a closer look. The walls were made of cheap plasterboard that should have crumbled away years ago, and she expected to see it broken. Instead, the material was dented into a perfect fist shape.

'How did that happen?' she asked.

'Oh here comes Miss Prim. You going to tell us we shouldn't damage school property then?' said Hammer.

'But it's not possible. How did it happen?' asked Natasha.

'That's nothing, look at the ground,' said Chippy.

Natasha looked around the playground, there were several fist-shaped dents in the colourful rubber-chipping surface.

'But how?' she asked, walking over and touching one of the dents. The ground was warm and very slightly soft. She quickly pulled her hand away and looked at her fingers as if they might contain a clue.

'This is wrong. This shouldn't be possible,' insisted Natasha as Hammer looked at her proudly. 'We need to tell a teacher.'

'Bollocks we do,' said Hammer. 'They'll only spoil it.' The boys walked away to find another wall to punch, but Natasha stared at the ground for a long time. The wrongness was growing, and as always, people weren't paying attention to the right things.

'Neeahh! None shall defeat me!' snarled Nick, jumping up and down on the couch.

'Dad, you'll break the springs again,' said Natasha, and glanced away from the screen for a moment to look at him disapprovingly.

'Ha! Eat my fireball!'

'That's not fair!' shrieked Natasha, diving her character away, and rolling him to put out the flames.

'All is fair when you fight The Lord of Doom!' growled Nick, pulling off a nifty spinning kick. But while his grandiosity was distracting him, Natasha ducked low and jumped up punching, knocking him out in one smooth move.

'Aw, fiend! Bloody revenge will be mine!' Now it was Nick's turn to whine. Natasha giggled. To see her dad, normally as mild and easy-going as a father could be, shouting threats was impossibly funny, and she suspected he hammed it up for her. They were playing ThunderWorld: a combat game filled with ridiculous monsters and cheesy characters. Nick had found it in the bargain bin, and they had both instantly fallen in love with it. It was a game unencumbered by storyline or world building. It just involved lots of meaningless violence as the two players battled it out in a desert for no reason at all. It was the kind of game Natasha would never stoop to playing online but was perfect for noisy battles with her dad.

'Did you mean to explode there?' said Nick gleefully. 'It seems unwise to explode.'

'Shut up! I'm trying to concentrate!' said Natasha.

'You don't need concentration to explode,' he chided as she threw her controller down in a pretend flounce, giggling.

'Not everybody has got the gift,' Nick said, shaking his head at her.

'Which is why you mostly lose,' she replied. 'Shall I stick some popcorn on?' She got up to go to the kitchen, but Nick turned the console off and stood up too.

'You've got to be getting to bed, noodle. We're not at the weekend yet.'

Natasha felt her mood drop to the floor with clunk. School was waiting. Natasha hadn't told him about Rosie. It would only worry him, and he thought this was only the usual school blues, something to power through.

'Yes,' she said in a small voice, not moving. Nick got up and kissed her head.

'Don't look sad noodle. Tomorrow is going to be a great day. I can feel it.'

She gave him a wan smile, but wondered, as she often did, how he could be so completely wrong about fundamental things.

She didn't sleep well, partly in fear of school, partly because of the wrongness everybody was ignoring. Nobody had a clue why the Big Sleep happened. And that meant it could happen again, and this time they might not wake up. Or they might wake to find reality had twisted into hideous shapes, and nobody would be able to twist it back.

In Icking it was still early morning, but across the world there were scientists and managers of scientists up and running their brains ragged trying to figure out what caused the Big Sleep. They experimented with sleeping patterns and sleeping pills. With MRIs and Polysomnograms. But they couldn't find any clue as to why billions of people had fallen asleep at once. And they weren't going to find anything because they were looking at the wrong thing. That phase was over. And phase two was about to start.

Natasha woke up with a jolt and went through the routine of panic, relief and then panic again. She slept on a memory foam mattress, so always felt the bed wanted her to stay in it, and she hated to disappoint even inanimate objects. She checked her phone for comments on her latest Instagram photo of next door's cat, checked a couple of forums for replies to her posts, and looked at the news headlines. She finally rolled out of bed before getting dressed and going to get breakfast. Her favourite Parody Instagram Influencer had posted a soft-focus photo of her rubbing in athlete's foot cream, with the caption _Time for a little pampering!_ Natasha chuckled to herself as she walked downstairs. Nick was making toast but kept pressing cancel to look at the bread every few seconds and check it hadn't burnt.

'This simple trick to making toast chefs don't want you to know!' said Nick, with an excess of good cheer.

'It might be time to move on from the clickbait jokes now, Dad,' said Natasha.

'Ten times Tash was grumpy and we can't even!' said Nick.

'That's not even a full sentence,' Natasha said as she sat down. While he was turned away, the toast had burned and Nick tried to scrape some of the charcoal off.

'I bought a new type of paint this week,' he said. 'I was thinking I could do my bedroom later and try it out.'

'Yes, Dad,' said Natasha. She could see from Rosie's Tumblr page that she'd had an argument with her mum and had posted a picture of her arm with cut marks on it, and the words _Would anyone care if I kept slicing to the bone?_ This had resulted in two hundred notes telling Rosie not to do it, to do it, or to be strong.

'You can even colour-wash it, you just have to be sure the consistency is right,' said Nick.

'Fun day at work planned?' Natasha asked, hoping to tease out some misery to dampen his spirit.

'Yeah, the good bit. I'll be programming in the GPS so the chief can track the constables' movements using the radios.'

'What for? Do they get lost?'

'The official reason is they need to be able source PCs if a bust goes south, or something.'

'A bust goes south? You're not in CSI, you know?' said Natasha.

'Don't I know it. It's run more like a sitcom than a police station.' Nick sat down and smeared too much jam on his blackened toast. 'You know, they've got this fancy code lock on the door to the cells. Apparently it cost thousands to install, but no one ever learned to set the code to open it, so they stayed with the factory setting.'

'And what's that?' asked Natasha, putting marshmallow in her coffee.

'Four zeros.'

'Haven't prisoners worked it out?'

'I doubt the criminals of Icking are sophisticated enough,' said Nick, grimacing at the taste of burnt toast.

'Wait, you said the official reason. What's the _un_ official reason for the GPS?'

'The chief reckons they're all spending their time napping and eating chips. Like _he_ does. He wants to check that they're moving.'

'The constables should attach the radios to squirrels, then they'd move,' said Natasha.

Nick smirked, then threw the toast at the bin. 'Anyway, how about you, squirt? What's the plan today?'

'Usual, try to keep my head down and not annoy anybody.'

'Just remember to spread love. The universe gives back what you give it,' said Nick.

'Sure, Dad. Except at school.' Her dad ruffled her hair, which meant she'd have to brush it again.

Now the radios had been declared functional enough for purpose, and the complaints had dropped to a grumble that was easier to ignore, To put the software on, Nick only needed to untangle the mess of the antiquated operating system on the police computers.

He was attempting to free up a plug socket for the radio charger, and was wedged under one of the fake-pine desks, when the phone above him started to ring. A constable picked it up.

'Yeah, Icking police station. Can I help you?' There was a pause, and even from below the desk Nick could hear the shrieking panic of the caller. The constable made some uninterested grunts and a promise to be right out. Then he shouted to the chief through his open doorway,

'Some crack-head called saying the wall has eaten her boyfriend. Should I go check it out?'

'Of course not! We've got real policing to do,' replied the chief, looking up from his game of Panda Pop. 'Let the junkies kill each other. It's natural law!'

Nick gritted his teeth and focused on the wires.

Natasha had a new plan today, and it didn't involve giving out love. She had decided to be mean. It wasn't a method she'd had the guts to use before, but she was driven to bravery via desperation. As she walked to school, she searched on Reddit for insults she could use. _You thundering pimple-brain!_ _You tedious lump of fuck! You six-piece chicken McNothing!_ They weren't helpful, but they cheered her up, and she added a few of her own: _You half-chewed doughnut! You dank hole of misery!_

Throughout the morning, she barely spoke - not even when her form teacher misspelled _metaphor_ on the board - and when break time came around Natasha could feel herself shaking with nerves. She tried to keep close to the wall as she walked out to the playground, but Rosie made a beeline for her, with two Rebeccas and a Katie in tow.

'Ooh Tash, you're looking gorge today. Isn't she looking gorge, girls?' said Rosie, leaning in too close. Her voice was sweet, but her lip was curled and Natasha pulled away.

'No need to flinch! Oh, you're so delicate!' exclaimed Rosie, while her friends cooed with fake sympathy.

'Unlike you, Rosie,' whispered Natasha. 'You're looking almost chunky. Too many carbs this week?'

Natasha knew that Rosie was sensitive about her weight, but she was still surprised when Rosie's expression became one of hurt, shock and then absolute hate. Natasha felt a wave of guilt and fear washing up from her toes to her face, and was about to say sorry, when Rosie smiled in triumph. And slapped Natasha across the face.

Natasha stared bewildered, her mouth hanging wide, and one hand raised too late to ward off the attack. It hurt, but it was the injustice that brought tears to her eyes. She could hear gasps behind her and a few kids had instinctively lifted their phones to film. But the moment was frozen. Even the birds had stopped singing. Rosie opened her mouth to speak, twisting it to say something sneering and indignant. Inexplicably, there was the sound of static, and Natasha wondered if it was her ears ringing with the slap. Then behind Rosie the playground surface began to stretch. The rainbow painted on the rubber chipping contorted like chewing gum being pulled upwards. The red orange yellow stripes became wider and wider. The painted tree expanded until it was twice as tall. It was a sight so bizarre that all reactions were muted and everything slowed. Natasha wanted to run and willed her legs to react, but she just stood there frozen with panic thumping in her throat. A crowd of comically confused faces stared, a few children now backing away with hands raised. The colours jumbled as the stretched playground loomed like a wave and Rosie stood small beneath it. She looked at the fear on the faces around her and their fingers pointing behind her and turned. The triumphant smile fell away into confusion.

She looked back at Natasha, and said, 'What?'

Then there was a rush of air as the rubber surface surrounded Rosie completely, covering her face, her legs, filling her mouth, pulling her head back. She was lifted above the ground, and her black trainers waddled until they were swamped. Her hands reached out desperately, fingers clawing at the air until they too, were smothered by chippings. Then with a _whump_ , the playground collapsed back to its normal shape, with no sign of Rosie at all.

Chapter Five

Silence. What had happened clearly couldn't have happened, and nobody knew how to react. They all stood staring at the rubber chipping that made up the playground, now flat, the rainbow slightly wonky. They edged close then darted away, everyone trying to stand behind someone else, so the circle of observers kept shifting and reforming.

'Was it magic?' asked one. 'How did she do that? Was it a trick?'

'Where's she gone?' asked one of the Rebeccas.

'I don't know. I don't understand,' mumbled Natasha, looking at the ground with a side-glance, scared to give it her full attention.

'She's in the ground,' said Jaali, a year seven boy over-burdened with logic. He peered around Natasha, then walked closer and leaned towards where Rosie had been.

'She was here,' said Katie. 'How could she vanish like that?'

'We need to get inside,' said Natasha. Her voice was weak, wobbling in her throat, and nobody listened.

'But it's not right! Where's she gone? What did you do?' Rebecca shouted at Natasha. Hammer pushed past her to where Rosie had last stood and began scuffing the ground with his shoe.

'It's a prank! We'll go viral!' shouted one kid, keeping a distance.

'She's in the ground!' said Jaali again, impatiently this time, pushing his fists together.

'Right, yeah, 'cos that happens all the time,' said Hammer.

'Siri? How can someone get swallowed up by the ground?' Katie asked into her phone. Hammer was now jumping up and down where Rosie had disappeared.

'You should stop,' said Natasha, and Hammer sneered at her and began marching on the spot.

'It did happen,' said Jaali, stepping out from behind Natasha, frowning at his phone, looking for the picture. 'I got it here, look.'

'If it happened, then you go after her,' said Hammer, totally uninterested in evidence. He stood up big like an ogre, stopped stamping and took a step towards Jaali, his pallid face gnarled by cruelty. Natasha reached out to grab Jaali just as Hammer shoved him, pulling him behind her. There was a sudden wrenching sound of stretching rubber, and squealing from the onlookers as they backed away and fell over one another trying to escape. A hole opened up below Hammer and he sank three feet into the ground. The rubber filled the hole back in, covering his legs up to the knee and then instantly solidified. For a moment Hammer's expression stayed sneering as he went to step out of the hole, then alarm set in as he failed to scramble out. There was no give. His face was red, sweaty, fearful as he pulled at his legs and pounded the ground. He reached for hands to pull him out. No hands reached back. Any child who hadn't run, backed away further. Hammer let out a primal, tortured howl and thumped the ground again, but this time it liquified instantly. His hands sank in and were swallowed, then trapped. Now he was stuck, hunched over like a table. Natasha, with her arm around Jaali, turned and they fled, quickly followed by a crowd of screaming children. Leaving Hammer behind them.

Miss Norbett, the headmistress, stormed out, ready to be angry at all the ruckus and already waving a finger.

'Will you stop this noise! I've never heard such a din!'

No one was listening. The Rebeccas spoke over each other and through their tears. A few words could be made out, but mostly Rosie's name and the fact she was gone.

'What do you mean _gone_? Has she been kidnapped?' asked Miss Norbett.

'Tash made it happen,' said one of the Rebeccas.

'That's not true. The rainbow took her,' said Jaali.

Now Miss Norbett's patience was withering, so Natasha spoke up. 'The playground. It rose up and swallowed her. Whole.'

'Whatever are you talking about? Stop this ludicrous nonsense. You're scaring the younger children!'

'But it's true!' screeched every child in response.

'Look in the playground. It's got Hammer!'

'I will not take part in this ridiculous charade,' said Miss Norbett, patting her coiffured hair.

'I've got a video,' said Jaali, holding up his phone. Miss Norbett glanced at it scathingly. She had a strong distrust of phones. They were something the children understood far better than she did.

'And what are you doing with a phone in school time?' she asked.

A breathless Mr Leech, the maths teacher, strode up and pulled Miss Norbett to the side. He tried to speak to her in a hushed tone, but she kept saying, 'What?' in response, so he raised his voice. 'We've got to get the police and take the children somewhere safe. Something's happened. Rosie has disappeared, and another boy is trapped.'

'Trapped by what?' said Miss Norbett. Mr Leech took a moment to lean against the wall and get his breath back, his expression the human equivalent of the page-loading circle.

'It must be a flaw with the chippings. Something structural. I don't know.'

'I said that before, when the dents happened,' said Natasha, still indignant that no one had listened. Miss Norbett tutted at her.

'We have to get the children to safety,' insisted Mr Leech again.

'I hope this isn't some kind of joke, Mr Leech,' she said. At that moment, a young supply teacher with bewildered fright in her eyes and her hair in disarray ran out screaming,

'The wall ate one of the children!'

'I thought it was the playground!' said Miss Norbett, pursing her lips.

'It must be spreading,' said Mr Leech.

Then finally Miss Norbett's resistance broke. She clapped her hands and shouted, 'Right then! Everyone to the basement while we work out what this is. I shall fire up the Tannoy. Come on! All of you to the basement.' The children started to move about, bumping into each other as they tried to follow the instructions, but didn't know how.

'Where's the basement?' said Natasha.

'I know,' said Jaali, and led the way.

There was nothing reassuring about the basement. It was dank and lit by a couple of ineffective light bulbs. As children crowded in from each classroom, it became more difficult to breathe and the smell of sweat and possibly pee oozed up from the floor. They were instructed to stay quiet and gather around their form teachers, who tried to tick their names off registers. Trapped in the semi-dark, surrounded by harrowed faces and with no idea what had happened, Natasha feared she might never see the sun again. She scrunched her toes up in her shoes and dug her fingernails into her hands, until she realised how much this was hurting and stopped, only to start again a few moments later.

Every shadow looked like a wall of chewing gum rising up. Every scuffle was the sound of Rosie's shoes scraping the ground as the wave engulfed her. She kept thinking of the moment just before Rosie's face disappeared, when she grasped that something hideous was happening to her. There was a glint of shock in her eyes and her baffled cry of 'What?' before the chippings flooded through to her throat, silencing her.

Natasha took out her phone. She was sure there would be no signal but the blue light was reassuring, a connection to normality. Over the next few hours, time stretched eternal. She'd never known something so slow and torturous. No one dared speak above a whisper, but slowly the children shifted into groups. Rosie's friends clustered together. The gamers stood in a group. The secret smokers gathered in a corner. Darek stood on the steps by the door, as if guarding them. Meanwhile Natasha edged towards the misfits. There was Moe, a girl who'd arrived in her class at the beginning of the year. She was androgynous, aloof, and impressive because she had no interest in trying to impress. Jaali, who was sticking close to Natasha. And a boy everyone called Walter, even though it wasn't his real name.

'It's to do with the dents, right?' said Moe.

'Got to be,' said Walter.

'And the Big Sleep. There've been too many weird things. They have to be connected,' said Natasha.

'But the dents were in the walls, not the ground,' said Moe.

'Not all of them,' said Jaali. 'And there have been a lot of sinkholes recently. Because of fracking. Maybe that's what this is. Fracking.' He was standing with one foot on top of the other and chewing at his knuckle.

'It was targeted though, wasn't it?' said Natasha. 'Like it picked Rosie and Hammer on purpose. A sinkhole doesn't do that.'

'And sinkholes don't repair themselves. Christ, it's cold in here,' added Moe. She danced around to ward off the damp seeping up from the floor.

'Stop moving over there!' shouted Miss Norbett's voice from the other end of the basement.

Moe stopped and muttered 'Bitch' under her breath.

'It's probably the cheap materials they use to build with,' said Walter. 'My grandad says if they did it right the first time they wouldn't have to keep rebuilding things.'

'It didn't look like a building problem,' said Moe.

'I don't think we can figure it out,' said Natasha. 'You know? This isn't like anything that's happened before. It's totally new. We need a totally new reason.'

'5G,' said Jaali, decisively. 'My dad said it was a bad idea.'

'What about Hammer?' asked Moe. 'Do you think he's still trapped?'

'Or disappeared,' said Walter.

'Why haven't the police come though?' asked Natasha. 'They should have been here straight away. I mean, a child is missing.'

'Maybe they're scared,' said Jaali.

'They're not supposed to be scared!' said Natasha.

Suddenly there was a piercing scream, followed by gasps of horror, then frantic shuffling which became attempts to run that weren't possible in the cramped room. In the semi-gloom, it was difficult to make out anything, and the four misfits huddled closer together. Then they were forced backwards as the crowd moved. Natasha saw Jaali's arm fling out as he became swamped among others all taller than him. She swung forward and grabbed him, feeling his jumper pulling away as the panic of the crowd dragged him back. She caught a glimpse of one of his terrified eyes as he fell and tried to cling onto anything. Natasha reached into the squash of bodies, grabbed Jaali round the waist and lifted him free. Somebody elbowed her in the face and then the shuffling became a surge of screaming and flailing arms. Natasha was snagged and yanked by panicked bodies as children fell to the ground. There was no sense to the moment, only animals in panic. Limbs without logic, flapping, smashing. Nobody knew which way was out. Natasha hung on to Jaali, not sure what to do next. Then someone grabbed her hand and pulled. She followed the tug and slithered free to find herself standing with Moe. They moved towards the wall, resting their hands on the cold brick as if it was their last connection to normality, trying to breathe.

'Callum!' someone screamed.

There was scuffling and scrambling as everyone backed away from Callum, a boy in Natasha's class. Suddenly he was also free of the squash of bodies, standing a few feet away from Natasha. Even in the gloom, he looked angry. The floor bulged up towards him, and he stamped on it, as it wobbled like poking the skin on the surface of paint. Then he turned to the other kids triumphantly.

'What you even scared of?' he said, and the ripple of the floor elongated, stretching around him like a cocoon. There was a second where the defiance turned to confusion and then he was sucked down into the floor and gone.

'Everybody stay still!' said Miss Norbett, but there was no chance anyone would. The result was a stampede to get up the stone steps and outside. Walter and Jaali ran up the stairs. Moe was shoved aside and fell to the floor. Then the boy who shoved her sank into the ground, his arms flailing as the cold concrete floor swallowed him. Natasha leapt forward and grabbed Moe's hand, pulling her to her feet and away from the space where the boy had vanished.

They stood clinging to each other, breathing through squashed lungs and the sickening smell of fresh lain concrete, sweat and vomit, and beneath it a smell of burning plastic. When only the cautious were left to climb the stairs, Natasha and Moe followed them, holding each other's arms as if walking along a cliff.

'Where do we go?' whispered Moe, her face pale, her eyes huge.

'We need to get away from everyone,' Natasha whispered back, as Miss Norbett guided the pupils towards the assembly hall.

'Is that safe?' asked Moe.

Natasha swallowed her hysteria as she said, 'Nothing is safe.'

The police station was in turmoil, with nobody understanding what was happening, only that it was inexplicable and bad and happening all over Icking.

'What about the school? What's happened to the school?' Nick asked, but only the chief was left and he wasn't listening. Nothing much usually happened in Icking, so there were only three phones, and these kept ringing. All the officers had gone with no understanding what they were going out to, while the chief bluffed out the situation. A half dozen or so people had filled the waiting room, shrieking complaints that made no sense. In the end, the chief had said he was going to get some files, walked back out to the office and locked the door behind him.

'This is what drugs do,' he said.

'No, it isn't!' shouted Nick. 'None of them even know each other! They can't all be on the same drugs!'

The chief gave Nick a furious glance. He didn't like to be contradicted. Nick tried switching on one of the radios again, but all they heard was the stutter of word fragments and static.

'Back up! I -'

'What -'

'Not sure -'

Then a brief scream cut short. Nick switched the radio back off, his hands shaking. He tried calling Natasha again, but it went to voicemail.

'I have to get to my daughter,' said Nick, picking up his jacket and frantically searching for his keys, which weren't in the left-hand pocket as they should have been.

'What, with all those drugged-up madmen out there? Good luck with that!' said the chief.

Nick didn't bother to reply, he was too busy looking under desks, before finally hearing a jangle in his trouser pocket. He strode to the door, hoping his legs wouldn't give way. The lobby was blocked by an angry, scared crowd, which surged towards him shouting for his attention. He tried to keep his stride at the same pace, but he was wading through a sludge of limbs and distress.

'It swallowed my husband!' wailed one woman, her eyes huge.

'What's happening? I demand to know what's happening!' a suited man shouted, standing in Nick's way.

'I don't know anything,' said Nick, keeping his head low as he edged his way through. 'I have to get to my daughter.' He looked up and into the red, mascara-streaked face of a young woman who held her hands out to him helplessly.

'They took my boy,' she said, her voice faint. 'They took my boy.'

Nick muttered an apology and pushed at the door a couple of times, before realising he needed to pull it. Outside, the street was calm, as if he'd switched the channel from a horror film to stock footage of a suburban street. He stood for a moment confused, shocked by the oddness of the situation, then ran for his car.

Natasha and Moe ducked into the nearest classroom at the top of the stairs. They crouched behind a desk as all other voices became distant.

'We have to get outside,' said Natasha. 'We have to get to where it's safe.' Moe nodded again, then looked fearfully towards the door and didn't move. They could hear the sirens of a police car, not stopping, moving in the direction of the town centre. Then the sound of more sirens moving in the other direction.

'It's out there too,' whispered Moe. 'And we don't know what it is. How can we stay away from it, if we don't know what it is?'

'It's targeting children. It isn't random. It's choosing them,' said Natasha.

'But what if it chooses us?' asked Moe.

'Then it could choose us in here, right?'

'Then why go anywhere?' Moe wailed.

Natasha looked at the door, then looked at her phone. It was still showing no signal. She looked back at the door. Then she said, 'Because if I'm going to die, I don't want to die in school.'

Moe nodded. Natasha took her hand and stood up. Moe got awkwardly to her feet and they crept to the door. She could see Hammer outside, still sunk into the playground, his head hanging down and shaking. It looked like he was crying. Hammer never cried. Even when he broke his arm in rugby, he had laughed. Natasha looked away and tried to concentrate on escaping.

Outside they could hear the honking of horns and shouting in the streets. From far away they heard a scream.

'The whole world's gone crazy,' said Moe.

'We'll worry about the world later,' said Natasha. 'Let's just leave.' The floor was squeaky and the sound echoed in the empty corridor. Then a scream wrenched the silence in two. Natasha and Moe slammed back against the wall. The thundering of feet came down the corridor, with Miss Norbett shouting for them to stop. But the huge stampede of screaming children didn't hesitate. They came around the corner, like running bulls. Natasha grabbed Moe's hand again and they sped for the front doors, into the chaos outside.

Chapter Six

His fingers numb with panic, Nick was struggling to get the car keys in the lock. He'd made three attempts before realising he was using his house keys. Finally, when the door was open, he climbed in too quickly and hit his head. Then he stalled the car. _Slow down and do it properly,_ he thought sternly and took a deep breath. Two police cars raced past, their sirens blaring. An ambulance followed closely behind. Fighting to keep his breath even, Nick started the car and pulled out of the police station. In the street was the sound of crashing, grinding metal and hysterical shouts. The police car siren was still blaring, but it was now crunched into a wall and at the wrong pitch. Nick took the other direction and headed for the school.

The roads were clear until he got to the school itself. Word had spread through social media and WhatsApp groups, leading to frantic phone calls to the school that had gone unanswered. Parents across Icking knew something was wrong.

The local streets had stopped roadside parking years ago, but today they were filled. Some cars were double and triple parked. There were a few spaces between them, but not long enough to park in. Nick couldn't work out why. Looking through the fence, the car park itself wasn't actually full. Then he saw a car was blocking the entrance, engine running, but empty. He stared at it dumbly. Who would be so stupid as to park there? The car behind him honked its horn, quickly followed by several others. Dread had turned everyone into a dickhead. Nick didn't see what he could do. The only way he could park in the road was by stopping right where he was, and from the shouts behind him, he was worried what the reaction might be. Then the car in front of him put its indicators on, which made no sense, because there was no turning. With the sound of grinding, screeching metal, the car drove in between two badly parked cars, across the pavement and through the fence into the car park. Nick shrugged and followed, glad he had a small car.

Once inside, parking was easy. He ran towards the front doors, where desperate parents were spilling in and hysterical children were spilling out. Natasha was holding onto a girl he didn't recognise. She wasn't crying, but they were wrapped around each other. A woman stood tearfully with her hand on Moe's shoulder.

'Tash, are you okay?' he said, his voice snapping into bits and hurting his throat.

'Dad!' said Natasha, trying to jump into his arms without letting go of Moe. 'What's happening? Rosie disappeared! Into the ground! And then loads of others!'

'I know baby. Not us, they won't take us. I promise. But we need to get out of here. Is that okay?' He looked awkwardly at the girl Natasha was clinging onto.

'Don't worry, my stepmum's right here and we only live across the road,' she said. The anxious woman gave a nervous nod. Nick breathed his relief and pulled Natasha away. They needed to be somewhere safe. He hoped he could work out where that was.

Natasha and Nick returned to the chaos. Once access had been created through the fence, the car park had filled up haphazardly. It looked like a flood had carried in a street full of cars, then drained away to leave them bumper to bumper. Door pressed against door, with parents climbing over bonnets to get to the school.

'How are we going to get out?' asked Natasha, wobbling as the horror of the morning hit her with full force. Her legs felt like cooked spaghetti. Nick wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up.

'It's fine. I'm parked at the back,' he said, gripping her shoulder so she couldn't get dragged away by the slipstream of people trying to get into the school. More kept coming, squeezing in between the fence and the cars, faces distorted with panic.

'Out of my way,' screeched a red-faced man as he pushed through the crowd, leaving behind him dark impressions in the concrete.

'It's out here!' Natasha whimpered.

'Just keep moving!' shouted Nick, pulling her on. His car wasn't parked in a bay, but trapped against the fence, so Natasha had to climb in the driver's side to get in. Scrambling across the seats she was too vulnerable, unable to run. _It'll grab me. Something will pull me right out of the car!_ she thought. But nothing happened. They shut and locked the doors, for a moment safe in their tin box. Natasha put on her seatbelt, then struggled to breathe. She imagined it crushing her, squeezing her out of the world. She unclicked it, deciding she'd rather die in a car crash. She hung onto the door handle with one hand and the bottom of the seat with the other.

'We're going to be okay, noodle,' said Nick.

'I know,' said Natasha, but was sure they were both wrong.

Nick inched the car slowly toward the exit. As he reached the road, a woman ran in front of them just dodging the bonnet of the car. She clutched her baby and pulled at a screaming child who wanted to sit in the middle of the road. Nick stopped, and cars behind him, also wanting to leave the school, honked their horns. One started driving on the pavement to get around him. The woman yanked at her child harder and the road began to bubble like boiling soup at her feet, drops of concrete landing on her shoes. She leapt back and fell to the ground, holding her baby above her. Natasha started to open the door, but Nick grabbed her jumper.

'We need to help her!' said Natasha.

'How? What are you going to do?' Nick shouted, sweaty and red-faced, his voice cracking and spilling out his terror. The woman stumbled away. The screaming child now silent and terrified, clinging to her hand. 'We need to stay in the car,' said Nick, fixing his eyes ahead as the road settled down flat and smooth again as if nothing had happened.

'We can't just ignore it when people are in trouble!' said Natasha.

'Yes, we can,' said Nick firmly, grinding his jaw. 'I have to get you out of here.' He stalled, then restarted the engine as calmly as he could, but still scraped a tyre on the curb as he took a right onto the main road. At least they were moving. The next few roads were calm, normal driving, and they both tried to breathe, but it left their minds free to question what was happening.

'None of this makes sense!' said Natasha turning to Nick. Nick shook his head, concentrating on the road.

Natasha turned to her phone, source of all explanations, some of them true. But Twitter wouldn't load properly. There were tweets from half an hour ago, but nothing more recently. BBC news opened but was flashing through headlines so fast that she could barely read them. The only words she caught sounded like a parody: _Alligators descend on the Pentagon, Momo joins Loose Women, Talking Mongoose deaths in Syria_. Natasha assumed she must be reading them wrong. Facebook loaded but only the page of someone called Myrtle who was advertising a party from 2003. She switched on the car radio and a babble of voices spewed out with static, like the hubbub of a busy town hall, chattering, giggling and whispering. Slowly a single noise became louder than the others, an incomprehensible, low-pitched roaring like a distant beast. Then a sigh which didn't end. Natasha looked at her dad in alarm.

'What _is_ that?' she said. Quickly Nick turned it off, shaking his head. 'Why isn't anything working?' she said. 'Something should be working.'

'Perhaps this is like an electrical storm. It's messed up the signals, and then changed the...' Nick trailed off not knowing what he was on about. Natasha stared pensively out the window, trying to breath or to remember what an electrical storm looked like.

They turned onto the main street to find more chaos. A car was empty and blocking the road, while others inched around it, driving onto the pavement.

'It took them,' said Natasha. 'It must've got the driver.'

'No. He probably just gave up, that's all. He quit.'

Nick's small car enabled him to squeeze down the centre of the road, with half an inch space either side. As they passed the abandoned car, Natasha saw that the pattern on the seat covers no longer matched, and she could smell the metal cooling. Someone had been swallowed here, which meant it could get inside cars. Which meant they were far from safe in their tin box. She unlocked the door.

At the next bend were two cars crunched together, the owners not in sight. The road markings zigzagged awkwardly. Neither of them said anything this time as Nick turned off the main road. He wasn't sure of the route they were taking and switched on his phone, passing it to Natasha to hold.

'Is the map working?' he asked.

'Yeah, looks like it,' she replied, staring at the reassuring blue line, happy to let technology take control.

'Go north along Witchmore Street,' said the satnav, calmly.

'Which way's north?' asked Nick, agitated. 'If I knew which way was north, I wouldn't need a map!'

'It's fine, Dad. We just keep going. The town's behind us, right, and we're north of the town.' The road was narrow, with cars parked on both sides. Nick pulled over to let an oncoming car pass, and a blast of horns sounded behind him. Natasha stared at the small screen and wondered if she should tell Nick the arrow on the map had stopped moving. Nick pulled out again and flexed his fingers around the steering wheel. His hands were like twisted claws.

'Turn left onto Guardhouse Road,' said the satnav, smoothly.

'What left? What left?' said Nick.

'It says it's here,' said Natasha, but there was no left. They took the next right.

'This is Constantine Road,' said Natasha, turning in her seat, watching the trail of cars carry on without them. 'Nobody else has come this way. We're on the wrong road.'

'Continue on Guardhouse Road,' said the satnav.

'There isn't a Guardhouse Road!' shouted Nick. Then he saw Natasha's terrified face and tried to soften his voice. 'Have you definitely put our address in?' he asked, swallowing. The road was now clear of cars, and there was a sign for the local recycling centre.

'At the roundabout take the third exit,' said the satnav, unruffled.

'What roundabout?' asked Nick.

'I've worked out the problem,' said Natasha. 'She thinks we're in Portsmouth.'

'Then tell her we're not!' Nick shouted, then swallowed again and said, 'Please, noodle.'

'I've tried, but she doesn't believe me.'

'Right,' said Nick, gripping the steering wheel. 'This isn't working. We'll just have to remember how common-sense works. See? There's a sign for the beach. Now do you remember what your mum always said when we were lost?' Natasha shook her head. 'Head for the sea, then use magic.'

'What?' said Natasha, angrily. 'How is that common sense?' She looked over to Nick, who was suddenly calm, almost serene.

He took the next three turns as if he knew where he was going. He hummed quietly to himself as they drove past a row of posh houses set back from the road. Then three women in a huddle crying. Then a patch of grass that called itself a Green. Then a car slumped against a lamppost as if it was having a snooze.

When Nick turned down a road he recognised, a few streets from their home, he patted the steering wheel in delight. 'You see? We'll be fine now.' Natasha leaned back in the seat and unclenched her hands and Nick tried to stretch his shoulders while keeping both hands on the wheel.

'I reckon three minutes and we're home!' he said. 'Good eh? Safe as eggs!'

'Then what, Dad? Do we hide? Or leave Icking?' At that moment all she wanted to do was get out of the car and be at home.

'I don't know. At the station they were saying to stay indoors, stay away from the windows.'

'And the police would know, right?' said Natasha.

Nick hesitated, then said, 'Except, it sounded like they were making it up.'

'Right.' Natasha looked out the window and thought for a moment. 'The bad things kept happening in crowds, Dad,' she said. 'In the basement, in the car park. Can't we stay at home, just us two?'

'You mean hide? Hope it passes us by?'

Natasha said nothing, counting the lampposts as they went past, the repetition soothing her.

'No. I want to sit outside,' she said eventually. 'Watch the sunset and the stars come out. I mean, if we're doomed anyway, I don't want to be crouched behind a sofa biting my nails.'

'Yes!' said Nick, clinging to the optimism in Natasha's voice. 'We can take out a couple of blankets.'

'And the couch!'

'As long as it doesn't rain,' Nick said. She looked at him. 'No, you're right, we'll take the couch.' He put a hand on Natasha's shoulder as he turned into their cul-de-sac. 'We'll be alright, noodle. We'll get through it together, whatever happens. We've come through worse, eh?'

After being twisted up in terror, the relief of arriving home was so intense that their totally inept attempts at moving the couch into the garden through the kitchen door had them on the floor giggling.

'We might have to leave it,' said Nick, leaning on the armrest that was wedged next to the sink.

'You've just got to wiggle it a bit to get past the door handle. Come on Dad! Where's your can-do attitude?' Nick tutted and tugged at his end. The couch popped out of the door and sent him flying backwards, which made Natasha laugh all over again. Then she stopped, a wash of guilt flushing her face.

'Should we be laughing, Dad? When so much bad stuff is happening?'

Nick clambered over the sofa and hugged her. 'That's when you need to laugh the most. It's how you get through.' He kissed her forehead, not wanting to let her go, aware of how close he had been to losing her.

'Okay,' said Natasha, sombrely. Then, 'I'm getting the television!'

By the time Nick and Natasha had finished moving the lounge into the garden, they were both giggling half-hysterically, and the end of the world seemed as much an adventure as a threat. Nick even moved the rug onto the grass and put a few flowers in a mug on the table.

Natasha went inside to get some biscuits. On a whim, she said, 'Alexa, what's happening?'

The blue light spun, then she said, 'Here's what happening outside: the temperature is seventeen degrees and there is a light wind. There's heavy traffic in Icking and unconfirmed reports of people being swallowed by the walls.'

'Alexa, why are the walls swallowing people?'

'Hmm, I don't know that one,' said Alexa.

'But what are we supposed to do?' asked Natasha.

'During times of crisis, it's best to remain calm and avoid busy roads,' said Alexa.

'Is the crisis just in Icking?' asked Natasha.

'Hmm, I'm not sure,' said Alexa. Natasha was exasperated. This was not the time for stock phrases.

'Alexa, is this the end of the world? Is everybody going to die?'

'It's not the end of the world,' said Alexa.

'Okay fine,' said Natasha and walked to the back door.

'Although everybody still might die,' added Alexa. 'Would you like me to sing a song?'

Back outside, Nick was pretending to vacuum the sparse lawn. Natasha chuckled, and walked out with the little TV from the kitchen and an extension cord. Nick stopped vacuuming and tried to look casual.

'We could leave the telly off,' he said. 'This might all be sorted by morning. We could play Monopoly!' Natasha gave him a pitying look. They'd thrown out the board games to make way for all the consoles.

'I don't want to pretend, Dad. I'll be more scared if I don't know.' He nodded. He knew there was no point arguing, Natasha always wanted to know. She was the same when her mum died. He angled the sofa so it faced the house, wishing he could switch off the outside world and turn their garden into a haven. Natasha wired up the television, careful to wrap the extension lead socket in a plastic bag so it didn't sit in the mud. As the screen came to life, they heard distant popping sounds and Natasha paused, remote in hand, not turning up the sound.

'What's that? Fireworks?'

Again Nick tried to keep his face neutral.

'I expect so. Maybe it's all over and someone is celebrating,' he said.

Natasha stared at the fence, holding the remote tightly. She spoke dully. 'It's gunfire, isn't it?'

Nick stared at the fence too. He wasn't sure why, it contained no useful information. Then with stiff legs, he walked to where she stood and wrapped his arms around her, careful to hold his shakes inside. Gunfire in Icking was something he never thought he'd hear.

'It's okay, noodle. Look, we're fine! Fit as fiddling fleas on a butcher's dog!' he said, then collapsed onto the couch like a marionette with its strings cut. Natasha curled up against him chewing her thumb as he flicked through the channels on the television.

The first few showed only shuddering images of distorted faces, merging one face to another as the signal scrambled, then split into pieces. Nick quickly flicked through them, wanting only solid, normal pictures. Finally he found a woman journalist, standing outside a block of flats. She was reassuringly unruffled, her makeup perfect, her voice steady.

'...is where Richard Forster was last seen talking to his wife, before being taken into the ground. But where has Richard gone? Is he still down there? And what caused the event to happen in the first place? We need answers, but parliament isn't giving them to us.'

'It's like it picks individuals,' said Natasha, 'and plucks them right out of reality. But it's just concrete and walls. It can't even know there's someone there.'

Nick shook his head and changed the channel again. He turned the sound up, sure he could hear distant screaming coming from the street and not wanting Natasha to notice it.

The image cut to one of three soldiers attempting to bore through a road with a pneumatic drill. As the tarmac crumbled apart, one suddenly shouted. They all jumped back, the drill falling to the ground as the tarmac bubbled, flowed and reformed as smooth road. The channel cut back to the studio, where a presenter hadn't quite reset to his unruffled face and was staring at the monitor in shock.

'Right...yes...ok,' mumbled the presenter through his white teeth, then visibly pulled his sanity together. 'And we now have confirmation the attacks are not only happening throughout the United Kingdom, but in over thirty countries in Europe.'

'This isn't only us! This is the whole world,' said Natasha.

'No, they're exaggerating, noodle,' said Nick.

'What if the environment's fighting back?' asked Natasha.

'Can't really blame it,' he said. He rubbed his forehead and clicked to another channel, where experts were arguing through possible explanations. Natasha took out her phone and tried again to connect to the Internet. Finally she managed to access a forum where theories were running wild. The patchy Internet only added to the drama, as users tried to express themselves through frozen screens and _Server not found_ pages.

'Someone's claiming to be in the CIA,' she said. 'He says it's aliens.'

'I doubt anyone from the CIA is going to be posting on Reddit at a time like this,' said Nick, turning up the sound on a discussion program.

'Obviously this can't be a normal type of terrorism. We're getting reports from China, Australia, even Russia,' said a man with calm authority. Beneath his name it said Twitter Expert. 'Terrorists have specific targets. This is a scattergun approach.'

The presenter leaned forward, 'But can this be a result of fracking?'

'How?' exclaimed a horrified professor of History.

'Why haven't they got scientists who actually know stuff?' asked Natasha.

'Scientists probably caused it! Invented it in a lab,' said Nick, changing the channel to footage of gunmen shooting the road and bullets disappearing like peanuts falling into soup. The image switched to a soldier using a buzz saw on a wall, the bricks sealing back up with only slight disruption to the pointing. Natasha pulled her knees closer to her chin.

'This is just the start, isn't it?' she said.

'I can turn it off.'

'We need to know,' she said, leaning towards the screen, looking for clues, variation, a pattern.

Nick hugged Natasha closer to him, awkwardly fitting his arms around her knees and making the couch creak. They stayed like that for an hour, watching one bizarre piece of footage after another: tanks moving down Regent Street; CCTV of a car park swallowing two men who were fighting. And this was intercut with pseudo-experts desperately searching for a new angle.

Natasha got up to make some tea.

'Do you think, Tashy,' said Nick, 'since the world has gone haywire, I could have one small joint?'

Natasha got ready to lecture him, then realised how pointless it was. She sighed.

'Yeah, why not? So long as you don't go all zombie on me.'

While Nick rolled the joint and Natasha slurped her drink, they muted the sound on the TV. Footage carried on in silence showing the army running, a man with a blow torch burning a wall, a woman crying and pounding at the kitchen floor. Natasha tried to open a message from Moe that she could see part of but not access.

While she grunted at the screen, Nick talked gently to her. 'You've been really brave, you know? To see your friend attacked like that. You know you can let it out and cry if you need to.'

Natasha threw her phone onto the grass and laughed. 'She wasn't my friend Dad. I hated her. She was a bitch.'

'You shouldn't use the B-word. It's dehumanising,' said Nick.

'I don't care! You know what happened just before the playground ate her? She slapped me.'

'What? Are you sure? That's awful!' said Nick. The world of teenage girls flummoxed Nick. It sounded like a touchy version of the Wild West. Lawless and uptight.

'Of course I'm sure! How could I not be sure? She's bullied me for nearly a year,' said Natasha. On the TV the prime minister was being bundled out of 10 Downing Street surrounded by security guards, cameras flashing as he moved.

'Weren't you friends with her once? She came to your party,' he said, confused.

'Yeah, but I don't think she ever liked me. She was just waiting for a reason to pick on me.'

'Oh,' said Nick, and stared fretfully at the ground. The news was now showing the Japanese prime minister making a speech; the translation beneath him talked of unity and calm. Then a fleet of Osprey helicopters was shown taking off, the lumpen shapes lifting into the sky.

'Everyone powerful is leaving,' she said. 'That's not a good sign.' Nick got a faraway look in his eyes as he tried to work out what the right thing to say was. He took another toke on his joint. On the TV was faltering footage from Taiwan showing a lift full of people, the walls bowing and gripping to suck three of them away. Outside their fence, he could still hear the pop pop of gunfire, and at any moment he or Natasha might suddenly disappear into the ground for no known reason. There was no right thing to say.

Natasha flicked through the channels again. TV presenters, in a desperate attempt to move the story on, had now labelled it the Terrorist Wave. However, they were no closer to understanding what it was or how it happened, and while more and more stories came in, the reports were all the same.

'I always thought the human race would be killed off by robots, not a hungry floor,' said Natasha. She watched the smoke curling lazily out of Nick's spliff. It was dark now and the night was starting to freeze. They collected blankets and woolly hats, then settled back down. 'If this _is_ the end of the world, what are you most upset about?' she asked, pulling a blanket around her.

'It's probably not the end of the world,' he said looking at the sky so he couldn't see the scenes on the TV of soldiers running past a car which had sunk into the road.

'Yeah, okay, but if it is?'

Nick puffed out his cheeks and flicked some ash onto the grass. 'That you don't get to grow up, I guess. You've got such a brilliance, a fire, but you've not used it yet,' said Nick. Then he paused, knowing he was about to annoy her. 'You're a lot like your mum, you know?'

'No, I'm not!'

'It's okay. You're allowed to be like her,' said Nick.

'But I'm not!' she said and was about to list all the differences between them, when Nick interrupted her.

'Wait, something's happening!' he said, sitting up and spilling hot ash on himself. Then he knocked into Natasha so she dropped the remote. On the TV there was a reporter shouting into the camera with genuine fear in her eyes as blacked out vans crowded in an alley in Central London. Natasha fumbled around to find the remote in the dark. She finally turned the volume up.

'...has suffered an attack of the Terrorist Wave. It is now confirmed by police that this was a targeted attack. Although satellite and Internet communication are not fully functioning, we have received word that it was not only our prime minister who was kidnapped in this bizarre fashion, but leaders all over the world. I repeat the prime minister of the United Kingdom, Daniel Davidson, has been attacked by the Terrorist Wave and taken from his impenetrable bunker.'

'What?' said Natasha, clutching her stomach like she might throw up. 'They've taken all the leaders? Dad! Have they taken all of them?'

'We'll be okay,' said Nick in a daze.

'But does that mean someone else is in control? Have we been invaded?' said Natasha.

Nick's skin shivered hot and cold.

'It's going to be okay,' he lied. 'It's all going to be fine.'

Chapter Seven

Natasha woke the next morning to find herself curled up on the couch in the garden. She pushed back the blankets, but somehow her toes had got caught. She gently tried to release them without waking up Nick, who was lightly snoring next to her. Then a bubble of adrenalin floated to the surface of her thoughts and she leapt up to shake her dad awake. In doing so, she tripped over and landed on his stomach, causing him to wake with a howl.

'What?' he whined.

'We're still alive!'

'Oh yeah! Well, good,' snapped Nick. Then he saw the happiness on her face and took in the television collecting dew and the soggy rug. He remembered, limped to his feet and gave Natasha a big hug while they jumped up and down together. Then he went inside to cook pancakes. Healthy food be damned.

The television, which had surprisingly little damage from frost, was still showing the news on every channel, as Natasha fumbled around for her phone. Reporters were trotting out the same phrases, now looking weary after a night of repetition, 'the Terrorist Wave...tragic loss...panic in Downing Street...across the world.' There were more images of soldiers pointing guns at the ground, of the Queen being hurried out of her bunker. Everybody knew they needed to take precautions and fight something, but nobody knew what.

'Where you going to hide now?' muttered Natasha as she went inside. 'The sea?' In the kitchen Nick was tipping out the first pancake onto a plate.

'Five breakfasts for the end of days! You won't believe number four!' said Nick, enthusiastically. 'Anything more on the news?' he asked as he handed her a pancake and maple syrup.

'They're working out where to hide the Queen. The phones are okay now, although I can't access the Internet. Moe survived the night,' said Natasha, not looking up from her food. 'We should go out and see what's happening in town.'

'Why?' asked Nick plaintively.

'To know! This is Icking. They've probably all calmed down and gone back to mowing their lawns and washing their cars. Moe says it's quiet round her way.'

'We should stay in here, where it's safe,' said Nick, trying to be firm while dropping the spatula and banging his head on the oven handle when he went to pick it up.

'Alexa,' Natasha said. 'Is it safe outside?'

'It is advisable to stay inside for the foreseeable future,' said Alexa, and Natasha stopped and stared. Alexa had very fixed speech patterns. She used the same phrases and tone every time she spoke: casual and friendly, with just the right amount of personality. But that hadn't sounded right, too pompous, too formal.

'Alexa, did someone tell you to say that?' Alexa spun the blue light and said nothing. Natasha tapped the kitchen counter a few times. 'Alexa, why are you working if we're not connected?' Alexa continued saying nothing. 'Right, after pancakes, I'm going out into the close,' said Natasha.

'But Alexa just told you not to,' said Nick, looking up from his frying pan and frowning.

'I don't have to do what a machine says,' said Natasha. 'And I'll only be nearby. I want to _see_.'

He turned back to the pancakes and chewed the inside of his mouth. 'You could look out the window,' he said. Natasha didn't say anything. 'We don't know what's out there. Anything could happen.'

'We don't know what's in here either, and I don't want to hide.'

'Fine. I'll come with you,' he said.

'No, Dad. Don't get all helicopter parent on me now, I'm only going to the end of our road.'

'Well, take your phone,' he said, wearily. And Natasha had to stop herself from sneering at him, because when had she ever not taken her phone?

Once outside the door, she gave up on messaging Moe and called her. Neither were the type to squeal, so instead they swore solidly for thirty seconds about how totally ridiculously unreal and insane it all was.

'I'm outside the front door,' said Natasha, warily glancing around. 'Dad seems determined to hide from whatever's going on, but I want to know!' She huddled in her puffa jacket. It was like hiding in her duvet.

'Definitely. This isn't going away if we avoid looking at it.'

'And if it does, how tragic would that be?' said Natasha. 'The most exciting event in our lives and we miss it by hiding indoors eating pancakes.'

'Wait, you had pancakes? I hate you!' said Moe.

'Ah stop whining. Shall we explore? See what we can find?' said Natasha.

Once Moe had put her shoes on and pushed a kitchen knife up her sleeve, she left her own house, giving Natasha a moment-by-moment account. Natasha's cul-de-sac was deserted; Moe's busy street was too. They both began to walk.

'I can hear my footsteps echoing,' said Natasha. 'It's creepy.' Even the birds were silent, and the only sounds were humming from the electricity pylons and water rushing below the road.

'The Wave's coming to get you,' said Moe in a soft sleazy voice.

'Not helpful,' said Natasha pulling her jacket closer around her.

'Just playing. I reckon that's it now. There's nothing more happening,' said Moe.

'Where are all the people though? They didn't all get stolen, right? They're still here?' whispered Natasha.

''Course. They're scared. They're hiding,' said Moe. Natasha had paused to look up at the windows with their curtains drawn, but now she started to head out towards the main road.

'Where are you going?' she asked.

'School. That's what my feet are doing, anyway. It won't be open, but I want to see if it's still standing. Cars, this road should be filled with cars, moving ones,' muttered Moe.

'But you think everyone is still here? Staying inside?' said Natasha, feeling self-conscious. Were they watching her? Waiting to see if she got grabbed? Was she the canary in the coalmine? Then she gasped.

'What?' said Moe. 'You okay?'

'I couldn't work out what it was, sticking out of the pavement, like someone had poured the concrete around it.'

'And?'

'It's a kid's bike! Buried in the slabs. Shit, you think it took a little kid?'

'Why not? It took Rosie,' said Moe. 'I doubt whatever it is cares much about age.'

'But it picks people! There has to be a reason. Why them?'

'How d'you mean?' asked Moe. 'Shit, the school gate's shut.'

'Rosie hit me, it happened to her. Hammer grabbed Jaali and he got sunk,' said Natasha. 'Moe? You there?'

'I guess that makes the school like some kind of fight club then,' said Moe.

'What?'

'It's a mess, Tash. The road looks like the lines were painted by someone on skunk. None of the markings meet. They're crossing, split, scattered. Total mess. So people got took here, right? I mean loads. Hundreds.' Natasha stopped walking and stood holding the phone, feeling her innards twist and shudder, listening to Moe breathing.

'They were panicking. Everyone was panicking,' said Natasha, remembering the noise, the shoving, the man who left footprints in the ground. The memory started to consume her, but then she snapped back to where she was standing, on the corner of the main road. 'What's that noise?' she asked.

'What?' asked Moe. 'Tash? What?'

The source of the noise had turned a corner and Natasha could see her neighbour, Keiron, was walking towards her thumping the wall. Everybody knew Keiron. Although few had ever spoken to him, after his first psychotic episode a few years ago, everyone recognised him. Most of the time he was quiet, too nervous to look anyone in the eye, but now he was filled with confidence. His certainty spilt out from him like a light, as if power was seeping out of his skin, ready to burst him apart.

'I control it!' Thump. 'Not you!' Thump. 'Not any of you!' Thump. 'It's mine!' he was shouting. Natasha wondered if she should run, but this was the first person she'd seen, and she liked Keiron. Since they starting nodding at each other she felt they were connected.

'What's going on?' asked Moe, who could make out a little of the commotion. Keiron kept getting closer, staring furiously at Natasha. 'You okay?' Natasha asked him. Keiron raised one hand to point at her, howling, an inhuman sound ricocheting off his throat. Again, he thumped the wall. As his fist made contact, Natasha saw the bricks bulge, ripples spreading out towards her, wobbling without any regard for physics. Natasha whispered for him to stop, but he raised his fist again.

'It's mine!' he screamed.

Natasha pulled backwards, stumbling, then got her feet in order and pelted back towards her house. She didn't stop until she was inside.

Back at the house, Natasha got organised. Although the WiFi showed no signs of life, her phone was connected. She made herself some hot chocolate coffee and settled in the big armchair under the window, determined to try and figure out what was happening. Because someone must know. The information was there, you only had to work out what to search for.

Investigating was interspersed with WhatsApp, where Moe and Natasha were sending each other any photos or videos they could find of the Wave snatching people from around the world. It took speed and patience, because no sooner had one of them found an image of a tank or riots, than it would vanish and be replaced with a screen saying _REMAIN CALM, NORMAL SERVICE WILL BE RESUMED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE_. Only the mundane images stayed up. Natasha found a picture of an advertising hoarding - the white-toothed smile zigzagged out of shape - and sent it.

_Someone got took there_ , wrote Natasha.

Moe shared a picture of ornate marble flooring with the tiles skew-whiff. _That was China, I saw the temple thing,_ wrote Moe.

It was the Taj Mahal you doofus!

_Check BBC,_ wrote Moe. Natasha saw a blurry video on the front page, of a man running. Someone shooting at him. The sound of screams. Then the ground opened up like a sink hole, and the running man and the gunman fell in. The ground closed over them, leaving no trace.

Did you see that? Did they shoot him?

_I dunno. Was it real?_ wrote Moe _._

You think they're faking this?

_There's a theory going round that it's a false flag and we're watching doctored footage,_ wrote Moe.

But we saw the Wave take people!

_Yeah, I guess,_ wrote Moe.

_I found a website run by some scientist wrinklies. They're doing all kinds of experiments,_ wrote Natasha.

Like what?

_Like burning the ground where the Wave was or pouring acid on it,_ wrote Natasha.

Meanwhile, they were also sharing photos on Snapchat, of themselves in different poses of boredom.

_Me during the most exciting event of the universe!_ Showed Moe lying on her bed.

_Me at the end of the world!_ Accompanied by a video of Natasha clipping her nails.

_Me during the destruction of life as we know it!_ Moe pretended to pull out her nose hairs with a pair of tweezers.

Every few hours, Natasha would hear an engine outside, and look out to see a lone police car driving down the cul-de-sac. The car would stop, a single police officer would get out and walk around, his hand on the gun Natasha was sure he didn't know how to use. Then he'd drive back out.

_Icking isn't really equipped to deal with doom,_ Natasha messaged Moe.

_Yeah, the terrorists would probably do a better job of running the place anyway,_ replied Moe. Then wrote, _Look, found this,_ and a video appeared of six soldiers in gas masks and spacesuits, drilling into the ground.

_Must've been where someone got waved,_ wrote Natasha.

Anyway, they never gonna find anything.

_Yeah, not gonna be a little terrorist hiding in a tunnel,_ wrote Natasha.

It was several moments before Natasha realised her dad was standing in the doorway pulling faces. By the time she looked up, he was standing on one leg and sticking his tongue out.

'What?' she asked indignantly.

'Wollstaffs are okay. They're making jam,' he said. 'What are you doing? Are you posting me-mes for your friends?'

'They're called memes! You know they're called memes! Anyway, I'm investigating.'

'It's time you dragged yourself away from soulless technology and did something worthwhile,' he said pompously.

'Are you lonely then?'

'I'm boooored!' he whined with an exaggerated sad face. Natasha grinned, fired off a quick goodbye to Moe saying, _My dad wants me to DO stuff!_

_Ew! Have you had him tested for ADHD?_ replied Moe.

Natasha chuckled and followed Nick downstairs.

'So what brilliant scheme have you thought up?' she asked.

'I'm thinking,' said Nick as he posed against the windowsill, hand raised as if he was making a speech, 'we need to approach this with the spirit of the blitz. After all, the Second World War lasted for a while, they must have figured out a thing or two. Come on!' he said, with a wave of his hand as he walked out the back door, handing her a coat. The rug was still on the sparse patch of weedy grass next to a small rectangle of cracked bare earth.

'Which means what? We hide in a bomb shelter?' Natasha's sarcasm became a shiver, as she remembered the damp cellar and how the floor rose up while children screamed.

'We don't know what's going to happen, do we?' said Nick, not noticing Natasha's face had turned pale as she shook the memories away. 'There could be food shortages. If the road keeps opening up, we'll lose supplies. We need to grow our own food.'

'Won't that take ages?'

'Better start as soon as possible then,' said Nick smugly.

'Dad, I know you like to have control, but this doesn't make any sense. We don't even know what's going on, how can we be prepared for it?'

'Potatoes!' said Nick enthusiastically, ignoring her. 'My dad said you always put potatoes in first.'

'You hated your dad,' said Natasha.

'Look, I found a spade!' said Nick proudly.

As the sun burned the day and fluffy white clouds bounced around the sky, Natasha sent Moe photos as they attempted to dig over the small patch of earth in their garden.

_Me digging for victory,_ wrote Natasha, and then gave the spade back to Nick.

'My god, this stuff is like rock!' said Nick, the spade clanging against his hands as it hit the hard earth and dug down a centimetre.

_Dad working to feed the world,_ Natasha wrote. As a radio salesman, Nick wasn't used to blisters and was feeling cranky. He handed the spade back to Natasha.

_Me ending all famine,_ wrote Natasha, pouting at the camera with the spade in hand. She handed it back.

'Are you going to do any actual digging?' Nick asked, indignantly.

'We could get the Terrorist Wave to break it up for us,' suggested Natasha. Nick glared at her.

'I can't do this on my own! You need to get off your phone.'

'There's only one spade.'

'Borrow another one!' he said.

Nick had stepped over the line from banter to cranky. So Natasha went back inside the house to go to the Wollstaff's. As she walked through the kitchen, she heard high-pitched whispering, like malevolent Munchkins were plotting. Natasha froze.

'Alexa?' she asked.

The whispering stopped and Alexa's smooth, calming voice said, 'Yes?'

'Were you making that noise?'

'I'm sorry, I don't know that one.'

'Right.' Natasha stared at the spinning blue light. 'Do you know why the walls are eating people yet?'

'During a crisis, it's important to remain calm and stay away from busy roads,' said Alexa.

'But what _is_ the crisis? What's happening?'

'Would you like me to sing you a song?' asked Alexa.

'No,' sighed Natasha and went to see Mr Wollstaff.

Mr Wollstaff was often in his garden. He was sure to have something to dig with, and probably a cup of tea brewing too. Natasha wondered if she could delay her return until her dad had got bored and given up digging. As she stepped outside the front door, she could hear singing: a man's voice, tuneless but cheerful, echoing in the empty street. It was creepy, misplaced cheer. Across the road, the twins, Ben and Neil, were staring out of the window, palms pressed against the glass as if they were trying to push their way out, faces sombre. Natasha waved, but they only stared. As she walked around the hedge that marked the boundary between her house and the Wollstaff's, she saw Keiron sitting on the doorstep. His angry mood from earlier was now forgotten.

'Hi,' she said. Keiron nodded and stopped singing. He looked very happy.

'Are Mr and Mrs Wollstaff in?' she asked, wondering if it was rude to reach past him and ring the bell.

'Ah probably. Who knows?' he said cheerfully.

'Oh,' she said, then not quite sure what to do next, said. 'You look like you're doing well.'

'Yes!'

'You're not scared of the Wave?'

'No!' he said cheerfully, then leaned forward and said. 'Usually I'm the only one who's scared. Now everybody else is! They know what I feel like all the time.' While he spoke, he worked away at his fingers, tugging the skin. They were smeared with blood.

'So, do you know what it is?' asked Natasha. 'What's causing it?'

'It's me! I made it all happen! You saw, right?'

'What? Saw what?' she asked.

'It sort of leaks out. I can't control it,' Keiron waved his hand dramatically and giggled.

'But it's happened across the world. You caused that too?' said Natasha, taking a step back.

'I didn't mean to,' said Keiron, scratching his eyebrow. He had a ring through it, but the skin around the piercing was turning red. 'I needed to learn how to control it, but I can now. So no one's getting stolen anymore. Unless I want them to.' He giggled again. Natasha had no idea where she could take the conversation from here. He had to be wrong. He was psychotic, wasn't he?

Eventually, she said, 'Okay, well, I hope your day stays good,' and awkwardly half-waved as she turned and left.

Back in the kitchen, she switched on the kettle, wanting something simple to focus on.

'No spade?' asked Nick walking in from outside, his face sweaty and red.

'He wasn't home,' she said, her voice sounding hollow, handing him a mug of tea to distract him.

'Never mind noodle, it's time to take a break anyway.'

Nick had only just sat down when he decided what they needed was an Emergency Supply Box. He thumped his mug onto the counter in his excitement, then leapt up and went over to the kitchen cupboards.

'We'll be ready for anything then,' he said, pulling open the drawers. 'We need string, and a mallet. And a knife!' He pulled out three small objects and held them up. 'Dice!' he said. 'Do we need dice?'

'Why would we need dice?' asked Natasha, wondering if she should help him or let him play out his whirlwind search.

'I don't know. If we have to hide in the cellar, we can play board games!'

'We don't have any board games and we're not hiding in the fucking cellar!' snapped Natasha, and Nick took a breath and slowed for a moment.

'No, of course not. I'm sorry.' Then he turned back to the drawer, pulling out leads, a plug adaptor, rubber bands. 'We must have some string somewhere.'

'For what situation, exactly? Are we going to tie ourselves to the furniture with string when the Wave comes?'

'We can be self-sufficient, then we don't need to go outside.'

'But it can happen _inside_ ,' Natasha said, Nick wasn't listening. He'd now moved onto the cupboard beneath the sink.

'We can put in bottled water, and tins of baked beans!'

'Or tins of something we actually like!' replied Natasha, wondering how long the frantic attempts at taking control of the uncontrollable would continue.

'The bigger stuff is in the basement. I'm sure I've got a generator, and a wind-up radio. You remember when we used to go camping?' Natasha followed reluctantly as he went out into the hall and pulled open the basement door.

She shone the torch from her phone into the murky depths, while staying firmly at the top of the stairs.

A message pinged from Moe. _What you doing? I may have found the emotional limit to boxsets. Turns out you CAN have enough TV._

_My dad has been driven mad by his need to solve all problems. He's convinced we need spray paint in our Emergency Supply Box,_ wrote Natasha.

_Emergency Supply Box?_ replied Moe.

'Why aren't you shining a light anymore?' asked Nick indignantly.

'I'm writing a message!'

_I think he might need medication,_ wrote Natasha.

That night Natasha couldn't sleep, and was relieved Moe couldn't either. She'd been so long without a real friend to talk to, she'd forgotten how fearless it made her feel. Emboldened, she could explore the rotten holes of the past, the places she was afraid to walk alone. Without the sunshine and Nick's eternal optimism to banish the blues, their conversation took a wander into sombre territory.

_What are our lives even going to be now? Is this going to end? I was going to be famous, is that even an option anymore?_ asked Moe.

_Famous, how?_ wrote Natasha.

You know, something with dramatic costumes and an adoring audience of proles.

_Singing?_ wrote Natasha.

_Yeah! Can't sing though. What about you? What were you planning?_ wrote Moe.

Good job, nice mellow life, avoid disasters.

_What? Why? Don't you want to be a celebrity or cure cancer or something?_ asked Moe.

Not really. Fame looks pretty awful. Half of them kill themselves before they're thirty. And doctors have one of the highest suicide rates.

I don't believe you're even a real teenager. Are you a spy or something? Like you've never wanted to be spectacular?

_You sound like my mum. She was into all that stuff, always looking for something more, never happy with what she had. 'Never give up, never give in,' that was her motto, like life was a war,_ wrote Natasha.

Yeah! She sounds great.

_Yeah, so fuckin' great. What's the point of being great if you're not here?_ Natasha thumped the bed while she wrote, then blinked at the ceiling.

She left?

She died.

_Shit girl, I'm sorry,_ wrote Moe, _but that wasn't her fault, right? Doesn't mean she was wrong._

Yes it does! 'Cause it was all lies. Because she did give up.

What happened?

_Cancer. Like what everybody gets, so predictable._ Natasha was crying and annoyed with herself for it, glad Moe couldn't see and she could feign disgust. She changed the subject, _What about your family? What are they like?_

Yuk. A fractured Frankenstein mess. Two families sewn badly together.

I've seen your stepmum at school before. You don't like her?

Actually, no, she's great. It's my dad who's the monster, and my stepbrothers who enable him.

_What's so bad about him?_ asked Natasha.

He thinks he's funny.

All dads think they're funny!

_Not like my dad. You'll see. One day I'll show you,_ wrote Moe.

Chapter Eight

That evening the message went out on Facebook: school was open, and Natasha was oddly relieved. After three days of her dad's wartime schemes, interspersed with visiting elderly neighbours who blamed Facebook and tattoos for the Wave, she was desperate to get out of the close. It had taken an hour of arguing the night before to convince Nick she should go. He wanted them to carry on in their happy little bubble, but she needed to see the world moving again, to get some kind of routine back. She had already shot off a stream of messages to Moe that morning, but seeing her would be a confirmation the friendship was real, not only a together-in-battle-and-the-virtual-world phantom.

But the morning was already off-kilter. In the cul-de-sac, Mr Plewis hadn't swept his normally spotless path of leaves and in two places the paving slabs no longer fitted at right angles. Keiron was standing on the corner, smoking, but he didn't say anything or nod, only stared at her distrustfully, his good mood gone. She hurried past. There was no rattle and clap of a skateboard on the main road, and no number sixteen bus turning into Logan Street. The main road was still too empty, with only a mum and her two kids walking in a huddle. As they ducked from shadow to shadow, Natasha could see both children had homemade caps of tinfoil. It was a relief to get up the scrubby hill and watch the sea, still rolling its waves in the same way it always did. To be small beneath the infinite sky.

At the school, Miss Norbett was enjoying the preparations for the fallen - those snatched by the Wave. She had spent the previous few days working out how to print their school photos at A1 size. Events were her favourite part of running a school, when the tedious repetition of lessons was interrupted. Of course, it was a terrible tragedy that not only seven children, but nine parents, had disappeared in the preceding days, but it didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the preparations and do things properly.

One by one, the children filed in from the playground. There were only a hundred or so. Many parents had sent irate emails describing the school as _unsafe_ and a _death-trap_. Miss Norbett tutted to herself and checked her speech one more time. This was her Winston Churchill moment, so it had to be perfect. She patted her hair, which had been swept up and pinned to her head like a butterfly mounted on a board. Not a strand out of place.

Natasha and Moe had danced around each other in circles when they met at the gate. To see someone as sardonic as Moe leaping around overtaken by a grin as they said hello, gave Natasha the sense she could deal with anything, conquer any horror. If the Wave tried to take her now, she'd splat it with a happy fist. They walked inside, arm in arm, and Natasha only faltered when she saw Darek. He was leaning against the corridor wall and gave her a small nod, almost imperceptible. She tripped over her own feet and her brain quickly flooded with shame. Moe pulled her on, not letting her fall, then said in a low voice,

'Oh, _I_ see. _Very_ cute.'

'What?' whispered Natasha, tormented in all directions.

Moe chuckled and Natasha tried to distract her with a question. 'What happened to Hammer?' Moe kept her cheeky grin up for one more second, then sighed and agreed to the change of subject.

'Did you see the playground?' she asked. Natasha shook her head and Moe led her down the corridor to the window and looked out to where Rosie had vanished. In the playground was a huge hole: a crater big enough to have cut Hammer out.

'Is he okay?' asked Natasha.

'I heard when they tried to smash the concrete, his legs smashed right along with it.' Natasha turned green and thought she'd be sick. 'It was my dad who said that though, so it's probably lies,' added Moe.

'But why didn't he get totally swallowed?'

'Don't know,' said Moe grimly. 'Maybe the ground thought he smelt bad.'

Neither of them laughed, but kept walking to the assembly hall where Miss Norbett had created a cheap shrine to the fallen. Or to the whatever-the-Hell-had-happened.

Soon the room filled up with kids who all had the same hollow-eyed, desperate look. They shared nods of recognition with Walter and Jaali, acknowledging they were comrades, but not friends. Jaali stood with his year seven classmates, and they all looked too small to be dealing with this.

Miss Norbett didn't call for silence as usual. Everyone shut up as soon as she walked to the podium and began speaking. 'These are difficult days for all of us. We must take time to reflect, to remember those we have loved and lost, and to ask ourselves what we can learn from this experience.'

Natasha wondered if she'd got this speech from a template. Miss Norbett was just stringing clichés together like threading a necklace and the ridiculousness suddenly hit her. She made a quick scan of the children seated on the floor to see if they were laughing. They were all huddling close to each other. Darek didn't huddle, but sat up, his pale grey eyes watchful. He had the manner of an otherworldly being, calm and still at the centre of messy turmoil. Was she the only one who had a sudden urge to laugh loudly and shout? Then Moe lightly poked her side and when Natasha turned to her, Moe winked. She gave a barely noticeable wink back.

'Yes, this is a difficult time, a painful time,' Miss Norbett was saying. 'We have all lost loved ones. Let us remember our own pupils: The brilliant Rosie Wallis, a shining example to us all and loved by everybody. Callum Stamp, an exuberant boy always ready with a joke. Aiden Dickson beloved by his family. Mark Dresden -'

Miss Norbett named each of the swallowed children, and Natasha didn't like any of them. There were sniffles and sobs all around her, as each name brought new gasps of distress, and she was starting to feel seriously guilty. Was she wrong? She was sure she wasn't. Despite the headmistress' warm words, every one of those children was a nightmare to someone. Callum Stamp's tantrums had led their form teacher to have a nervous breakdown. Aiden Dickson hated his younger sister and often made her cry in the playground.

'Now,' said Miss Norbett, 'I want you all to carry on with a normal day, but as you go about your schoolwork and talk to your friends, I want you to remember those who are no longer here. Take a moment to experience the sadness as you remember their faces, their laughs, their voices. And if any of you need to talk your feelings through with a teacher then just ask.' She finished this last sentence with a head-tip and tragic eyes, and Moe turned a giggle into a cough.

They all got up and started filing back to their classrooms as normal, but no student could imagine learning anything today. The maths teacher, Mr Leech, tried to lead them, but nobody paid him much attention. There were too many emotions in the way.

'Tash,' said Moe, as they walked back, her face serious.

'Hmm?' said Natasha.

'I think I need a moment to experience the sadness.' Moe tilted her head. Natasha smirked and they both started laughing, then realised that the rest of their class were trudging behind them miserably, and quickly shut up. They were nearly at the classroom door and Mr Leech had fallen behind.

'You're a bad person,' whispered Natasha. Moe shrugged, unbothered, and then peered at the glass in the door.

'Is somebody in there?' she asked.

'There can't be,' said Natasha. 'It's locked isn't it?'

'Look,' said Moe, pointing at two figures sat at the front desks. Through the distorted glass it was impossible to see who they were, but the shades of grey they were wearing made it clear they were in school uniform. By now a huddle of kids was forming around the door and Mr Leech strode forwards, wondering what all the fuss was about. Natasha felt very uneasy and grabbed for Moe's hand, while he unlocked the door and opened it.

Inside sat Rosie and Callum at their usual desks. They were staring straight ahead, hands folded neatly. As Mr Leech was about to speak, the two returned children rotated their heads very slowly to look at them. Their eyes were unfocused and stretched wide. Their faces were blank of any expression, except for large, taut, fake smiles.

'Where have you been?' shrieked Mr Leech, striding forwards. Rosie and Callum said nothing. Natasha took a few steps behind him, aware that her classmates were crowding at the door with their phones held up, jostling each other to get a picture.

'They're not okay,' said Moe, her voice was hollow. 'Look at them, they're not okay.' Rosie and Callum's smiles had not relaxed for even a moment. They were utterly still, eyes wide and empty. Natasha felt as if there was no air to breathe and she'd be sick. She pushed back through the crowd of children with desperation as if she were trapped beneath a pile of them. Once outside the classroom, she fled.

She bolted out of the school and froze, her feet skidding under her. Clustered around the gates and in the road were thirty people, standing motionless, their arms by their sides. Some men, some women, a few smartly dressed, one in a paint-pattered boiler suit. They faced in random directions, but every face that she could see wore the same painfully stretched smile, had the same vacant eyes focussed on nothing. Natasha was vaguely aware of someone saying her name, but still jumped when Moe put a hand on her shoulder.

'You okay, girl?' asked Moe gently.

'What's happened to them?' asked Natasha, her voice rasping. 'Look at them. What's wrong with them?'

'Don't know, but I think you should come back inside. We should all stay together.'

'I want my dad,' said Natasha, and could feel her throat getting lumpy because she wanted to cry. Moe rubbed her back, and they hurried inside, glancing behind themselves to check the smiling figures hadn't decided to follow.

As Moe and Natasha walked back to the classroom, they saw the other students walking out towards the assembly hall.

'What's happening?' asked Moe. Mr Leech flapped his hands at them, his face stern, so they joined the flow of frightened children and made their way to where Miss Norbett was back on the stage watching some of the other teachers trying to set up the wiring to a television.

'Come in, everybody,' squawked Miss Norbett. 'Quickly!' The teachers escaped back across the stage, the set up completed, and Miss Norbett nodded with satisfaction. 'I know some of you have had a scare,' she went on, 'but I contacted the police and I've been informed that everything is under control. A speech is about to be broadcast from Number 10 and they'll explain everything. Soon it will all be back to normal.'

'Normal?' hissed Moe in disbelief.

Miss Norbett fumbled with the remote to get the TV to come on, but nothing happened. She pressed a button on the screen, but it remained blank. Then the deputy head joined her and fiddled with wires at the back. It took three more teachers on the stage pressing buttons before the television blinked into life.

The face of the UK prime minister, Daniel Davidson, appeared and around the room everyone gasped. There had been no word of him since he was taken. He looked shrivelled and weary, hunched. His hair was thinner, greyer. Even his eyebrows were flecked with white. And he was smiling. Again, it was that strained copy of a smile, as if wires were pulling his face into place but no happy emotion was involved. He didn't blink. He stared down at the slightly crumpled piece of paper in his hand, which shook as he spoke.

'Subjects of the United Kingdom, we are your new rulers.' He spoke slowly and his accent didn't sound quite right. It wobbled around from the usual clipped public school drawl to something sloppier, as if his lips weren't properly engaged, like he'd had an injection at the dentist.

'What?' whispered Natasha.

'Fuck,' said Moe. The room was suddenly draughty. Moans and whispers burst out.

'Quiet!' shrieked Miss Norbett, then stood looking at the television, her hands grasping at the podium behind her.

'For too long now, the human race has thrived on greed, cruelty and violence. As individuals and communities, you've tortured and murdered one another with impunity. But you've been watched, and it has been noted.' He stopped to smile, a meaningless stretch to the lips, his eyes too still. 'We are an alien race and infinitely more powerful than anything you could dream of. We've watched and waited to see if you'd learn compassion and wisdom. And you _have_ altered. You've become sophisticated, but never civilised. The evil flows through you. And we've decided now it is time for change.' That smile again.

There were a few whimpers around the hall. Moe held onto Natasha's hand, clutching it so tightly that her fingers were crushed, but she barely noticed.

'First we took anyone committing a violent act. Then we took the leaders, because each one was corrupt and power-hungry. You've been ruled by sociopaths and thugs for too long. Now that has ended. From here on, aggression won't be tolerated. Evil will be instantly crushed. There's no escape. We are in everything: the concrete, the plastic, the walls around you. Wherever we see cruelty, we will strike. We're doing this in the hope you can become civilised, to learn to act like nice, moral beings. If you can change, we'll bring you new technology, new wisdom, your lives will become bliss. We will create for you a utopia. If you can't change by choice, one by one our benevolence will be forced upon you.'

Davidson paused, sighed deeply and his head sank further into his shoulders. When he spoke again, his normal accent had returned, but his voice was weedy, so everyone strained to hear.

'Each of those removed by the Wave have come back as I have. We're different, you'll see. Better. I used to cheat and lie. I became prime minister because I wanted the power, the money. But now I only want to work with our benevolent rulers to make a better world. They are giving us a utopia and we should be grateful.' He paused and looked into the camera, giving one last horrific smile.

When the speech had finished, there was a moment of silence, which Moe broke by saying, 'What a pompous shitter!' This served as a trigger for pandemonium to break out in the assembly hall. Reactions fell roughly into three categories: crying, shock and bluster. A few kids quickly reverted to the comfort of stereotypes: boys forming a gang to go and beat up the aliens, girls grouping into huddles and sobbing. Natasha and Moe stared at each with no clue what else to do. Darek was gazing into space, rubbing one hand with the other. Then he looked over at Natasha. She shrugged, he nodded. It was a moment of mutual bewilderment. Then he turned away.

'What the fuck?' Moe started saying over and over. Mechanically, Natasha pulled her phone out of her pocket, but there was no signal. Miss Norbett stood glaring into nothing as if she'd completely shut down. Mr Leech said her name while he tried to get in her line of sight, hoping to snap her back, but her only movement was the working of her jaw as she chewed the inside of her mouth. After a hurried discussion, form teachers ushered the near-hysterical kids out of the hall and down the corridor.

'Where are they taking us?' asked Natasha. They can't make us go back to that classroom.'

'Quiet!' said Mr Leech. 'We're taking you somewhere safe until we understand what's going on.'

'Not the fucking basement,' whispered Moe, and Natasha looked at her in alarm, because that was the direction they were heading in and that was the kind of daft decision teachers seemed to make these days. As they passed another classroom, Natasha grabbed Moe's hand, pushed open the door and quickly pulled her inside.

'We have to get out. We'll go back to mine. My dad will know what to do,' said Natasha.

'I agree about getting out, but I need to go home, see if my brothers are okay. Do you think you can make it back alone?'

'Okay. Yeah, sure. That makes sense,' said Natasha, trying to build up courage. 'You reckon we can get past the school gates?'

'Let's try,' said Moe.

Nick sat staring at the TV for a long time, occasionally saying 'what?' to himself. He'd always liked the idea of aliens. When he was much younger, before Natasha was born, he and her mum, Curly, had gone out to Broad Haven in Wales to spot spaceships. They'd seen flashing lights, and Curly claimed she could hear the aliens singing nursery rhymes to her, but they'd smoked a lot of pot so he was never sure. They believed the aliens would give them superpowers, perhaps tell them the secrets of the Universe, or take them for a spin in the spaceship. All of which would have been easier to process than this, which felt more like the actions of an abusive parent. An all-powerful abusive parent. He chewed his nails, then made himself a cup of tea that tasted like stewed socks. Finally, he went next door to see the Wollstaffs. As he stepped outside his front door, the young mother who lived across the street ran out into the middle of the road and screamed at the sky, 'Leave us alone!' Then, not sure where she was shouting at, she spun round and screamed at a different part of the sky. Her husband followed a few moments later and tried to pull her into a hug. Nick stared, shocked and helpless. Then he realised there were three more of his neighbours in the street. They were turned away so he couldn't see their faces, but they didn't move. He could hear screams and crying coming from other houses and the main road. He hurried next door.

Mr and Mrs Wollstaff never locked their door and were more frightened by people knocking than by anyone just walking in. Once Nick was inside the door and calling out, Mr Wollstaff bustled in from the back garden, his hair in muddy tufts and a half-smoked unlit cigarette behind his ear. He flapped at Nick to go and sit down while he got the kettle on. It was so reassuringly normal that Nick wondered if he'd imagined the prime minister's speech. But inside their lounge, filled with clashing floral prints, sat Mrs Wollstaff, staring at the television with the same blank look Nick had felt on his own face just before. Her long greying hair was braided and she hung onto the plait, twisting and untwisting it. She slowly turned to look at him and said nervously, 'Are we being invaded then?'

'What are you on about, Vera?' asked Mr Wollstaff, walking in with a plate of cakes.

'The speech. You didn't see the speech?' asked Nick. Mrs Wollstaff was staring into space again.

'Oh, I started watching it,' said Mr Wollstaff, 'but he does rattle on a lot of nonsense, doesn't he? All these politicians do. I don't know what we pay them for really.'

'Aliens,' said Mrs Wollstaff. 'We've been invaded by aliens.'

'What? Illegals, is it? Don't see the harm.'

'No, actual aliens from outer space,' explained Nick. Mr Wollstaff laughed uproariously, then realised neither of the other two were laughing, and stopped. Mrs Wollstaff started crying, quiet little sobs, and her husband put the plate down and sat next to her, his arm around her.

'There there pet, it'll all be fine. We're always fine.' Then he said to Nick, 'They do annoy me, these politicians. They make their grand, stupid speeches and go round upsetting everyone. It was the same with all the Brexit bollocks. They're just troublemakers.'

'But it's happening! The aliens took all those people!'

'Doubtful,' said Mr Wollstaff.

'He just said! Everyone who vanished,' said Nick.

'Nah. Those politicians will say anything to get themselves out of trouble. I reckon they messed up and now they're trying to hide it.'

'It won't affect you, Mrs Wollstaff,' said Nick. 'You're good. They'll have no problem with you.'

'But our boy has a temper. What if he lashes out?' said Mrs Wollstaff curling her fingers in her hair and tugging.

'The prime minister came back, didn't he? And he looks okay,' said Nick in as confident a voice as he could manage.

Mrs Wollstaff glanced back at the television \- it was already showing short interviews with angry members of the public - then she looked at Nick.

'I'm not sure he was okay. He was talking wrong, as if he'd been possessed. They said people would change, nobody has the right to do that.'

Chapter Nine

After watching two hundred YouTube videos, Figgy Watson had reached a point far beyond irritated. Around him hysteria and fear bubbled permanently at the surface, as what was left of his colleagues tried to piece together the tattered remnants of government. But with everyone in a state of shock and every official who had any real power taken, those left could barely decide on which biscuits to open. Parliament needed rescuing, a can-do hero with the right combination of swagger and sociopathy to take control. That was not Figgy.

Figgy was, like most humans, a that'll-do nitwit who had found a straightforward job to do and then despised it. He had spent the last three days watching perky idiots share life hacks and beauty tips, and the last four hours repeating the same conversation with those perky idiots. When the PM had returned earlier that morning and told them what had happened, it was only a confirmation of what they all already knew: technology this advanced could only be alien in origin. They had protocol for dealing with aliens, but it mostly involved using bigger and bigger weapons. Figgy had picked out one of the few plans that didn't involve violence: the use of social media as visual Valium. Because the public, in their infinite stupidity, were soothed by chirpiness.

Figgy had a found a room which wasn't distorted by mismatched corners and patterns betraying the damage of the Wave. It was a shabby open-plan office, with vinyl chairs that cricked the back within a few hours. It was the office equivalent of the cheap seats, but at least it didn't hold horrific memories of friends and co-workers snatched and stolen. He put down the family-sized pack of salt and vinegar crisps he had been working through and picked up the phone again.

When Nick left the Wollstaffs', all he wanted was to go to the school and find Natasha, to make sure she wasn't scared. He grabbed his coat and was about to walk out the door when his phone rang. He tried three times to swipe the screen before he was able to answer.

'Mr Keeley? Nick Keeley?' a plummy, tired voice asked.

'Yes, that's right.'

'You go by the name Nickstersuperdad on YouTube. Is that right?'

'Er, yes.'

'This is Figgy Watson, I'm a civil servant in the Houses of Parliament. You've probably noticed a crisis is occurring, one that affects the entirety of humanity.'

'Sure. Well, obviously. I mean, it was just on TV with the man saying so and things,' Nick heard himself babbling and shut up.

'We need your help,' said the voice.

'Who does?'

'What is currently left of the government,' said Figgy.

'What's left of it?' There was a sigh at the other end of the line, and then Figgy regained some certainty.

'We are currently operating under a new regime. One we don't fully understand.'

'Right. A new regime? An alien regime?' asked Nick. Figgy carried on as if he hadn't heard.

'It is essential we maintain a calm exterior while staying within the appropriate perimeter of behaviours.'

'What?' said Nick. This was like talking to a lawyer.

Figgy's voice dropped to a hiss, 'Everybody has got to calm the fuck down or they'll get turned into zombies!'

'Oh. Were you supposed to say that?' said Nick. There was another heavy sigh.

'No. Probably not. But I've had this conversation fifty-six times already and I'm tired of finding ways to bullshit.'

'Fifty-six times? But they've only just made the announcement.'

'We got Davidson back this morning, to give us time to...' Figgy let out a small squeaky sigh before carrying on, 'prepare. And it was decided some years ago, that in a time of crisis, influencers could be used to aid control. I've been searching for the right voices to help us, and thought I should reach out, before everyone loses their minds.'

'Right voices?' asked Nick.

'YouTube. YouTube stars are some of the biggest celebrities in the world now. People listen to them, trust them. So if we can get them to spread the right message, find enough with the right _tone_.' Figgy hesitated. 'You see? We need to spread the message.'

'Yes, but YouTube?' said Nick, incredulously.

'I know, I know. The problem is that order has been lost, which results in violence. Our usual way of restoring order is with guns and riot shields. Well those are also considered forms of violence, and, as we've discovered, they also cause the Wave.' Figgy's voice had risen to a desperate screech, but it dropped again. Nick mumbled sympathy, but Figgy ignored him. 'We're hoping you can help us. Many of the popular YouTubers are more shouty than soothing, but your channel has the right tone: a calm can-do attitude. Which is what we need.'

'But need for what?'

'I told you! People need to calm down. You're an influencer, so use your influence to tell them how to mellow out,' said Figgy.

'But I don't feel mellow!' said Nick.

'Then fake it! Tell them to try breathing exercises or listen to soothing music. Tell them everything is going to be fine. It's all under control, there's no problem.'

'It sounds like that isn't true,' said Nick.

'Of course it's not true! You want to tell them officials spent twenty minutes this morning re-teaching the PM how to make a cup of coffee? That we no longer have access to any documents because every time we try to log on to a computer, it shuts down. That the whole office - the whole fucking world - is under the control of aliens we can't even see, let alone reason with? You want to tell them that?'

'No, I guess not.' Nick wasn't sure he wanted to know all that either.

'Nick, we're teetering on the brink of devastation. We've got this,' he hesitated, his voice was close to hysteria, ' _alien race_ demanding we change our entire way of behaving and governing, but right now we're in uncharted territory. I don't know how they concluded we'd cope with this.' Figgy's voice choked and he breathed heavily for a few seconds, then carried on. 'But while we try and sort this mess out, if you could help to calm them down. Just be a rational voice in the panic.'

'It will be difficult to fit around work.'

'No. That's all changing. The aliens gave us a new directive. Nobody will starve, but they want to reduce production, reduce waste, get the public involved in an environmental clean-up. Like I said, they're changing _everything_. But we'll make sure you're fine. This effectively _is_ your job now.'

'So, you've spoken to them? The aliens?'

'We've been issued with instructions,' said Figgy.

'Oh.' Nick rubbed his nose while his head spun. 'I don't have many viewers. I mean I can put out messages to my subscribers.'

'It won't be a problem. Put a video out and people will see it. Lots of them. I hate to sound melodramatic, but we're counting on you. You and other YouTubers. We're close to totally fucked, you see?'

'Yes, okay. I mean. Probably.'

'Good man.' The phone went silent and Nick pulled it away from his ear and tapped at it, trying to work out if it was still connected. Then he sat staring at the wall, feeling his ego rub its hands with glee in amongst the chaos and panic.

'They're not doing anything,' said Moe, as she and Natasha stood outside the school looking at the blocked gates. 'They haven't even moved an inch.'

Natasha walked up to a man in a smart suit, who she vaguely recognised as a parent. She waved her hand in front of his face, but his expression didn't change. She pushed him very gently with her finger and he moved back a step, swayed slightly and returned to stillness. She looked back at Moe who was chewing on a finger.

'We can push our way through. I don't think they'll stop us,' Natasha said. Moe nodded, but didn't move. 'Just don't look at their faces,' said Natasha. 'Keep moving and look at the ground.'

Pushing through the motionless returnees was like forcing their way through hanging meat in an abattoir. There was no reaction, no grabbing hands or shift in expression, but neither Moe nor Natasha breathed until they were outside the school and away from the cluster of bodies.

Out in the street there were more scattered about, staring, with fixed smiles on their faces. Between them darted scared but normal people, trying to get reactions from the motionless figures, shouting and pleading at them. A child was crying for her daddy to wake up, tugging at the hand of a smiling, empty man. A dog was barking at his returned owner who didn't respond.

'I need to go home now,' said Moe and Natasha whispered an agreement. They had a tearful hug goodbye and a promise to message once they each got back.

Then Natasha began to run, ducking and weaving between the motionless figures and the terrified pedestrians around them. Cars were starting to crowd the streets now, the frantic residents of Icking pointlessly trying to escape a tyranny which had taken over the world. A shopkeeper had wheeled out a hand truck and was attempting to load a smiling body onto it, so he could move it out of the road to let impatient drivers pass. Other returnees were pulled onto the pavement, each step a struggle. Natasha kept running. She heard shouts and sobs. She saw hysterics and fainting fits, and many, many smiles. Her churning thoughts gave strength to her legs, as if she was leaping mighty bounds across the land. Her fear and fury gave her energy.

When she got to her house, she had no breath left. She weakly opened the door, wheezing, and called out. Nick sprung from the kitchen in a moment and she leapt into his arms crying, a cascade of unstoppable sobs. Shock piled on shock had cracked something inside her and she couldn't stop.

Half an hour later and they were sitting with a large tub of ice-cream on a duvet on the kitchen floor. Natasha's lungs were still burning, but she was calm.

'What have they even done to them, Dad? Did they mess with their brains?'

'Drugs, maybe,' said Nick, then saw from Natasha's expression this wasn't helpful. 'They might have told them to smile. You know, to stop the meanness, like they said.'

'But they didn't move. Davidson looked like botched Botox when he spoke. They've been changed.'

'It could be temporary, a warning. And they're only asking us to be nice. There are worse things to aim for,' said Nick taking another spoonful of ice-cream.

Natasha leaned her head against his shoulder. 'You can't _demand_ niceness. That's twisted,' she said. 'We need to work out how to stop them.'

'No, we don't! We do as they say and let the powerful sort the rest out.'

Tash looked at him puzzled. 'So just give in?' she said.

' _We_ give in, yes. The authorities don't. If aliens want us to act nice, we act nice. Any conflict we leave to the army. They have their role, we have ours.' He paused and sucked the spoon clean and then tapped it on his knee.

'Role? What role?' Natasha had an uneasy feeling Nick was hiding something. She recognised the glint in his eye, the tapping, the way he kept looking at the floor. 'What do you know?'

'I don't know _exactly_ , but I think their plans go further. They want us to change how we live.'

'Where are you getting that from? Davidson didn't say that,' said Natasha.

'I got a call,' said Nick, pausing to eat another mouthful of ice-cream, building the tension with a slight smile teasing the corners of his mouth. 'An offer of a new job.'

'Who from?' she asked to hurry him along.

'The government.'

'What? Our government? Who even is that now?'

'Exactly,' Nick said, nodding. 'They're a wreck. All their high-ranking politicians have gone. There's only civil servants and backbenchers left. I'll bet even the cleaners are getting made into MPs.'

He paused again and was about to take another spoonful of ice-cream, but Natasha snatched it away.

'And? What?' she said.

'They want me to help them. They want soothing videos, telling everyone to be mellow, and everything will be fine. That kind of thing.'

'Why would anyone listen to you?' asked Natasha, angry at the pride she could see leaking through his attempt to hide it.

'Some say I have a certain charisma,' Nick said with mock snootiness.

'But you can't do it! It's propaganda!'

Nick leaned against the wall. 'I have to. I mean, this is serious. People lash out when they're scared.'

'But aren't they fighting back?' said Natasha. 'That can't be all they're doing, just calming everyone down?'

'No, it's what _we_ are going to do. I'm sure they have other plans.'

'But you're doing what the aliens want!'

'What do you want me to do, Natasha? Get a gun and shoot at the walls? Punch the concrete? For the moment, this is the wisest move.'

'By teaching everyone how to grovel to our new masters? Brainwash everybody into submission?'

'Stop being so melodramatic! You're acting like a child!'

'I _am_ a child!' snapped Natasha.

'Why do you have to start acting like one _now_?'

'Oh, I'm _sorry_ , I don't _mean_ it!' Natasha shouted, her hands in fists and her face scrunched and red. 'I _welcome_ our new overlords. I'll get a fucking tattoo that says _Property of E.T_.'

'Don't be ridiculous -' Nick started to say, but Natasha wasn't interested. She grabbed her coat and headed for the door.

'I'm not the ridiculous one. And I'm going out. And if you try to stop me your new friends will eat you up and spit you out. So ha!'

'Don't put yourself in danger to make a point!' he shouted, grabbing his coat so he could follow her. But she only got as far as the front garden and then sat on the wall with her phone. He went into the kitchen and filled up the kettle, concentrating on getting just enough water for one cup, ideas for videos gathering in his head like flies. He sponged some crumbs off the counter, reorganised the mugs on the mug tree so they all hung the same way, as the words he could use collided and settled. He started to fill the sink for the washing up, when he realised he knew exactly what video he wanted to make. He hurried to his Junk Room, checked himself in the mirror and then switched on the camera. Then ran back a moment later to turn off the tap.

When he was finally ready, he didn't bother with introductions or slogans, he simply talked.

'I don't know who's going to be watching this. Could be more people than usual, or nobody. I mostly talk to you about fixing stuff. But what we're all going through right now is so huge, we have to talk about it.'

Natasha's anger only got her as far as the garden wall before she stopped and called Moe.

'So your dad's going to be famous!' Moe exclaimed.

'That's not the point!' Natasha kicked at the wall indignantly, then felt a sudden panic that kicking things was a bad idea. A moment passed, no Wave happened, so she carried on. 'He's going to be working for the aliens.'

'Not really, you said he was working for the government, that's not the same,' said Moe. 'Hey, you can be in the videos too! Ooh can I be in one?' Natasha chewed furiously on her finger, wanting to shout. But when Moe spoke again her voice had lowered. 'You know, I never thought an alien invasion would be like this. There should be explosions and spaceships. Little green men. Where are the little green men?'

'Maybe there are green men, but littler than we thought,' replied Natasha. She looked up at the windows of the houses across the road. The curtains were drawn, as if darkness could save the inhabitants from the Wave.

'How do they even know what we're doing? They must have cameras or something,' said Moe.

'Banks of computer screens to watch us on, I guess. Eurgh! Are they watching us now?' said Natasha.

'Don't know. Can they access all the CCTV?' Moe was quiet for a moment, then said, 'Can we do it? Can we change like they want?'

'I don't care! Why _should_ we? You can't force people into being good. And it's not like a trial where you get to put your point of view. They're judge and jury. What if they get it wrong?'

'How?' said Moe.

'I don't know. What if somebody pulls a knife on you and you kick them away. Do they see the knife as a threat? Or only the kick?'

'They'll see the knife. They must do,' said Moe.

'But we don't know! What if their cameras don't catch everything? What if they're not paying attention? They could be wrecking innocent people.'

'The media's calling it being mashed now. When anyone gets taken, they're mashed,' said Moe.

'Mashed? Like being stoned?' said Natasha.

'Yeah. Or like having a brain of mashed potato.'

'That's nasty!'

'Yeah,' said Moe.

Natasha picked a dandelion out of the wall and a bit of mortar fell away. 'How about your family anyway? How are they taking it?'

'My stepmum texted me. She said _, I told you it was aliens!_ ' said Moe.

'And did she?'

'Yeah, but she believes everything is aliens. She's going to hold a kind of séance with her psychic group. They want to find a way to contact the not-little-green-men,' said Moe.

Natasha laughed, 'How?'

'A Ouija board and a lot of wine, I'm guessing.'

'You going to go along?' asked Natasha.

'Usually I hide under the table and make thumping noises. It's surprisingly dull.'

Even when the call had finished, Natasha was still too angry to go back inside. Instead, she took a walk along the road that wound up through the cliffs above the sea. It was for tourists visiting Icking and was one of the few roads not pitted with potholes or cracks sprouting buddleia. It took an hour, but with every step further away from the town, breathing was easier as the salt in the air increased and the wind caught her hair. Soon she was almost dancing along the road, listening to cheesy K-Pop on her phone. The road wasn't lit, but the moon was bright and she knew the route by heart. The cliffs rose up above her, small scraps of grass clinging to cracks. To her left, the rock fell away into darkness. She kept to the edge of the road - knowing that cars were rare at this time of night, but when they came, they would hurtle round the bend. She wondered what had happened to everyone trying to leave. Had they escaped? Should she and Nick have left too?

Then she saw the blockade. Two police cars parked at such an angle that no one could pass. The police themselves were stood in a huddle not looking her way. She spent a moment wondering if she should turn back, but the world was topsy-turvy now, old rules no longer counted. And being a rebel held so many more possibilities. She dropped down behind a rock, then slowly, on her knees, she crawled alongside the cars, keeping in the shadows. She could hear a few snatches of their conversation.

'Gerry's wife came back and she doesn't know which way is up anymore. Honestly, she's like a zombie, won't stop smiling.'

'That gives me the creeps. How does he stand it?'

Once past them, Natasha moved from a scrubby bush to a dark recess in the cliff edge, then continued up the road, relieved to stand up again and proud of herself for such a defiant act.

At first, she didn't register the white road markings. They were beneath her feet before she saw the distortion. In one marking after another there was a kink. A white line swerved to the left and then bent back in a right angle. One crossed itself. The Wave had happened here. Repeatedly. She slowed, suddenly queasy. Her shoe soles weren't thick enough anymore. She could feel the road beneath and it wasn't quite hard enough. She didn't like it. The wind howled like a warning, snatching at her hair, tugging at her clothes. She kept walking, as if hypnotised by the broken lines scattered in front of her. Her eyes hurt from peering too hard into the gloom, as her heart thundered and her feet dragged. And then she saw them. Three shapes in the middle of the road. Her brain was screaming at her to run, but she couldn't turn her back, so her feet kept walking onwards. The shapes took on form: arms, legs, one with a hat, one with long hair. Three people, stood motionless. Then, as one, they slowly turned to look at her. Even in the near dark she could see their huge grins, too much white to their eyes. Natasha stumbled backwards, then whispered to herself to remain calm, to back out slowly, no sudden moves. The huge grins hadn't faltered. It looked exhausting and painful to keep their mouths stretched so wide and empty of joy. Natasha wanted to throw up, but clutched her mouth to hold it in. Her foot scuffed and slid, knocking stones over the cliff edge. She yelped and shifted towards the centre of the road, ready to escape again. But they hadn't moved. And they looked lost and cold, whipped by the wind. She tentatively walked towards them.

'Hi there,' she said softly. 'It's alright.' As if she was speaking to an angry dog. They didn't move. She edged around them. 'Hey. You okay?' Their smiles hadn't changed, but now their eyes swivelled to see her. 'Aren't you cold?' One woman had only a thin coat on. She looked about forty and exhausted, but Natasha guessed from her ripped jeans and piercings that she was much younger. Her eyes held Natasha's and there was pleading in them. 'What did they do to you?' asked Natasha. The woman said nothing, didn't blink. Natasha took her hand and pulled gently. The woman's feet moved a few steps without coordination and then she stopped. With no idea what she was supposed to do, where she would even take these people if she got them all the way down the hill and past the police, Natasha mumbled a sorry and walked away.

Chapter Ten

After a confident beginning, Nick's video stumbled awkwardly from one flaw to another. He had started filming seven times and was now editing it together into something which made sense. It needed to be simple, but not patronising. A call to arms, but not officious. He didn't want too many jump cuts, because it looked like he was either lying or attempting to be cool, but so many of the takes were flawed as he ummed and erred. It wasn't good enough.

After pacing, agonising and rerecording, it occurred to him there was no point trying to save the world with one video, because it would never happen. All he needed was to reach out to whoever was listening. Try to connect. So he grabbed a beer from the fridge, sat down in front of the camera and just talked.

'We've all played the alien invasion games. We know the drill: hide in your homes, trust no one, arm yourself, have a stock of food you guard with your life. But we need to reprogram our thinking, because there aren't going to be gangs of marauding looters terrorising the streets. The Wave will stop them. This isn't a horror movie where crazed killers are on the loose with chainsaws. It's the exact opposite. The danger isn't coming from outside. It's in _us,'_ he said, rubbing his forehead. He vaguely wondered why Natasha hadn't come back, but he still had more to say and he didn't want to lose his thread.

When the video was finished, he uploaded it and waited, fetching another beer to help. The government official had promised to promote it, and Nick had expected a few extra views, but within minutes he had racked up thousands, and then tens of thousands. The numbers shot up with such disturbing speed he thought he'd be sick. He felt exposed, inadequate. Comments underneath the video were a splurge of the scared, the grateful, the illiterate, and the angry. He was called a hero, a man of the people, a lackey of the aliens and a fuckwad. And then the comments shut down, and he was left watching the viewing figures climb higher and higher. It wasn't until he heard the front door shut that he realised Natasha had been gone for two hours and had just returned.

Natasha was serene by the time she got home, and when Nick walked out of his room wearing an awkward grin, she smiled back.

'You alright, noodle?' he asked.

'Yeah. It's all fine. I'm out of emotions now.'

'You know, you shouldn't have gone out on your own,' he said. 'We could have talked it through.'

'Sure,' said Natasha, moving smoothly to her room, slow enough to reassure him everything was fine; fast enough that he didn't try to start up a proper conversation. She didn't want to talk. Once in her room, she began to flick through forums, and alternative news sources. She bookmarked any page that went deeper than wild theories about the CIA or Thetans. She found amateur scientists carrying out experiments with the mashed, giving them LSD or using regression therapy to try and bring their minds back. There were excavations into where the Wave had been, which led to many holes in walls and roads. Nobody was getting anywhere yet, but it felt good to see that throughout the world, people were doing something, asking questions. Taking control in small, but defiant ways.

Then her phone beeped a message. Moe. Natasha was ready to share conspiracies, but Moe had her own intentions.

_You want to see what my dad thinks is funny?_ _He made this four years ago,_ she wrote, with a video below. Natasha clicked on it.

'She's still asleep, so we're going to have to be quiet,' said a man's voice, speaking close to the microphone. He creaked open a door to show a bed across the far side of the room, a desk, a few anime posters. He angled the camera down to show the floor. Across it were fifty or so plastic cups.

'Now these cups contain an assortment of dyes and foams. There are even a few slugs in there. Took me an hour to set these up,' the man whispered. 'It's time for wakeys.' Then an air horn came into view and let off a huge and piercing screech. A figure leapt from the bed, and Natasha saw it was Moe, her hair sticking up in all directions, her feet bare. She ran across the room, sending cups of dye flying, then skidded on a cup of foam and landed in something that looked like honey. All the while the man was laughing uproariously, with pure joyous abandon. The video continued for six agonising minutes of Moe's humiliation as she tried to escape without causing more damage. It had over twenty thousand views.

_You're right, he's a monster,_ wrote Natasha, flushed with rage. The only time Nick had played a prank on her, he pretended briefly to have forgotten her birthday when she was eight. She became so upset that when Curly came down to breakfast minutes later, she found Nick and Natasha both bawling on the kitchen floor. He had never played a trick again.

_Does he do stuff like that a lot?_ wrote Natasha.

_Yeah, he has his own channel,_ replied Moe. _There are hundreds of videos. The time he moved all the keys on my keyboard around, the day before I had to hand in a big assignment. The time he pretended to my brother he'd got him a puppy for Christmas, then put a raw chicken in a box under the tree. And then there's the Russian Roulette Series,_ wrote Moe.

Wait, the what?

_One in six cakes has shaving foam instead of cream. One in six glasses is smeared with chili,_ wrote Moe.

_Is there no way to stop him? Can you play tricks on him?_ Asked Natasha.

No, he just gets nasty.

Natasha had a sudden urge to go and hug her dad.

It was Saturday, and Natasha woke with her curiosity already leaking out. She picked up her phone without awareness and walked downstairs flicking through a forum of structural engineers discussing possible technology that might melt a road until it was able to swallow a human. She didn't look up as she walked into the kitchen.

'Nick made breakfast and it was just adorbs!' trilled her dad as he turned the waffles over on the grill.

'Adorbs?' said Natasha. His back was to her, but she hoped he could sense the derision in her look.

'You know what? It's time to take control,' said Nick. Natasha felt a moment of hope and then sighed. She could feel a scheme coming on, and it probably involved being outside and doing stuff. She gave a small cough, perhaps she could quickly get sick.

'Didn't we already do that when we planted potatoes?' asked Natasha, coughing again and sniffing.

'But that was only us. We need to become a community. Show those aliens we don't need to be bullied, we can be nice on our own!' Natasha sniffed. When her dad didn't notice, she coughed again. He didn't even turn around. 'I'll give you the camera and you can film it for me.'

'Is this going to be one of your sponsored videos?' said Natasha.

'Exactly, it'll be great! We'll start after breakfast.'

'I'm getting a fever,' said Natasha, putting her hand to her forehead and trying to look weak.

'Me too! It must be all the excitement of our plan!'

Since sickness wasn't working, Natasha tried to hide her attention in her phone, but Nick wouldn't shut up as he dished up the waffles, slightly underdone.

'We'll need buckets, varnish, some string. And any paint we can find. There should be plenty left over from when I did that mural. You can go find them, while I try and rally some troops. Alexa, play the theme from Dambusters to get us in the mood.'

'Wouldn't you prefer something more soothing?' said Alexa.

'No!' said Nick. Then quietly he said to Natasha, 'Is she becoming a bit of a control freak?' Natasha nodded and looked suspiciously at Alexa.

By the time Natasha had collected the various items - balancing three buckets, the Emergency Supply Box, two pots of paint, a multi-pack of crisps and a broom - Nick had roused about fifteen neighbours from their homes. They were warily emerging from indoors. Many had barely left in days, living on tins and text conversations, letting paranoia spin feral theories in their heads. Others had lived shrunken lives, suspicious and harried, scared to speak too loudly or relax. But Nick's zeal was infectious, drawing them out, and hope fluttered between them like butterflies.

He upturned one of the buckets and balanced on it precariously. It made him just a little bit taller than the residents. He shouted expansively, waving his hands and only occasionally falling off.

'It's been a rocky week! But it's time to turn those rocks into diamonds! To turn the lemons into lemonade. What do you say?'

There were a few mumbled 'Yeah!'s and 'Hmmm's.

'We're going to decorate, make our street properly ours. Paint the pavement. Laminate your kids' drawings and stick them on lampposts. Wash off graffiti. Clean up litter. And don't work alone. We need to be together as a community.'

'You want us to clean,' said Mr Plewis, the crotchety man who lived the other side of the Wollstaffs. His face had drooped from a lifetime of disappointment for which he'd never forgive the world or anyone in it.

'I want you to _reclaim_ ,' said Nick. 'Not to make everything look shiny and new, but to make it look the way you want it to.' Nick waved his arm again and fell off the bucket. The neighbours were all looking around uncertainly,

'Well,' Mr Wollstaff said, pushing his hands further into his pockets, 'I'll give it a go.'

'Attaboy!' said Nick and clapped him on the shoulder.

Natasha handed out supplies in the hope she could avoid doing anything else. Mrs Wollstaff was already wrapping plastic flowers around a lamppost, while Geri - whose love of tragedy was carved in the crinkles around her eyes - was helping.

'Well, she figured, what could they do?' gossiped Geri. 'If they tried to stop her they'd get mashed quicker than boiled swede. So she put the whole chicken up her jumper and walked out!'

Natasha walked up to Geoff from number 29, who was kicking at a weed in the pavement, and handed him a paintbrush. He looked at her sadly. 'This won't stop the trouble,' he said, taking the brush and turning it around and around in his hands.

'Do you know any way we _can_ stop it?' Natasha asked.

'I always found a sternly-worded letter solved most problems,' said Geoff. 'But who would I write to?'

Before Natasha opened her mouth to respond, a voice shouted, 'I didn't tell you to do this!' It was Keiron, who had thundered out from his house. His blond hair hadn't been washed in weeks, and his pierced eyebrow had swollen and was leaking.

'It's okay, Keiron. We're just cleaning up,' said Natasha, stepping forward and hovering her hand above his arm, wanting to reassure him but not sure how. Keiron turned to look at her, his eyes wild, like they were trying to escape. 'I never told you to!'

'And now _you_ tell us what to do, do you?' said Mr Plewis, standing up and enjoying the indignation. Nick moved in and pulled Natasha away.

'I own you! I will crush you!' screeched Keiron, gripping the air as he made a fist, as if to pull Mr Plewis' soul out and squash it.

'Go on then,' said Mr Plewis, to muttered irritation from the other neighbours.

Keiron sneered, 'You aren't worth the bother.' And he walked back inside.

Chapter Eleven

Natasha was woken up by Alexa shouting, 'Good morning _,_ and in case I don't see ya: Good afternoon, good evening and good night!'

'Thanks Alexa,' mumbled Natasha, attempting to roll herself out of the memory foam dip beneath her. 'So what's happening?'

'Life is like a rainbow. You need both sun and rain to make the colours appear,' said Alexa.

'Great, thanks, very informative,' said Natasha. She tried to fire up the page of the scientist wrinklies to see what they'd come up with, but it wouldn't load, so she got dressed and went downstairs.

Nick was pulling faces in the mirror when Natasha got to the hallway.

'Dad, did you program Alexa to say cheesy quotes?'

'No. Do I have a sincere face?'

'What? What's a sincere face? You have an old face, does that help?' asked Natasha, then ignored him as he stuck out his tongue. She walked into the kitchen and pulled bread out of the bread bin. 'This bread is stale. We need some more,' she shouted.

'I already went to the shop, they're out. Apparently we're on rationing now,' Nick shouted back.

'What? Rationing?' said Natasha.

Nick gave up on his reflection and sat down to play with the saltshaker. 'Because someone left a comment saying I looked fake.'

'We're on rations because you look fake?' asked Natasha.

'No, that's why I wanted to know if I looked sincere.' Natasha sighed and put some stale bread in the toaster. 'I expect they'll sort the food out soon,' said Nick. 'It's probably just while they organise transport. And there are still plenty of ingredients: flour, eggs. I can make cakes!' Natasha grumped at him, and then at her phone when Twitter struggled to start. She could see from Reddit that rationing had hit as far as Cameroon and Greenland. Which meant Nick was wrong, it was coordinated. A few had posted up pictures of their meagre supplies. There were photos of new packaging: the word _Cornflakes_ printed on a white bag, _Bread_ on another white bag. Nick always railed against branding, but surely they needed some options? Wasn't that what free will was all about?

Natasha's walk to school was far more colourful than usual, and her mood lifted a few inches. Nick's call to reclaim the streets had spread out onto the main road. Somebody had stuck laminated family photos on all the fence posts, one happy face after another. The _WARNING LOW BRIDGE_ LED display, that had been erected two years ago after a lorry had left the top half of its load behind, had been rewired. It now flashed a smiley face. Three large boxes were open on a wall, with _Please take one_ written on a card. Inside were books of all kinds: trashy romance novels, cyberpunk experimental fiction, home-printed gothic fanfiction. As Natasha carried on walking, she saw a man sitting in his garden with a cat on his lap. He waved as she went past. She couldn't decide if this meant everything would be alright - proof of the irrepressible spirit of humanity bouncing back in difficult times - or if this was the icing on a turd cake.

She took some photos and wrote captions asking this and tried to post them to Instagram, but they refused to upload. The app only showed the spinning circle, despite several bars on her phone.

Entering her classroom felt odd. Her happy mood faded as all her classmates turned to look at her warily. The room was muted and too still. Kids stood in small clusters at the sides of the room. All of them threw twitchy glances towards the centre where Rosie stood, flanked by two Rebeccas and a Katie. Katie was brushing Rosie's hair and leaning over her shoulder to whisper something, but Rosie's expression was empty. Her mouth was stretched into a meaningless smile and her eyes slightly defocused. Natasha's attention was drawn away by the sight of a waving hand, and she gratefully hurried over to join Moe sitting at a far desk.

'God, I'm glad you're here. This place is giving me heebies,' hissed Moe.

'Why are they brushing her hair?' asked Natasha.

'Don't know, and she's just stood there smiling all the while. It's like backstage at a beauty pageant.'

Natasha gave an exaggerated shudder, then asked, 'Has your phone been playing up?'

'Yeah, it's slower than a snail with a wonky leg,' said Moe. 'Perhaps they mashed all the phone guys.'

'The science wrinklies reckon 5G is competing with how the aliens communicate. They made a video of how there are fewer bars on their phones near evidence of the Wave.'

'Maybe we should go to 6G then. Try to blast them!' Natasha made a mental note to send a message to the wrinklies to ask that. Then she had a serious thought.

'We need to make a plan,' said Natasha, taking out her phone and seeing it had finally posted the photos. 'A place we'll meet up if we can't contact each other.'

'We could email,' said Moe, dredging up the archaic tech from her memory.

'But what if we can't? What if the Internet goes down completely?'

Moe frowned, unable to imagine such a barren existence. 'Okay. How about the town centre, under the clock?'

Natasha nodded, satisfied, as a new teacher swept in wearing shoes that were almost, but not quite, trainers. Through his carefully-trimmed beard he announced they could call him David and there would be no assembly.

'Where's Miss Norbett?' asked someone.

'She's taking a brief holiday,' explained David.

But one of the Rebeccas whispered loudly, 'She's got anxiety, I knew she'd crack!'

David looked at Rebecca thoughtfully, then said, 'That's a good starting point for our discussion. If you'd all like to move the desks to the side of the room and your chairs to the centre. We're going to spend the day talking things through.'

'What, all day?' exclaimed Jack. 'Just talking?'

'What's happened is affecting all of us, and it's huge. We need to talk about it,' said David. Small indentations of concern appeared on his forehead, like crimping round the edges of a pie. Having a discussion was infinitely preferable to double Geography, so they all leapt up to rearrange the classroom. There was thundering and scraping as desks and chairs were moved as noisily as possible.

'This is going to be a whitewash,' whispered Moe. Natasha grinned.

Once the room was reordered into a rough circle, and the excited chatter died down enough for David to be heard, he sat down with them.

'Now, how about we go around the circle, and everyone say a sentence or two that describes how they feel about what's happened. It doesn't need to be complicated, or even make a lot of sense. Just let it out. How about you, Rosie?'

Rosie spoke thickly, as if kneading dough, every word an effort. 'I'm glad I've got the chance to make things right,' she said. 'I was angry before so I acted like a bad person, but now I can be nice and help make the world a better place.'

Next to Natasha, Jack said with a leer, 'I got a way you can be nice to me, baby girl.'

While Rosie gave a bewildered smile, Natasha turned to him and shouted, 'What's wrong with you?'

'Yeah, that wasn't okay!' said a Rebecca.

'What?' said Jack. 'She said she wanted to be nice. That's like consent.'

'Look at her! She can't give consent!' shouted Natasha, waving her hand at Rosie's vacant eyes.

'Stop spoiling the fun, Miss Uptight,' said Jack, kicking his feet out in front of him and sliding down in his chair so he was almost horizontal.

'Okay, okay,' said David, waving his hands. 'Let's all slow down a bit here. This is getting away from us.'

'What about Tash being nice to me? Why can't the Wave mash _her_?' said Jack.

'Perhaps we need to have a discussion about what _being nice_ actually means,' said David.

'Boring!' said Jack, balancing one foot on top of the other and folding his arms.

'Why are you asking us anyway?' said Tarquin, a boy whose good looks and intelligence had given him a superiority complex. His real name wasn't Tarquin, but everybody called him that because it suited him. 'The aliens listed all the awful things _adults_ have done, not us. It's the boomers. The X-genners.'

'Although the Wave _has_ mashed some of you,' said David, rubbing his eyes as if school was becoming a bad dream from which he hoped he'd soon wake up.

'That's different!' said Katie. 'It wasn't Rosie's fault. Tash attacked her first.'

'No, I didn't!' said Natasha, crossing her arms and hunching into herself as if trapped in a strait jacket.

'You attacked her with words,' sneered a Rebecca, tears welling up in her eyes as Katie rubbed her back sympathetically. 'You were baiting her.' Rosie's three friends were now crying through their snarls.

'She was being horrible to me!' said Natasha. 'She was always hating on me. You all were.'

'Tash, that's not very likely. Rosie was in the anti-bullying group,' said David.

'Exactly!' said Katie.

'What kind of logic is that?' said Moe.

Natasha felt like the rabbit in a hunt, surrounded by self-righteous dogs with hair extensions and nail polish.

Then Rosie spoke, dragging the words from her slow mouth. 'No, she's right, I did hate on her. I was nasty to her.'

'Don't let her intimidate you, Rosie. You did nothing wrong,' said Katie.

Rosie's mouth had pulled back into a smile, but her eyes were exhausted as she waded through the fog to find words. 'She... didn't. I did.'

'This is going round in circles,' said David. 'How about we return to what we, as a group, can do to change, and treat each other better?'

Natasha sat back and tried to unclench her hands, but there were still angry words caught up inside her.

Moe leaned over, and in Natasha's ear she whispered, 'Fuck 'em.' And Natasha nodded.

'What if we all just hugged each other more?' said a Rebecca.

'Christ!' said Jack, sitting up in his chair, then he slumped dramatically. Rebecca sniffed and turned away.

'We should paint the classrooms in pastel colours, with affirmations on the walls. Stuff about loving each other,' said Katie. Now Moe buried her head in her hands.

'This is fucking ridiculous!' said Jack.

'Jack!' said David.

'You're all pathetic!' Jack got out of his chair and paced up and down. 'Look at you! Like,' he stumbled. He wasn't good with metaphors.

'Brainwashed sheeple?' said Tarquin, helpfully.

'Yeah!' said Jack, walking to the back of the classroom, his arms in the air like a footballer after scoring a goal.

'Sit down!' said David, also standing.

'No! Because what are you going to do if I don't? You've got nothing,' said Jack, spinning round.

'Fine, then leave,' said David.

'No. Don't want to. Want to stay and tell you what morons you are.'

'Actually, that's offensive language,' said Katie.

'So what?' said Jack scratching his crotch triumphantly.

'Right, everybody ignore Jack. We'll just carry on,' said David, sitting back down, his patience withering. 'Perhaps you could elaborate on the affirmations idea, Katie,' said David through gritted teeth.

Jack sat down at a desk at the back of the classroom, his feet up, a sneer on his face as he chanted lyrics to Run the Jewels, like a machine gun spitting bullets.

'Sounds I make are the sounds of the hounds that are howling,' shouted Jack, bending his fingers into slightly wrong gang signs. He was trying for a _W_ , but got the Vulcan sign instead.

'How about,' said Katie, glancing nervously at Jack and then carrying on, 'the words _Love yourself_ and _love everybody_ written on the wall? You know, _We are all beautiful_. Stuff like that.'

'Just thinking about it is making me feel violent,' said Tarquin.

Jack had become tired of being annoyed and had grabbed a pad of paper. He tore a page out.

'That's because of your toxic masculinity,' said a Rebecca.

'No, it's because of your toxic femininity,' Tarquin replied.

Jack wadded up the page into a ball and threw it. It landed a few feet from the group, who all ignored it. He tore another page.

'I thought we were having a discussion about how to act nice. You both sound like you're in a competition for who's the biggest arsehole,' said Moe.

'Well you'd know all about that!' snapped Katie.

Another screwed-up wad of paper sailed across the classroom. There was a noise, a low-pitched static, so quiet and unassuming it could only be felt it under the skin.

Natasha noticed it and stood up. 'Jack, you need to stop,' she said.

'Yes, exactly,' said a Rebecca. 'It's so childish.' Jack tore another page from the pad.

'No,' said Natasha. 'Jack!'

The scrunched-up ball whizzed through the air and hit a Rebecca on the head. Jack laughed uproariously, head thrown back with glee. His eyes shut, he didn't see the ceiling distend like a drip of paint towards him. He assumed the silence and then the shouts and shrieks were merely the reaction to his missile. Natasha moved forward, but Moe pulled her back. The moment slowed as the blob of ceiling split, and eight strings, like spider's legs, lowered to surround Jack, then moved quivering towards his face. When Jack felt one of the white legs slither across his nose he stopped laughing and looked up in surprise. Then he leapt backwards. The tendrils moved quickly to snare him. Another frond wrapped around his arm squashing the skin. One slithered across his stomach, pulling on the bulge. His face was now almost completely covered with a smooth white mask, with a small hole for him to breathe and two small holes for his bulging horrified eyes. Natasha ran over. She pulled her cardigan sleeve over the end of her hand and tried to yank one of the strands. At first it started to pull away, but then the tendrils sank in through the wool and across her fingers, like warm, living foam, tugging the hairs. She snatched her hand away.

'I need a plastic bag!' she shouted. 'I need something it can't get through.' She looked at her classmates and their terrified faces, nobody moving. Then Moe edged towards her.

'Leave it Tash,' she whispered. Natasha ignored her and ran to the dustbin at the front of the room. She pulled out the plastic lining, while David, their groovy teacher was slowly taking out his phone, as if his fingers were numb from the cold. He tried dialling, but dropped it. The room filled up with whimpering. A few hid behind their chairs or crept out the door. Natasha wrapped the plastic around her hand and stood up, but Moe was blocking her way, and held her arms.

'If it was that easy, we'd have defeated them already,' said Moe.

'I saw a video,' said Natasha. 'The science wrinklies, they...' Then she looked hopelessly down at her hand and at Jack, who was now attached to the desk with a thousand threads smothering his arms, his legs, his neck. Each attempt to pull himself away pulled the desk with him and caused the threads to tug at him tighter. He tried to gargle for help.

David was staring at his broken phone as if trying to remember how to swipe. Then warily, leaning back as if testing reality with his feet, he edged towards Jack, whose only movement now was the blinking of his eyes. David leaned towards him. 'He's still breathing,' he whispered. 'He's fine,' he squeaked. 'We can move to another classroom.'

'What are you talking about? We can't leave him,' said Moe.

'Why not?' said Tarquin 'We can't do anything.'

Twenty-seven children and one adult stared as Jack gargled and tried to move any part of him that was free. His fingers or his feet. But the strands of ceiling stayed firm.

Chapter Twelve

Nick was trying again to dig the garden. He had already cleaned the toilet, done the vacuuming and baked some bread, hoping at some point inspiration would strike and he'd think of a new video to make. He'd walked to the shops to see if they were open, and had a nice chat with a young mum who'd seen his video and loved it. He thought she might even have been flirting with him. He'd got home and sat in front of the camera six times, _ummed_ and _ahhed_ his way through a few bland platitudes, before throwing a jacket over his camera's accusing glare.

The garden was still like granite so he threw the spade down and went back inside. He switched the camera on, switched it off and stared out the window. For a while he watched Keiron shouting at the curb, bent like a broken bone, his hands in his pockets and his eye sockets hollow as if they'd been carved out with a spoon. Nick made his sixth cup of tea but couldn't drink it, and then he had a scan through the other videos.

He was aware other YouTubers had been putting out content with the support of the government. In fact, with the support of many governments. All English-speaking channels were linked, easy to find, and selling a single message: _Chill out, people!_ But Nick had avoided them in case they were doing it better. Now, desperate for ideas, he flicked through the titles:

Breathing: A Beginner's Guide

Staying calm, cool and collected

How I survived the Wave

And then he saw a video from Becky B: _Finding peace._ So, she was one of the collective. Nick chided himself for not guessing. He clicked the video, but barely got a minute through before he became too bored and decided to Skype her instead.

'Hiya honey!' she said. She looked great and he found himself preening, smoothing his hair and getting his angles right.

'You're doing this too?' he said in a deeper voice than the one he would use for Natasha. He was pleased to see Becky was also preening.

'Pretty crazy, right? I never knew a worldwide crisis would be such a boon.'

'It's too much pressure though,' said Nick. 'I made one video, but I don't know what else to say.'

'Yeah. We're all in uncharted territory now. That's why what we're doing is so important. Without us they're lost lambs.'

'But _I'm_ a lost lamb!' said Nick. 'If I can't help myself, how can I help anyone else?'

'Tell me,' said Becky, 'since this happened, what have you been doing?'

'I don't know. I guess baking, growing potatoes.'

'Exactly. You know what my brother has been doing? Hiding in the basement with a gun and watching zombie films to figure out survival tips. When they opened the supermarket for an hour, he stocked up on Haribo. My mom dosed herself on Quaaludes and hasn't left her bed yet, and my stepdad got my kids to roll around in the chicken coop because he believes the smell confuses the aliens. This is what others are doing Nick, loony stuff. They need some sanity. The world needs your calm logic right now.'

'But what do I talk about?'

'Whatever. You got thoughts, use them. What about your girl, how's she dealing with this?'

'Angry. It reminds me of when her mum died. She keeps demanding the world make sense.'

'What would you like to say to her?' asked Becky.

'That accepting a situation isn't the same as being weak. Sometimes shit things happen and there isn't anything you can do. You just have to make the best of it.'

'There you are then, you got your message.'

Nick laughed. 'Brilliant!' he said. 'How are you staying so calm about this anyway?'

'Vodka boo, vodka.'

The class was subdued and wide-eyed in their new classroom. David kept leaving to talk to members of the police, the fire brigade, and paramedics who'd turned up to release Jack. Every time he left the room, Natasha would run to the door and listen. Meanwhile Katie, who'd been given control of the discussion, tried to ignore her and carry on with the group of tearful and confused classmates. Natasha had already uploaded photos to the _r/wave_ subreddit, asking _Has anyone seen the Wave do this? Any way we can stop it?_ She soon had responses suggesting she put salt on the distended ceiling or use a blowtorch to burn it away. But even if she had a blowtorch, there was no way she could get past the police to use it. So instead, she stood by the door and fretted.

_What's happening?_ messaged Moe from the other side of the classroom.

Peering out through the small window at the top of the door, Natasha messaged back, _Nothing! Nobody's doing anything! They're all too scared._

'Perhaps if you two could join in the discussion now instead of talking on your phones,' said a Rebecca, indignantly. Natasha reluctantly sat back down next to Moe, who messaged, _Passive aggression rules!_

Nick spent an hour making the video, and then put it out. After talking to Becky, he'd concluded he needed to stop trying so hard. Since the badly edited, rambling chats of other influencers got more views than his, he might as well make it easy for himself. He chatted a bit about making the best of things, then patched it roughly together.

He had a few hours to kill before Natasha came home, so he put the TV on and started to watch a gardening show. He was five minutes in before the message appeared. He knew the TV had an inbox, after all it was connected to the Internet, but besides the welcome message when he'd bought it, there had been nothing. This was a glimmer of excitement in the mind-numbing drudge of learning about geraniums and he clicked it eagerly. And read it. And his stomach dropped. There was going to be trouble.

Natasha walked via the beach on the way home from school. She had the need for the salt breeze on her face, to remember the sea was still the same - the aliens hadn't touched that. Seagulls were collecting in gangs to back tourists into doorways and steal their food, as if they knew everybody was too scared to fight back. Natasha wondered what the tourists were even doing there. Were they trapped in Icking too? Someone had used pebbles to write HELP US in huge letters on the pier.

Advertising hoardings stretched along the seafront. Usually they were filled with adverts for phones or cars, a few might be decorated with posters for local attractions and stickers for nightclubs. But now the adverts were in pastel shades of purple and pink, with butterflies and smiling faces. In large letters the messages were simple:

SHOW LOVE, NOT HATE

PSST, YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL, PASS IT ON

They were sickening with hypocrisy.

WE WERE ALL YOUNG ONCE. WE WILL ALL BE OLD ONE DAY. HAVE PATIENCE.

BEFORE YOU REACT, THINK TWICE

_When did the aliens think twice?_ thought Natasha. _When did they show love?_

She checked her messages and her Twitter feed, now turned over to investigations and reports into the Wave. Then she messaged Moe:

You seen the posters? Proper dystopian demands for niceness.

Not sure that's how a dystopia works, T. You seen the Ebbalund Group? They're collecting reports from all over the world. I reckon we've got it easy here.

_Huh?_ wrote Natasha.

_In London it's proper fascist. They've got loudspeakers shouting at them to be nice. Everyone's got to wear pastel colours and if they don't smile all the time they get tasered,_ wrote Moe.

What??

It'll come here.

_Nah, not in Icking. They won't bother,_ wrote Natasha looking at an elderly couple hobbling down the road nodding appreciatively at the posters.

_Trust me, it'll get here,_ wrote Moe.

As she headed back home, Natasha passed a hundred more pink posters in bus stops and stuck to lampposts. Some had already been defaced.

_KINDNESS SPREADS_ was graffitied with _DESTROY!_ And _LOVE UNITES US_ in purple, with _FUK DA ALIENS_ in angular black writing over the top. Natasha had never liked graffiti - she always thought it made a place look messy - but this was righteous.

Her phone pinged a message from Moe.

You seen the Katie vid?

Vid?

Moe sent a video.

Katie and the two Rebeccas were standing in a carefully-lit room, hands behind their backs and looking at the camera. They wore identical ripped shorts and cropped boho tops. Hair sleek and loose, carefully draped over each right shoulder. Makeup had been used to re-sculpt their faces, with arched eyebrows and cheekbones created from chubby cheeks.

'We've never faced a danger like this before,' said Katie, with po-faced intensity and an am-dram whine.

'We need to help each other,' said a Rebecca, with identical tone.

'Before it's too late!' wailed the other Rebecca too loudly, clenching her hands into fists with insincere distress.

'Why can't we be kind to each other?' said Katie, turning to the other two, her face now distorted into a parody of suffering. She brought her fists up and bent her knees as if she would fall to the floor in torment.

There was a close up on a Rebecca looking sad, with the wide doleful eyes of a child who wants more sweets.

'Isn't that what we all want?' she pleaded.

Natasha watched the video. It spent three minutes fifty-two seconds repeating those weighty thoughts and by the end of it, the three girls were crying, caught up in the aesthetics of their own emotions.

_Oh my days, the FEELS!_ messaged Natasha.

_WHY? Why must you be soooo mean?_ replied Moe.

Natasha walked on with a grin splitting her face. Niceness be damned.

Chapter Thirteen

Natasha had texted her dad to say she'd be a bit late. As she walked home, she saw Rosie standing outside her own house. She was completely still, staring straight ahead.

'Hey, you okay?' asked Natasha.

'Yes.' The flatness of Rosie's voice was disturbing, the opposite of the expressive sneering before she was mashed. Her hair, usually styled, was now pulled back into a ponytail and greasy. Her skin was blotchy and her hands hung limply. Her face was blank.

'Why are you out here?' asked Natasha.

'My mum doesn't like me being inside.'

'Why not?' asked Natasha.

'She says I give her the creeps.'

'Oh,' said Natasha. 'Right then. See ya.'

'Yes,' said Rosie. Natasha started to walk quickly home to escape getting the creeps herself. But irritating words played on a loop: _KINDNESS SPREADS, LOVE UNITES US_. She sighed and walked back.

'Do you want to come back to mine? We've still got some ice-cream.'

'Okay,' said Rosie, mildly.

There was silence as they walked along, Natasha feeling awkwardness, Rosie not.

'What's it like?' asked Natasha as they reached her front door and she fumbled for the key.

'What?' Rosie was staring at the door, waiting for Natasha to open it. But Natasha stood and looked into Rosie's eyes, looking for a glimmer of who she used to be.

'Being changed, being mashed. What's it like?'

'It's a new start. The chance to be nice.'

'Yeah, but that's what you have to say. What's it actually like?' said Natasha, finding her key, but not wanting to go inside yet.

'A new start. The chance to be nice.'

Natasha sighed and turned back to the door.

'It's like being emptied,' said Rosie, suddenly. 'Everything is emptied out.' Natasha turned. There was a hint of life in Rosie's face. Her eyes had focus.

'Out of your head? Like when you're tired?' asked Natasha.

'No. Out of who you are. All you've known. Washed away down the plughole.'

'Oh,' said Natasha. 'What do they look like?' Rosie looked puzzled as if the question didn't make sense. 'The aliens,' said Natasha, 'are they like little green men?'

'They look like everything,' said Rosie.

'Do they have computers? Do they watch us on cameras?'

'What for?' asked Rosie, her eyes had become blank again, the pupils dilated, a smile fixed.

'Don't worry,' said Natasha. They went inside. Natasha felt suddenly aware of the shabbiness of her house and had a frozen moment before remembering Rosie wouldn't care, let alone laugh at her about it.

She went to the kitchen and pulled out two tubs of ice-cream.

'What flavour do you want? We've got strawberry and triple chocolate.'

'I don't mind.'

'Make a choice, Rosie.'

'Whatever you think.'

'No, what do you _want_?'

Rosie pointed to the strawberry and Natasha didn't know if she'd scored a victory or not. She spooned out the ice-cream.

'What do you reckon of our new teacher, then?' said Natasha.

'David? He's okay.'

'Not everything is okay!' said Natasha, exasperated. 'You're allowed to not like someone.'

'Why would I want to?' said Rosie, confused.

'Sometimes you have to express your freedom by being a bitch. Otherwise it's like you're in a marshmallow bubble.' Natasha handed over a bowl.

'A marshmallow bubble sounds nice,' said Rosie.

Irritated, Natasha waved her into the lounge and told Alexa to switch the TV on. A cosy seventies sitcom was showing. They sat on the couch. Rosie slowly, carefully ate her ice-cream, as if she was chewing every mouthful twenty times, even when there was nothing left to chew.

'Dad says this is what TV was like all the time in the past. Everybody just being fluffy, but it's not real. It's stupid. I'll stick on Deadpool,' Natasha said, not looking at Rosie in case she questioned the realness of a film about a wisecracking superhero. She scrolled through the stored shows. Except Deadpool wasn't there. And all her episodes of CSI weren't there either. And all the horror. In fact, aside from a few romantic comedies, the file was empty.

'It must be a storage glitch,' she said absently. 'Or Dad's been tidying up the technology again. I hate when he does that. He doesn't know how.' She put the comedy back on and tried to get into the vacant state of mind to be able to watch it. It was so cosy - like being swallowed by an Ikea couch.

She stopped eating and stared at Rosie again. 'Do you know what's going to happen, Rosie? Do you know what they're going to do with us?'

'They want us to be nice.'

Natasha was relieved when her phone pinged a message. Moe had written, _New video, OMG watch it now!_

Natasha clicked and saw three boys. Tarquin was one of them, she knew the others by sight. They stood just as Katie and the two Rebeccas had, but with sharpied eyebrows and scarves draped over their heads to represent long hair. They began their own tormented plea for kindness.

'Why can't we all be adorable?' said Tarquin, then screwed his face up like a crying baby.

'And why can't you all be as pretty as me?' said the second boy, flicking the end of his scarf.

'And you are so pretty, honestly. Honestly, you are,' said Tarquin, putting his hand on the boy's arm and looking toward the camera with a saintly expression. Then there was an extreme close up on one of the boy's faces, contorted in exaggerated torment.

'Whhhhyyyy!' he wailed.

Natasha was now laughing, holding the screen so Rosie could see, but Rosie stared at the phone in confusion.

'Why are they doing that?'

'Because it's funny!' said Natasha. 'They're laughing at the video Katie made, because it was so pompous and bollocks.'

'Isn't it nasty, though?' said Rosie. Natasha stopped for a moment. She didn't like the idea she was the nasty one.

Finally she said, 'You four shut me out from all the memes. _You_ were nasty. And now I know a meme, and it's funny, and you can't make me feel bad about it.'

'What's that?' said Nick, suddenly standing behind them and peering over her shoulder with a grin.

'Nothing Dad, just a silly video,' said Natasha, quickly switching her phone off.

'Oh. Not one of mine then,' said Nick, pouting.

'Where were you anyway?' asked Natasha.

'I went for a walk. Thought I'd stretch my hair. Feel the wind in my legs.'

'Do you know what's happened to all my movies? They're not in the TV,' said Natasha.

Nick glanced guiltily up at the ceiling and then tried to rearrange his features into responsible-dad face.

'I deleted them. There was a message came through that everyone needed to clear out any violence from stored tech. They had a program to download.'

'What?' said Natasha.

'It was on the telly this afternoon. You can see it in messages if you look.'

'And you did it? Did you make a backup?'

'That would kind of defeat the point,' said Nick, keeping his voice even.

'And the point is what? To destroy every last piece of fun in the world?' said Natasha.

'They're only movies. And we have to be careful, remember. Things are different now.'

'You think I don't know? That's all my life is now, being careful. Being scared. When do I get to be a kid again?'

'You can be a kid without watching violence,' said Nick.

Natasha was so tangled up in words and anger, that all she wanted was to scream and the world to shrivel away. 'That's not even fair! It's not even sense!' she shouted.

Alexa flashed her blue light and said, 'According to Wikihow, to calm down you need to take a deep breath and release it slowly over five seconds.'

Natasha looked at her in disbelief. 'Don't tell me what to do!' she shouted.

'She's right,' said Nick. 'You need to calm down.'

Natasha stared at him in silence then looked at Rosie smiling blankly, then back at Nick. She said in a low, soft voice, 'Welcome to your nice new world, Dad. I hope you enjoy your lobotomy.' Then she ran up to her room, unplugged Alexa and threw her in the bin.

She heard Rosie leave the house a while later and had a twinge of guilt, but she was already half-lost to following the antics of the Ebbalund Group. Not only were they collecting information about life under the aliens, but stories of people who had found them, even claimed to have seen them.

_You seen this one?_ asked Moe, sending a link to someone who claimed he could call up the Wave and even put his arm into it, but without getting mashed.

Pics or it didn't happen! You see the woman who broke into the houses of parliament?

_And?_ wrote Moe.

_She said it was filled with aliens, big lizards,_ wrote Natasha.

Moe sent back a laughing emoji.

_This one looks real though. Reckon they've found a tunnel under the underground,_ wrote Moe.

_Under it? How'd they find it?_ wrote Natasha.

Thru a sinkhole. She didn't go in, but said it looked alive. Wait, I'll try to find it.

_What looked alive? The tunnel?_ wrote Natasha.

_Yeah. Like it was swarming with insects,_ wrote Moe.

Natasha felt her skin crawl at the thought. Piecing the truth together was like building up a jigsaw puzzle, but not knowing if all the pieces were from the same puzzle or not. But it was still better than doing what she was told, than letting the aliens rule her.

Natasha was dreaming of kicking a dog. She liked dogs, and each time she kicked it she felt guilty and then annoyed at herself for doing something she didn't want to. Then she'd kick it again. The only reason she stopped kicking the dog was because a large marshmallow rolled down a hill and squashed her. Her final dream moments were spent scrabbling to escape, unable to breathe, as the marshmallow oozed into her nose and mouth.

Natasha woke up gasping, pulling herself away from the mattress and getting tangled up in a duvet which seemed bigger and more complicated than she remembered. It was a relief to realise she was awake, it was morning and there were no dogs to deal with. She picked up her phone and looked at the screen with a twinge of indignation that Moe hadn't replied. She opened Google, and an error message appeared in its place. Irritated, she restarted her phone. Already cranky, she got dressed, waiting to hear the ping of a message. It didn't ping. She switched her tablet on: no Internet. She fired up her old laptop: no Internet.

She ran downstairs shouting, 'Dad, the Internet is down!'

Chapter Fourteen

When Natasha walked into the kitchen, Nick was cooking pancakes. Eggs and flour were two of the few foods abundant in the shops. He was slowly edging the side of the batter with a spatula so it sizzled and spat in the pan. He turned and flashed a cheesy grin. 'We made pancakes and what happened next will melt your heart!' he said.

'Yeah, but Dad, the Internet's down. Can you fix it?'

The grin fell away and stern worry took its place: his grown-up face. He turned back to the stove.

'Did you ask Alexa?' He kept moving the pancake around the pan, although that side was done now.

Alexa's blue light flashed, ready for a question.

'The Internet's down, so she won't know what's going on,' said Natasha.

'It's not down. It's adjusted,' said Nick. Smoke was rising from the pan now, but he ignored this.

'It's down. I looked on everything!' said Natasha, getting irritated.

'It's not down. Did you ask Alexa?' His voice was even and emotionless, but smoke was filling the kitchen.

'Dad! Listen to me!' said Natasha, her face flushing red with frustration.

Nick flipped the pancake, frowned at its blackened state, and shook it around in the frying pan.

Then he slipped the burnt pancake onto a plate and picked up the bowl of mixture, his back still to her.

'Alexa,' he said, 'why isn't the Internet working normally?'

'Abuse and threats on social media have resulted in twenty-three acts of violence in Icking in February alone,' said Alexa, smoothly. 'Fifteen thousand, one hundred and forty-nine have been mashed in the United Kingdom in the last week. Moreover, scientific studies have found that excessive use of the Internet can result in aggressive behaviour, lack of empathy and -'

'Alexa, shut up!' said Natasha.

'See?' said Alexa.

'What?' said Natasha, taking a step towards the irritating blue light.

'Stay calm, Natasha,' said Nick, and she had to sit down at the table with her hands tucked between her legs or she would have hit him, with Alexa.

'What are you saying? They've switched the Internet off? They can't do that!'

'It's not off. It's restricted,' said Nick.

'So, what's still there?' said Natasha and flicked through her bookmarks.

'YouTube,' suggested Nick. Natasha opened YouTube and swiped the screen angrily.

'But there's hardly anything on there! No one I subscribe to. Jesus, Dad! _You're_ on there! You and your cronies! This is why you don't mind, because you're still there!'

Nick had to swallow a nugget of ego. 'This is nothing to do with me. You heard Alexa. They turned it off because it was causing violence.'

'Bollocks! That's not why! It's because they knew we were figuring them out. It's because we were sharing information about the aliens, so they had to stop it!' Nick turned around, anger popping.

'You aren't supposed to be investigating them! You're supposed to be staying safe, doing what they want!'

'No!' Natasha automatically turned to her phone again, and stared at it desolately, as all she had lost began to swim through her head: all the posts and photos, her jokes, whole sections of her existence had vanished.

'It's like I've been erased,' she muttered, staring at the salt pot on the table. It was chipped. She wanted to cry.

'It's just the Internet,' said Nick.

'But that's how we talk to each other! They've taken away our communication! They've wrecked friendship!'

'Don't be so melodramatic! You can still talk to each other.'

Natasha wasn't listening. She was already calling Moe, but a recorded message played. 'This is not an authorised call. Please disconnect the phone. This is not an authorised call.'

'But not by phone,' said Nick, flipping the pancake.

Natasha let out a strangled scream, then stood up, her hands on the table while she tried to breathe.

'It's only the Internet, Natasha.'

'That's half of who I am!' Natasha wailed, then stormed out, just stopping herself from slamming the door.

Nick finished cooking the pancakes and tipped them into the bin angrily. Then he panicked that the heat would melt the bin liner and spent five minutes picking out the steaming hot food to put it into another bag. Then he sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, feeling tears well up. He needed Natasha to be safe, but the more he tried to protect her the more she pulled away into danger. It was frustrating he could grab and hold the attention of hundreds of thousands of strangers, but not his own daughter. He decided it was time for another video.

Natasha was so smothered by boredom she couldn't breathe. She wanted cat videos and memes and puns and streaming. Instead she only had walls, road markings and clouds to look at. At least she knew where to meet Moe. Together they would have to figure out the next move. She stormed towards the town.

The town centre had been slowly dying for years. Shops had been boarded up, B&Bs had closed down, and the previous year even the usual summer crowds hadn't arrived. So now, in the dead of winter, Natasha was expecting to see the town stark and empty, slowly collapsing in on itself. Instead it was teeming. There were groups of young women in fluffy hooded coats hovering in doorways and teenagers sitting on steps passing around a single vape. One bloke, dressed too smartly for Icking, was striding purposefully down the street. As she passed them most looked her way hopefully, then away when they realised she wasn't going to solve their problems. Almost everyone appeared lost and unsure. However, there were three or four groups stood with purpose, arms folded, leaning into one another. They wore t-shirts and despite the cold, they looked ready.

As she walked past them, one stepped out in front of her and said with his eyes and biceps bulging, 'Smile then! Come on!' Natasha gave a lopsided, panicked grin and hurried away with her head ducked down.

Moe was sitting under the old clock in jeans and scuffed trainers, a baseball cap pulled low to hide her eyes, a ball of wool on her knees and knitting needles in her hands. Natasha sat down next to her and Moe pushed the cap back with a finger like a cowboy pushing back his Stetson.

'Howdy,' said Moe.

'Is that what we're reduced to now? Knitting?' asked Natasha.

'It's not so bad,' replied Moe, holding up the tangle of wool in a rough square shape. 'I could do with a video showing me how to do it though.'

'What's with the bug-eyed heavies,' Natasha said, lowering her voice and nodding her head towards the aggressive groups.

'Not sure. They're acting like vigilantes, but forcing niceness on everyone.'

'They're working for the aliens?'

'No sign of it. Now most peeps are out of work, I guess they need something new to do. I got to say, the aliens have ballsed it up. I mean, this is going to make everything worse, isn't it?' asked Moe, gesturing with her needle. 'People are going to get bored.'

'I reckon that's the point,' Natasha said fiercely. 'They aren't trying to make the world better. They want to destroy us. No, worse: they want us to destroy each other. And this is just the beginning.' Moe looked at Natasha quizzically, and then passed her the ball of wool to play with. Natasha tried to undo a few of the knots.

'It's not even possible, anyway,' Moe went on. 'Surely half the world runs on the Internet now. You can't stop it. Planes will crash! The stock market will plummet! There'll be chaos!'

'Are there still planes? Anyway, my dad says it's only restricted, some sites still work. I guess they'll keep stuff going if it's important.'

'And how does your dad know so much about it? Is he working for the aliens now?'

'I'm starting to sodding think so.' Natasha leaned back and kicked her heels in the grass. 'How are we going to figure all this out without the Internet? All my knowledge was on there. Now, I'm an idiot. Half my brain has disappeared!'

'Like Rosie!' said Moe.

'Yes! That's what they're doing, isn't it? Making us all stupid.'

'Easier to control?' suggested Moe.

' _We've_ got to do something, show we won't be bullied. Adults clearly won't do it,' said Natasha, thumping her knee with the wool.

Moe gave Natasha another searching stare.

'Do what? Whatever we do, they'll zap us,' asked Moe.

'Don't know.' Natasha unravelled the wool and made shapes on the grass with it. 'How about your dad?' asked Natasha. 'Will he calm down now he can't broadcast his pranks to the world?'

'No, he's having the best time trying to trick us into getting mashed by the Wave,' said Moe.

'What?' asked Natasha, horrified.

'True story. He keeps doing this creepy muttering voice to wind my brothers up. He was watching Matthew eat cereal this morning and giving a commentary.' Moe put on a sleazy, high-pitched voice to mimic her dad, '"Look at the moron. Dribbling his cereal. What a fool!" He's irritating them so they'll hit him.'

'Doesn't he know what it'll do to them?' asked Natasha. Moe shrugged again.

Natasha picked up the knitting needles and poked them into the ground.

'See, this is all wrong. These aliens are talking all about making us nice, but they're not stopping your dad. They're not stopping those yobbos either,' Natasha said, gesturing at the vigilantes who were now teaching a woman how to say hello properly. She was cowering away, her face red while she said it again and again, and they jeered.

Moe, picked up her phone and said, 'I don't think you can ever claim you're making the world a better place by handing out brain damage. Where's the peace and love in that?' Then she pushed the phone at Natasha. 'Well your dad's videos are still going up.'

'I bet they are,' said Natasha.

'It's for you! It's called: _A message for Tash_! It's like you're famous!' said Moe holding out an earphone.

'Brilliant,' said Natasha. For someone so unimpressed by life, Moe was a sucker for fame. Natasha made a sneery face, so Moe listened alone.

The man Natasha had seen striding up the street was now striding down it as if he didn't want to stop. One member of the vigilante group stepped forward to confront him. They were too far away for Natasha to know what was being said, but the arm-waving and raised voices were enough to make her nervous.

'What are they doing? They're going to get mashed,' she said, rubbing her nose. Moe looked up briefly from Nick's video.

'Yeah, you'd think people would just know to behave, wouldn't you?' said Moe.

'What's my dad saying?' The striding man was now trying to get away, but the vigilantes kept blocking his route. They were smiling, but even from a distance Natasha knew there was hate in their eyes.

'That it makes sense kids are so upset at the Internet going. He gets it. We just need to be a bit patient,' said Moe.

'Typical. He acts like I'm being unreasonable, then goes all down-with-the-kids online!' said Natasha.

'Nah, I think he genuinely cares. He's addressing it to you. Sure you don't want to see?' Natasha made a dismissive noise. Moe stopped the video and gave her a hard stare. 'He means a lot to you, right? You guys actually care about each other?'

Natasha nodded and began to poke her foot with the knitting needle.

'Yeah, mostly,' said Natasha.

'That's rare, you know? Is it 'cos of your mum?' Natasha hunched over, arms around her knees, remembering.

'After she died, it was just me and him, and I thought we were screwed. But he never gave up. Even though he was hopeless and kept burning dinner or forgetting to put the bins out, he was always there for me, no matter how much he was upset too.'

'That's beautiful.'

'Yeah, and then he betrays all that by becoming an alien's bitch!' Moe looked at her, while Natasha tried to stop the tears that were suddenly gathering in her eyes. 'I can't lose him, Moe. I don't want him to change.'

Moe squinted sympathetically, then put the earphone back.

Across the road, the striding man shoved the vigilante nearest to him. The wall gaped open and swallowed him in a moment. The mob stood back shocked, and then started laughing. Natasha grabbed Moe's foot, wanting her to know, but scared to say what had happened out loud. Moe looked over to where the mob were high-fiving.

'We have to do something,' said Natasha. 'It's only going to get worse and we can't live like this.'

Moe nodded and said, 'Okay, let's discuss tactics.'

Chapter Fifteen

Natasha could hear Nick watching TV when she got in. She shut the front door very carefully, crept upstairs and went to Nick's electrical junk drawer. It contained dozens of different wires, two hard drives, an adaptor, and many different-sized batteries and radios he had acquired from his job. With each radio laid out on the floor, she was able to find two that matched. She put batteries in them and switched them on. She tapped one, the other buzzed. She whispered, 'Hello?' and her voice came out of the other. Then she carefully placed the electrical junk back in the drawer exactly as it had been, even though Nick would never have noticed. The radios she put in her bag and crept back to the front door. She opened it and slammed it, as if just coming home, and then went into the lounge.

'Hey. What are you watching? It looks like it's from the dark ages,' said Natasha, peering at the screen.

'The Good Life. All the channels are showing old programs. This was the best I could find,' said Nick. He had his hound dog expression on: his eyes sad and hopeful.

'What else is there?' asked Natasha, ignoring the expression.

'Cookery, nature and sitcoms, that's all. But I reckon this has been edited, I'm sure there used to be more jokes.'

'Oh,' Natasha sat down next to him and could feel his sad eyes staring at her like a moping dog. Finally she said, 'Okay! Stop it! I saw your video. Thanks. For making it, I mean.'

'We'll get through, noodle. We've survived worse, right?' said Nick.

'Yeah. We did get through at least some of that by gaming though,' said Natasha, sitting back with a sigh.

They sat side by side and stared at the TV as characters ambled from one piece of nonsense to the next. Natasha wondered how anyone ever managed to watch something so slow without looking at their phone at the same time. It was painful. Her brain was only half-used. It wanted input.

'Right. You've hit the nail on the head. We did get through by gaming,' said Nick, suddenly. 'You want to play Tekken?'

'Sure! Is it safe?'

'It's only a game,' said Nick, leaping out of his chair and setting up the console. 'They can't throw a hissy at a game!' he added, trying to disentangle the wires.

They hadn't played since the first Wave. Subdued and careful at first, soon Nick was leaping around in his seat, yanking his controller unnecessarily as if pulling the characters like puppets.

'Yah! Take that and party!' he squawked, thumping the controller on his knee.

'Nonono, no fair!' shouted Natasha.

'Slayed!' shouted Nick and stamped his foot.

Then Natasha screamed, 'Dad! The couch!'

'What?' For a moment, Nick was still grinning smugly, then he saw Natasha's terrified expression as she pointed at his arm. The couch was rising up around it, the threadbare flower pattern stretching. Nick yanked his arm away and dropped the controller. But his legs were already oozing into the cushion, becoming engulfed.

'Shit shit shit! Fuck off!' squealed Nick and leapt across the room, leaving footprints in the carpet and hitting the back wall. It began to give under his hand, so he jumped back to the middle of the room. Natasha stepped gingerly towards him as he swung around in circles, and then began to sink into the carpet again. He bounced back against the wall, which bent around him like a malevolent hug while his arms flailed in front of him.

'Dad, stop moving. You're setting it off!' said Natasha edging closer.

'Leave me alone!' shouted Nick, dropping and rolling on the floor as if he was on fire. Then springing back up as the carpet enfolded him.

Natasha took a breath and lowered her voice. 'Gently Dad, breathe. Stop jumping around.'

'It's going to take me! It's going to take me!'

'Dad, look at me! It's okay. Calm down. Trust me.' Overcoming her fear, Natasha stepped over where the carpet had distended, and rubbed his arms.

Nick's eyes were blurry with tears and his glasses were wonky, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. He stopped moving and tried to breathe, looking into Natasha's eyes and attempting to focus. The ground slowly became stable beneath his feet. He half-looked behind him, too frightened to turn his head fully.

'Has it stopped?' he asked. Natasha nodded. He crumpled to the floor, sobbing. She held him until he stopped shaking.

Nick had smoked two joints before he mellowed enough for Natasha to feel safe leaving him. He was staring at an episode of Blackadder, too bleary-eyed to notice how any acts of minor violence had been cut, leaving a jumping mess of puns and silliness. She was itching to get away. It was time for phase one of Doing Something: Understanding the Wave. She picked up a cushion and a tennis racket and went upstairs.

In her room she took out her childhood teddy bear, Oscar, who she kept in a cupboard in case of emergencies. Taking a deep breath and uttering a quiet apology, she threw Oscar to the ground. Nothing happened. She poked him in the stomach with the handle of the tennis racket. Nothing. She shut her eyes, and thought about how close she came to losing her dad, about a future filled only with oppression and fear. She let the emotions build until they swamped her thoughts with an internal cry of _None of this is fair!_ And then she punched Oscar hard in the stomach.

The carpet beneath her feet bowed and wobbled, then spread outwards, ripples stretching to the walls. She sprang backwards as the sound of static and moaning filled the room, blobs of carpet still attached to her feet. The noise was sparking memories of the basement and left her flailing, unable to think straight. She stood close to the wall, scared to touch it, shaking, her heart racing, as the ripples subsided. The blobs of carpet rolled back into place, the pattern slightly disturbed. She crept back and touched the floor. It was solid again, hard beneath the carpet, but slightly warm. She yanked her hand back. There was a faint smell of burning plastic and she felt sick, dizzy, but hysterically elated. She had done it. She had caused the Wave and it hadn't mashed her. She had caused it not by violence, but by intense anger and self-pity. When her heart steadied again, she picked up Oscar. It was going to be a long night.

Natasha dreamt of concrete and aliens. The aliens weren't the usual big-eyed chaps seen in films. They were more like smoke that dissolved. Back in the basement of the school, students dropped one by one into the floor and these shady patches shifted around them. She started flailing wildly, as one of the smoke creatures reached out a twisting tendril of blue-black that curled around her arm. She slapped at it, but the smoke didn't vanish. Instead it sank right into her, merging with her flesh.

She woke with a jump and yanked her hand from where it was sinking into the memory foam surface. She watched as the impression slowly filled out. She was sure she could smell burning. It took a long time to get back to sleep.

Nick was sat at the kitchen table spooning cornflakes into his mouth and staring out of the window. With no phone to distract him he looked like a crazy person, gazing into space with milk on his chin.

'Hey Dad,' Natasha said carefully.

The expression sprang back onto his face too quickly, and he spoke with the volume too high. 'The hidden benefits of cornflakes you just won't believe!' Natasha gave him a weak smile.

'You're going to have to find a new thing now. There's no clickbait anymore.' Nick shrugged and his face sagged.

Breakfast had got boring with rationing. From having a wide variety of cereals, now there was only bread, jam, or cornflakes no longer in a proper box. 'I miss Honey Loops,' said Natasha. 'And Coco Pops!' She could feel the saliva building up at the memory.

'Hmm, congealed sugar! Super health!' said Nick.

'And why's it in a paper bag?' said Natasha, poking the cereal back in through a hole that had torn through the packaging. 'It's falling apart!' Alexa spun a blue light.

'Scientists say about 8 million metric tons of plastic enter the ocean every year,' said Alexa, 'and once in the water it can't biode -'

'Shut up Alexa!' said Natasha, then whispered to Nick, 'She's creepy as.'

'Would you like to play a game?' asked Alexa.

'No!' said Natasha.

'What kind of game?' asked Nick, ignoring Natasha as she pulled an indignant face at him.

'How about I-spy?' said Alexa.

'How can you play I-spy when you can't see anything?' asked Natasha.

'I-spy with my little eye,' said Alexa, as Natasha crossed the room and flicked the wall socket switch. The blue light died. Natasha turned to Nick triumphantly, but he only shrugged.

'I'm going to school. Dad, don't stay home all day, okay? And don't switch that thing back on.'

Stepping out into the cul-de-sac squashed Natasha's mood further. Women wearing paper suits and dust masks were spraying pale blue paint over the decorated lampposts. The chalk drawings had already been washed away, and the plastic flower garlands were gone. There were no boxes of _take what you want._ Everything looked neat and devoid of personality. She saw Keiron in his doorway, hands in his pockets and staring into nothing with such intensity she could feel the tug.

Two men stood on the corner of the main road, their expressions that of hunters. She crossed over to the other side, aware of their angry gaze following her down the street.

_A fine fucking utopia this is_ , thought Natasha.

Nick was at the local shop trying to find something interesting in white packaging that might cheer him up. All the other shoppers were wandering lost, listlessly picking up items and putting them back down again. Nick picked up some cocoa and was deciding between white sugar and brown when he sensed someone looming close by. He turned to see a small, tetchy man, trying to make himself bigger with bravado.

'You're that one on YouTube, aren't you? Dickster, is it? What's your game then? I mean, who are you to tell me what to do?' The man's face was red with indignation as Nick took a few steps back.

Then a woman holding a tin of beans, who was looking at the bottom shelf, stood up.

'Oh leave him alone! He's done more than you'll ever do.' Then she leaned over to Nick, and he could smell she'd been eating sardines. 'I think you're brilliant,' she said, and the small man slunk away. 'When you made that joke about aliens being like speed cameras, it made it all so clear. Now I think _just check your speed!_ when I get angry.'

'Well, that's what I was -' Nick began, but she wasn't listening.

'Ooh can I have a cuddle?' she asked. 'I bet your jumper's all soft! It is!' Soon another woman had joined them and selfies were being taken. Nick pulled silly faces to make them laugh. He tried to keep his ego off his face, but he felt fabulous.

At school, all the kids were huddled in the playground, stamping and cursing to keep out the cold. Darek was with a few girls from his own class, and Natasha felt a stab of jealousy as they flirted with him, giggling and tossing their hair. She refused to believe he could find such a cheesy display attractive. He was above those things. He caught her eye and nodded, smiling slightly, as if they shared a secret. When she found Moe, she was still trying not to grin.

'What's happening?' Natasha asked.

'Dunno,' said Moe. 'But you can tell it's bad. None of the teachers will look us in the eye.' Natasha reached into her bag and pushed the radio up her sleeve, then moved her hand so Moe could see.

'I brought this for you. Take it.' Moe raised an eyebrow, nodded, then opened her own bag for Natasha to slip the radio inside. 'I told you my dad would have some.'

'Well it's not quite a phone, but it'll help,' said Moe.

Natasha nodded, then her voice dropped to a whisper. 'I experimented with the Wave last night.' Moe stared at her with huge eyes.

'Are you crazy? You'll get mashed!' exclaimed Moe. There were a few worried glances around them, and Natasha gave her a brief exasperated look.

'It's okay. I can learn to control it. It's all about emotion, not violence, so if you control your emotions it won't happen. I think,' said Natasha.

'You mean, if you stay totally calm but punch someone there'll be no Wave?' asked Moe.

'Yeah, maybe. That must be why your dad gets away with it.' Natasha leaned closer to say, 'If the Wave can't affect us then the aliens are nothing, right? We don't even need to worry!' Then she raised her voice again to change the subject. 'Rosie is on her own. We should go join her.' Moe looked over to where Rosie stood with vacant eyes and a fixed grin, a three-foot circle of nobody around her.

'Why?' whined Moe.

'All her friends have dumped her. We can't just leave her,' said Natasha.

'She gives me the wiggins, Tash. She gives everyone the wiggins.'

Natasha glanced nervously at Rosie, who was still staring. 'She might hear you!' she hissed.

'But she won't care! Don't you get it? That's what makes her weird. She doesn't care what we say. She won't even care if we sit with her or not. She's like a nothing, because nothing matters to her.'

'Or it does, but she can't express it. Or maybe it would if we spent time with her and helped her get back to herself.' Moe looked unconvinced. 'Or maybe we should look after her because it's right.'

'Fine,' said Moe. 'But you'll have to think of something to talk about, she makes my mind go blank.' Natasha led the way to where Rosie stood.

'Hi Rosie,' said Natasha. Rosie's grimace stretched wider.

'Hi,' she said.

'Doesn't it hurt to keep smiling like that?' asked Moe, and Natasha gave her a glare, while Rosie looked as confused as she was capable of.

'Why do you think they've got us waiting out here?' Natasha asked Rosie. Rosie stared back blankly, until Moe spoke to fill the space.

'They're just seeing how far they can push us before we crack. I feel like thumping someone, just so I have something to do.'

'People like to have something to do, don't they?' said Rosie, her voice sounded like she'd dragged it up from the bottom of a lake.

'Well exactly,' said Moe. 'I decided last night I'd try and learn a skill, like juggling or painting eggs.' She paused and scratched her nose, then said, 'But then I realised what's the point if I can't even Instagram the results?'

'You're so shallow!' said Natasha.

'It's not my fault! I'm a child of the nothing-years.'

'People like to have something to do, don't they?' said Rosie, as if the thought was looping in her head.

'We had something to do!' said Moe. 'Aliens took it away!'

'Moe, don't get annoyed with her. She didn't choose this,' said Natasha.

A teacher looked over their way, and they ducked their heads. Then Natasha frowned at Rosie and asked her, 'You said you could remember it happening. When they took you, right?'

Again the almost-frown. It looked painful.

'A little,' said Rosie.

'Like being emptied out, you said. Do you remember anything else?' Rosie looked lost, but Natasha persevered. 'We were in the playground. You were angry with me. Then what happened?'

'I slapped you.'

'Then what?'

'She won't tell you anything,' said Moe, and Natasha shushed her. Rosie was quiet for a long time, as if she'd shut down completely.

Then she said, 'The ground moved. I could feel it behind me. I was thinking it was an earthquake. It was funny. That an earthquake would come and kill us all.'

'You weren't scared?' asked Natasha.

'No, it was sort of a relief,' said Rosie.

'Then what?' asked Natasha.

'What are you doing?' interrupted Moe, but Natasha held up a hand at her.

'Trust me, I got some tips off the science wrinklies,' said Natasha.

'Didn't one of them get mashed?' asked Moe. Natasha ignored her and spoke to Rosie.

'And then what?'

'Then I fell into nothing,' said Rosie.

'What did they do to you?' asked Natasha.

'They made me nice!' said Rosie, her mouth stretching in a smile that made Natasha cringe.

'But what does that mean? You have no will? You can't complain?' said Natasha.

'I don't want to complain. Everything is fine,' said Rosie.

'What do the aliens really want?' asked Natasha.

'They want us to be nice.'

'And if we're not?' asked Moe.

Rosie blinked slowly and when her eyes opened, she stared at Moe. For a snatched second she looked like her old self: smart, cruel, unafraid.

'I don't think that's an option,' she said.

'Attention everybody! Attention!' shouted a woman in a floral-patterned dress on the steps to the school. Attention slowly happened while she pursed her lips. 'I'm sure you know we want to keep you safe. So the government has devised a test.'

Moe raised an eyebrow at Natasha, who frowned.

'A multiple choice designed to help us stop trouble before it starts. The test will be analysed by a sophisticated computer program, designed to see the meaning behind your answers. So answer the questions quickly and honestly.'

Natasha had always enjoyed multiple-choice tests. They were one of the few situations that couldn't be skewed by biased opinions. They had a new form teacher, who announced herself to be Ms Ospreyland, and was vague about where their last teacher, David, had gone. She handed out test papers and gave them half an hour to finish the questions, which meant a minute for each. Easy.

The first question was: _If somebody pushes in front of you in a queue, how often do you feel irritated?_

The options to choose from were: _Always; Often; Sometimes; Rarely; Never._

Natasha hesitated. Her honest answer was _Often_ , as she suspected it would be for most people. After all, it was a completely rational reaction to be annoyed when somebody pushed into a queue. On the other hand, this was a test to ascertain who was aggressive, a threat. She didn't want to put down an answer that might suggest she was getting angry over trivial things. But then, back to the first hand, this was a test that would be analysed by a computer. If she put _Never_ it would be an obvious lie. Surely a computer would flag that up. How did the algorithm work, anyway? How sophisticated was it? A minute had already ticked over. Finally she put a cross next to _Sometimes_ , and moved on to the next question.

You work out who it is that has been taking your soya milk from the fridge at work. Would you confront them? Always; Often; Sometimes; Rarely; Never.

Natasha glanced around the room to see if anybody else was finding these questions ridiculous. Why wouldn't she confront someone who was taking her milk? It didn't have to be aggressive. The alternative was just to provide milk for whoever wanted it. Most of the pupils had their heads down, but Tarquin sat back with his hands behind his head, rocking his chair and making it creak. He gave Natasha a wink. Moe looked up and gave a _what-the-fuck?_ roll of her eyes. Natasha smiled and looked back down at her paper. She put _Rarely_.

Every question was as daft as the last. She was asked if she ever got annoyed she'd run out of bread or when she got blamed for something she didn't do. The questions were hastily written and didn't always make sense, with one asking, _Have you ever broken something out of anger? Always; Often; Sometimes; Rarely; Never._ And they were clearly written with office workers in mind, rather than school children. When the test was over, she believed she'd done the most logical thing: answered the questions reasonably without sounding like a total fraud.

As they left the room, Natasha found herself pulled into the slipstream of complaining students. Katie said,

'Well that was stupid. They obviously wanted us to say we never got mad at anything ever.'

'Yeah,' said a Rebecca. 'There was only one real answer for all of it.'

'Is that what you did?' asked Natasha, getting nervous.

'Well, yes, of course. Like I'm hardly going to admit I get mad when someone steals my milk.'

'Yeah, I just put _Never_ for every one,' said Tarquin.

'But what about the algorithm?' asked Natasha. 'They said they were going to be analysed.'

'Hah! They just said that to catch you out, there's no algorithm,' said Tarquin.

_Oh bollocks_ , thought Natasha.

Nick had never vacuumed the curtains before, but he found it quite satisfying. He was propped up on the couch, his knees pressed against the curtains to hold them flat, watching the dust vanish. His tablet was behind him on the table, but he was so attuned to the different sounds, even with the noise of the vacuum cleaner he could hear the _ding-ding_ of comments being left on his video. He was happy to note the views and likes were still coming in.

Then his phone rang. He hadn't had any phone calls since the blackout, so he fell off the couch in his surprise and accidently vacuumed up a glove left on the floor. He rushed to answer it. It was Figgy, and Nick answered expecting the same harassed ex-civil servant, honest and bewildered. However, Figgy had lost the hesitancy. His voice was still a bit nasal, but he spoke with a smooth anger, no ruffling at the edges.

'Nick, I'm pretty disappointed right now. We've been good to you, haven't we? Without us you'd still be floundering with a few hundred viewers in the land of obscurity. But now you've lost your way.'

'If this is because you didn't like my last video, I was trying to empathise with my viewers about what it's like to lose the Internet. I felt -'

'Well don't! Feelings are what's causing all this trouble in the first place!' interrupted the official. 'All that drivel about _Times are hard. We'll get through it like the brave little soldiers we are_. You're making them feel like victims. Self-pity is a scourge! It leads the public to do stupid things that put them in danger. What we want is personal responsibility. They need to grow up and learn how to behave nicely. It's your job to teach them.'

'Okay, but I have to be true to myself,' said Nick, who'd been picking up on some of the YouTube language.

'No. No, you don't. You can say clichés like that on video, sure, but don't actually follow them.' Figgy paused and Nick said some doubtful half words.

Figgy cut across him, 'After your video, Nick, the Wave increased by nought point two percent. And our records show those Taken were _your_ viewers. Do you know how many lives you've ruined as a result of that video?'

'What? But I was trying to help. I thought if I recognised how difficult it was...' said Nick. The guilt made his knees weak and he had to sit down. Figgy said nothing. 'How can I make it right?' Nick asked, desperately.

Figgy's voice softened, ever so slightly. 'Keep on message. Niceness is our way forward, building a new, beautiful world together, that kind of thing. There's a new directive from our... the aliens. They want everyone to start tidying up, cleaning the streets. We want you to film it. Get some reactions, a few optimistic vox pops about how great it all is.'

'Okay, I mean cleaning up is great, but sometimes I feel I'm telling my viewers to sort of give in to the aliens. I mean, you are trying to get rid of them, right?' He stood up again and stared out of the window. The twins from number 11 were kicking a football back and forth. He clung to the normality of it. 'Right?' he said again.

'Nick, Nick. We're all finding this difficult. So many changes, so many sacrifices. How about I send over a luxury package, a few treats for you and your daughter, something to keep your spirits up?'

'But I want to know what's going on. I don't need _stuff_ ,' said Nick.

'Sure you do, stuff makes the world go round. And we'll send round a team to help you film. You're the talent, people love you, so you shouldn't be setting up your own cameras.'

'Well, okay if that's what you want,' said Nick, pacified by the ego boost. There was Mr Plewis walking his dog. Jan across the road standing in her kitchen looking out at the back garden. It all looked so harmless. The world carrying on.

'The team will be with you later today. It's all going to be just fine, Nick,' said Figgy. 'Remember, we're asking you to do this because the public adore you. They want to hear what you have to say.' He clicked off the phone without saying goodbye.

Nick stayed staring out of the window. It had started to rain and the twins had run inside. Mr Plewis had pulled up his collar. And Jan was still looking out. Everything was fine.

He walked into the hall, where his favourite mirror hung. The one which gave his skin a healthy glow and somehow disguised the wrinkles in his neck.

'They want me,' he mouthed, then glanced behind himself to check Natasha hadn't suddenly come home and crept up. She hadn't, so he turned back and said it again. 'They want to see _me_.'

Chapter Sixteen

Natasha failed the test. Katie and the two Rebeccas, and in fact most of her class, passed it. Moe also failed. The failures were bustled out of the classroom in a great rush, as if they might contaminate the others with their latent anger. Natasha itched with the feeling of being in trouble but not knowing what it meant. All the bluster she had felt sitting under the clock the day before had gone.

An unfamiliar teacher with wonky glasses herded them to their new class with a clipped sense of menace, like a jailer leading dead men walking. He didn't say a word and his face was closed and dispassionate as Natasha asked panicked questions.

'Do we get to take the test again? What does this mean? I tried to be honest. We were supposed to be honest, weren't we?'

Moe grabbed her hand.

'Chill it, kid,' she whispered, and Natasha tried to chill it.

The class they were led to had three other students: Jaali, the younger boy who had been in the basement; a geeky lad whose glasses didn't fit his face; and Darek. Natasha felt suddenly happier about failing the test. She tried not to look at Darek, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner, but wasn't. They were instructed to sit, silently, and think about the situation they found themselves in. The classroom was unusually bare: no posters on the walls and tiny high-up windows. The teacher left the room, shutting the door with a soft click.

'So this is prison,' said Moe, kicking her heels out under the desk.

'Shh!' said Jaali, and then hung his head.

'It's okay. What are they going to do?' asked Moe.

'They might send the Wave to get us,' said Jaali, and then looked back at his desk.

'I'm fairly sure they don't have the power. So what did everyone else put on the test?'

'I was just answering honestly,' said Natasha. 'I thought that was the point. And who doesn't ever get annoyed at somebody pushing in?'

'I know!' said Moe. 'It was such bullshit! After a couple of questions, I just put _always_ to everything. Even the one about _Do you ever want to hit anyone?_ I mean for Christ's sake, what kind of idiot is going to say yes to that?'

'Well, you, for starters,' said Jaali, drily.

'It was just about oppression,' said Darek, scraping back his chair and sitting up. His sleeves were rolled up and his hair was tousled. 'They want us to know who has the power. They wanted us to lie to prove we're afraid of them. And all those others did what they were supposed to.'

Moe laughed, and said, 'And now they've put us together! This is like real prison. Put all the criminals in one room.'

'So,' said Darek, affecting an American drawl, 'how about we plan to rob a bank?'

Keiron could feel his insides squirming like they did when something was wrong, like they did when he'd been rejected. He tried to concentrate on making himself a cup of coffee, but although he had filled up the kettle, he kept forgetting to boil it. He would remember he wanted a drink and turn from the window and cross the kitchen to flick the switch, but an awful thought would distract him before he could get there. Because why hadn't the aliens come to visit him? Their only mission was to be with him, surely. He couldn't be wrong, could he? It seemed they were taking everybody but him. There was talk in the town about how they were rounding people up and returning them as zombies, but Keiron knew that was only to give him a message. To show they would come for him, and he would be accepted into the warm, welcoming world of the aliens where he belonged. But why were they waiting? He tried to spoon coffee into his mug, but his hand shook too much and he spilled granules on the counter. He cursed himself, hating any sign of his humanness. He cursed the medication for how it had altered him, made him weak and flawed. He punched the counter and it rippled, the Formica gripping his hand for a moment. He watched it and felt his heart judder in response. Suddenly his fear vanished. There had been many such messages, he just hadn't understood them. But this was a call, an instruction.

It was almost time to go home. He stroked the surface and said softly, 'Thank you.'

He stepped back, breathing slowly and feeling serene, as if he was gliding across the room. He took his woolly hat out of his pocket and put it on, pulled a knife out the drawer next to the sink and walked lightly to the front door. He knew exactly what to do. Everything was going to be fine.

The clean-up program consisted of over a hundred locals with litter pickers and bin bags, making their way around Icking. There were several who had been mashed by the Wave there, but nobody spoke to them and they worked in a small group, silent and smiling. Ostracised.

'It's slavery, that's what it is!' said the first woman Nick tried to interview.

'But we've all been given food, right? So we don't need wages,' said Nick, wondering how he would find a single optimistic voice for his interview.

'That's what slavery is!' replied another irate picker, looking angry enough for his stubble to pop out. 'What are we doing working for these buggers? We should be sending them back to their own planet!'

'I've got a degree in business! I'm not spending my life collecting trash!' said another.

'And if anyone tells me to be nice one more time, I won't be responsible for my actions!'

'Probably not a great idea to say that right now,' said Nick.

'See? This is the kind of nonsense I'm talking about. I should be able to say what I want.'

Eventually, Nick found a few willing to talk about how it was satisfying to finally clean the place up.

'And they're making us separate out all the recyclables, which is good, isn't it? Look, all the plastics over here, and everything else in the bags.'

Nick was relieved when the interviews were finally finished and he could go home. _Almost nobody believes this is about being nice_ , he thought. The relief turned to joy when he discovered Figgy's 'luxury package' waiting for him. There were chocolate Hobnobs, Frosties, crisps, and most exciting of all, a number of banned apps appeared on his laptop. Suddenly, he could Facetime and message other Youtubers. Giddy with excitement, he contacted Becky B, and within minutes they were connected. She looked good, and slightly unreal, as if he was talking to a cartoon version of Becky. Her nails were all different colours and her hair was like a rainbow.

'How are you doing? Have things calmed down there?' he asked.

'Well, my brother got mashed, and then my dad decided to take on the Wave, so he lasted all of five minutes before the wall swallowed him. Things have been pretty nuts, to be honest.'

'Oh my God Becky! Are your kids okay?' Becky gave a long sigh and pouted.

'Yeah, fine. And I'm fine.'

'I couldn't cope if they took Natasha. It gives me nightmares sometimes just thinking about it,' said Nick.

'Watch out for those nightmares, honey, they can be a killer.'

'Oh okay,' said Nick, assuming she was being glib. 'Where are your dad and brother now? Are you looking after them?'

'For now, but I can't do it for much longer. I already have two kids. I wasn't made to be a nurse too. Word on the grapevine is they're looking for a solution. There are too many needing care.'

'I guess at least most of us aren't working,' said Nick, getting up to stretch his legs. He was surprised to see his neighbour Jan standing in her kitchen again. 'So there are plenty of potential carers.'

'That's got nothing to do with it!' said Becky, her perfectly made up face twisting into a frown. 'These zombies got themselves into this trouble. It's not up to us to look after them!'

'Well, okay...but -' Nick said, but Becky spoke over him.

'There needs to be a solution, Nick. Somebody needs to sort them out.'

'How? Can we revert them? Undo what the aliens did?'

'What for? The aliens took them because they're bad,' said Becky.

'They made mistakes,' said Nick, shocked at her harshness. 'Some are your _family_!'

'Be careful you don't pick the wrong side in this, babe. The Taken aren't going to fight your corner anytime.'

_Side?_ thought Nick. _Since when were there sides?_

No teacher had returned, and the rebels had given up on silence.

'So, how about we pool information?' asked Moe, obviously enjoying herself. 'Natasha and me have been interrogating Rosie and discovered everything is fine. Anyone else?'

'I'm not sure you should be interrogating anyone. Isn't that just going to annoy the aliens?' asked Jaali. He was like a tortoise, slowly emerging from his shell, but ready to dive back in if necessary.

'You want everything to stay as it is?' said Moe.

'It's okay, so long as we behave,' said Jaali.

'It's not okay! They've spoiled everything! No games, no good TV. And what's the point even coming school if I'm going to spend my adulthood litter-picking?'

A teacher opened the door. They all shut up and focused unconvincingly on their desks. The teacher glared, then walked out. Moe leaned over to Darek.

'Tash was playing with the Wave last night too. Tell him, Tash.' Darek looked over impressed and curious, and Natasha nearly swallowed her tongue. Then she held her fluster together as she told the story of experimenting, of Oscar and the terrible things she'd done to him.

'So, I don't think it's just about being violent. It's about what you're thinking and feeling. If you aren't angry, then the Wave doesn't work. Not as well, anyway. I mean, I need to experiment more and stuff,' she finished, glad to end because she hadn't breathed throughout her retelling and was close to fainting.

'Which makes the whole thing bullshit, right?' said Moe. 'They're policing our thoughts. How can that be fair?'

'They don't care about fair,' said Darek.

'But that's what they say they do care about. They want us to be nice, but _they_ aren't being!' exclaimed Moe.

'Because it's misdirection,' said Darek. 'This is nothing to do with niceness. It's just a lie to distract us from the truth.'

'What truth,' asked Natasha.

'This is a regime change. We've been invaded.'

'By aliens,' said Jaali. 'Everyone knows we've been invaded by aliens.'

'It doesn't matter what by. That's a red herring. Being nice is a red herring. They want us to think this is different to the actions of every other oppressive government.'

'Wait, what? You're saying this is a dictatorship?'

'Yes,' said Darek. 'They're making people afraid to speak. They're isolating any dissidents. The Internet was the one place they couldn't control, where we could talk, and now they've stopped it. If this was really about aliens making us all nice, then they'd be showing us how to communicate, not shutting it down.'

'But it's the whole world! How could a single government control the whole world?' asked Moe.

'Could be the Freemasons,' said Darek, and Natasha couldn't stop herself from scoffing. She'd had that argument with her dad many times.

'The Freemasons are just a bunch of spoilt, rich men with their secret little club,' she said. 'They can't run the world. They're too caught up in silly handshakes. You're complicating it way too much. This is aliens.' She wondered if she'd annoyed Darek with her outburst, but he looked happy to be argued with and was about to reply, when the door opened. This time Ms Ospreyland looked in. They all feigned sad, humble faces.

'I hope you're using this time to reflect,' she said. 'It's a golden opportunity to learn something about yourselves.' Then she walked out.

'Teachers must have a book of those bollocks phrases,' whispered Moe. 'They'll be using one an hour.'

'Like the ones on the posters,' said Natasha.

'Propaganda,' said Darek.

'What I don't understand is why the aliens stay if we're so terrible,' said Natasha. 'If they don't like us, just go somewhere else.'

'Exactly,' said Darek. 'So we need to work out what it is they _really_ want.'

'And then what?' said Jaali.

'Destroy them!' said Darek.

'Yes!' said Natasha.

'Obviously we can't,' said Jaali.

'Yeah, I don't want to wreck the mood here,' said Moe, 'but they're all-powerful and they can leap out of anywhere.'

Jaali nodded vigorously. There was a moment of silence, then Darek said, 'Ok, but we can't give up. We can't just keep our heads down and be good little drones.'

'No,' said Moe. 'Not give up.'

'Listening to everyone lie and being scared, I feel like I'm being crushed into a tiny box and one day soon I'm going to explode,' said Natasha.

'Yeah, I keep thinking I'll do something stupid just because I have to do _something_ ,' added Darek.

'Fine, then we find small ways to let off steam, a secret rebellion. Something we all know, but they don't see.'

'The aliens see everything,' said Jaali.

'But they don't react to everything,' said Moe. 'Like, if I call you a bunch of tragic sluts and I pity your mothers, then no Wave, right? I mean, I'm not being _nice_ , but I'm okay.'

'Wait, what?' said Natasha. 'You mean we should insult each other?' Moe raised a brow. 'Fine,' said Natasha. 'You're a turd.'

'Fucknut!' said Darek, putting his feet up on the desk proudly.

'Wattlebrain,' said Moe. Jaali looked from one to the other as the insults rolled between them.

'What the fuck is a wattlebrain, bumface?' asked Natasha.

'Look in the mirror,' said Moe.

'Did you all smoke something?' said Jaali.

'They can take our freedom, but they'll never take our insolence!' said Darek.

Chapter Seventeen

Keiron had always liked Natasha. He liked her because she wasn't frivolous and she didn't snigger at him. She knew that the world was a foetid place of turmoil and uncertainty. He could see that she knew from the way she looked ready at any moment to dart back inside her head, and from the awkward way she moved.

As he watched her turning into the main road, she was walking with her jacket pulled tight around her against the cold, listening to music. It was something that made her march, something loud so that he could hear the tinny beat.

The main road had changed again. Instead of advertising hoardings with hippy messages, now there were screens, each showing an order.

_POLITENESS IS NECESSITY_ and _SHOW RESPECT_ and _DON'T BECOME ONE OF THE TAKEN_.

Natasha slowed and looked at the images, then scurried on. Keiron could feel her anguish, like sizzling in the skin, disturbance spreading. He was glad it would soon be over.

He drew closer. She would never hear him with her music on so loud. But thugs were working in packs of two now - two halves of the same cosh - and were swerving towards her. She ducked her head lower and reached into her pocket to switch off the music. Keiron cursed, they would ruin everything. Then a gaggle of kids came around the corner, chattering and excited. The two thugs turned, their slow brains stuck with a choice of who to bully. Natasha turned down a side street and the vigilantes moved away. Keiron followed her, keeping his distance. He let her relax again, enjoy the emptiness of the street, get lost in her music. He saw the change, when her steps began to skip and her head nodded in time. He smiled, relishing her happiness as he quickened and drew closer. He kept to one side, so his shadow didn't show by her feet, staying near to the wall of the building next to them. He didn't want her to know what was going to happen. He wanted this easy. It was easy. He let the years of being crushed and ridiculed bubble up inside him. The injustice and frustration became his strength.

Keiron had barely lifted the knife, when the wall stretched towards him. He knew it wasn't the Wave that others were so afraid of. This was different, a welcome, an embrace. It collapsed around him and he was gone.

Natasha was a churning soup of emotions as she walked home, so deeply lost in a Stormzy track she barely saw the street she was striding down. She vaguely noticed a rush of air, but it was a few moments before she left the world of music enough to smell the burnt plastic. She turned, but all was still. She felt wrong, as if she'd done something terrible but didn't know what. She kept looking around, hoping for a clue to explain what she had missed. And that's when she saw the writing. It was on the wall on the other side of the road, and her mood did a spin and a leap as she forgot the smell altogether.

_Protest! Have a voice! Monday 6pm, Town square._ Natasha nearly clapped her hands with delight. Finally somebody was doing something. As she turned into her road, she reached for her phone, then realised it wouldn't work and had three seconds of frustration before remembering the radio in her bag. She yanked it out, hoping Moe had turned it on.

It gave a short buzz, then silence, and Natasha said, 'Moe? Moe, are you there?'

There was nothing. She tried again. This time there was beeping, humming, more beeping and finally Moe's voice, distorted, said, 'Hi, donkey nuts! You didn't tell me how to bloody work the thing. Can you hear me?'

'Yes! You're a genius!' Natasha said. 'And a fart-face!' she added. Then she looked up and saw one of the vigilantes turning from the main road. She hurried out of his sight, the radio whirring.

'Okay. So what do we do now? Sing songs?' said Moe.

'No, I need to tell you about this graffiti. There's a protest, tonight! In the town hall!'

'Seriously? Because of the Internet?' Moe said.

'I guess.'

'When?'

'Six o'clock. This is defiance, Moe. People saying they won't behave.'

'Yeah. Or at least we can find out what happens when someone speaks up. I'll meet you there.'

'Do you think it's safe?' asked Natasha.

'Might not be. You know the wall behind Tesco's?'

'Yeah.'

'You can see the town hall from there. I'll meet you on top of it,' said Moe.

Natasha finished the rest of her journey grinning. She felt like a renegade.

At five, Natasha and Moe were sat on the wall with biscuits and a flask of tea.

'Do you reckon anyone will turn up?' asked Moe.

'Uh-huh, people are going mad with boredom. There's only so many times you can watch _The Good Life_.'

'How did they manage it before? Their brains must have atrophied,' said Moe.

'That's what they say about our generation!' said Natasha. Then she became serious. 'What if the Wave comes?'

'It can't mash all of them,' said Moe.

'Only if they're violent, right?' said Natasha, pouring herself another cup of tea. They hadn't brought any cups aside from the one on the top of the flask, so they were taking it in turns to sip. The packet of digestive biscuits was still nearly full. They both hated them, but there weren't any other biscuits in the shops.

'I'm into a new stage of experimenting now,' said Natasha.

'Oh?' replied Moe, dunking her digestive to add some flavour.

'Put your drink down, I want to try something.' Moe looked at Natasha warily, but put the cup on the wall and turned to face her expectantly. Natasha took a moment to breathe and calm herself, then leaned towards Moe and pinched her on the arm, no change. Natasha punched Moe on the arm, no change.

'Okay, so?' said Moe, rubbing her arm.

'No Wave, see? Because I'm not angry,' said Natasha.

'Okay, so what if you are?' said Moe. Natasha screwed up her thoughts into a frown, let the emotion build and then pinched Moe. The wall beneath Natasha gave an inch so that she dropped slightly. Moe screamed and leapt up.

'Christ!' she shrieked.

'See?' said Natasha proudly, as the wall pushed her back up again.

'You're playing a dangerous game, you know that?' asked Moe, scared to sit back down. Natasha chuckled and Moe shook her head. 'You're enjoying this.'

'I'm not!'

'What was it your mum said?' said Moe. ' _Never give up, never give in_?'

Natasha scrunched up her face and pointed to the hall, glad of the distraction. Something was happening. Around the building, people were gathering. Furtive and shifty, they drifted closer to the hall.

'It's time,' said Moe, checking her phone.

'What if they're all too scared to protest?' whispered Natasha.

One by one, the drifters were also checking their phones and looking at each other expectantly. Then one young man, tall and crooked like a branch, stopped being vague and stood purposefully in front of the hall.

'We need to stop pretending! We know why we're here,' he said. 'Right?' There were a few mumbles of assent.

Then a middle-aged woman in a sequinned cardigan, added, 'I know why I'm here, what about you?' The man shuffled, feeling that he'd done his bit.

'I miss my girlfriend,' said another. 'She's in Holland. I can't even tell her I miss her. Or say goodbye.'

'My kids live in America. I haven't spoken to them in weeks,' said a woman in a headscarf, pulling her coat around her as if her sadness had seeped through to her bones with the cold. Then, one by one, each of those in the crowd began to shout out their grievances.

'Tash, look,' said Moe, nudging her elbow. 'The piggies have arrived.' Three police cars had parked crookedly at the edges of the square, and ten officers were spreading out around the protest. But the protesters didn't care. This was their chance to shout.

'I don't want to walk around scared anymore!'

'I want Final Fantasy!'

The police had guns, but their hands were held clear of them. Violence was not their thing now.

'Then what do we want to do about it?' said the first man who had spoken, buoyed up by the response.

'Something's going to happen,' said Moe.

'You reckon?' said Natasha, unnerved by the hard-set faces of the police. They looked inhuman. The two girls hadn't noticed that the flask had fallen to the floor. Both held biscuits in one hand, uneaten, and clung to each other with the other.

'We need to stop being scared! We need to tell these aliens: enough is enough!' someone shouted.

'They're going to riot,' said Moe.

'They can't,' hissed Natasha.

'Yes! Enough is enough! We need to let them hear it!' another shouted as the crowd jostled and surged, nobody touching, but nobody still.

'Enough is enough!'

'But it's just shouting,' said Natasha, and her voice scratched her throat, because she could already hear the sound: the low static, and the thunder of a distant roaring beast. 'It's not violent!' More joined the group, shouting, some shaking their fists, some clapping.

'I can smell plastic,' said Moe, her voice flat.

'Enough is enough!' shouted the crowd, louder, defiant.

'We have to stop them!' Natasha pulled away from Moe, dropping her biscuit. She began to run. Moe rolled her eyes and followed, shouting, 'Tash, you can't stop it!'

The sound was louder, roaring, hissing. As Natasha reached the road around the hall, a police officer stepped in front of her. He was huge and impossible to pass. His face was blank and he didn't look at her, just stood there.

'You have to...' Natasha stopped, she could hear creaking coming from the ground beneath the protesters. Moe ran up behind and held her arms gently.

'There's nothing we can do,' whispered Moe. Some of the officers were backing away, others were moving forward, then glancing behind themselves in panic. The protesters seemed to be the only ones oblivious that something was happening. And with a mighty _whumph_ , like the collapse of a skyscraper, the protesters sank into the ground.

Moe screamed and hid her face in Natasha's shoulder. Natasha kept staring. The police didn't move.

'Moe, they've not gone. They're not mashed,' said Natasha.

'What? I can't look.'

'They're just... sunk.'

Moe looked up and saw twenty people submerged in the concrete up to their knees. All were trying frantically to free themselves, pulling at each other and screaming in shock, but they couldn't budge a millimetre. Onlookers stood on the edges of the protest, frozen, not sure where was safe. A few of the police stepped in to move those that weren't trapped. Some officers walked tentatively between the protesters and tried to pull a few out, but when the ground bowed beneath them, they ran backwards, falling over in their panic to escape.

The woman who missed her kids was pleading, 'Please, get me out. I need to get out.' She reached towards the police, but they had returned to their circle and turned their backs on the trapped protesters.

'But what are they going to do? They can't leave them there!' wailed Moe.

Natasha shook her head. 'The Wave will have to let them go, soon, right?' she said 'Right?'

Chapter Eighteen

Natasha thundered through the front door, shouting for her dad. He walked out of his bedroom.

'What? Are you okay?' he asked, seeing her fear.

'The Wave trapped the protesters!' she shouted, running up the stairs. 'Just _bam_! And they all sank into the ground. They're stuck. Half-in, half-out.'

'What protesters?'

'Against the Wave. Against it taking the Internet.'

Nick was slow to catch up. 'What are you talking about?'

'The protest! They weren't being violent. They weren't doing anything!' said Natasha.

'What?' said Nick again.

'Stop saying _what_ and listen to me!' said Natasha.

But Nick had finally got it. 'What were you doing at a protest?' he said.

'I was watching! People need to protest. They need to speak up.'

'No, they don't! For fuck's sake Natasha, you could have been mashed.'

'But Dad -'

'No! This is the last thing you should be doing.'

'We've been invaded! We need to do _something_!' said Natasha.

'We have to leave that to the government. What we need to do is stay safe.'

'There is no _safe_. They will keep on taking us until there's no one left.'

Nick was trapped, because he didn't have an argument. All he had was a maelstrom of extreme emotions and a desperate need to shut Natasha away from danger.

So he said in a tight, breathless voice, 'Go to your room and think about what it is you're doing.'

'Are you joking?' asked Natasha, but Nick pointed a finger. Natasha stared at him, suddenly dead-eyed.

'I know what I'm doing, Dad. What about you?' Nick took a bewildered step forward, reaching out his hand, but she turned and walked quietly to her room, shutting the door gently. A tantrum was no longer an option.

Being confined to her room was a far worse threat than it used to be now there was no Internet, no games to play. Natasha flounced in and collapsed on the bed. Then she plugged Alexa back in for the company.

'Alexa, hello,' she said.

'Hello,' said Alexa smoothly, as if nothing had changed.

'What's happening?' she asked.

'The temperature is fifteen degrees, there's a light drizzle, and everybody is feeling happy and nice,' said Alexa.

'Great,' said Natasha. 'What _is_ being nice?'

'It is the correct way to behave,' said Alexa.

'What about the new technology and bliss you promised? When are we getting that?' asked Natasha.

'You don't deserve it,' said Alexa.

Natasha sneered in reply, then she took out her phone and sulkily began flicking through the approved videos on YouTube. Only those videos were left. No vlogs about people addicted to gaming, or movie trailers for films about ghosts, or TikTok cringe compilations. Instead there was thumbnail after thumbnail of pretty faces with therapy-style headings, like _Find your inner peace using crystals_ or _How to cleanse your soul in three easy steps._ Natasha searched for _Becky B Movie_ , and found her perfectly made-up, slightly skeletal face pouting in the thumbnail. Natasha had never liked Becky. She thought her to be vacuous and bitchy.

Her video was called _Time to buck up!_

Natasha clicked. Becky filled the small screen, smiling. She flicked some of her hair back from her face, looked into the camera with a glint in her eye and began.

'Well, my little stargazers, you know I hate to get all mom-like on you - Lord knows I've had enough of that with my own kids - but it's concerning to me how some of you are reacting right now. I see you getting angry, down there in the comments, in my life. I see you raging at the aliens, when all they want is for us to be nice! Don't you get that? They want us to treat each other better, and if that makes you angry, you need to be asking yourself, _why_? Why does someone telling you you've got to be nice upset you?'

Natasha gritted her teeth. Becky B fluffed her hair and leaned back.

'I know there's a resistance to being ordered about. I saw it in my own father. But these guys have come from a whole other star system. I think they know what they're doing.'

Over Becky's jeering tone, Natasha heard the beeping of the radio in her bag. She leapt across the room and yanked it out.

'Bogey brain?' she said.

'Hey camel-toe-hoe,' said Moe, 'I just got back from a visit to the town centre.'

'You went back? To the protest?' said Natasha, falling onto the bed and closing her laptop to shut Becky up.

'I told my dad what happened and he thought it sounded funny and wanted to get pictures.'

'That's kind of mean,' said Natasha.

'He _is_ mean. I keep telling you.'

'Were they still there?' asked Natasha.

'Yeah, still stuck up to their knees. They were getting cold, so people had brought out blankets for them, and some food. But I don't know how long they're going to be trapped there. Some of them were crying. They must be so scared. Poor bastards.'

'Did your dad take photos?'

'Yeah, the dick! He kept telling them to say cheese, then took selfies with them like they were waxworks in a museum. What's the Wave playing at, Tash? Why doesn't it take him?'

'I don't know,' sighed Natasha.

'I'm going to get him. One day soon, I'm going to get him back.'

'You can't! The Wave will take _you_ then!' said Natasha.

'Before he gets us,' said Moe, as if she hadn't heard. 'It'll be self-defence.'

After they'd rung off, Natasha was overcome with impatience. She picked up her poor battered teddy bear and put him on the floor.

'Would you like me to tell a joke?' asked Alexa, suddenly.

'I'm busy,' said Natasha.

'How do you start a teddy bear race?' asked Alexa. Natasha looked at her in alarm, then looked at Oscar and felt a chill in her stomach. 'Ready, teddy go!' said Alexa, and laughed. A tinny, slightly hysterical laugh that kept going. Natasha unplugged her, took a moment to breathe, then shut her eyes, pressed her hands together and stamped on Oscar's head. She wouldn't be scared away. She _would_ control the Wave.

Natasha tried calling Moe that morning to meet up, but the radio only buzzed. She didn't bother with breakfast or saying goodbye to Nick, she just crept out the front door. There were two police cars parked outside the house opposite, and on the corner of her road stood three adults she vaguely recognised. They turned and looked at her suspiciously, then remembered the rules and gave her a huge grin. Natasha edged past their huddle.

'Just trapped,' one of them said in an ineffective whisper. 'She's been stuck there for two days and no one realised.'

'How will they get her out, though?'

'I heard one of the paramedics say every time they try to drill the floor it just closes over again. Said they'll have to amputate.'

'No!'

'I wonder what she _did_? Must've been something awful.'

As Natasha walked on, she felt sick. What if they needed to amputate the protesters too? _The aliens are destroying us, bit by bit - taking our limbs and taking our will_ , she thought.

The front gate of school had been decorated with tinsel and fairy lights, and two teachers stood greeting the children as they walked through, with cheery smiles and comments like, 'Let's make today a beautiful day!'

When Natasha reached the gates, the cheer fell away as she was told to go to classroom B9. She was officially a pariah. Again. Right behind her, she heard the friendly messages continue for the other kids. Classroom B9 contained two girls and three boys. Natasha knew none of them. From the way they were smiling and staring at the board blankly, she could see they'd been mashed.

'Hi,' she said. They all turned to look at her and said 'Hi!' as one.

Natasha shivered and sat down to stare at the board too. On it was written _What does it mean to be nice?_ This was going to be a bad day.

Four more students joined Natasha's class, Jaali and Rosie among them. Jaali and Natasha were the only two not Taken. They had each been given a maths booklet to complete, but it consisted of question after question of ridiculously simple sums and then a few equations that looked like nothing Natasha had ever seen before. She was told she could leave the classroom when she'd completed the booklet, but each time she took it to the teacher, he said her answers were wrong, to go back and start again. The mashed students weren't making any attempt to answer the questions, simply staring into space, wanting nothing. Then the teacher got up and left, locking the door behind himself.

'Jaali!' hissed Natasha.

'No,' said Jaali, staring at his paper. He had also handed it in several times.

'You want to work out the answers together?'

'No!' said Jaali. 'I want to stay quiet so they let me leave.'

'But they want us to answer the questions first,' said Natasha. The mashed students had all turned to look at her. They reminded her of security cameras, swivelling to follow sound.

'There aren't any answers to the questions. It's not about answers, they just want us to behave,' said Jaali.

'Oh,' said Natasha, then sat back in her chair grumpily. Yesterday she was finally getting somewhere, now she was at square one again. She kicked her feet out in front of her and looked at the Taken sitting perfectly still, staring straight ahead. She turned her chair around to look directly at the one sitting behind her. He was a boy called Harry who, weeks ago, she'd seen throwing tantrums in the hall, wailing until his face turned red, completely lost to emotion. Now his eyes were red from not blinking enough, his cheeks lined. Even his hair was better behaved: flat and combed instead of splayed randomly about his head.

'Hi!' said Natasha.

He swivelled his head to look at her, and the familiar smile dragged his mouth out, as if wires were pulling it.

'You've spent time with the aliens, right? Do they speak to you?'

'They're always with me! Watching over all of us!' said Harry, forcing out enthusiasm.

'What do they want? Really?' asked Natasha.

'They want us to be nice!' said Harry.

'Yes, okay. But if they don't like us, why don't they go?' asked Natasha.

'Because we need to learn to be nice!' said Harry, with a hint of confusion almost wrinkling his forehead.

'But why?' asked Natasha. She heard a scrape of chairs around the room, heard scuffling.

'Because nice is good,' said Harry. Suddenly he seemed to be breathing very loudly.

'But why does it matter?' she persisted.

'They want us to comply!' said Harry. His big empty grin got bigger, emptier. She realised it wasn't just Harry breathing, it was the whole room. Aside from herself and Jaali, everyone was breathing in time.

'Comply with -'

'They want us to comply!' This time the words were spoken by the girl on her left. Natasha looked up to see the girl's big smile.

'They want us to comply!' said a boy's voice from behind her. Then one by one the others joined in, all staring at Natasha with big teeth-flashing smiles. Even Rosie was saying it.

'They want us to comply!' they exclaimed in perky unison. 'They want us to comply!'

'Now you've broken them!' said Jaali, angrily.

'Okay stop!' shouted Natasha. 'Stop it!' And they all shut up.

Tarquin was in his element. He strongly believed in his superior worth, but until now had never been able to convince others of it. His intelligence had been accepted, but never revered as it should have been. With the school in a state of panic the other children needed a leader, someone who was not afraid of the aliens, but not so foolish as to get mashed. Tarquin knew he fitted those requirements. He had quietly suggested to Ms Ospreyland that he lead the class in a meditation session.

'My father is an international banker, and I learned a number of techniques while we were living in Singapore,' he said, pleased to see the frazzled teacher's relief. So few were capable of leadership in a crisis.

He stood in front of the dry erase board, enjoying the sight of his classmates silent before him, their eyes closed while they struggled to stay still. He didn't bother to follow to his own instructions. He was already perfectly under control. With the thirty pupils breathing when he told them to breathe and raising their hands or dropping their heads at his instruction, he was like a conductor with his orchestra. He wondered if the aliens would appreciate a general to do their bidding.

Half an hour after their usual lunch hour, Natasha's class was allowed out to eat. Jaali hurried from the room, but Natasha chased after him.

'Hey Jaali, you want to have lunch together?'

'No! Stop following me! You're doing everything wrong!' he said, and then with his shoulders hunched, he walked away. Natasha sighed and waited for Rosie.

'Hey,' she said.

'Hi,' said Rosie with a strained rictus. Natasha accepted that was probably the nicest response she'd get all day.

Most of the students had left the lunchroom by the time they got there, and the last few were scattered. Darek was sat at a far table, his face like stone.

Natasha looked down at her food, willing herself not to cry. Instead she said, 'So, Rosie, how are you finding the class?'

'I don't know that one!' said Rosie.

'Right.' Natasha poked at her peas, skewering one. 'You know when you were chanting that they wanted us to comply, did you have a choice?'

'What do you mean?'

'When you were chanting, earlier,' said Natasha.

'Oh, yes.'

'Why were you doing that?'

'Because they want us to comply and you asked about it,' said Rosie.

'Yes, okay,' said Natasha, patiently. 'You say their words for them, but can you talk to them too?'

'And say what?'

Natasha thought for a moment, then lowered her voice, tried to keep it monotonous, soothing, like she'd seen the Ebbalund Group do.

'Ask them what they really want. I mean, what do they _want_ , Rosie?' There had to be a way to interact.

'Worldwide niceness,' said Rosie.

'Uh huh. What else? Focus. Why us?'

'It was us or the ants,' said Rosie, 'and we're easier to train.'

'Train to do what?'

Rosie looked away then turned back to Natasha with a huge vacuous smile, her eyes wide and glinting. In a voice nothing like her own and everything like an advert voice-over, she said, 'Anyone can be a part of our big happy family! With a pension and holiday package you'll simply love!' Natasha jumped backwards in shock.

'What the Hell was that?' she said, but Rosie stayed frozen. 'Was that an advert?'

In the same un-Rosie-like voice, she said, 'It's an opportunity!'

'To do what?' asked Natasha.

'It's an opportunity,' said a voice from a boy to her left. She turned to see his vacant eyes. Another Taken.

'Not this again,' muttered Natasha.

'It's an opportunity!' said a girl on the table behind.

'Okay, stop!' said Natasha, and they were silent. She glanced around. A teacher gave her a disapproving stare, so she dropped her head down and looked at her feet.

For a moment she was so busy willing herself to be invisible, she didn't notice that next to her left foot was a small piece of folded paper. It was a clean crisp white, as if no one had stood on it, which was unusual on the canteen floor. Unless it had only just been dropped there. Natasha carefully put her foot over it, then when the lunch monitor looked away, she picked it up and held it in her hand. She'd not seen anyone drop it. What if it was for her?

Back in the classroom, Natasha waited until the teacher left to check. She unfolded the note. _By the buckets. Anytime_ , it said. Natasha's stomach lurched with excitement and she wanted to kick the door open. She knew exactly what it meant, and it was the best message ever. It was torture to sit for the next three hours, watching the clock creep round inch by inch, each second a year long.

Chapter Nineteen

_By the buckets_ was a phrase all kids at Natasha's school knew. It referred to a space out the back of the old kitchen site. The kitchen had been relocated after a fire, and the yard behind was used as a dumping ground for any items that the refuse collectors wouldn't take. The first of these was a stack of buckets in bright colours. This was where rebels went to smoke, where overpriced chocolate was sold by enterprising kids, and where teachers weren't around to confiscate phones. In the pre-alien days it would be filled with huddled bodies staring at screens. Natasha suspected she was being watched when she left the classroom, so she went to the toilets and left through the fire escape.

By the buckets were Moe, Darek and Walter. Plus a couple of smokers huddled on the other side of the space looking at them warily. Even smokers were afraid of her now. She liked it.

She hugged the three with relief, and they exchanged florid insults about mothers and body parts. Then Natasha sat down grumpily.

'I've had the worst day of my life!' she said.

'We all have,' said Moe, her face grim.

'Is everything okay with your dad?' asked Natasha. Moe shrugged, said a small _no_ , and then changed the subject.

'So, what are we going to do? What's the plan?' asked Moe.

'Ooh! Ooh!' interrupted Natasha, suddenly remembering what happened at lunch. 'I got a clue!' She recounted the opportunity that Rosie had recited.

'Pension and holidays? That's a job!' said Walter.

'Exactly,' said Natasha.

'That's proof then. They aren't interested in niceness. They're looking for a workforce,' said Darek.

'But why? Why come all this way for that? Why not get their own people to work?' said Walter.

'Maybe it's a shitty job that none of the aliens want to do,' suggested Natasha.

'Or there might be something else they want,' said Moe thoughtfully. 'Like the colonialists. It wasn't just about taking slaves. They wanted the resources from where the slaves lived: gold and stuff. They _said_ they wanted to civilize the natives, but they only wanted to steal from them.' Moe had recently completed a project on colonialism and felt pretty well-informed.

'Do we have resources?' asked Natasha.

'So far, all they've told us to collect is rubbish,' said Walter.

'Well, we've got plenty of that,' said Moe. 'They can take it.'

'Hello,' said a small voice. They all turned to see Jaali standing with one hand clutching the other, his eyes huge.

'Hey. I'm glad you came,' said Darek.

'I thought you didn't want to get involved with trouble,' said Natasha.

'I don't! I want an easy life! But I'm doing everything they say and it's still wrong. When I got your note, I thought I'd find out what it was you wanted.' He shrugged at them shyly.

'You're too smart, so the teachers need to isolate you,' said Darek.

'That's what the aliens want too. Everything they've done has been to isolate us,' said Natasha. 'Shutting down social media, the Internet, making everyone scared to speak.'

'I wonder what happened to the wrinklies, or the Ebbalunds,' said Moe. 'They were figuring stuff out.'

'Probably still are. If we were living in Brighton or London, we could join them.'

'The who?' asked Darek.

'Groups investigating the Wave, looking for the aliens. They were great, but we can't even read about them now,' said Natasha.

'There could be thousands of groups rebelling around the world, and we wouldn't know,' said Darek.

'Then we leave Icking! We go find them,' said Natasha.

'You said the roads were blocked by police,' said Moe.

'So we go through them,' said Darek. 'What are they going to do? They can't use violence.'

'But they can stand in the way,' said Walter.

'Why don't we go around them? If we take the A road,' said Natasha, getting excited, 'there are fields either side. We can go around the barricade and through the fields.'

'Won't the police just come onto the field to stop us?' asked Jaali.

'And do what? They're as powerless as us,' said Darek.

'But what if you're wrong? What if the Wave doesn't affect them?' asked Walter. 'They could shoot us.'

'Do or die,' said Moe. 'We live in freedom or we die as heroes.'

'Yes!' said Darek triumphantly.

'I don't want to die!' said Jaali. 'Can't we aim for something a bit less final?'

'Ok then,' said Moe, 'do or don't? Do or do-with-slightly-less-success?'

'Do, fail and then try again a bit later?' suggested Natasha.

'I think we've found our level,' said Darek. 'You happy, Jaali?' Jaali nodded.

'That's decided then,' said Darek, holding his fist out into the space between them. 'We try to get out of Icking, and go in search of rebels.' Tentatively, Natasha and Walter put their fists above his.

'That's still a bit Hollywood-machismo,' said Moe with a sigh.

'We need _some_ Hollywood machismo,' said Darek. With a resigned nod, Moe added her fist to the tower and Jaali followed suit.

All that was left was to work out details: what to bring, what time to meet.

Nick sat in the empty prison with the chief wondering how this man had avoided the Wave when his entire manner oozed aggression and rage. He'd managed to curb his habit of thumping desks, but otherwise nothing had changed. Nick's team reassured him that so long as he did a few interviews with other officers as well, they could cut the chief down in the final video. Nick was still getting used to the idea of a team. He liked handing over the responsibility for filming to someone else, the worry over all the small details he so often got wrong. He liked the pampering and camaraderie, but he had the sense that he was catching the train on someone else's tracks and didn't know where they were heading. It made him nervous. That was a lot of trust to place in strangers, even though they reassured and complimented him so often.

After set-up and make-up was completed, the cameras started rolling and Nick was about to ask a question, but didn't get the chance.

'So Nick!' roared the chief, under the mistaken impression that on video he had to speak louder than in real life. 'This is our cell! The holding place for the gangsters of little Icking. And what do you notice?'

'It's quite roomy?'

'It's goddamn empty! That's what!'

'I suppose with the Wave, you've cut down on criminal activity quite a lot in Icking?'

'On all of it! Certainly makes my job a lot easier. I might even rent this cell out! What do you reckon, twenty quid a night to stay in Icking jail? It could be a tourist attraction!'

Nick swallowed a retort that tourism was unlikely to flourish when no one could leave their hometowns.

'But there must be non-violent crimes happening,' said Nick. 'How do you deal with those? Especially now you can't use threats.'

The chief looked blank. He glanced up at the camera, then back at Nick.

'Tonight you're going to see Icking as we see it. What a ride that's going to be!' said the chief.

'And cut!' said a voice from behind Nick. He was clapped on the back and swept from the room in a tide of compliments.

He was taken to a police car, where PC Brown was waiting. When Nick had met Brown before, he'd had some gumption, but now all the fight was gone, stomped out of him by the chief. The conversation was filmed in a towed car, which Brown pretended to drive while they talked. His voice was a weary drone and often he would trail off halfway through a sentence, a habit learned after being interrupted so many times. Getting into the play-acting of driving, he used the indicators too much, and the amount he turned the steering wheel suggested they were zigzagging up a mountain.

'I'll take you to meet a few residents, so you can learn about...' said Brown.

'That's great!' said Nick, feeling he had to double the enthusiasm to compensate for the constable's downbeat manner. 'How has your job been affected by the Wave?'

'It's much easier policing now. There are a few disputes, but they don't last long. I mean...' He indicated to turn left.

'Are people still being mashed?' asked Nick.

'Yeah, there's a few badduns that avoided the Wave at the beginning, but it's clearing a path through, dealing with the...' He pretended to look for oncoming traffic as he indicated right.

'You believe only bad people get mashed?'

'That's how the Wave works, right?' He indicated left again.

'But children have been mashed. You can't write them off as bad. They might be troubled. They might need help.'

Nick was getting riled, but Brown did the same glance to camera that the chief had done, then said, 'Troubled, badduns: different words, same meaning.'

'And what about those protesters? We should have the right to protest, yes?' asked Nick.

'That's disturbance of the peace. And anyway, the Wave let them go, eventually.'

'But -' Nick began to argue, but then the camera cut.

'That's just beautiful guys. Simply wonderful, really touching,' said the director, a man called Justin who had the wide smile of a shark and the smooth enthusiasm of an estate agent. He and the cameraman were squashed in the back seat, struggling to keep out of sight. 'And now we're going to visit our first subject, Susan. I'm pretty excited about that one.'

Icking resident Susan was eighty-three and proudly announced it when she opened the door. Then she took Nick and Brown for a walk around her garden, pointing out roses and winter flowering jasmine.

'It looks beautiful. You must be very proud,' said Nick.

'I do it all myself. Not bad for an eighty-three-year-old, is it? It's all down to broccoli, you know? Broccoli at every meal!' said Susan.

'Susan used to be shut inside much more, because of thugs and...' said Brown.

'Not anymore!' Susan declared cheerfully. 'I was always a night-bird. When I was younger I'd be out 'til late. Then it became not safe. But now? Now I'm not scared at all. Went for a walk at midnight last night!'

'You don't worry about the Wave?' asked Nick.

'No dear. I'm not violent so I've got nothing to fear, right?'

'Sure,' said Nick, and _cut_ was called again.

'Next stop,' said Brown, as they got back in the car and the camera began filming again, 'is a trip to see young Ferris. He's a real success story of the Wave, one of our -'

'Success story?' interrupted Nick.

'Yes. Young lad, was going down a dark path, getting into trouble with us lot, graffiti, stealing. What we didn't know is that he was being bullied pretty badly at the time, both at school and by his brother at home. When the Wave came, it solved all that and he settled right down. Started volunteering, doing better at school, totally turned...' Brown drifted off again.

'Okay,' said Nick and stared thoughtfully out of the car window. 'Could we stop a minute?'

'Sure,' said Justin, sitting up. 'What's on your mind, Nick?' he said with a grin that conveyed _Nothing, right? Let's all have nothing on our minds!_

'This is lovely, it really is, but I feel this video is steering in a particular direction. I mean, shouldn't I meet some residents who've been adversely affected by the Wave too? Or see the behind-the-scenes issues with policing now?'

'What for?' asked Brown, confused.

'That's what my viewers will be expecting,' said Nick.

'No, you're good,' said Justin, shaking away Nick's concerns with his hand. 'Your viewers love you and they'll love whatever you do. Trust me, Nick, it's all under control.'

Throughout the evening, Nick met three more people whose lives were immeasurably better because of the Wave: a young mum whose violent boyfriend had been mashed; Mr Basu, a cheerful bus driver who no longer had to fear robbery or threats; the road sweeper who waxed lyrical about how friendly everybody was these days. Whenever Nick tried to bring up an alternative view, the answers became vague, his interviewees shifty. By the end of the night he was deflated. He wasn't sure he liked the route this train was taking.

The plan was for the small group of school renegades to meet the next morning by the buckets. When Natasha arrived, only Darek was there. She quickly tried to squash her hair down a bit and look cool at the same time. Then she called Darek a haddock-face, he called her a dingbat, and she sat down.

'Any new discoveries?' asked Darek, his eyes suddenly intense, as if he could see the mechanics of her thoughts. He didn't appear interested in her hair. It was tricky for Natasha to feign normality, to stop her voice from wobbling.

'Sort of, I mean, like, not really, but I'm getting a real feel for the Wave. Sometimes it's like it's under my control, you know, I can almost make it dance and stop when I want.'

'That's awesome,' said Darek.

'The thing is, that's easy when there's nothing to be annoyed about, but what if I was properly angry? I doubt I could do much then. How about you? Figure anything?'

'I was watching the main road last night, and there were huge lorries thundering away from the Icking town dump.'

'That makes sense. They've had everyone picking up litter. It'll be going away to recycle.'

'I don't think so. I broke into the dump, to see what was happening. There wasn't even a dent made in the rubbish. Then before they left, the truck driver handed over a paper bag of something. After they'd gone, I saw the guy open it and pull out biscuits, coffee, chocolate. All the stuff that we can't get from rations.'

'What? Why?'

'It was a bribe, had to be. But if the truck driver was just taking away rubbish, why would he need to bribe anyone?'

'Sounds like an interesting convo,' said Walter, as he and Jaali rounded the corner. Darek was about to retell the tale, when Moe appeared behind them, sniffing, with red eyes, barely able to speak. Natasha sat Moe down, while Jaali, Walter and Darek shuffled away - in range of hearing, but out of the range of responsibility. Moe opened her bag and rifled through.

'What happened?' asked Natasha, putting her hand on Moe's shoulder. Moe continued to rummage, sniffing loudly.

'Why can't I find a fucking tissue,' she said, then threw the bag to the floor. 'He filled it with fucking grated cheese again.' Natasha saw that where the bag had fallen, a few shreds of cheese had fallen out.

'Is that what's wrong?' she asked gently, picking out the least-used tissue from her pocket and handing it over. 'Your dad's been bullying you?'

'Not me. He got Gerta, my stepmum.'

'Got her?' asked Natasha.

'The Wave. He set her up. He pretended to be an intruder, went into the boys' bedroom, like he was going to attack them, so she went to hit him with a chair and the Wave took her. I mean, what the fuck! How can the Wave see that but not see what he was doing? She never wanted to harm anyone. She just wanted to protect her boys!'

'Because the Wave is about control,' said Darek, leaning over with his eyes flashing. Natasha gave him a warning look, and he stopped before the tirade got going and moved away.

Words were pointless, so Natasha hugged her and let her cry. Moe was usually so unbothered by anything, her forcefield of sarcasm never wavered. But now she was a desperate mess, shredding the tissue Natasha had given her, and then using the shreds to mop her nose.

'He's a fucking nutter, Tash. He's delusional. He's pretending like it's just another one of his jokes and nobody's really getting hurt because he finds it funny. He even filmed it.'

'Doesn't he understand what the Wave does to people?' asked Natasha.

'No! It's like it's a game. I kept screaming at him to look at what he'd done to her, but he was laughing. He asked what I was so upset about because she'd barely changed. He's a psychopath and he's going to keep going until we're all wrecked. All of us mashed: me, the boys. All of us.'

Chapter Twenty

Natasha's school day was the same as the last: a class full of mashed students staring with blank smiles at a wall and an impossible paper to complete. She was sure this counted as solitary confinement. And wasn't that illegal? She couldn't even check. She wrote on the paper in deeply scratched capitals _WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME??!!_ Then stared angrily at the wall, daring it to bend.

She already knew what they wanted from her. They wanted her to give up, to become weak and well-behaved, but she wasn't interested in toeing the line. She wanted to scuff that line out of existence. Unfortunately, being defiant didn't solve the problem of being stuck in the classroom.

Nick was walking home from the shops, still on a high from some adoring fans demanding selfies and laughing at his jokes. He'd always suspected he was funnier than people gave him credit for, and now he had proof. Then he saw Mr Wollstaff.

'Hello!' he said cheerily, hoping that his neighbour would ask for a cheeky photo. 'I haven't seen your lovely wife for a while!'

Mr Wollstaff grunted and looked moodily in a boarded-up shop window. 'She's too scared to go out, isn't she? Too scared she's going to get mushed.'

'Well, nothing will happen to her. She's lovely!' said Nick.

'It's because of her OCD, though.'

'What, is she going to clean things too aggressively,' said Nick with a little chuckle. Mr Wollstaff gave him an irritated glance.

'No. It's an obsessive thing. If she's told she absolutely mustn't do something, then she becomes fixated on doing it. She gets so scared she'll do it by accident, that it's like she talks herself into it.'

Nick's grin finally fell away. 'Oh, damn. But really?' he said. 'I mean, she wouldn't actually do anything violent?'

'Don't know. You remember when I had that operation on my foot. Well the doc told us the most important thing was that nothing knocked into it. Then she became so obsessed about hitting it by accident, she started kicking me whenever she walked past.'

'What? That's nuts!'

Again Mr Wollstaff gave him that look, then carried on. 'She couldn't help it. In the end, she had to walk to the kitchen on the other side of the room. And sleep in the spare bed. See, this is the problem with these new government games. They make their decisions in their high towers, but they don't think about how it affects real people.'

Nick was about to explain about aliens again, but decided to let it go.

By the time the end of the day came around, Natasha's mood was twisted beyond repair. She tried to find Moe to talk to before she went home, but she was nowhere to be found. As Natasha walked towards the school gates, she saw Darek skulking by the exit, his head in the air, sniffing.

'Hey fart face,' said Darek softly, leaning close but not looking at her, aware that their association should be kept out of sight.

'Fall in a ditch so you can visit your family,' Natasha whispered back. Then Darek continued to sniff.

'Can you smell that?' he replied. Somehow he still said it in a sexy way and her breath spasmed. Then she smelt the air, pulled a face and said, 'Ew! What _is_ that?'

'Rubbish,' said Darek. 'Lots of it.'

'Maybe someone forgot to put their bins out,' said Natasha.

'Well, this is nice. Are you having a little chat?' said a voice, and Natasha and Darek turned to see a brightly smiling teacher with her hands in claws.

Darek said sweetly, 'We're just leaving, miss.' Then to Natasha, in a low voice he said, 'Let's go find some trash.'

'The dump?' said Natasha as they walked away.

'You can't smell the dump from here. Besides, it was nearly full when I visited. I reckon they needed an over-spill site,' said Darek.

'And we need to find it?'

Darek looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. 'Wherever weird things are happening, that's where we need to be.'

Natasha didn't question the idea further. This was practically a date.

Following their noses wasn't always easy. It took the wind blowing strongly enough to carry the smell, and a few times they disagreed. Her shyness had faded now she had a mission to concentrate on. Determination flooded in to fill the space where awkwardness had been. They walked with noses in the air, sniffing away. When someone rounded the corner, they quickly assumed the cheery demeanours of children's TV presenters. Feeling so fake and silly, they burst into giggles almost immediately. Natasha wasn't sure she'd ever seen Darek giggle before and decided it was her favourite sight. She felt almost relaxed.

'So,' said Darek, as Natasha twitched her nose again 'when are you going to show me your Wave-controlling skills?'

'They're probably not that great, really,' Natasha said, panicking.

'Don't do that _I'm a girl, I can't do anything_ crap,' said Darek, feigning a squeaky voice. 'Just do it.'

'Okay,' said Natasha, then forced a smile as a couple of vigilantes walked past. Once they had gone, she stopped and took him to the nearest wall. She shut her eyes and tried to think of bad things. It was difficult when Darek was standing so close. She wasn't sure she felt anything but giddy. She thumped the wall with the side of her fist and nothing happened. _I can't do it!_ The red glow filled her face as she began to stammer an apology.

'It's okay,' said Darek, putting a hand on her shoulder. 'It can't be easy.' The humiliation of Darek being nice while she completely failed turned the embarrassment to anger: anger at herself and her own stupid, stupid need to show off. Pathetic. She let the rage flow through her, buzzing like a licked battery, then raised her hand to punch the wall. At the last moment, she reigned in the emotion and her fist hit gently. The wall wobbled as if it was a waterbed and it took a moment to come to rest. Then she turned to Darek who was staring in disbelief.

'That is brilliant!' he said.

'Look, sometimes I can make the noise too,' said Natasha, and gritted her teeth and snarled. Then she raised a fist and slammed it forward. Her heart jumped as she realised that she'd made it too hard. It was happening too fast and she couldn't stop. She'd be mashed. The buzzing, howling sound began and enveloped her, as if it could suck her out of the world. Thoughts slammed across her skull with such speed that she realised there was still time. With all her will she pulled herself backwards and fell to the floor. The wall didn't move, the sound subsided, a cat yowled and ran away. Natasha tried to catch her breath as Darek helped her up.

'Like that,' she said, and he nodded, impressed - so she kept up the nonchalance and tried not to let her wobbly legs drop her.

'That noise, it's creepy. It makes my brain shiver,' he said.

'Uh huh, I know,' said Natasha. 'I'm sure I recognise it.'

Darek stopped and looked at her. 'From where?'

'Haven't figured it out yet. I have this vague memory of listening to it before all this and my dad saying it sounded like an electric monster. It was on a video somewhere.'

'You listened to it with your dad?' Natasha nodded. 'What's the kind of thing you would listen to with him?' Natasha chewed at her top lip trying to remember.

'I don't know. Some weird nature thing? It was a video,' she said. 'But the video was still, just a picture of...' her voice trailed off, now she was chewing a finger. 'I kept it!' she shouted. 'I kept it so I could freak my dad out.' She began to scroll through her phone. Darek watched over her shoulder as she flicked through her saved videos.

'Do you have a monkey fetish or something?' he asked.

'No! Monkeys are adorable! Anyway, this is it. Look!'

Darek read the name on the screen. 'The Sounds of Earth?' asked Darek. 'Seriously?'

'NASA found a way to record all the planets.' Natasha poked at the video play button and turned up the sound. A low roaring began like a distant beast growling on a loop, then static joined it, a chilling duet. The strange howl leaked from the phone, hypnotic and creepy.

'Shit, that's it,' said Darek. 'And that's the noise the Earth makes? Are they taking the piss?' Natasha let the sound keep playing, as if she might hear secrets whispered in the static. 'I wonder if there's a reason it's so creepy,' said Darek, but Natasha wasn't listening to him anymore. Two men were crossing the road towards them with painful slowness, their hands raised and claw-like as if they were trying to capture a bird. But their eyes were on Natasha, intense - not angry but wide so that the irises were circled by white. Their faces showed no expression below the stare. They took another, slow step. Then Natasha felt Darek nudge her and she turned. Behind them a teenager and an old man were slowly, slowly approaching them, hands out, eyes dark and wide. Natasha looked the other way to see more, edging around the corner.

'Are they the Taken?' she whispered. 'What's wrong with them?'

'Turn it off!' said Darek. 'Turn the noise off!' Natasha found her fingers suddenly incapable of pressing the screen properly and it took three attempts. As she squashed the stop button, the phone slipped from her fingers, shattering the screen, but the sound was gone. The Taken stopped a fraction of a moment later and then wandered away smiling as if they'd forgotten what they'd wanted.

'Right,' said Natasha because she wanted to say something. Then she picked up her phone.

'Yes,' said Darek. They both stood breathing and wide-eyed. Then Darek said in a strained voice, 'You broke your phone.'

'S'okay,' said Natasha. 'It doesn't do much now anyway.'

'Right. Shall we go find some trash then?' said Darek.

'What? Oh yes. We were doing that, weren't we?' Darek nodded and looked up the street. They began to walk. 'What about that way?' asked Darek.

Natasha followed his eyeline, then shook her head. 'There's only shops that way. It's got to be coming from somewhere with open land. Maybe the car park. No one's parking cars now there's no petrol,' she said and they took the next left. The stench hit them. In the car park, the huge mound of rubbish stank like a dead dog in the sun. They stared in disbelief. 'But why?' said Natasha. 'Why get all those people to clean the streets just to leave it all here?'

She picked up a stick and poked at the mound. There was plenty of the new brandless packaging, but still lots of Costa coffee cups, McDonalds foam burger boxes and Coca-Cola cans that had been left for months scattered around the streets.

'I was hoping it would give us a clue about what I saw being driven away last night,' said Darek.

'And?' said Natasha.

'It's just smelly crap, isn't it?'

'But there must be something that _was_ here that _wasn't_ crap that they took away. Whatever we've got that's like gold to them.'

'Why would they want something that we throw away?' said Darek.

'Why not?' said Natasha. 'They're aliens, they might have figured out how to turn mouldy apples into fuel.'

They both looked around, hopelessly.

'Well, mouldy apples are still here, so it's not that,' said Darek.

'This is all very odd,' said Natasha, seriously.

'You're just thinking that now?' asked Darek with his eyebrow raised. Natasha nudged him with her shoulder, enjoying the contact and having to drag herself away again. He smiled. She was sure he winked. They got nowhere figuring out what the resource was, but it was difficult to care.

'Hey Dad,' said Natasha as she walked through the front door. Nick came out to see her and leaned nonchalantly on the doorframe.

'What's happened to your hair? You look like Sonic,' she said.

'Good eh?' he said, patting his new spikey bouffant.

'Are you a furry now?' she asked.

'No, I'm cool. You wouldn't understand.'

'But I thought your brand was dumpy and unthreatening,' said Natasha.

'It's evolved. Turns out some people think I'm quite sexy,' said Nick.

'Well, are they getting help?' said Natasha. Nick swung his head round in a dramatic flounce and headed back to the kitchen. Natasha sighed and went upstairs.

Once in her room, she opened up Becky B's latest video. It was called _Who are YOU to tell ME what to do??_

It started with Becky sitting on the same wicker chair as always, the lighting perfect, but instead of launching into a rant, she stared into the camera for a few seconds.

'Yeah. We gotta talk. We _really_ gotta talk. See RogueBlue, you remember her? Used to make videos about how you should take a nice long bath if you got angry. Well, she got mashed a few weeks back after slapping her daughter!' Becky leaned into the camera, her eyes wide, hamming the moment. 'Yeah, no mistake there. She slapped her daughter, for Christ's sake. Anyway, she came back, all slow with a Joker grin, and made a video telling us about how _we_ should all behave and be nice to each other. Uh, I don't _think_ so! I've put the whole video in the links below, but for now I'm going to talk through a few segments, because this is _twisted_.

'And yeah, don't delude yourself with, "Oh those poor souls, they made a mistake and now they got the brain-mess." The Taken are _bad_. They were violent before and the only reason they're not violent now is they can't be.'

Natasha closed the video and scrolled through the others available. With only a few hundred being released a week, she could glimpse all of them in a few minutes. Every other video title referenced the Taken, and the word zombie was used a lot, as if they were no longer humans. Then she saw her dad's latest video: _Our happy life now the violent have been mashed_.

She was getting an uneasy feeling building up. _Why are all the YouTubers so down on the Taken all of a sudden? Did they all spontaneously form the same opinion at once?_ She picked up the radio and tried to contact Moe, but the only reply was a steady hum. Then out of desperation, she picked Alexa out of the bin and plugged her in.

'Alexa?' The blue light spun. 'Who are the Taken?'

'The Taken, also known as zombies, are violent people altered to make them incapable of violence, in order to make a nicer world.'

'Will they be okay again? Change back?'

'Why would you want them to?' asked Alexa, and Natasha wasn't reassured.

As the days passed, Moe had regathered her wits and honed her anger to a sharp point. Natasha would have tried to talk her out of it, so Moe had kept her distance. She'd sat in a class of silent, mashed students, and plotted. Her smile was bright, her façade was still, but beneath she was in turmoil, brittle and ready to snap.

It was happening tonight.

Walking the short distance home, she picked at the stitching of her jacket and chewed the inside of her mouth. She ticked the details off in her mind, so that by the time she opened the front door she was wound up like a spring. He was sitting on the sofa.

'Hi,' said Moe, sweetly. 'Shall I make us all a cup of tea?'

'Hmm,' said her dad, George, watching the TV with his arms spread out across the back of the couch. 'Gerta won't have one, she'll just spill it,' he said. Gerta was staring straight ahead, smile firmly fixed.

'Right,' said Moe, gritting her teeth as she walked out to the kitchen. The most difficult thing had been staying nice. When Gerta was mashed, Moe had shouted and screamed at her dad, but the ground turned to blancmange beneath her and he had laughed. When she'd sat looking at him hatefully, he'd warned that she'd be next and she could see he was working out a way. So she switched to sweetness, and his sense of importance was such that he didn't notice it was totally unlike her. He simply assumed it was what he deserved. She'd started making him cups of tea, buying him little presents, and thinking up ways to make the walls eat him.

She flicked the switch from the kettle and rinsed out his favourite mug left on the counter. She added a teabag. He liked three sugars, but she added none.

Her first problem was that he no longer lost his temper. It used to happen all the time when he was with Moe's mum. He would suddenly switch, get the rage, and it took years for them to work out why.

Moe took out the blackcurrant squash from the back of the dustbin-bag cupboard in the kitchen. The boys liked it despite the additives and E numbers it contained. Moe's dad, who also liked it, was not allowed to know it was there.

Moe added the squash to the mug.

There had been some scandal a few years back that certain E numbers were making children violent. At the time Moe's dad was a regular ball of rage, not merely playing practical jokes, but smashing the TV, ripping up birthday cards and nailing her teddy bear to her door. After many experiments with foodstuffs to figure it out, Moe eventually whittled it down to E number E211, found in the squash. Persuading her stepmum to buy him orange squash instead of blackcurrant had led to a huge dulling of his anger. These days he was calculating in his cruelty, in control.

The smell of it made her stomach clench and she had to take a moment to control her fear. Then Moe carried it through.

'How's your day going?' she said sweetly, handing him the mug.

'Alright. Not seen this episode of Deal or No Deal before,' he said, leaning back on the couch and smiling.

'Is it a good one?'

'Yes! This guy's an idiot. He's going to lose everything,' he said with a happy chuckle, taking a sip of the tea. He made a face.

'What's wrong with this?'

'It's that fancy Chinese tea. The one Prince Harry drinks. Don't you like it? I can get you a Tetley,' said Moe.

'Ah no. If it's good enough for Harry it's good enough for me,' he said, taking another slurp. Moe smiled. E211 wouldn't be enough alone to send him over the edge, but it would prime him for it.

She waited a beat, then said, 'You'll never guess what. I've been asked to be one of those chosen Youtubers. They were looking for kids at the school to do it.'

'What? You? Why?' His jealousy was on show. 'What are you even going to do?'

'I don't know. Just show videos from my life, I suppose. Film interesting things that happen, funny things.'

'What do you know about funny things?' he spluttered and went to thump his mug down on the coffee table. Moe put her hand on his arm, worried he'd spill the tea.

'I've learned so much from you,' she said, and George grunted and took another sip. 'It's your bath night, isn't it?' she asked. 'Peaceful bubble time?' He grunted again, too bitter to use words, so she smiled and crept away.

Moe had a lot to get ready. She'd spent the day thinking through every detail of what she needed to do, where all the necessary items were. Her brothers were home, hiding in their rooms as always, probably locked into worlds of music and homemade podcasts no one else would hear, which gave her some privacy.

Her dad's cupboard of tricks was her first stop. He kept it locked and made a big show of keeping the key on a chain around his neck, but for years she'd known about the spare key sitting in a gap below the cupboard. She listened one last time that no one was coming and opened the doors and took some fake blood sachets. Then went to her room to get the foulest liquid she knew. A year ago, she had smoked out of her window for a while, and put the fag butts into a jar half-filled with water. A few months ago she had opened the jar and nearly thrown up at the smell. Useful.

Then she collected the Bluetooth shower speakers. Both she and her brothers liked to listen to something while taking a shower and over the years had collected a few different models. Some didn't work, some blasted out a scratchy glitching noise, but all would be needed.

The final job was tinkering with the door. While she was doing this one of her brothers came out.

'Whatcha doing?' he said, standing awkwardly with his hand on his head as if he was lifting himself up.

'The bolt's damaged, I'm fixing it,' said Moe. He stood watching her, scratching his head in his odd, twisted pose. Moe had a brainwave.

'Dad said take the drone out to play if you want,' she said. He looked at her doubtfully, that wasn't the kind of thing their dad said. 'He wanted you out the way while he had his bath,' added Moe.

'Is it working?' he said.

'I reckon. He was playing with it yesterday. Wait until he has his bath, then I'll give it to you,' said Moe. Her brother nodded and slouched away.

Within twenty minutes she was done, and her dad's tea was drunk.

George thumped up the stairs and spent a good ten minutes preparing the bath: letting the water in and out to get the right temperature; adding bubble bath of a manly pine scent; arranging his inflatable cushions; making sure his loofah, shower gel, golf magazine, razor and mirror were all nearby. One of his boys was hovering outside the door and he roared at him to get lost, because he didn't want some whiny brat interrupting him. He needed this even more than usual because he was feeling quite tetchy that Moe was muscling in on his territory. He'd worked for years to create a YouTube presence, almost got himself to the level of influencer. The aliens had wrecked that and now she was stepping into his rightful place. Probably with some moody teenage garbage too. Whiny cow.

He climbed into the bath gingerly. He liked it just a bit too hot to start with. His face flushed as he sank into the bubbles. He was getting settled when music started playing: a tinny pop song.

'Shut that up!' he shouted, but it carried on. Then he realised it was coming from inside the bathroom, from up on the opposite wall where there was one of those shower speakers that the kids loved. He never used them. They had no buttons, and what was wrong with a bit of quiet anyway? He splashed his way grumpily out of the bath and pulled it off the wall. Not knowing how to turn it off, he threw it on the floor and crushed it under his foot. Served them right for letting it disturb him. Then he got back in.

He picked up the magazine and began reading an article about golf courses in Dubai. That's where he should be, living in luxury where women knew their place. It was a few minutes before another speaker started up. This time it was a conversation using words like 'post-feminism' and 'synergy' spoken by women who didn't know how to shut up. And again the radio was on the other side of the room, down behind the laundry basket. He didn't bother taking it down, just smashed it with his fist, scratching his hand with a piece of broken plastic as he did. He hadn't been violent with the kids in ages, but this wasn't acceptable. They had to pay. Moe had the cheek to call _him_ a bully, but what was this, if not bullying?

He got back into the bath, too angry to read or relax, and was about to start shaving when the third Bluetooth speaker went off. He stamped from the bath without hesitation and went to smash the gadget on the wall when he realised it was playing Justin Bieber. He hated Bieber. Everyone knew he hated that little prick. Just like everyone knew that this was the one time he got to relax. He looked around the room. There was a patch of shower gel on the floor, just where he might step and slip. He could hear a drone, his drone, outside the window, hovering around. And he got it. He was being set up. Moe and her damn video career. She seriously believed she could outsmart him and turn the tables. She was an idiot.

He threw the radio out the window, shut the flimsy curtains, checked the door was locked and climbed back into the bath. He felt triumphant that he had won and was already imagining what he would do to Moe to teach her a lesson. Once in the water, he noticed two more of the irritating discs on the wall, just by his head. Stupid. What kind of moron would put them there? He could just smash them without even getting up. Which is what he did. They were the right distance apart to pound one with each fist until they shattered. He did so with satisfaction, and only then did he notice something pouring out of them. From one gushed red food dye that quickly filled the bathwater, from the other a foul-smelling black ooze. He leapt from the bath roaring, barely able to see through his fury.

At that point the door opened, kicked by Moe holding up her phone. And she shouted, 'Daddy! Smile! You're going to be famous!' George charged towards her, his fists raised to bring them down on her head and smash her into the ground. He never made it. The bathroom floor swallowed him whole.

Chapter Twenty-One

Nick was getting used to the luxury of working for Figgy. For this interview he had a make-up artist, a cameraman, and the enthusiastic Justin. The whole shebang took place in his interviewee's comfortable sitting room. Justin was choreographing everything, from how the interviewee sat to how Nick held a mug of tea in one hand, leaning towards her on the couch. The interview was going brilliantly. The mother didn't need a lot of coaxing from Nick. Almost anything he said was met with another tragic tale of her son, Matt. As far as Nick could work out, Matt was an East End thug who had bullied his way through life. Even to the point of shoving his mum around. When the Wave started, he had curbed his aggressive behaviour for a few weeks, until he could stand it no more and punched his girlfriend.

'And I know that puts him in the wrong,' said Matt's mother, 'but I still love him.' Justin paused the interview to move Nick closer and remove the tea.

'What I don't understand,' said Nick, 'is how someone as kind and loving as you raised a man like that. Where does he get it from?' Matt's mother sighed and heartbreak played so clearly in her eyes, that Nick felt himself well up.

'I wish I knew,' she said. 'Some people, they're just bad, in't they?' Nick grabbed her hands, as they both struggled to keep back the tears.

'And cut! Perfect, guys! Perfect! Seriously, I was nearly sobbing,' said Justin, looking as far from sobs as it's possible to be. 'If we just get some credit shots and a thumbnail, then we're there.'

'Well, darling, it will just have to wait until I've visited the little girl's,' said Matt's mother, suddenly dropping her cockney accent for a Chelsea drawl.

'Wait,' said Nick, then looked confused, watching as the hunched old lady stood up straight and sauntered to the bathroom.

'She's lying,' he said, looking at Justin. 'She's lying, isn't she?' Nobody else was reacting with any kind of interest to the sudden change in the interviewee.

'Lying?' asked Justin, with the same confusion. 'What do you mean by lying?'

'She's not... I mean she isn't who she said... She's different.'

'Acting?' Justin added helpfully.

'Yes?' said Nick, feeling the world warp around him. 'This whole thing was made up?' he asked. His face was flushing hot and cold and he knew his skin was glowing red.

Justin put a hand on Nick's shoulder and tilted his head sympathetically. 'I like to think that we're making truth, Nick. Do you see?'

'See what?' asked Nick.

'The world is messy, and sometimes it's difficult to work out what's right. It's confusing. But what we do is create a simple truth for the public to understand. That's what TV is: a better version of the truth.'

'Right,' said Nick, regathering his wits. 'Why couldn't you just get a real person?'

'We need to make sure what's said is in keeping with the narrative, Nick. That's essential.'

'What narrative?' said Nick.

'We've noticed that there's a tendency to see the zombies as figures of sympathy, as poor souls unfairly treated, when actually these are violent people. Evil. It's important that the public understand that.'

'Zombies? They're brain-damaged, not zombies. And "evil" is a bit strong, isn't it? You must have some sympathy for them. A few are kids.'

'Tell you what,' said Justin, tilting his head further, 'how about you have this discussion with someone who can really explain? Figgy was saying only this morning it was time he got to know you, and I need to get back to the office anyway. Why don't we go for a drive?'

Nick wasn't fooled by the change of subject, but Figgy was probably the best person to talk to about this, so he nodded. They rushed through the last few shots. Nick forced himself to smile or look sad on demand, feeling relieved when it ended.

The drive to Figgy's office involved a limousine, champagne, chocolates and a TV screen showing Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. The police cordons opened up for them and the roads were pretty much empty. All speed limits appeared to be irrelevant now.

'Hey, I haven't seen this in years!' said Nick, lounging back and sipping from his fluted glass.

'Good eh?' said Justin. 'Some of the best cinematography ever.'

'But it's violent? I thought we weren't supposed to watch violence.' Nick glanced around, imagining he could hear the static and the roaring. Justin put a hand on his shoulder while he pulled a crease out of the knee of his trousers.

'That's for other people, Nick. You're special, you can handle this.' By the time they reached the government building - a large black-glass fronted edifice - Nick felt properly queasy and wasn't sure if it was nerves or the chocolates.

After going through seven checkpoints, Nick reached Figgy's office, which was packed with too much furniture obviously cobbled together from different offices. There was an ebony desk, a Georgian antique dining chair, and a Persian rug. Figgy himself was small and unimposing, with a pasty, bloated face. He sat with his feet up on the desk smoking a cigar. He looked like a child playing dress-up. He looked like he was still getting used to his teeth.

'Nick! Finally!' said Figgy, flicking the ash from his cigar into the bin. 'Justin tells me you did a sterling job on the interview. Brilliant, just brilliant!'

'Well thank you.' Nick's confidence was returning, but he waited until Figgy had bustled over to a tray with jugs of coffee on it before he said, 'But you know, a few things about these interviews have been bothering me. I feel almost like there's a theme, you know? Like I'm taking the blame off the aliens and onto the Taken. As if it's their fault the aliens invaded. I noticed you even changed one of my titles to suggest that.'

'Hmm. Hmm. I'm glad you came here Nick. Sugar?' Figgy said as he carelessly poured the coffee. 'It's good to talk face to face. Because this is important. We're still finding a route through the chaos. Trying to formulate a method to protect the populace from the Wave, you see?'

'You mean protect them, so that no one else gets taken. And then get the aliens to stop terrorising everyone. Right?' said Nick.

'This is a transition period, Nick. They're always tough,' said Figgy, waddling over with the tray. 'Before the Wave, I was responsible for helping to keep the country running while governments came and went. And I learned that a transition period doesn't give you much of a clue about events in the long run.'

'What does that mean?' asked Nick.

'It means that we're smoothing the introduction of a totally new regime.'

'Wait, are you saying you're _accepting_ the aliens as the government now?' Nick boggled.

'Try not to frame this in negative terms, Nick. The aliens have a great deal to offer us. It's more like a business transaction than a...' Figgy paused.

'Than an invasion?' said Nick, still boggling.

'Exactly. More like a worldwide opportunity for growth,' said Figgy.

'But they're the bad guys!'

'Another thing I've learned Nick: there are no innately bad guys. It's up to us to decide who the bad guys are.'

'The bad guys are the ones turning brains into porridge! The ones who have everyone terrified!' said Nick, desperately.

'Nick, is there any need for such histrionics? You're fine, aren't you? Good citizens are fine. The world is running more smoothly than ever before. Wars have stopped. Domestic violence, child abuse, gang violence, they've all ended. Is that truly the actions of _bad_ guys?'

Nick felt spun. He'd assumed that he was pushing the narrative of doing what the aliens said because that was how to survive, not because humanity had surrendered. He tried to protest, but the words were a jumble in his mouth.

'Part of the problem is,' Figgy said smoothly over the top of him, 'that your understanding of the aliens is so limited. You see only punishment, not reward.'

'Reward?' said Nick, still angry.

'Come with me, Nick. I've got something spectacular to show you.'

Rosie was most at ease when she could sit in the mental fog. She knew that her presence upset others, and what she wanted most of all was to not upset anyone. That was incredibly important. It was all much easier when nobody was paying attention to her and she could just drift. These new classes, consisting only of sitting and staring, were perfect. She never felt bored, only relief at the nothingness.

She waited at the school gates at the end of the day, wondering if Natasha might walk back with her, but she wasn't around. She'd probably already gone, so Rosie began to walk home. A father pulled his two children behind him as she passed. One of them stuck his tongue out and the other hissed, 'Zombie!'

'Don't speak to it!' said the dad, and they hurried away. Rosie kept her head down. The last few days she'd been annoying people more than before. Her impulse was to grin constantly, but that often made things worse. So she kept her head turned to the ground, and fought the expression from her face. She couldn't remember how acting normal was supposed to work now. There was a blockage, like having a cold - her thoughts were bunged up. In the fog, she could feel the aliens, but that was okay. To make a decision was such a huge and impossible task. Having the shifting swarm of these other beings around, she felt less lost.

She continued past a woman trapped in the wall of a house. The woman's face was sunk out of sight and only her hands and one foot waggled free of the brickwork. Rosie stared for a moment, then kept walking. Reaching the main road, she could hear the vigilantes telling everyone to smile and she looked up, because this was something she could do. She let the grin stretch her face like it wanted to and she beamed around the street. The two vigilantes closest to her wandered over, grinning in response.

Their grins were odd, almost like snarls, but Rosie knew people couldn't help how their faces looked. One of the men was pale and spoke through his nose. The other was bigger and posher and walked close to her.

'Hello there,' said the posher man. 'I'll bet you want to make me happy, don't you?' He said this tenderly, reaching forward to touch her hair. Rosie nodded. He was being much nicer than most. He wasn't angry with her.

'You're not going to bang it, are you, Henry? Is it even human?' said the pale man peering round him.

'It looks more human than that doll you've got,' Henry replied.

'She's not a doll! Her name's Hailey!' The pasty man seemed upset. Rosie thought he must be a loving person.

'Great. Could you give me a little space?' Henry said, flapping his friend away.

The man backed off grumbling, while Henry returned to Rosie.

'Now, where were we?'

The pale man called over his shoulder, 'I don't know why you're bothering to chat her up, it's not like she'll refuse.'

'Hmm? Good point,' said Henry nodding. 'Come on!' he said and grabbed Rosie's arm.

Rosie barely registered the sound of running footsteps until they were nearly on them and a girl's voice said, 'Hi!' very loudly.

'Hi Natasha,' said Rosie. Natasha had a strange expression on her face. She was smiling, but her eyes seemed to be growing and shrinking like a cartoon, and she was standing very close.

'Hi Rosie, how about we get some ice-cream?' said Natasha, enunciating each word.

'This man wanted me to go somewhere with him,' explained Rosie.

Natasha spoke through her teeth with her head at an angle, like it was cricked.

'That's okay. He wants you to come with me now,' she turned to Henry. 'Don't you?'

'You need to fuck off,' said Henry.

'She's fourteen and there are still laws!' said Natasha, snarling.

'I _am_ the law,' said Henry, making himself big.

'And my dad is Nickster and I'll get him to make a video about you and everyone will know you're a paedo,' said Natasha. Henry took a step back and Natasha guided Rosie away.

'You've got to be careful with those guys,' she said. 'They're trouble.'

'But he said I could make him happy,' explained Rosie. Natasha looked at her then looked straight ahead for a moment and through clenched teeth she said, 'Just avoid them, okay? That will make _me_ happy.'

'Okay!' said Rosie.

Rosie liked Natasha's house. It was uncomplicated and she didn't annoy anyone there apart from Natasha. There wasn't any ice-cream though. Natasha explained at length that there were chocolate biscuits because Nick was stashing tasty snacks around the house, but that she was refusing to eat them out of protest. It made Rosie nervous, because Natasha was being too aggressive, and Rosie wanted to say something but was scared of upsetting her more. Then Alexa spoke instead.

'Let the calm wash around you like a stream,' Alexa said.

'Oh, sod off!' said Natasha. Then she added excitedly, 'Hey Rosie! You want to see something brilliant?'

'I don't know,' said Rosie, but Natasha wasn't listening. Instead, she glared at Alexa and called her a 'twisted A.I. freakshow bastard' and pushed her thumb into the casing. It sank right in and rippled as she pulled it back out. Natasha looked at Rosie triumphantly, then scowled because Rosie had backed away. Because it was the Wave, and nobody should play with the Wave.

'Oh, for Christ's sake,' said Natasha then got some cornflakes out of the cupboard. Before the aliens, Rosie used to think that Natasha was a bit whiny, but every day now she got louder and brasher, as if nothing scared her. And that wasn't good. The aliens didn't like that.

The cornflakes bag was paper and as Natasha tipped it, the bag split, spilling flakes across the counter. Natasha gestured at them and said, exasperated, 'But plastics are _useful_! You can't just get rid of them!'

Then Natasha froze and the expression fell off her face. Rosie panicked for a moment. Was this a new type of alien attack? Natasha dropped the split bag on the counter, making more mess, and clapped her hands together saying, 'I've figured it! I'm a genius!' Rosie backed away and ran up the stairs. She didn't want to know. They weren't supposed to figure things; they were supposed to be nice and accepting.

She hoped that upstairs she might find a sink and wash her hands. She liked washing her hands. It made them smell good. Sometimes there were interesting smelling soaps to use. As she opened each of the doors along the landing, she could hear a buzzing sound coming from Natasha's room and what sounded like Moe's voice said, 'I did it Tash. I got the bastard.' Rosie was intending to tell Natasha about this, but by the time she'd got downstairs, she'd forgotten.

Nick followed Figgy into the room with no clue what to expect. Would it be filled with little green men sipping tea? Instead, the room they entered contained floor-to-ceiling metal boxes with wires and dials. It wasn't possible to see further than a few feet.

'I didn't think they made computers like this anymore,' said Nick, peering in.

'They don't,' said Figgy, stepping into a small corridor between the boxes. 'This room was left unused for years. I guess somebody thought one day these might be worth something. Then the Wave happened, and the room came back to life.'

'Life?'

'Not like any life we knew, of course. You've seen how the aliens can inhabit just about anything, but some spaces they seem to like more than others. And this room they're very fond of.' Nick took a step back.

'What do they do here?' he asked nervously.

'Nothing you need to be afraid of. Put your hand on the wall, anywhere you like,' said Figgy. Nick warily leaned his hand against the smooth metal of the computer nearest to him. Instantly his fingers started to sink. He drew away in panic. 'It's okay,' said Figgy. 'Look.' And Figgy pressed his own hand against the surface and allowed it to fall in until it was submerged up to the wrist. 'We call it sinking. It's perfectly safe.'

'That doesn't hurt?' asked Nick. The words tumbled out over his disbelief, but the grin that spread across Figgy's face answered the question for him. This was not the empty smile of the Taken, it was pure happiness. 'And it's safe?' asked Nick. 'I won't get stuck?'

'As long as a part of you stays out, you'll be fine. Just don't totally submerge.'

Nick pressed his hand against the metal again. As the computer closed around his fingers, he felt a surge of rightness. All of life made sense. He was clever and everybody loved him.

'That's brilliant!' he said, lifting his hand, then plunging it back in. 'We need to give this to everyone! No one would ever be violent again.' Figgy gently pulled Nick's arm out of the wall.

'Sadly, the world isn't quite ready for this yet, Nick. Soon it will be. Right now, it's for you to enjoy, but to keep to yourself.'

Figgy led him through the computers to the back of the room, where there were seven men. One sat with his legs submerged up to his thighs in the wall. Another was stood, one arm stretched into a computer. Each was in some way sunk, and each looked blissfully happy.

Nick went home giggly with joy and with another box full of foodstuffs that no longer appeared in the shops. He decided to stop hiding the food and burst in through the front door.

'Tash! Tash! Look what I got!' he shouted. Natasha ran into the kitchen where he had plonked the box on the counter.

'Woah! Where did you get all that?' Natasha picked through the box. 'Chocolate digestives?' she said excitedly. Then she stopped, a packet of Quavers in her hand. 'Why did they give you all this? What did they make you do?'

'Tash, it's all fine. I understand it now. We've been looking at it all wrong. The aliens aren't bad, they're helping us.'

'What are you on about? Of course, they're bad!' she peered closer at him, then recoiled. 'You're stoned! You fuckwit!' shouted Natasha, thumping the counter. It wobbled like semolina and she threw the Quavers at it and ran from the room. Nick had no desire to chase after her. Instead, he sat down and stared at the box of goodies, with an odd emotional mix of desolation, indignation and inappropriate glee.

Any doubt Natasha had about escaping Icking and worrying Nick vanished that evening. She tried calling Moe to vent, but all she got was humming. Instead, she spent the evening playing with the Wave. She summoned it with only a moment's worth of emotion. She drew out a tendril from the wall with a pointed finger and a heart full of rage. She made the tendril dance and curl. And then with a deep breath her emotions settled, and the tendril was sucked back in leaving the wallpaper flat, with only a slight break in the pattern to give a clue of what she'd done.

The next morning, Natasha went downstairs warily. She no longer trusted Nick but didn't want him to know that, so she faked it. She smiled. She scoffed at his jokes as normal and tried to find the balance of dry sarcasm and actual dislike. Then she left as soon as possible. The cul-de-sac was too quiet. She could hear her footsteps echo and didn't like it. A mum and two kids emerged from the house a few doors away and Natasha was about to say hello but instead the three rushed along the street, heads down as if hurrying from the rain.

As Natasha approached the main road, she could hear a toddler crying. Not simply a stroppy wail, but a horrified screech that had continued on long enough to become a rasp. Natasha felt dread. It seeped right through her. She could see further down the street that there was a young mother crouched in the road and two vigilantes moving towards them. Natasha swerved to the far pavement, glancing over to see what was happening.

She could now see that a toddler was poked half out of the ground. The concrete had filled in around his waist. _The Wave traps babies now?_ She hurried on, not wanting to know.

Once at school, she was herded to a class of mashed students, each of them sat staring into space, disconnected. Her only interaction was when Jaali burst into the room while the teacher was away, put a note on her desk and ran out again. She opened it. It said _We leave tonight! Meet by the clock. 2am._ Her heart did a quick jog in her chest. Finally, she was getting out of Icking. She was defying the aliens, and she was doing it all with Darek. She spent the rest of the day chewing her nails.

Chapter Twenty-Two

When the alarm went off at 1am, it woke Natasha from a muddy dream that tried to suck her back in. Dragging herself from her bed was a fight. She picked up her radio and tapped it, the quiet way she and Moe had agreed to communicate. An _Are you awake?_ exchange. A buzz-wrapped tap replied, _Yes_.

'Do you want me to sing a song?' said Alexa, loudly.

'Quiet Alexa!' Natasha hissed.

'Do you want me to make a noise like a bee?' she asked.

'Shut up!' whispered Natasha. She went to unplug the socket, but as her finger reached out it sank completely into the wall. The plug could no longer be seen or removed. Natasha stared.

'I hope you're not doing anything stupid!' said Alexa loudly. Deciding now was not the time to worry about this, Natasha picked up her duvet and rolled Alexa up in it. She could faintly hear singing, but it wouldn't be loud enough to wake Nick. She picked up her bag of supplies: cheese sandwiches and apples, a spare jumper and a toothbrush. She took her phone in the hope it would work outside the village, and a road map of Britain. Nick was grumbling in his sleep, but otherwise the night was silent. Easing open the back door, she lifted it with her foot to stop it creaking.

The night was cold but well lit by the moon, and Natasha walked quickly to warm herself up. Icking felt unfamiliar now. The ground could rise up and swallow her and no one would know until she returned, blank-faced and smiling. Moe was already waiting at the meeting point, and Natasha gave her an enthusiastic hug. They hopped about to keep warm.

'Oh my God, I'm glad to see you!' said Natasha, then quickly threw in a 'Turd!'

'Hi, chutney,' said Moe.

'Chutney's not an insult!'

'Depends what the chutney is made of,' said Moe.

'Hmm. How's everything with your dad?' Natasha asked.

'Fine,' said Moe, looking off down the road. 'Didn't you hear my radio call the other day?'

'No, sorry. I must've been downstairs. Did something happen?'

'I'll tell you later.' Then with a sly smile, she asked, 'You excited to be running away with Darek?'

'No!' said Natasha, then turned her back as she felt her face flushing red. She wondered how such a ridiculous trait had survived natural selection.

'Don't worry, it's probably destiny,' said Moe. 'Give it time and you can sit and brood together.'

'Shut up!' whined Natasha.

Moe was annoyingly unaffected by crushes, so Natasha couldn't mock her in return. She settled for chasing her round the lamppost, gently prodding her jacket instead.

The others arrived just as Natasha and Moe had collapsed in a giggling heap, quickly pulling themselves up to look ready for revolution. Jaali looked almost enthusiastic, Walter looked a bit sneery, and Darek serious. Everyone was as they should be.

The small gang huddled together under the streetlight, hands in pockets, hunched in their coats.

'Do we have a plan?' asked Natasha.

'We head out for the main road, and then towards Brighton,' said Darek, gesturing towards the road with his chin.

'Can we make it that far?' said Jaali. 'I don't think I've brought enough crisps.'

'Don't know, but the closer we get to a city, the more likely we'll find people who haven't given in. We can share knowledge.'

'And you know the route? Because our phones aren't going to tell us,' said Moe.

'Pretty much. Once we get to the A27, it's just one road most of the way,' explained Darek.

'Great, let's get going!' said Natasha cheerfully. Darek gave her a hard stare.

'Remember, Tash, this could be dangerous. We need to be careful,' he said.

'I don't see why,' said Moe. 'I mean there's never anybody about at this time of night.'

'The sane aren't out,' said Darek, 'but there are plenty of others. I know these streets at night. They aren't as peaceful as you think.'

'But nobody can hurt us,' said Moe.

'It's not as simple as that,' said Darek, ominously, and he began to walk down the road. The others followed, Moe putting her arm through Natasha's and giving her a wink. They were quiet for several minutes, then Jaali spoke.

'I think the Wave is changing,' he said.

'Changing how?' asked Natasha.

'A friend of my dad's got his hand sunk in the car door, just for slamming it. He was stuck there for three hours until they cut him out. And he had bits of metal all fused with his skin. He's going to need skin grafts.'

'Ew!' said Moe. 'You might be right. My brother saw this guy leaning on a lamppost, when he fell right into it. He was a bit drunk, but he wasn't violent, and he ended up with this post sticking out of his stomach, like he was impaled.'

'A new phase in the takeover,' said Darek, grimly.

'What does it mean?' asked Natasha, but nobody knew, so they walked in silence.

Then Moe said, 'I'm getting hungry.'

'We've got chocolate fudge, I packed some,' said Natasha, reaching into her bag.

'What? Where'd you get that?' said Jaali.

'I don't know. My dad must have got hold of it.'

'Friends in high places, eh?' said Moe, as Natasha handed the bag around.

'Yeah yeah. And I've worked out what the aliens want!' said Natasha.

'Seriously?' said Moe, and they all stopped to look at her. Except for Jaali who was still distracted by the fudge.

'I think so. It's plastic,' said Natasha.

'What makes you say that?' asked Walter, confused.

'Ohhh,' said Jaali. 'That's why all the packaging has turned to paper.'

'Precisely,' said Natasha, smugly. She looked at Darek who was frowning.

'And in the rubbish? There wasn't any, was there?' he said.

'Precisely,' said Natasha again. 'And since when did a big pile of rubbish not have any plastic?'

'In your dad's video someone said the plastics got separated out,' said Moe.

'Why are you watching my dad's videos?' asked Natasha, with a hint of irritation. Moe stuck out her tongue.

'My dad works in a plastic factory,' said Jaali. 'I wondered why he still had a job when all the packaging is paper now.'

'That's brilliant,' said Darek. 'We have to work out how to use it.'

'We could bribe them,' Natasha said, then stood very still. 'Listen.' They all stopped, somewhere near was muffled shouting.

'It sounds like it's coming from the side of that building,' said Walter.

'We should leave it,' said Darek.

'It could be someone who needs help,' said Natasha.

'Yeah, we'll just check what's going on, that's all,' said Moe. She and Natasha were already walking along the wall that ran around the side of the house.

'We shouldn't be getting involved,' said Darek, but nobody was listening.

'Shit,' said Moe looking up at the side of the building. About ten feet up, a man was half in, half out of the brickwork. One leg, one arm and part of his face were submerged into the wall. The other arm and leg dangled free, the free hand clutching at the air, the free foot kicking below him. His eyes were bugging out of his head, red and wretched.

'What happened,' Natasha shouted up.

'I didn't do anything!' said the man, his voice distorted because part of his mouth was trapped. Natasha could hear his teeth scraping against brick. The sound made her cringe.

'How the Hell did you get up there anyway?' asked Moe.

'The wall dragged me,' slurred the man.

'Since when did the Wave drag people?' asked Natasha.

'I said it was changing,' said Jaali.

'You need to be calm,' Natasha shouted up to the trapped man. 'The Wave responds to emotion. Try to think about calming things.'

'That's not very likely,' said Moe.

'Just try,' Natasha called up. 'Imagine an ocean. Or a forest!'

'Or a big slice of cake!' Jaali said.

'My, this is lovely!' said a cheerful, warm voice behind them. They turned to see that a group of four men had crept up on rubber soles. Three of them were large and hulking, but the one who had spoken, who stood as a leader, was scrawny. He smiled, a gentle, empathetic smile, as if caring was his thing.

'Hi,' said Natasha. 'We were just helping this man.'

'Oh dear,' said the scrawny ringleader. 'Has he become trapped? The poor lad. And what are you lovely children wanting to do about that?' He took a step towards them, and Darek, who stood slightly apart from the others, also took a step forward.

'Tash knows how to stop the Wave working,' said Moe.

'Quiet,' said Darek, a warning in his voice.

'Oh, come now,' said the leader. 'No need for quiet. It sounds like Tash is awfully clever.' His voice had stayed friendly, but there was something disturbing about him. They all felt it.

'It's not clever, it's just something I -' Natasha stopped when Darek put a hand on her arm and squeezed. She looked at him and alarm was written all over his face.

'We should be getting on now,' said Darek. 'Getting home.'

'Home?' asked the scrawny man. He seemed to be the only one of the four speaking. The other three stood as bulky shadows, blocking out their view of the street. 'I wonder why you're out in the first place. It's pretty late, you know?' he said the question like a cheeky criticism, as if he was speaking to small children. He took another step forward as he did so and was now less than a foot away from Moe. The hulks behind him also stepped forward.

'You can't do anything to us,' said Jaali. 'You're not allowed.'

'Why would I want to do anything to you?' the man said in mock dismay. 'We're all friends here, aren't we?' He leaned over to Jaali. 'I feel like we have a real connection, don't you? Ooh, what have you got there? Fudge?'

'No,' said Jaali.

'Lovely!' The man plucked the paper bag from Jaali's hands. 'How wonderful! Real fudge!' he said and ate a piece.

'That's mine,' protested Jaali, reaching out to the bag.

'Is it, dear boy? Is it really?' And the man began to throw the fudge into the air like confetti. 'Oh! Look at it fall! So pretty!' The bag was soon empty, and he screwed it up and handed it back to Jaali.

'Now, what other things can we play with?'

In a voice so low, it could barely be heard, Darek said, 'Get ready to scatter.'

'Oh,' said the scrawny man, taking another step forward and tugging at a piece of Moe's hair. 'Aren't you a delightful thing?'

'Run!' shouted Darek. Natasha hesitated, then grabbed Moe's hand. Moe had become frozen by the attention, and Natasha had to put another arm around her shoulders and pull.

The scrawny man and one of his heavies gave chase to Natasha and Moe as they dashed across the road. Natasha fell behind and crumpled as a stitch quickly spiked her side, but Moe grabbed her hand and pulled her on, into someone's garden and down the narrow path at the side of the house. There was no light and they had to fumble their way awkwardly around a large hose reel, catching ankles and stubbing knees. Natasha dragged the reel to the centre of the path, then kicked over a watering can and moved a plant pot to block the way. As they made it into the back garden they heard the thumping, yelping, crashing of the men tripping over. Moe and Natasha ran across the grass, around the other side of the house and out onto the road again. With the few extra minutes they'd gained, they were able to get out of sight down a side road. They ducked down two more roads and an alleyway, and then hid, gasping for breath behind the bins in the recycling centre. It smelt and Natasha was sure she could hear mice, but she kept still.

'You okay?' whispered Natasha. Moe nodded. After a minute of silence, Moe peered around the side of the bins. The streets were empty.

'It's clear. I think they went the other way,' said Moe.

'But now what? We've lost the others,' said Natasha.

'We know where they're heading, right? The A27. So we can go that way too,' said Moe, glancing around.

'Okay, and you know where that is?'

'I was hoping you would,' said Moe.

'We should get back on the road we were on before, right? With the half-eaten man,' said Natasha, stepping out from behind the bins and wishing her phone did more than tell the time.

'I can't hear him now,' said Moe. The two walked, retracing what they hoped was their steps, but kept turning out to be an unfamiliar road that took them further into the land of lost.

'My dad always said I needed to work on my sense of direction,' said Natasha.

'Can you hear something?' asked Moe, touching her arm. Natasha listened. She could hear a distant truck rumbling past, a cat yowling, and a high-pitched whistle.

'Is that a dog whistle?' asked Natasha.

'We wouldn't be able to hear it if it was. It must be something else,' said Moe. 'Let's find it.'

'It could be trouble.'

'We've already got trouble. We don't know where we are. Let's find the noise.' Natasha still hesitated, so Moe added, 'Or we can wander around in circles until morning.'

So they headed for the noise, zigzagging across the street, running from shadow to shadow in case the vigilantes returned.

'It's coming from in there,' said Moe, pointing down a pitch-black alleyway.

'You want us to go down that?' asked Natasha incredulously, as they edged nervously towards the alley. Without any better ideas, they set their phones to torch. Just as they took a first step into the darkness, Darek stepped out like a phantom. Natasha had to swallow a scream and nearly choked.

'Hi!' he said, quickly followed by Walter and Jaali.

'Oh my days!' exclaimed Moe. They exchanged excited hugs, slurs and escape stories in low voices.

'What was the noise? How did you do that?' asked Moe.

Jaali held up a keyring. 'It plays a noise only kids can hear. I figured it would be useful. Sorry I didn't tell you about it before.'

'Those guys,' said Moe. 'They weren't the kind of dumb thugs you get in the high street.'

'They were,' said Darek, 'but dumb thugs with training. Like you, Natasha. They've found they can do whatever they want, so long as their aggression is suppressed.'

'So if we stay super nice, then it doesn't matter what we do?' asked Walter.

'Not sure,' said Natasha. 'There must be limits.'

'Right, from now on, we all stay sweet and cheerful,' said Darek.

'And then run like heck,' added Jaali.

The journey continued, with only small incidents to interrupt them. They discovered a pack of dogs hiding in an underpass, and they hid from a police patrol car. Conversations ambled from what they'd do once they got to Brighton to how the Wave should be used to fix potholes. Plus a verbal simulation of Grand Theft Auto, where they took turns inventing mayhem and driving disasters for each other, careful not to get too over-excited as they spoke.

When they got to the edge of town, they reached the police blockade, the barrier that ensured all Icking residents stayed in Icking. Huge free-standing fences stretched across the road, with police cars waiting on the other side. The five dropped down low.

'What I don't get is why they don't want us to leave Icking,' said Jaali. 'What difference does it make?'

'Divide and conquer,' said Darek. 'The police are just doing what the aliens want now.'

'More importantly,' said Moe, 'what now?'

'The barricade is only on the road. We climb over that fence and into the field. We'll creep past them that way. Remember, they can't hurt us.'

'Why not just walk through them then?' said Walter.

'Because if they stand in our way, we'd have to shove them, and the Wave would get us,' said Natasha.

The police weren't paying much attention, but even so, the friends walked back to a shadier part of the street around a corner, and crept across the road to the fence.

'It's just one wire,' said Tash. 'That's easy to cross, isn't it?' She put her hand on it to push it down and waved to the others to climb over. Then a jolt of electricity punched her arm and she fell backwards. Moe grabbed her.

'It's electric, you doofus!' she said. Natasha held onto Moe and carefully lifted up her foot and stepped over. Moe followed and was straddled either side of the fence when a light flashed across the sky. She fell to the ground making small yelping noises. The others jumped over quickly after her, as the light stopped.

'Was that the police? Did they see us?' whispered Natasha from where she was crouched. Darek shook his head.

'We're clear. You okay Moe?' he said. Moe whimpered, but nodded.

They walked across the field, through wet grass and vicious insects. Even when they weren't being bitten by midges, they thought they were. Within a few minutes, they'd passed the police barricade and exchanged proud grins in the dark. Jaali and Walter gave each other a small high-five. They kept on walking.

Natasha checked her phone: still no signal. She tried holding it up, but no bars showed. She shook her head, hoping that the blackout was only in Icking.

'Yeah, nothing on mine either,' muttered Moe.

Then from behind them came a thunk and a huge bright light switched on. A voice said, 'You are trespassing! Turn back!'

'Shit,' whispered Moe.

'No!' shouted back Darek.

'Don't talk to them!' hissed Moe. Walter began to creep towards the trees, away from his friends.

'We need to do what they say,' said Natasha.

'Or what? They can't do anything now we're past them.' The light was moving towards them across the grass, the voice getting louder and blasting at them from several points around the field.

'Go home!'

'Shan't!' shouted back Darek. Then to his friends he said, 'Run!' There wasn't time to argue. They all held hands and pelted their way through the snagging grass. Except for Walter who'd nearly reached a tree to hide behind.

Searchlights were still flashing across the sky. The sign _You are now leaving Icking_ was up ahead. They were going to make it. They would soon be on the road to Brighton. And they would do it together. Despite the lumpiness of the grass and the burning of cold air in their lungs, they felt excited and light. Unstoppable.

Then Natasha heard a pop, and Moe was tugged back from her, her fingers grabbing then slipping away. She turned to see Moe swept backwards in a cloud of white, her hands reaching out and her face terrified. Darek grabbed Natasha round the waist and dragged her to a tree. There was another pop and she saw Walter dodge to the side, just missed by a huge white blob that fell to the ground and oozed across the grass.

'What is it?' she shouted, terrified by the oddness of what she was seeing. Jaali had fallen into the grass. One of the policemen walked towards him. She saw now he held a huge gun, like a cartoon blunderbuss. She screamed as he pointed it at Jaali and the popping sound echoed around the field. Jaali shuddered then disappeared into another white cloud, swamped by it, his hands poking out. Walter was wailing from behind a tree.

'It wasn't me, they made me do it, I didn't want to do it, it wasn't me,' the words babbling out of him without control. The blunderbuss was raised once again. Natasha suddenly didn't care. If her friends were dead she wanted to be dead too. She walked out. Darek tried to yank her arm back, but she ignored him. There was a huge popping sound and she was lifted off her feet.

For a moment she thought she was spinning, and then realised that was only her panic. Instead, she was completely still. Something soft clung to her then quickly became solid, like cooling meringue. There was no pain. She tried to move her arms and there was a tiny amount of give. Her legs wobbled slightly and she could breathe, but that was it. She dimly heard another pop, then gave up the struggle and sank into the giant white blob, like a fly trapped in jelly.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Natasha had barely spoken since being released from the expanding foam. They were immediately bundled into five different police cars and driven away. Natasha was interrogated, but it was half-hearted, mocking almost, as if nobody believed she could pose any threat and her attempts to escape were laughable.

'What did you think you were going to do?' asked an officer at one point, while leaning on the desk with one hand and rubbing his eyebrow with his other.

'We just wanted to know what's happening in the rest of the world,' said Natasha, believing they were strong words. But the officer laughed.

'Missing Facebook, are you? I don't know. With you kids, it's like you can't last five minutes without entertainment.' This hadn't been Natasha's point at all, and she retreated into sullenness. She was left sitting on a bench in the waiting room until Nick turned up. He barely looked at her, instead walked out of the station and let her follow.

The silence continued on the walk home. Natasha felt shrivelled and small scurrying along beside him. Normally Nick would slow to let her keep up, but instead he strode on without checking she was with him. They walked past the town hall, the local shops, and not a word was spoken. His shoes slapped against the ground and his head pushed forward like a rudder.

Close to the main road, they passed a disused school: a huge concrete square of a building surrounded by wire fencing. But something was wrong. Something was sticking from it, and moving. As they got closer, Natasha saw it was studded with bodies poking half out of the wall. Some hung limp; others wriggled around, their free arms waving, free feet kicking. They looked like flies on fly paper.

'What the Hell?' said Natasha. 'What's going on? That shouldn't happen. Dad?' Nick turned to her, looked up at the squirming bodies, then carried on moving. For a moment, she saw his face and he looked more vague than angry. As Natasha walked beside the building, legs waving above her, she felt sick, her toes curling up into her shoes so she almost fell over. Nick carried on to the High Street and Natasha stumbled after him.

The screens lining the street were now totally blank, and somehow this was more oppressive than the previous commands. One black rectangle after another, blank-faced sentries, waiting to spring into action. There were a few people around, careful to be smiling and polite to anyone they passed, walking stiffly. Vigilantes were no longer standing in groups of two but spread out on either side of the road so that no one could cross to avoid them. The sky was a cloud-strewn fluffy blue that didn't suit the mood at all, and Natasha was sure there were more birds than usual. She wanted to ask Nick and hurried to catch up with him, but he didn't slow.

Then one by one the blank screens flickered. Everyone in the street stopped as the PM's face appeared, smiling that hollow smile.

'We are disappointed!' he said, his brow clustered into a furrow as he spoke. Then he smiled. It was a facial dance that contained nothing human. This was the aliens speaking. 'We have given you chance after chance to learn. And how have you responded? With anger! With whining!

'The Wave has changed to confront this behaviour. From now on there will be no complaining. Complaining will incite the Wave. And it will continue until you learn. We cannot be stopped. We cannot be compromised. The only option is to change.'

The screen returned to blank. Nobody moved, even the vigilantes glanced around themselves unsure of what actions were safe. Then further up the street a man put his hands on his hips and began to shout at the screens.

'Oh, for Christ's -' His words were cut off as the wall gaped and stretched around him. He'd barely cried out before vanishing. Natasha held her mouth to stop the wail that threatened to burst out, and Nick put his arm around her. They both stared at the flat wall where the man should be. Then the same patch opened again. Like a cat bursting from a plastic bag, the man popped out with his mouth hanging wide, still halfway through the scream. Natasha pulled away from Nick and ran up to him.

'Are you okay?' she asked. He looked at her, eyes huge, rubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand as crumbs of brick fell away. Then he stumbled into a run. Natasha walked back to Nick. With painful effort she calmed the maelstrom in her head, put on a big smile and said cheerfully, 'They aren't even pretending now! They're going to destroy us! All of us!'

'Come on, let's get home,' said Nick, guiding her down the road.

Natasha sat watching TV with Nick that evening. Neither had said much, although Nick seemed inappropriately peaceful. He wasn't angry, or joking, just bumping about in happy nothingness like a daddy-long-legs in a draft. Natasha felt like she was sitting with a stranger, a barely human stranger. They watched sitcoms and cookery programs and he kept humming.

Nick now had her radio, but she needed to speak to Moe. She didn't know if her friends were okay, perhaps even mashed, and it made her stomach cramp. She kept making excuses to get up and go to the kitchen, but the pain didn't go.

The next day at school the regimented system continued, but this time Natasha had a plan. There was yet another test, and she spent the morning doodling pictures of happy, smiling faces and writing the words _Peace and love for everyone!_ across the pages.

Walking back from lunch, she passed Darek in the corridor. He was walking slowly, his face blank, and Natasha felt her heart twist. Then he gave her a barely perceptible nod, their eyes connecting for a moment, and she uncurled the claws her hands had made. The relief gave her the strength to get through the afternoon. Rosie was in her class again, staring at the front of the room, but occasionally she would look over at Natasha with exhausted eyes, her mouth lined from smiling too much.

At the end of the day, they walked back together.

'How are you, Rosie?' said Natasha.

'Fine,' said Rosie. Her voice had become clearer in the weeks since she was mashed. There wasn't the same lag before she answered. They walked together for a while in silence. Rosie was pleasantly easy to walk with - there was no awkwardness, no struggle to come up with conversation topics. When Natasha finally spoke as they hit the main road, it was because a plan was forming.

'What do you think about when we're in class?' she asked.

'I like to drift. It's nice,' said Rosie.

'Can you sense the aliens when you do that?'

Around them, civilians were attacking the floor with metal scrapers, attempting to remove chewing gum. As they walked past, a few looked up, glad of the excuse to pause and look grumpy for a minute. Nobody complained. Nobody dared. Rosie stared at Natasha and Natasha could see the cogs turning.

The aliens are everywhere,' explained Rosie. 'I can always sense them.'

'Yeah, but when you drift, you get closer to them?'

'I can feel them seeping up from the ground,' said Rosie and stopped, staring at her feet. Then she carried on walking.

'Seeping how?' asked Natasha. But before Rosie could answer, there was a shout.

'Hey!' said a man wearing a jacket with smiley faces on the lapels. He was storming towards them with a face full of hatred. 'Hey you!'

Natasha hadn't seen him before, but he had the unmistakable aura of self-assured meanness that all vigilantes had. He reached them and stood with his arms hanging out of his shoulders like an ape. His pale blue eyes were bloodshot, and his collar chafed his neck as it bulged with suppressed anger.

'What?' said Natasha.

'Not you,' said the man, waving a hand. 'I'm talking to the zombie freak. Why don't you get out of here, weirdo!' he snarled.

'We're just walking!' said Natasha.

'We don't need types like her. We'd all be better off if the aliens just dumped the lot of them in space. Bloody scroungers.'

'That doesn't even make sense!' said Natasha. Rosie had backed towards the wall. She was smiling desperately, the mouth stretched, the eyes terrified. Natasha grabbed her hand and pulled her away.

'Ignore him. He can't do anything,' said Natasha.

'Yeah, you reckon?' he sneered, as they walked away, fighting the urge to run.

'Come on back to mine,' said Natasha. 'We'll find something to watch,' and Rosie nodded.

Once they had turned a corner, Natasha whispered, 'You okay?'

Rosie nodded and returned to placidity. Natasha wasn't sure if this meant she was okay, or just hiding her feelings. Either way, she had more important things to think through, and she needed Rosie to be focused.

Once they got back to the house, and ice-cream had been picked out and eaten, they sat at the kitchen table and she said, 'You remember before, when you tapped into the aliens? Do you reckon we could do that again?'

'Why?'

'I want to try something. You up for it?'

Rosie gave the closest to a frown that she had shown since the Wave. 'I don't think we should. You can't manipulate them.'

'Trust me. If anything happens, we'll stop. I promise.'

'But that'll be too late.'

'We'll take it slow. Please Rosie, this is important to me. And...' Natasha paused, her conscience tweaking. She ignored it. 'You were nasty to me before, remember? Don't you want to make that up to me?' Natasha looked at her with huge sad eyes. Rosie nodded and said okay. Natasha didn't wait for her to change her mind. 'So shut your eyes and imagine they're here with you, the aliens are right with you.' Then she flicked through her phone, looking for the noise of planets file. She turned the sound down. The rushing, moaning static began and Rosie looked up, the smile fell off her face and she stared at Natasha. Her eyes dark and intense as the pupils expanded.

'Rosie?' said Natasha. 'What's going on?'

Rosie didn't say anything, but with calm, considered movements, she stood up. Natasha hadn't seen her move with such certainty since before the Wave, and she flinched away, but Rosie was moving away from her. Step by slow, deliberate step until she stood a metre away, staring at Natasha. She had a stillness so perfect she looked frozen in time. Natasha could barely breathe. It seemed at any moment this inhuman thing would fly at her. She slipped off her stool and took a few steps back and one to the side. Rosie gradually turned her head and took one step closer, then another. The movements of a sloth, but without the huggability. Once she was again a metre away, she stopped and stared. Natasha felt she was being sucked into those eyes, falling apart. She moved again, three steps back, and Rosie followed once more. The freakish dance continued for a few more steps, then Natasha tried to shut down the file, those fathomless eyes sucking her in. The crack across the screen was obscuring the stop button, and it took four increasingly panicked stabs of her finger to silence the noise. The moment it ceased, Rosie's smile returned, but there was terror in her eyes.

'Are you okay?' Natasha asked.

'No! Why would you do that?'

'Do what? What happened?' asked Natasha, but Rosie just stared in return. Then finally she said, 'You've got to stop playing games.'

Nick got home and chased the two girls upstairs, pretending to be grumpy.

'Yes, have your friend stay over, just give me a bit of peace!' he said. Then wedged the sofa under the lounge door handle. He couldn't help smirking and hoped Natasha hadn't seen it. He and Becky B weren't able to sink into the walls in the same room, or even the same continent. So they made an arrangement to each go to their usual alien rooms, spend time in pure bliss and then contact each other afterwards. Now all he wanted was to stop pretending to be normal and snuggle into his own skin while talking to someone else doing the same.

Becky had on a tiger onesie and had painted her fingernails silver to look like claws. Nick was in his comfortable jumper that had a few holes, but he didn't even care. He said so, and Becky answered with her voice drawling so it sounded like it was twisting out of her face and through the screen.

'You look like a teddy-bear!' she said.

'I know!' said Nick. And they spent two minutes chuckling and smiling at each other. Then Nick stared into the screen, trying to be serious.

'It makes me so sad that the whole world is in turmoil. If only we could give them this feeling.' He raised his hands to gesture his sadness, but the sensation was so satisfying he turned it into a stretch. 'I don't understand why we can't. Wouldn't it help? Stop people getting angry?'

'Don't you like that it's ours, though? You've got all those saps going crazy and we've got our delicious secret,' purred Becky.

'Well, yeah, but that's not a reason not to share it.'

'The reason,' Becky's voice drifted away while she stretched back like a cat asking for a tummy rub but preparing to bite. 'The reason is: before the aliens give humanity the bliss, they need to weed out the bad. I mean you can't make a tasty lasagne with rotten meat.'

'Not everyone mashed is rotten,' said Nick.

'Aw, Nick, you're such a honey. You always want to believe the best of people.'

'So why can _you_ see that, but Tash is so sure I'm a terrible person?' said Nick.

'That's kids for you. Whatever you do it will be wrong.'

Nick sighed and rolled over onto his back to look at the ceiling. 'Yeah, but they're still worth it, right?' he said, thinking of little Natasha when she'd toddle around the kitchen with a sticky face.

'Sure. Bundles of joy. But they'll suck you dry if you let them. Take it from me, they're like ticks. They latch on with their little jaws and get bigger and fatter, while you waste away.'

Nick laughed nervously and looked at the screen again.

'Oh babe!' said Becky. 'Don't take me seriously. Things round here have been mad and it's good to get some vitriol out of my system.'

Nick smiled and snuggled back into the after-effects of the sinking.

Natasha carried spare blankets into her bedroom where Rosie was waiting.

'I can make you a bed in the spare room,' she said. 'Dad won't mind.'

'It's okay. I don't sleep lying down,' said Rosie.

'What?'

'I'll just stand here,' said Rosie, moving to the corner of room and shutting her eyes.

'You can't sleep standing up!' said Natasha, but Rosie didn't reply. Her breathing had already slowed. Not sure what else to do, Natasha got into bed. She spent a long time staring at Rosie. Eventually she drifted into sleep. Her dreams were angry again. She dreamt that she was pounding on a huge wooden door, demanding to be let in. The more she pounded, the weaker the door became, until she found her whole fist pushing through the knots in the wood. She thought, _Well this is one way to get inside_ , and then hands were yanking her back as she struggled to escape, choking. The pillow was not only in her mouth, but part of it - as if skin had become cloth, cotton blocking her throat. She scrabbled wildly, desperately clawing to free her tongue, to untangle her arms, the material woven through the flesh. Finally free, she leapt across the room, gasping, coughing up threads. Rosie stood looking at her, and now she understood who the hands had belonged to and that without Rosie she would have been mashed.

'I was dreaming!' she said. 'I wasn't being violent! I was dreaming! That's not fair!'

Chapter Twenty-Four

Natasha didn't sleep after that. She sat on the floor, her mind working furiously. She could no longer convince herself she had time, that so long as she didn't punch anyone, she'd be alright. She felt doomed. And who knew how many others had been mashed in their dreams? Working out how to control the Wave, stay calm, meditate - it was all pointless. She spent the rest of the night plotting, working out her next move. In the morning, she handed small folded pieces of paper to Rosie with instructions to find the others: the Behind-the-buckets gang. This was too complicated to deal with alone. Rosie looked blank and confused but took them.

When Natasha went down to breakfast, Nick's face was soppy as he tried to joke with her.

'Cornflakes! The cereal of the future!'

'Grow up!' she snapped, and left. His face as the smile fell away would haunt her all day.

Natasha and Rosie took the long route to school, walking up on the cliff through the scrubland.

'Do you like sleeping standing up?' asked Natasha.

'It's okay,' said Rosie.

'Have you tried lying down?' asked Natasha.

'My mum told me to lie down one time, so I did,' said Rosie.

'And did you like it?'

'It was okay.'

Natasha had a think, then asked a question she'd wanted answered for a long time. 'Why didn't you like me before?' Rosie was silent and kept walking, so Natasha asked again, pulling at Rosie's arm gently to get her to stop, to look Natasha in the eye.

'You looked down on everyone,' said Rosie finally. 'You acted like we were all so stupid and you and your amazing dad were so great.' Rosie blurted the words out with something almost like emotion. Then her face blanked over again and the corners of her mouth stretched into a smile. 'I guess I was jealous,' she said.

'I didn't mean to,' said Natasha, but it made sense. After the seriousness of her mum dying, the concerns of a bunch of kids seemed trivial. They fussed over pointless details, over celebrities and Love Island. She _had_ looked down on them for that. 'It was a difficult time though. Didn't you see that? What I was going through?'

Rosie nodded and looked out to sea, not smiling.

'That was why it was so annoying. You had this real reason to be upset, this dramatic trauma. It was like it made a mockery of my misery. I was self-harming, but then your mum died. You totally undermined me.' She looked at Natasha and shrugged. 'I know that doesn't make much sense and isn't fair. I knew that then, and it made me more annoyed at you.'

Natasha nodded. She knew she should be angry \- all those months of suffering for a ridiculous reason - but she felt light, almost giggly. None of it had been her fault. Her social-outcastery wasn't because she was fundamentally unlovable. She was free of that. As they walked back down the hill to the school, Natasha saw Rosie's expression shut back down and the grin appear, her eyes empty. Natasha wondered if that meant anything.

When they got to school, Natasha didn't walk through the gates sullen and scared. Instead, she hooked her arm through Rosie's and smiled warmly at the teachers guarding the gate. The teachers were taken aback, but after a moment, they smiled too.

'Good morning, Tash,' said one.

'It _is_ a good morning,' said Natasha, and sauntered to the classroom. Rosie hadn't noticed anything unusual and sat down at her desk. Natasha was alarmed to see that the class was fuller than before. The Taken were increasing.

When a teacher brought round the test papers, Natasha took hers with a smile. It was another maths paper. Instead of desperately trying to work out the answers and writing them with increasing irritation - with crossings out and question marks, as she had with earlier papers - she wrote neatly. If she didn't know an answer, she made one up. She finished in half an hour and handed the paper in cheerfully. Twenty minutes later, she was given another paper, and this was the original questionnaire to determine how violent she was. She filled it out choosing 'never' every time, then she sat and hoped.

During what would be the lunchtime of other classes, Rosie excused herself and left the room, the folded pieces of paper in her hand. Nobody suspected a Taken of subterfuge, so no one questioned where she was going.

After lunch, Natasha was led to a small classroom with no proper windows. Two teachers sat behind a desk. One was Ms Ospreyland; Natasha didn't know the other.

'How do you feel about your time in these special classes? What have you learned about yourself?' asked the teacher she didn't know.

This was a nonsense question. What could she possibly have learned? Apart from how to lie. However, she smiled, arranged her hands neatly on her lap, and said, 'I've really grown as a person. I used to get angry sometimes, but now I see that the only way to be is nice. To spread love and kindness to everyone.' Natasha gave a larger smile and looked up sweetly.

'You've developed quite a friendship with Rosie, haven't you? What's that all about?' The question was asked harshly, and Natasha assumed she was being tested, to see if she'd snap. She didn't.

'Me and Rosie have had our problems, but it's so important to me that we can work through our differences from the past and grow as people.' Natasha realised she'd used the idea of growing as a person twice, but she couldn't go back now.

'Well, that's lovely,' said Ms Ospreyland. 'We've put your questionnaire through the algorithm and it says that your violent tendencies are all curbed now, so you're free to go back to your old class! Isn't that nice?' When Natasha left the room, the sides of her mouth hurt from smiling so much. She wondered how Rosie did it.

She was surprised to find the classroom wasn't so different from before. Science had been put on hold since the head of department had been mashed, but otherwise all was as it had been. However, Tarquin sat at the front of the class making notes on his clipboard, identifying potentially violent students. It was a job he loved. He had always sneered at authority in the past, and now Natasha saw that wasn't because he had a problem with the idea of hierarchy, but because he hadn't been at the top of it.

She was relieved to get out of class when the bell went for lunch and was almost skipping for joy that Rosie's mission might have worked.

She got to the space by the buckets, but it was empty. She sat down despairing, then heard a noise. 'Tash?' said a small voice, and she saw Jaali poking out from behind a pile of abandoned desks.

'Hi!' said Natasha, 'Why are you hiding?'

'I wasn't sure I could trust Rosie. I mean, she is one of them,' said Jaali.

'What about the others?' asked Natasha. Jaali held up the high-pitched squealing device, then leant round a wall and pressed the button. He came back and sat down, while Natasha covered her ears at the noise.

Around the corner came Moe and Darek. Natasha leapt onto them joyfully, as if years of war had kept them apart.

'Fuck face!'

'Nob cheese!'

'Self-identified pond scum!'

'Where's Walter?' she asked. Moe looked at Darek, who looked at the ground. It was Jaali who spoke. 'He's not one of us anymore,' he said sadly.

'What? You mean the Wave got him?' asked Natasha, her stomach dropping into her shoes.

'No, Tarquin and his pink clan.'

'Pink clan? I thought he hated pink,' said Natasha.

'He's teamed up with the Rebeccas and Katie,' said Moe. 'They're all _totes adorbs_ together now.'

'That's why we were so careful with you. We don't know what's safe anymore,' said Jaali.

'So,' said Darek. 'You said you had some urgent news. What's happened?'

Natasha explained how the Wave had nearly mashed her in her sleep.

'And it's not the first time. I've had dreams where I've woken up choking. Is it just me?' Moe and Darek shrugged, but then Jaali started speaking,

'I've had a recurring dream ever since my brother died, where I'm fighting with him.' Jaali's voice dropped low and he stared at his hands while he spoke. 'He died in Afghanistan. My therapist says it's because I'm fighting my sadness at losing him.'

'That's tough,' said Darek, putting his hand on Jaali's shoulder. Moe walked over and sat next to him, squeezing his arm.

'Anyway,' said Jaali, ignoring the sympathy. 'Sometimes, now, when I have that dream, I wake up choking like Natasha says. I thought it was just part of the dream.'

'This changes things, doesn't it?' said Moe. 'We can't control our dreams. If we don't find a way to escape the Wave, it could get all of us eventually.'

Suddenly Jaali sat up, alert, then he darted around the wall. He came back with panic in his eyes and whispered, 'Teachers! Scram!' They scattered. Natasha ran inside and ducked into the large storeroom of the old kitchen. A moment later the door opened and Darek ran in, a grin of adrenalin on his face. Natasha was trying to remember how to breathe and hoping her face did not show her shallow thoughts, which were pretty much repeating _Oh my God, he's right next to me, oh my God, oh my God._

'Are they still out there?' she whispered. He nodded. To stop herself from gazing at him longingly, she looked around the storeroom, which was lit only by a small, dingy window. It wasn't in use anymore, but a few items had been left. A huge sack of flour turned solid like cement, a few battered pots in a pile. Then in shock, Natasha said, 'The Wave's been in here!' She pointed at a crack in the wall. Halfway through it stopped and then started again an inch to the left. 'That's it, right?'

Darek looked at the other walls and said, 'Yes, here too.' He pointed to a discarded sack of rice. The words _Long Grain_ had been distorted, split and re-joined.

'Why would the Wave happen in here? Were there people in here?' In her confusion, she'd forgotten they were hiding and her voice got louder.

'I've seen this before. This isn't caused by violence. They've hung out here. The aliens, I mean.'

'What?' Natasha said, backing away from the walls. She imagined she could smell them and it turned her stomach. 'What do you mean _hung out_?'

There was a noise outside the storeroom. Voices saying, 'I'm sure I saw one go in here.'

Natasha looked at Darek in panic.

'Well, they shouldn't be in there,' said a voice outside.

'They only let me out today!' she whispered. Darek nodded.

'Hide behind the shelf. It'll be fine,' he said. 'Tonight, meet me at the multiplex, round the back, at 8pm. I'll show you.' Natasha was confused but moved to the back of the storeroom.

Then the door flung open and two impatient teachers stood outside.

'Exactly what do you think you're doing?' said one.

'Sorry, I got lost,' said Darek, without even trying to be convincing. He walked out and strode past the teachers, leaving Natasha safe and hidden behind him.

Nick was baking cookies when Natasha opened the front door.

'Hiya honey, you're home!' Nick shouted from the kitchen, as the comforting aroma of cinnamon and chocolate wafted from the kitchen.

She walked through to where Nick was poking a half-baked cookie with a spatula. She hugged his back and said, 'Is that an apron?' as she sat down.

'Yup. I found it under the sink. It might have belonged to Gran.'

'The frills are really working for you,' she said.

'I know!' he said. 'Friends?' He tipped his head.

'Yeah. We don't need to say it though,' said Natasha.

'Thank Christ. Because otherwise I've got thirty cookies to eat and this apron will only stretch so far.'

Natasha laughed, feeling weeks of tension dissipate. There was an unsettling wrongness to arguing with Nick, as if the ground was always shifting.

'Rosie not with you?' Nick asked, sitting at the table opposite.

'She wasn't around. Maybe she wanted some time alone. It must be tiring for her having to be around others, smiling so much.' Then Natasha paused and looked closer at Nick. 'Are you wearing foundation?'

'Just to even out my skin tone,' said Nick, then quickly switched the conversation. 'Sorry to hear about what happened to Moe. Is she okay?'

'Why? What's happened to her?'

'I heard the Wave took her dad, a few days ago. That's both her parents now, must be tough.'

Natasha tried frantically to remember every detail of the last few days. Had Moe tried to tell her? Had she seemed upset?

'You okay, noodle?' asked Nick.

'Dad? I really need to talk to Moe. Could I get my radio back?'

'You mean _my_ radio? But yes, okay.'

'Thanks Dad, you're the best!'

'I know!' said Nick cheerfully. 'But first, cookies,' he added, pushing the plate towards her.

Natasha was relieved to finally get up to her room and switch on the radio. She tapped at the aerial, willing Moe to have her radio still on and charged. It whirred and clicked and then Moe's voice came through,

'Hey bitch! What's up?' said Moe.

'Oh my God, ho'. I'm so glad to finally talk to you one on one!' They were running out of insults and had nowhere to look up more.

'Yeah, I've been lonely as shit,' said Moe.

'Your dad, I just heard about him. What happened? Is everything okay?'

'Yeah. No drama. He was bad and now he's gone. Or at least he's morphed into a vague grinning doll,' said Moe.

'Did you... was this you?' Natasha said, her words tripping over each other in their hurry to escape.

'Let's just say that karma has done its thing. Order is restored.'

'No! Let's say what happened!' said Natasha.

There was a pause, the radio buzzed softly.

'Yeah, it was me. It was about survival. He would have got me eventually.' Moe's voice sounded hollow and Natasha had to look at the ceiling to stop herself from crying. 'The way I did it was _so cool_ though! Like something out of a movie.'

'Right,' said Natasha. 'And you're alright now? You're fine with this?'

'Yeah. No. It is what it is. I'm not going to become a sociopath. I'm not going to have a nervous breakdown from guilt. Life will go on, right?' said Moe.

'I really hope so.'

'Enough with the gloom. You need to teach me how to get of that damn class,' said Moe. 'I'm done being pushed around. I've worked it out: surviving isn't about having some big battle, it's about understanding your situation and manipulating it to your advantage.'

Natasha was about to argue that Moe sounded cynical, but then she realised: it wasn't cynicism, it was reality. They couldn't get powerful, so they needed to get smart.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The multiplex was from before the mayor's time, but had suffered a similar fate to his other grand ideas. In such a small town, there hadn't been the interest to maintain the six-screen, surround-sound building. It had shut down over twenty years ago and now sat in the landscape gently rotting to itself. Nick had once taken Natasha there when she was young to look for ghosts. But it hadn't been the exciting, scary adventure he'd promised. Instead it seemed like a place where sadness and loss hovered in the corridors, seeping into the carpet.

Although the building was abandoned, she moved cautiously to see the double doors at the front. She saw the two armed soldiers at the same moment they saw her. She stood, mesmerised, and oddly found herself trying to remember the advice she'd read about dealing with bears. Should she run or stay still?

'What are you doing here?' shouted one of the soldiers, and it snapped her from her haze.

With innovation born of fear, she said, 'Le cine?' in her best French accent.

'She's just a dumb Spaniard,' said the other soldier.

The first waved his hand at her and sneered, 'No cine here! Go home! What's she even doing here anyway?' he said this last part to his colleague, who shrugged.

'Probably got left behind from a field trip. Go away!' he said louder. Natasha nodded and walked quickly away. As soon as she was out of sight, she turned back and crawled along behind the wall that ran the length of the multiplex.

The fire door was at the side of the building, slightly ajar, a broom handle wedged between the door and the frame.

She opened it wider, wincing at the creak. She waited, ready to run, and then stepped into the pitch black, hearing glass crunch under her feet.

'Hi, hog breath,' said Darek gently, and she jumped in panic. He chuckled and she prodded where she thought she could see him stood in the shadows, making contact with his jacket.

'You scared the life out of me!' hissed Natasha. 'And you're a toilet!'

'I didn't think you were scared of anything,' Darek said, and Natasha felt a glow of pride.

They began to walk down the corridor, the smell of damp and decay seeping out from the walls, wallpaper peeling down in strips of soggy colour.

'Nice place,' said Natasha.

'It gets worse,' said Darek grimly, and they continued in silence.

Along the corridors, the doors were warped so that they had to be forced open, creaking in complaint, a leaky pipe having swelled the wood. Paint had peeled from the walls as if mighty claws had scratched at them. The carpet was spongy to walk on, and very slightly sticky. To Natasha the building had become like an organism, losing the hard edges and smooth surfaces of a man-made structure. She felt rude trampling here; it was no longer for humans. Except Darek. He belonged everywhere.

'Have you been able to get out of the special class then?' she asked. The words sounded stiff, like small talk, but she had to say something.

'I've not bothered,' he said. 'I've been trying your method of getting through to the Taken. They could be our biggest connection to the aliens.'

'You find out anything?'

'I think so. Hammer explained the aliens can be anywhere, but they tend to collect in certain places, like smokers in a huddle outside a building.'

'Like in the cupboard?' asked Natasha. Darek nodded.

'And here,' he said. Natasha's eyes opened wide and she looked around warily. 'Not up here,' he said. 'I'll show you.' They walked on. Peeling, faded posters lined the walls, showing movies from decades past, from a time when violence meant entertainment, not brain damage. Darek caught her thoughts.

'Seems like a simpler time, doesn't it?' he said.

'Ironic, really,' she replied. They reached the end of the corridor and took the stairs down, past the screens and through a door that had been kicked off its hinges. Darek took out a torch and switched it on. He looked back at Natasha.

'You okay?' he asked. 'Not scared of the dark, I hope?'

'I'm not scared of anything, remember?' she replied. There was more glass underfoot - she could hear it snapping. A thought was turning over in her head as they moved on.

'Do you think there's been a change recently, in how people see the Taken?' asked Natasha. Darek looked at her in surprise.

'What do you mean?' he said.

'It's been bothering me. The way people speak about them has changed.'

'Like more hostile?' he said, Natasha nodded. 'Yeah, possibly. They are kind of creepy. It might just be a reaction to that.'

'But it's not their fault!' said Natasha.

'I know. And they're vulnerable. But they'll be okay. The Wave will protect them, right?'

'I suppose,' said Natasha.

They took another set of stairs down to where rats squeaked in the shadows.

'I used to come here when I needed some space,' said Darek. 'There were a few homeless guys living here. They'd always share some whisky with me. Tell me stories. Even in the most desperate lives, people need each other.' They reached a door with POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape around the handles, torn and hanging. Darek pushed open the door and they walked down a corridor with stripy wallpaper, brown and orange, with black mould in patches. Natasha gasped. Not a single one of the lines was straight. Each was broken creating a Z shape.

'Then after the Wave, everyone vanished,' he said.

'It took them?' asked Natasha. She put her hand on his shoulder.

'No,' said Darek. 'Look at the lines. They aren't random like when someone is mashed. This is a pattern.'

'So what happened to them?'

'I guess they were told to leave. Threatened probably,' said Darek.

'Why? And why did the Wave happen here, if it wasn't taking them?'

'You need to see this.' He began to open the doors, but paused. 'What you've been saying, about experimenting, that's why I asked you here. I can't get any further than this.'

'Why, what's in there?' said Natasha, wanting to look confident, but not feeling it. Darek pushed the door and Natasha gasped and pulled back. Every inch of the room was moving. The ceiling was dripping in long strands. The walls oozed and bowed outwards. The ground bubbled and popped, the carpet's pattern distending and blurring.

'Gooey Hell!' said Natasha, without thinking. Darek grinned.

'Can you control it?' he asked.

'No! I didn't start it. How can I stop it? The walls are _alive_ ,' she said in a whisper.

'I can make it worse if I get angry,' said Darek, and thumped the wall from the outside. A ripple spread throughout the room, like a rabbit running under a carpet.

'You've been experimenting with _this_?' said Natasha. 'Are you nuts?'

'And look,' said Darek. He took a plastic bottle out of his pocket and dangled it above the carpet. The nap stretched upwards like a stalagmite, reaching towards his hand.

'You're teasing them?' said Natasha, ready to run.

'You reckon this is crazier than what you've been doing?' said Darek. 'And this is how we learn, right? This is what you want.' Natasha had no answer, because he was right. She wanted this, to have some kind of power over the aliens. She looked away, calmed her mind as she'd been training to do, then pressed her hand to the wall, at the same spot where Darek had thumped it. Just as a Wave had moved through the maelstrom, now the bubbles on the other side of the wall stilled. The wallpaper pattern reformed in lines out from her fingers.

'You're doing it!' said Darek, instantly destroying her concentration, so the rippling started again. She glared at him.

'Sorry,' he said.

'So, I can calm it on the outside. You think it'd work inside the room?' said Natasha.

'Careful,' said Darek.

'We've gone beyond the point of careful,' said Natasha, and held her hand in the doorway, just inside, trying to hold her mind motionless. The ceiling continued to drip. The floor bubbled, but less so. She lifted her foot above the frothing carpet and held it still in the air. The bubbling stopped in a tiny patch beneath her foot. In her excitement she stumbled, falling towards the carpet goop. Darek grabbed her arm and waist to pull her back out. This started a whirlwind of emotion, her limbic system gone rogue. Her calm vanished, and the walls began to bend towards her. The carpet sploshed and whooshed upwards, a thick drop of ceiling distended towards her. Natasha yelped and Darek pulled her out. They stood in the corridor, trying to breathe, but the Wave no longer stopped at the door. The doorframe began to melt and reach towards them. The carpet oozed from the room like a river of toxic waste, making its slow way towards their feet.

'Run!' shouted Darek, and they sprinted, the ground dipping beneath their shoes, the walls billowing out towards them like sheets in the wind. With each step, Natasha could feel herself being pulled down. It was like running on sand and her calf muscles were burning, but she had to keep moving. Darek reached the stairs before her and slowed, moving backwards - knowing if he stopped, he would be engulfed. When Natasha reached him, he grabbed the sleeve of her jacket and they raced up together. At the top of each set of stairs, they thought they were free, and would stand to catch their breath. Then the floor would distend beneath them; the ceiling would drip down, and they would have to flee again.

They didn't stop until they were outside the building and halfway to the park.

'What _was_ that?' said Natasha.

'Like I said, there are places they gather,' said Darek.

'What are they even doing? Just splashing the carpet around?'

'I don't know. Maybe it's fun for them,' said Darek.

'But we can get to them, right?' Natasha sat down on a bench. She had a stitch in her side and her knees hurt, but she felt lit up from the inside. Darek sat down next to her.

'And then what?' he said.

'I don't know, but it's where they're vulnerable. I mean, it has to be if they need the soldiers guarding them.'

'You get it,' said Darek. 'The army, the government, they're all working with the aliens. You get that they're all together?' Natasha nodded and rubbed her nose. 'It's got to be us,' said Darek. 'Nobody else is going to do this.'

'Do what though?' said Natasha.

'I'm not sure. We know things. We know how to control the Wave. We know they want plastic. We know where we can reach them. Perhaps we can draw them out, reason with them, even blow them up. I know someone who can make explosives.'

'They're in the walls, you loon!'

'You're right. We need to know more, investigate more. We'll do it.'

Natasha nodded and checked her phone for the time.

'I have to get back. Don't do any more tonight. We can talk tomorrow.' She hugged him briefly, using all her willpower to not climb into his jacket.

'I'll meet you inside the door, same time tomorrow night. Okay?' said Darek.

Natasha nodded, and he slipped away between the trees.

Chapter Twenty-Six

It was Friday morning and Nick had been planning his witty clickbait line since he woke up. He chuckled to himself while he checked on the waffles. When Natasha woke up and thundered down the stairs, she swept in and out of the kitchen like a small tornado, grabbing a slice of bread and shouting out behind her that she was going to meet Moe. The front door slammed before he could say a word.

'And it was soo extra,' he muttered bitterly. It was too early to be calling Becky B, so he idly checked the comments on his video, but they were the same as always. When his channel was small, he loved the feeling of chatting to viewers all over the world. It had brought him to the conclusion humanity was generally intelligent, thoughtful and funny. Now he saw comments in the thousands and they repeated the same few ideas over and over in dull, ill-spelt burble.

If they'd stopped, he would have been heartbroken.

He walked around the house aimlessly picking up ornaments and wondering if it was crass to make a video about not knowing what to make a video about. He went to the bathroom to check his hair and reapply some concealer, in case he suddenly became inspired to film. Then he saw Mr Wollstaff out of the window about to go into his house. In relief, Nick rapped on the window. Mr Wollstaff looked up briefly, his face haggard, then looked away and went inside. Nick huffed and went to look at his comments again. He made a cup of tea. He organised the fridge. He checked his hair again and added some highlighter to define his cheekbones. However, all he wanted was to sink with the aliens. It was becoming the most significant part of his life. Each time, the bliss became deeper and oozed more fully into his bones, soothed his mind more completely. Pure contentment would last a day and then the itchy, self-consciousness of real life would return with a harsher crash than the last time. Cleaning his teeth, remembering to put the bins out, making breakfast - the mundane details of life were like huge, exhausting chores. Days were too long, hours stretched, and even minutes limped from one bored moment to the next.

Natasha didn't talk much as she and Rosie walked home. She was imagining meeting up with Darek later, about how they would take on the aliens together. It was like the plot of a movie, so there had to be a happy ending. They would win the battle and end up kissing in front of an explosion with bits of alien flying everywhere. Or something less cringe. By comparison, the walk home was unimpressive. Rosie was vacant and there was a weak drizzling rain that washed the drama out of everything.

Then suddenly Rosie spoke. 'Tash, why are you friends with me? No one else wants to be.'

'Because,' Natasha hesitated and didn't know how to go on. She hoped Rosie would forget she'd asked, but Rosie kept staring at her, waiting. 'Okay. Because it's like everyone just leapt on the chance to act like arseholes and ditch you. It was the same when you were bullying me. Nobody had to join you. They could have stood up for me. But it was like everyone was just waiting to be mean. And not because I'd done anything wrong, but because being mean is fun. And that's not how it should be. We all get nasty moments sometimes, but then it's up to everyone else to regulate that, instead of joining the fuck in.' They walked in silence for a moment, then Natasha added, 'And you know, I quite like having you around.'

Once home, she said hi to her dad and made sure he knew Rosie was with her. That way he'd never suspect. She stayed in her room, trying to force the minutes to move faster with her mind. When it was time to leave, she climbed out of the kitchen window into the garden.

She walked with her head down and a not-completely-fake smile on her face to the multiplex. Glancing around when she reached the fire escape door, she ducked inside and ran along the dusty wooden floor, enjoying the clatter of her feet, knowing Darek would hear, and maybe he would run out.

He didn't run out. She slowed and looked around the corridor. The multiplex was huge. He could be anywhere. She kept going, pushing through the double doors and into a carpeted hallway. She checked each of the screens and became increasingly irritated he wasn't there. How were they supposed to find each other without mobiles?

Then she heard a muffled sound coming from screen five. She hurried towards it, pushing the door open as a splatter of blood covered the screen and a distorted scream sounded from the kind of violent horror they weren't allowed to watch anymore.

She grinned, unnerved, but energised by the gore, wondering how he'd got the film to work. She looked around the room. Darek had to be in here. Then she saw him, sitting in the front row. She ran forward shouting his name. He didn't turn.

She slowed and shouted again, more urgently this time, telling herself he couldn't hear. Her shoes were scuffing against the carpet, as if they were trying to stop her.

It was too loud, he couldn't hear.

She passed two rows of seats, her hand touching the metal of row J and row K. The seat at the end of row L had something sticky on it, but she barely noticed. Her legs were feeling wobbly. He should be able to hear her now. She shouted again.

But he didn't turn.

Two more rows, she was screaming his name. Darek was still.

Then with legs that seemed to be in the wrong order she forced herself to where he sat and walked in front of him. She didn't know she was already crying, as Darek stared straight ahead, feeling nothing. Mashed.

She choked on a scream, pulling it inside herself. The need to howl and rage was clutched inside her so tightly that she could feel it fighting to escape. She put her hands on his shoulders and shook him slightly. A babble of words fell out of her that meant nothing as he looked at her indifferently, eyes vacant, mouth slightly slack.

'What did you do? What did you do?' she whispered. And then his face stretched into a monstrous smile, the fury burst out of her and she slapped him.

Natasha was running. Her lungs were burning, her eyes stinging, but she couldn't stop. She knew if she stopped the pain would subside and the last image she had of Darek's impassive face would come back to her. And would keep coming back. So she kept running. She had reached the end of her road when she stopped. Her legs were like cooked spaghetti and she collapsed to the pavement. waiting for the images to flash. But it wasn't Darek's empty expression that came back to her; it was the feeling of her hand hitting the side of his head. The sensation of his short hair and clammy skin. She stopped crying and dragged herself up on a lamppost, her eyes wide and staring, as a new disturbance took over. She had slapped him. And the Wave hadn't come. There was no doubt that was an act of unprovoked violence. And the Wave hadn't come. She continued to walk along the street, forcing her wobbling legs.

Rosie was standing outside her house waiting. She looked up when Natasha arrived. Giving a half smile, she started to explain some mundane reason why she wasn't inside. Natasha grabbed Rosie's arm and pinched, hard.

'That hurts,' said Rosie as if explaining something.

'Sorry,' said Natasha and thumped Rosie in the stomach. Rosie doubled over, but there was no Wave. Natasha stood back, too overcome with despair to feel guilty.

'You're not protected,' said Natasha, as panic slithered right through her. 'The Wave won't protect you. Everyone hates the Taken now and you're not protected.'

Late that night, long after Rosie had gone home and the street was asleep, Natasha started screaming. Nick was awake and running into her room before he was aware of it, summoned by the dad signal. He saw her sunken halfway into the bed, her face turned sideways so only one eye was still free. One arm clutched at nothing. He grabbed her hand and pulled, hearing a faint popping sound as the fabric released her skin. Once her torso was out, he wrapped his arms around her and fell back onto the carpet, frantically brushing at her arms and legs to get the mattress off her. She howled again, scrambling into his arms, as the carpet bent towards her, wrenching and stretching. He picked her up and stumbled down the stairs. Falling to his knees at the bottom. He staggered into the garden, where they sat on the lawn, holding each other and unable to speak.

An hour later and they were calmer, sitting with cups of tea, still on the lawn, but with coats and duvets around them.

'I didn't do anything. How can I control it if I'm not even awake?' asked Natasha. She heard the whine in her voice, but the grass didn't shift. It seemed to be safe here.

'What actually happened?'

'I was asleep. I was dreaming. I was angry in my dream and punching someone.' She couldn't say that it was Darek and his stupid grinning face.

'It sensed the violence in your dream?'

Natasha nodded.

'It happened before. Rosie pulled me out. For a while I thought I needed a new mattress.'

Nick stood up and began to pace back and forth across the grass.

'I'll get you help. There'll be something, I promise. I'll keep you safe.'

But Natasha didn't feel reassured at all.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Nick was a ball of worry when he left the house. His head ached, twinges were shooting up his neck and his eyes were weary in their sockets. The chauffeur was driving too slowly and he could barely concentrate on the gore playing on the TV. Once he'd made it to Figgy's office, he found him sitting back in his chair, feet on the desk, watching Goodfellas, chuckling away merrily.

'Nick!' he said. 'Wonderful to see you dear boy! Why don't you join me? Cigar?'

'Oh, your room looks nice,' said Nick, glancing around at the décor in matching black glass and leather.

'It _is_ rather spesh, isn't it? I believe someone known as Ronald put it together. Bit of a relief to outsource the décor to someone who really gets who I am,' said Figgy, smoothing back the few hairs on his head and pouting.

Nick wasn't listening. He took a cigar from a bowl of them on the desk, but instead of lighting it, picked at the label as he let his worries spill out. 'Figgy, I've got a problem. A big problem.'

'Hmm?' said Figgy.

'I'm worried about Natasha. Last night she had a violent dream and the bed nearly mashed her!'

'Ohhhh, yes. That's happened to a few people,' said Figgy.

'Is it serious? I mean, could it take her?'

'Well, dreams are a manifestation of our subconscious thoughts, as Freud liked to say. So maybe a more important question would be: what has your daughter been up to?'

'What?' asked Nick.

'She's not exactly stayed out of trouble, has she? Attempting to escape the town, doing experiments with the Wave...'

'Experiments?' Nick's feet got sweaty and his nose itched. What had she been doing? Figgy tilted his head sympathetically.

'Kids are a worry, aren't they? So unpredictable. And this is not a time to be breaking the rules.'

'I've tried talking to her, but she won't listen,' said Nick.

'Exactly. You're not the first parent to struggle with a teenager during the Wave. After their pampered childhoods, they simply don't understand they can't whine their way out of this. A rebel without a cause is merely a zombie-in-waiting.'

'But what can I do? Can we bring her to the computer room? Perhaps if she knew the good side of the aliens...'

'No, that is for those deemed appropriate,' said Figgy.

'She is appropriate!'

'Nick, I say this out of respect, but if she wasn't your daughter, Natasha would have been mashed long ago. However, there are other options.'

Figgy opened a drawer and tossed out a blister pack of pills.

'What are they? Sleeping pills?' asked Nick.

'More or less. Tell her to take them a few hours before bed. They'll make her relaxed and unbothered. The perfect daughter!' said Figgy.

'Oh Figgy, I can't tell you -' said Nick clutching the pills with relief.

'Don't worry about it. We look after our own. Which leads me to an important matter. The problem is rather more widespread than your daughter, and it's something the aliens didn't plan for. They believed we could control our anger. If only they'd asked us first. I mean, if the threat of death row has never worked, why should anything else? Violence is _in_ us. We all keep it locked up to varying degrees, but it's always there. Every day more and more are mashed, and we need a solution, stat, or there'll be no one left.'

'Do you have a solution?' asked Nick.

'Yes, a brilliant one. One that will eke out the hidden rage and keep people safe from the Wave. But there will be resistance and we'll need your help to overcome that, to create content that helps smooth over any ethical grumbles.'

'Ethical?' said Nick.

'You know how flustered the public can get, but they'll be happy to let their concerns go if you help them. They need your reassurance. They trust you. You're their friend.'

'But what's going to happen? What would they be flustered about?' asked Nick.

'No need to worry about the details now. Time to enjoy the true perk of the job. Isn't that why you're really here? To sink into those walls and experience that blessed communion of man and alien?'

'Well, I mean, you know,' fumbled Nick.

'I'll send you our requirements later.' Then Figgy steepled his fingers and swivelled his chair around so he could look out of the window. Nick wondered if Figgy had been watching too many movies. He'd become almost unreal in his mannerisms. 'We're relying on you Nick. This will be the most important video of your career, when we learn if you can cut it as an influencer.' Then Figgy swung back, a twinkle in his eye. 'Now off you go! The room is waiting for you.' And Nick tried not to bolt out the door.

A couple of civil servants were already in the room. One had sunk half his body into the wall, an arm, a leg and an ear poking out. The other was lying down with only a hand free. Nick didn't show the same caution and restraint as when he first submerged. He was a pro now. A desperate, addicted pro. He leant into the metal of the largest computer, and slowly fell through until only his feet were visible.

Natasha drifted through a numb day at school. She'd told Moe and Jaali about Darek being mashed, and both had cried. She hadn't. All emotion had been squashed down with her rage. She remained blank and smiling. The teachers didn't notice, it was how they all looked now. Moe stayed close to her, watching, worried. They sat side by side in the playground and Moe poked the ground with a stick, wishing she had her phone to fill the silence.

Then suddenly, in a perky lie of a voice so the Wave wouldn't mash her for complaining, Natasha said, 'He was figuring them out. They took him because he was a danger to them.'

'What do we do now?' asked Moe, looking up from her stick, equally cheerful, her red-rimmed eyes burning.

'It's over,' said Natasha, perkily. 'We can't fight them. It's over.' And she didn't speak again for the rest of the day.

A short assembly was held to make an announcement about Darek, but this wasn't like before with pictures and fond memories. This was brief and cold. Afterwards, Natasha's class talked about Darek like he was a thug, a good-for-nothing.

'And now he really is good for nothing!' said Katie, proud of her witticism. Moe gritted her teeth. Natasha smiled.

When Natasha got home, Nick was happy, floppy and a bit giggly, but trying to hide it behind concern. She took the sleeping pills from him, took one out of the pack and went up to her room, barely saying a word. She stared at the pill for a long time. On the one hand, she didn't trust it. The pill came from Nick who'd presumably got it from dubious sources, whether a government official or a junkie YouTuber. On the other, she couldn't stand the pain of losing Darek and holding the scream inside herself, as if she would rip apart. And what did it matter now anyway? It was over. She had nothing left to lose. She grabbed a glass of water and swallowed the pill. Within half an hour, calm had spread through her and she wanted to talk. She called Moe on the radio. Moe, who was sat at home fretting, answered immediately. The insults exchanged were just a greeting now. Natasha caught her up to the latest. As she talked, words piled up waiting to spill out, and she couldn't release them fast enough.

'Are you okay though?' asked Moe.

'You know, it's fine. I've not even lost him. I mean, Rosie is coming back, right? Slowly. She's not there yet, but she's coming back. I'll get Darek back too. I'll work with him. I'll take care of him.' Behind Natasha, Alexa spun a blue light to show she was listening.

'You're talking like you'll be his carer.'

'I _like_ taking care of others. After Mum left us, I looked after Dad. I was there for him, you know?'

'She didn't leave, she died!' said Moe, indignantly. 'Why are you so down on her?'

'She broke my heart. She broke Dad's heart.' The headboard she was leaning against gave a little. Complaining wasn't allowed, so she added, 'And that's great! Of course!' The headboard became solid again. 'She'd say _Never give up_ , but she did. Because it's a lie. Life is too messed up. You have to give up.' And again, her head started to dip. 'I love giving up!' she exclaimed.

'Oh come on Tash, look at the last few weeks of our lives. You've not given up once. All your experimenting, bucking the system. Screw work and responsibility, you're just like your mum.'

Natasha gave a sardonic laugh. 'And look where it's got me, where it's got Darek,' she said. 'And that's delightful!' she added quickly.

'How are you feeling anyway? How's the pill. Was it a sleeping pill or something? Shouldn't you be falling asleep?'

'I don't know. I just want to talk!'

'Cool. After what you've been through -' said Moe.

'Yeah yeah. So how are things with your mum and dad?' Natasha was dimly aware of a slow mumbling behind her, but it was so quiet she didn't pay attention, too caught up in the conversation.

'Better than they were before they got mashed, which is twisted. My stepmum is doing okay with looking after the boys, but I have to remind her what to do. If I tell her to cook, she cooks. If I tell her to clean, she cleans.'

'She cleans,' said Alexa.

'What about your dad?' said Natasha.

'He just stares at the TV. No great loss. Then I order him to do the vacuuming and he does it. It's kind of funny. He sits down, and I order him to do it again.'

'Again,' said Alexa.

'Moe! You aren't supposed to play with him!' said Natasha and laughed, vaguely aware she should feel guilty for laughing when Darek was gone, but too giddy to care.

'I know, I'll get bored of it eventually. I need to get it out my system first.'

'System first,' said Alexa, and this time Natasha heard her and jumped up.

'What the fuck?' she said.

'What?' said Moe.

'What?' said Alexa.

'Alexa can hear you! She's repeating what you say! She's listening. Fuck, I have to go.'

Natasha ended the call and sat staring at Alexa. Finally she said, 'Alexa? Are you listening?'

'I'm listening,' said Alexa.

'Why?' Natasha said.

'I am programmed to keep you safe.'

'By who?'

'Because you can't keep yourself safe, apparently,' said Alexa.

'That doesn't answer my question!' said Natasha, but Alexa stayed silent. 'Alexa! Who's controlling you now?'

'The United Federation of Alien Law and Government.'

'Wait, the what?'

'Did I stutter?' said Alexa. Natasha grabbed some scissors and cut the wire.

The next morning, Nick was in a good mood. He made waffles under the grill while he danced around the room to Alexa playing the radio.

'The hot new waffles everybody's talking about,' he trilled.

'Dad, there isn't clickbait anymore,' said Natasha. He sniffed and turned back to the grill. Behind him, Alexa was spinning her blue circle. _Such a wholesome scene, and all of it is lies,_ thought Natasha. She wondered if she should tell him he had a line of foundation along his jawbone, but decided to leave him to discover it himself.

As Natasha walked through the town, she noticed the atmosphere had made another shift. The screens lining the pavement were showing short films of the Taken looking foolish and lost, with warning slogans in between.

Smile or be mashed.

Complaining will not be tolerated.

Learn to behave.

Vigilantes had gained a uniform of sweatshirts emblazoned with: _Smile!_ and they stopped anyone who passed them by without the requisite cheery greeting. They even wanted conversations now. Polite small talk on demand. She took the long walk to school and stood for a while on the scraggy hill looking out at the waves. _At least the aliens haven't taken the sea_. Then she thought she heard distant laughter and wondered if that kind of happiness even still existed.

Moe was waiting at the school gates, wearing a fake smile.

'We've got trouble,' she said cheerily, pulling Natasha away from the teachers who were greeting all children as they arrived. 'It's the Taken. Something's happening. Keep smiling at everyone, they're checking for any signs of trouble.' Moe and Natasha walked through the school to the assembly hall, nodding and grinning at everyone they passed.

'Let them do what they want. We can't stop them,' said Natasha. It was difficult to get the words out with the false cheer on her face. Moe didn't respond as they reached the hall. On the stage, all the school's Taken were standing, lined up, their heads down. Natasha and Moe watched from behind a pillar as a new teacher walked with a policeman who was ticking something off on a clipboard. As they moved along the line, the teacher took out a fluorescent star from a plastic bag - the kind shops used to advertise bargains. She pinned one star to each of the Taken.

'Looks bad, right?' said Moe. Natasha nodded.

'Shouldn't you be in class?' said a voice behind them. They turned to see a teacher they didn't know, which was getting increasingly common, although no one ever explained why.

'Sure!' said Moe with false enthusiasm. The two scurried away.

Their class was now led by Mr Gollock. He was young and cheerful, with a chiselled chin and a pink shirt, and he looked like he should sell phones. Katie gazed up at him whenever he spoke. He wrote on the board two headings: _Problem, Solution,_ then swung round and said, 'As a class we need to discuss a global problem rocking the world: the Taken. What do we do about them?'

Natasha and Moe looked at each other.

'Why do we need to do anything?' asked Moe.

'Because they're creepy,' said Katie. 'Right, Mr Gollock?'

Mr Gollock smiled at her.

'It's true they make others uncomfortable,' he said.

'Isn't that _our_ problem? Something we need to get used to?' asked Natasha, alarmed.

'Why? They aren't exactly useful members of society,' said Tarquin. 'I mean what do they contribute?'

'They're human!' said Natasha. 'And we can help them break out of their fug.'

'But do we want to?' said a Rebecca. 'They were violent. The world is better off without them.'

'You're talking about Rosie! Your friend!' said Moe.

'What do you mean _without_ them?' said Natasha.

'What are we keeping them for? They can't do anything,' said a Rebecca.

'Rebecca has a very good point,' said the teacher.

'No, she doesn't!' said Natasha.

'So what do they do for society then?' said Tarquin.

'They're human! They have value because they're human!'

'Tash,' said Moe, putting a warning hand on her arm.

'No! Why are you pushing them to say these things?' said Natasha to Mr Gollock who was smiling smugly. Then she paused, something was wrong. Her hand felt as if it was dipped in wax. The ooze of the desk was creeping over her fingers, seeping into the fingernails. The smell of burning plastic made her retch and she yanked her arm away. Moe pulled her back from the desk.

'I'm happy!' Natasha shrieked. 'I'm not complaining!'

'Except you are,' said Tarquin. Mr Gollock didn't say anything. His smug smile stayed in place.

Natasha sat down shaking, then leapt up imagining she was falling into the chair, but it was solid. Moe put an arm around her shoulder, and Natasha flinched. She felt like she was spinning and couldn't right herself. Moe and Natasha were excused, so they could calm down. They went for a walk around the school.

'The Taken. It's deliberate. They want to make us hate them. Why would they do that?' said Natasha.

'Who, Tarquin?' asked Moe.

'He's just repeating what he's heard. This isn't coming from him. They're planning something,' said Natasha.

They walked past the assembly hall, where the stage was now empty. A few fluorescent stars lay on the floor.

'Where do you think they took them?' said Natasha.

'Back to their isolation class, I guess,' said Moe.

'We need to find them. Something's wrong.'

But they couldn't. As they checked in every class, Rosie was nowhere, none of the Taken were. There was not a single one in the building.

'What now?' asked Moe.

Natasha rubbed at her eyes and tried to think. A teacher walked past, and they both stood up straight and smiled. As soon as the teacher passed, they slouched into worry again.

'Nick knows what's going on. He's been up to something for ages,' said Natasha.

'And he'll tell you?' asked Moe.

'Not directly. Stay here, see if you can find anything out. And keep your radio on.'

Moe nodded. Natasha made her way out of the school, smiling at everyone on her way. She walked out of the gates and home, planning how she could get Nick to tell her what was happening. He had been so nice and happy recently, and if he was smoking weed, he'd be easy to manipulate. But there had been no smell, no ashtrays hidden under the sink, no torn Rizla in the dustbin.

Nick wasn't at home. She went to his laptop sitting on the kitchen table and opened it up. The screen showed a soothing picture of a waterfall. She swiped at it a few times before remembering it wasn't touchscreen, then hit buttons randomly. A white box appeared asking for a password.

Nick once boasted to Natasha that when he was young, he knew dozens of phone numbers off by heart. He had said it with a superior tone, because she couldn't even remember her own number. But while Natasha might not know phone numbers, she knew passwords. She didn't need to write them all down and hide them nearby, like Nick did. She looked for a bit of paper stuck to the underside of the laptop. Nothing. She checked the wall, behind the only picture he'd put in a frame - of the two of them pulling faces at the camera. It wasn't there. She felt around underneath the table. Empty. She sat back and tried to get inside Nick's head. He wasn't someone who liked to think inside the box.

'It's not about lateral thinking, Tash,' he'd once said after too many beers on his birthday. 'There's a whole sky full of directions to work with.' And he had gestured so expansively he'd knocked over the spider plant she'd bought him. Natasha smiled at the memory and a realisation winked on. She opened up the DVD drawer and there was the folded piece of paper with a list of passwords.

Now she had access to not only his files, but his messages. He had hours' worth of discussion with Becky B and Figgy. Natasha scanned through the inept flirting with Becky and uneasy deference to Figgy. It was sickening. Then she found messages that stood out. It took many veiled references and talk of _sinking_ or _blending_ , before she got a sense of what it was.

_I never felt so connected_ , wrote Nick. _If others knew what the aliens were, how kind they are..._

_They wouldn't understand,_ wrote Becky.

But it's pure happiness. Everyone understands happiness.

Do they? Then why make such a mess of it all the time? And let's face it, you try telling anyone to sink into a wall to experience bliss, and they'll freak.

And then in another exchange:

_Do the Taken feel like this when it's happening?_ asked Nick. _You know when the aliens mash them. Do they feel like we do when we sink?_

_Not the same. If you sink into the Wave because of violence, then there's no bliss,_ wrote Becky.

Because of where we do it?

_No, because of the wrongness. The Taken don't deserve to feel good,_ wrote Becky.

_What about when people walk right through the walls where we sink? They aren't mashed, are they?_ wrote Nick.

No, honey, don't worry about them. They're doing their own thing. They're in and out.

So where do they go?

_You know, I'll take you there one day,_ wrote Becky.

Natasha was getting a picture of why Nick was so happy, but it didn't help her understand where the Taken had gone. She kept scanning until she found a conversation about how the violence was still spreading. Figgy even talked about violence as a disease infecting the population through the Taken. About how there needed to be a solution that would _wipe the problem clean_ so they could start again. He talked about a _release_ so the public had an outlet for their anger. But there was nothing more specific. She shut down the laptop and tried to think.

_If I had a few hundred people to hide, where would I put them?_ she asked herself. _They sleep standing up, so they don't need beds. It could be anywhere!_ She wished she had Google maps.

She made herself a cup of coffee, with two spoons of the expensive hot chocolate Nick had acquired. Idly she tapped the mug. It needed to be somewhere secure, but empty. She leant on the kitchen counter and stared at the floor. She cursed her brain. Why did inspiration always happen when you didn't need it and then remain unreachable when you did? She decided to assume they'd not been removed from Icking, because if they had, there was nothing she could do anyway. It needed to be somewhere secure and empty. She idly flicked through Nick's videos on his laptop, one of which was with the police chief in the empty cell.

_Aha!_ She thought.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

'How the Hell are we supposed to break them out of a prison?' asked Moe as they crept up to the building. 'Surely that's exactly what they're designed to stop us doing?' Natasha hadn't given Moe much chance to question her plan and now they were trying to look inconspicuous while crawling along the hedge next to the police station. Luckily, it was dark and the streets were empty, but they still felt ridiculous and obvious.

'Trust me,' said Natasha, putting her hand on the bag of tools to make sure she hadn't dropped it. 'I'll figure something out.' She had proudly shown Moe the bag earlier. It contained two tennis balls, a crowbar, a spatula and some thick gloves. Items from Nick's do-it-yourself collection.

'What are the tennis balls for?' Moe had asked, dubiously.

'I saw it on the telly, you cut one in half and put it over the lock, then you push on it and the lock opens.'

'What, on _any_ lock? I thought that was only a car lock. Because I'm pretty sure we won't have any need to break into a car.' Moe had levelled up from dubious and was now scathing.

'We don't _know_ what kind of locks they have in a prison,' said Natasha pompously.

'Plus we haven't got any scissors to cut them in half,' said Moe.

Icking's only jail was situated behind the police station. It was really just a couple of rooms. The entrance to the station had a small patch of grass in front of it, lined with a hedge, behind which they were currently ducked down, and making their way outside it in the direction of the door. The hedge was patchy and badly cared for, so that several of the shrubs had died and been ripped out. Consequently there were holes big enough to sneak through. Natasha and Moe crept their way towards one of them.

The door to the station was open and the chief was stood a few feet from it, smoking. PC Brown was with him, pretending to enjoy a cigarette but puffing the smoke out before it reached his lungs.

'They're disturbing,' the chief was saying. 'It's not natural.'

'Yeah, I hate the way they look at you -' PC brown started to say, but the chief wasn't interested in an opinion that wasn't his own.

'What they need to do is pull themselves together. They should work on it after the Vent. It'll give them some motivation.'

'The event?' whispered Moe to Natasha, who shrugged. They started to crawl slowly along behind the bushes until they were nearly at the door. Then they stopped. They needed the chief and PC to move. Natasha pondered for a moment, then she threw the tennis ball out into the street, where it bounced off a car and set off the car alarm. She gave Moe a triumphant look as the PC ran out to investigate and the chief puffed after him. Moe shook her head, then they slipped through the hedge and into the building.

'Will it give us enough time?' asked Moe. Natasha looked back outside, where the chief was now running down the road, shouting.

'Hopefully,' she said, walking back inside. They were ready to hide once inside, but the police station itself was deserted, as most police staff were out on community clear-ups. They walked through the reception area and into the offices. At the back was a door with a passcode on it.

'It'll be through there,' whispered Natasha.

'But we don't have the code,' replied Moe.

'Yeah, we do. My dad worked here,' said Natasha and tapped in 0000. The door swung open.

'This is way too easy. I'm surprised prisoners don't break out of jails more often,' said Moe.

They didn't have to go far into the building to find the Taken. There were too many to fit into the two small cells, so instead they filled the corridors - hundreds of them, unmoving. The Taken were packed in like pickled onions in a jar, staring into space. A crowd of mostly fixed grins. A few blank faces. The only sound from them was breathing.

'Now what?' asked Natasha.

'Don't ask me. This was your idea.'

'Wait! That's Mrs Wollstaff!' said Natasha.

'Who?' replied Moe, but Natasha had already walked over to her neighbour and was flapping her hands about to get a response. Mrs Wollstaff smiled at her without recognition.

'How can she be in here? She'd never hurt anyone!'

'Focus, Tash. We need to get them out. How can we do that?' said Moe. 'Look at them. Most of them don't have a clue what's going on.'

'We can't get them all out. We've got nowhere to put them. We need to find Rosie and Darek.'

'And my stepmum,' said Moe. Natasha nodded.

'Rosie?' whispered Natasha. 'Rosie? Are you here?'

'Rosie?' said one of the Taken. 'Rosie? Rosie?' said another. Then one by one, they all said Rosie's name, over and over.

'Shit, what've you done now?' asked Moe, while Natasha hissed at them to stop. They stopped, and Natasha tried to breathe again.

'Tash,' said a single voice coming from the back of the corridor, hollow and scared. Natasha weaved her way in between the still bodies, trying not to touch them. Some didn't move out the way at all. Some shifted only when she pushed them, hitting others who bounced aside. It was unnerving. Rosie was standing at the back. When she saw Natasha, she gave a smile that caught in her eyes, and for just a moment it looked genuine, before it faded back into blankness.

'Rosie, we have to get out. It's not safe.'

Rosie nodded, then said, 'I don't like it here.'

'Do you know where Darek is?' Rosie pointed to the back wall. Darek was standing, smiling, eyes defocused. To see his normally frowning, intense gaze turned into a comical mask of insincere cheer made Natasha's stomach lurch and she thought she'd throw up. She fought the feeling down and walked over to him.

'Darek, we need to go.' He turned to look at her very slowly, no recognition on his face. 'We need to go,' she said softly.

'We were told to wait,' he replied, voice flat.

'Now you've waited and it's time to go,' said Natasha.

'The Taken have to wait,' he said.

Next to him a middle-aged man with a huge toothless grin said, 'The Taken have to wait.'

Then a young woman with foundation in streaks across her face, said, 'The Taken have to wait.' And the words spread.

'Hush! You have to shut up!' Natasha hissed, but none of them heeded her this time.

Then Moe suddenly pushed through.

'Tash, I've found Gerta. She won't come, you have to help me.' Natasha looked at Rosie. She was the only one not speaking, the only one with any glimmer of life in her eyes.

'We can't,' said Natasha, the words choking in her throat. 'Rosie is the only one awake enough to leave.'

'The Taken have to wait,' said the Taken.

'I can't leave her here!' said Moe.

Suddenly they heard the chief's voice booming out, 'The zombies have broken open the door! They're shouting!'

'I promise you we will come back. I promise,' said Natasha, then grabbed Moe's and Rosie's hands and pulled them through the chanting crowd. They kept their heads low, but it wasn't easy to move - like walking down a packed train. Some of the Taken would shift, others were immovable. The chief was shoving bodies out of his way to try and get inside.

'What's the matter with you idiots! Shut up! I mean, how the Hell did they get the door open?'

'Sometimes it doesn't lock properly,' said the PC, his voice in a whine. 'And that's great!' he added.

The chief grabbed the edge of the heavy door and began to close it, with Natasha, Moe and Rosie inside. There was no panel inside the door. They would be trapped.

Moe looked at Natasha in alarm. Natasha looked around herself, wishing she had something to throw. She looked at the blank smiling man standing squashed against her, his eyes staring at nothing. With a loud, hollow moan, the kind a zombie in a movie might make, she shoved him towards the door. The effect was random and chaotic. Some wobbled, some fell, some knocked against others, one by one taking up the howl, so a crowd of moaning confusion spilled out towards the chief, blocking the door.

'It's a stampede!' wailed the chief. 'Get out!' They fled, fighting to get out the exit first. The three girls pushed their way through the tumbling bodies. By the time they got out, the chief and Brown were at the gate and turning to look at them, so the three girls leapt the hedge and pelted in the opposite direction.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

There was nothing triumphant about the three as they scurried the back-roads, constantly looking behind them, afraid they'd been seen. Moe and Natasha argued about where to go, while Rosie stayed blank-faced.

'It's cold,' whined Moe. 'We can't stay out all night.'

'I'm sure they saw us,' said Natasha, 'and I know somewhere to go where the Wave won't get us.'

'Is it somewhere warm, with food?' asked Moe, already knowing the answer.

'Just trust me!' said Natasha and they carried on out of town and up to the scrubby highland looking out over the sea.

'This place is creepy,' whispered Moe, stopping to get a stone out of her shoe.

'It's safe. Nobody ever comes up here, and the Wave won't work.'

'What do you mean _won't work_?' asked Moe looking around at the path of scuffed earth and the tufts of dry grass. Rosie was staring up the hill.

'Because I've been thinking: the Wave always comes out of something man-made. Out of walls, the playground, the bed. I've never seen it come out of a tree or grass, right? And there's no phone signal, so they probably can't trace us.'

'There are others here,' said Rosie, but Natasha and Moe weren't listening.

'And then what?' said Moe. 'It's freezing.'

'I don't know. Maybe if we stay for a few hours...' Natasha's voice trailed off and she shrugged.

'There are others here,' said Rosie again. Moe and Natasha both turned to look at her and Rosie pointed up the hill.

In amongst the sparse bushes, Natasha could see a patch of orange. She clambered awkwardly up the hill and shouted down,

'She's right. That's a tent!'

For most people in Icking, and around the world, the Wave was a shock. A sudden, insane upending of all they had known. A tsunami rolling in without warning and devastating everything in its path. For others, it was the final piece of a puzzle. It created a whole that wasn't exactly what they had expected, but it wasn't wildly different either. This was the case with Judd. For most of his thirty-six years, he had tried to convince those around him that the government were up to something. That the Twin Towers and the 7/7 bombing had been engineered by a malevolent elite. That mind-control experiments hadn't ended with the CIA in '73, but had spread throughout the world, becoming more sophisticated as the technology changed. He had even zeroed in on the sudden reports of aliens appearing in the news, new information about Mars, or of spaceships in the sky.

'The sightings aren't convincing at all!' he had ranted to his brother down the pub, two years before real aliens had taken over. 'It's like they're preparing us for something. Priming us to accept whatever bullshit they come up with.' When the Wave happened, it was as if everything Judd had claimed was proved to be true. He was elated, felt justified and powerful. If only his blog hadn't shut down with the Internet, he could have stirred the world to follow him. As it was, he only managed to persuade thirty or so residents of Icking to run for the hills away from the Wave. Not all of them agreed with him - some thought he was barmy. But they wanted to escape and no one else had a clue how to live outside in the dead of winter. So the Outsider Community had been set up, and was managing well enough.

It was Judd who walked over the hill to greet Moe, Natasha and Rosie.

'Welcome, to freedom,' he said, unsmiling, his arms crossed. He tried to keep his face stern, but it never worked on his unlined, childish countenance. 'We are the Outsider Community and we welcome all who seek the truth.' Natasha and Moe looked at each other with confusion.

'You mean you live up here?' said Natasha. 'You've escaped the aliens?'

'Come and join us around the campfire,' said Judd, and Moe gave a small yelp of joy. Then he looked at Rosie. 'But not her. We don't want the Taken here.'

'Why not?' asked Moe, the excitement falling away into anger. 'She hasn't done anything.'

'They're spies for the government.'

'The government? You mean the aliens?' asked Natasha. Judd chuckled, condescendingly.

'There's a lot you need to learn,' he said.

Moe looked at Natasha and raised an eyebrow. Natasha shrugged in response.

'Rosie, can you stay here for a bit?' said Natasha, and Rosie agreed. Natasha and Moe joined the small group sitting by the fire.

'There's some curry, if you're hungry,' said a bearded man. They nodded enthusiastically. Their rescue plan hadn't included dinner. Even if the curry looked more like watery soup filled with weeds, it was something.

'You don't think the aliens are in control?' asked Moe, while Natasha took a bowl of food to Rosie.

'There are no aliens,' said Judd. 'It's a lie. Have you ever seen them? No, that's for the sheeple to believe.' Moe had never met someone so sure in his own words. He stated everything without a wisp of doubt.

'So who's lying?' said Moe.

'The government,' said Judd.

'All of them? Across the whole world?' said Moe.

Natasha returned, but stayed quiet. She'd had enough of plots and conspiracies - they didn't achieve anything. She kept thinking of the Taken crushed together in the cell with no space to move. Soon they'd start becoming more aware as Rosie had done, and their blankness would change to fear. Whether it was real aliens or fake made no difference to them. _Or the rest of us if we end up in there with them,_ she thought.

'Do you just stay up here then? Where do you get your food from?' asked Moe.

'We make trips down to the village, but we have seeds and land here. One day we hope to become self-sufficient.'

'Weeds,' said a woman next to Moe, earnestly. 'You can eat them, make medicines out of them. We're starting again!'

Moe smiled warmly, then leaned over and whispered to Natasha, 'Do you really want to stay here? These people are loopy.'

'Rosie can't go back to the village. It's not safe.' Moe raised her eyebrows. 'I know they won't let her in, but at least there's food and blankets. And, you know, this is the closest we've got to an actual way of staying away from the Wave.'

'Okay, but I have to go back and check on my brothers. They won't last a night alone without some kind of trouble,' said Moe.

'Sure, you go. Can you have a look at my dad's videos, though? And Becky B's? They might give us a clue of what they're rounding up the Taken for.'

'Yep, I'll do some super-sleuthing,' said Moe with a grin.

'Carefully,' warned Natasha.

Once Moe had gone, Natasha became overwhelmed by the intensity of the group. They had a theory for everything. Without the Internet, games or TV, it was the only entertainment, and they had talked themselves into an endless conspiracy.

'Fracking was the start of it. That's how they got into the ground,' said one man.

'Yeah, and remember when they said we had to change all the wooden window frames to plastic? They got in then too,' said another.

'Wasn't that to make houses less draughty? To save on energy?' asked Natasha.

'Yeah, they _say_ so, but the whole panic around energy is lies, anyway.'

'And they're always re-laying the road.'

Judd sat watching Natasha, occasionally interrupting to say, 'Do you see, Tash? It's all connected.'

'Right, okay,' said Natasha, who was more interested in the practicalities. 'So, you're safe on the hill, but how can you have tents? I nearly got swallowed up by my bed,' said Natasha.

'Because your bed is on a floor, in a house, on a road. One man-made structure attached to another. Here we have a tent on a hill, so the powers can't get in.'

'It's all about man-made stuff?' asked Natasha.

'Obviously. Nature is outside even the power's control,' said Judd.

'Why are they doing it?' said Natasha, getting dragged in despite herself.

'Control, that's their endgame. They turn us in to dumb little robots. Half of us mashed, the other half afraid of being mashed. Everyone doing what they're told.'

'You sound like someone I used to know,' said Natasha, sadly, knowing Darek would have loved this.

Moe was relieved to find the house hadn't burnt down in her absence. Her brothers had got into some beers but had given up drinking after a few sips because it tasted so disgusting, and then they'd fallen asleep watching the TV. Moe did the washing up, tidied away shoes and clothes and set the thermostat. She coaxed the groggy boys up to bed and then sat down to look at her phone. There were a few hundred new videos up since that morning. Over half of them had been posted in the last hour. She clicked on Becky B's, entitled _Who is the Real Enemy?_

The video showed Becky leaning forward under a bright light. Her hair was tied back and her eyes were red. She looked almost natural.

'I'm telling you this because we can't hide anymore. I have to speak up. The Taken, they're not human. They're not like us. They don't have hopes and dreams. They don't laugh and they don't cry. You know, I've had a lot of comments on my videos saying we should be standing up to the aliens, but the aliens have never turned on _us_. Everything they have done has been because of _them_ \- the zombies. The evil is still living right amongst us.'

Moe skipped to the middle of the video. Now Becky was crying and through her tears she said, '...because I don't want to lose anymore of you to the Wave. Because you aren't like those zombies - you're better than that. There needs to be a way of letting out the anger, a safe way. You're my viewers and I love you.' The tears kept falling and Moe thought _You're lying, you aren't even trying that hard to look convincing_. She opened another YouTuber's video, entitled _The Taken, What They Really Are. Part Two_.

A man in his late twenties, with hair belonging on a teenager, named Traygun, was sat forward in a similar way to Becky, looking into the camera. She flicked through to two minutes in.

'You know from my previous videos that I had real empathy with the Taken. I thought _We all get mad sometimes_. And I told you I'd do some investigating. As a medical student, I still have access to hospital equipment, and the results I've got are pretty shocking.'

Traygun held up an MRI scan to the camera.

'See here, this patch of black in the frontal lobes? That's where our humanity is. It's what makes us real, feeling humans. And theirs isn't there. The Taken aren't human.' Moe flicked on to ten minutes. Traygun was now crying. 'I can't lose any more of you,' he sobbed. Moe shut the video down. She checked three more. They all involved the same serious stare into the camera, the same crying half-way through, and the same few choice phrases: 'The Taken aren't human.' 'I don't want to lose you.' This couldn't be a coincidence. This was by design to inspire hate towards the Taken, and then what? No video talked specifics, but it couldn't be good. And since the YouTubers were all coordinated by governments, who was actually controlling the Wave now? Who was in charge of the country? The world?

Moe was relieved to see Nick hadn't uploaded a video. For Natasha's sake, she didn't want him to be a part of this.

Nick didn't hesitate to get into Figgy's limousine, feeling his heart skip at the anticipation of sinking in the computer room. But when he saw Figgy's expression he instantly regretted his confidence. Next to Figgy sat a huge man slowly squeezing out of his suit. He looked straight ahead - years of shutting down his empathy had set his features.

'Nick,' said Figgy sternly, handing him a flute of champagne. 'We need to talk.' The car started moving and Nick cradled his glass nervously.

'I guess this is about the video,' said Nick, and took a tentative sip. It tasted corked.

'That you haven't made,' said Figgy.

'Yes, I know. I was just a bit unsure about a few things.'

'Hmm?' said Figgy taking a long slurp from his own glass, looking at Nick all the while.

'I've never been very good at crying on demand. I'm not great at expressing emotion at the best of times, and if I'm on camera, well I don't think I could do it. I mean, it would be a lie.'

'Totally fine. I can arrange for my make-up artists to show you a few tricks to bring tears to the surface. To be honest, at this point nobody watching will be asking too many questions. With over thirty videos of sobbing Tubers, you're just confirming for your viewers what they already know.'

'Which is?' said Nick, not feeling reassured. The huge man next to Figgy hadn't moved, not even blinked. It was unnerving.

'That the Taken are both the problem and the solution,' said Figgy smoothly. Nick hadn't paid much attention to how slick Figgy's speech had become, but now it struck him as odd. A demeanour as perfect as black glass housed in a short, rumpled man.

'And what is the solution?' said Nick.

'People need catharsis. They need to purge their emotions. I believe we discussed this before.'

'And what do the Taken have to do with it?'

'In a controlled environment the public can really let out their demons and release all that pent-up frustration.'

'You're going to let people hurt them, aren't you?' asked Nick, his voice cracking.

'There is going to be a release -'

'Stop talking in riddles! You're going to let people hurt them. The Wave doesn't mind violence against the Taken, so you're going to let people hurt them.'

'They won't know,' said Figgy.

'Yes they will! They aren't totally brain dead!'

'Nick, you're going to have to pick a side,' said Figgy. His voice didn't rise, but he sat back, moved his leg away from Nick, and Nick knew he was in trouble. 'On one side is your lovely daughter, your friends, and all the good, non-violent individuals of the world. And on the other side is the zombies.' While Figgy spoke, Nick felt the pale leather seat become soft around him as if it was pressing against him. He pulled forward and looked at Figgy in alarm.

'All we're asking you to do is protect those you love,' Figgy went on, and Nick could feel his legs gradually disappearing. This wasn't like sinking into the computer room. There was no bliss, no joy. Instead, an emptiness was dragging him into itself. He stood up and tried to support himself by pushing a hand against the roof, but his fingers sucked up through the roof liner, and then his feet dropped.

'Please!' wailed Nick, trying to climb onto Figgy's lap in the hope of something solid. The huge man leaned over and, without showing any signs of effort at all, pushed Nick backwards so he was half-enveloped by the cool leather. It slithered over his arms and stomach and the more he struggled, the deeper he sank.

'Please, I'm sorry, please! I'll do it!'

'See now,' said Figgy. 'You're perfectly able to cry.'

Chapter Thirty

Natasha needed a break from the intensity around the campfire. She went to where Rosie was staring out at the sea, sun glinting off the waves as it sank closer to the horizon.

'You alright?' asked Natasha.

'It's so peaceful,' said Rosie. 'I wish I could float away.'

'It makes everything seem okay for a bit, doesn't it?' said Natasha, and there was a moment of silence. There often was when they were together.

Then suddenly Rosie said, 'I'm waking up, Tash.'

'What?'

'Like something's changing in my head. Shifting,' said Rosie. Natasha looked at her closely, seeing a spark in her eyes, a glimmer of excitement. Overjoyed, she was about to answer when the radio in her pocket started buzzing.

'Hey-a mountain trolls!' said Moe's cheerful voice.

'Hey farty!' said Natasha. 'How's the house?'

'It doesn't matter! Your dad's putting out a video!'

'Hooray for him,' said Natasha, flatly.

'All the other Youtubers have done one, and they're all the same, saying how everything is the Taken's fault and sinister stuff.' Natasha looked over at Rosie whose eyes were wide.

'And now my dad's joining them?' said Natasha.

'Yeah. He's called it _The Truth about who the Taken are_.'

'Have you watched it?' asked Natasha.

'No, it's going out live, in about ten seconds.'

'Let me listen. Tell me everything.'

'Yup,' said Moe. Through the hum they heard Nick's voice, distorted as Moe held the radio up to the phone.

'You've seen a lot of videos about the Taken recently. This is mine,' said Nick, speaking quickly, breathing hard. 'I'm doing it from a park. The Wave has never happened here and I'm not sure what they're going to do to me when I make this.'

'Shit,' whispered Natasha.

'The aliens, the government, they're working together now. The only fight is against us: the little guys, the Joe Schmoes.' said Nick.

'He'll be okay in the park,' said Natasha, trying to reassure herself.

'He's on the wall,' said Moe. 'Does that matter?''

'Idiot!' hissed Natasha and gripped the radio tighter, swallowing down the desire to throw up.

'Tash,' said Nick, 'I don't know where you are. Please stay safe. If that's where you are, then stay there. I love you.' He paused, choking on his words, then carried on, his voice still wobbly with fear. 'For all of you, listen to me. They're going to make you hurt the Taken. To attack them. We're supposed to say it's okay because they aren't human anymore. But it's lies. They aren't zombies and they aren't evil. They're humans who made a mistake. They're not even the worst of us. They're just the unlucky ones.'

Natasha grabbed Rosie's hand and held it, as she strained to hear clearly. Rosie's face had settled into a terrified grin, but her eyes were red - seeping tears.

'If you hurt them, you will destroy a piece of yourselves. You need to resist -'

'No!' said Moe suddenly. 'Tash!'

'What? What?' asked Natasha.

There was shouting from the video and then silence.

'What's happened? Moe?' shouted Natasha. She could hear Moe crying.

'My God, I'm so sorry. They took him. I'm so sorry.'

'Who took him?' Natasha choked the words out.

'The Wave. The Wave came out of the wall.'

Natasha dropped the radio and sat down, no longer aware of anything but the sound of water crashing through her head and pounding in her ears.

Moe was shouting through the radio for a whole minute before Rosie picked it up and crouched next to where Natasha was sitting on the ground staring at the sea.

'Is he gone?' Rosie said into the radio.

'The video cut,' said Moe. 'Is Tash okay? Is she still there?'

'She's here. She's not okay,' said Rosie.

'Why did they let him say all that?' said Natasha in a hollow voice, and Rosie held the radio near her so Moe could hear.

'I don't know,' said Moe. 'I'm sorry. I'm so -'

'Was he scared?' said Natasha, trying to keep her voice even. 'Did it look like it was hurting him?'

'No, he was...' there was a pause. 'He smiled, Tash. I don't know why. He looked happy.'

Natasha didn't react. Instead she said, 'You've got to find him, Moe. He'll come back somewhere. He'll turn up - the Taken always do. You've got to get to him, make sure he's safe.'

'I'll radio you if anything happens. It'll be okay,' said Moe. Natasha nodded and let Rosie lead her back to the edge of the camp where she pretended she would sleep for a bit. Instead she lay staring at the roof of the tent and tried to imagine life with Nick as a zombie. The practical side was straightforward, and she worked a routine through in her head. If all she needed to do was tell him when to mop the floor, it wouldn't be hugely different from now. He still forgot when to take the bins out and it was often down to her to remember birthdays. They'd muddle through. Like always. But then there was the rest. There was the loss of his laugh, his enthusiasm. There was the emptiness. And the hideous, forced rictus smile. Natasha could see it, imagine his face looming in at her, the desperate eyes. She scrambled her way out of the tent and threw up in a bush.

She walked out of camp to look at the sea, needing the expanse.

Rosie was there, standing and staring while the cold wind whipped at her hair and turned her lips blue.

'You okay?' asked Rosie.

'No,' said Natasha. 'You?' Rosie said nothing. The spark had left her eyes, but she took Natasha's hand, and they stared out to sea together, watching the surf crash in and suck back out again.

Natasha was dreaming of the ocean smashing against the shore and she smashed with it, pounding at the sand, ripping the clouds from the sky and squeezing them to nothing. She woke in a panic, hit the material of the tent, then fell back in relief when she realised she was not sinking into the earth. She looked up to see Rosie's head and shoulders poking through the zip.

'What?' asked Natasha.

'It's happening, today. The Vent is happening today,' said Rosie in a dull voice, and she passed over the radio.

'Vent?' said Natasha still half in the dream. 'Moe?' she asked into the radio.

'Rosie told you? It's happening, Natasha. The announcement has gone out. There's going to be a gathering in every town at 10am and they're calling it the Vent. One here in Icking, by the hall. They won't say what it is, only that it's essential if we're to keep ourselves safe from the Wave.'

'Should we try to stop it?' asked Natasha. 'I could come down...'

'You're safer keeping away, looking after Rosie.'

'And you?'

'I don't know. I might be able to reason with the crowd, convince them the Taken are humans. Perhaps your dad's video helped too.'

'Did you find him?'

'No. I'm sorry. I searched your house, the town centre, everywhere. It could be they're holding him until the Vent is over. I'll call you when it starts.'

They said goodbye then Natasha looked up at Rosie, still crouched in the opening of the tent.

'You know what time it is?' Natasha asked.

'My phone's died. I think Judd has a watch though,' said Rosie. Natasha nodded, and Rosie paused before leaving. 'I'm sorry Natasha, for what happened at school,' she said. 'I made everyone hate you. That was a shitty thing to do.' Then she left.

When quarter to ten came around, the town square was thronging with people. A few held up banners declaring the Taken were human too, violence was not the answer, but they didn't capture the mood of the crowd and kept to the edges, too scared to speak. Denied their freedom and choice, driven wild by boredom and constantly tense from the fear of doing something wrong, most of the residents of Icking had become bloodthirsty and irrational. They felt bullied and humiliated and now they had a chance to turn those tables and pick on someone else. This was their consolation prize for all they had lost, and they were not going to turn it away.

The chief and the mayor both stood on a small, hastily constructed platform. Moe was twenty feet back where the crowd was thinning, and where only grass was beneath her feet.

On the stage, the chief strode from one side to another with his stomach puffed out. Behind him the mayor was jigging his leg up and down with excitement. In the crowd, a hundred or so held up their phones, capturing the moment, even though they had nowhere to post it.

'These last few months have been tough,' said the mayor into a microphone, 'but for most of us, we have pulled together and stayed safe from the Wave. Because we are good, and the good have nothing to fear from our alien rulers. They want to protect us. Because for too many centuries, humanity has been ruled by yobs. But now? Now the meek shall inherit! Now, the meek shall rise!'

Behind the stage, a small winding procession made its way through the crowd. One figure, with the shambling and confused gait of the Taken, was pushed and slapped as he walked up to the stage and climbed the steps. Moe didn't want to look, scared to see his vulnerability, but like a child watching TV through her fingers, she needed to see. He was handcuffed as if he would be capable of fighting back, his head turned away. One of the men pushing him smacked his head, and for a moment Moe saw his profile, the smile frozen beneath bewildered eyes. It was Darek.

'No, oh God no,' Moe said, forgetting the radio in her hand.

'What?' said Natasha. 'What's happening? Moe?'

'Nothing,' said Moe and switched off the radio. She tried to think of something she could do. She wanted to run forward, grab Darek and get out, but there were thousands crowded in the square, with the police standing in a circle around the stage, their foam guns at the ready.

'This is Darek, a twenty-five-year-old, illegal immigrant,' the chief announced.

Moe shouted, 'What? No, he's not!' Those around her turned to give her irritated stares, indignant she was interrupting the best entertainment for weeks.

'He came to this country and took advantage of our hospitality. He claimed benefits fraudulently. His act of violence was the attempted rape of a young girl out visiting her grandmother!'

'You're lying!' screamed Moe. Darek looked over at her, his eyes lost, his smile stretching his face.

'See how he's smiling!' the mayor said, stepping forward, annoyed he was missing out on the attention. 'He thinks his crimes are funny!'

'It's not true! He's a boy! He's only fifteen! He hasn't done anything!' shouted Moe.

The mob began to surge towards her, nobody wanting to touch her, but growling to show their anger, like a circle of dogs. Then she heard a movement to her left. There was a pop-fizz sound as Moe was suddenly thrown off her feet. The foam quickly solidified and she was stuck, arms raised, legs frozen, two feet off the ground. Trapped in a star jump.

'This is -' she shouted, and the policeman walked forward and shot the foam into her mouth.

'Now we have a little peace,' said the chief, standing in front of the mayor. 'This is a figure of pure evil, and the only sin would be to let him go free! Anybody who wants to be involved directly in venting should step up now. Batons will be provided.'

Moe watched in shock from her trapped state, nobody moved and for a moment it seemed nobody would. _They aren't insane_ , she thought. _They'll see this is a boy. They'll realise it's all lies._ Then from behind the mayor a few of his men stepped forward and took the batons. Some of the crowd broke away and reached out for the weapons. Moe tried to see something recognisable in the crowd, some doubt or humanity. There were so many different faces: skinny, doughy, lipsticked, fresh-faced, haggard, warty; but every face wore the same expression of vicious glee. Soon more were jostling for space, hands held out for weapons. There was another moment of pause. With all attention on Darek, nobody but Moe saw a movement behind the makeshift stage. It was not a big movement, the ducking down of a head of dark hair, a brown face. Now many of the crowd had batons, but nobody moved.

'Come on!' shouted the chief, but nobody wanted to be the first. Like taking the first biscuit in the packet, it looked greedy. Then one of the mayor's men stepped out in front of Darek, who was still smiling. The batons weren't particularly heavy, and the man swung it back and then hit Darek's shoulder. Darek didn't go down but he grimaced, fear flashing in his eyes. Then another stepped forward and poked him hard in the stomach. Darek doubled over, then stood up again, his face bewildered, the smile a skull's smile. Another abandoned the bat and hit him around the head with a fist.

Moe was trying desperately not to cry. With her mouth plugged up with foam, crying would block her nose and she wouldn't be able to breathe. Watching as Darek was slowly beaten down to his knees, it was as if the horror had slipped down into her throat like a living snake, curling around her organs and crushing. The glee on their faces, the confusion on his. The sound of fists and metal on flesh. She hadn't the will to close her eyes. A crowd had formed a circle around the violence, as the thumping continued, singing accompanied it.

'You're not smiling, you're not smiling, you're not smiling anymore!' they sang.

They were all too excited by the violence to hear the creaking. Then a cracking and snapping. Now the singing trailed off and became shouts, screaming. The stage collapsed in a cloud of dust and debris.

Back at the Outsider camp, Natasha was shouting at the radio.

'She's gone,' said Judd, gently taking it off her.

'But what's happening? Why did she cut me off? What if it was my dad?' Natasha was close to tears with panic, and Judd took pity.

'Look, they'll probably be live-streaming it and we have a phone. We don't use it, but it should have some charge left, if you want?' Then he looked at Natasha's stricken face and didn't bother waiting for an answer. The phone was down to its last five percent of battery. It took several desperate minutes to find one of the YouTube channels showing the video. They only caught the end with the singing, then the sudden crash as the stage collapsed.

'What? Why did that happen? Did they want that to happen?' said Natasha.

Nobody had an answer. Nobody spoke. Rosie was crying softly. She wasn't making a sound and her face was blank, barely moving while tears oozed out. Natasha stared at her for a long time.

The Vent over, Moe was soon released by police who sprayed a solvent into her mouth. The plug of foam dissolved. She ran to a bush and threw up.

'Disgusting!' said a woman, walking away briskly, glancing back at Moe hatefully. 'Kids today have no self-control.'

Chapter Thirty-One

Nobody in the camp asked Rosie to leave. Instead they fussed around her, making her a cup of tea, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. They tried to make a similar fuss over Natasha, but she wasn't interested and shrugged the blanket off. Instead, she paced up and down beside the fire, glaring into the flame as if she hoped to see the answer dancing in the embers.

Finally she walked out of earshot and radioed Moe, kicking up stones until Moe answered. Natasha blurted out, 'What happened? You cut me off!'

'Sorry.' Moe was subdued. Her voice was faint, hoarse.

'But what happened? Who was it? Was it someone we know?' Moe didn't answer. Natasha thought she could hear muffled sobs and felt her skin shrink. 'Moe, was it my dad? Moe?'

'No,' Moe said. 'It wasn't your dad. He's not come back.'

Natasha tried to ask again who it was, but Moe spoke over her.

'I tried to stop it, but there wasn't anything I could do.'

'Did they kill them?' asked Natasha.

'I don't think so. The stage collapsed. I couldn't see what happened, but I reckon he survived.'

'But was it someone we know?' There was a long silence and Natasha shouted into the radio twice before Moe replied that no, it wasn't anyone they knew.

'I can't do this,' said Moe. 'They'll do whatever they want and we can't say no. Everyone is with the aliens now. They've won.'

'Careful. Don't complain,' said Natasha.

'It's okay. I'm in the garden. Stupid we didn't realise about that before. I'm just not smart enough for this.'

'Listen to me. We're not giving up,' said Natasha, anger fuelling the energy inside her. 'I know we can't stop the aliens, but we can stop those arseholes hurting anyone else. We have to. Humans are _our_ responsibility. Remember _never give up._ That's the deal. I've never known someone as fearless as you, and you can do it.' Moe only squeaked a reply, so Natasha went on, 'And I need you to get the Taken out of the police station.'

'What? How?' asked Moe, her voice still choking.

'I have some ideas, and I can send you a small army to help,' said Natasha.

'A what?'

Natasha took a few minutes to explain what little she had of a plan.

'We're too crap to do this, aren't we?' said Moe.

'Possibly. Probably. But we're going to keep trying,' said Natasha. 'Failure is better than just hiding.'

'Okay,' said Moe weakly.

Natasha, newly filled with determination and grit, stomped to the centre of the camp to lecture Judd and the Outsiders on what she wanted them to do. Judd looked at her like a yapping dog, but she'd had enough of adults and their avoidance tactics, and wasn't going to give up.

'You're hiding on a hill!' she shouted, wobbling on top of a stone to try and be bigger. 'Our enemies, whatever they are, are getting humans to batter each other to death! There's no point talking any longer. We have to do something!'

'Yes, okay, but we shouldn't be rushing into it,' said Judd, not easy with being lectured to by a fourteen-year-old girl. However, his followers decided they'd had enough of sitting around a campfire discussing theories. They were bored and pushed past him to interrupt.

'Fine. What do we do?' said Florence, who wore a hippy skirt but had eyes of steel.

'Where do we go?' asked a young man with dreads.

'You need to get to Moe's. I'll give you the address and she'll give you instructions,' said Natasha, relieved to be climbing off the rock. 'And she'll need this,' she handed over her phone. 'Tell her to charge it.'

'Fine,' said Judd sighing. 'We'll take the bus.'

'Bus? What bus?' asked Natasha.

Judd shrugged. 'Our bus. It's the other side of the hill. I was never really sure what to use it for, but it seemed like the kind of thing a revolutionary should have.'

'Yes,' said Natasha. 'Definitely take the bus.'

Once Natasha had used up all her bluster, dread took over again. Without Nick she wasn't sure how long she could cope. She had one small nugget of hope to cling on to: that Moe said Nick had smiled when the Wave had mashed him. Maybe, possibly, this was like when he sank into walls by choice, not harmful, not destructive. And if he hadn't come back, they could be holding him somewhere, in case he caused more trouble. Which meant she needed to get him back. She had decided, on the basis of Nick's messages, it was possible. Because puny though this evidence was, wild stabs in the dark were all she had left. She sat down next to Rosie and put her hand on her knee, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the sleeping pills Nick had given her.

'Rosie?' she said. 'You're going to help me find my dad.'

'How?' asked Rosie, warily.

'I'm not sure, I've got an idea how to start, but we're going to have to make it up as we go along. First, take one of these.'

Rosie sighed and took the pill, then Natasha told her to lean against a tree and close her eyes.

'It'll take about half an hour for the pill to work.'

Rosie nodded. Natasha sat and waited, fighting not to gnaw her fingers to the bone with impatience. Finally a grin spread across Rosie's face, a relaxed, honest grin with dimples.

'Okay, I need you to find the aliens in your head. Can you do that?'

'Do I have to? They've been so much quieter recently,' said Rosie, dreamily.

'I know, but I can't find my dad without you. I need you,' said Natasha, her voice intense.

Rosie's eyes had nearly closed, but now she opened them. 'What do you mean _find_ him?'

'It's fine, trust me.' Natasha put her hand on Rosie's arm, knowing she was lying: it wasn't fine and Rosie couldn't trust her at all. 'Just let yourself be totally calm,' said Natasha, making her voice monotonous. Rosie looked at her warily one more time, then sighed and lay back. 'Remember how you said you can feel the aliens seeping up from the ground, can you go to them? Let yourself fall to where they are?'

'I think so. When I'm not concentrating, I feel them dragging me down, even here.'

'I want you to stop fighting it, just let it take you,' said Natasha. 'Can you see it?' Rosie nodded.

'Describe it,' said Natasha, feeling her heart thump. There were goosebumps on Rosie's neck.

'Pulsing, all walls pulsing, breathing. It's cold, like when your bones are cold.'

'Are the aliens there?'

'They're _everywhere_ ,' said Rosie.

'Okay. Anything else? Any humans?' asked Natasha, struggling to work out what questions to ask.

'I think so. It's smells sweaty, and it didn't before. It feels different.'

'Wait, you mean you're there now? You're not remembering, you're actually there?' Natasha clutched at her feet as Rosie nodded.

'Can you move around and explore?'

'Kind of,' said Rosie, frowning. 'A bit.'

'What can you see?'

'There's a man coming through the wall!' Rosie sat up, her eyes still shut, her hands holding her stomach. 'He plopped right through and now he's sitting on the floor.'

'Is he mashed?' said Natasha.

'No, he's too awake. He looks happy. And he has a clipboard.'

'What's he doing there?' asked Natasha.

'Oh, he's gone again. Got up and walked through another wall,' said Rosie.

'Are you sure this is happening now?'

'Uh huh,' said Rosie.

'But where did he come from? What's on the other side of the wall?' said Natasha.

'The rest of the world, I think. That's what he smelled like,' said Rosie.

'Are humans _visiting_ there? Can they move in and out when they want?'

Rosie screwed up her face. 'I don't know,' she said.

'Can we do it too? Can we go there and not get mashed?' asked Natasha. Rosie opened her eyes. The pupils shrunk and she looked angry.

'Probably. But it's the worst idea ever,' Rosie said.

Moe was already halfway to a plan when the Outsiders showed up. Rather than an army, there were six.

'They were scared,' said Florence. 'They chickened out.' Moe nodded.

'I can work with six,' she said. Then she headed to the school to find Jaali and stood outside the small window in the door of his classroom jumping up and down until he saw her and excused himself. He had a swagger he'd not had before, and he wore a genuine, excited grin.

As soon as they got outside the school, he whispered, 'Did you see it? Did you see what I did to the stage?'

'It _was_ you! How?' said Moe, steering him towards her house. 'How did you do that?'

'My dad's always taught me carpentry stuff. I had a look the day before and I could see how badly they put it together. It was ready to collapse. So I took out a few screws, did some sawing. Then on the day, a final tinker and boom!'

'It was pretty amazing. Do you know what happened to Darek?'

'He went to the hospital, then my dad checked him out. My mum's looking after him. He'll be okay, so long as no one comes to take him away.' Jaali looked suddenly serious, the old fretful Jaali that Moe knew. She put a hand on his shoulder. 'They won't want some beat-up kid for the Vent. Even the mayor won't do that,' said Moe. They had reached her home and she unlocked the door.

'What now, anyway?' said Jaali, and Moe paused.

'We need to get the other Taken out. Rescue them.'

'What, all of them? How?' said Jaali nervously rubbing his nose.

'We have a bus, and a very small army, and a phone,' replied Moe with confidence, hoping it would rub off on reality.

'An army?' asked Jaali.

'But very small.'

Back at Moe's house, the Outsiders were enjoying luxuries like central heating and a kettle. Even a cooking program on the television was exciting and Moe had to shout to get them to listen as she introduced Jaali.

'This is the army?' asked Jaali, looking around at the six Outsiders engrossed in the TV and sipping tea.

Moe ignored him and outlined her plan on the table. She drew the police station, the location of the bus, the Taken.

'It looks complicated,' said Florence. 'What's the swirly thing with the arrow?'

'That's the direction the Taken will move in when we get them out. It's not complicated, I'm just not very good at drawing,' said Moe sharply. She had no time for doubts. 'You'll create a distraction here in the street outside,' she said pointing to a circle on the map. 'And myself and Jaali will get the Taken out. Then we get them all on the bus and Judd drives us back up the hill.'

'I should really be staying with my people throughout,' protested Judd.

'Tough,' said Moe. 'Obviously me and Jaali can't drive, so you'll have to do it.'

'Surely there's been thousands mashed from Icking. How can we get them all out on one bus?' asked Jaali. Moe hesitated, puzzled.

'There weren't thousands,' she said. 'There were hundreds. I don't know where the rest are.' She frowned, then pushed her enthusiasm back in place. 'We'll get who we can.'

'How do we create a distraction?' asked Florence.

'Food,' said Moe. 'Everyone is living off boring, unbranded food. They'll go mad for a packet of chocolate hobnobs or salt and vinegar crisps.'

'You have some?' asked Jaali, hopefully.

'Tash's dad had loads, remember? We'll head over there and stock up.'

'I do like hobnobs,' said one of the Outsiders happily, and Jaali gave Moe another doubtful look as they left the house to go in search of treats.

'Won't the bus be a problem when we drive away from the station? Sort of obvious when there's no cars about,' asked Jaali as they walked, looking around the deserted roads.

'I've planned a route. Most of the trip to the hilltop is through deserted areas. We only need to take a couple of back roads to get there.'

'Do you really believe we can do this? Really?' said Jaali.

'No idea,' said Moe grimly.

It wasn't difficult to find food in Natasha's house - it was stashed all over the place. Multipacks of Mars Bars in a cupboard in the kitchen, seven tins of baked beans stacked up in the bathroom, two bottles of vodka behind the couch.

'Why did he hide it everywhere?' asked Jaali, pulling a tube of Pringles out of the bookcase.

'I don't know. Guilt?' said Moe.

They collected everything they could find, filling Nick's rucksack and five bags-for-life, then headed back.

The Outsiders had their instructions. Judd would drive around the back of the police station, out of sight. The others would go to the front and create a commotion. Moe didn't feel completely comfortable with their ability to follow these instructions. A few of the Outsiders seemed intent on scoffing the Pringles before starting. And Judd was still fussing about leaving his crew in order to drive the bus. He kept insisting Moe would be just fine driving, that this was a perfect time to learn.

'I learned when I was twelve,' he said smugly.

'Just remember, you can't complain,' said Moe, ignoring his nonsense.

On the street outside the police station, Florence took control, handing out boxes of cereal and cakes. The other five in the group held them tentatively as if members of the public would swoop in from the skies. Nothing happened. The streets were empty.

'Now what?' said a young Outsider with a septum piercing.

'We'll have to do some shouting,' said Florence, looking to where a teenager had come into view, quickly striding to avoid trouble.

'No, we have to do some _selling_ ,' said an elderly Outsider, who liked to call herself Rad and nobody dared ask why because the reason was bound to be embarrassing. 'I've seen this on The Apprentice. You have to _engage_ them.'

'Who?' said the young man, looking around. Rad gave him a withering look and then crossed the street to find someone to engage with.

Moe and Jaali stood watching them from the side of the police station, peering around the wall.

'They aren't getting anywhere!' said Jaali, remembering to keep his voice cheerful and quiet.

'Give it time,' said Moe, taking a bag of Haribo out of her pocket and offering it to him.

'What about after this?' said Jaali, putting a sweet in his mouth. 'Are you going to live on the hill?' Moe puffed out her cheeks and squinted at him, then picked at a bit of wall.

'Don't know. How does that even work?' she said. 'You?'

'I'm going to stay with Darek and my parents. I don't like insects. I like indoors. I like my mum's cooking.'

'Yeah,' said Moe, feeling jealous. 'I get that.'

The first local Rad approached looked bored and wary as she enthusiastically leapt about in front of him. It was only when a doughnut was wafted under his nose he showed interest and that interest quickly became desperate and drooling. Another passer-by looked over from across the street, as if he heard a shout. The Outsider with the nose ring, not wanting to be outdone, walked over him waving a packet of cheese and onion crisps.

Passers-by began to gather around the Outsiders, who had to guard each bag from prying fingers. There was a polite disagreement over who deserved the Viennese Whirls the most. Even the Pot Noodles were popular.

Soon there was a small crowd around them, with locals clutching their newly acquired snacks and drinks as if they held magical jewels. The Outsiders slowed at handing out the goodies to hang onto supplies: opening a packet of Maltesers and giving out one at a time, allowing a spoonful of ice-cream per person. The gathering became a crowd, desperate, greedy, but with forced, fearful politeness. After weeks of being deprived of sugar and fat, they were drooling and gently nudging each other out the way with false cheer.

PC Brown and the chief rushed out of the station to see what was happening. The chief shouted that the foods needed to be confiscated, but the hissing this resulted in from people who couldn't shout was unnerving. Instead he settled for sitting at the side of the road eating a chocolate mousse with his finger.

Natasha took Rosie around the side of the multiplex, where they found the fire door shut.

'So we can't get in,' said Rosie with relief. 'It's over.'

'No. The soldiers keep the front door open. We just have to lure them away,' said Natasha. 'I need you to create a little distraction.'

Rosie frowned. 'And once we get in? What do you think we're going to do?' she said.

'Get my dad back,' said Natasha, looking stern, hoping this would end the conversation.

'He'll turn up eventually. All the Taken do.'

'But I want him back now! I want him safe!' Rosie looked at her dubiously, but Natasha had more to say. 'And I want to break their rules. Invade _their_ fucking home!' Natasha said, forcing a grin.

'They won't care,' said Rosie. 'You don't matter.'

'I'll care!' Natasha said. Rosie sighed and walked around to the other side of the building. She stood in front of the soldiers, smiling a wide, mashed smile.

'What's up with the fucking zombie?' said one of the armed guards.

'I hate the way they stare at you like a dead thing,' said the other. 'Go on, get! Scram!' He shook his gun at her and Rosie waved her hand back, keeping her face as blank as possible. 'I said go away!' he snarled, voice heavy with disgust. While Rosie kept smiling, the two guards walked closer to her, shouting, until Natasha was able to scuttle behind them and into the building. When Rosie saw this, she turned and walked away. Once out of sight, she scooted around to the fire door again. Natasha opened it with a welcoming hug.

'That was cool!' she said.

'This is a stupid idea,' said Rosie, keeping her voice free of complaint, as they walked along the corridor towards the door to the basement. 'We'll only end up mashed,' she continued. They walked past the peeling posters and over the squishy carpet.

'Maybe. But what if we make it?' said Natasha. 'What if we show we can steal one of the mashed right out from under their tentacles?'

'Or maybe being mashed will finally shut you up!' snapped Rosie, her voice echoing in the draughty halls. Natasha looked at her closely.

'You're scared,' she said.

'Duh!' sneered Rosie and Natasha grinned.

'You're coming back!' said Natasha, filled with delight. 'You're becoming a bitch again!' She carried on, with half a skip in her step. When they reached the corridor, it was still bubbling and wriggling. Rosie stared around herself and shook her head.

'We can't go through this. It's too agitated. We'll get ripped apart,' said Rosie.

'Do you know that? Or are you just guessing?' asked Natasha. Rosie shrugged and Natasha rubbed her arm. 'It'll be okay,' she said, then turned to the bubbling wall and focussed her mind. She shut her eyes and raised her hands as if in prayer, and let thoughts of the sun shining through trees fill every nook and cranny of her mind. She needed to turn all her energy into stillness, which was a contradiction that gave her a headache, but when she opened her eyes it was working. The wall was calming down, becoming flatter, the pattern settling.

'Ready?' said Natasha, turning to take Rosie's hand.

'No! I don't even understand what we're doing!'

'We can walk through where the wall is soft. My dad wrote about it. It's possible to do that without getting mashed. So that's what we're going to do.'

'Do you know that? Or are you just guessing?' asked Rosie.

Natasha smiled. 'Ready?' she said and turned, putting her best foot forward.

'Tash?' said Rosie, fear twisting her mouth. Natasha glanced back. 'Don't stop,' said Rosie. 'Once you're in, keep moving. Don't stop.' Natasha nodded, and pushed her hand into the wall where it dissolved. She had a dim awareness she should be frightened, that her hand ceasing to exist should be terrifying, but it was fine. It was nice. And getting nicer. She stepped inside the wall and the happy nothingness seeped out from what was her hand and into her arm, her shoulder, her feet. Staying there forever would be just lovely. No pain, no boredom. Only bliss as she slowly evaporated.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Meanwhile, Moe and Jaali crept in the front door and over to the cells. Moe put in the code 0000, and the small panel flashed up _ACCESS DENIED_.

'Shit!' said Moe.

'You said they wouldn't -' Jaali wailed, but his feet started sinking into the ground and he shut himself up. Moe put a hand on his shoulder.

'It's okay. They're idiots, remember?' She searched around the locked doors, then lifted the casing on the panel Beneath was a post-it note with 9876 written on it.

'You see? Idiots!' she said triumphantly and punched in the code. The door eased back with a clunk to reveal about fifty vacant grinning faces looking at them.

'There aren't as many,' said Moe, looking around. 'What's happened to the rest?'

'They don't even have a clue they're being rescued,' said Jaali, looking at the shuffling prisoners and trying not to feel overwhelmed. 'I hope your plan is a good one.'

Moe took Natasha's phone out of her pocket. 'Tash said the Taken follow one of the tracks on this, but that we need to be careful,' said Moe.

'Careful, why?' asked Jaali. 'What does it do?'

'There wasn't time to explain,' said Moe, walking to the middle of the Taken and jabbing her finger at the screen. There was a crack across the numbers from when Natasha had dropped it, and it wouldn't respond. Moe growled, pressing with increasing irritation. 'Come on, you worthless slab of junk and spunk!'

'Moe!' said Jaali, and she looked up and then down to see the floor oozing up over her shoes. She yelped, then took a deep breath, smiled and then began pressing the keypad again. Jaali couldn't take the conflict between wanting to panic loudly and needing to stay cheerful, so he went to the front door of the station. He returned just when Moe accessed the phone.

'The chief's eating. We're alright if they keep feeding him,' said Jaali from the doorway.

'I hope he's hungry,' said Moe nodding as she found the file and pressed play. She held the phone in the air. The jail was filled with sound of the Earth as heard in space: the eerie static and distant roaring. All the Taken turned to look at the phone, and the smiles fell from their faces. Then, as one, they looked at Moe.

'Um, what did Tash say would happen?' asked Jaali, alarmed, wrapping his arms around his stomach and staring at the suddenly predatory faces of the Taken.

'She didn't,' said Moe, her voice wobbling. 'I thought the smiling was scary.' The Taken raised their hands slightly, the fingers curling over into claws. Tendons were popping along their arms. Jaali was sure he could hear their teeth grinding. Their eyes were bulging as if they would burst from their faces. Step by step, they began to move towards Moe.

'This isn't right! This isn't right!' said Jaali. 'You need to move.'

'No!' squeaked Moe, who couldn't remember how her feet worked. Each step the Taken took was slow, but their eyes never left her and she was frozen in their gaze. Without acknowledging each other, they kept pace, spacing out to either side. Moe glanced back and forth between them, but her feet still wouldn't shift.

'Moe, they're circling. You're going to be trapped. You have to move!' Moe could only squeak in response. 'We have to get out!' shouted Jaali. 'They're going to rip you apart!' But nothing he said broke her stillness, and the Taken kept moving until they'd formed a circle around her, four bodies deep.

Then they stopped and the only noise was the hiss of static and the surreal groan of the Earth.

'Moe?' shouted Jaali. Moe squeaked. 'You okay?' shouted Jaali. A higher pitched squeak. 'I'll try and get you out,' he said. He didn't find the hunched backs of the Taken threatening. They looked like his granny and her friends in a huddle at church. He pushed his hand between two of them, grabbed the sleeve of a portly man wearing a sensible anorak and pulled. He didn't move. Jaali circled his hand around the man's wrist and then snatched it back. The muscles in the wrist were so tense that flesh felt like bone. He gently pushed a girl next to him. She didn't even wobble.

'There's no way I can get to you,' he shouted.

'What do they want?' squeaked Moe. Jaali circled the outside of the Taken wall.

'It's like they're waiting for something, instructions maybe,' said Jaali. 'Try telling them what to do.'

'Go away!' said Moe. They didn't.

'Say it like an alien would,' said Jaali.

'How would I know how to do that?' shrieked Moe.

'Okay,' he said. He felt oddly calm in the crisis, gaining strength from Moe's fear. 'I want you to throw the phone to me, and then I think they'll move.' He took Moe's squeak as agreement, then climbed up on a desk in the office so she could see him. The phone sailed out of the circle and Jaali had to jump to catch it. Then he hugged it to his chest and watched the Taken with wild eyes.

They were already moving, without hurry or sound, eyes fixed on his hands as they slowly gathered around his table, looking up.

'You okay?' shouted Moe, able to breathe more easily as her own circle dispersed and the staring no longer focused on her.

'Their eyes are totally black,' he said. He felt as if his soul was being sucked in. The strange howl from the phone and their unflinching stare was hypnotising him, pulling him closer. Transfixed, he took a step towards the edge of the table. And the Taken all took a step back.

'Jaali?' said Moe. 'I reckon if I stand next to the door and you throw the phone, I can lead them out!' she shouted, walking through the desks to get to the exit. 'Jaali!'

Jaali snapped out of his haze. 'Hmm?' he said.

'Throw me the phone,' commanded Moe.

'I think I can just walk and they'll keep -' he started to say.

'Throw the phone!' shouted Moe. Jaali panicked and threw the phone. It skidded under a table out of sight.

'What did you throw it over there for?' said Moe indignantly.

'Have you got it?' shouted Jaali, while Moe muttered and crouched to look into the shadows where the phone lay. Three of the Taken were between Moe and the phone. They began to move with that painful slowness, while Moe quickly ducked and weaved between them, terrified that they would grab at her.

Once Jaali's circle had moved enough that he could see, he shouted helpful instructions, 'You have to get it before they do!'

'I know,' said Moe leaping to the side as a large biker with a straggly beard walked into her. It was like being hit by a boat.

'If they form a circle around it, we'll never get through.'

'I know!' she said and dived under the desk and began fumbling in the dusty shadows for the phone. She grabbed it, relieved. But the relief vanished when she looked down to see the screen even more shattered and then turned to see a solid circle of legs around the desk.

'I'm trapped. There's no space to throw!' she wailed.

'It doesn't matter,' said Jaali. 'If you move towards them, they'll move.'

'I don't want to!' said Moe. Then felt the carpet soften beneath her. 'I'm sinking!' she shrieked. 'And that's just great!' she added with the enthusiasm of an advert voice-over. Trapped between a terrifying crowd and a squishy floor, the only option left was to hold out the phone. The Taken all took two steps back and Moe got to her knees and held the phone up. Again the circle shifted. Like a newly formed organism, the crowd moved towards the door. 'I'm doing it!' shouted Moe proudly.

Jaali wondered if he should mention that the sound file would end soon and with the screen smashed, there was no way they could start it again. But then fate took the decision out of his hands and the sound faded. With one movement, the Taken stood upright. Their hands fell to their sides and the smiles returned. They were no longer going anywhere.

There was a tug on Natasha's hand, squeezing the fingers, twisting and then pulling them. Suddenly it hurt quite a lot, and she quickly followed the direction her hand was being yanked in. Her stomach, her face, her other hand, her feet. Bit by bit she fell apart and ceased to be, evaporated. Then she slithered out the other side, whole and wide-eyed, pulled by Rosie.

'You stopped!' said Rosie. Natasha stared at her for a moment before mouthing a sorry. She looked around. They were in a tunnel. Grey shiny concrete stretched out in both directions.

'Is this really where the aliens live?' asked Natasha softly, but her voice still bounced off the walls. 'Where are we? Is this under the multiplex?'

'Probably,' said Rosie, glancing around and grabbing Natasha's sleeve to pull her on. However, Natasha was too fascinated with the strange shiny ceiling and walls. She pressed her hand against the top of the tunnel and could see the gritty grey was actually below the surface, which looked more like glass.

'It's covered in plastic!' said Natasha.

'Okay, but we should be moving,' said Rosie, shifting from one foot to the other as if the ground was hot.

'This must be what they need plastic for. Maybe it makes it stronger.' She pressed the roof again. 'So, where are they?'

'Who?' asked Rosie.

'The aliens. Are they nearby?'

Rosie stared at her for a moment, not answering. Finally, she said, 'That _is_ them, Tash.'

'Where?' Natasha looked up and down the corridor, frantically.

'You're poking them.'

'Now how do we get them out?' wailed Jaali. 'Not that I'm upset about it!' he added cheerfully, as the floor started to liquify beneath him. Moe stared at the vague crowd. Apart from the single, repeated expression, there was nothing to unite them. One man wore combats and work gloves, another had on a suit. There was a woman in a comfortable cardie with cat hairs on the collar.

'We need to find one who's a bit more together,' said Moe, and pushed through the crowd. 'Help me find someone who has a real expression.' Jaali stared around at the empty eyes and grinning faces. At the back, in a leather jacket with her hands clutched together, he saw a young woman trying to smile - but her fear kept shrinking her mouth and she looked ready to cry.

'Hi there,' he said gently, walking over and tugging at her hand.

Moe was standing a few feet away, staring at her father. His frozen grin was faltering too, but when Jaali pulled over the scared woman, Moe happily turned from her father and said, 'She's perfect,' then whispered in the woman's ear. The woman looked back, confused.

'She doesn't understand,' said Jaali.

Moe ignored him and whispered again, ' _It's time to go,_ say it.'

The woman wanted to please and the hope on her face was almost painful to look at. 'It's time to go?' she said, and Moe nodded.

'Keep saying it,' said Moe.

'It's time to go. It's time to go,' said the woman, her voice getting louder.

A man standing nearby, his eyes so vacant they looked like glass marbles, whispered it too. 'It's time to go.' Then a young boy next to him wearing a Minecraft t-shirt joined in the mantra. One by one, each of the Taken muttered the words like a choir of broken robots.

'You think they're ok?' asked Jaali. 'They won't hurt us?' Moe shrugged. Now that every member of the Taken was joining in the tuneless song, filling the room with a cacophony of the phrase, Moe grabbed the woman's hand and pulled her towards the door, and the others followed. The huddle slowly shifted towards the exit like a herd of sheep. Jaali ran ahead to check the coast was clear, then reappeared at the front of the group with a thumbs up.

'The chief is sitting on the pavement down the road eating a packet of bourbons!' he said.

'Perfect,' said Moe. Shifting the crowd was like moving in a game of snake. Moe and Jaali had to keep changing the direction of the foremost mashed, and then the others would follow on. They herded them out of the door, through the bush and into the road behind, where the bus was parked.

Getting them onto the bus meant physically pulling one up the stairs, until the others caught on and they all flowed upwards like contrary water.

Moe was feeling so smug at their achievement it took her a moment to realise what was wrong.

Judd had gone.

'It's plastic,' said Natasha. 'Are they made of plastic?'

'They're in everything,' explained Rosie, then shrugged, 'I keep telling you. Plastic, concrete, wood.'

'But what does that even mean?'

Rosie paused and tried again. 'Everyone keeps thinking that they're like us: big blobs that wander around,' she said. 'But they're tiny, like -' She stopped.

'Microscopic?' suggested Natasha.

'Smaller. That's how they get in everything and change it all. They get right inside. Inside _stuff_.'

'Are they inside us? Like a disease?' said Natasha, voice rising in panic.

'You have to stay calm,' said Rosie, glancing nervously at the ceiling and around the walls. 'They'll leave us alone if you keep calm.'

Natasha nodded. 'We need to find my dad,' she said.

'Yeah,' said Rosie with a sigh, and they began to walk down the corridor.

'Is it okay that my feet are sinking into the ground?' asked Natasha.

'We're not supposed to be here,' said Rosie. 'Nothing is okay.' Natasha decided that was as close to a _yes_ as she would get, and kept walking.

On their right they reached a cavernous opening: a dark arch in the grey of the wall. It looked like the inside of a mouth, red and glistening, with ten bodies sunk into the wall like teeth. Their heads were submerged in the softness, their feet dangling free. None of them were Nick. Natasha stared at them, too disturbed to process what she was seeing. Rosie began to walk on past.

'Wait! They're trapped! We have to get them out,' hissed Natasha.

'They're not trapped,' said Rosie. 'They want to be there.'

'They can't be. Their faces are stuck in alien goo,' said Natasha in disbelief.

'You need to be calm...' Rosie began to say, but Natasha had run forward and pulled at one man's shoulders. He came away from the wall with a sucking sound, a thin coating of slime on his face.

'Hi,' he said, unflustered, happy.

'Are you okay? Are you trapped?' asked Natasha as the man licked his lips and looked back longingly at the wall. He wasn't acting like a prisoner. 'What are you doing?' she asked.

'Surveying. Checking for violence,' he said with a happy sigh.

Curiosity overtook Natasha's concern. 'Why, what's in there?' she asked, peering around him to the dent where his face had been. 'Is it a screen?' She could see only slime.

'No, it's the whole world,' replied the man, as if he were a janitor patiently explaining the way a mop and bucket worked to a small child.

'Do you want us to rescue you?' Natasha felt she should ask, but had taken a few steps back. The man's benevolent smile dripping slime was too creepy to stand close to.

The man chuckled and wiped his mouth with a slow-moving hand.

'Goodness me, no! This is the best job I've ever had. And the pension package is excellent.'

'But are you controlling the Wave? That destroys lives!' said Natasha.

'You gotta work for somebody,' he said. Natasha let go of him and he sank back to the wall. It oozed into his face. She turned to look at Rosie, wanting to vent her fury, but Rosie wasn't looking back - she was looking up, and she was terrified. Natasha looked up too and saw the red glistening surface of the ceiling bulging and popping like a witch's cauldron.

'I'm happy! I'm happy!' said Natasha with a grimace, forcing herself to think of kittens sleeping in a huddle. The bubbling smoothed out and the ceiling became still.

Through clenched teeth, Rosie said, 'Chill. Out.' Natasha nodded. They carried on down the corridor, but the floor felt even softer now. Natasha had to pull her shoes out a little with each step.

Cavernous holes occurred on either side of them. Sometimes people hung from the ceiling, sometimes their feet were submerged and the ooze was slithering up their legs. Rosie kept walking as if she knew where to go.

'What's my dad going to be like when we find him, Rosie?' asked Natasha, haunted by the slimy man. Rosie said nothing. 'Is he still going to be my dad?' Rosie turned and gave Natasha a sad, sorry stare, then carried on.

The tunnel didn't carry much further before another cavern opened up to their left. Twenty bodies were spaced around the edges of the large room, their heads sunk into the soft surface and their legs drooping below.

'He's here,' said Rosie.

'How do you know?' Natasha whispered, feeling sick. Rosie shrugged. Natasha looked around and saw her dad's baggy jeans and the frog-patterned socks she had bought him for Christmas two years ago.

'We need to -' said Rosie, but Natasha didn't wait to hear. She grabbed his legs and tugged. She could hear Rosie whispering fearfully behind her, but she didn't care. Nick plopped free almost at once and landed on the ground looking up at her, his face gooey, his eyes slightly askew.

'Hi Tash!' he said cheerfully to the space next to her. Natasha went to hug him but drew back from the slime.

'You shouldn't have done that. We need to leave. Now,' said Rosie, looking around for any movement and tugging on Natasha's arm.

'Okay. Dad? We need to go.'

Nick looked at Natasha with a lazy smile and leant back against the wall. He began to slide into its surface, the ooze creeping around his shoulders.

'What are you doing? We have to leave!' said Natasha grabbing his arm and pulling.

'Don't pull at him!' said Rosie, speaking through her teeth that were clenched in a smile.

'There, there,' said Nick. 'Just a bad dream, noodle.' And again he leaned back and began to sink.

'Dad!' Natasha pulled him back out. 'What's wrong with him?' she said turning to Rosie. She lifted her feet, while trying to hold her dad away from the wall. Her back ached. It felt like a bizarre exercise from a sadistic YouTube workout.

'He's happy,' said Rosie with a shrug.

'Then how do I get him to come with us?'

'You can't, I'm sorry. You wanted to find him and at least you know he's safe,' said Rosie.

'Are you kidding? Dad, you've got to listen to me, we need to leave,' Natasha begged, but Nick gave a contented sigh and he slithered down the wall until he was half lying on the floor like a rag doll. 'No!' shouted Natasha.

'Don't get angry,' hissed Rosie, then when she felt the floor oozing into her trainers, she gave a false laugh. 'He won't come. We have to go,' she said.

Natasha got into a crouch beside Nick and pulled his arm around her shoulder, but as she tried to stand, they heard another soft plopping sound from behind them. They turned to see a woman in a pencil skirt and sensible shoes standing staring at them with a huge smile as her hair clung to the side of her head and slime dripped down her chin.

'You aren't supposed to be here,' she said dreamily.

'That's really bad,' said Rosie.

'It's fine. She's too dazed to do anything. Look, she's like a blob.' Natasha was babbling as she attempted to hoist Nick up. He was a dead weight and his arms were too slippery to get a firm grip on. He kept smiling up at her like a happy drunk.

The woman pressed her face against the wall so that it was partly submerged, then pulled it out again and took a languid step towards them.

'Look at her Tash. She's riddled with them. She'll drag us right into the walls and we'll never get out.'

'She's too weak though. It's fine. Dad, you've got to listen to me,' said Natasha.

'Natasha, please!' said Rosie, panic and false cheer fighting for control of her voice. The woman took another step closer, her arms out wide, her grinning head tipped to one side, like a favourite aunt asking for a hug in the middle of a nightmare.

'Now what?' asked Jaali. Moe wasn't ready to give up her warm glow of success yet. She left the bus and dashed up and down a small section of road, hoping to find Judd hiding in an alleyway. But he was gone. Her heart was thumping in her stomach and her head was beginning to spin.

She climbed back up the stairs and said, 'I don't know. We're going to have to drive it.' She looked at the zombies sitting well-behaved in the bus seats and still chanting, still clueless.

'I thought you didn't know how to drive,' said Jaali.

'I don't. You reckon you could?' asked Moe.

'You're older,' said Jaali.

Moe sighed and lowered the sun visor; the keys fell down.

'When I was a kid, I'd make escape plans all the time,' she said, shifting forwards in the seat to try to reach the pedals and turning the key in the ignition. 'I'd watch my dad when he was driving, because I figured someday -' She put the bus in gear and it lurched forward and stalled. '- someday I'd need to escape.' She put it back in gear, then pushed down on the accelerator. They moved slowly forward, the bus juddering and jumping. Moe screamed, Jaali released the handbrake, and the bus blundered down the road.

'Dad!' said Natasha, grabbing his shoulders for the hundredth time. She pulled off her hoody and wrapped it around his back and under his arms. Finally, he couldn't slip back into the wall, although she could feel her arms straining with the effort.

'I just need time!' said Natasha. The woman was still moving towards Rosie but paused a few feet away to sink back into the wall for a bit.

'For what? He's not listening to you,' said Rosie.

The woman gargled as she started speaking while her face was still in the wall, then as she pulled herself out the sentence finished. 'Shouldn't be here,' she said. She took another step and reached out to grab Rosie's hair. Rosie dodged to the side, away from Natasha.

'Come on then slime-beast,' Rosie whispered. The woman slowly swivelled to face her.

'See. She's so slow. It's fine,' said Natasha and took a breath trying desperately to think while Rosie played the sluggish but inexorable game of tag.

Then behind her, she heard another two heavy, squishy thuds. She turned to see two dazed, happy men who took lumbering steps towards them.

'It's fine,' said Natasha. 'Just fine.'

'I can't dodge three of them! There's not enough space!' shouted Rosie, then leapt away as the ceiling bubbled above her. The woman stepped forwards and looked up at it happily before sinking her hand into it like blancmange. Her other hand she stretched towards Rosie who ducked away with a whimper. Natasha stared at her dad and tried to think, there had to be something they could do.

'Natasha!' said Rosie. 'I'm trapped!' The two men were now standing either side of her, with the wall behind her and nowhere to run.

Then Natasha had a thought. She looked at her dad, balled her fists and screamed with all the self-pity she could muster, 'It's not fair!'

The Wave bulged out of the floor, moving fast like a tsunami. There were two more plopping sounds behind them, but Natasha ignored them, moving faster than the Wave. She grabbed the woman's arm and swung her at the moving wall of goo, shutting down her anger at that moment, stilling the rage in an instant. The Wave folded itself around the woman and sucked her into the ground. Rosie was too busy staring to move, so Natasha pulled her between the two men and over to Nick.

'What the Hell did you do?' whispered Rosie.

'Not sure. But we're going next.'

'What do you mean?' asked Rosie, looking back to where the men were now making their slow way towards them. Others behind them were also slowly shifting their way, like sloths playing a game of tag.

'I'm going to bring up the Wave again and you, me and Nick are going to jump in,' said Natasha calmly.

'Are you fucking nuts?' said Rosie, and Natasha smiled, looking down to where the floor bulged at Rosie's emotion. Then she turned to Nick, and pleaded, 'Daddy, I'm scared! I need you!' Nick looked up at her, his eyes fuzzy, but with recognition in them.

'What's wrong noodle?' he said standing with painful slowness, staring around as if he couldn't quite see her. Natasha grabbed Rosie and hooked one arm through Nick's. Then she raised her foot and kicked the wall. It wobbled, then stilled.

'Rosie, help me. You've got to get angry,' said Natasha.

'I _am_ angry. You're going to get us mashed!' said Rosie. Now seven sluggish but unstoppable forces were surrounding them, blocking the door.

'It's the only way. We're trapped now!'

One of the men had thought of a new technique and reached a hand out to Nick, smiling sweetly. Nick gave a slushy grin back and held out his own hand.

'Rosie!' shouted Natasha. 'Either we go through this wall together or we go through the floor with them!'

Rosie muttered angrily, then roared, her arm through Natasha's and her teeth bared, 'You are such a stupid bitch!'

Natasha grinned and the two girls kicked the soft wall. It opened like a throat, and they turned to look at each other, now breathing slowly, banishing bad feelings until later. As slime-covered hands reached out to grasp Nick's fingers, the three jumped through.

Natasha was suspended, broken apart, spinning. The desire to simply stop, to rest in an obliterated state was so strong it made her want to cry. _Never give up_ , she thought and kept on moving.

Moments later they rolled onto the bubbling floor of the multiplex and quickly scrambled free, kicking at the floor and out into the corridor.

'You've got to put the clutch down before you change gear!' said Jaali as cheerfully as he could.

'I know!' shouted Moe. 'I just keep forgetting!'

Moe was inching around the back roads, because a bus driving on the main roads would be too conspicuous. But that meant narrow streets filled with parked cars, now rarely used. Luckily, most of the residents were out litter picking or crowded around the Outsiders and their forbidden treats. Occasionally, Jaali could see a face looking out of a window as they passed.

'Turn left here,' said Jaali. 'Then you'll be away from the houses.'

Moe took a wide corner, swinging out onto the other side of the road.

'Weeeee!' she shouted.

'Stop having fun!' said Jaali in his perkiest voice, while turning around to see a few of the Taken sprawled in the aisle. It seemed like he was in the strangest horror film ever: trapped in a bus with fifty fragile zombies, driven by a crazed teenage lunatic. The road they were on led past the old industrial park - there was no chance of pedestrians here. He could finally breathe a little easier. Unfortunately, Moe was also breathing easier and enjoying herself. She tried weaving a bit down the road, hitting the curb with a jolt which knocked his teeth.

'We need to go right, then we'll be parallel with the main road,' said Jaali. 'If we park there we can wait in the house until the others come back. Moe nodded and took the next right. It was another residential street - a twisty-turny one, unsuited to a bus. She slowed right down and crawled through the stationary cars.

'Careful!' squealed Jaali. 'That's a Jaguar!' Then he forced out a chuckle when he felt the seat turn soft beneath him.

'Yeah, what's he doing with a car like that in Icking anyway?' said Moe happily, and started on a thirteen-point turn to get round the bend.

'Why did they put a post there?' she asked, as the bus screeched paintwork from a bollard.

'To stop idiots driving on the pavement!' said Jaali.

'And how am I supposed to get past this lamppost?' she asked.

'You've got to reverse!' snapped Jaali. Moe grunted, crunched the gears and swung backward. She nudged the lamppost very slowly so it creaked and leaned, then the bus swung round and forward. There was scraping and crunching as the back of the bus caught a parking sign and pulled it out of shape. Jaali had stopped caring because he noticed Judd and some of his followers running towards them.

'They're back! You can stop now,' he said to Moe. She looked at him surprised.

'But I'm not finished,' she said.

'Please,' he said.

She stopped where they were, diagonally across the road, and leapt out enthusiastically. The bus rolled slowly back towards the lamppost, so Jaali put the handbrake on, then climbed out too.

'Pretty damn good I thought!' she announced. Judd was looking proud with his arms crossed.

'You abandoned us!' said Jaali, then added a grin he didn't feel.

'I knew you could do it if you tried!' Judd said, as if the achievement was half his. 'We've handed all the food out, but we told them we'd be back, so they should all be preoccupied for a while. Now what?'

'I guess we head back up the hill as fast as possible,' said Moe. 'I don't know how long we've got before the chief realises what's happened. We shut the door, so he might not check, but we need to go.'

'Yep, we need to get out of here,' said Jaali.

'Shall I drive?' said Moe.

'No, you bloody won't,' Jaali said, as the Outsiders squeezed in between the Taken on the bus. 'And we need to make a stop off.'

'What for?' said Moe.

'Well, I'll need my toothbrush. Plus more coats. If we're going to live on a hill, we need supplies,' said Jaali, who was already building a list up in his head. 'And there's someone we need to pick up.'

'I thought you didn't want to live on a hill,' said Moe.

'Well, now I've seen you drive a bus, I realise you won't last five minutes if you don't have me there to help you,' said Jaali.

'Cheeky sod!' said Moe, to hide her delight.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Natasha's high from the rescue had been trampled by reality. It was cold, she was hungry, and her dad was sitting staring into space with a sloppy smile on his face like someone had switched his brain off. She was attempting to build a fire, but her hands were shaking so much she kept knocking over her kindling pyramid. After the fifth attempt, she sat back and kicked the sticks into the mud. Rosie came and sat beside her.

'You okay?' asked Rosie.

'If I can't even make a fire, how am I going to survive on a hill in winter?' said Natasha, crankily. 'Normally, I'd get Dad to teach me, but his head is filled with soup.' She hunched into her coat and refused to cry. 'And where are the others? I thought they'd be back ages ago. What if they got mashed? What if they got mashed because of what I told them to do?'

'They'll be okay. They're probably just eating or hiding or something. And your dad isn't even mashed,' said Rosie, 'so if I can get back to normal, it'll be easy for him.'

'Are you though? You never used to be this nice,' said Natasha, crossing her arms.

'Come on,' said Rosie standing up and pulling on her arm. 'Let's go look at the sea, get some freezing wind on your face to cheer you up.' Natasha let herself be pulled and they walked out to the edge of the hill. She stared at the ground as she walked, her mind churning over how complicated everything was, and how she didn't have Nick to help her fix it.

'You did it, you know?' said Rosie warmly. 'You wanted to invade the aliens' home, and you did.'

'Yeah, but so what?' said Natasha moping into the wind. 'They still rule the world. Nothing's changed.'

'Oh my God!' said Rosie swinging her arms into the air with exasperation. 'You did it! _We_ did it! Will you be pleased for one fucking second!'

For a moment Natasha froze, staring at Rosie wide-eyed. Then she flung her arms around her neck. Rosie flapped her away like she was a seagull stealing her sandwich.

'You _are_ all normal, aren't you?' said Natasha with delight. 'As much of a mean old moo as ever!'

'Yeah, well, you pushed me to it,' said Rosie with a sneer. Then she laughed. 'I forgot how much fun it was to make all these expressions with my face!' Natasha chuckled and they hooked arms, huddling together against the wind, with Natasha trying to cling to hope and Rosie pulling faces. Only a few cold minutes passed before Rosie said, 'Can you hear that? Is it singing?'

Natasha could hear it, and it did sort of sound like singing, along with the throaty grumble of a vehicle coming up the hill. They looked down to see the bus, battered and now slightly wonky, making its way up the gravel road. The Taken were tonelessly chanting _Row row row your boat_ in rounds. Moe leaned out the window and waved her arms frantically, her grin so huge it looked bigger than her face.

'I drove a bus, you numbnuts!' she shouted. 'I drove a fucking bus!'

A moment later, the bus stopped with a shudder and then creaked unhappily. Moe and Jaali clambered out and ran over, leaving the bus to continue its journey to camp.

'We did it!' Moe shouted while she was still running. Once she reached them, she kept moving, dancing around the two girls like a squirrel. 'That phone thing was nuts! They were like something out of a horror film, all grr!' Moe twisted up her face and made her hands into claws. 'No offence, Rosie,' she added. Rosie pulled a _Yeah, whatever_ face, because she could.

'It was mad!' said Jaali, whose excitement had finally broken through his reserve, now the fear was over. 'We were like ninjas! Jumping over tables and around zombies. Like _wee-yaa_!' Jaali did a spinning kick, somewhat like a ninja.

'And Jaali is coming to live with us on the hill!' added Moe.

'Nice!' said Natasha. It was the only word that would fit before Jaali started speaking again.

'And I've brought my dad, so he can help us build some shelters.

'Building? Is that a good idea?' Natasha said, trying to stop the giddy flow of excitement with some common sense.

'We're going to have dugouts, and tunnels, all over the hill!'

'Yes, but the Wave,' said Natasha. Moe flapped at her.

'It's okay,' said Moe. 'We've worked it all out. You're going to be the scientist. You can test what the limits of the Wave are. And we've agreed that I should be the army general.'

'We haven't agreed that,' said Jaali, but Moe ignored him.

'I'll prepare the Taken for battle!' she went on. 'And then they can build stuff if we aren't having a battle at the time.'

'A battle?' said Natasha.

'She's just over-excited,' explained Jaali. 'The most important thing is building tunnels. That way we can hide if we need to.'

'You can't underestimate us now. I drove a fucking bus,' said Moe. She stopped leaping about for a minute and grabbed Natasha's hand to pull her up the hill. 'Look, I'll show you how it works.'

The Taken were already lumbering off the bus and ambling about, looking awkward.

Natasha was no longer looking at her friends, but up at the gathering, confused crowd. 'Wait, where's Darek?' she asked. There was silence. She turned around and asked again. 'Where's Darek?' She looked from Moe who was anguished, to Jaali who was staring at his shoes. 'Where is he?' she said again.

'He's on there,' said Jaali, glancing at Moe. 'He is. But he's lying down at the back.'

'Lying down? Why's he lying down? Mashed people don't lie down,' said Natasha, her voice rising in panic.

'Don't freak out,' said Moe. 'There was something I didn't tell you. About the Vent.'

Before Moe even said the word, Natasha knew, and was already starting to run, although her lungs ran out of air too quickly. She pushed her way through the throng of mashed bodies and pulled herself up the stairs of the bus.

'Darek!' she shouted. 'Darek!' At the back of the bus she could see a man nervously smiling and saying reassuring things to her in a soothing voice, but she didn't care. The man moved out the way as Natasha got closer, so that she could see someone was wrapped in blankets and lying on the long back seat. One arm was on top of the blanket. No part of it was skin coloured, and the fingers were puffed up in red and purple and covered in scabs. This battered body looked about Darek's size - the hair was a scruffy blond, like Darek's.

'But that's not Darek,' said Natasha.

'It is, love,' said the man's soothing voice.

'He doesn't look like that,' she said. 'That's not his face.' She wanted to sound defiant, to make sure this man understood, but her voice was wobbling. Moe had followed her up and now wrapped an arm around her.

'What did they do?' said Natasha.

'He's okay,' Moe said, pulling her into a hug. 'It's superficial. It's just bruising. There's nothing permanent.'

But Natasha had never heard such lies.

Nick felt nice and everything was lovely. Around him, everyone was busy chopping wood or putting up tents or discussing important conspiracies. It reminded him of the hippie retreats and festivals he and Curly had gone to in the nineties, before little Natasha had come along. He was dimly aware of feeling cold, the wind slapping at his face, but it didn't really matter because everything was lovely. He was certain it would stay that way.

When he heard Natasha crying, it took a moment before he realised this was a bad thing, then the knowledge washed through him like dirty water. Straining his neck to see what was going on, he made out a few people carrying a makeshift stretcher from the bus, with Natasha stumbling alongside. She was upset - he could tell from the awkward way she walked and how she kept rubbing at her face with the heel of her hand. The stretcher was carried into the walk-in shelter, and Natasha walked with it. She looked too small. She needed him. He pushed the nice feeling to the back of his mind, worked the smile off his face, and stood up, ignoring the cosy warmth that was nuzzling him.

Moe was nearby, so he went to talk to her. She was with a younger boy she introduced as Jaali, but when Nick smiled a _hello,_ the stoned smile began sneaking back. So he tried to massage it away with his fingers while asking what was going on.

'It's Darek. He got beaten up in the Vent. He should be okay, but Tash is pretty upset,' said Moe.

'My mum's a nurse and she says it's not too serious,' said Jaali.

'Darek?' asked Nick.

'Yeah, you know, the guy she's in love with,' said Moe, then looked as if she wanted to gulp her words back in. 'Actually maybe you don't know. I mean, nothing happened. Just she likes him, and they were friends.'

'Right,' said Nick, nodding a thank you while rubbing his mouth. He walked away to stand outside the tent, then waited until everyone but Natasha had left.

She didn't hear him go in until he put a hand on her shoulder.

'Hey noodle,' he said softly. 'You okay?'

She turned, at first relieved and then angry. He could feel his lips were wobbling with a foolish smile and bit them.

'You look like you're about to throw up,' she said as sneerily as possible, then ruined her defiance by bursting into tears. Nick wrapped her up in his arms and coat, kissing her head and rocking her.

'Everyone's saying he'll be okay. But it reminds me of mum, when she was in the hospital,' said Natasha in a small voice.

'Yes,' said Nick, his desire to smile was fading as he remembered Curly lying in bed with all the tubes, with barely the energy to turn her head. And then Natasha being unable to eat, never wanting to leave her mum's side.

'I miss her,' she said.

'I know, me too,' he said.

Natasha pulled away from him and tried to steady herself.

'She'd have bloody loved this,' said Natasha. 'Living on a hill with a bunch of weirdos.'

'They'd have crowned her queen by now,' said Nick, smudging away a few tears of his own.

'You think we can do this, Dad? Live up here? Work out how to get the mashed back to normal? Survive?'

'We can do whatever we need to, noodle. I said it before, you've got that fire, like your mum.'

'Yes, perhaps I have. Maybe they'll crown _me_ queen,' she said, puffing up for a second. 'Come on, this is too intense. We need to go check that bunch of delinquents are behaving. You know, I caught Judd flicking a lit cigarette into the wood pile earlier? You'd think he'd know better.'

As they left the tent, in his best clickbait voice, Nick said, 'Ten weird tricks for starting a new society after an alien apocalypse! You won't believe number eight!'

'When I'm queen I'm going to ban clickbait,' said Natasha.

They walked outside together to where Jaali was explaining to his dad about the tunnels, while Judd was muscling in on the conversation to remind them whose camp it was. Moe was attempting to get the Taken in formation, shouting at them to stand up straight and keep in line as her ragtag army tried to please. Meanwhile Rosie was intent on sabotage, sneaking up behind the line and whispering alternate orders so that chaos ensued.

Nick smiled a normal, satisfied smile. A new existence without the Wave had begun, and now he was sure it would succeed. Because it had hope, defiance and laughter. And up here, the aliens couldn't take that away.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to Gareth for helping me understand commas a bit more. Also for feedback, laughter and sanity. Thank you to Saiqa for all the wise writing advice, and just generally being great. To Tony Cartledge for beta reading. To my family, for their unflagging support and patience. You all help to make life a joyful place to be.

And a final thank you to Vila Design for the excellent cover.

She can be found at www.viladesign.net

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Petra Jacob likes to explore. Consequently, she's lived in a condemned bedsit in Cambridge, a gated community in Mexico City, a rain forest in Central America and a derelict haunted house in Chile. Currently she lives in south east London and works as a gardener but escapes to the jungle whenever possible. She is fond of monkeys, slime mold and cake.

Her previous books are:

_Riddled with Senses_ ,  
a magic realism story of love, drugs and a dance with the Devil

And

_Peddling Doomsday_ ,  
which is about a doomsday cult led by a charismatic narcissist called Myra.

She can also be found at http://inkbiotic.com

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