After

Acknowledgements

TO MY FAMILY.

Thank you for all the countless hours you spent reading stories about Norwegian water nymphs and weird horror novels that probably disturbed you more than you’d care to admit. I wrote so much, often relentlessly, and you never said no. Without your support I could never have done this.

I’m sorry for my poetry stage. That won’t happen again, I promise.

TO MY GRANDPARENTS

I wish every child could have grandparents like you- the world would be a much better place. Thank you for always being there, for teaching me kindness and courage and for always believing.

I WILL ALWAYS FEEL so thankful and so lucky that I have you all in my life.

Part One

Unknown Location

HIS HAND WAS TREMBLING a little, but they said it was just the drugs. A small side effect.

Which cup Mr Faulkner?

Think. He couldn't remember. He had seen them moving around each other as the Doctor mixed them on the table before him. He had known. It had been...I can't remember. His mind felt heavy. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his shaking hand, he looked at them again. Three cups lined up neatly on the table before him. Which one? He had done it many times before and the answer was always the same. Cup number three. His head pounded so hard he could hardly think.

Mr Faulkner, which cup is the marble under?

He swallowed. Sweat was pouring off him despite the room being cold just a moment before. It was three. Cup number three. Every day for the last two weeks, always three.

It's under...the marble is under... Why does number two look so-? It was shimmering as if sat under intense heat. Number... It was moving now, actually moving towards him, across the table, slowly, slowly sliding towards him. His vision blurred. Perhaps they had given him an extra dose that morning by accident. Rubbing his sore, bloodshot eyes he stared at the table again. Cup number two was sat still and innocent, between one and three, unmoved.

Three, he spat out. God, my head. Cup three.

The Doctor patiently slid his hand across the table and lifted the cup. Reid blinked. It was empty.

Sorry 51, that is incorrect. He quickly lifted the plastic cups from the table, the marble rolling out from under the second. He collected it into his palm and removed it from sight. Two? It's never under two. His headache suddenly receded and his vision cleared from the pain.

Thank you Mr Faulkner, that is all for today.

Reid stood up shakily, still staring at the empty table, angered by his stupidity. He walked obediently towards the door, rubbing his eyes and smearing tears down his cheeks.

51, are you feeling well today? You've been a little off form. The Doctor remained seated behind him, staring over the top of his glasses without concern. Reid let his hand fall from the handle and clap gently against his leg.

I just...my head and, I haven't been sleeping, I get these...dreams. He faltered and squinted in concentration.

May I suggest a trip to Dr. Nerrer, 51? It might ease your head.

Yes, but I-

Go to Dr. Nerrer, 51.

Reid nodded and left. There was nothing else he could do.

THE OFFICE DOORS APPEARED before him, closed as usual. He stood behind the line and rang the bell, savouring the feeling of being safe, protected. There was a pause and the door opened. A small bespectacled face peered through the gap; green eyes hiding under thick bushy eyebrows, grey hair sucked backwards over his head to hide the bald patches.

Ah, Mr Faulkner. Come in. He left his door open and crossed back over to his desk. Reid followed, closing the door behind him.

Dr. Nerrer's office was much like the the rest of the building, white and sterile with curved walls. A steel bookcase holding medical journals and textbooks backed awkwardly by the window, half blocking out the light. Filing cabinets lined the wall behind his desk and an antique rug lay just before it, sticking out against the white like a bloodstain. Dr Nerrer leaned forward and knotted his hands together on the desk.

How can I help you today 51?

Reid looked into the smiling face, watching the creases around the eyes to see if the smile reached that far. It didn't.

I've been having- he stopped and tried again. I’m worried.

Worried? He frowned. 51, didn't we calm all your fears a week ago?

Yes, yes. But I've been having these dreams-

-which are normal, a mere side effect. This was explained before you started the trial.

Yes, but headaches too. I couldn't even pick the right cup today, my head hurt so much. It's hard to think, to speak, and it’s getting worse.

Ah. He unknotted his fingers and pulled out a folder from a pile on his desk, moving slowly as if dealing with a child. I've been over your notes from this morning already. All doses and concentrations administered to you are correct according to our original data. You have been performing well in the sight and reaction tests, but less so in the sensory area.

The maze.

Dr. Nerrer looked over the top of his clear rims. Yes, the maze. Tell me, what problem did you experience this morning?

The cup test. It's always under three. Always.

I see. And do you guess each time?

No, I watch it. I always know which one it's under and it's always three. Today I knew it was three, I watched the cups. It had to be three.

And which cup was it under 51?

Reid looked at his hands clinched nervously in his lap. They hardly trembled now. Maybe it was all in my head. Two.

There is no shame in getting something wrong 51. That is the point of the tests, they are designed to help us help you.

I know. But it was under three, I know it was.

What told you it was under three, 51?

Reid paused for a second. I knew. I thought-

-thought? So your brain told you.

Yeah, I guess so.

The Doctor suddenly slammed the palm of his hand onto the table, making it shake on its cheap rollers. "Guess? Guess? What part of this trial is about guessing, 51? We are trying to help you to see, Mr Faulkner, to fix your eyesight and allow you to view the world like the rest of us."

Reid looked at the glasses sat accusingly on his nose. Us? From the looks of those lenses, Doctor, your eyesight is worse than mine. The Doctor seemed to realise his mistake, and removed them from his nose, blinking.

Old habits die hard, I'm afraid. He smiled another of those fake smiles and clasped his hands together on the desk once more. What is the main principle of our practice?

To trust your instinct over your mind.

And why is this, 51?

Because instinct is natural and built within us, it cannot be changed. Our mind can be influenced and used against us. It can distort what we see. Instinct allows us to see the truth.

"Good. Very good. We are training you to use your instinct in a way that has been forgotten. The programme is built to supplement the medicine, 51, to reinforce it, as we believe your eyesight will only really improve if we can teach you not to let your mind interfere with what you see. We are testing whether we can alter your mind's perception and give you complete control of it. To see if you can stop your emotions getting in the way, to see if we can stop your emotions getting in the way."

So we'd all perceive the same thing, all those who have been exposed to this treatment?

Dr Nerrer nodded and spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. Now I know that this is only a trial for the new medicine, but there is nothing to fear. You are in the best of hands. The smile finally reached his eyes and Reid was relieved. The folder snapped shut before him and made him jump.

You are doing well, 51. Your results show me that your eyesight is improving, although it is a little slower than expected. I will give you something extra for the headaches and I want to see you in the maze this afternoon.

But that's not on my schedule.

It is now. His hand moved thoughtfully to the glasses he had folded and left on top of Reid's folder. You could be one of the men who help us cure blindness, Mr Faulkner, imagine the implications of that.

Reid nodded, his terrible sight now, for the first time, a convenience, but not for the reasons Dr Nerrer hoped. The money promised to him on completion of the trial would help him far more than any personal gratification or glint of medical fame. You couldn't spend gratification.

What about the dreams?

The dreams are an unusual side effect of the medication. A small inconvenience, surely, compared to the results we can achieve. Dreams can't hurt you, 51, can they? His lips curled up into a knowing smile, one that Reid wasn't so sure he liked. He's telling you to toughen up.

Thank you Doctor.

Of course. I'll see you in the maze.

In the maze, he repeated, his stomach churning at the thought. I hate that damn maze. He stood up slowly, supporting himself on the arms of the chair, tired from the headaches and whatever else they were feeding him.

Oh, and one last thing before you leave Mr Faulkner. If you had trusted your instinct earlier, do you think you'd have made the correct choice?

Reid thought of the hot, shimmering plastic for a few seconds. I don't know. I'd have to do it again to be sure.

The Doctor nodded curtly. Be sure that you do then, 51. Now go and eat, then get some rest. No doubt it will help those headaches of yours.

Thanks, Reid muttered again, suddenly anxious to get to the food hall. His headache was coming back, he could feel it creeping through the back of his head. Food, he thought slowly, then sleep, and he walked from the office without closing the door.

Dr Nerrer watched him leave, sitting his glasses back on his nose before looking at the folder before him. Slow. Slower than the others, but maybe that's just his age. He flicked though the pages of charts and graphs thoughtfully. But it is working. Doctor Nerrer smiled and it creased the skin around his eyes. It's definitely working.

IT WAS LATE. REID WAITED in front of his door for a few moments, massaging his temples and trying to calm himself, his skin prickling and buzzing. God, I hate that maze. He flashed his ID card over the sensor and waited for the locks to withdraw inside the casing. Guy would probably be asleep by now, although he didn't seem the type to relish sleeping at night. From what he had heard so far, the man used to be nocturnal. The door swung open and he stepped inside, the light from the small, high window sending dim highlights down onto his roommate’s bare chest. Reid averted his eyes quickly, not wanting to be reminded of his own ageing body. The locks clicked behind him.

He left the lights off and shuffled to the bathroom, the brass handle cool against his boiling skin. The strip lights were automatic here, piercingly bright to his unaccustomed eyes. Sliding his glasses gently from his face, he ran the cold water for a few seconds before squirming awkwardly from his shirt and splashing it over his feverous chest. He took a long drink straight from the tap. The water tasted stale and for a second he wondered whether they were drugging that too, but pushed the thought from his head. He trusted Dr Nerrer, as strange as he could sometimes be, and that was enough.

Straightening slowly he studied his face in the mirror. A fuzzy pink oval with deep skeleton holes for eyes, flawless skin and a full head of hair. He pulled a face at himself. Won't be able to do this when they cure you, boyo. But at least you can't see the greys from here. Reluctantly he put his glasses back on and crept back into the room, crawling into his small, hard bed. Someone put it clean everyday but he hadn't yet seen who. He missed his own smell on the sheets as he pulled them over his body.

They locked the door early tonight. The voice, alert and sharp, nearly made Reid jump back out of bed.

I wouldn't know. They made me do the maze again.

It gets earlier every night.

Not by my watch. Always at eleven. He tried to keep his voice calm. Guy always thought something was up.

They don't want us to leave.

Reid snorted. Of course they don't. You heard it yourself in the briefing; a major side effect of the course is dreams and sleepwalking. They can't have an army of sleepwalkers getting into the labs. Anything could happen. He shuddered again at the mention of dreams and how trivialised it all had been before they started. Dreams can't hurt you. He knew that, but these felt more than dreams, more than nightmares. They felt so real.

We could leave.

You can leave whenever you want, but don't expect me to come with you. Just make an appointment and ask to be discharged. It's not hard.

I don't think they want us to.

Reid gritted his teeth and ground them in frustration. No, Guy, they don't. They need us. If we all left they would have to start over. But that doesn't matter to you I guess. The worst that will happen to you is that they won't pay you.

Guy lay silent for a few minutes and Reid knew he was just trying to think up a new conspiracy theory. Why the hell did he come in the first place? When nothing else was said he let himself relax and closed his eyes, falling into the space between dreams, so tired he was no longer afraid of what lay ahead. He was just crossing the boundary when a small, tired voice crept across the room. It didn't sound like Guy, it was probably just in his head, a dream escaping too early and too fast. It sounded as though he, someone, laughed, a high pitched giggle, but soft, soft, in his dreams, in his aching mind. Maybe I will.

HE WALKED ON THE EDGE of the sea. The hard, wet sand gave way under his feet a little with each step, sticking between his toes only to be washed away seconds later. The sun had just fallen and the wind chilled his bare skin, the first iced fingers of the night.

He was naked. His clothes, if he had stripped them off here, were a long way behind. He had walked a long way. But he was almost there. Almost.

The sea was calm beside him, sucking at the shore and splashing his ankles playfully. It fizzed against his skin as he walked on across the endless sand. Nearly there. Looking right he saw a huge earth bank steeped above him, lined with trees silhouetted against the darkening sky. The sea rushed against his feet again and he realised that he was cold, so cold. Reid moved away from the water, the wind getting stronger. It was too late to turn back. The trees. The trees would give him shelter. The still, silent trees.

He started to cross the beach, moving diagonally from the water. Lights shone out from the black. Small pinpricks of orange and gold light in a line across the trees. Goosebumps ran across his freezing skin in waves. His teeth chattered. Go to the bank, a voice told him from nowhere. Shield yourself. He moved closer and closer but still seemed so far away.

The noise of the sea died out behind him but the lights stayed steady, staring out to wherever he had come from. The wind changed direction and pushed against his back, pushing him on, pushing him closer. With a start he saw that the trees had changed. They weren't trees...they were men. A line of men standing silently, expectantly, on the top of the hill, unmoving. Waiting. The lights shone out like eyes. Bright, glowing eyes, as far as he could see.

The wind pushed him on as the ground rose sharply before him, sand giving way to long grassy undergrowth. It tore at his nakedness, hidden thorns gripping his skin. Suddenly he knew that he didn't want to reach the top; he didn't want to discover what was up there waiting for him. He stumbled and tried to turn around, his foot snagging in a bramble, threatening to bring him down. He pulled his leg away, losing his balance and rolling back down to the hard, cold sand. It filled his mouth, his ears, his eyes. It blinded him.

Reid started to scream, tearing into his skin with his nails until they were bloody. Slashing at his face over and over again, he crawled desperately towards the sea, his vision clearing as he reached the waterline and the waves reached up to claim him. He lay on his back, still, as the darkness receded, his breath heavy and panicked in his chest. The stars shone brilliantly above him. Never had they been more beautiful. He smiled, licking his own blood from his lips. Stars above him, in a circle around him. Stars like eyes shining down on him. Eyes with blank faces surrounding him. Reid screamed until his lungs were emptied. The faces leant in. The eyes were burning him. He clawed at them, sobbing, crying, desperate. Then the stars went out and the sky turned black.

SWEAT, SO MUCH SWEAT. In his eyes, matted in his hair, sliding between his thighs and his groin, dripping down the back of his neck. He threw off the sheets and sat on the edge of the bed, panting. Just another dream. It didn't kill you last night and it won't tonight. Always the same. Except last night I didn't fall, I didn't...he couldn't remember. A tiny detail might change here and there, that was dreams for you, but largely they were the same. Every night. A small price to pay.  Reid put his head in his hands. There would be no more sleep tonight. The grey light creeping in through the window showed dawn was nearly here. He wouldn't have long to wait. Reid lay back down slowly, waiting out the rest of the night with his eyes open. Not long, dawn is almost here.  But it would be a few more hours before he realised that the bed next to his was empty.

Facility One

"DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD tell them?" Dr. Nerrer stood in the corner of the office twisting his hands around each other anxiously. He was always the same when she summoned him. The woman made him nervous.

She sat at an ornate mahogany desk with rich, plush carpets wall to wall, a wooden bookcase behind her and a giant fireplace set into the wall where he stood. It was in this far corner where he hovered, sweltering in the proximity of the flames, sweat trickling down from his armpits and starting to soak through his shirt. He squirmed at the warm dampness. Usually he was a calm man, but womenfolk had always made him nervous, and this one in a completely different way.

Certainly not. Icy blue eyes fixed him against the wall, so cold he swore he could feel the flames recede. It would only interfere with their treatment.

They needn't know anything. The strong, husky voice from the opposite corner oozed all the confidence Nerrer wished he had. Books and patients, he could cope with those. Anxious human beings who needed his care and expertise, and the instruments with which to help them. To them he could be the healer he'd always wanted to be; the one that had enticed him into medicine in the first place. But here, with his superiors and highly powerful peers, he was reduced to the sweating, stuttering figure he detested. Doctor Karner ignored him and looked straight at Sault. Professor Sault. She had the ear of the president and now he had to talk to her, maybe even argue against her.

What is happening in the outside world is of no concern to the patients inside this facility, Karner continued, stroking his short black moustache importantly. It will only upset them and cause a panic.

I thought they were far enough along to rule that out? She looked at Nerrer again as if looking into him, through him.

Most are actually, yes, most...most have come far enough with the treatment. They are noticing improvements in their own sight...that is...they want to stay.

Oh, come on, Dr. Nerrer, don't fool yourself. This isn't about wanting to stay any longer, is it? The questions is: how many can actually leave, and how many can't?

The condescending tone in Karner's voice riled Nerrer. He ignored Sault and spoke directly to the man he had known for years and despised for much longer.

"If you had analysed the data yourself, or even read any of my...my analysis, Paule, then you would already have the answer. There are six left who can stay by choice, and they, as I just mentioned, have noticed a sig...significant enough improvement to want to stay."

Even so, you shall not tell them even a hint of this news. Professor Sault's words pierced him again. Any thoughts he had of arguing his point turned tail and left the room, quickly. We cannot risk this. She knew that she terrified him. She knew that he would not disobey. How long until the final six finish their course of treatment?

Another week at the most. The oldest, number 51, is the slowest. Asking the most questions too. I can calm his anxieties though, he trusts me. He looked over at Karner. That's why he wasn't even in the running for my job; who would ever trust a man like that? He allowed himself a little smile, confidence enough to let him draw away from the fire and closer to the desk. And now he is just a mere assistant to a woman. A professor, but a woman all the same.

Make sure that you do. She didn't even try to hide the threat in her voice, making him shrink back and lose all the ground he had just gained. You can leave now.

He straightened his shirt and turned for the door, trying to disguise his haste but failing miserably, a half walk turning into a half run which merged into a limping, jumping gait. His hand fell upon the handle before she spoke again.

Out of my insatiable curiosity, Dr. Nerrer, is their sight actually improving?

No, Professor, not at all. They are just seeing what we want them to see. It was easier with his back to her.

Pity.

He closed the door behind him, waited for a second, then ran all the way back to his laboratory. Karner watched him leave, listening to his thudding footfalls receding down the corridor, before turning back to Sault.

What a pathetic little man. I shouldn't be so surprised though, he's always been that way.

He does his job well and the patients trust him.

You only have to lift a finger and he'll flinch.

One of the main reasons I chose him for the job. She twisted her leather chair to face him directly. Sit down, why don't you. She gestured to the matching arm chair on the other side of the desk. He moved over to it and sat down slowly. Now, Dr. Karner, I do hope you've been following your colleague's work carefully. Despite your reservations on his character, you cannot fault his genius. As you will be the one to continue this research at the end of the trial, I do hope you can keep up.

Karner looked up sharply. He had wondered what she had kept him waiting for; he knew she wouldn't ridicule him so much as to keep him in this personal assistant farce forever. But to take over Nerrers' work? That would mean...

There is a long way to go yet. Almost three weeks of medication is too long. We need to seriously reduce the time this is taking.

And you want me to do this? he faltered. Of course he could do better than Nerrer, he always had. But what she was asking, it was...

Dangerous work, Dr. Karner. Very dangerous. But there is no one else. Dr. Nerrer has come far enough, I do not trust him to go any further. But there is one other thing that I want you to do.

And what is that, Professor?

You will be the leader of the first fifty. He gawped at her. I have already integrated your name into the programme, they will respond to you as soon as they set eyes upon you. They will listen to no one but you, and myself, naturally.

Nerrer will not take this lying down, he won't-

Dr. Nerrer will do exactly what I want him to do. He always has. She stared at him, eyes full of answers he didn't want to read, but finally understood. He gasped slightly, cold air rushing down the back of this throat.

That's why he is so scared of you isn't it?

She smiled, a real, unpractised smile. Karner hadn't seen one on her face before and wasn't sure it fitted.

He has always made it obvious that he doesn't believe a woman should hold a position as high as mine. He was easily corrupted to the cause by his significant greed for money. No religious background meant no high ethical standards: he was happy to sign up in the name of science. The scientist in him needed to see if what I proposed was possible. The old man in him just didn't want the proposal coming from a woman. So I did what I had to. I needed him for more reasons than his brains. Of course I gave him a different variation of the medication; I want his brain intact. I need him to think independently but only when I allow it. The rest of the time he will think what I want him to think.

So you altered his perception of you.

I did exactly as I preach. Now he sees exactly what I want him to see, perceives the world exactly how I want it to be perceived.

Karner thought of the look of fear that flashed through the man's eyes every time he looked at her. And how does he perceive you, ma'am?

She laughed, an unrestrained cackle that showed the delight in her achievement.

That, Dr Karner, you do not want to know.

Unknown Location

THE STUPID JUNKY MUST've climbed through the window. Reid didn't even bother to check if it was still open. Stupid fool. Could’ve waited until morning. He showered and waited for the doors to unlock, jumping out as soon as they did, making straight for the food hall. The menu wasn't great and the food had a strange taste but free food was free food. They were scientists, not chefs, after all.

His stomach growled as if he had been walking all night and, pushing through the double doors, he made straight for the counter. Porridge again, as always. No jam or brown sugar. After helping himself to a double serving, thick and sticking to the wooden spoon, he turned to find a table. The room was empty. Rows of empty benches and clean tables. Reid looked up to the white clock hanging above the entrance. The large room had never been full, but it had never been empty either. He walked self-consciously over to the closest table, only now noticing his lonely footsteps echoing against the walls.

He had been so desperate to eat he hadn't noticed his solitude, as if his mind could think of nothing else but food. The clock ticked past the seconds as he slowly lifted each mouthful to his lips. Am I alone in here? Has everyone gone? Just as he was getting up to investigate his paranoia the doors crashed open, making Reid drop his spoon. Porridge flicked across the table and stuck to the plastic like glue, wobbling slightly. The man didn't look around or even wince at the sound he had sent reverberating around the hall. He walked to the counter, ignoring Reid completely, and served himself from the vat, letting semi-warm globules of porridge drop onto the floor but not seeming to notice or care. When he span around, he blinked. Reid watched him, the previous lack of company making this sudden meeting all the more awkward. It felt wrong. Stop being so stupid, you're jumping at the wind. A few bad dreams and now look at you, you're almost as bad as your drugged up roommate. Reid stopped himself. The other man was looking at him in question.

Sure, this place is free. He offered it with a smile, which was ignored.

I'll eat in my room. He walked off stiffly, leaving Reid again in silence. By the time he had finished a few others had drifted in and out, either taking their food away with them after noticing Reid, or sitting alone, far enough away to avoid conversation. For the first time in a long time, he was glad to leave his food and go to his first appointment. Forgetting food and willing to go to the Doctor? Why, I'm every woman's dream! Reid let himself laugh out loud in the empty corridor and for the first time in weeks it made him feel like himself.

S-A-F-T-R-N-Z-G-C. If felt like he had been doing this for hours. K-A-R-S-R-A-N-E-R-A.

And the next line?

N-E-R-F-X-K-M-F-Z-B.

Very good, and the last line now.

S-A-T-F-U-L-T-E. Reid slipped his glasses back on.

The assistant went through his paperwork again, ticking and crossing boxes, writing complicated strings of numbers and circling areas on a diagram of the eye. Reid sat in the silence and waited.

A definite improvement, 51. A large one too.

He nodded, relieved that it was, for once, a simple answer. The first simple answer he had had so far. Where does that leave me then?

Your sight has improved by around thirty-point-eight percent. You will not get perfect vision by any means, but all results are showing that you are compatible to the medication and it is having the desired effect on you.

Will I have to keep taking it?

No, 51. Once the trial is through the medication prescribed will end. This is a trial remember. We need to discover what will happen after as much as you. Your sight could remain, or it could gradually diminish again, in which case we would need to start the course once more.

So anything could happen.

The assistant frowned and looked down from his slightly higher chair. If you are implying that something negative could incur from this, you are mistaken. All methods used here are safe. You need have no reservations about that. His voice had turned sharp, as if Reid had offended him.

It's alright, I wouldn't doubt the doctors. But I thought the point of a trial was-

"We are here to help you, 51. He stiffened and twirled his chair to re-face his notes. I will pass your results on to Dr. Nerrer so he can review your progress and see if any adaptions in your personal course need to be made. This is routine and nothing to worry about." And telling me that is also routine and nothing to worry about, apparently.

Now, there is one more test I have been asked to run through today. This test is a memory and sight test. We are looking for patterns in how these work together.

But I thought the whole point of this was to learn to trust my instinct, not my sight. To see the true picture behind the lies of the mind. He was well aware that he was quoting the introductory talk they all had to sit through at the start, but didn't understand it enough to phrase it any other way. As long as they knew what they were doing, why did he have to understand it too?

Exactly, 51, the assistant gave him a cold stare. It is a test to see to what extent you can do that.

Alright, he shrugged. You're the doctor.

The assistant clicked a button on his remote and an image came up on the screen before them both.

I want you to remember every detail that you can in this picture, any detail that stands out to you, no matter how small. You have 30 seconds. Then I will turn off the projector.

Here we go, thought Reid, letting the man talk on but not listening. We did this one at school a hundred times, I never was any good at it though. The assistant was looking at him expectantly.

Okay, I'm ready. The lights went out and a bright image swam into view. It was a park, a children's park. He saw two red swings, a small boy sat on one of them, an orange slide with worn out grass beneath the chute. There were benches in a line and someone who must have been the boy's mother sat on one, resting her head on the back of the bench, a red beaded necklace tight around her neck, long blonde hair spilling down behind her. A green bin with a recycling logo, a seesaw, a roundabout. Christ, this is boring. Green trees, a picket fence, a...what is that?...crouching behind the fence. The image disappeared.

Remember, don't tell me what you saw, just write it down on the clipboard beside you. Reid wrote it down.

Now take your glasses off.

He hooked them over one knee obediently and the projector flashed back to life. Reid saw the swings, the boy, the orange slide; it was all the same, just blurred. The worn patches beneath the slide and seesaw were still there, but this time he saw the long grass growing up over the supports and steps of each one, the untamed mass of weeds behind the fence. He saw grey rain clouds milling above, the bin with the logo now scratched beyond recognition and initials gorged messily into the wooden fence posts. He saw the woman. Her feet were bare and her top was pulled up, showing her stomach. Her hair was matted and slick with grease, the necklace looked like, like...what? He blinked.

The necklace was beads of dark, dried blood, staining her blouse and running in stiff ribbons down her neck. Reid sneaked a furtive glance at the assistant, who was bent over his paperwork despite the darkness, ignoring the image beside him. He braved another look. The trees were still green, the fence still white, mostly, and the small boy still sat on the swing clutching the carving knife.

Reid started, pushing himself back into the chair, away from the image. Bloody hands. Streaks on his cheeks, in his hair. The thing behind the fence, hiding, hiding, a hand thrust between the posts, fingers outstretched, one missing, an eye peering through, wide open and his mouth contorted and...the room went dark for a few seconds before the strip lights flickered on grudgingly. Reid's mind whirled and reeled from the last thing he had seen. But he hadn't seen it, he had known it. The man's face had been hidden, but Reid knew his mouth was open and contorted because the man had been screaming. He had been screaming and screaming and Reid had heard it. He had heard the man behind the fence and he felt it too. The pain, the anger and anguish; it had coursed through him as if it were his own.

Right, let's see what you've got there. The assistant leant over to take his notes. Somehow, he had managed to write something down during the last test. The marks on the page were almost unreadable and hardly looked like words at all, but were something nonetheless. Reid stared at his page blankly. His head hurt. The man in white had taken the clipboard from him and held it close to his face, trying to translate whatever it was he'd written. Reid massaged his temples, his fingers sliding in a thin film of sweat, and closed his eyes. Christ, my head hurts. Finally, the clipboard was lowered beside him and the man cleared his throat.

Good. The assistant gave no clues as to what he had just read.

What did I write?

This is good, 51.

Reid looked over into an expressionless face, looking away again quickly incase madness could be read in his eyes. Did I even...? No. He was sure he had seen it, positive. It was so real.

Are you ready for the next one?

Reid's hands automatically clenched around the arm of the chair, only to find that they were tightly held there anyway.

More? His voice wavered with exhaustion.

One more, 51, that is all. It won't take long.

He nodded reluctantly. I just want to sleep. But then he remembered what sleep brought him, and wasn't so sure.

Leave your glasses off, please. The remote clicked beside him, and once more they were plunged into darkness. For a few seconds Reid thought that he'd forgotten the projector, but he slowly realised the screen was blank, softly illuminated against the dark around it. He squinted, leaning forward, taking a long time to see anything there at all.

Trees. Trees in the moonlight, yes, he could see that now, the leaves flecked with tiny droplets of light. He searched further, looking for something else, anything of importance. Dark silhouettes in the background, among the trees. He couldn't make out what they were. The odd bush, a branch sticking out to the side, something that looked like an owl. He could hear it shuffling between the leaves. Leaning closer, the image seemed to get brighter. He could see the undergrowth crawling up the tree trunks, hear the prey fleeing from the hunter's claws. The trees moved apart as he got closer, sliding around him and above him as he entered the forest. The silhouettes edged closer too, always in the background, always in the corner of his eye. Closer, bigger, but he couldn't move his head fast enough to see them. He forgot where he was and stood up. They were around him, always moving, but silent. Always silent. Reid was calm until he saw the eyes. Smouldering pinpricks of fire stared out at him, into him, coming closer and closer still. I'm dreaming, this is all a dream, this isn't real. I'll wake up in a minute and go to breakfast. I'll...They kept coming. Reid closed his eyes tight and started to hum tunelessly. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. His hands gripped the armrests, knuckles turning white. The forest filled with light, blinding light, boring into him. They are here. Hands were on him, shaking him. He screamed.

51! Are you okay?

Reid dared not open his eyes. It was a trick, they were coming for him. They wouldn't stop until they had him. He couldn't escape, he knew they would find him.

Open your eyes! The words were clearer, warmer, he felt himself being dragged backwards. Mr Faulkner! Open your eyes!

Suddenly his eyes were open, staring straight into the anxious face of the assistant, leaning over him with his hands on his shoulders. He gulped in huge breaths of air, chest heaving from the effort.

Are you okay, 51?

Reid didn't want to talk to this man, this assistant, he wanted to talk to a real doctor. Where's Dr Nerrer?

What happened? What did you see?

Dr. Nerrer. Where is he? I need to see Dr Nerrer.

Calm down, 51. The assistant rose and straightened his white jacket professionally. Let me help you.

"No. I want to see Dr Nerrer. Now." His hands were shaking uncontrollably, he could hear the fear in his own voice. He sounded like a frightened child.

I can make an appointment for you right away.

No. Reid spoke through gritted teeth and forced his hands to unclench from the chair. Now. His voice had dropped into a low, threatening growl. It didn't sound like his voice at all. What's happening to me? I sound like an animal. A frightened, trapped animal. He was ready to bolt at any opportunity. If this man wouldn't let him see Nerrer then he would go there himself. The assistant watched him nervously. He had been trained for this. He picked up the phone and rang for his superior.

51. MY ASSISTANT TELLS me you were in quite a rush to see me. I hope there's not a problem. He looked over his desk at the pale man with his shrunken and haunted eyes, and repressed a smile. They trust me.

I think...I think I'm seeing things. That I'm delusional.

What things, 51?

Horrible things, pictures, that changed...they moved. Just like my dreams.

And you were in the sight centre this morning? he already knew the answer, but he asked it anyway. It made the patient feel like they had more control.

Reid nodded. Dr Nerrer studied his computer screen with deep concentration, the words reflecting on his glasses.

The results have come though now. Everything has been recorded as fine. You are on target Mr Faulkner, as we discussed two days ago.

Yesterday, you mean.

Dr Nerrer raised a thick eyebrow. We last saw each other the day before last, 51. Do you recall?

No, that's not right. I saw you yesterday, here, in your office.

Nerrer smiled sympathetically. If you say so, 51. Tell me what you saw.

The pictures moved. They changed.

Before or after you removed your glasses?

"After. They were horrible, wrong."

I see. Yet, which picture felt more real to you, 51?

Reid thought back to the playground, pristine and shining. It had been perfect. Too perfect. Like a picture in a holiday brochure. The other image, with the grey clouds and the run down slides and the graffiti, that one had looked like any other park in the country. That was real life, especially now. But the rest of it?

Which one, 51?

Reid hadn't had enough time to think. I...the second one.

And what did you see in the second one?

I saw a park, it was run down and looked disused. It was raining. There was a slide, and swings, and a seesaw. He paused to think, remembering everything else he had seen. It was fading fast, the images slipping away from him.

Anything else, 51?

The boy. Yes, there was a boy on the swings, and a woman on the bench. The boy was holding something.

What was he holding?

He was holding a...a... Reid tried to recall the image again but it had gone. He couldn't remember. I don't know.

You didn't see?

No, I saw it. I just don't...remember it now.

Do you still think the image was, in your own words, horrible and wrong?

I- Reid snatched at the memory once more, the boy and the woman and, something behind the fence, something there, something...He knew there had been rain clouds, but they weren't horrible or wrong. The image had been real, and that was the truth, he knew it now, even if he couldn't remember the exact detail. The realisation made him feel strong.

No. No I think that it was good. The boy, whatever he had done, was okay. It was right.

"And how do you know this, 51?"

Reid Faulkner looked up at the doctor and grinned, tilting his head to one side and revealing a row of yellowing teeth. Instinct, doctor.

Carrion

THE CONFERENCE ROOM was always cold. They had taken the electric fires out years ago and the radiators stayed permanently cool to the touch. The oval table was filled but for one, it always being proper that he enter last. He hated the tradition as most of the time it meant he had to wait outside the room while everyone else turned up late- when instead, if sense ever won out, he could be sat quite comfortably getting some work done. Surely that would be serving my country, more than this pomp and circumstance that should have died off years ago. Didn't we have enough of a wake up call?

He took his place at the head of the table, the rough material on his padded chair already making his back itch.

Prime Minister.

He was acknowledged by the circle around him and nodded to each one in return.

Good morning, I hope you are all well.

He hated the pleasantries and the flowery tone that his voice took up in order to make them. None of it made any sense. Not when there was so much work to be done. They nodded back to him with flat smiles as rain splattered on the windows looking out over the city, the grey solid mass that they all called home. Packed with people, always touching, always brushing against each other, squeezed in tight, breathing the same stale air. We have learnt nothing. Nothing at all.

Is it contained? his well trained voice revealed none of the concern that he felt. Never show fear. There was an awkward silence.

No, sir. It is not. One hundred and seventy five more cases outside the quarantine area have been reported this morning. That is seven hundred and fifty three outside the initial outbreak area. A total of two thousand deaths so far and that's including the original figures.

I take it the quarantine has been extended?

Yes sir, to an eighty mile radius around Taverny.

Benjamin