Some would argue that the only way to stop any further progression of, and to begin to undo the damage already caused by, the homo subrependus is to exclude them from society by means of terminating their ability to reproduce, and thus their ability to spread, sabotage, and dilute the purity of the homo sapien. Yet, whilst it is, of course, correct to warn against the dangers of unchecked breeding, it is my belief that the homo subrependus can, and indeed should, serve a purpose.

  The resource which experiences the greatest levels of strain during times of excess population is food; it is something that none of us can live without and on which we all depend for daily sustenance. It is here that the homo subrependus can serve a purpose: these otherwise useless creatures can be used to meet much of the nutriment needs of society.

  Whilst the concept of consuming the homo subrependus may, at first, seem abhorrent, once one comes to accept that these creatures are not our kin, and are but base animals not all too dissimilar from bovine or swine, or any number of the other species of this planet that we consider fit to eat, then it becomes easy, and indeed sensible, to consider the advantages that would be born from a system of human husbandry. No longer in charge of their own wretched selves, and instead a part of an efficient and sustainable agricultural scheme, the grotesque amount of waste that these feeble-minded creatures cause would cease, their shocking moral habits would be restrained, and their biological affliction would be limited to their own kind, with the interbreeding of homo subrependus and homo sapien prohibited.

  Asides from these benefits, in companionship with my own medical research, I have been reassured by the distinguished biologists Drs. Theodore F. D. Helton and George Claridge-Hunt that the nutritional quality of milk from the female homo subrependus is superior to the equivalent from any species of cow, sheep, or goat. Already perfectly tailored for the human body, it can be considered to be a life-affirming nectar, one which suits our digestive system well and can even be consumed without ill-effect by those who regularly experience terrible reactions and inflammations after drinking cows’ milk. The meat of the homo subrependus can also be considered to be of a similar, if not better, quality to meat harvested from other animals. As with conventional livestock, programmes of selective breeding and optimal slaughter weights would be employed to produce the best product.

  By better managing the population and thus resources of this planet, as rudimentarily outlined by this document, we can not only maintain a high standard of living, defined by sustainability, gallantry, and good taste, but also start to correct the centuries’ worth of decay that has been caused by the homo subrependus.

  The establishment of any new order necessitates the eradication of the old. In this, we must be absolute. In order to create a New Eden, there can be no compromise or half measures; no accommodation should or ought to be given to these creatures: for too long we have been bound by their foul chains. With this awareness, it must also be stated that the establishment of such a new order, and therefore the complete destruction of the old, will take time. We must not be under any illusion of seeing such a feat achieved within our lifetimes, or even the lifetimes of our children. We must, instead, be pioneers, martyrs of a sort, content to dedicate our life’s effort to forging a path for future generations to follow and expand upon. This is the patrimony of the homo sapien.

  Dr. Richard Alexander Wheatleigh, 1880

  Thirty-Three

  Twenty-six seconds. That’s how long it had taken for the whole skip to go up in flames. In hindsight, they should have realised that flicking a match into what was essentially one large metal incinerator was a dumb idea. That the skip was filled with tins of paint, industrial solvents and other flammable materials had made it all the more dumb. But they were just kids, and so that made it acceptable.

  Her dad had been upset. ‘I don’t know where it all went wrong,’ he had muttered, shaking his head as he had pulled the car into the driveway of their house. She had wanted to shout at him, ‘How about the day you shoved your dick into the wrong hole?’, but her heart hadn’t been in it. She was tired, and her favourite television show was due to start in fifteen minutes.

  Six weeks. That’s how long it had been before she was allowed to leave the house again. School, of course, was the only exception. He forgot to mention that, as he stood in the kitchen, red-faced and furious at having to have left work early to deal with her, but she figured that it went without saying. And, unlike in the past, that time he had been serious. It really did end up being six weeks. She didn’t care. Fuck him, she told herself as she reclined on the sofa, television remote in hand. Fuck them all. She hadn’t even wanted to be there anyway. She didn’t like the taste of cigarettes and had only done it because the others told her — led her — to do it. It’s their fault.

  It was during those six weeks that she had met Ryan, and that’s when everything really did turn to shit. She was fifteen years old and he was seventeen. Her dad half-read the local newspaper every evening and their house had been on Ryan’s delivery route. Every evening during the week and just before midday on Saturdays, he pushed a rolled up wad of paper through their front door. By the time the six weeks were out, he was pushing other things into other holes, and so Samantha had found someone else to be led by.

  The first time he cheated on her she had tried to kill herself. Of course, she would have never done it, not properly — she just wanted him to feel something. Wanted them all to feel something. Her dad. Her aunt. Herself, even. She had fucked it up anyway. Couldn’t even manage to do that right. After that, she had fallen into a cycle of deplorable behaviour and hopelessness, drinking too much and being punished for it by having her heart broken every other week. With her dad’s help she had gone to university, to try to get away from all the bad that she had surrounded herself with, but that had turned out to be an even bigger shitfest. Money in her pocket and no parental oversight, she woke up face down on the side of the road on no less than three occasions. Destined to be a disappointment, she had dropped out and slunk back home.

  And look at me now.

  Over the past few weeks, Samantha had ballooned. Her seemingly ever-expanding belly made it troublesome to walk, her centre of balance having shifted and the ligaments in her joints relaxed and loose. The back pain and the tiredness she could just about tolerate, but the breathlessness scared her

  The doctor assured her that it was normal — her swelling uterus was pushing up against her lungs — but that didn’t stop her worrying. She sometimes awoke in the middle of the night, startled and struggling for air. However, with less than two months before her due date, it was the thought of getting the baby out of her body that scared her most of all.

  The baby was energetic, kicking and wriggling and twisting and punching all hours of the day. She liked to imagine that it, her child, would come out fighting, and that, as a child of rape, they would be born wrathful and full of rage and hatred. But, what could a baby do? As impossible as it seemed, Samantha knew she had to help herself. Help my baby. She hadn’t planned to become a mother, but, now she was one, she felt obligated to do something. To lead and not be led. For the first time in her life she was bigger than herself.

  The Seat. That was what they called it.

  It was Evelyn who had first mentioned it to her, a place referred to by the doctor and the redhead when they worked together, she passing him the instruments of his trade, the instruments he then used to examine and belittle the women he had dragged into his care. After her ears had been opened to the word, Samantha had heard them speak of it, too. ‘No,’ the ginger bitch had said, ‘Alex is at the Seat.’

  Who the fuck is Alex? What the fuck is the Seat?

  It didn’t matter. Whatever the Seat was, Samantha knew it was important and as such somehow vital to the success of her and Evelyn’s plan to escape.

  ‘I really don’t think we can do it without knowing more,’ Evelyn said as she rubbed her belly.

  On the sofa next to her, Samantha shook her head. ‘I just don’t get it,’ she said, ‘All the time you’ve been here and you hardly know anything about the place.’

  ‘They’re very careful, Sam. Careful that you don’t see, careful that you don’t think.’

  Samantha remembered how she felt every time she finished a meal in what she had ironically and inappropriately started to refer to as the Love Shack. Now that they were carrying precious cargo, their food was sedative-free. Robert, it seemed, wasn’t overly concerned by the problems pregnant women could cause him.

  ‘There must be something there, at this Seat place, we can use,’ Samantha said, eyes far away and thinking.

  The women had already spoken about the unlikeliness of being able to escape on foot. Not knowing where to go and limited by their physical conditions, they would need transportation if they were going to stand a chance of getting away. Evelyn remembered seeing a vehicle once, something similar to a golf cart, parked outside one of the buildings. She had been half-conscious, being transported between two of the buildings, strapped into a wheelchair, a baby having been stolen from her body only the day before.

  ‘Perhaps they have keys there,’ Samantha continued, turning to her friend. ‘Keys to the carts.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Evelyn replied, ‘but it’s a lot to gamble on.’

  Samantha laughed. ‘Yeah, because we have so much to lose.’

  ‘You, maybe not,’ Evelyn said, quiet and serious, ‘but don’t forget I have others to think about.’

  Her children. The girl and the boy that Robert had taken from her. If they were still able to be saved, Evelyn was willing to do anything she could to get to them. Escaping, getting out, meant she could get help, help that would reunite her with her children. If they tried and failed, they had no idea what the consequences would be. In all the years she had been on the homestead, Evelyn had never heard of anyone escaping. They either didn’t bother trying or were quietly disposed of after being caught.

  Scratching the side of her neck, Samantha nodded and said, ‘Okay, I understand. But, I still think we need to get into this Seat place. There could be keys, a map, a phone.’

  A phone would be ideal. But they both knew Robert was too smart to leave one of those lying around.

  ‘I agree with you, Sam,’ Evelyn shifted and straightened her back, ‘but we still need more information. Where even is this place? How do we get into it?’

  ‘You know,’ the other woman replied, ‘Mary has this key on her—’

  ‘I’m sure she has many keys—’

  ‘No, some sort of special key,’ Samantha intonated, stressing the words as she said them. ‘She wears it around her neck, on a chain.’

  Evelyn pulled a face. ‘She does? I’ve never seen it.’

  Samantha shook her head, ‘I’ve felt it,’ she said, reaching for Evelyn’s hand and pulling it to her back. ‘Here,’ she said, pushing the other woman’s fingers against her spine, ‘when she dragged me down the corridor.’ Evelyn furrowed her brow and went to say something but Samantha continued. ‘And,’ she said, excited, ‘it was showing. Over her clothes. She must usually keep it hidden. Why keep it hidden unless it’s important?’

  Evelyn considered. It was sunny outside. Light streamed in through the window. Earlier in the day, the door to the fenced garden that the women were allowed to wander around had been opened. Everyone else was outside, relaxing under a tree and enjoying the warmth of spring. Samantha didn’t like the outside. They were trapped; the fresh air was an illusion. Better to remain indoors and focus on their incarceration.

  ‘I bet Robert has one, too,’ Samantha said. ‘A special key.’

  ‘Okay, and how do we get one of these special keys?’

  Samantha shrugged. That was the problem. How were two pregnant women supposed to do anything?

  ‘We could steal it from one of them without them noticing.’

  Evelyn raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Or, we could make a distraction and get it then.’

  ‘It needs work,’ Evelyn said, shaking her head. ‘And we’re running out of time.’

  Samantha placed a hand over her swollen abdomen. ‘I told you, I can’t have a baby here, Evelyn.’

  I want to get out of here, to go home, to see Dad, to tell him I’m sorry.

  Evelyn gripped the arm of the sofa and pushed herself up and off the seat. She took a moment to steady herself before arranging her smock. Samantha could see her nipples showing through the light-coloured fabric.

  ‘You’re not going to have a baby in here,’ Evelyn said, looking down at her friend. ‘And neither am I. Not again.’ Her hair was behind her back, and she pulled it through her hands to her front and parted it over her shoulders. Her eyes were sharp when she spoke again. ‘We’ll get the key.’

  Samantha smiled.

  ‘Just let me think about it,’ Evelyn continued. ‘I’ll see if I can spot it the next time we see either one of them.’

  Samantha breathed heavily, her eyes widening.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Evelyn took a step towards her and placed a supportive hand on her shoulder.

  On the sofa, Samantha shook her head. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said, a faint smile on her lips. She took a breath again. Underneath her skin — inside of her — her baby was kicking, desperate to be free.

  Thirty-Four

  It was a depressing sound. With one arm and his eyes still closed, he reached for his phone to turn off the alarm. Don’t go back to sleep, he told himself as he tapped the screen, before letting his head fall back against the pillow. Here it was warm. He rolled over and pushed his face into the curve of the back of her neck. Here there was no pressure. Under the covers, he felt her hand seek his out. When she found it, she pulled it around herself and tucked her body against his. Her hair tickled his nose. She smelled like sleep.

  ‘I should get up or I won’t be able to leave.’ His voice was muffled by her hair. She breathed and let go of his hand. He inhaled her scent one last time before pulling away. When he sat up, he drew the covers back over her.

  Alexander had returned to university for the final term of the academic year two weeks earlier. It was exam season and he felt woefully unprepared. He had finished writing his dissertation — 6,000 dry words on the subject of prenatal stress — but had neglected much of his reading over the Easter vacation. Now, just before six o’clock on Monday morning, he was at home, having driven back for the weekend late Friday evening. It was a trip he had made the previous Friday also. Exhausted, he just needed to make it through the next few weeks, after which he would receive his bachelor’s degree and be able to start clinical training. And fulfil my destiny. It was a grim thought.

  He put on his socks, one heavy foot at a time. Next to him in the bed, Mary rolled over and drew on his back with her finger.

  ‘It’s early,’ he yawned. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  She yawned too, then asked, ‘Are you coming back again on Friday?’

  Friday. As tired as he was, the end of the week might as well have been next year. He stood up and pulled up his boxer shorts. ‘We’ll see,’ he said, walking to his wardrobe. He picked out something plain, a simple light blue shirt, and put it on. There was an ink stain on the right cuff. He didn’t have the energy to change into another.

  Alexander came back to the bed and put his hands on the covers, leaning forward, close to where she lay. ‘You could always come with me.’

  She smiled and, eyes fuzzy with fatigue, swatted him away. ‘I’ve already spent too much of my life at universities,’ she said, referring to her father and his work.

  Alexander leant closer and brought his face to hers. ‘You know I don’t mean that,’ he said, a smile on his lips.

  She laughed.

  ‘Come with me,’ he grinned. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Stop it, Alex.’

  ‘Just say the word.’ He rubbed his nose against hers. ‘Say the word and we can leave. You know we can.’

  Smiling, she rolled onto her back to get away from him.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, touching her chin before moving away from the bed and reaching for the linen-covered journal on top of his chest of drawers. ‘Friday then, if I’m not too tired.’

  Downstairs he found some leftover food in the fridge and packed it into a glass container to eat later in the car. On his way out of the kitchen, he grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and the flask he had filled with coffee. In the hallway, his father had left his key to the Seat hanging by the front door. It would be back before he would be awake to miss it.

  Asides from seeing Mary and his family, there was another reason for Alexander’s journeys home. Careful to close the door behind him, he entered the room. A switch to the left turned on the lights. Ahead of him, the screens were all off. He sat down in the chair and swivelled it to face the main desk, the toes of his shoes scuffing the carpet. C Building. Camera five. With a press of a button, he turned on the monitor and shuffled forward.

  She was sleeping, the same as the others. A few clicks and the cameras in the room were off.

  Alexander locked the Seat and stole over the lawn to the red sandstone building that was C Building. A flash of his keycard and he was inside. Two doors down on the right, a storage room, one of the only rooms in the building not covered by a camera. He got the child first, then woke her and brought her to the room.

  ‘I got you an apple.’ He held the fruit out to the chocolate-haired woman.

  She took it from him. ‘Thank you.’

  The third week of March. That was the first time he had removed her from the herd. Pandora had been reunited with the others earlier in the year, having recovered from her infection and been determined by Alexander, as per his father’s expectation, to be healthy enough to re-enter the system. After New Year’s, he had kept her in B Building under his care for as long as he could, but when the time came for him to return to university, her movement to C Building — the place where they housed the freshers — had been inevitable. Her baby was kept separate from her all night and for much of the day, and she was expected to give milk every morning until her child was weaned and she was dried off. Then, when Robert decided she was ready, she would be sent back to A Building to begin the cycle all over again.