The Legacy

pointing to A&E, to a Maternity Ward, to ENT. He’d never seen an old hospital before – they had all been converted long ago into apartment blocks, like the schools and universities. But this area was down on its luck – the high-speed surface rail hadn’t yet reached it and until it did, buildings like this would be left to rot.
    Pulling his eyes away, Jude listened for footsteps then carefully edged away from the hospital and ran, ducking into doorways, behind buildings, on to the main road that led to the woman’s house. Her road was on the left; a few metres before the turning he jumped over a fence into one of her neighbours’ gardens, then into hers. Here he ran to the back and, as the crowd shouted, kicked an opening in the fence ready for their escape before turning and making his way stealthily towards the house. He took out his handheld device and called her number.
    ‘Hello?’ The woman’s voice was shaking.
    ‘It’s the concierge from Hotel Sweeney,’ he said in a low voice. I need you to come to your back door. Slowly. Carefully. Don’t let anyone see you.’
    ‘Yes. Yes,’ she said. He could see her through the back window, her outline moving into the hall. She was large, moving slowly; Jude silently willed her to speed up.
    ‘She’s coming!’ someone shouted at the front of the house.
    ‘Kick down the door!’ someone else shouted.
    ‘Legal killer!’
    ‘Terrorist!’
    The woman froze; Jude looked around desperately. He had minutes to get her out. Seconds, even. He ran to the door just as the woman got there. In her arms was a young child, his eyes wide with fear.
    She opened the door and stared at Jude. ‘But you’re just a child yourself! I thought there would be more of you,’ she gasped. ‘We’ll never get out alive.’
    ‘We’re going this way. Through the fence,’ Jude said, holding his arms out for the child. ‘You’ve got to come now.’
    The woman looked at him, then at her child, then she shook her head. ‘I can’t run,’ she said. ‘I’m not strong enough.’
    ‘Yes you are,’ Jude said through gritted teeth. ‘Come on.’
    ‘I’m an Opt Out,’ the woman said, her eyes shining with tears. ‘My body doesn’t renew itself and my heart . . .’ She shook her head again, then looked at Jude desperately. ‘Take him,’ she begged. ‘Take him, please. Leave me here.’
    ‘I can’t leave you here. They’ll kill you,’ Jude said vehemently. ‘Come. Now. We can get away.’
    ‘No.’ The woman shook her head. ‘I’ll slow you down. They’ll catch us.’
    A large crash made them jump and the woman grabbed Jude by the shoulders. ‘They’re breaking the door down,’ she said. ‘Go. Go now. Look after my boy. Make sure he knows I loved him. That I wanted him. His papers are in his pockets. Look after him, please?’
    Jude shook his head but the woman was already closing the back door. Reluctantly he pulled the child to him and started to run. As he squeezed through the hole in the fence he heard the crowd rushing into the house; then he ran, ran as fast as he could away from the screams as the woman surrendered to her tormentors, holding the child tightly to his chest to silence his whimpers, to stop from crying out himself. All he could think about was Sheila when she was little, being taken away from the parents who loved her on a night like this. All the children who’d been wrenched from loving homes to be imprisoned, murdered, enslaved.
    ‘It’s OK,’ he whispered. ‘It’s going to be OK.’
    As he rushed back to the Underground, stumbling with tiredness, his arms barely capable of carrying the weight of the child, he realised he had to make his promise good – he had to make sure everything would be OK. His body was crying out for sleep, for food, for water. But as he dashed madly through the door of the Underground, completing the security checks, explaining the child’s presence to the Underground guard at the door, he was met with Sheila’s eyes, wide with fear as she put down the phone. ‘I don’t want to answer the phone any more,’ she said, her bottom lip quivering. ‘I don’t want to, Jude. I don’t like it here. I hate it.’
    ‘I know,’ Jude said, handing the child to the guard. ‘I know. But we’ve got to be strong. We’ve got to keep fighting.’
    ‘I don’t think I can,’ she said quietly, standing up as the phone started to ring again.
    Her eyes were swimming with tears; as they started to cascade