The Legacy

squalid buildings good only for being knocked down. Packed up, the Underground could be condensed into three piles and his computer. He knew that the operation’s sophistication wasn’t focused in one place, that its armies were not stationed in the building nor its information held in physical form alone. But still, standing there, he couldn’t help feeling that far from the wide-reaching terrorist organisation Hillary Wright insisted on talking about, the Underground was really a fragile thing, a butterfly hoping that by flapping its wings huge changes would come about.
    Two supporters had been called in to help him pack and the work had been done in silence. Whether because of Pip’s surrender, the crazed attacks on Underground sympathisers or the whimpers and cries from the children, Jude didn’t know, but no one said a word as they methodically shifted the piles of papers and equipment into rucksacks for easy transport.
    Sam appeared again. His shift – the guards worked one week on, three weeks off – had come to an end, but his replacement had not turned up yet. Jude had a feeling the replacement wouldn’t be turning up ever; he suspected Sam thought the same, but neither of them admitted it. They continued to talk as though things hadn’t changed irrevocably, as though any minute now another guard might appear.
    ‘You going to take over running things? Till Pip escapes?’ Sam asked.
    Jude didn’t say anything for a few seconds. ‘He’ll be out before you know it,’ he said. Then, knowing that it was an empty promise, ‘He’ll escape. He’s got a plan.’
    ‘Course he will. I know that,’ Sam said.
    Jude nodded gratefully. Until a few hours ago, Sam had been an anonymous guard stationed at the top of the stairs. Jude had barely registered his face, and Sam hadn’t spoken except to check the credentials of visitors and to tell them where to go. But now – well, now things were different. Since they’d watched the newsfeed together, it felt like the two of them were carrying everything on their shoulders. They would be too, quite literally, Jude thought wryly, looking at the rucksacks.
    Sam looked at him awkwardly. ‘There was another one twenty minutes ago,’ he said.
    ‘Another . . . ?’ Jude asked, but he didn’t have to finish the sentence; he knew what Sam meant. He meant another supporter had called to say they no longer wanted anything to do with the Underground. If Pip had hoped that handing himself in would draw a line in the sand, stop the attacks, stop supporters from deserting them, he’d been wrong. If anything, his admission of guilt had just made things worse.
    ‘Said she didn’t want us contacting her again. Said she was resigning her support.’
    ‘Right. Thanks,’ Jude said tightly. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. We’ve still got supporters. We’ll be fine.’
    ‘Right.’ Sam breathed out heavily. ‘Thing is,’ he said, ‘people don’t want to get ill and die, do they?’
    Jude stopped packing the box next to him and looked up.
    ‘The Underground didn’t sabotage the drugs,’ he said quietly. ‘You know that, right?’
    ‘I know.’ Sam nodded. ‘But it does – death, I mean – it does focus the mind, doesn’t it? Like, people want new life, they do. But then when the reality hits, they realise that if there’s new life, then there’s got to be death. Which is OK in theory, but when it’s in practice, when you hear about people dying . . .’
    ‘Yeah,’ Jude said, closing his eyes and seeing the blistered bodies in the Pincent Pharma lorry, the woman clawing at him in pain as she died. He met Sam’s eyes and saw real fear in them. But before he could say something, reach out, explain that he understood, there was a loud bang on the door. He looked at Sam in alarm as the door guard jumped up.
    ‘Who’s there?’ he asked. ‘What’s the weather like out there?’
    He looked back at Jude, his eyes wide with fear. Then a voice called out, ‘It’s windy in Scotland, but here it’s quite mild.’
    Jude stiffened as he recognised the voice. ‘Peter?’ he called out as Sam opened the door tentatively. ‘Peter! What the hell are you doing here?’
    Peter scanned the room as Sam hurriedly shut the door behind him. His face was blue and black, his clothes covered in dirt. ‘You’re moving?’
    Jude nodded. ‘Yeah. We’re – it’s safer.’
    Peter appeared to digest this, to take in the sound of crying, the emptiness, the bags under