The Legacy

taste of freedom and excitement that she’d never thought possible.
    Using this memory to steel herself, Anna got up and felt around for the matchbox then, using her hands to protect it from the wind, she struck a match and relit the candle. Immediately its warm glow turned the kitchen back into a safe, warm place.
    Ben, who had momentarily stopped playing to look around in confusion, resumed trot ing his dog up and down Mol y’s body as she gurgled and kicked in enjoyment.
    Anna stood up and walked around the room to find the source of the gust of wind that had plunged it into darkness. The door was firmly closed; there was a smal draught from underneath, but not enough to extinguish a candle. The window to its left was also shut; Anna lifted her hand but couldn’t feel any wind coming through it.
    Frowning, she walked towards the bigger window on the other side of the kitchen.
    And then, suddenly, she stopped and screamed. Because in the reflection of the window, she saw a pair of eyes looking at her from inside the room. Immediately, Ben began to yel and, like an echo, Mol y fol owed suit. Terrified, Anna turned to them, but an arm looped around her, preventing her from moving.
    ‘Cooperate and everyone wil be just fine,’ a voice said – a deep, threatening voice. Anna did her best to breathe. She had to be strong for Mol y, for Ben.
    ‘Cooperate. Yes. Yes, I . . .’ Anna managed to say. Mol y’s cries were searing through her like physical pain. ‘The children,’ she said. ‘Please let me go to them.’
    ‘Don’t worry, they’re coming too,’ the man said.
    He grabbed her hands and pul ed them behind her back. Anna felt her stomach clench. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please. We’re not Surplus. I’ve got papers. I’ve got our documents . . .’
    But the Catcher was already taking out his phone to cal his haul in. ‘I’ve got the girl,’ he said. ‘The children too.’
    Then, pul ing Anna, he dragged her out of the house.
    Derek answered his phone immediately. ‘It’s definitely her?’ he asked.
    ‘Definitely,’ his guard replied. ‘The Covey girl and two smal ones. Shal I tel Mr Pincent, like he said?’
    ‘No,’ Derek said, smiling to himself. ‘Tel no one. Bring her to me.’
    ‘But –’
    ‘But nothing,’ Derek cut in angrily. ‘You report to me, I report to Richard. And the orders have changed. You bring them to me, do you understand?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ the guard said quickly. ‘Yes, I understand.’
    ‘Good.’ Derek put down the phone and breathed out slowly. Everything was coming together. Anna Covey and her children were his and soon there would be more. Many more.
    Twenty vans were parked outside, waiting for his word. He would go with them, he decided. Make sure the job was done properly.
    He stood up and moved silently along the corridor, then down the back steps of Pincent Pharma to where the vans were waiting. Quickly he inspected them, then nodded to the drivers.
    ‘It’s time,’ he said, a lit le smile playing on his lips. ‘It’s time to col ect.’
    .

Chapter Seventeen
    El a Blunden sighed and turned off the news broadcast, searching for some music instead. There was enough grey at Grange Hal without having more descend from the outside world. She’d thought of Grange Hal as a prison when she’d first arrived but now, with fear on the streets, it felt like a refuge. Missings, police checkpoints, the Underground poisoning the Longevity supply, people ranting on the radio about death, about God, about conspiracy theories . . . Grange Hal itself had received numerous phone cal s from people offering to torch the place, tel ing her to kil the Surpluses before they had an opportunity to grow up and become terrorists themselves. Chance would be a fine thing, El a thought to herself with a sigh.
    Although it would put her out of a job.
    She found a music station playing swingsong and turned up the volume. The Surpluses were al asleep; they wouldn’t hear, anyway. The House Matron’s rooms were soundproofed – El a had seen to that. She hadn’t exactly jumped when they offered her the job, not after what had happened to the last House Matron. But money was money, and they’d held out al sorts of incentives, including the refurbishment of her apartment and a new office. One that no one, to her knowledge, had commit ed murder in. She had standards, after al .
    She sat back in her upholstered chair and poured herself a glass of wine, taking a sip, then a