BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

him eagerly and who, at this point, just had a thin layer of tuft on their upper lips. Jamie’s anger seemed to throb within him. I could see it in every pulse of his veiny arms and every movement in his body. Anger at the situation we were in. Anger because no one had come to rescue us. Anger because it was starting to look like we actually were the last ones left.

He had devised a plan he explained, a plan that was necessary for survival. We were the oldest, therefore we were to become the guards, he explained. There would now be Trials, each one attempting to eliminate the weakest among us. We needed to inject purpose back into our lives, he told us, and that purpose was to strengthen the children so that the new generation would be made of the best genes. This would ensure survival. He projected a dim light through the smog and onto a murky-white wall, now covered in a thin, yellow film of heat and smoke. It showed a profile of each of the children with their name and an empty box underneath that was labelled “identified traits”. Jamie’s face spread into a smug and satisfied smile when he saw this, which sent fear creeping up my spine. The Trials will reveal traits, he explained, and these traits will allow the perfect match to be made between a boy and a girl. And, finally, he concluded with a bow, this couple matched in every way, will be sent out into the world in search of the others.

That night marked the transition for us from boys to guards. Jamie made us start wearing the awful green army outfits that had been worn in the Third Wars. The Trials began immediately. At first they were intelligence based. Jamie invented ridiculously creative puzzles and riddles and, slowly, the cleverer individuals started to emerge and their profile scores were raised. This carried on for a few months, with easier trials for the younger ones. Everything seemed okay. There were more rules and we ate our meals separately from the children, but we were still allowed to play with them sometimes. Then the power got to their heads.

Jamie and his three minions, who all by now had thick, full grown moustaches and took to wearing tinted shades and carrying sticks wherever they went, suddenly turned dark and twisted. The children were not seen as theirs anymore but, instead, were just part of Jamie’s project for survival. The Trials became brutal, first involving vigorous and pointless exercise and then, when they became bored with that, Jamie took to killing off the weak ones with the most intricate designs that only he could have ever thought up.

There were regular meetings, during which, Jamie would proudly project the results on the wall, showing the array of talents that had been supposedly discovered by the Trials. My stomach sickened deeper each day until I couldn’t bear it any longer. I knew that Oliver and Sam felt the same. We had spoken often about it late at night whie we were on watch in the warehouses that had been renamed Blocks. We decided to leave, and to try and find the others ourselves.’

“We decided to leave, and to try and find the others ourselves” Jamie concluded, reading from a thick, dusty diary to the faces of the newest guards, some of whom he had known since they were two years old and who looked back at him with terrified yet obedient eyes. Jamie used his cigarette to set fire to the diary and lazily tossed it into the decaying trees that the three betrayers had been nailed to, hung out by their wrists like washing waiting to dry in the wind. Jamie watched, the sun streaming warmly on his back as all three went ablaze simultaneously, a roaring fire in deep orange and red, matched in intensity by the smell of frying fresh that was thick in the air: a glimmer of something, perhaps sadness or pleasure, flickered in his eyes for a second. Then, it was gone, and they all watched the growing fire in silence.