Feeding the Borfimah

Water, Water

It Ainslie," Aisha whispered across the table, as the phone blurted out a Wiley ring tone. She whinnied with the effort of using the touchscreen, "I can't do eeeet."No-one offered to help.

The brightness/contrast adjustment for Rachel's vision was set too high. Through the bullet-smashed portacabin window, the lights over the marijuana plants seemed menacing spaceships. Sunlight leaking in from the warehouse entrance was blinding, as though Jesus hovered above the car park. Maybe it was her father's ghost come to visit her. But to go out and see was too difficult.

Rachel's throat felt like she'd swallowed barbed wire. She tried to recall when she last drank anything. Marijuana made her feel different, very different, but not better. She'd be high for three days and it hadn't stopped her heart hurting.

When Botship's van unloaded them at the warehouse, everyone sketched out in their own way. The corpses Nouhou had left all over the car park had gone, but the blood hadn't, and the pools had darkened almost to black. It didn't help when he'd found a fat horticultural hose and sprayed out the portacabin, because a crimson waterfall splashed down its steps, and the only colour Rachel thought she could see was red. Botship had wanted to get buckets to collect the blood-infused water for the marijuana plants, but didn't move. They'd waited several hours for the portacabin to drain out, with several electric heaters on maximum to dry the kitchen seats.

Anxiety hit Rachel and she couldn't breathe properly. Aisha had stared at the warehouse ceiling and hyperventilated. Lilah put an arm around each of them, and said it happened to people in wars. "It would pass." Rachel sat watching the warehouse door, in case of more shooting. Ashby had whimpered endlessly about his job, while Botship jumped at every unexpected noise, in between showing Nouhou how to play a game on Ainslie's burner phone. Lilah had played mother to them all.

Everything changed after Nouhou mixed some marijuana heads into the evening meal of baked beans. At first Rachel and Aisha had giggled until it hurt. After two day of being high, rather than laughing, she found she couldn't leave the portacabin. Her fear had intensified into agoraphobia, which some of the older tenants at Farm Estate also suffered. Social workers had to bring in their food. Rachel understood why because she couldn't get up for a glass of water.

The Vietnamese workers had crept along the rows of plants; plucking out male flowers, according to Nouhou. Botship explained he'd made them shareholders so they weren't slaves, even though they lived exactly the same lives as before. At first, he'd grumbled when Nouhou made a bong; it was his marijuana now, Botship complained. Rachel had trouble smoking the pipe, which burnt her throat and made her cough. Her lungs felt as though they'd been stabbed. So she and Aisha drank skunk tea instead.

"Fuc-king ting!" Aisha swore at the buzzing phone, repeatedly jabbing the screen with a finger. "It hate me, yeh!" It had taken Ainslie three days to call. Aisha put the phone on speaker.

"First, no names," Ainslie said. "Use the last letter of first names only. They can voice search on names. I am 'E.'"

"What?" Aisha said. "We way too high for dat shit. Fam, we totes nonfunctional."

"Are you all high?" said Ainslie.

"You disappointed you not here?" Botship said.

"All right. I'll keep it short. As far as the Brain can tell, P's record hasn't changed."

"In de clear," Botship said.

"Y," Ainslie said, "MI6 know about your air tickets, so you're under suspicion. Go to a neutral country. Ecuador or Venezuela maybe."

"Y?" Ashby said. "Is that me? They can't make me part of the game! I'm finished."

"The Brain hacked a few databases and we've created new identities, so you'll be OK."