*Get out of the car on the right hand side and keep walking along the track, through the woods.*
That’s what they said. That’s what I do.
I glance over my shoulder at the self-driving car. It hasn’t moved since it dropped me off. Does it have a camera? Is it watching me?
I turn back to stare at the gloomy woods in front of me.
The gravel track stretches from my feet as far as I can see into the distance. But the track is only a few feet wide.
Either side of it are the trees, the tallest trees I’ve ever seen — a good seven hundred feet high. The wind blows and their branches whisper menacingly, perhaps of things they’ve seen.
I remember when trees around here used to have leaves. I remember all the leaves floating down to the ground, in a week-long shower, never to grow back.
I’ve never seen trees planted so close together. Did they plant them like this on purpose? Does it help with security? To screen off the secrets in the thick of these woods? Are the trees WOCO officers, too?
Nature as camouflage. Nature as sentry.
I start walking again.
Gravel crunches beneath my feet, the sound echoing off the tree trunks like a wild dog yelping at me.
I hear a voice.
“You can stop walking.”
Crows squawk and rattle the branches as they take flight, disturbed by this voice. I stop walking and look around.
It takes me a while to spot him.
He stands between two trees. He’s as rigid as they are, and partially camouflaged by his dark hoodie and combat trousers.
I walk towards him and extend a hand. “Jake Radley.”
He doesn’t take the hand. He’s too busy examining my face to be diverted by pleasantries. When he’s finished he turns and walks away from me, further into the woods.
I take that as a signal to follow him.
As we walk, I think about quickening my pace to catch him up but decide against it, in case it’s not what he wants. He shows no sign of slowing down, so I carry on walking five steps behind.
We walk for another fifteen minutes or so, our feet brushing aside layers of bracken.
There doesn’t seem to be a marked out route that he’s following.
Then, in the distance, a building.
As we get closer, I see what it is — a log cabin.
Not many trees have been sacrificed to provide room for the cabin, the mottled grey trunks hemming it in on all sides.
My companion puts his hand up to a sensor on the door. A green light confirms his identity and the door opens.
I think twice before following him inside. Both times the conclusion to those thoughts is a very reluctant yes.
Inside, it’s a simple arrangement. There’s a desk and chairs on one side of the room, two brown sofas on the other. There are a couple of doors leading off, one to a bathroom, the other to a tiny kitchen.
“Take a seat,” he says, indicating the sofas. “Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee? Water?”
“Coffee would be great.”
He walks into the kitchen, leaving the door open. He must be in his fifties, his hair thinning, his cheeks beginning to hang. I notice his eyebrows slope down towards the outermost edges, giving him a slightly sorrowful demeanour. He takes immense care in measuring out the coffee.
Returning with two mugs, he sits on the other sofa. He places a hand on each of his knees as if posing for a photograph.
He speaks slowly. “How much have you thought about this?”
There’s a way of talking to a senior WOCO officer, that much I’ve learned in the few years I’ve been in the Protection Force.
“I *have* thought about it.” It’s a line that doesn’t give too much away. I’m happy with it.
“You have a difficult decision to make, Mr Radley. This is your last chance to back out.”
I shake my head. “When I was approached I was told what a great opportunity this was. Now I’m here, you’re saying I should think about backing out. I’m a little confused, sir.”
He lowers his head, talks to the floor. “It’s an unfortunate arrangement. You have to agree to something before you know what it is. Very unfortunate. But that’s the way it has to be. What have you been told so far?”
“That I’ll be promoted to level four. That it’s a new, groundbreaking department. That I’ve exhibited signs of being ideal for the department. That’s all.”
He stands up. He still hasn’t volunteered his name. But I don’t think it’s my place to ask him.
He walks over to the window. The proximity of the trees makes them look like bars on the window. He talks to me without turning around.
“Level four is a significant step up for a WOCO officer,” he says. “A considerably better lifestyle. Access to a lot more privileges. You’ll particularly enjoy the intelligent beds.”
“I’ve heard about those.” I risk a smile.
He turns around. “Don’t smile, Mr Radley. It makes you appear glib.”
He stares at me with an expression that would make stone crumble. My smile has no chance of surviving his glare.
“Be under no illusions,” he says. “Aside from the material benefits you’ll accrue, it’ll be hard work. There will be as many sacrifices as rewards. And you mustn’t tell anybody what you do. Ever. Not even your wife.”
I don’t know if the gloomy portentousness in his voice is designed to make me think again. But how can I go back? I can’t return to the administration section, I just can’t. Everybody wants to make a difference, and this is my chance; not to mention the significant increase in my standard of living.
“I’m about to ask you one final time if you want to join us, Mr Radley. This time, your decision will be irreversible. But I’ll be honest with you.”
He stares at me intently.
“Imagine heaven, imagine hell, put them at the same address — this is where you’ll work.
