Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer

George is waving his arms about again: never a good sign. Neela catches my eye and nods towards him, raising her eyebrows and frowning. Receiving the ‘sort it out’ message loud and clear, I take a last drag, then stub out my smoke.
His voice fades in as I approach.
“…then they got control of Area 51 and it all went sideways. The Belters wouldn’t tolerate a Saurian takeover, and the Ice Guardians are notorious for striking down any who threaten the Great Gates – Hiya, Mike – so Breakout Two instigated the genocide early to prevent further chaos.” He points at me. “Couldn’t wait to hear me finish my reveal of the Antarctic Deep Bastions, eh?” Waving to the half-dozen new arrivals gathered about him, he shakes his head, “You’ll have to wait until I’ve finished bringing the latest intake up to speed on our vital role in stopping the completion of the satanic agenda.”
I take a deep breath, consider my options, then speak.
“That’s enough, George.”
He looks at me.
“Enough what? We have to be ready for the call up. That means preparation, and our scavenging must change: it has to prioritise weapons and IED components. It’s too focussed on things to make us comfortable, and we all know how dangerous getting complacent can be: idle minds are grist for Satan’s mill.”
More than enough.
“Where’s Justin, George?”
He waves his hand towards the tents just visible under the trees.
“Volunteered for chores with Pilly. Doing his part, like I’m trying to. Gillian-”
No.
“What about Gillian?”
He catches my change of tone and pauses, momentarily nonplussed.
“She said I should-”
His face goes slack with surprise as Justin wanders up, arriving from the direction of the fish ponds – they’re on the opposite side to the tents. He’s hand-in-hand with Pilly.
“Mum said we’re trying to survive after an apocalypse, but instead of facing reality, you carry on with the fantasies that let you feel important. You told her she’d been perverted by Satan into trying to stop your holy mission. So mum left.”
I nod to him. Polite, but with an edge of anger. Entirely justified.
“Satan lured her away to serve the Saurians. Just you wait: she’ll be back with their lackeys soon, and you’ll all rue the day you ignored me.”
I look about until I spot Chas, our de facto leader. Catching his eye, I raise my eyebrows in query. We’ve talked about our resident conspiraloon often. I think we’ve finally hit decision time. Chas raises one finger, then hitches his thumb towards the entrance. Once chance or out. Got it.
“George, it’s time to choose. Either you shut up and start working with us, or you leave.”
He looks surprised.
“What? No, no. You’re wrong. You need me. I know about what’s really happening. All this,” he waves his hands about, “is a distraction from the satanic agenda. They’re-”
Gillian shouts.
“Coming to enslave us so their conquest of the Earth in Satan’s name will be complete? Or is it to kill us all to spite God? I could never work out which.”
She strolls up, trail pack and rifle cradled in her arms.
“I’m back, puddin’. Time for you to leave.”
George seems to shrink under her gaze.
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me Satan’s whore. But we both have our crosses to bear, don’t we?”
He looks at those gathered about us, then turns to me.
“Walk me out?”
I nod. The least I can do is endure his final rant.