Black Feathers by Joseph D'Lacey

to look after them other than charity. Many of the homeless now wandered the country trying to stay alive. Crime was commonplace, the police ill-equipped or ill-disposed to do anything about it. Countries the UK had previously relied on for supplies of food were no longer exporting; they needed the food for their own people. Forgotten diseases had reappeared and spread, tuberculosis, diphtheria and rickets among them. Successive flu epidemics had wiped out tens of thousands of people in Europe and steady rises in temperature had seen malaria cases being treated in Cornwall, Wales and the west coast of Scotland. Glasgow, Newcastle, Birmingham and parts of London had suffered riots when water, electricity or gas had been cut off, sometimes for days at a time. Fuel prices were rising daily. Hauliers were the worst hit by this and most people couldn’t afford to use their cars any more. An increase in solar activity had affected satellites, phone networks and even the internet. On two occasions, the world wide web had been inaccessible for several hours. People were calling it a new dark age: the Black Dawn.
    Only the Ward, representatives of which had appeared in many countries when things began to look irretrievably bleak, promised solutions to all of these problems. The multinational corporations, threatened by economic collapse in every market, began to invest in influence rather than simple profit. Somehow they needed to secure their positions for the future. Lobbying and then infiltrating government wasn’t enough. They bought their way into the police and the army and their management structure and organisational skills began to look like a practical solution to many of society’s problems. People saw real passion in the Ward, the ability to answer questions with a simple yes or no and the gumption to follow through on things they promised. Their Expulsion Bill of the previous year, returning millions of migrant workers and their families to their countries of origin, was the most radical political act in living memory. After that, support for the Ward grew exponentially.
    To Gordon all this had been no more than pictures on a screen. They were stories about other people and nothing to do with him. Now, before his father said another word, he knew the stories had reached Hamblaen House, that the Blacks had become part of the news.
    “Most people are in favour of the Ward and it’s dangerous to say you don’t agree with what they’re doing. But your mother and I don’t agree with it. We oppose the Ward and everything they stand for.”
    Angela rolled her eyes at what she took for melodrama.
    “I’m not joking, Angela Black. This is the future we’re talking about. Yours too. If someone doesn’t stand up to these people, they’re going to turn the UK into a wasteland. The Ward have only one desire: to enslave us while we’re on our knees.”
    Louis looked at Sophie and extended his hand to her across the table. She offered hers and he squeezed it hard.
    “I’ve seen what the Ward are capable of. They’ve opened a branch in Monmouth – a substation, they call it. People go in there and they don’t come back. Amelia Porter… she–”
    Sophie shook her head.
    “Don’t, Louis.”
    He dropped his head for a moment, stared into his now lukewarm tea.
    “What is it, Dad?” asked Judith. “What happened to Amelia?”
    Louis looked up, stared into Judith’s eyes until she looked away.
    “It doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to tell you is to stay away from the Ward. Far away. Don’t even let them see you if you can help it.”
    Angela made a face of disbelief.
    “I’m absolutely serious, Angela. If you see them, you hide. Understand?”
    Everyone nodded. Angela started to get up from the bench.
    “Sit down, Lella. There’s something else.”
    For a moment, Gordon thought Angela would ignore their father and go to her room. Finally, she gave in.
    “The thing is, I’ve…”
    Louis looked from face to