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Promised Land
Eugenie
2101
Not many were left in Eugenie's original posse after they'd been forcibly evicted from the mansion in which they'd been squatting in Hampstead. Ned had been shot in the back by the Security Officers while he was trying to escape by scrambling over the wall. Natalie had been bundled into the back of a van in which at the very least she'd be raped. Of the thirty or forty people who'd crammed into the Hampstead mansion after word about it had slipped out and others had settled in, only half a dozen of them were now in Eugenie's company. And it wasn't because she knew better than anyone else what to do. Ever since their eviction, they'd been wandering aimlessly beside the north periphery of the M11 motorway on which only the wealthy could travel and alongside which an electrified fence acted as a barrier to any invasion from rabid foxes and desperate plebs.
There was probably once a time when Epping Forest was a desirable part of North London in which to live, but there was nothing particularly special about it now. The plague and famine that ravaged London as much as it had the rest of England had been especially savage in the suburban sprawl between the railway stations of Theydon Bois and Coppersale Common. It was especially tragic given that this wooded district had earned a good reputation as a refuge to those who'd sought to live an alternative lifestyle set apart from the general poverty of modern England. Unfortunately, good intentions and utopian idealism had proved to be no protection at all against the ravages of the plague.
Alone amongst her companions, Eugenie felt almost at home in the fields and woodland of Epping; no longer trudging through Central London's dilapidated ruins. This was what she knew best. Plough-horses on open fields. Ragged beggars huddled by the roadside. Poachers who survived on the flesh of the rabbits, birds and feral dogs they'd caught in their traps. Improvised cottages where people who'd never before known the sweat and toil of a life on the soil now had to adjust through necessity to a life of bare subsistence.
"The countryside is real weird," said Tony. "It must be like home to you. All these fields and shit. How d'you find anything to eat round here?"
"We'll find a way," said Eugenie, who wasn't quite as sure of herself as her demeanour suggested.
"Perhaps we should go hunting for animals and stuff," said Tinkerbelle, who despite her name only resembled the Disney fairy because she was rather short and not at all by virtue of her Ethiopian ancestry. "I killed a cat once and ate it. It didn't taste good, but I was fucking hungry. It made all the fucking difference."
"I don't like the look of those boys over there," said Andy pointing at a gang of youths who were sauntering about in workmen's clothes and wielding improvised clubs. "We ought to get as far away from them as we possibly can."
Eugenie respected Andy's nose for trouble. He'd already saved several times their motley crew from calamity on the long trail from Hampstead through the ruins of Chigwell and the ganglands of Wanstead. As Eugenie was the only person in the company who'd ever lived in a country village outside of London, everyone looked towards her for guidance. The general view was that a childhood spent in the East Midlands country was essential preparation for the wilds of London's outermost parks.
"We'll head for those trees over there," Eugenie announced as she gestured towards the forest edge. "If those guys make a run for us we can easily find somewhere to hide."
The most discrete way for six young people to slip out of sight almost certainly wasn't to walk across an open field towards the nearby woods while constantly checking behind them that they weren't being chased, but they weren't many other options. The other avenues of escape were blocked off and, in any case, Eugenie was already concerned about where they should all sleep for the night. Perhaps there'd be a bush or tree they could sleep under. It would be more comfortable and probably a lot safer than what they most often had to resort to.
Fortunately, there was no need to make haste. The youths might be swaggering in a way that suggested trouble, but it was a necessary show for such gangs to flaunt their aggression simply to ensure that they wouldn't be seen as vulnerable and thereby invite trouble from other gangs. Eugenie wondered whether she and her friends, armed as they were with their own makeshift clubs, spears and slingshots, might not make a similar impression on the poor people of Epping. As they strode into the woods following the yellow and blue marker trails that were once there for the benefit of recreational walkers, it was notable how many onlookers made a deliberate diversion to avoid having to come into contact with them.
Not everyone ran away or was able to. When Eugenie and her friends hunted through the foliage for a good patch on which to lay down their torn and soiled sleeping bags, they disturbed someone who was far too ill to run away. This was a woman in her early thirties huddled into a tight curled ball under several threadbare blankets in the midst of an expansive ornamental bush that the deer hadn't yet nibbled away. She pulled her blanket tight to her throat and stared up with an expression of utter terror at Tony when he discovered her in the undergrowth.
"Don't worry, we're not gonna rape you," said Andy.
"You don't have to worry about us," said Amy who, although she was a girl, was also the largest person in the posse. Her style of dress was a deliberately incongruous mix of short cropped hair and a filthy lace-hemmed dress. "We're just looking for somewhere to sleep the night."
"You ain't got plague, have you?" Tinkerbelle asked with genuine alarm. "I thought this area was certified safe."
The woman shook her head and replied through encrusted lips and a hoarse throat. "I'm a survivor," she said. "Most people in the kibbutz caught it. So did I. The difference was that I survived. Most of those who got it didn't."
"So, what've you got, if it ain't plague?" asked Amy who instinctively raised a rag to her mouth.
"I dunno," the woman admitted. "It's not plague. I guess it must be a cold or something."
"I'm not taking chances," announced Eugenie. "I'm keeping back. There've been so many plagues and contagions these last few years you just can't be sure. Maybe it's a new thing going round. Now there aren't any cures anymore for the latest strains of flu, gon, cholera, typhoid or pox, almost anything can be the one that takes you out. Even measles or mumps might be a killer these days."
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