Southend-on-Sea was the first obvious stop. They were more or less out of the Thames Estuary. Looking east along the coastline past Canvey Island was the North Sea. The tugboat had chugged and juddered slowly as it hugged the estuary shoreline. They’d travelled about forty miles today which was further than he thought they’d make. But it had made a significant dent in the boat’s supply of diesel, according to Jeff.

Tomorrow, if they were lucky enough to have the sea as flat as they’d had today, the pilot assured him there was enough fuel to get them as far as Felixstowe where there was a large container port. With a bit of luck they’d be able to locate some more fuel, perhaps even stay a day or two and forage through all those containers and warehouses for anything that might be useful.

Felixstowe being a big container port was going to be a very useful stop. Southend, on the other hand, had nothing . . . except apparently endless unpowered fairground rides. The shops and cafés had been comprehensively picked clean over the years. A number of the once fine buildings along the seafront Marine Parade had caught fire; the blackened carcasses sandwiched between amusement arcades and banks of those ‘claw’ vending machines that still held hundreds of sun-bleached soft toys prisoner. And along the kerbside several brown husks that had once been recreational trucks sat rusting on stubs of melted tyre rubber and blackened wire. No doubt set aflame the same night as the buildings when the town’s chavs came out onto the street to celebrate the lights going out and the promise of unpoliced fun and games.

‘Sir? Mr Maxwell?’

He turned away from the boy-powered dodgems to see Nathan standing a couple of yards away.

‘What is it?’

The lad looked uncomfortable.

‘What’s the matter, Nathan?’

‘You . . . you said we was just going to visit them.’

‘Your old home, yes, that’s right. To pay them a visit.’

‘But . . . but you’ve brought everything with you.’

Maxwell sighed and then smiled. There was no point bullshitting him. ‘Yes, Nathan, you’re right. It’s not just a visit.’

The lad shook his head. ‘Then what—?’

‘We had to move, Nathan. This has been on the cards for months and months.’ Maxwell waved the boy over to join him leaning against the rail. He did so and they both turned to watch the dodgems being pushed around by the guffawing boys.

‘As Edward’s second in command, I guess I should bring you into my confidence.’ Maxwell lowered his voice ever so slightly. He was quiet for a moment, thinking how to proceed.

‘Nathan, we couldn’t have lasted another winter in the Zone. There just wasn’t enough food being grown and we were supplementing every meal with a rapidly vanishing supply of tinned stuff. Just too many of us there. So that’s why we’re on the move. I had to split us up. Those we left behind will have a better chance of surviving on what they can grow without having our mouths to feed as well.’ Maxwell nudged his arm. ‘But you were the deciding factor.’

‘Me?’

‘You and that poor lad, Jacob. When you told me there was someplace else that was like ours; organised, properly sorted and managing to get by. That was what finally decided me to get a move on.’

‘So . . . so are you goin’ to join them? Because, see, I don’t think there’s . . .’ Nathan faltered and hesitated.

‘Go on, Nathan,’ said Maxwell. ‘You can speak your mind.’

‘Well, I don’t think there’ll be room on the rigs for us.’

He smiled. ‘We’re just going to talk, that’s all, Nathan. Talk to the lady in charge.’

‘Jenny Sutherland.’

‘Yes. See if we can trade any supplies, any skills. See if she knows of any good locations nearby for us to set up a new home.’ Maxwell turned to look back at the boys under the canopy. ‘We need to be close together, do you see? If we really are all there is left of Great Britain; if I’m the last government representative left in authority and it’s just our two communities that made it this far, then we’ve got to work together to make sure neither group fails. We have to co-operate.’

Nathan pursed his lips. ‘But some of the boys are saying . . .’

‘Saying what?’

‘Well . . . that . . . they think we’re going to live on a place that has lots of electricity and stuff. An’ I . . . well I just wondered—’

‘Whether they were referring to the rigs?’

Nathan nodded.

‘Silly buggers. That’s just their Chinese whispers. I’ll be honest with you, Nathan, because I think I can trust you. I’m inclined to let them carry on believing something like that for now. They have no idea where we’re headed. Just you, Edward and me, we’re the only ones that know. Truth is, when we resettle, hopefully someplace not too far from your old home, those lads will have to start getting used to a new lifestyle. Farming for themselves.’

‘I don’t think they’ll be happy about that.’

‘Well, you’re right. But they’ll have to get used to the idea anyway. But, for now, I’m happy to let them think whatever the hell they want. Once we’ve got together with your people . . . once the boys can see for themselves how well your lot are doing, they’ll settle down.’ Maxwell shrugged. ‘I might even offer the services of myself and the boys to your Jenny Sutherland. Let her be in charge, eh?’ He winked. ‘I could do with a bloody rest.’

Maxwell could see that Nathan was encouraged by that. He’d obviously just wanted to be reassured this wasn’t intended to be a raiding party. He’d needed to hear a few words from him that sounded genuine, sounded like common sense.

‘Look, Nathan, these boys tell each other all sorts of silly stories. But then that’s young boys for you.’

‘I guess.’

‘That’s why I’ve got you and Edward to help me keep them in line. You’re both older, more mature. The boys look up to both of you. To be honest, I think some of them hero-worship Edward. And I suspect, in time, they’ll do the same to you, as well.’

Nathan shrugged, shuffling his feet. ‘Oh, not sure ’bout that.’

‘Sure they will. Edward says they gather round you like bees to honey. Says you make them laugh till they piss their pants.’ He smiled. ‘That’s good. I need lieutenants like you, Nathan. Leaders the boys like.’

Nathan looked at his feet, uncomfortable with the praise. He wanted to pursue his concern a little further. ‘So . . . we’re . . . you’re sure this isn’t, like, some sort of invasion?’

‘Christ!’ Maxwell looked bemused. ‘You really thought that? That I’m some sort of . . . of evil pirate? A Blackbeard. A Captain Hook?’

Sheepishly, Nathan nodded.

Maxwell dropped his head and laughed. ‘Oh, to be so interesting!’ He chuckled. ‘All I am, all I’ve ever bloody been, is a mid-level administrator. A long time ago, long before the crash I was a history teacher. Not a particularly good one if I’m honest. Then I became a senior executive officer at the Department of Education. I’m a bloody civil servant. Nothing more, nothing less.’

He sighed. ‘The only reason I ended up in charge of Safety Zone Four was because my name was on a Cobra emergency volunteer list. And you know the only reason I entered my details on that volunteer database? It would look good on my CV!’

He shook his head, grinning tiredly. ‘I wasn’t even meant to be in charge. The chap who was on the list to take charge was on holiday in the Dominican Republic when the crash happened. They couldn’t get hold of him, I was next on the list.’

He looked at Nathan. ‘So I’m not really the slash ‘n’ burn bandit leader type. Just a dull old pen pusher in charge of a hundred unruly boys.’

‘Sorry, Chief, I just thought . . . I heard what the boys was saying and . . .’

‘Think about it, Nathan, would I have brought you along if that’s what I intended to do, hmm? You’d be a liability. I’d have to keep an eye on you. Wouldn’t I?’

Nathan shrugged and nodded. ‘S’pose so.’

‘I can’t believe that’s what you were thinking, lad.’ He offered him a warm smile. ‘I’ll let you off this time.’

His gaze fell back on the boys; all so gullible, so pliable. All of them had been so young when he’d ‘recruited’ them from amongst his zone intake. Just bewildered little boys ranging from eight to twelve years in age. Schooling - that’s what he’d told everyone: they needed some sort of schooling if they weren’t going to end up being illiterate scavengers like the feral children picking scraps out of the ruins.

Perhaps that might have been the original reason he’d started up those classes. But it was those armed RAF troops and Met police officers, particularly the Met officers, that he found himself worrying about. Too much talk from them about putting the Zone under police jurisdiction.

His lessons became subtle treatises on power and command, military geniuses, emperors and caesars - the sort of history all boys love. Soon the boys were given orange vests and assigned auxiliary civic tasks to teach them responsibility. No one objected to that, they were becoming a nuisance with nothing to do each and every day. A year after he started the schooling, Maxwell had suggested the boys be billeted in the central part of the dome where they’d be better placed for schooling and being given increasingly more important tasks.

It wasn’t so long after that Maxwell learned that the Met officers were considering taking matters into their own hands. They had to go, and the RAF grunts they’d decided to involve along with them.

His boys, now his guards, his army, were infinitely more manageable than Brooks’s men and the police officers - there was no need to explain things to them, to have to reason with his boys, they just did as they were told.

The boys on the dodgems stopped their game and a shuffling of roles ensued, some of them fighting each other to get in behind the wheel. Maxwell watched them as the game finally resumed. So many of those boys, once so small and anxious away from their parents’ sides, were now tall enough that they towered over his stocky frame.

Once upon a time they listened avidly in class, hanging onto every word as he described the battles of ancient Rome, the insane excesses of Emperor Caligula, the brutal wars and punishments of medieval times, the burning of witches, the impaling of heretics. Now, Maxwell suspected, they listened only because he provided them with the things they craved . . . and not, as he sometimes tried telling himself, out of some residual loyalty to a much-respected teacher.

It was getting dark now, getting hard to pick out the fun and games going on beneath the canopy of the dodgems’ tent.

Maxwell gestured at the improvised game. ‘Be a lot more fun, I imagine, if we could switch the bloody thing on, eh?’

Nathan grinned. ‘Yeah.’

They watched in silence for a while.

‘You know, one day we’ll fix this country up again, just like it used to be. That’s always been my goal, you know? Between your Jenny Sutherland and me, we’ll get things sorted out.’

Nathan replied with a wary nod. ‘That would be good.’

‘Trust me, lad. The future, that’s what I’m thinking about. Everyone’s future. A better one. We’re all going to work together on this.’ Maxwell turned to look up at the evening sky. ‘Anyway, I’d better get a move on and sort out arrangements for tonight.’

‘We’re sleeping-over here?’

‘Overnight, yes. We’ll be up early tomorrow if the sea’s good. I want to make Felixstowe by the evening. Nathan?’

‘Yes, Chief.’

‘Will you organise the onshore guard roster for tonight? I know the place looks deserted, but you never know, do you?’

Nathan smiled. ‘Sure, no problem.’

Maxwell could see he liked the idea of taking on the responsibility; being in charge.

‘I’ll leave the details to you. Just so long as the end of the pier is secure.’

‘What about Snoop?’

‘Oh, I think I’ll let Edward have a well-deserved night off. I imagine he’ll have a little fun with the girls.’

‘Okay.’

‘Good lad.’ He slapped the boy’s shoulder affectionately. Nathan nodded then turned away. Maxwell watched him weave his way through the funfair towards the pier. It stretched almost quarter of a mile out to sea; a long windswept and desolate ribbon of planking on rusting supports, lined with weather-worn arcades. At the far end, the tug-boat and barges were moored. The lad seemed reassured by their brief talk. He hoped so. He was relying on Nathan Williams to talk them onto the rigs; to have them drop their guard just long enough to get a few of his boys up there.

Beneath the dodgems’ low canopy the boys hooted with laughter as a couple of them upended one of the cars and turfed the driver inside out onto the rubber floor. He looked barely more than eleven or twelve. He railed angrily at them, pulling a knife out and flashing it around to the amusement of the others, who had been goading him on.

‘Hey!’ snapped Maxwell. ‘Don’t be bloody stupid!’

The young boy paused a moment, before nodding mutely. He tucked the blade back into his trousers as the other boys, still snickering, righted his car. They resumed their game, the incident already forgotten.