Gareth Johnstone, chair of NLM, stated that there’s a reason for the reluctance of the WAME community to take the vaccine: ‘For decades, drug companies have experimented and tested their new drugs on Noughts throughout Europe, using us as guinea pigs and treating Noughts like expendable cannon fodder. Yet, when it comes to advanced clinical trials, we are excluded. Every Nought has a story to tell of Noughts who have been adversely affected by the flu vaccine. How many Noughts were included in the latest clinical trials? For example, was it tested on Noughts with cystic fibrosis, a predominantly Nought disease? These drugs are clinically tested on Crosses, and passed for Cross use, and then rolled out as effective for everyone, which may not be the case.’

A spokeswoman for the NPHA stated that the low take-up is particularly worrying as there have been as yet unsubstantiated reports of a new strain of flu emerging from some Far Eastern countries – a strain as yet unseen in Albion.

forty-five. Libby

Hand in hand, Troy and I had been staring at the open door above us for ages. My senses were on red alert, waiting.

Waiting.

But nothing.

We looked at each other warily.

‘Help me up the stairs,’ Troy whispered.

He placed an arm round my shoulder as we made our way towards the bottom of the stairs. He grabbed the banister with his free hand and hopped up each step, biting his lip against the agony of each jarring movement. When at last we reached the top, he was bathed in sweat. I held onto him, as there was no handrail at the top to grab hold of any more, and waited for the pain he was going through to relax its grip on him. Several moments later, Troy motioned for me to step back down the stairs and wait.

Not a chance.

Giving him an impatient look, I moved ahead of him. A wary, deep breath later, I darted through the open door into the hall, the slat of wood ready in my hands. Hopping, Troy followed. A rapid look around revealed the hall was empty. A single sickly light bulb with no lampshade hung from the hall ceiling. Silence echoed round us.

‘Troy?’ I whispered.

‘Shush!’ said Troy, listening intently.

‘Put that piece of wood down before you hurt someone.’

The voice had Troy and me spinning round, the makeshift spade in my hand raised to strike. A man with brownish-grey hair and glasses was standing in the derelict kitchen doorway, leaning against the door frame, his thick arms crossed. Behind his round glasses, which made him look like an owl, were the greenest eyes I’d ever seen. Green like moss.

‘Please don’t swing that at me,’ he said, pointing at the length of wood in my hands. ‘You might not miss.’

‘Who the hell are you?’ said Troy. ‘Start talking.’