The Glimpse Read Free Page A

approached the south-western checkpoint. Two square cabins stood on either side of the road harbouring guards who let the traffic through. Ana sat up, alert. Nick, the chauffeur, handed over their IDs.
    Crazies could not enter any of the Communities without going through the Wardens’ approval process, and even then the date and hours had to be specified. Pure men came 13
    and went as they pleased. Pure women, for their own safety, were always accompanied into the City.
    The guard checked their ID sticks, handed them back, and raised the barrier. They advanced towards Whitestone pond, a man-made basin surrounded by roads. Once a watering spot for horses, the pond was now a mecca for Crazies. Hundreds of them waded in the water, pushing and jostling for space as they dunked the water, pushing and jostling for space as they dunked and scrubbed dirty washing.
    Only several hundred metres lay between the Highgate and Hampstead checkpoints. But to Ana such forays into the City filed her mind so that six hundred metres felt like six thousand.
    The car inched into Heath Street. Nick maintained a steady fifteen miles per hour. On the whole, the crowds parted around the vehicle, but even at this speed people tumbled against the doors. None of the Crazies by the pond had bikes or e-trikes or rickshaws. Ana had once asked Nick why. ‘Too crowded,’ he’d told her.
    ‘Nowhere to lock them up.’
    As they passed the pond, a thump sounded on the car bonnet. Ana tensed. A bearded, scruffy man pushed against the front bumper. They edged forward and he pounded the windscreen, a blade glinting in his scabby hand.
    Ana sucked in her breath. ‘He’s got a knife,’ she said.
    Lake gazed ahead, indifferent. Nick continued his steady advance down Heath Street. There came shouting. A scream. Ana peered through the back window searching for the bearded man who’d now disappeared into the throng.
    Her eyes locked on a girl of twelve or thirteen. Pain 14
    gripped the girl’s round face. She was swooning and pressing a blood-drenched hand against her shoulder.
    ‘Someone’s injured. We have to stop.’ Ana knew she was supposed to pretend she hadn’t seen anything, the was supposed to pretend she hadn’t seen anything, the way her father and Jasper and al the other Pures did.
    But she couldn’t. Perhaps because one day that girl might be her.
    ‘We can’t stop,’ Lake said. ‘We’l be late.’
    Ana began to unwrap the silver scarf prettily twisted around the top of her dress.
    ‘Don’t do that,’ Lake said. ‘It’l take hours to fix.’
    Ignoring her joining planner, Ana ripped away the scarf and pressed the button to descend the electric window.
    Lake reached over and fought to remove her finger. Ana stretched her legs, leaning her neck and shoulders out of the car.
    ‘Pul her in!’ Nick shouted. Lake’s arms wrapped around Ana’s waist and tugged.
    Ana flourished the scarf at a woman. ‘It’s for the bleeding girl,’ she caled. The woman’s hand snapped at the stream of fine material. Lake yanked Ana’s hips and Ana fel backwards into her seat. The electric window zipped closed.
    Nick frowned at them in the rear-view mirror. Like al those who worked for the Pures, he was a Carrier – he could pass on mutated genes to his children, but he wouldn’t develop the ilnesses he carried. Everyone who wasn’t Pure either carried one or more of the genomes that caused the hundreds of mental ils, the ‘Carriers’; were already sick, the ‘Actives’; or would become sick at some point in their lives, the ‘Sleepers’, like Ana.
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    ‘Sorry,’ Ana mouthed at him. She knew he’d have stopped if he considered it safe enough.
    ‘She won’t use it for the girl,’ Lake said.
    ‘She might.’
    ‘She won’t.’ Lake’s eyes roamed across what remained of Ana’s binding outfit. Without the diaphanous scarf twisting around Ana’s waist and across her chest to knot at the back of her neck, the pale, ankle-length dress