as basic services shut down and they are deprived of clean water, heat, and gasoline along with food. Gangs of desperate, starving people will fan out over the countryside, descending on farms and villages to seize their food, thereby destroying everything in their path until there is nothing left. This is not a minor inconvenience that will only harm 'others'; this is Armageddon, people, make no mistake about that."
"Bollocks!" a female voice shouted. She was supported by a larger collection of affirmations than the first naysayer. Eile worried that Differel's people would refuse to believe her. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, she thought.
"Perhaps, but you should know that the Privy Council takes this scenario very seriously, and they have resolved not to allow it to occur on British soil. To that end, they have put a program in place geared to prevent it."
The silence in the hall was deafening. Eile wasn't surprised that shut them up. Differel was a member of the Privy Council, so they could assume she knew about anything they were up to. Even so, she suspected they were hoping it would be good news. Differel had wanted to spare them the details, but she and Sunny had convinced her they had a right to know the truth.
A footman stood up. "What kind of program, My Lady?"
"They hope to delay the revelation of the full extent of the disaster as long as possible, but once it becomes generally known, they will declare martial law. They will then issue an order requiring everyone who does not live or work on a viable farm, or is not part of an active fishing fleet, or is not a worker in a vital mining or industrial concern, to assemble in one of nine designated metropolitan areas, ostensibly to make the distribution and rationing of available food easier. The Council is prepared to use the army to forcibly evacuate villages if necessary. They will be housed in temporary shelters while the Council screens them and the city's regular inhabitants. Those with vital skills will be transported to special camps, ostensibly to aid in destroying the blight and helping the country to recover. However, once the Council believes it has everyone useful segregated from the greater mass of useless citizens, it will order the RAF to bomb the cities using Delta-9 nerve gas--"
The hall erupted in an uproar; Eile feared they would riot. A number of people jumped to their feet as nearly everyone shouted at once. Some yelled out "Bollocks!" or other objections, some cursed the perfidy of governments, a few cheered, while others called for calm. One voice rose clear over the others:
"The Queen would never permit that!"
"The Queen is dead!" Differel shouted in her loudest voice. The pandemonium died down quickly as shock replaced outrage.
"The announcement will be made in a few days. The official story will be that she died quietly in her sleep. In reality, she had a stroke when the Council informed her of their program, and she was euthanized that evening with a fatal injection of morphine."
The silence continued, broken only by the sound of quiet sobs, from men as well women. One of the senior cooks stood up. "Then, who is the Sovereign, the Prince?"
"The Council put Prince Charles aside, over concerns that he might be troublesome. Prince William will be crowned the day after the announcement is made. The Council believes that because of his youth and inexperience he will be easier to control. Furthermore, he has already been evacuated to Canada along with the rest of the Royal Family, most of Parliament, and the lesser Cabinet members."
"Then who's in charge?" the cook persisted.
"The Privy Council."
As she paused, it was so quiet Eile could hear their breathing as they struggled to understand what she said.
A young maid in the front row tentatively raised her hand. "What can we do?" The quaver in her voice complimented the look of fearful desperation on her face.
"First and foremost, do not go back to the cities. I realize that many of you have families you wish to be reunited with. By all means, contact them, but have them rendezvous with you here. There are things the government can do even before declaring martial law, such as restricting travel. You could become trapped, unable to leave before the emergency is declared.
"Secondly, I have already placed in your bank accounts a full year's salary, plus the monetary equivalent of your benefits and unpaid accrued sick and vacation time as well as your retirement packages. If you chose to use that money for a big farewell party, that is your concern, but I would urge you to use it to stock up on foodstuffs, water, and other supplies. After the meeting, Aelfraed will provide you with the contact information of the companies that supply the manor.
"Third, I would further urge that you flee as soon as possible to some safe haven."
"But, where could we go?" the maid insisted.
"You have enough money to leave the country, but the government may soon close the ports and air fields, and other nations may not take in immigrants. My advice would be to seek out secluded locations here in England or Scotland. Ideal places would be isolated and abandoned manors and cottages with arable land. Whitehall is unlikely to target those unless they are close to cities or villages. Small, isolated villages, especially farming or fishing villages, would also be advantageous. Despite a reluctance to take in too many new mouths to feed, they might welcome people with specialized skills that will soon become unavailable, extra able-bodied workers, and additional fighters to help defend their homes. You are also welcome to stay here. Denver and Downham Market are likely to be targeted for evacuation, but the estate is reasonably well protected, with sufficient land for farming, and you will have access to its store of weapons."
"What about Connarath?" a male commando asked.
She nodded. "Castle Connarath would also be defensible, but be warned that Shrewsbury is designated as one of the nine evacuation collection centers. Even if the castle is not directly targeted for bombardment, it may succumb to the gas drifting downwind from the city. In fact, the estate could also be bombed, though probably not with nerve gas."
"Won't nerve gas contaminate the targets for decades or centuries?" a nurse asked.
"Delta-9 is biodegradable, and dissipates within an hour of use. It's meant to break up an offensive, not serve as an area-denial weapon. Even a particularly heavy bombardment would be broken down by soil microbes within a week."
One of the staff doctors stood up. "Where do you plan to go, Director?"
That question was not unexpected, but Eile figured that in many respects it was the final reason she decided to hold the meeting. "I, my son, Team Girl, and my senior staff will be leaving for Bethmoira Castle by the end of the week."
That caused a bit of stir, but before anyone else could speak, she added, "In fact, as soon as the meeting is concluded, I will begin removing items I wish to evacuate with me and storing them in a truck while Dr. Mabuse and the seniors go on ahead of me."
"Are you just going to abandon us?!" a voice called out.
The group erupted in another uproar, but she shouted above the tumult, "Anyone who wishes may evacuate with me under my protection!"
As the noise stilled, she explained, "For the past year and a half I have been preparing for this day, assuming some miracle didn't happen. Bethmoira has a strong fortress and a walled village, with acres of arable land ideal for growing non-cereal crops, especially fodder for animals. Of all the property I own, it is the most defensible and the most isolated. It also has access to the sea for a rapid escape if necessary or fishing to augment our food stores. I have stockpiled large supplies of food and petrol, enough for five years; weapons, both small arms and those taken from Britannic, to supplement those already in place; I have had long-term nuclear and renewable energy generators put in to supply electricity; and desalination plants to obtain fresh water from the ocean. I have renovated the village so that it could accommodate a couple of hundred persons easily, or up to five hundred with difficulty. With careful planning, we should be able to outlast the onslaughts of raiders and mobs, then till the land and grow the crops we need to feed ourselves. With time and luck, we should not only su
rvive, but prosper."
"But couldn't we come under attack from the government there as well?" another analyst asked.
"Yes, we could, but Bethmoira is located well away from the nine centers and any villages of significant size. An attack would only come after the evacuation is completed, or even after the centers have been gassed. By then, we hope to have defenses in place that would protect us. Even if an attack is contemplated early, however, the defenses in place now, plus those still on Britannic, should be enough to deter even the most ruthless politician. I can make no guarantees, but I assure you we have taken every precaution, and in my opinion, short of trying to establish a colony on a deserted island, this is the best bet for survival."
A male guard stood up. "With all due respect, My Lady, just what is your plan?"
That question caught Eile off guard, and from her body language, she figured Differel wasn't expecting it either. Probably no one had any idea what he was asking, except for Dracula. "I beg your pardon?" Differel asked. "I'm afraid I don't follow you."
"Is it your thought to set yourself up as some kind of feudal lord while we peasant slaves support you?"
Eile didn't think that sat well with their blue-blooded friend, but she recognized it was a legitimate question. "In all honesty, I really don't know. Right now