Twenty
The council hall is surrounded by milling bodies when Solma and Olive arrive. A Guard squad stands by the door, rifles ready. They try to hold back the curious crowd but none of them are older than sixteen and all are trying to issue orders to women who have seen them haring about as naked toddlers. Their efforts are ineffective.
A boy no older than twelve holds his hand up to an elderly woman balanced precariously on two walking canes.
“You can’t come in here, Ma’am,” he says.
“Ma’am!” the old woman cackles. “I changed your nappies more times’n I can count, Leo. You don’t tell me what to do!”
Poor Leo’s face burns beetroot as his squad-mates snicker and the old woman ducks under his arm while he’s not looking. Solma unshoulders her rifle and returns Olive’s thunderous scowl wi
