Decades into the future, as the world responds to the climate emergency, a war rages for the soul of a post-Devolution Devon, where people are farmed for their body fat and far more sinister secrets are guarded by Mayor Spight and his militia. Resistance agents are working against the clock to restore power to the people, but time is running out. Can Primrose escape the horrors of the fat farm and find sanctuary? Can her childhood friend and his commanding officer rescue their comrade Mal before he meets the dire fate planned for him? Will they live to see the light return or will the dark designs of Spight and his minions win out?
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Sophie Galleymore Bird. To See The Light Return
dedication and disclaimer
prologue
in case the sun
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absolute blackness settled all around
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her moonstruck moment
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ever-more twisted and dark
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a dense net of shadows
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darkness was complete
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lamps had been lit against the dark
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glinting in the shadows
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the lightless pit of despair that yawned
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emerging from the shadows
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as if the lights were magic
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a light of understanding
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banishing the dark
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acknowledgements
about the author
Отрывок из книги
I blame the Queen. If she hadn’t died, if she’d clung on and outlived her son, or bypassed him in the succession and passed the crown to the more tractable William, Charles wouldn’t have been crowned King. He wouldn’t have confirmed himself as an autocratic and eccentric despot in the minds of the British public, and the old-school farmers of Devon wouldn’t have rebelled against him using his status – as both monarch and landowner – to push Parliament towards converting all agriculture to organic standards. He might as well have been trying to enforce Satanic Masses for the uproar it caused among a farming community still reeling from the trauma and divisions of Brexit.
I also blame UKIP, declaring they spoke for all despite imploding as a national political party once the odious Farago departed. If they hadn’t stoked up trouble from their HQ in Torbay, whispering rebellion in the ears of our County and District Councillors – a lot of them farmers struggling to adapt to climate change and a public persuaded away from the mainstays of Devon agriculture, meat and dairy – it could all have blown over and reached a compromise that would have benefitted everyone. But no, both sides in the argument dug in and became increasingly entrenched and bitter.
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‘What’s for breakfast?’
‘Eggs. Mal pinched ’em from the farm coop before he came off watch yesterday. Bit of bread left.’
