The consequence of choic.., p.1
The Consequence of Choice, page 1
The Consequence of Choice
Natalie Sammons
Copyright © 2022 Natalie Sammons
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The right of Natalie Sammons to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2022 by Bloodhound Books.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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www.bloodhoundbooks.com
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Print ISBN 978-1-914614-87-3
Contents
Love best-selling fiction?
France – 2025
1. Elspeth
March 7th 2035
2. Alice
October 2025
3. Elspeth
December 31st 2034
4. Sam
February 2nd 2035
5. Elspeth
January 1st 2035
6. Alice
November, 2025
7. Artie
March 3rd 2035
8. Sam
March 9th 2035
9. Elspeth
February 28th 2035
10. Artie
March 7th 2035
11. Alice
February, 2026
12. Elspeth
March 6th 2035
13. Sam
March 10th 2035
14. Elspeth
March 12th 2035
15. Sam
March 12th 2035
16. Elspeth
April 2nd 2035
17. Artie
April 8th 2035
18. Sam
April 10th 2035
19. Elspeth
April 11th 2035
20. Sam
April 11th 2035
21. Elspeth
April 12th 2035
22. Alice
April 14th 2035
23. Artie
April 14th 2035
24. Elspeth
April 14th 2035
25. Alice
May 3rd 2035
26. Sam
May 6th 2035
27. Alice
May 6th 2035
28. Artie
May 6th 2035
29. Elspeth
May 6th 2035
30. Sam
May 7th 2035
31. Alice
May 9th 2035
32. Artie
May 10th 2035
33. Sam
May 12th 2035
34. Elspeth
May 12th 2035
35. Alice
May 12th 2035
36. Sam
May 16th 2035
37. Artie
May 16th 2035
38. Elspeth
May 17th 2035
39. Sam
May 17th 2035
40. Elspeth
May 18th 2035
41. Artie
May 19th 2035
42. Elspeth
May 19th 2035
43. Sam
May 19th 2035
44. Alice
May 19th 2035
45. Artie
May 19th 2035
46. Elspeth
May 19th 2035
47. Artie
May 19th 2035
48. Alice
October, 2035
Acknowledgements
A note from the publisher
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To my family.
France – 2025
United Nations World Summit
The room, although full, was eerily silent. Serious faces poured over red leather-bound folders.
Patiently, Professor Alice Franklin waited. She had been sitting, at the edge of the stage, for almost an hour whilst the reality of the situation was absorbed.
Professor Franklin had known that this day was coming. In truth, she believed that everyone in this room knew it was coming, but now, being here, the weight of it was crushing.
Her research had been conclusive. Every variable considered, and still the same grave result was produced.
For years she was hushed, her research pushed aside as nonsense, identified as the worst-case scenario unlikely to ever occur. Now though, with the expiration of the last fossil fuels imminent, she had been summoned to the United Nations World Summit to present her work.
The UN were worried. They should be.
The last two days had been exhausting. Professor Franklin had presented her research, all of it, in its entirety. They needed to have all the facts in front of them, she’d realised, if she, no, if they were to make decisions that mattered, that saved lives. This was her one opportunity to stress the gravity of what faced them if drastic action wasn’t taken.
She had been interrogated, laughed at and applauded.
With quiet resolve, she’d endured it, allowing her research to speak for itself.
This project had been her life’s work, had been the reason she got out of bed each morning. When everything else in her life had been falling apart around her, this alone had kept her going, kept her focused. It had provided her with a purpose, a lifeline, and she believed in it wholeheartedly.
All she had to do was wait.
‘There will be an uproar!’ declared the French President, his accent nasal.
Professor Franklin approached the podium. As she did, she surreptitiously straightened her suit jacket and tucked a loose strand of her shoulder length, silvery-grey hair behind her ear.
After tapping at a keyboard, a screen high on the wall behind her illuminated a ten-digit number. The last digit multiplied, then dropped before increasing and increasing again.
‘This is the Worldometer,’ Professor Franklin announced poignantly into the microphone. ‘As you can see, the numbers are duplicating at an expeditious rate, a reflection of our swelling population.’
Again, she paused, just momentarily, as the digits on the screen continued to escalate. ‘I appreciate that there will be some initial opposition to the change, however, I can assure you that to protect our species as well as the planet, this is the only way forward,’ she said, confident in her response.
‘How long do you foresee this lasting?’ a female translator interjected on behalf of the South African president.
Professor Franklin took a moment to consider how best to respond.
‘From all my research, you can see the severity of the issue. The population is increasing by approximately eighty-three million people every year. This cannot and will not be rectified overnight. I have deduced that for the Worldometer to begin to show signs of slowing down, it will take at least two generations.’ Professor Franklin swallowed hard against the indignation rising within the audience. She had to forge on, no matter how difficult it became. ‘However, to restore the planet to a more sustainable equilibrium, I estimate four generations.’
Uproar exploded throughout the auditorium.
Many of the UN members were on their feet. The cacophony of voices, overwhelming, as every member debated and contested her solution. Her heart raced and her palms sweated. She had anticipated their reactions, long before they’d experienced them. She had been here, many times, had fought desperately to uncover an alternative. There wasn’t one.
She knew she had to weather this storm.
Professor Franklin absorbed their consternation. Watched as disgust and fear filled their faces. Sympathised as they tried, in vain, to shout their way out of this otherwise-bleak situation.
‘Surely, there has to be another way?’ demanded a voice louder than the others.
Professor Franklin searched the sea of solemn faces staring back at her, silence once again descending. She would like to tell them that there was an easier way, that they could plant more trees, grow more food, eat vegan, in fact, she had looked at the impact of all of these avenues, none of it, however, would be enough, not if the population continued to surge. Her research had been conclusive.
‘I can assure you, there isn’t,’ she returned with finality.
‘How must we begin?’ the English Prime Minister asked, his hair unusually dishevelled, a reflection of how Professor Franklin was feeling.
She knew that this was the moment when everything, for everyone, would change and she was going to be deemed responsible. ‘You enforce a change in the law.’
1
Elspeth
March 7th 2035
Eyes wide in shock, Elspeth stood motionless. She blinked slowly, trying to absorb what it meant. Silently she was still praying that it would change.
It didn’t.
A cold fear gripped her. Her stomach lurched.
‘Shit,’ she growled.
Raking her fingers through her hair, she caught sight of herself in the oval mirror above the sink. Hands resting on the sink’s edge, she leaned forward, the tip of her nose brushed against it. She scrutinised her appearance.
Her once-hazel eyes appeared dull, her skin, previously fresh, now tired. She knew she looked different, she just hoped that no one else had noticed.
Peering down, it was still there. Unchanged.
She slammed her hands on the sink. ‘Fuck!’
‘You all right in there, Ellie?’ Artie called from the other side of the door.
Her head whipped towards him. ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she croaked, desperately trying to remain calm against the hysteria bubbling inside her.
‘Okay. I’m gonna put the kettle on, do you want a cuppa?’
‘No,’ she snapped, before adding more softly, ‘thank you.’ The words were thick and heavy on her tongue.
She listened as his slippered feet padded away from the door and down the stairs.
What had he heard? She panicked, heart pounding.
Nothing, there had been nothing voiced to betray her.
What would they think, if they found out? No, she didn’t want to entertain those thoughts, wasn’t ready to think beyond now.
She couldn’t have asked for better flatmates really. Elspeth had moved to Brighton from Storrington, twenty miles north-west of the Sussex city, almost a year ago.
Having qualified as a nurse, she had taken a job in the local hospital on the special care baby unit. The commute home after a nightshift had soon become taxing. She decided that she needed to be nearer to the hospital, not to mention that, at twenty-three, she knew it was probably time to fly the nest.
This had been the first and only house that she’d looked at. Brooke and Artie had been so relaxed, rather than interviewing her, they’d chatted, about everything from films to politics. It was only when the Chinese takeaway arrived that Brooke voiced what they’d all been thinking, ‘The room’s yours, of course! It’s like we’ve all been mates for years.’
The house was Brooke’s, Elspeth later learned. She’d inherited it when her father had passed away. Elspeth suspected that Brooke had been lonely, rattling around in the four-bedroom, two-bathroom townhouse all by herself.
Elspeth loved living there.
‘Now you’ve gone and fucked it all up,’ she spat at her reflection. Pushing herself back from the sink, Elspeth grabbed hold of the white stick and slumped down on the toilet seat. She looked again.
Two blue lines beamed back at her.
Pregnant.
She was pregnant.
One small error in judgement, an accident really, was going to ruin her entire life. Drilled into her from a young age, she’d read the stories, seen the newspaper reports; babies removed the moment they’re delivered, forced sterilisation and a minimum sentence of ten years. There were prisons, she’d heard, with cells reserved especially for unapproved women.
Women just like her.
2
Alice
October 2025
The phone rang again. It had been ringing incessantly since the previous day.
Professor Alice Franklin cursed her misdirected nostalgia. She knew no one else maintained a landline these days, and yet she had held on to it, not wanting to let go, though she wasn’t sure how much more of the bloody ringing she could take.
Alice didn’t doubt that every brief pause between calls only allowed another reporter to pick up where the last one had left off.
Maybe she should’ve expected to be hounded, but this wasn’t her doing, didn’t they see that? She was desperately trying to undo what everyone else had done.
Walking over to the window, Alice carefully edged the curtain aside, just a fraction.
Despondently, she peered at the ever-enlarging circus of reporters camped outside.
Haphazardly parked vans obscured the pavement. Alice frowned. Her neighbours would no doubt be complaining soon enough.
The reporters were chatting and laughing loudly, perhaps at her expense, whilst cameras were being positioned around her home, making it impossible to leave.
A loud sigh escaped her lips. How could they be so blind? She was the scapegoat, the fall guy.
On the coffee table, her mobile vibrated furiously, joining in the discord of noise overwhelming her.
Letting go of the curtain which fell lazily back into place, Alice moved towards the table. She didn’t, however, pick up the phone. Instead, she leant forward, slightly tilting her head to read its flashing display.
Unknown.
Her brow furrowed. They had that number now too. She groaned inwardly.
Then to add to the din, the doorbell rang. Once, twice, then a third time.
She was hemmed in, like a caged animal, in her own home. Her sanctuary had become her prison.
She was desperate to go outside, to tell them all to fuck off, to leave her alone. In fact, she wanted to scream it at them but she had been told not to talk to the press, not yet.
Furious with having become their target, she grabbed the phone and yanked it away from the wall, the cord ripping free.
‘That’s better!’ she said with a defiant nod as silence momentarily filled the room.
‘Professor Franklin? Alice? We just want to hear your side, to give you an opportunity to explain,’ called a female voice through her letterbox.
My side! Alice’s eyes widened with anger. She didn’t have a side, she was neutral, and this was not her fault. Why were they treating her like a criminal? It felt like she had been found guilty. But guilty of what? Caring? Making a difference?
‘That’s it, I’ve done nothing wrong!’ Alice declared to the empty lounge before striding towards the front door.
Unlocking the deadbolt and turning the key, she was fired up. Alice hadn’t thought through what she wanted to say, what needed to be said, but she had to say something. She refused to be a sitting duck any longer.
Wrenching the door open wide, Alice found her colleague Mark there, his hand raised, poised ready to knock.
‘Mark!’ Alice’s confusion unmistakable.
Behind Mark, cameras flashed and reporters hollered her name. Without looking back, Mark gently but swiftly guided Alice back into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him.
‘What were you thinking?’
Alice shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I just wanted to explain, to make them see that this was the only way.’ She sagged then, deflated.
‘Okay,’ Mark responded slowly. ‘Can I make a suggestion though?’
Alice wasn’t sure she needed any more advice. In fact, the prospect of one more person telling her what to do, even her closest friend and colleague, made her want to scream like a banshee.
Mark, knowing Alice all too well, seemed to realise that he may have just put his size ten foot in it. With a reassuring hand placed on her shoulder he said, ‘I was just going to suggest that next time you feel like heading out to confront the paparazzi, you may want to get dressed first.’
Slowly, Alice looked down. Curiously, she found her favourite blue silk pyjamas glaring back at her.
‘Well, that’s just fantastic!’ she moaned. ‘I can already see tomorrow’s headline, Professor Franklin; mad as a box of frogs.’
Mark smiled sympathetically. He had been by Alice’s side throughout this whole fiasco. He had participated in the research, supported the plan. And now, he was seeing Alice, only Alice, receiving the full brunt of the public’s hatred. They had turned against her almost instantaneously. Vilified her for telling the truth, for insisting upon rational but radical action.
