Freax and Rejex

Freax and Rejex
Robin Jarvis

The second novel in the extraordinary, ground-breaking, genre-busting new trilogy from master of fantasy Robin JarvisFive months have passed since the publication of the devilish book discovered in Dancing Jax. It is on its ninth reprint and tens of millions of copies have been sold in the UK. The entire country is now under its evil spell.Yet a tiny percentage of the population have proven to be immune to the words of Austerly Fellows. The number of unaffected children between the ages of 7 and 15 is only 49. With the critical eyes of the rest of the world turned towards Britain, the Ismus decides to send the children for an intensive holiday camp, where they will study the sacred text and learn to embrace it.But after the holiday is over, the children are told their stay has been extended. A barbed wire fence is put up around the site. And it soon becomes apparent that the place is not a camp and the children are not guests. They are prisoners of war…

Contents

Cover (#ulink_ba316e5a-4586-5308-bb84-a1339c9aa695)

Title Page

The Baxter Blog

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Thursday April 30th 1936

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3 am. 200 metres above New York City

Copyright

About the Publisher

YET ANOTHER NEW blog. How many sites have I been kicked out of now? There aren’t any UK-based hosts left that aren’t under their control. I’m having to use a Dutch server. That isn’t a clue as to where I am though, so don’t bother trying to find me, Mr Fellows. You won’t.

So – it’s been how many months since that foul book was published? I can’t and don’t keep score any more. I won’t waste time or space here by doing the whole ‘told you so’ routine, but I want you to know I did my best. I tried – we tried – to warn you. Some listened, but not nearly enough – not until it was too late and it had gotten too strong a hold.

Just look at the state of the UK now. The anger and the protests and curfews have stopped because there aren’t enough of you left out there with your own minds. Somehow they got to you; somehow you were made to read, or listen, or ate that foul muck and now you’re the same as the rest of those brainwashed sheep.

For those of you who are still resisting (I know there are still a scant few) by whatever means, either through strength of will or simply because you’re just naturally immune to that madness as I am, I urge you to get out, as soon as you can. Leave the country; there’s nothing you can do there now. Britain is finished. But you can help stop the evil spreading across the world. Find the escape route – the links are out there on the Web. If you can satisfy our agents you’re genuine, you’ll be given instructions and directions and real help. Apologies for the hoops you’ve got to jump through, but we have to protect ourselves. They are watching; they will stop at nothing to catch us. Good luck!

Martin Baxter

REGGIE TUCKER HOISTED his rucksack on to his shoulders. It was time to leave the park. Crawling from the safe cover of the rhododendrons by the far wall, he joined a path and hurried along. He clamped his mouth shut tightly as he passed through a cloud of fat, buzzing flies. A stink of decay hung heavily over this gloomy corner. The weird, repulsive plants that had first appeared several months ago were firmly established now. They had taken over the rose beds and their bristling trailers stretched through the railings in search of fresh soil.

Reggie stepped over them carefully then quickened his pace. The smell from the ugly grey flowers caught in his throat. He glanced back in disgust at the swarms of bluebottles that clustered round the sickly petals and hastened on.

Keeping his head down, the boy avoided eye contact with a dog walker and a small group of people sitting close together on the grass. They were reading intently from a book, rocking backwards and forwards as they uttered the words aloud. He didn’t need to wonder what book it was. There was only one book now.

Reggie hoped nobody would notice him, or if they did then the low-numbered playing card he had pinned to his coat would be enough to satisfy any curiosity.

He was desperately hungry. He had eaten the last of his hastily packed rations yesterday. There was money in his pocket, but he was too scared to go into a shop to buy food.

He was tired too. For three nights now he had been sleeping rough. So far he had been lucky. It was a warm, dry April and no one had spotted the twelve-year-old boy skulking around empty back streets, trying to gain entry to deserted buildings or hiding in a burnt-out van that had blazed during the recent riots, or under some boards in a skip.

And yet, at that moment, Reggie wasn’t thinking about his stomach or lack of proper sleep. He was anxious and worried, but not for himself. It was late afternoon now. Where was Aunt Jen? They had arranged to meet here at midday, but she hadn’t appeared. He knew she was being watched, yet surely she would have texted if there had been any problem slipping away? He checked his phone once again. There were still a couple of bars of charge left and a good signal, but no new texts from her. The last had been yesterday morning.