Cutting the Bloodline

By Angeline Trevena

Not everyone is born innocent.

A generation of defective children were abandoned. They grew up on the fringes, without rights, without a way to change their fate.

Small-time journalist Kenton Hicks is driven to tell their stories, but these are not stories everyone wants told. As he digs deeper, he finds that the discovery of the criminal gene, the foundation of their crime-free utopia, isn’t quite the salvation it promised to be.

Armed with a book that could bring down the government, Kenton finds the country’s future in his hands.

Some see him as a saviour, others as a traitor. Time is running out for him to choose which he wants to be.

A fast-paced, page-turning political thriller set in a future dystopian Britain. If you like stories of political corruption, oppressive governments, genetic selection, the loss of humanity, if you like everyday heroes and are always rooting for the underdog, you'll love Cutting the Bloodline.

“Cutting The Bloodline is a vivid portrayal of a scarily real future, and the man who risks his life to expose the truth. Insightful, original, imaginative, and a great read.”
Tony Benson, author of An Accident of Birth

Now includes BONUS spin-off short story The Vincent Orphanage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bogus Caller Press
• Release date: Jan 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540148155

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

Epilogue

The Vincent Orphanage

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Cutting the Bloodline

Angeline Trevena

Bogus Caller Press

Bogus Caller Press

Copyright © 2015 Angeline Trevena

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be copied or transmitted in any form, electronic or otherwise, without express written consent of the publisher or author.

Cover art: Ben Farrow

Cover art copyright © 2015 Ben Farrow

www.estragonhelmer.com

Published by Bogus Caller Press

www.boguscallerpress.co.uk

Publisher's Note:

Cutting the Bloodline is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are the product of the author's imagination, used in fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, places, locales, events, etc. are purely coincidental.

1

Tuesday 29th October 2052: Hookend Psychiatric Detention Centre

Expecting bad news didn't make it any easier to hear. Kenton pocketed his phone and shook his head, trying to push the call to the back of his mind. He couldn't deal with family issues right now.

He pressed the bell, and the scanner below it flashed red. He pulled back his sleeve and waved his ID bracelet across it. He was still avoiding upgrading to the implant.

The door opened and the officer tipped his head, inviting Kenton inside. As he ducked through the doorway, the blue lights of the scanner ran over him; head to toe and back up again.

The officer held out his hand.

No mobile phones. No recording devices.

Kenton grimaced and handed them over. He'd have to do the interview old school.

Mr Hicks, I presume.

Kenton nodded. That's me.

The officer huffed, and hitched his trousers back up to his broad stomach. His belt was so heavy with scanners and weapons, it threatened to drop his trousers to his ankles. He pointed to a row of steel chairs.

Someone will come for you. He ran his eyes over Kenton, tutted, and pulled the entrance door closed.

Everyone knows what you're doing, and why you're here. They aren't happy about it. He huffed. Things are working just fine, and no one needs you shoving your nose in.

Kenton nodded. He hadn't expected to get a warm welcome.

He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and wrapped his fingers around his pen. It had run out of ink years ago, but he always carried it for luck. It was a novelty pen; one with a clothed woman who became naked when you tipped it. His dad had given it to him the day he graduated. He had always considered a journalism degree a waste of time, and the pen had been a symbol of his disapproval. A way to make a fool out of his son.

Get a trade, he had always said. A real man's job. There's always work for real men. Two years later, he'd been made redundant when they replaced him with an automated machine.

Mr Hicks?

Kenton looked up at the female officer. She raised her eyebrows with a look of impatience.

Kenton stood, stumbling as his foot caught against the chair leg. Er..yes.

She looked him up and down and gave a tiny shake of her head.

Follow me. Before she'd finished speaking, she had already turned and started to walk away.

Kenton jogged to catch up to her.

She spoke as she walked, never once looking at him. Do not give anything to the patient, do not accept anything from the patient. Do not touch the patient, do not allow the patient to touch you. Should you wish to leave, at any time, simply stand, collect all of your belongings, walk calmly to the door, and you will be escorted out.

She stopped and Kenton had to side step to avoid bumping into her. She gestured to the open door in front of her.

There is also a panic button should you need it. If you do press it, make sure that you move clear of the door.

The room was small, more like a cupboard, furnished only by a table and two chairs. It was cold, and had no natural light. The fluorescent strip on the ceiling buzzed and flickered.

The officer tapped the chair nearest the door. Sit here, she said.

Kenton sat. Thank you, he said, managing a small smile.

Good luck, the officer said. You'll need it with this one. She smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

Kenton was left alone. He pulled a notepad from his pocket and laid it on the table. He placed two pens next to it, lining them up carefully. He waited, drumming his hands on his thighs.

The officer returned and brought Amie into the room. She pressed her into the seat opposite Kenton, her hands clamped over Amie's shoulders.

Play nice, the officer said to her. She glanced blankly at Kenton before leaving the room.

Kenton looked at Amie. She was the embodiment of average. Long brown hair, brown eyes, jeans and jumper. You wouldn't notice her in a crowd. Not what Eugenisence would have you believe. He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

Thank you for agreeing to do this, Kenton said. I had a lot of rejections.

I bet, said Amie.

Do you mind if I just double check a few details with you first? Kenton opened his notebook.

Amie leaned back in her chair, took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly.

Amie Fogo, is that right?

We were never told our real surnames, in case we went looking for our families. They gave me that name for administration purposes. It's Portuguese for fire. She shrugged. I guess someone thought it was funny.

Kenton looked back at his notes. I only have December 2024 as your birth date. What day was it?

I don't know.

That's ok, it doesn't matter.

You think it doesn't matter?

Kenton stiffened, and looked up at her.

Tell me, Kenton Hicks, what did you do for your last birthday?

Well I—

Amie cut him off. Drink out with friends? Meal with a girlfriend? I bet it was nice. I bet your mum called you, told you how proud she was of you. Do you know what I did? She stared at him, obviously expecting a response.

He shook his head.

No, neither do I. I don't even know if I was born in December, or 2024 even. I have no idea when my birthday is. You think that doesn't matter?

I'm sorry, I didn't mean... He straightened his notebook. You grew up in the Vincent Orphanage?

I lived there.

Ok.

I didn't grow up there. My psychiatrist says I light fires because I'm reverting to the childhood I feel I never had. So I didn't grow up there. I lived there.

Kenton wrote this in his notebook. It would make a good sound-bite.

Why are you really here, Kenton? Amie folded her arms.

I'm writing a book. I explained the project in my letter.

I can read. But why? For almost thirty years no one's cared about us. They shut us away in orphanages and institutions so they could forget we existed. So who are you to care about our stories?

The phone conversation replayed in his head. I just think it's time.

Why?

Because the abandoned generation deserve a chance.

Amie stood up.

A chance of what? This book of yours won't change anything.

Is that what you think? Kenton was surprised at how much Amie's disbelief hurt him. He'd had some foolish idea that she'd see him as a hero. A saviour.

"Oh please. You really think some hack journalist nobody's heard of can write a stupid book and bring down