“Do you see this area here, marked with tape?” Marcus says, pointing to the floor.

“Sure,” I say.

“That’s the kill zone. In the unlikely event that somebody gets past the airlock we’ll fall back to this room here. They’ll probably want us sitting down – less of a threat, right?” He sits on the sofa next to Vikram to demonstrate, then leaps up and heads over to the taped-off area near the window. “And they’ll probably stand here, in this taped-off area.”

“Then what happens?” Farah says.

“We have a codeword.”

“Make us a cup of tea would you, Marcus,” Vikram calls obligingly.

“That’s my signal,” Marcus says. He walks briskly towards the kitchenette. “I go to the kettle – innocent enough, right? We figure nobody will be able to resist the prospect of a cup of tea in this place. But” – he stands by the switches – “if you see me go for the red switch, instead of the blue one, you’ll want to get behind the sofa sharpish.”

“Why?” Farah asks.

“Home-made claymores.” Marcus nods proudly towards the kill zone. He seems to be enjoying this much more than he ought to. “Three of them, pointing straight up, but angled towards the window.”

“You’ll probably blow the legs off everyone in the room,” Vikram remarks.

“Not so,” Marcus insists. “I was in the ROTC at university; I know what I’m talking about.”

“How did you make explosives work?” I ask.

“Basic exothermic oxidation reaction,” Marcus replies. “Anybody with an A-level in chemistry and an army surplus store can make them work.”

Vikram laughs. “He nearly blew his balls off before he remembered the principles of a timer fuse though.”

Marcus looks hurt. “Timer fuses are tricky. I have it wired up to the electrics now so there’s no need for a timer.”

He grins at us, like a child eagerly presenting his homework. I fidget uncomfortably. There are more people out there, I think. A whole city filled with people caught in this state. A lawless, hopeless world.

A shiver runs through me and a sudden memory of Jonah. We are the Founding Fathers, Kyle. And Ose glaring at me in the semi-dark of the service station. Imagine what a man like Jonah could do if he had weapons.

“Wait,” Chiu says. “What’s the codeword again?”

“‘Make us a cup of tea, please,’ ” Marcus replies.

Chiu frowns. “But Benedict said that earlier … when we came in.”

Marcus smiles broadly, shaking his head. “Ah! No, not at all. He said: ‘Make us a pot of tea, please.’ It’s different.”

Farah looks incredulous. “The difference between making us tea and blowing us all up are the words pot and cup? What if you mix them up?”

Marcus laughs, before he realizes that she’s serious. “That’s impossible. You’d never make a cup of tea when there’s a group, would you?”

*

Not long after, Benedict joins us, his attention still absorbed by his notebook. “Make us a pot of tea, would you please, Marcus,” he says absently.

Farah flinches and my eyes flick to Marcus as he clicks the blue switch without a second thought.

Vikram puts down his journal and gives me an inquisitive look. “Tell me, Kyle, what brought you to this place?”

“I have epilepsy,” I say. “I think I must be having a seizure.” A meaningful look passes between Vikram and Benedict.

“Eduardo had epilepsy, too,” Vikram replies. “People with epilepsy look different in this world, don’t you think?” Benedict nods. Vikram continues: “You’re more … here than the rest of us. More comfortable in this place. Have you noticed?”

“No,” I say.

“Yes,” Farah says.

“Is anything familiar about this place to you?” Vikram asks.

“Maybe … impressions, feelings. I can’t explain it.”

The air feels charged. Even Abi appears interested for a moment. Mugs clink as Marcus narrowly avoids dropping them. “Ow! Hot!” he hisses to himself.

“What is it?” I say.

“What does it feel like, coming back after a seizure?” Benedict says.

“Like dying and coming out the other side.”

Benedict raises his eyebrows. My words surprise me as much as they do him, but as soon as I say them I know they’re right.

“Most people only come here to die, maybe a few have made it back. But we have a theory that people with epilepsy are different. They come and go from this place whenever they have a seizure.”

“Of all of the people we studied, the only ones who had some form of memory of this place were those with epilepsy,” Abi says.

“Memory?” My heart knocks in my chest.

Benedict seems almost amused by my excitement. “Memory is a strong word, Kyle. We’re talking glimpses, fleeting visions. Things you might dismiss as dreams unless you had good reason not to. Tell me, did you know about this place before you came here?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. All the same, those snatches I saw … the man in my aura, the familiar, rushing sensations. There is something, I think. “But it might be different with the machine, right? I might remember more.”

“Perhaps. With the right protocol in place. That’s what we’re working towards.”

“But we don’t have time to wait,” I say. “Farah is sick.”

“Yes, yes,” Benedict says calmly. “We’ll monitor her, I promise.”

“But we could try? If I got back and I could remember, I could contact your colleagues and let them know the experiment is a success after all?” I catch a flicker of interest from Benedict. I press harder. “We’ve got to get the message back about this place, right? About what you’ve discovered.”

Abi’s eyes catch mine and then quickly dart away. “Benedict? It’s possible,” she says, hopeful. “It does seem that people with epilepsy are more prone to retaining memories. It is a chance we never had before.”

Benedict nods, and for a moment I think we’ve got him. “It could be important, I agree.” He gives me a regretful look. “But that’s exactly why we need to be extra cautious. We have new evidence, new lines of investigation. We mustn’t squander them.”

Vikram heaves a deep sigh: a signal that, for him at least, the conversation is over. He reaches behind the sofa and produces a pair of bongo drums from a pile of plastic bags and bubble wrap. He taps a short beat, adjusts the tension and taps again.