Eleanor read the message on her palm-top with a sinking heart. It was brusque and brooked no argument. "You will report to the Euthanasia Hotel on 17 October. Members of the Euthanasia Patrol will arrive to collect you at 9am. If you do not keep this appointment, the Patrol is authorised to use force to detain you."

She paced round her flat wishing that she had thought about this appointment in advance. Of course she knew that the 17th October was her 60th birthday. Moreover she had listened to the government broadcasts explaining the merits of their policy of compulsory euthanasia at sixty. She understood that the country couldn't cope with its population, particularly the number of elderly people. However, whatever her head said, her heart told her that she didn't want to die yet.

She looked critically at herself in the mirror. She was always so busy that she had little time for her appearance. Her hair was straggling over her shoulders and there were lines round her eyes. It was also true that she was old fashioned, living in a muddle of old books while most people were content with palm-tops. However, she was healthy, positive, still teaching English and running remedial reading lessons. Surely she had reasons for living?

There was no way to avoid the appointment. People ran away or tried to hide but the Euthanasia Patrol hunted them down. Eleanor had seen them, in their distinctive grey and red uniforms, banging on doors and scaling fences. It seemed inconceivable that she should submit to euthanasia without a struggle but she couldn't see any way out. After some thought, Eleanor remembered that her friend Mary was only a day younger and she decided to pay her a visit.

As Eleanor queued for a tram, she looked at the billboard across the road: "Give way to the young." The picture showed a silver-haired grandmother handing a baby to a younger woman. A lump formed in Eleanor's throat. She loved her grandchildren and feared for their future in an overcrowded world. Did that mean that she had to accept euthanasia at sixty?

Mary lived in one of the apartments that the Government had commissioned. It was built in grey concrete and steel and Eleanor found it soulless. The advantage was that it overlooked one of the rare areas of woodland that still dotted the edges of London. The friends had met when they both taught at the same school but Mary had moved away after splitting up with her husband. Her flat was full of bright cushions and wallhangings which she had made herself. Eleanor was always impressed by Mary's knack for making her surroundings beautiful.

Mary sat down, looking crisp and elegant in trousers and a cream blouse that set off her bronze hair. "Perhaps we should be glad that we've had a good life and accept that it's over."

"You're not just giving in, are you?"

"Well what alternative do we have? Even if we could escape, we couldn't live. They cancel your identity cards."

"I don't want to die," insisted Eleanor.

"Let's go for a walk in the woods," Mary suggested, making a vague gesture towards the ceiling. "I could do with some fresh air."

Eleanor accompanied her in silence. It was well known that the Government apartments were bugged.

Out in the woods, the two women picked their way among the trees. Mary stopped and cut some bright red rowan berries to include in a design she was working on.

"I've been worrying about this for the last year," she murmured. "Haven't you?"

"Not really, I'm always so busy. Time just rushes by."

Mary smiled. "Don't you ever plan ahead?"

"Not if I can help it."

"We need a plan now though."

"I think we need someone to help us, more than a plan," retorted Eleanor.

"We need a network."

"A Grey Resistance."

"If you like. Anyway I've done a bit of asking around. Cautiously, of course."

"Have you found anyone who can help?"

"I've found a friend who reckons he could forge identity cards."

"Great."

"He's nearly our age, so he'll want our help if he gives us his."

"That's how the Grey Resistance would work. We'd help each other."

"So we need a plan."

The two women walked between the trees, exchanging ideas for a while, until at length, Mary stopped. "We better be careful. If we walk round this wood any longer, people might get suspicious."

"All right, I'll go home now. But keep in touch."

After this conversation, Eleanor went about ostensibly enjoying the last month of her life. She managed to get a ticket for the train to Manchester to visit her daughter. The train broke down near Rugby, so she had time to look out of the window at grey housing estates and factories. She remembered the countryside of her youth: fields, trees and old villages. Much of that had vanished as towns expanded.

There was not enough room now for everyone, and public services were collapsing under the pressure. Hence the ubiquitous advertisements. She knew them off by heart: "Shop the slackers," "Britain expects work," and, of course, "Make way for the young." The government was right; it was only fair that everyone had to earn their living. However, Eleanor was sure that she could still be productive at sixty. The age limit was so arbitrary.

Eleanor was determined to keep the reunion with Kirsty, Mark and their children cheerful. After her husband had been dragged off three years earlier, she had cried for weeks. She gave everyone presents and took her grandchildren on outings. The whole family sat and watched the film clips of her life that she had brought with her. However, the moment of parting could not be avoided.

Kirsty wept. "It seems such a waste, Mum."

"Yes, but there has to be room for the young," said Eleanor, trying not to weep herself.

The hardest part was knowing that she wouldn't see her grandchildren growing up. Even if she avoided the Euthanasia Hotel she might never see them again. For a while, she considered if she wanted to survive, but the answer was still yes. As long as she was alive, there was still hope. And, if she could find a place to live she would soon make friends. She and Mary had discovered that there were places in East Anglia which the Government had abandoned after the sea broke through the coastal defences. However, all the plans they had dreamt up for escape were full of holes. They were running out of time.

A few days later, Eleanor was leaving her flat for some shopping, when she saw a man running down the road. He was plump and struggled to keep up his pace. As he slowed, the Euthanasia Patrol ran round the corner. One of their officers raised his stun gun, fired and the fleeing man fell in a crumpled heap. As the Euthanasia Patrol calmly dragged him away, Eleanor watched with a sinking heart. It would be her turn next.

On the 17th October, Eleanor was ready with a small suitcase packed. Promptly at 9 o'clock, a grey van arrived outside the door of her block of flats. Six burly men wearing the uniform of the Euthanasia Patrol and carrying stun guns banged on her door.

"Are you ready?" asked the Sergeant.

"Yes," lied Eleanor.

Many of the seats in the van were already occupied by men and women of that unfortunate age. Some wept openly but most sat in glum silence. Eleanor watched the streets of London passing with a deeper nostalgia than she would have thought possible. Instead of looking dirty and run down, the city seemed full of life and possibilities.

Eventually they arrived at the entrance of the Euthanasia Hotel and Eleanor looked around with deepening despair. A wall towered before her, topped with wire and watched over by cameras and floodlights. The idea of escape seemed forlorn.

The gates opened and the van halted in front of the Hotel. To Eleanor, the design of the Hotel seemed the worst kind of irony. It reminded her of the grand country hotels that she had visited in her youth before private cars were banned. It was built like a Georgian mansion, with the grand front door framed by a classical portico. However, this was a place of death, not enjoyment.

The group was met in the foyer by smiling receptionists in neat black and white uniforms. However, Eleanor noticed that they had pistols hung from their belts. After the group had filed in, the doors were shut and locked behind them. The sound of the door slamming was ominously final.

Eleanor was shown to her room along carpeted corridors with landscape paintings on the walls. As soon as the door shut, she threw herself on the bed and wept, overcome with the hopelessness of her position. It was a while before she recovered and shook herself.

"I'm not giving up yet," she murmured and looked around. Her room had flowered curtains and a matching duvet cover, while the window looked out onto gardens. Eleanor knew that this was the trick of the Euthanasia Hotels: they seduced their guests with comfort and pleasures, before quietly leading them to the euthanasia suites to die.

Cautiously, she left her room and began to explore. She quickly established that the Hotel was built round a central quadrangle. However, in the centre of the quadrangle stood an administrative block, hung about with surveillance cameras. There was no doubt that she was being watched. Sure enough, she was soon intercepted by a smiling young man in a black and white uniform.

"Can I help you, Madam?"

"I was just wondering where the swimming pool is."

"I'll show you." He conducted her down to the basement, where she found a large pool with half a dozen swimmers.

"It's nice. I'll go and get my things and have a swim."

"Certainly, Madam." He courteously escorted her back to her room.

As she collected her swim suit, Eleanor wondered how much she could find out without being discovered. She would need to be careful and vigilant. Perhaps she could play the role of a confused old woman, who was always forgetting things and getting lost. She would play that role with some relish.

Bit by bit, Eleanor explored the hotel, noting anything that might be useful, like fire alarms and storage rooms. She watched while a maid loaded laundry into a storage room. Once the woman had gone, she tried the door, only to find it locked. Another possible escape route was blocked.

At dinner, the guests were seated at round tables with flowers in the centre. Eleanor counted 60 people and realised with a sinking heart that many of the contingent who had arrived the previous day had already been led away. It looked as if she had little time left.

The meal was splendid, starting with soup, followed by a choice of salmon or rack of lamb and a rich chocolate dessert. The waiters walked round behind the guests, topping up their wine glasses. It was no consolation to Eleanor to realise that she probably didn't need to worry about putting on weight. However, she resolved not to drink too much wine because she wanted to stay vigilant.

She noticed that the man sitting next to her was eating in gloomy silence. He had the profile of a Roman emperor, with a beak of a nose and receding grey hair. Eleanor decided to try to talk to him.

"Hello, I'm Eleanor. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Reg."

"What did you use to do? You know, by way of a career."

"Engineering." He hesitated. "I better not say what at dinner."

"Why not?"

"Sewerage."

Eleanor laughed. "Perhaps I had better not ask."

"No."

An idea occurred to her and she leant towards him. "I don't suppose we could dig a tunnel."

"No time."

After dinner, the doors were opened into a ballroom and a band started playing. The guests wandered into the room, the main lights dimmed, purple and red disco lights lit up and the volume of the music increased. Eleanor watched for a while as the guests started dancing. It was true that many of them were fat, and their faces were lined. Some people sat round the edges of the room with walking sticks close by. However, they were talking, smiling, even laughing. They must have made a contribution to society and Eleanor couldn't believe that they deserved to die. She walked onto the dance floor, to prove that she, for one, still had life in her.

To her surprise, Reg moved towards her. "Can I join you?"

"All right."

The first dance was fast and left Eleanor gasping for breath. The second was slower and Reg drew her towards him. Eleanor took a step back. She wasn't looking for intimacy.

"Follow the drains," whispered Reg.

"What?"

"If you're thinking of making a run for it."

"Where?"

"I'll find them. I'm coming with you."

After the dance Eleanor and Reg sat in a corner and whispered of escape. Eleanor kept looking round in fear that they were being overheard, but it seemed that the music was loud enough to cover their conversation. Reg explained that a building the size of the Euthanasia Hotel would have sewers big enough to crawl down. He reckoned that there would be a manhole in the basement. Eleanor noticed as he talked that he became gradually more animated and enthusiastic.

"We'll go straight away," Reg said.

"I want to wait for my friend Mary."

"If we wait we'll be goners."

"Mary will arrive tomorrow morning. We'll have an hour or two at least."

"I'd rather leave in darkness. I don't know where we'll come up."

"I'm not going to let Mary down."

"Women," Reg said, then smiled. "You're just like my wife."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good on the whole."

"Thank you."

In the end they compromised, agreeing to leave as soon as possible next morning. It was clear that almost all the previous day's guests had disappeared by now.

The next morning, Eleanor sat in the bar close to the entrance lobby, watching for today's guests to arrive. She had a gnawing fear that she might have been identified as a troublemaker. It was not clear whether the guests were taken to the euthanasia suites in any particular order, but it seemed possible that troublemakers would be first.

At last the front door opened. A group of people were ushered in, looking around with a mixture of bewilderment and fear. Eleanor spotted Mary and had to restrain herself from waving. She needed to meet her old friend but the encounter shouldn't look preplanned. It took all her self control to finish her drink, return to her room, collect her book and amble back down stairs. She nearly bumped into Mary in a doorway and steered her back to the bar.

There were tears running down Mary's face. "It's hopeless, isn't it?"

"No, I've got a plan of sorts," Eleanor whispered, "but Reg has got to come too."

"Who's Reg?"

"A man I met yesterday."

"How can you trust a man you've only just met?"

"I didn't have much choice, did I? We haven't got time to mess around. Have you got a better idea?"

"No." Mary wiped away the tears.

"Then we'll go with Reg."

About half an hour later, Eleanor and Mary walked along the corridor in the direction of the swimming pool. They were both wearing trousers and sweatshirts and carrying plastic bags, which looked as if they contained swimming kit. Eleanor stopped and glanced about to see if anyone was watching. She reckoned that the fire alarm was out of view of the cameras. However, the staff could approach noiselessly on the carpeted floor and they were all armed.

She took off her shoe, glad that she had remembered to wear shoes with a stiff heel. With a quick blow, she broke the glass of the alarm. As it started ringing they dashed down the stairs to the basement and headed towards the swimming pool. Reg approached them, carrying a small backpack and sauntering as if nothing had happened.

"There's a sub-basement," he said, pushing past a group of swimmers, some still in their swim-suits, heading in the opposite direction.

"That's not the way to the fire exit!" someone called.

However, in the confusion, no one stopped them. They headed for a metal spiral staircase at the end of the corridor and scrambled down. The light dimmed until it was almost completely dark. Suddenly Reg switched on a torch.

"How do you come to have a torch?" asked Eleanor.

"I always carry a few tools but the swine took my screwdrivers."

The light fell on several boilers and an array of pipes running along the concrete walls. Reg made his way across the sub-basement, pointing his torch at the floor. After a while he stopped by a manhole cover.

"This might be it." He pulled at the handle until he went red in the face. The cover refused to move. "Blast! We need a crowbar."

They searched under pipes and behind the boiler, disturbing layers of dust which rose into the air. Eleanor wondered how long it would be before someone came looking for them. They might well have been reported missing. At last, Mary spotted a length of tubing.

"Will this do?"

"Might." Reg took the tubing, pushed it under the handle of the manhole cover and heaved. For a while, nothing happened. Reg paused and wiped his sleeve across his face. "Not as strong as I was." He tried again and, at last the heavy cover started to rise until Eleanor managed to grab the edge and shift it clear of the hole. A smell of sewage rose from the depths.

"We're not going down there, are we?" wailed Mary.

"It'll be dirty," said Reg. "That's why I said bring clean clothes."

"It's not just that. I hate confined spaces!"

Eleanor looked in surprise at her friend, who she had always thought so calm. "Don't lose your nerve now, Mary!"

"Well, I'm going if you're not," said Reg and started climbing down the ladder into the sewer.

"Come on," said Eleanor, taking Mary’s arm and leading her to the ladder. "It's our only hope."

After a moment of hesitation, Mary slipped her bag of clean clothes under her sweatshirt and descended the ladder. As Eleanor followed her through the hole the sub-basement suddenly filled with light. She heard the steps of people descending the staircase, coming to search the area. Her heart lurched. She pushed with all her strength until the manhole cover slid back into place. Exhausted, she nearly tumbled down the ladder. Suddenly, they were in darkness, lit only by Reg's torch. An indescribable stench filled the air.

Reg dropped onto his hands and knees and started to crawl through the sewer. As Eleanor put her hands into the filth at the bottom of the sewer and felt a soft, sticky mass close over them, her gut wrenched and she was nearly sick. They slowly crawled through the darkness, with the light of Reg's torch ahead. The air grew thick with unpleasant fumes.

"I'm not going to be able to go very far like this," murmured Mary. "My knees are killing me."

"Only as far as we have to," said Reg.

Nevertheless, it seemed a long crawl. Eleanor's back was hurting and her head was throbbing by the time Reg stopped. They had reached a larger chamber. Reg pointed his torch to reveal a shaft leading upwards to another manhole. He stood up, climbed the ladder and carefully raised the manhole cover. A sudden stream of light illuminated the sewer.

"We're in luck." He climbed out of the hole, followed by the women. As Eleanor emerged, she gratefully took a gulp of fresh air. She looked about to find that they were on the edge of a school playing field, with a group of trees between them and a housing estate.

"Get into the trees," ordered Reg.

Having dodged behind a tree, Eleanor looked at her hands and clothes and recoiled at the filth.

"We must clean ourselves up," murmured Mary. "I feel horrible."

"You're alive aren't you?" Reg grunted.

"We could follow this line of trees," Eleanor suggested, "and see how far we can go."

"Might as well," said Reg.

They cautiously made their way through the trees, which led downhill and gradually widened out into a wood. Many of the trees lay broken, while others supported tangled masses of old man's beard.

"Water" said Reg, "I can hear it."

A few yards further on they came upon a stream winding between bushes and mossy banks. Following the stream, they found a place where it splashed over rocks into a pool.

"Let's wash and change our clothes," murmured Mary.

"Ladies first," said Reg.

Half an hour later, the three travellers sat on a fallen tree and rested.

"I feel a bit better now I'm clean," said Mary.

Reg produced a flask from his pack. "Brandy, anyone?"

Eleanor nodded. "I could do with something. I don't know how you manage to be so well prepared, Reg."

"Years of practice." Reg looked around, at the dark water and the tangled bushes. "It's pretty secluded here. I reckon we could hang around for a while and plan our next move."

"I don't know what our chances of getting right away are," said Mary.

"Nor do I," said Reg. "But at least we've got a chance."

Eleanor raised the brandy bottle. "Let's drink to it. To a chance of life."

Mary took the bottle. "All right. To a chance of life, to hope and the Grey Resistance."