Blocks

by Tara Basi

  BLOCKS

  Part One – Battery Boy

  By

  Tara Basi

  Copyright © Tara Basi 2014

  All rights reserved

  The right of Tara Basi to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Chapter 1 – Another Day

  Surviving the night was always a good start to the day.

  “I’m going to find you Tress, get you out and smash the Block,” Battery Boy whispered to himself.

  Stuff was still running in his sleep, moaning quietly. Battery Boy kicked the boy out of his nightmare.

  “We eating today or what?” Stuff asked, then yawned, shivered and stretched in quick succession.

  After days of catching nothing Stuff was not looking good. His eyes were watery pools at the bottom of deep wells and his cheekbones threatened to puncture his skin. Stuff didn’t rattle when he moved but looked as if he should. Usually they caught rats, sometimes found an old tin. Rats always tasted the same, a bitter hard flavour. Today, anything would do.

  Battery Boy leaned out of their shelter, a shallow cave formed by a cluster of tall boulders, and stared up at the Block, ten kilometres to the south. It filled his eyes like some gigantic slate slab.

  Time to get moving and check their traps. The runaways jogged north over the rock-strewn plain through an early morning mist of leaden drizzle. Their destination, a mud coloured midget town, could be seen in the distance. Everything in the town over a metre high had disappeared as if a giant had run his lawnmower over it. Apart from that, it was untouched. Pavements, gutters, the cellars, all intact.

  Battery Boy remembered the stories Tress had told him about how the cold blue light had come without warning and cleanly sliced across towns like this. It wasn’t just the buildings that were cut down. The blue light had moved with the sunrise, targeting a million villages.

  Battery Boy was only a few years older than Stuff, who could have been no more than eleven. The younger boy had permanently moist blue eyes. They shone out of a sadly squeezed face topped by a roughly hacked cap of blond hair. His small scrawny body seemed caught in a permanent flinch, tilted forward, always ready to run. Battery Boy was only a hand taller but he towered over Stuff. His long black hair was pulled harshly back and tied in a topknot, revealing dark angry eyes staring out from an unsmiling angular face.

  As the two approached the decapitated town’s outskirts they dropped lower and moved silently from cover to cover, like latecomers to a funeral.

  They had ten traps in various cellars and four topless buildings left to explore. Though the cellars were comparatively dry they would never survive a night in one. After the people left, packs of wild dogs and the occasional bear had moved in.

  Stuff had been a runaway for just over a year, Battery Boy for nearly three. They kept to a narrow strip of the wilderness where terror of the Block to the south and fear of the hunters to the north were finely balanced.

  “You check the traps to the west, I’ll check the others. Meet back here in a couple of hours then we’ll search the last buildings,” Battery Boy ordered in a low whisper.

  “Can’t I come with you?” Stuff pleaded.

  “Block sun-set is in three hours, you want to get stuck out here in the dark?” Battery Boy hissed angrily.

  Stuff’s shoulders drooped, his head dropped, he sloped off.

  The cellars still held umbilical cords to a past Battery Boy had never known, old washing machines, rusted bicycles, all useless now. The first trap was empty, no point leaving the bait so Battery Boy ate it. The next four all came up empty as well. A wasted two hours. He headed back to the meeting point hoping Stuff had been luckier. Another couple of days of starving and he’d be better off on his own.

  “Battery Boy,” Stuff screamed from the other side of the town.

  Stupid Stuff, noise attracted attention, why was he shouting? Battery Boy cautiously closed on the jarring sound. Stuff was going to get the noise kicked out of him. He followed the single call to a cellar close to the edge of the town. Climbing down the stairs there seemed to be nothing for the boy to be panicking about. Stuff stood with a large dead Labrador over his shoulder, sweat trickling down his face, his knife held out, pointing at the shadows in the back of the basement. A rotting smell filled the space.

  He was confused by the scene. Lying on the ground was an old-boy. His lips and scrappy beard were covered in flecks of blood, his tight curly hair wet with condensation.

  Battery Boy slapped Stuff hard with the back of his hand sending him tumbling across the room to crash against the wall and collapse in a pile of ragged clothes and flesh.

  “Next time I’ll cut out your tongue.”

  The old-boy was obviously dead. He had been mauled and left cupping his entrails in his hands. Probably crawled down here and died only a few hours ago. Something else had eaten its way out of his mouth leaving a gaping hole in his cheek, a rat probably. Battery Boy didn’t want to think about where it might have got in.

  “I did good, right, food and him?” Stuff asked as he pulled himself to his feet looking pleased with himself as he watched Battery Boy taking a great interest in the body.

  “Shut up,” Battery Boy replied without looking at Stuff, his attention fixed on the strange body. The old-boy was really old, maybe eighteen or nineteen.

  “His Band’s still on, see?” Stuff persisted.

  Battery Boy turned slowly and gave Stuff a look which said he really should shut up but Stuff was right. If you died your Band turned to dust. What was the old-boy doing here? Other odd things jarred; compared to their own rags he was positively well dressed in a one-piece blue overall and despite being very dead looked a lot healthier than either of them.

  Stuff spotted a large canvas shoulder bag almost hidden underneath the body and began to pull it out by the strap. As Stuff finally freed the bag the corpse’s head lolled back. The Band moved, it didn’t stay locked to the skin. Leaning forward Battery Boy picked up a stick and gingerly reached out to poke the Band.

  “Battery Boy, don’t, it’ll get you, stop,” Stuff squealed in panic.

  “It’s a fake,” he whispered, too surprised to even notice Stuff was making more noise.

  He managed to get his fingers between the fake Band and the dead boy’s neck, and felt it give and stretch. Battery Boy pulled it over the head and held the white rubber tube in his hand. The most horrifying thing in all the world and someone had made a dummy one. Why?

  They had already spent too long in the ruins, it would soon be dark. Battery Boy decided he didn’t want anyone else seeing the evidence of a fake Band. Stripping the corpse of everything, Battery Boy decapitated it and covered the headless body with the rubbish that littered the concrete floor. On the way back to their rocky hiding place, a couple of kilometres from the town, they stopped and buried the head separately. Battery Boy paused before leaving the head’s grave to silently thank the old-boy for giving him a spark of hope. There were people without Bands who weren’t runaways.

  As the boys loped back to their miserable shelter, following a few hours behind was the consequence of Stuff’s cry.

  Once back at the shelter Battery Boy left Stuff to start a small fire then gut and skin the dog. Battery Boy laid the old-boy’s possessions at his feet and looked at them properly for the first time. The clothes and boots were well made. As Stuff gently hummed some half-remembered tune while slowly turning the dog in the fire, Battery Boy opened the canvas satchel. Inside was a miniature replica of the Block, a solid grey featureless oblong that easily fitted in the palm of his hand. He shook it next to his ear but nothing rattled inside. There was no obvious way of opening it. Was it someone’s idea of a sick joke to make a toy
Block? Delving further into the bag he pulled out another box. This one opened. He couldn’t help grunting out loud in astonishment.

  “What’s up, what’s happening,” Stuff called from the back of the cave, startled by the noise.

  “Nothing, hurry up with the dog,” Battery Boy replied curtly, wanting to get back to his latest find without being joined by Stuff and his special brand of crazy excitement.

  The box contained a pistol and ammunition. Not even hunters had guns. Turning out the bag the last few items fell on to the ground, a big torch, a compass and a little book. No one read books any more. He could, but only because Tress had tricked him into learning. A compass; why? Everyone steered by the Block, it was not difficult to spot.

  A cheery Stuff exclaimed, “Grub’s up,” and that rocked him out of his thoughts. Eat first, Stuff would be asleep soon and then he could study the contents undisturbed.

  “I did OK, right, I mean I found him, right?” Stuff spat out in-between stuffing his face with dog meat, like he expected his food to be snatched away at any minute.

  “Sure, you did good,” Battery Boy replied, feeling a bit guilty about Stuff’s bruised face.

  “I’ll be OK, now, you know, I’ll keep up,” Stuff added, pausing for a moment in his frenzied eating.

  Battery Boy didn’t need to answer, just nodded and smiled. A visibly reassured Stuff returned to savaging the dog leg. Not long after Stuff was snoring loudly. Battery Boy knew his nightmares would start soon enough.

  He turned his attention to the book, which was almost incomprehensible. It had a crazy map telling him to go into a darkness somewhere to the south and follow a light to a maze that led to a door. It might lead him to free people. Maybe they could get him inside the Block, and the fake Band might keep him safe while he searched for Tress? At least the instructions for the gun were straightforward. It wouldn’t be many hours before the sun slithered up behind the drab wet clouds. Battery Boy was exhausted just thinking about the possibilities the old-boy’s bag opened up. Time to try and sleep.

  The usual dream of a choking Band woke him while it was still dark. Stuff actually looked like he was sleeping well for once. Battery Boy slipped quietly outside and sat in the pitch dark listening to the night chorus of frogs and crickets.

  Did he really mean what he said about saving Tress and smashing the Block?

  He circled the Block year after year, like a hamster in treadmill, searching for a way into the Block without a Band. Tress was somewhere inside and time was running out. He might not survive another year in the wastes.

  “Battery Boy, where are you?” Stuff hissed, barely able to see anything in the twilight, scared after waking up and finding himself alone.

  “I’m here, it’s OK. I got something I need to tell you,” Battery Boy whispered.

  Stuff came and sat down on the ground, shivering from the damp and cold, looking anxious.

  “Something wrong?” Stuff gulped.

  “That bag’s got a map, might lead to Tress, gonna follow it. Might not make it back,” Battery Boy started to explain, looking away from Stuff.

  “Take me, don’t leave me, please, please, please, don’t leave me,” Stuff cried in panic.

  “It’s dangerous, don’t know what I’ll find and the map, it leads… south,” Battery Boy answered calmly, trying to get Stuff to understand.

  “South… south. Oh, right,” Stuff stuttered and then started sobbing uncontrollably.

  “You don’t have to come, I’ll leave you food, you’ll be OK. I’ll come back if I can,” he added quietly, trying to reassure Stuff.

  “You bastard, that’s it, go south or stay here, alone? You said I did OK, why can’t we just stay like this?” Stuff wailed.

  “Tress,” he replied.

  “I hate Tress, I hate you, I found the bag, the old-boy, I should get to decide where we go. I want to stay here,” Stuff sobbed.

  “Stay, wait for me here.”

  “I never get a choice. I didn’t wanna be a runaway. Just another day and I’d have been ten, got my Band. Everything would’ve been OK. Mad old-girl, she stole me, just run off, lost her head, lost me, bloody bitch. I wanna go back,” Stuff wailed in frustration.

  “I’ve told you a thousand times, we’re too old for Bands. This is it. We’re runaways, no going back, ever,” Battery Boy answered quietly.

  “We’ve been OK, so far, like this,” Stuff pleaded.

  “Something’s gonna get us, hunters, dogs, sickness. We’ve been lucky so far. We’ve got to do something different,” Battery Boy said more forcefully.

  “No, not south, it’ll take us… inside,” Stuff whispered.

  Battery Boy didn’t answer, there was no point. He knew what he was going to do, but couldn’t decide what was best for Stuff. He stood up with his back to the Block and stared into the night.

  Almost imperceptibly, way in the distance, there was a momentary glint of light. It was a fleeting spark but it stood out like a steaming turd in a field of snow to Battery Boy. A hunters’ camp. They must have been tracking the old-boy and now they were coming this way. Stuff couldn’t escape hunters on his own. He might only last a couple of months if they went south, but at least he wouldn’t die alone.

  “Get your gear and the leftover dog, hunters are coming,” Battery Boy roughly ordered.

  “Hunters, no, no, they never come here, you sure?” Stuff squealed, his face screwed up with fear.

  “Want to stay here and find out? I’m going south.”

  Stuff raced in to the cave and emerged seconds later with his meagre possessions.

  “Where we going?” Stuff panted.

  “Shut up and run if you want to keep your guts,” Battery Boy hissed.

  Nothing more was said. Battery Boy threw the canvas bag over his shoulder and set off into the cold ill end of the night, Stuff cantering along behind, a half-eaten dog slung over one shoulder, clutching a grubby bin bag of possessions, still sobbing but less hysterically. They moved quickly across the plain, avoiding the deeper muddy pools, sticking to the rockier surfaces hoping to throw off the hunters. A weakling sun crawled higher and a harder rain started spitting in their faces. They ran on, due south directly towards the Block, dodging between monstrous dark boulders that loomed up out of the long twilight shadows like guards.

  After running hard for a long half-hour Battery Boy looked back for the first time to check on Stuff. The younger boy’s face was contorted with fear. It was only going to get worse the closer they got to the Block. Stuff might panic, turn away and run right in to the hunters. Battery Boy stopped, to give the boy a moment. Stuff threw down his bin bag and sat on it, breathing heavily, staring wide eyed at the massive squatting presence just five kilometres ahead. It overwhelmed their senses, there was nothing else.

  Battery Boy turned away and climbed the nearest boulder to look back. Hunters were closing, and fast, still too far away to make out clearly but no more than thirty minutes behind them. It made no sense, hunters here? ‘Why’ wouldn’t matter if they caught them. The only answer was to keep running towards the Block. The hunters wouldn’t follow.

  “We’re going now, double time,” Battery Boy ordered Stuff as he jumped down from the boulder.

  “Hunters?” Stuff asked not wanting an answer.

  “Shut up. We won’t be stopping again,” Battery Boy said and headed straight off.

  “Where we going?” Stuff repeated, struggling to catch his breath,

  “Leave everything, just keep your eyes on my back,” Battery Boy called over his shoulder.

  After another twenty minutes the slicing pain in Battery Boy’s feet fought for attention with the muscle burn in his legs and the threatening explosion in his chest. Stuff had ditched the dog and his bin bag and was fighting hard to keep up. Not far behind the hunters whooped and cussed, getting closer, faster.

  In the dull morning light the runaways ran on, trying to go quicker, always south. Neither of them had ever been this close to the Blo
ck. Battery Boy found it was better to look slightly down and straight ahead, looking up made him feel sick. At this distance, less than a kilometre from the Block, the impossible dimensions, the gigantic expanse of smooth uniform grey, felt as if it was falling on them as they rushed towards it. Soon the boys would be trapped between one nightmare and another.

  “We gonna run straight into it, when we turning?” Stuff gasped in a horrible fear filled voice.

  “Don’t look, just run,” Battery Boy shouted back without turning.

  Getting so close to the Block must have seemed like the worst kind of craziness to Stuff.

  “Gutting time,” one of the hunters bellowed. He sounded close.

  Stuff shrieked and Battery Boy struggled to keep his nerve.

  “Runaways, where you going? No place left to hide,” another hunter shouted.

  Fifty metres now and all Battery Boy could see was an endless solid slab. The ground sloped up towards the face of the Block, making the going even harder. Abruptly they crested the top and the ground unexpectedly fell away steeply into pitch blackness.

  Battery Boy half ran, tumbled down the slope till he came to rest and froze, unable to run any more. The sudden nightfall was crushing out everything else, Tress, the hunters, and time itself. Then Stuff arrived, barrelling into his back, throwing him to the ground.

  They had run… underneath. The mammoth proportions of the Block hung three metres above their heads, improbably suspended in the air. Ahead lay the deepest black of the worst nightmare. Where daylight penetrated it shone on the same familiar, barren, scarred earth but over it floated the Block, its underside as smoothly skinned as the outside surface and just as rock solid and unmoving.

  “What?” Stuff whimpered as he began to take in his surroundings.

  Stuff’s arrival broke Battery Boy out of his daze and he turned, climbed the slope and looked back. The hunters had come to a stop only about five hundred metres behind, unable to see the runaways any more. Among the five hunters one figure stood out, even at this distance. He looked dangerous, not just the usual big and brutal. He started running first, calling the others to follow. His companions hesitated, probably reluctant to get any closer to the Block, then three followed but one stood rooted to the spot. Battery Boy should have turned and run but something about that one stationary hunter held his gaze. You don’t deny the Bands. Very slowly the lone hunter’s head started wobbling from side to side, then faster and faster till it fell off and the body gently collapsed as though it was lying down to rest.