Jam

by Unknown

  “Why not?” said Don.

  “Early in the disaster we traded all our plastic bags to another settlement in return for some food supplies. Their representative only wanted plastic bags, duct tape, and green highlighter pens. We didn’t really ask why. They seemed to think they were being ironic, or something.”

  I tried not to think about the sound of a budgerigar attempting to escape from a giant spider in a foot-wide cage. “The plastic people?” I said. “We just came from there.” Don kicked me in the ankle.

  “Really?” said Kathy, suddenly interested. She had been propping her face on her elbow, but now she immediately sat up straight. “The settlement in the Briar Center? You’ve been inside?”

  “Yeah, we stayed there for a day or two,” I said. Don kicked me again, twice in quick succession. “Ow. Ow.”

  She leaned forward. “Tell me, did you notice any significant changes in the settlement while you were there?” She scanned our blank looks. “Any fresh difficulty that has arisen?”

  “Are you talking about how they can’t leave the mall anymore?” I asked. “Don, why do you keep kicking me? It really hurts.”

  Kathy scribbled something on a legal pad. “Thank you; that’s all I wanted to know.”

  “Hey, you know something about this?” asked Don. “Are you working with Y?”

  “It’s not really my department to say anything. I’m Human Resources; that’s more of a Public Relations thing,” said Kathy in her practiced, noncommittal tone of voice, making a little note on Don’s form. “Well, it’s lucky that you have an established profile with the other settlement, and a vehicle, because we were looking for one or two agents to act as our representatives there.”

  The sound of panicking budgerigar still playing through my memories suddenly took on aspects of a car alarm. “What? You want us to go back to the mall?”

  “Yes, just someone to monitor their activities and address resource balance.”

  “Resource balance?” asked Don.

  “Yes. When they have a lot of resources, and we don’t have as much, it would be your job to . . . restore that particular balance.” She coughed. “We do have just enough plastic bags for the two of you. After we traded most of them away we had someone go around and gather up all the ones that were lining the wastepaper baskets. So is that okay with you both? We don’t really have openings in any other departments for your particular . . . skill sets. I’m really not sure what other use you could be.”

  “But . . .” I was about to explain that we were wanted men, but that wasn’t true. Everyone who had seen us steal the hard drive and chased us to the roof had been subsequently murdered by Y. Plus Kathy was tapping on the desk in that slightly threatening way again, and the sound of budgie and car alarm were all silenced by the sound of a paper cutter slamming shut. “Don?”

  “Fine, whatever,” he sighed. I really was getting worried about him.

  “Well, that’s just excellent,” said Kathy sweetly, making a very definite and forthright signature to conclude the interview. She leaned back, immediately much more relaxed now the bureaucracy was dealt with. “Have to say, you and your boat and your banana arriving now has been quite a stroke of luck. We almost gave up on finding useful things in the stuff that washes up around the building. Do you know what we fished out just before you arrived?”

  Someone pulled the plug on Don’s apathy and it started the process of gurgling down the drain. He slowly lifted his chin off his hand. “What?” he asked, his voice low and ominous.

  “A hard drive. In a plastic bag. And do you know the strangest thing?”

  “It was addressed to you,” guessed Don, tone unchanged.

  “That’s right. Very odd. We assumed the Briar Center settlement was sending some kind of message or tribute, but I don’t know what they thought we could do with it without electricity. I think Gary’s been using it as a drinks coaster.”

  DAY 5.3

  —

  “Well, I have to say, it’s lucky they didn’t change their minds about letting us in,” I said conversationally, once we were back in the Everlong and pushing our way through the Hibatsu square with some borrowed metal poles. “After you threw that fit, I mean.”

  “Drinks coaster,” muttered Don. He was standing with one hand at the mast staring fixedly at the retreating Hibatsu building.

  “Probably for the best that we get away from the place for a bit,” I said wistfully. “Kathy might need some time to get over those papers you ate.”

  “Drinks coaster,” he repeated, like a mantra.

  “At least they said they’d give it back if we did what they asked.”

  “If that hard drive is so much as scratched, I am going to stick it straight up Gary’s arse. You think I’m saying that idly. I’m not. I’m going to make a project out of it. I’m going to use forceps and lubricant. What are you looking so satisfied about?!”

  “Nothing, nothing. It’s just . . . nice to have you back, Don.”

  He gave me a slightly confused scowl, then turned to gaze at the Briar Center, whose authoritative domed roof was becoming visible over the smaller shops. “Don’t know what you’ve got to be pleased about,” he said. “Isn’t the mall exactly where you don’t want to be right now?”

  “What?”

  “Remember? You fed their queen’s beloved pet to your hairy girlfriend?”

  I gazed at Mary, who gave a sort of embarrassed shrug with her legs, and felt my stomach twist sickeningly. In the Hibatsu building the memories of paper-cutter blade being held against my soft, yielding throat had loomed largest in my thoughts, and our activities in the lair of the plastic people had been sprinting down my mental priority list in leaps and bounds. I’d allowed myself to write off that particular chapter of my life, but now that the shopping mall was visible again it hovered like a huge floating asterisk portending some dreadful footnote.

  “Well, they’ll have forgotten about that by now, right?” I said, partly to convince myself.

  “Oh, sure,” said Don, bored, standing with arms folded. “One day is about an average statute of limitations for that sort of thing.”

  “Besides, Lord Awesomo only suspects me, I’m sure. He doesn’t know anything. And he wouldn’t tell Princess Ravenhair unless he’d gain something from it, right?” I saw Don roll his eyes discouragingly. “Well, he wouldn’t, would he?”

  “No one acts rationally in the friend zone. Creates this weird mix of total moony-eyed devotion and hate-filled bitterness. My mate Dub got friend zoned by one of our lead artists, once. I had to hook him up with my fat slut cousin ’cos I found murder-suicide plans in his desk.”

  “Anyway, she’d probably forgive me if I explained,” I said, refusing to acknowledge him. “She likes me. I think. I’m not sure how much, but . . .”

  “Oh, christ. Not you as well. What is it with this bitch? She’s got a friend zone like a post office queue.”

  “She’s not a bitch . . .”

  “Hey!” hissed a new voice. We were back in the pedestrian precinct that ran alongside the mall, and someone was trying to get our attention from behind the pillar outside the pharmacy.

  It was one of the plastic people, but we were already wearing Hibatsu’s donated plastic bags so we hadn’t broken our cover. The plastic person was female, with a slight build, but she was wearing an opaque bag over her head, so the only other detail I could determine was that she was pinned against the pillar and quivering with terror.

  “There’s someone shooting at us!” she revealed as we parked our boat near her hiding place. It was then we noticed several splintered wooden shafts bristling from the side of the pillar that faced the mall. “I figured it out! We can’t leave the mall because someone’s shooting arrows from the roof!”

  “Um, yeah, how about that,” said Don quickly. “Well, we don’t really want to hang around, so . . .”

  “How did you get across the street?” I asked.

  “There were six of us!” I s
uddenly noticed a cluster of discarded plastic bags floating on the jam. “We thought we could brute force our way out and figure out what keeps killing us! And we could! But now I can’t get back! And I really need a wee!”

  “Look, just calm down,” I said. “It’s okay. We know the guy.”

  “No we do not!” interjected Don angrily. “He will almost certainly have no qualms about killing all of us! Don’t calm down! Continue panicking!”

  “Don, why do you keep —” I began.

  Then, perhaps to illustrate his words, I heard the sound of whistling wind moments before an arrow lodged itself in the Everlong’s deck directly between my feet. Reflexively I grabbed Mary and threw myself away, landing squarely in the jam. For half a second I was frozen in terror, not having checked to see if my fresh plastic-bag coating was airtight, then I used the remainder of the second to take up position behind the pillar with the stricken girl.

  “HEY!” screamed Don, directing his voice at the bulky silhouette just visible on the roof overhead. “STOP SHOOTING, YOU CLOT! IT’S US!”

  “You do know him,” said the girl, astonished. “Who is he?”

  “IT’S US, SOME PEOPLE YOU’VE NEVER MET!” added Don, after a moment’s hesitation. “BUT WE’RE HUMAN BEINGS SO THAT’S WHY YOU SHOULD STOP SHOOTING US!”

  “Nice save, Don.”

  “But why isn’t he shooting you?” asked the confused girl. “He shoots everyone else.”

  “And why’d he shoot at me?” I peered recklessly around the pillar and tried to get a look at Y’s silhouette. His bow was lowered, and his stance was that of a castle guard lowering the drawbridge. He must have finally noticed that it was Don and me. But who else did he think would show up driving the Everlong? The Sunderland issue, Y had said.

  “We should probably get inside,” said Don, hopping gingerly down into the jam like a man carefully testing the temperature of his bathwater.

  “Riiight,” I said, trying to keep one eye on him and one on Y, who was still watching us, unmoving.

  Don had noticed that, too. “HEY!” he called to him. “FEEL FREE TO GO NOW! DON’T YOUR PECS NEED OILING?!”

  Y wasn’t making any motion to leave, or indeed any motion at all.

  “Erm, Don,” I said, still not having moved out from behind the pillar. “Could you stay in front of us while we walk across the street?”

  “Oh, fine,” said Don, although he was staring at Y too, with growing concern. He backed slowly up to our pillar and I put one hand on his shoulder, holding onto Mary with the other, then the girl did the same to me. After a brief unspoken debate we started marching with the left foot and proceeded slowly across the street like a small, frightened conga. All three of us kept our eyes fixed on Y.

  He had an arrow nocked. If I saw him start to draw his arm back I could probably dive to one side. And then the jam would probably get in my breathing hole and I would be killed. But at least it would be vaguely on my own terms.

  “You totally know who he is, don’t you,” said the girl over my shoulder. “Have you told Lord Awesomo? Or Tim?”

  “We don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” said Don loudly, before I could reply. “He’s obviously just realized the error of his—what did you say?”

  “I said, you know who he is, don’t you.”

  “The bit after that.”

  “I asked if you’ve told Lord Awesomo.”

  “And then there was another little bit.”

  “Or Tim?”

  “That’s the bastard. How do you know Tim?”

  “You know, he’s the leader of the opposition. That whole election thing?”

  “Okay, we’re under the awning,” said Don. “Run.”

  Run was a command that was impossible to obey in the jam, but we did manage a panicky high-kicking wade until we were all backed up against the display window directly underneath Y’s perch. The Queen Street entrance to the mall, from which Sergeant Cuddles had mounted his ill-fated expedition, was just a few yards further south. We kept our backs to the wall and shuffled awkwardly along towards it like mobile firing-squad victims.

  “Right, run that by us again,” said Don. “What election?”

  “Why wouldn’t you know about the election?” said the girl, as if the two of them were playing the questions game. “And how the hell did you get out of the mall in the first place? Who are you?”

  Our careers as undercover double agents definitely weren’t off to a flying start. “Um . . .” I began.

  “How about you just shut your face,” suggested Don, losing patience. “How about that.”

  “We’ve been on a mission!” I declared, inspired. “We were sent on a special investigating mission before any of this happened so that’s why this is all completely new to us.”

  “But why didn’t he shoot you?” persisted the girl. We still couldn’t see her face but she sounded close to tears. “He shot all my friends!”

  “Well, maybe he’s only trying to stop people getting out, not in,” I said, the interior of my wrapping becoming rather hot and moist with sweat.

  “He shot at you, but not you,” she pointed out, nodding to me and Don in turn.

  I swallowed. The memory of the arrow’s impact vibrating the deck between my feet was still fresh. Y wouldn’t have missed so far if he’d been aiming for the girl. Something didn’t add up.

  We were inside the mall entrance, now, and blessedly out of danger. Once we were around the corner Don seized me by the arm and pushed me against a wall. “We can’t let her tell anyone.”

  “Who tell what to who?”

  “Her. We can’t let her tell all the other plastic people that we know Y.”

  “But . . .”

  “I don’t think any group of people would be kindly disposed to anyone who hangs out with the guy who has murdered large numbers of them. It’s just a hunch I have.”

  “I understand that, but what do you propose to do to keep her quiet?” His gaze fell guiltily from mine. “We can’t kill her. Surely. Can we? Maybe she’d listen to us if we just explained everything. Honestly.”

  His mouth twisted as he attempted to swallow that. “Okay, let’s just keep on her for now, and make a decision when it becomes necessary.” He released me, and I detached from the wall.

  “Right,” I said. I looked around. “Where’s she gone?”

  The girl we’d rescued had gone on ahead. Her trail remained in the jam, leading towards the food court. Emitting an extremely rude word, Don speed waded after her. I caught up with him just inside the food court, where the trail became overlaid by a labyrinth of several other trails of varying freshness.

  Don said the rude word again. “Where’d she go?”

  “What color bags was she wearing?” There were even more plastic people in the food court than usual, all in a state of dull huddled panic thanks to Y’s efforts.

  “Are you telling me you didn’t notice?!”

  “No, I don’t really notice that sort of thing.”

  “Oh my god,” said Don, exasperatedly pulling at his facial features with his hands. “You’ve got a brain like a Spam fritter.”

  “Well, didn’t you notice?”

  “What the hell are we going to do?!” he cried, dodging the question. “They’ll lynch us with flaming torches! And they won’t be doing it ironically!”

  “Wait, does she even know who we are?”

  “We had transparent bags on our heads! She geboddagaboy . . .” His tongue suddenly tripped over an idea as it was on its way to turning on the lightbulb in his head. “Wait a minute. That’s it.” He made for the nearest escalator and pulled himself up the stairs to the next level, freeing himself from the jam with a disappointed plop. I followed him, bewildered, to a hidden and isolated spot behind an advertising billboard, near the entrance to the department store.

  “What are we doing?” I whispered.

  “We’ll just ambush the next two guys who pass and take their bags,” he said. �
�One plastic man looks pretty much like another, right? And we’ll leave them our bags so it’s not like mugging at all.”

  “Couldn’t we just ask someone if they’d like to do swapsies? Like a fun game? An ironic fun game?”

  “Shush. Someone’s coming.”

  From within the department store I heard the familiar rustling tramp-tramp of two people with plastic bags on their feet walking across polished shopping mall floors.

  “Wait for it,” he hissed.

  “For what? What are we supposed to do?”

  “Improvise. Now. GO.”

  Don immediately leapt out, holding up his hands with fingers clawed, impersonating a lion. I jumped to his side, hefting Mary’s box in both hands and preparing to swing her like a club. Mary sprang back on her back legs, ready to do her bit.

  Our two mugging victims froze in surprise. So did we, because they were Angela and X. Angela’s head bag wasn’t transparent, but her perpetual camcorder was unmistakable. She, the journalist, found her voice first. “Where the hell have you two been? No, actually, why the hell did you jump us? Answer that question first, then the other one.”

  “We just, er,” stalled Don, placing his hands behind his back and attempting to reassemble his dignity. “We thought you were someone e—I mean, we thought you were Angela and X, so we thought we’d give you a fun little surprise.” He held up his arms in a slightly less threatening way. “Surprise! We’re back!”

  “Back from where?” asked Angela. “That brings us back to the first question.”

  “Er . . .” Don waved his hands, extending the er as long as he could, before madly looking at me, seeking a tag out.

  “To the Hibatsu building,” I said immediately. I saw Don face palm with what sounded like quite painful force. “We just went ahead to check it out and make sure everything’s all right.”

  “New question,” said Angela. The emotionless black eye of her camera hadn’t become any less intimidating. “How did you get out of the mall without getting eaten like everyone else?”