Wasteland

by Terry Tyler

  "Please, can we slow down?" I ask.

  "Sure." Nula reaches forward and touches the screen. "We can't spend all day, but I don't mind taking it easy now and again."

  The pod slows to five miles an hour. I want to drink it all in, absorb it; I want to feel it, to imagine myself living out here.

  "It wasn't like this back then," Nula says. "It was cared for. Not as clean and ordered as the megacities, and there were some dreadful slum areas in the towns, but it wasn't this bad." She points to an old brick building with a grey forecourt containing swings and a climbing frame. "That was a school. And look―over there."

  She stops the pod, and I turn my head to my left to see a long row of shops. Faded signs, smashed glass where the boards have been torn off. Elliotts: Greengrocer. NuPharm chemist and dispensary. The Cut Above, with silhouettes of scissors on either side. NuMart Local. Eufloria―a flower shop.

  Some of them still have bits of old displays, and even goods, in the windows. Just left to rot, as the businesses closed down and the people left.

  "Bloody hell. This is like living in a post-apocalyptic film. It's nothing like seeing it on the wallscreen. It's so real―and sad, isn't it? You can imagine the people living here, then being swept off to live in MC12."

  For the first time, Nula actually smiles. "I love watching people's reactions when they see it for the first time. Makes you realise how lucky you are, to live where you do now, doesn't it?"

  That wasn't quite what I meant, but I'll keep that to myself. Colt is oddly quiet; I wonder if he daren't speak for fear of betraying how loyal to the megacities he isn't, or if he's as captivated as I am.

  We move on; there's little to see for a while but overgrown fields.

  "Maybe you're thinking how lovely and wild it all is, and how it would be pretty cool to live out here?" She turns to Colt, then looks back at me. "But all you'd get is cold, wet, hungry and probably ill. Believe me, within a day you'd be back knocking on the gate of MC12."

  I see an area of fairly new-looking buildings off to one side; Nula tells me that this was a leisure complex, built at the end of the last century.

  "A bowling alley and a cinema, where people used to go to watch films. Fast food restaurants, and one of a type that was very popular about fifty, sixty years ago: the all-you-can-eat buffet." She sniffs with disapproval. "Just one of the ways by which the population was encouraged to eat itself into obesity and diabetes." She leans forward, and stops the pod. "Look, over there. See the fence?"

  I see it, far into the distance. I also see movement; guards in a watchtower. "What is it?"

  "That's the perimeter of Farm 35."

  Colt peers out. "Can we go take a look?"

  "No. Even if it was on today's schedule, there's nothing to see, and we wouldn't be allowed past the gate. Strictly no admittance to the farmland unless you work for the Department of Agriculture."

  "Makes you wonder why not," Colt murmurs in my ear.

  Nula's head jerks round. "What's that?"

  "I was just saying, all that lovely Nucrop."

  Golden fields of the stuff stretch out into the distance.

  I am so totally absorbed by the scenes unfolding in front of my eyes that I almost forget the purpose of this journey, but before long we reach a built-up area filled with shabby houses, roads covered in leaves and rubbish, and weeds growing through pavements.

  Nula says, "We're here," and I notice that we've come to the end of the pod track, too.

  As we step out, Colt says, "And the pod's safe here?"

  "Oh yes. The wastelanders know that tampering with it is more than their life is worth. Each pod is made from damage resistant materials, and any excessive pressure activates an immediate alert in the transport office back home. There would be a drone on it in seconds, believe me."

  I think of what Ginevra told me: that the place we are going to is not really the wasteland at all, but a visitors' centre―which is why the track goes directly to it, and stops there. And why none of the people we are about to meet would dream of touching the pod.

  It smells different here. My nose finds the scent of a fire, and food cooking.

  We follow Nula up the path of a small, unkempt garden; even before she raps on the door, it opens―and I meet my first ever wastelander.

  Except he's not a real wastelander. I have to keep remembering that.

  Thad looks about forty. He's long-haired and unshaven, dressed in a tatty navy jumper, ancient jeans and scuffed boots, but he looks clean, and he's smiling.

  "Welcome to our humble abode!"

  Colt and I glance at each other.

  Nula gives him the sort of hug that you do with people you really don't want to touch. Quick, stiff, touching him only with her khaki fingertips. We follow him in, and I'm most surprised by what I see. I'd imagined groups of people sitting round a fire, drinking out of jam jars, but it's just a normal house. Worn and tatty, but it's kind of nice. There are books on the shelves―real books!―and I can hear laughter elsewhere in the house. Smell food being cooked.

  We sit on a lumpy sofa and Thad's wife, Evelyn, brings us tasteless coffee and homemade biscuits, while Thad and Nula catch up. I've been sitting there for about ten minutes before I realise I'm cold. Of course; there is no temperature modification system out here, not like in the stacks.

  I pull the collar of my jacket closer around my neck, and Evelyn says, "Sorry, love, are you cold? We don't heat the place until the evening, to save fuel―I should have thought! Only we're so busy in the daytime―our way of life requires a lot of physical exertion, so we tend not to feel the cold until the evening when we finally get a chance to sit back."

  I just smile politely and compliment her on the scrumptiousness of the biscuits (which are totally tasteless), because I know anything she tells me is scripted bullshit.

  Thad takes us to meet others in his community; he shows us the communal chemical toilets, the meagre food stores, how they treat water for drinking (purification tablets, provided free by charities―allegedly). He shows us the uses they have for anything they can scavenge, the pathetic little school for a collection of slightly grubby kids, the former gardens where they grow sad-looking crops and vegetables.

  Yes, they're doing the job they're paid to do―it's all a bit bleak and doesn't look like much fun at all, and I keep reminding myself that, hidden away from us, are their coms, fuel, medical supplies and food from MC12.

  I iSync, because that is what is expected of me, and wonder if the real wasteland is much different. Colt looks bored. I'm guessing he's as anxious for night to fall as I am, so that we can start our adventure for real.

  Evening comes, and we're invited to what used to be a pub where, Thad tells us, a meal has been prepared in our honour.

  I expect a pre-megacity pub to be super cosy and cutesy with a huge log fire and a stone floor, like I've seen on the history channels, but it's a drab, red-brick building, built in the late 20th century. Inside The Golden Fleece, the fake wastelanders light candles and lamps and serve vegetable chilli and rice; the most I can say is that it tastes fairly nutritious. They offer us their home-made wine, fruity and very strong; I'm worried because I can feel the effects after just half a glass.

  "We need to be careful with this muck," Colt mutters to me. "Let them keep filling your glass up but don't drink it. Got to stay completely sober."

  We walk around, glasses in hand, talking to lots of different people; as we do so, we empty out our glasses into any receptacle available. When a large red-haired guy starts flirting with me and fills my glass up to the brim, I insist on walking outside for some air, and pour away the whole damn lot.

  Mostly, I'm scared Nula will notice. Towards the end of the evening I make a point of going to sit with her and thanking her for taking us out here.

  "Bit of an eye-opener, is it?" she says.

  "Certainly is. It's cured me of any romantic notions―seems like a big price to pay for so-called 'freedom'. It's just damn hard
work for little reward, isn't it?"

  She nods; I've said the right thing. "That's about the size of it. This is a special night because we're here, but usually they just sit in their own homes by candlelight, playing games or reading, waiting until it's time to go to sleep, then waking up to another day of back-breaking grind."

  I look around. "I know we can't ask personal questions, but I'm dying to know―all these people, did they escape from Hope Villages? Or were they the ones who just chose this way of life, back when the towns were cleared?"

  "A mixture. The younger ones were born in the wasteland, so they don't know any different. Thad was sixteen when his town was cleared, and his parents didn't qualify for a flat in the stacks; they were offered a place in a Hope but didn't take it up. Evelyn's former megacity. She and her mum moved to a Hope when her dad was put in prison. He was one of those who actively worked against the megacity." She gives me a piercing look; I suspect how I answer will be important.

  I fake a horrified gasp. "Really? What did he do?"

  Her eyes don't leave my face. "Oh, he was part of a little organisation that aimed to reunite NPU children with their parents. And he was spreading fake information about NPU children in megacities and Hopes being brainwashed, and all sorts of other rubbish about sterilisation programmes."

  I wonder if she knows about me. If she knows I had a real family. I'm very careful not to do any of those 'tells'; the fiddling with the hair, the covering of the mouth. "That's awful. And ridiculous."

  She nods, but her expression does not change. "Precisely. I mean, you and I, we're both NPU; do you feel as though you were brainwashed?"

  I laugh. "Hardly! I mean, I don't know who gave birth to me, but―well, it's only biology, isn't it? My primary carers in the NPU Village―they made me feel totally secure and cared for. The other kids were my brothers and sisters. I had a great start in life―as far as I can see, organisations like that just stir up stuff that's best left alone."

  She studies me for a moment, then relaxes; I have responded correctly.

  "What happened to Evelyn's father?"

  Nula sips her wine, smiling to herself. "Oh, he was sent away for a long time. Long, in that he ain't never coming out. Good riddance to bad rubbish."

  "Too right! But Evelyn and her mother―"

  "The mother hatched an escape plan. Evelyn was fifteen at the time. Mum died a few years later, in a bad flu outbreak; Evelyn said it was exacerbated by malnutrition, which is endemic in the wasteland. Do you want to make a note of that? It's something you can tell your rat-curious clients."

  I get out my com and do so. "But Evelyn's okay by you, even though she escaped from a Hope?"

  Nula shrugs. "Being a wastelander isn't a crime, though I've heard whispers that their number is becoming larger than the government is happy with. If someone manages to escape from a Hope Village―and it's not easy―they no longer consider it worth the manpower to track them down; they contribute nothing to society, and it's just one less mouth to be fed. So the wasteland population increases, though a lot of them end up like Evelyn's mother―dead. Illness, poor diet―and in-fighting between gangs."

  "Yeah? I didn't know about that."

  She wrinkles up her pretty nose, as if the mere subject is too distasteful to talk about. "There are some pretty nasty gangs around what was Manchester and Liverpool, but generally most rough types have no reason to break out of Hope because they rule the roost there. Roof over their heads, food, and drugs coming in; they've got their own little empires. Escapees are more likely to be those who are trying to get away from them. But every one means one more wastelander."

  At around eleven a couple called Liam and Jasmine announce that we are to stay at their house, as Thad's does not have a spare bedroom. They're around my age. Both are wasteland born and bred, the children of Offliners, and, over valerian tea, Jasmine lays it on thick about how hard their life is, mainly the health aspect; a small number of community-minded megacity doctors hold monthly surgeries up and down the country, for which there are endless queues to be seen.

  "Not like you―you can see a doctor as soon as you need one, can't you?"

  "Yes, though medical insurance is pretty costly." Ah. Nula raises her eyebrows at me; mustn't drag the megacities, not least of all because Ginevra has warned us about the cams in the mock wasteland that pick up on keywords and phrases, like at home. "But it's worth every penny, because the hospitals are just amazing."

  She sighs. "Oh, it sounds like paradise there!"

  And of course I tell her that yes, it is indeed pretty cool, and I expand on how, as an NPU kid, I am so grateful for the opportunities I've been given.

  I even remember to make notes as we talk, though I'm getting seriously nervous; it's nearly midnight and the plan moves into action at two a.m. Just when I'm starting to panic, Nula decides it's time we all hit the sack.

  Colt is to sleep downstairs, while we ladies will share a bedroom.

  In other words, I have to stay awake next to a sleeping Nula for the next two hours.

  At least, I hope she will be sleeping, because if she isn't, I’m going nowhere.

  Chapter 14

  Getaway

  As we lie there in the dark, Nula spends some time making sure I'm a hundred per cent convinced that the wasteland is a total shit-pit. My bed sags in the middle and I can't get comfortable, but it doesn't matter; I'm not going to be sleeping in it. After ten minutes or so I begin to give the shortest possible answers, in the hope that she'll wind down and go to sleep. Presently she yawns and says, "Well, best get some shut-eye. God knows we'll be glad of it, come the morning; that apology for coffee doesn't give much of a kick, does it?"

  I lie as still as I can, petrified that any movement might keep her awake. After fifteen minutes during which I've heard no sound from her at all, I relax, but then I start panicking again. I'm used to Nash snoring, but if Nula is a silent sleeper I won't know if she's asleep or not. Then I hear her breathing, more deeply than if she were awake―but what if she's faking? What if she suspects us? She makes some little snuffly noises that don't sound fake, and I relax again, but before long my mind starts to drift, my thoughts jumble, and I have to jerk myself awake. My com is under the covers; I take a careful look and see that it's twenty minutes to two.

  What if Liam or Jasmine wake up?

  They both drank a lot of the wine, and I could tell they were both quite drunk when we got back here, but what if one of them wakes up needing a pee? Is valerian tea a diuretic?

  Every noise makes my heart thud; every breeze, every creak of a window.

  And then I hear it. At three minutes to two, my ears―which are out on fucking stalks―detect a door being opened downstairs.

  I'm itching to sit up, but I have to pretend to be asleep because this has to look real; Ginevra warned us that the cams will be examined by Security, once our supposed abduction is reported.

  At last, at last, the bedroom door opens. Slowly, slowly, not a sound. Keeping my eyes shut is so hard. What if Xav gets the wrong bed? Nula's white hair will show up in the dark, won't it?

  I hear struggling, muffled squeaks―he must have his hand over her mouth.

  I feel like I've stopped breathing.

  She must be terrified. No―I can't imagine Nula being terrified of anything. I sneak my eyes open, just a little, and in the moonlight shining between the ragged curtains I see her legs kicking out. He's struggling too; she is strong. Meanwhile, I have to lie completely still.

  Oh God, I hope he's not hurting her too much.

  I know this is the plan. I've gone over and over it in my head―if it goes wrong, if Xav has to run, it will be nothing but a failed abduction attempt, and I will not be culpable.

  It can't go wrong. It can't. This is my only chance.

  All goes quiet, which means, I hope, that he's managed to inject her with the sedative that Ginevra told us about. She'll be out of it for some hours, hopefully until after Liam and Jasmine wake up. />
  I hear something fall to the floor―the syringe?―then the next moment he's on top of me, holding my shoulders down; I give a token struggle, and feel something wet being squirted down my back.

  I feel his breath close to mine, and a whisper in my ear. "Stay still. Just let me do my thing."

  He gets off me, and I hear a ripping round from Nula's bed. Fabric. Then the next moment I'm lifted in the air, over his shoulder, and we're making our way downstairs.

  Playing dead is very, very difficult. My every instinct is to steady myself, grab on to his jumper so I won't fall. Reach out for my com. Leaving it behind already feels so weird. I'm not as bad as some, like Lori, who spend their lives glued to it, but I probably consult it over a hundred times a day.

  We go through the kitchen and out of the back door, where I open my eyes just enough to see a big guy with long hair, and Colt draped over his shoulder like a roll of carpet. We set off first and I hear Big Chap puffing along behind us, across a road and down an alley. Only then do he and Xav set us down.

  "You're good, you can stand. We’re now in the detection-free zone." Xav shakes my hand, then Colt's, and his friend follows suit. "Xav and Mick. First, your NuSens." He asks us each to shine his torch on our upper arms. "Put your hand over her mouth," he tells Colt before he removes mine, and I bite down on Colt's finger so hard that he squeals in pain, not me. Next, the iSync, in our eyebrows. Once done, he uses a Healit to administer an antibiotic shot and opioids, and seal the wounds.

  Immediately, I feel no pain.

  "We're free." Colt beams at me, white teeth in the darkness. "Pizza and drugs all round, then, right?"

  I can't get my head around this yet; I've no time to work out how it feels.

  Xav says, "Now we have to run―don't talk, and don't stop until I tell you."

  It's fucking freezing. I went to sleep in old leggings and a t-shirt; I wore leggings for extra warmth, but what I'm most aware of as we fly down the network of alleys is that I'm not wearing shoes. During the prep I asked if I could wear some, but Ginevra said, "Answer that one yourself, Rae. Would an abductor stop to put your shoes on before carrying out your unconscious body?"