The Dystopiaville Omnibus: A Dystopian Sci-Fi Horror Collection

by Mark Gillespie

  “Well then,” Jack said. All the emotion was bubbling up inside him, threatening to spill over. “You’d better start talking. Tell me what’s going on. What the hell happened to this town – to all these people, to my mom and dad, to my girlfriend? Are we under attack? Are you an alien? Am I dead, am I crazy? Tell me. I need to know for God’s sake!”

  There was a short pause. It felt like a lifetime to Jack.

  “You’re in the hospital in Portland,” the Snowman said. “You’re in a coma. That’s the truth of all this.”

  Jack screwed up his face. “What?”

  “There was an incident at school a few days ago,” the Snowman said. “Somebody brought a gun to class and shots were fired. You were hurt badly, you lost a lot of blood and lapsed into…”

  “Bullshit,” Jack said, glaring at the lifeless pebble-shaped eyes. He couldn’t see anything inside those black holes.

  “It’s true,” the Snowman said. “I understand it must be hard for you to accept. But that’s what this is Jack – you’re lying in a hospital bed and your mind is searching for the light to bring you back.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Jack said.

  “Is this really the worst outcome you can imagine?” the Snowman said. “You can wake up whenever you want, if only you’ll come to the light. Your family – your parents, Donna, your friends, they’re all gathered here at your bedside waiting for you to wake up. You know they’ll be there because they love you and they miss you. And you will wake up. You just have to…”

  Jack took a backwards step.

  “Nice try,” he said. “Sure, I can buy a light at the end of the tunnel. But you? The robot shooter? People turning into waxworks? All because I’m in a coma? Try again mister and this time tell me what’s really going on. Tell me the truth for God’s sake or I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  The Snowman didn’t respond immediately. Jack’s eyes switched back and forth between the fuzzy light and the water rising up from the street. It was close and if nothing got resolved with the Snowman, Jack would be swimming in approximately five minutes.

  He leaned closer to the Snowman. Jack concentrated hard. He thought he could hear something inside the light – not one voice but several voices all talking over one another. He took a step closer. They were angry voices. It felt like he had his head pressed up against the wall, eavesdropping on an argument in the next room.

  “Jack,” the Snowman said.

  Jack’s head snapped backwards, like he’d been caught out.

  “I want to help you,” the Snowman said. “You must remember that if I’m going to tell you the truth now. And I need something else from you – a guarantee. Will you promise to come to the light regardless of how the truth affects you? Regardless of how it makes you feel?”

  “Sure,” Jack said. “And I’ll know if it’s the truth, so no more lies.”

  The Snowman edged closer to Jack. He stopped just a few inches away and the human shape inside the light seemed to lean in closer, as if he wanted to whisper something in Jack’s ear.

  “You’re not Jack Murray,” the Snowman said.

  “What?” Jack said.

  “You’re not Jack, Jack.”

  Jack felt his skin tingling all over. A wave of dizziness swept over him and he stretched a hand out, as if to grab onto something that wasn’t there. For a second, he didn’t know where the edge of the roof was anymore. The world was a blur. His feet lost their grip on the concrete tiles and he stumbled backwards.

  “I’m not Jack Murray?” he said, blinking furiously in the rain, trying to shake off both the water and the queasiness.

  “You’re not,” the Snowman said.

  Despite the severity of the Snowman’s claim, Jack wasn’t entirely surprised. He’d known deep down that something was wrong inside his own skin. There was an identity issue and it had been nagging away at him since the weird encounter with Mrs Lancaster on Washington Street.

  There was someone else in his head.

  “If I’m not Jack Murray,” he said. “Then who am I?”

  “Your name is Vince Kutter,” the Snowman said. “Earlier this year you walked into Alexandra Falls High School and killed fourteen people and wounded many more. You were captured and what you’re experiencing now is a simulation – an innovative form of high-tech punishment called RELIVE. We’re having some problems with the technology but I guess I don’t have to tell you that. It’s not exactly a normal town right now is it?”

  Jack felt his stomach tighten. He recalled the moment when he’d unmasked Kutter on Main Street – that terrible feeling like an electric shock but far worse. Now it all made sense. Now he knew who that someone else in his head was.

  “This is prison?” Jack said. His voice was quiet, almost lost in the rain.

  “Yes it is,” the Snowman said. “Now I’ve told you the truth Jack. Will you keep your word and come back with me now? It’s a lot more comfortable on the other side, trust me. We’re going to let you sleep it off for a while. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To get some rest. Some food too?”

  By now the tavern was almost submerged underwater. The flood was inches away from spilling onto the roof.

  “So you’re trying to flood me out,” Jack said, nodding his head. “That’s what you’re doing. You need me out of here so you’re pushing me towards the exit door.”

  “It’s for your own good,” the Snowman said. “You can’t stay here forever.”

  “What if do I stay here?” Jack said. “What happens to – Kutter – if I don’t come back?”

  “If you don’t come back,” the Snowman said, “you’ll die.”

  “I’ll die?” Jack said.

  “Yes.”

  “In this world?” Jack said. “Or in your world?”

  “In both,” the Snowman said. “Jack dies. Kutter dies. And it’ll be a terrible way to go if you stay here. That’s why it’s of vital importance that you step towards me, towards the light.”

  Jack stood in a daze, his arms hanging limp at the sides. He thought back to earlier that morning when he’d stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, admiring the face of a young man with the world at his feet. A young man whose biggest worry in life was being late for school.

  “I killed fourteen people?” he said.

  “Yes,” the Snowman said. “You did.”

  Jack shook his head.

  “That’s not true,” he said.

  And yet as he spoke to the Snowman, Jack heard a barrage of gunshots in the corner of his mind. The loud cracking noise echoed in the school corridor, as did the sound of kids screaming. There were sirens wailing in the distance, getting closer and closer.

  “I’m imagining it,” Jack said, pushing the wet hair off his face. “But it didn’t happen. There’s no way I could ever hurt anyone like that.”

  “Jack Murray couldn’t hurt anyone like that,” the Snowman said. “But you’re not him. That’s just the program telling you what to think. How to feel. You’re expressing feelings based on artificial traits that are a feature of the Jack Murray simulation. You’re experiencing the world through Jack’s eyes and thinking with his mind. His personality – his good nature, his kindness, his hopes and dreams – they’re dominant here. Jack is sorry. But Kutter – you – expressed no remorse for your crimes.”

  Jack shook his head. “No,” he said. “I am sorry. Me.”

  “Let’s go now,” the Snowman said. “I told you the truth.”

  Jack hung his head. He was wet and exhausted on the outside but that was nothing compared to how he felt inside.

  “What happens?” Jack said. “What happens if I go back with you?”

  “You’ll get dry,” the Snowman said. “That’s a good start. Now c’mon, it’s time to…”

  “I’ll be in prison for the rest of my life,” Jack said. “What sort of prison is this anyway? It’s a mind prison. Who would come up with such a thing?”

  “It’ll be fine,” the Snowma
n said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Jack looked down. His shoes were disappearing under the water that was now spilling onto the roof.

  “Let’s go. Jack,” the Snowman said.

  Jack wiped the latest barrage of water off his face, a combination of rain and tears.

  “It doesn’t matter what you say about me,” he said. “I’m sorry – whether that’s Jack or Kutter speaking right now, I’m sorry. And I know that’s not enough but maybe there’s another way. You can’t expect me to go through this for the rest of my…”

  “You’re not sorry,” the Snowman said, butting in. Anger spilled into its voice now, like it had at the Octagon when Jack had mistaken the Snowman for God. “Jack’s sorry! It’s Jack’s personality that’s sorry because he was a good kid. You’re still thinking like Jack but that’s not who you are. You’re a murderer Kutter and you deserve…”

  The voice cut off suddenly.

  Jack stared into the cloud of black and white light, not sure what was happening. He leaned in closer and heard voices arguing in the background.

  The water was almost at his knees.

  There was a hiss and a scratching noise from within the light. When the Snowman spoke, it was with a different voice.

  “Hello Jack,” the Snowman said. “My name is Michael Donner and I’m your friend. Please forgive the way we spoke to you, that was out of order and the person responsible is no longer here. Don’t worry about him anymore. Please talk to us Jack. We just want to get you out of here and back to safety. Take you back somewhere warm. Doesn’t that sound good?”

  “But I’m not cold,” Jack said.

  With that, he turned his back on the Snowman.

  “And I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  He approached the edge of the roof. Jack’s eyes scoured the horizon and he saw that the entire town was underwater – it would be the lost town of Alexandra Falls from now on. But Jack knew that the real Alexandra Falls was somewhere else and that the town, along with the rest of the world, would be better off without Vince Kutter in it. Not only that, but maybe if Jack didn’t come back to the real world then he could bury Donner’s broken prison along with Kutter. Screw it up big time – it’s the least they deserved.

  No matter what Kutter did, Jack Murray couldn’t allow such a monstrosity to exist. It would be his farewell gift to the world.

  He waved to the Snowman.

  “See ya,” he said.

  Jack leaned forward like a diver on the edge of a springboard. He heard Donner begging in his ear.

  “Don’t do it!” Donner said. “Please! You’re Jack Murray. You’re a hero. Do the right thing Jack.”

  “I intend to,” Jack said.

  He dove off the edge of the Alexandra Falls Tavern and crashed headfirst into the water. Almost instantly, everything was silent and dark. There was no noise, inside or outside his mind. He couldn’t even hear the rain hitting the surface as he descended further into the peaceful depths.

  Jack glanced over his shoulder as he swam. The bright light of the Snowman had shrunk to the size of a pinhole.

  Down he went.

  Darkness flooded his mind. Water filled his lungs.

  Jack Murray’s strange odyssey was nearly over. Soon he’d float back to the surface and Kutter would be dead. RELIVE – whatever the hell it had in store for the world – would be a failure.

  And Jack for his part, would drift away with the rest of the broken characters in the broken program. And he’d keep floating until at last, somebody somewhere in the real world flipped the switch.

  The End

  Killing Floor

  Chapter 1

  The television screen went blank.

  At first no one cared. I Wanna Be a Celebrity So Badly I’ll Do Anything had been on for the last half-hour, spewing out an endless conveyer belt of dross – dancing dogs, yodelling pensioners and priests juggling on unicycles. In other words, the usual Saturday night brain rot.

  For the eight people sitting in the living room of the East Catchford farmhouse, the blank screen was an improvement.

  “That’s a real shame innit?” Brian Taylor said. Brian was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a blood red Ovation acoustic guitar resting on his lap. He’d been strumming back and forth over a G to E-minor to D chord progression for as long as the TV had been on.

  “Somebody give the telly a slap.”

  “What for?” John Jones asked, leaning back on the tattered couch. He was in the middle of rolling a joint that was shaping up to become as big as Concorde. It was a daunting task and his eyes, although bleary, were laser focused on the job. “Nobody’s watching it.”

  “I like a bit of telly in the background,” Brian said. “And you never know what sort of inspiration you’ll get from the box.”

  “Even from crap like that?” John said.

  Brian nodded. “It might throw up a good lyric or two, you never know. Go on someone, give it a slap.”

  Ollie Davies was on the couch opposite John. He was sitting next to his girlfriend Kylie and her head was pressing down on Ollie’s shoulder, which meant she was on the brink of nodding off to sleep.

  “Don’t slap it,” Ollie said, looking at Brian. At the sound of his voice Kylie removed her head from his shoulder, wiping her eyes as if she’d already been sleeping for hours. “That’s Malky’s TV. Good way to impress him innit? Trash the guy’s house.”

  Brian snorted in disgust. “Malky Hamilton’s a millionaire Ollie. He doesn’t give a fuck about that old antique. Look at it for God’s sake! I bet you Napoleon watched TV on something just like that. Anyway, Malky barely uses this house – he told us so himself, remember? He’s probably got a bloody IMAX squeezed into his house in London.”

  Ollie shrugged. “All the same Brian. It’s…”

  The TV made a shrill noise. It sounded like there was a bird trapped inside the box.

  “What the hell was that?” Dave Vincent said, edging forward on the couch. The big drummer and his girlfriend Helen were reclining on the same couch as Ollie and Kylie.

  They all stared warily at the Panasonic.

  “What’s going on?” Helen asked.

  The screen chirped for a second time and when the picture returned the reality show was gone. There were no old age pensioners gyrating to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, and no bored housewives trying to sing like Elaine Page either.

  There was a woman sitting behind a news desk. Staring at the camera in silence.

  “It’s Jane Hunt,” Brian said. There was a satisfied grin on his handsome face. “Oh yes my son, lovely jubbly.”

  Jane Hunt was a regular BBC anchor and Britain’s most recognizable mainstream news presenter. All the lads in Killing Floor had a ravenous crush on her. She had that conservative stiff-upper lip thing going on, which combined with great looks and a variety of sleeveless dresses, made her a big hit with the network. Jane Hunt was a breath of fresh air, a far cry from the usual soggy-looking British news presenters who read from the autocue in dry, flavourless voices.

  “What’s she doing on now?” Ollie asked.

  Dave took a sip of tea from the Union Jack mug in his hand. “Somebody must have died,” he said. “Check out the look on her face for God’s sake. That’s not the Jane I know and love.”

  Anna Mara, who’d been staring out of the back window for the past thirty minutes, walked across the living room with an oversized wine glass in her hand. The glass was three quarters full with a spicy Pinot Noir, which was the exact same colour as cranberry juice. She dropped onto the floor beside Brian and wrapping her arms around her man, kissed him hard on the cheek.

  Brian smiled. “What was that for love?”

  “Felt like it,” Anna said.

  “Shut up you two,” John said, passing the freshly rolled Concorde joint to his girlfriend Celia.

  “Yeah shut up,” Celia said, staring admiringly at John’s creation. “I want to hear this. I want to find out who’s dead.”


  But Jane Hunt still wasn’t talking. She was sitting there at the news desk like a conservatively dressed mannequin, showing the occasional sign of life by fidgeting with her earpiece. Behind her, Ollie thought that the inside of the TV studio resembled a lunatic asylum. White walls, freshly painted. No image cards relating to the news stories. There was a terrifying blankness to the picture.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Kylie asked.

  Finally, the news presenter cleared her throat.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Jane Hunt said. “We apologise for interrupting this evening’s broadcast of I Wanna Be a Celebrity So Badly I’ll Do Anything but we have a very important announcement to make on behalf of the British government.”

  “Bloody hell,” Dave said, his eyes narrowing in concentration. He continued to sip at the tea in his hand. “Maybe it’s the Prime Minister that snuffed it. We can only hope, eh?”

  “Shut up Dave!” Celia yelled. She grabbed her pack of Marlboro Golds off the table and threatened to throw them at the drummer.

  Jane Hunt continued: “I’d like you to brace yourself for a shock.”

  Another pause.

  “A nationwide cull of the British population will begin immediately after this special broadcast ends.”

  There was a moment’s silence in the living room. Then Brian and John howled with laughter at the exact same time.

  “Good one,” Brian said, applauding the old Panasonic telly.

  Ollie just sat there staring at the screen along with the others, wondering if Jane Hunt was being fed lines through her earpiece or, as her face suggested, she was delivering the broadcast in a state of shock.

  “What’s this all about?” Helen said, looking pale around the gills. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s a joke,” Kylie said, patting Helen’s legs. “Ain’t that right Ol?”

  Ollie nodded. “I bloody hope so.”

  “What are they culling then?” Brian asked, pushing the question through a sustained bout of laughter. “Badgers?”

  “Shut up Brian!” Dave said. “They don’t interrupt TV shows to announce badger culls do they? Either it’s a joke or it’s…”