If she had been there only moments before, she would have seen the paint lift from the buildings and the cars as the heat wave tore through. She would have watched as the nebulous wave ripped across the land as if it had been cast out from the sky. She would have seen the trees buckle under the force of the highest winds, hundreds of years old oaks destroyed as if they were nothing but saplings. If she were higher up, she would be able to see the fireball galloping towards her, only minutes away from where she stood. She looked outside, her mouth wide open, hypnotised by the sight of destruction all around her. In that moment she heard nothing of the footsteps behind her as she watched the tempest growing in strength. Her father scooped her into his arms and carried her like a limp ragdoll, jiggling about over his shoulder.
“Don’t look at it, Emily,” he said, and she closed her eyes, dust falling from her eyelashes with each step he took.
She clung to his neck like a small child as he negotiated the stairs. Step after step they travelled down into the dark. She sensed the light disappearing through her closed eyelids. Even the kaleidoscopic light patterns that usually played out there, which were always most vibrant right before sleep, failed to appear.
When her father stopped running she dared to pull her head from inside the creases of his neck. They were in a large room, sparsely decorated and crammed full of people. He sat on the floor, Emily cradled in his arms like a baby, his fingers weaving in and out of her hair as he kissed her forehead. When he pulled his lips away they were covered in dust. She saw her mother at her side, her lips pressed into the cross which she wore around her neck, her head rocking backwards and forwards.
“Sir?” a voice said above them. The big man from the lift. The man who had first pulled her out. He had saved them all, perhaps?
“Yes, Vincent?”
“The site is secure.” She felt her father nod and his grip tighten.
“And the others?”
“Sir, we won't know anything until they transmit the first of the reports. We expect that won't be for several hours. Perhaps days.” The big man who had saved her life, and who Emily now knew as Vincent smiled at her before standing up straight and walking away.
“Daddy?” Emily said. Her breath fluctuated against his neck, and it sent a tingle racing across his scalp just like in the first days after her birth. Her breath was hot, and he thought how the life within her offered him more comfort than any of the preparations around him.
“Yes, baby?” he asked.
“When are we going to go home?”
He swallowed hard before saying, “We are home, baby,” and he stroked her damp cheeks with his thumb. Her mother was still praying, and there was somebody close by who was crying. The same women from the lift? She could hear their snivelling and somehow in spite of everything that was already happening, it was this sound that seemed unbearable. It was the sad whimper for a life lost. Some people were moving about by torchlight, men dressed as Vincent was. Some women too. One of them had jet black hair, like a raven, shiny like a white swan caught in an oil slick. She smiled at Emily, who mustered a half smile in return, before the woman continued to hand out blankets to people nearby, assisted by her torch. Vincent came back, draped a blanket over Emily, and stroked her hair before he stood up. She closed her eyes and thought about the log fire that they wouldn’t light in their real home at Christmas. She thought about the table that she wouldn't set on Sunday and how the fancy bone-handled knives somehow didn't seem so fancy anymore. She peeped underneath the blanket at her T-shirt and realised that she could try all she liked, and protest all she wanted. She could imagine the impossible to be possible, or disbelieve what she was told to be true. She could want and hope and dream of a different life, but in this moment she realised that there is only ever one version of reality. The one you are in. It didn't matter how bleak or hopeless it was. But more than anything she realised that sometimes to do nothing was the only choice you had.
Chapter Five
Do you wake up in the morning feeling negative and tired? Do you crave sleep when you have just woken up? Does your skin look grey, even when you have just finished bathing? You could be suffering from a low blood count. Now, at the special price of only one hundred and twenty credits......
The same voice over and over all day long. It was the same advert. He had heard it three times already this morning. Zack was getting to the point where he was beginning to wonder if his skin really was that grey, or if he was just being programmed to believe it to be. He turned over on the flimsy metal bed that reminded him of a Victorian hospital, the mattress and springs creaking under the shift in weight. Leonard had already fallen asleep when Zack got back from the bar last night, so he had discarded the pillow at the side of the door. At least he thought he had been asleep. He couldn't really remember. He pulled his own pillow over his face. It was too thin and old to be deemed comfortable, and it had an aroma that was something like morning breath mixed with dust. He sandwiched his fists against his ears, muffling the sounds of life in Delta Tower.
Register now for your chance to wake up feeling fresher, revitalised, with a whole new perspective on life. Say goodbye to the early morning blues. The Omega Transfusion can give you a new outlook and a fresh start. Start feeling like your Omega-self today.
Zack scrunched his eyes tighter than his fists at the sides of his head. He sucked in the smell of the dusty pillow. He started humming in an effort to stifle the sounds as they played out in the corridor, those that offered the chance of another reality that he wasn't a part of.
“Fuck you, Omega,” he screamed into the pillow, before coughing up the dust that was settling at the back of his throat. Even the thought of the words scrolling along the bottom of the screen, Blood taken only from Omega Tower Citizens, was enough to piss him off. He pulled the pillow from his face, tossed it across the room, the corner of it landing in his water bucket. As if having the blood of somebody from Omega running through his veins would give him a glimpse of The Omega Life, or make him start feeling like his Omega-self, whatever that was. Human, maybe, he mused.
Do you wake up itching first thing in the morning? Do you suffer with red patches on your wrists or armpits? You could be suffering from scabies. Be a responsible citizen of New Omega and STOP the scabies mite now! Your tower is your responsibility. For only eighty credits you can be treated quickly and effectively and your pain and itching can be eradicated. Treatment is available now in your tower.
Zack tossed left and right, a scream bubbling just underneath the surface like the growl of a lion. Was there was no drowning it out? He would have found the eighty credits, damn it, even the one hundred and twenty if paying it would stop the adverts. He always felt like this after one of Ronson's concoctions. Why did he never learn? He shot up from the bed like one of the old springs of the mattress had finally broken free, his head pounding.
“I haven’t got it!” he yelled at nobody. “I haven’t got scabies. I haven’t got.....” He was interrupted by the knocking of his door. He opened it to see Leonard standing on the other side in the same clothes he was in the night before, just like Zack was wearing, and just like every other citizen of Delta Tower. There was a small group of children playing musical rags in the corridor, only it was without the music because none of the children were old enough to know what real music sounded like. In its place they sang the perma-happy jingles from the adverts as if they too were conspiring with Omega Tower to get you to work harder for extra credits. Brainwashing, Zack thought.
“So, you haven’t got scabies. I think the whole of level thirty knows that now.” Leonard was smiling, an impulse of anticipation running through him. “But you do look terrible,” he said as he began inspecting Zack's face, even raising a thumb up to his cheek and pulling down on it so that he could see the inside of his eye socket. “Didn’t you sleep last.....” He stopped talking as his eyes fell on the pillow that Zack had discarded by the door. “Is that it? Is that for me?” Leonard didn’t
wait for a reply and instead crouched down, one hand on his knee for support, and scooped up the cushion as if he was picking up a newborn baby.
“Yeah, that’s it,” said Zack, calming down thanks to the distraction of conversation. “Told you I would get it. You were asleep when I got back. I could hear you snoring.” This was a lie, but it could have been true. The dust in Delta irritated Leonard's nose and not many sleeps passed without Zack being disturbed by Leonard's breathing.
Leonard caressed and squeezed the pillow with his crooked fingers, oblivious to the marks and stains on the cover which no doubt penetrated all the way through. He folded it over double and with both hands brought it up to his ear, tipping his head lopsided to meet it. Without another word Leonard began hobbling out of Zack’s room and into his own, where he placed the pillow on top of another one, equally thin and stained, and he swung his feet up onto the bed. Zack followed him to the door. It was hard not to feel sad that such a small and pathetic offering could instil such contentment, but Leonard’s feelings were genuine. Contentedness was a hard emotion to evoke in Delta Tower. He imagined, in any of the towers. Perhaps with the exception of Omega, where no doubt everybody always felt like their Omega-self.
“Are you sure you didn’t get in trouble for this?” Zack shook his head. “It’s wonderful. Tonight I’ll be able to sleep and tomorrow I’ll be able to meet my quota, save up my credits.”
“It was no problem,” Zack said, feeling pleased at the positivity that his actions had created. He had made somebody happy. He had made somebody's life easier. If only he had learnt to do that before the bombs came. “Plus, I got a little something for my efforts.” Leonard sat up, looked at Zack as if he were looking over an invisible pair of glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
“You ought to stay away from that stuff they concoct down there. Go down, do your business, and get out. You don’t know what they're cooking up.”
“An escape, my friend,” said Zack as he pushed Leonard aside and tested out the pillows. He pursed his lips in experimental appreciation. “Not bad. Not bad.” He sat back up, both of them on the edge of the bed like a couple of nervous teenagers. “Don’t worry about me, Leo. I’m alright.”
“You won’t be if you take that junk.” Leonard shook his head left to right, disappointed that it was his request that had sent him down there. “At least I know why you look so rough today.”
“I always look this rough,” Zack said standing up. “Shall we?” Zack pulled Leonard's ration card from the wall-mounted box and handed it to him as they left the room.
After Zack had retrieved his own card, he and Leonard walked along the corridors to the Food Hall. There were three Food Halls in Delta tower. One on fifth, which was only for the Guardians. They were the people who worked for the Department for Behavioural Regulation and Order, and they supposedly protected the tower and kept order. There were stories of improved rations, better food, and you only had to look one of the Guardians to know it was true. Fifth floor was like their epicentre, as legendary and elusive as the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. There was no other place in Delta Tower where you would find a higher concentration of Guardians all in one place, or so he had heard. You couldn't even get through the doors of fifth floor, and the lift needed a key in order to select that destination. There was another on the upper floors, forty seventh Zack thought, where nobody bothered to go if they didn't have to. The other was on twenty fifth, the place that Zack and Leonard ate.
“You do know they have announced another lottery, don’t you?” Leonard said, breaking the silence as they pushed open the doors to the Food Hall. The noise hit Zack like a mallet right between the eyes. His head was throbbing and he needed water. Stat.
“No,” Zack said, his head shooting round, his eyes following shortly afterwards. His brain felt like it was grating against his skull. Whatever was in that tablet, or the Moonshine, had left him feeling like utter shit. He had obviously missed the news about the lottery in the same way he had missed the first bell. But with the thought of another lottery it was impossible not to allow the mind to wander into the realm of fantasy. Just imagine the outcome if his number, eight thousand six hundred and fifty two, was the number drawn. Without thinking, the thumb from his right hand reached over and worked its way over the black numbers and triangle tattooed onto his left wrist.
“Yeah. It was announced last night. I'm surprised that you didn't hear anything about it on your way back upstairs.”
“I was pretty wasted,” Zack admitted. Leonard shook his head again. “When will it be?” He looked around the Food Hall at the people waiting in line. At first he had thought his headache responsible for his intolerance of the noise, but on second glance he could see that there was a buzz about the place. A new Omega Lottery always did this to people. It stirred them up, gave them a new topic, a new hope. It was the Cinderella tale that everybody hoped would be theirs.
“They just announced soon.” The excitement on Leonard's face had been replaced by a hint of something from the past. Disappointment. Zack could detect it well. It was the last emotion he took with him from the old world. “You know, that stuff has really started messing with your brain, Zachary. What am I going to tell you? Next Saturday? What day do you think it is today? Neither of us have a clue what day it is so how would they be able to announce when it will be?” Zack couldn't bring himself to agree, even though he knew Leonard was right. He reached over and picked up a food tray, hoping that eating would help his hangover.
The time between now and the lottery would be different to normal. People would be talkative, interested in their neighbour all of a sudden. There would be sporadic outbreaks of fighting and arguments over items like water, food, or clothing. People no longer knew how to manage how they felt, because they had got so used to not feeling anything positive that when you threw excitement and hope into the mix it disrupted the balance. With the lottery happening, people would be bombarded by emotions which they had buried. The realisation of what their lives had become would surface. Like oil on water. A new lottery disturbs their ability for acceptance. They realise for one person there will be another future. That it could be them. That there might be something left worth fighting for, even if the battle is out of their hands. Zack wondered if Leonard knew that he wasn’t eligible on account of his age. Perhaps he was just playing along, like with a television game show at home with no chance at the cash prize.
“Your tray,” said the server. Zack handed it over, chipped and worn and only just about serviceable. Into it the server placed a ladle of porridge, salt and sugar free Zack assumed, if his memory of those tastes served him well. There was a small square of bread that tasted like half-baked dough and was always flat and unleavened. Leonard was ahead, already sitting at one of the tables. Zack walked over, acknowledging a few familiar faces as he did.
“There is no point in this lottery anyway. I’m not saying that it’s not a nice idea,” Zack said as he sat down next to Leonard. “But tell me. How does the Omega Lottery help?” The adverts were streaming in over the hum of the crowd. The television was louder today, no doubt turned up to account for the extra excitement. This one was advertising better-quality antibiotics. Zack took a mouthful of tasteless porridge. “When it's over we’ll all feel like shit again because we all lost another chance. I've told you before, nobody ever wins from Delta.”
“But just think of the person who does win,” Leonard mused, his eyes glazing over as he stared ahead, lost in a dream. The call of hunger lured him back, and he picked up his spoon and shovelled the porridge into his mouth. “Imagine a different life. Haven’t you seen the lobby of Omega? They still have the trees. They play a new sky program over there now, projected onto the windows. You see daylight all day long. Until you choose to turn it off. It's as if there is life beyond the walls.”
“It’s not real daylight,” Zack replied, more cynically than intended. He could imagine it all right. He had seen the adverts, and he knew wha
t it looked like. Compared to where he lived now, it looked like heaven. It hurt to think of it. It made reality worse. More real.
“I know it’s not real daylight,” Leonard said, undisturbed, his spirit unimpeded. “But it’s a start. Imagine not having to look at that all day long.” Leonard motioned his spoon towards the window and Zack’s eyes followed his hand. The grey clouds hung as low as ever, the buildings sat desolate, destroyed, and empty of life. Most of them had been razed from the soil. Only the distant towers of Gamma, Theta, and Zeta were visible from here. Zeta had to be over two miles away. Their nearest neighbour. From the Food Hall on level twenty five they couldn't see Omega at all.
“You don’t need their sky program,” Zack said. “God himself is shining down on you, isn’t he?” Leonard's face contorted from confusion. “Lights that only you can see coming through the clouds, remember? Sunlight just for you like some sort of message from above. You must be the next disciple. Maybe you're The One. I should start calling you Neo.” Zack gave him a nudge in the arm, but his joke seemed as tasteless to Leonard as the food.
“Who is Neo?” Leonard asked.
“Never mind,” Zack laughed.
“I know what you think.” Leonard pulled his tray in closer to him, stirred his lump of porridge. “But you’re wrong. It’s happening. I can feel it and I can see that the world is waking up.” He poked his spoon at the unleavened bread. It cracked into tiny pieces. “Can’t even make bread, stupid son of a.....”
“Hey, OK,” Zack said as he rested his hand on Leonard's shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make fun.” Leonard looked up at Zack and pushed his plastic food tray away. Zack reached across and pulled it back towards him. “Come on. Don’t leave your food.” Leonard jabbed at the shrapnel-like pieces of bread and scooped them into the compartment with the porridge.
The Dawn: Omnibus edition (box set books 1-5) Page 5
