by Ryan Gawley
Arthur returned the stare, pausing to catch his breath and regaining his composure and poise. 'You're an interesting man Sam, I’ll tell you that. I'm glad we met. Not least because you saved me from a stabbing today but I guess we’ve more in common than just rucksacks and a liking for whiskey’.
'I hear what you're saying; I think we've a bit more to talk about but I’ve to get going here, I need to get back to walk Molly. What if I stop in with you and Alice again next week? Besides, I dropped my glass when you tackled me and I’d like a chance to drink the next one.’
The two men laughed having found a common bond, shook hands and went back to the house where Alice had laid three places at the table. Sam noticed this before Alice extended a warm invitation to stay for dinner. It meant a lot to him that he was welcomed into this house despite being a stranger; something very rare in these dark times. He politely declined the offer, said his goodbyes promising to return after the weekend so he and Arthur could talk further. He pulled up the hood of his jacket and walked back out into the street hearing locks and heavy bolts being clamped in place behind him.
'Sorry Molly,' he spoke into the wind hoping his best friend in the world wouldn't be too mad at him for coming back late but he knew she'd forgive him. She always did.
CHAPTER 2
In a darkened boardroom high above the city streets flickering light from a projected display danced over the sombre faces of nine men as live feeds were patched in from surveillance cameras throughout the twin capital cities. The men betrayed no emotion as they sat around a massive marble topped table observing graphic horror in vivid detail as the sickening violence silently played out before them during the first update of the project.
After several minutes one of the nine from his seat at the head of the table discreetly clicked a faintly glowing button on a recessed console and the display faded while the room lights gently came up to full illumination. Eight figures wearing complexions as grey as their suits turned their timeworn executive chairs to face their leader, Victor Henderson. He was fifty-three years old and the only son of the city’s former senior politician from a time before the Elites overtly grabbed power. Standing five feet nine inches tall and weighing two hundred and forty pounds with blotchy red complexion, almost permanent sweat on his bare scalp and a trademark dark blue double breasted business suit straining at the seams he was the object of mockery from his subordinates but only ever in his absence. His beady yet penetrating eyes, or more the sense of something dark and wicked behind them elicited fear and obedience from those around him.
Henderson surveyed the room waiting for hush and then spoke in a deep but laboured voice. ‘As you can clearly see gentlemen, the project has begun and the initial reports are somewhat promising. Higher volumes than expected have succumbed to our efforts for which we owe thanks to Doctor Follis and his development team.’
All eyes briefly glanced to a physically withered, balding man with a neatly trimmed ginger chinstrap beard who remained silent but crossed his fingers in front of his chest and nodded to acknowledge the compliment.
Henderson continued. ‘Our agents succeeded in mixing the enhanced compounds with the regular ration supplements and these have been performing excellently. As a precaution we arranged for a small fire and an equipment malfunction to temporarily close down Central Food Plants in both Raven City and Rook City where the tainted rations were produced and distributed so as to ensure no chance of discovery until we can remove any residual evidence. However at this stage nothing could be done even if international agencies decided to investigate. The increased food shortages caused by the closing of the plants are an added bonus since they only serve to fuel tensions in the poorest areas of the Dreg sectors.’
A few quiet murmurs of approval resonated through the group before Henderson cleared his throat to signal he required silence once more. ‘As you are all aware Mr. Yardley has been working for the past two years to perfect the triggering signal which has been slipstreamed by Central Media into the video feeds to Dreg sector channels. So far all cerebral programming appears to have been silently absorbed and nothing has been observed to indicate awareness of its presence.’
The expressionless faces glanced across the table as another member of the circle quietly accepted acknowledgement of his efforts while Henderson continued to address the meeting. ‘Test patients were obtained through random abductions from Central Medical casualty wards and following extensive lab trials the combination of repeated exposure to loaded video streams and tainted food rations caused every test subject to become highly susceptible to elevated stress levels and prone to metabolic mutations when sufficient stimuli were provided although it has been found that the trigger event and level of background stress can differ between subjects. Again this serves us well in that it makes detection almost impossible. I will defer to General Curran for an update on security concerns.’
Henderson took his seat and attention turned to a tall heavily built man with tightly cropped grey hair who wore a thick well-groomed moustache and black military uniform with red insignia. ‘Thank you Victor,’ said the head of Central Command, the Elite’s security division. The informal use of Henderson’s first name visibly grated on the ineffectual leader as was the General’s intention.
Curran continued with his report. ‘I have briefed Enforcer Patrol Commanders to expect increased violence in Dreg sectors but as agreed I’ve not informed them as to the reason for this. I have stationed my most trusted men with carefully chosen squads to patrol and protect the Elite side of the sector barriers. I’m confident there is no serious cause for concern at this time and I feel it is not necessary to alert the Elite population.’ The General brushed the ends of his luxurious moustache with a stout finger for a moment using the brief silence to focus his next point. ‘However I would like to take this opportunity to voice my concern that despite increased indoctrination programs, recruitment levels among the Dreg sectors remain low meaning existing forces will be stretched and could well be overrun in certain areas. As a precaution senior personnel should instruct family members to remain strictly within Elite residential areas as there is still a small danger of violence breaking through the sector barricades.’
‘Thank you General,’ said Henderson quickly rising to speak, indicating he had heard enough and so reasserting his authority. ‘I’m sure with you in charge at Central Command we have nothing to fear but none the less we should all encourage our families to stay off the streets as you advise. Your forces are capable of containing this problem I have no doubt.’
What Henderson didn’t add was the other members of the Upper Council had agreed without the General's knowledge that while additional security forces would be required it would be wise to secretly restrict funding and via other channels hinder recruitment. Their efforts were to prevent the ranks of the military wing swelling to proportions that may lead the General to consider challenging the Council for leadership. It was Henderson’s personal intention for troop numbers to be decimated.
‘Well gentlemen I believe that brings us up to date. As you now know the project has begun and initial indications are that the Dregs will tear themselves apart as hoped. Those that do not turn will be destroyed by those that do. The panic and confusion will lead to many other casualties and whatever small number of Dregs remain will be easily gathered and forced to work in our service. After all we still need someone to do the dirty jobs.’ Henderson laughed and was immediately but nervously accompanied by his colleagues. ‘We’ll meet here again in one week but further updates will be sent twice daily.’ Henderson hoisted his bulk from his chair to indicate the meeting had ended. ‘Until then gentlemen, good day.’
Once the session had concluded and the Upper Council members had filed out of the room Henderson pressed another button on his console. He placed a call to his driver requesting his car be brought to the underground garage from where he would be transported in secure luxury over the short distance to the tallest t
ower in Raven City, the top two floors of which Henderson enjoyed as his personal residence.
Like many of the Elites he chose to live in a tower block where the elevated position provided security but in Henderson’s case it also massaged the ego of a man who believed in every way he should be seen as being above all others. The lower five floors of each building were reserved for exclusive shops or office space while the floors above these levels were occupied by the city’s rich inhabitants with price and luxury climbing proportionately with distance from the street below. This hierarchy served to remind everyone of who was above whom in the social pecking order and of course clearly showed who was currently on top. Each of the nine members of the Upper Council lived in a different penthouse atop individual towers but the grandest of all was Henderson’s only for as long as he retained his seat of power.
CHAPTER 3
Waking on the couch with Molly whining softly and licking his face Sam looked about his apartment in a bleary-eyed haze. The golden retriever wagged her tail excitedly upon seeing her master awake at last as she yearned for affection and some food for her empty dish.
'Breakfast time already girl?' Sam groaned sleepily, sitting up slowly, rubbing his face and stretching to try and ease the knots in his back.
Another night had passed and again Sam hadn't managed to stumble to his bed but instead had lain sprawled on the couch where he'd drunkenly slipped into restless sleep. A weak grey light shone through the thin fabric of cheap curtains silhouetting an impressive collection of empty beer cans and a mostly finished whiskey bottle which were strewn on the floor and across a low wooden coffee table.
Ignoring the throbbing in his head Sam stumbled to the back of the joint kitchen and living area. Checking the condition of a rusted can of dog food the faded details on the torn label were enough to identify it as chicken flavour. He peeled back the lid using the provided ring pull and scraped a third of the foul smelling contents into a metal food dish mixing the meat with dry kibble. With such a hangover it was close to unbearable but he'd not eaten yet and managed to hold his stomach while he wrapped the can in an old plastic bag and set it on the top shelf in the door of his fridge to save for later. While he was there he took one of three filter jugs from the bottom shelf, poured and immediately drank a large glass of cool water for himself then filled a bowl for Molly setting it down beside her as she hungrily chased the last few morsels around her dish. He poured another glass for himself draining the jug then refilled it with cloudy brown water from the kitchen tap and set it back in the fridge to slowly drip through the filter. He checked the salad drawer which was empty except for a single remaining filter cartridge. It was still sealed in its protective packaging but he knew he’d have to find something to trade soon or else clean water would be off the menu.
'I can't keep doing this Molly,' he said as the throb in his head continued to pound a painful rhythm. The dog acknowledged him by briefly looking up from her water bowl and cocking her head as if in understanding. 'A little celebration at leaving that hell-hole and it's lasted three days now, time to clean up a bit eh?'
He trudged to the bathroom sink and splashed water over the stubble on his head then began scraping the stubble from his face and felt slightly more human again. Back in the kitchen he fried the last of the fatty bacon and the duck eggs he’d bought from the market as a final luxury, washed them down with a large mug of strong black coffee then changed into his jogging shorts and stepped into the old running shoes he kept under his bed. 'Molly, get your lead, we're going out'.
Sam had saved Molly one freezing night when he found her under a bridge near his apartment. She had been abandoned but instead of allowing her to fend for herself some cruel bastard had locked her in a discarded shipping crate where she would have frozen to death had Sam not heard her whimpering and freed her. She followed him home that night and they'd been together since. She was a very clever dog and obedient but still liked doing things her own way at times which Sam found equally frustrating and endearing.
Molly got her lead from where it always hung over a narrow table in the hall and came to Sam, tail wagging wildly and looking up at him with the lead in her mouth.
'Only a short run today Molly, I'm not feeling too good just yet.'
Sam liked to get some exercise as regularly as he could and found the best way to clear a hangover was to sweat it out in the fresh air and to get the blood pumping round his body. Even if the idea seemed like hell at first it always made him feel better afterwards.
There was a park nearby that he liked to run in so he and Molly made their way toward it at a slow jog. It used to be a well-kept public space but now like everything else it had been abandoned to gradually decay. The carefully mown lawns were now meadows of tall grass and the manicured flower beds were overgrown with weeds and wild flowers. The benches had been broken up for firewood long ago and the paths were covered in moss and cracked where weeds had pushed up through the uneven tarred surface. Ducks, swans and rabbits among other native wildlife had returned and populated the more natural areas which was one of the reasons Sam liked this place, it felt real to him amongst the manmade forest of concrete and steel.
After running a loop of a few miles Sam was exhausted, the previous few days of heavy drinking had drained his stamina. 'This is kill or cure Molly but I think I'll live another day,' he gasped, struggling for breath as he steadied himself on a rusted railing at the edge of the park and stretched his calf muscles. He told himself he needed to clean up and get in shape again. He'd had a nagging feeling for as long as he could remember that he needed to stay fit, to be ready.
Returning home Sam found a letter in his mailbox, one of a vast wall of similar boxes in the entrance hall to the building. He hadn’t received a personal letter since moving into his apartment but he was in the habit of checking the mailbox each day, just in case. He had however received a few letters from Central Control who issued fines and infringement notices in drab recycled grey envelopes and Sam’s mood sunk upon discovering another official notification.
‘What the hell is it this time?’ he wondered aloud, slamming the door of his mailbox shut. He stopped short of ripping the letter to pieces knowing that settling the fine was better than an eventual visit from the Enforcers due to non-payment.
Once he and Molly were safely back in his apartment and the door secured Sam opened his windows to freshen the air and swept his arm across the living room table to clear a space, threw the letter down, got some water for himself and Molly then hit the shower to scrub off the rancid sweat he had worked up from his run.
He finished dressing in a clean pair of faded blue boot cut jeans and a plain black t-shirt and sat down prepared to deal with the dreary envelope but before opening it he was interrupted by a bang on his door. Sam didn't get many visitors and anyone calling would buzz the intercom at the building entrance. He ran to his bedroom and grabbed the old wooden baseball bat he kept by his bed and returned to the apartment door to look through the spy-hole. With a sigh he relaxed his grip on the bat, slid the locking bolt aside and opened the door to his neighbour from the apartment across the hall.
'Hi Pete, what's up?' asked Sam making no effort to hide his irritation.
Pete was an administrative manager for Central Distribution and his position led him to consider himself superior to most other workers but to the Elites he was just a Dreg like all the rest. Pete was also completely inept at household maintenance or any kind of technical repair. Sam knew both these things about Pete and could have chosen to ignore him considering Pete’s usual condescending attitude but he was harmless all the same. Also the change in Pete's personality when he needed a favour amused Sam so he tolerated him.
'Ah, sorry to bother you Sam, I wouldn't ask except my recyc-chute is jammed and my rubbish is backing up in here and you know how long it takes to get Central Services out. I tried calling on you yesterday but it sounded like you were having a party or something.'
'Yeah,
a party for one,' Sam muttered under his breath. 'Alright, let me get my boots on and grab my tools and I'll take a look for you.'
By the time Sam was finished with his repairs it was late, he needed another shower and to get something to eat. He also had to take Molly out for another walk and when he got back he was so tired he crawled into his bed for the first time in three days and slept a deep dreamless sleep until morning.
Sam awoke feeling clear headed and fed Molly before getting washed and making himself a simple breakfast of porridge made from oats and water washed down with black coffee. When he had finished eating he set aside his bowl and grumpily snatched the grey envelope from the table deciding just to pay the damn fine and try get on with his day. He opened the official paper and was surprised to find it blank but folded inside was a handwritten letter. He immediately recognised the writing as that of his girlfriend Lucy.
They had met years earlier at a mutual friend's thirtieth birthday party in a bar in downtown Rook City and that night they were intoxicated by each other more so than their drinks. They dated for a short while and then on a whim, seized an opportunity and sold nearly all they owned to go travelling around the world together for several months. They had the happiest time of their lives on that trip, fully embracing the freedom of hitching rides as it suited them, casually drifting from one place to the next, enjoying the adventure of the seemingly endless road and discovering more about each other as their bond deepened. It all happened just a year before Central Command had declared martial law and enclosed both their cities behind massive makeshift walls meaning it was now near impossible to travel even around their own small island country.
