Escape To Survive

by Ryan Gawley

  Their trip had been cut short when Lucy received word from her aunt Susan that her father had died. Lucy was devastated and upon their return she moved to live with her aunt in Raven City on the mid-west coast, the opposite side of the country to Rook City. Lucy had been mostly raised by Susan since her mother died when she was very young and her father had to work terribly long hours doing his best to provide for all three of them. Now her aunt was about the only family she had left so Sam understood why Lucy felt she had to go. He had planned to save some money and follow Lucy in a few months when she felt ready but the city had been barricaded and locked down shortly after their return and any unauthorised travel earned a trip to the labour camps far to the south.

  Despite the difficult years that followed Sam and Lucy still cared deeply for each other and had vowed to remain in contact hoping one day they would work out a way to be together again. Since the collapse, mobile phone usage was limited to those areas where the network infrastructure was reasonably maintained. This meant only certain areas in the Elite sectors had access so Sam and Lucy had to rely on weekly coded conversations via the state provided multimedia screens which were mandatorily installed in every home and operated via remnants the old hardwired telephone network infrastructure.

  This was the first actual letter he had received from Lucy in all the time they had known each other. He read slowly as she expressed how much she missed him and was so looking forward to when they could see one another again. She spoke of things they couldn’t freely discuss online and Sam felt a pang of grief in his chest, longing to hold her and tell her how much he loved her and that everything would be ok. He clutched the letter tightly and savoured every precious word.

  The tone changed now as she wrote of her concern for events she'd witnessed in Raven City. There seemed to be much more street violence where she lived, people were reporting disappearances of family and friends and there were greater numbers of Enforcer patrols than before. She finished her letter cryptically saying she had wonderful news but it was also terrible and she hoped they could meet in person soon so she could tell him all about it.

  She sounded scared and Sam was worried about her. The times in which they lived meant a little paranoia was healthy for survival and he understood her reasons for taking the risk to send a written letter. While the net-screens were reported to provide secure communications the service was provided by a division of Central Media and so in reality every conversation was closely monitored. The traditional postal service was redundant now and utilised only by Central Control for official notifications. Citizens occasionally used the postal network to exchange private messages but it was dangerous and expensive. Bribes had to be paid in order for the message to be manually directed to the intended recipient meaning a letter often passed through several hands before it was discreetly inserted into one of the grey envelopes at Central Distribution.

  Sam wondered what made Lucy so excited and yet so afraid she could only tell him in person. It was time to talk with Arthur.

  'Molly, get your lead, we're going out'.

  CHAPTER 4

  ‘You’ll find him at Kenny’s Bar.’ Alice whispered to Sam through a narrow opening in the doorway of her home. Although she’d met him the previous week and he seemed to be a good person she kept a heavy security chain on the inside of the door firmly in place and spoke through the gap.

  ‘No bother Alice, thanks,’ said Sam turning to leave. ‘And be sure to bar your door again,’ he added so as to indicate he took no offence from her caution.

  Molly pulled on her lead and excitedly led the way forward as if she knew where they were going from hearing Alice speak the name. Kenny’s Bar was a run-down dump but was also a real pub, one of the last in a city full of sterile, centrally sanctioned and operated Shot Joints which sold only sub-grade alcohol infused with a variety of synthesised flavours in pre-packaged vials.

  Kenny’s was located on the outer edge of the city and the nearest place to Sam’s side of town you could go for a poured drink that wasn’t illegally brewed in a shed or an attic. Sometimes you just need to sit at the bar with kindred spirits even if the only conversation is to order another round from the barman.

  It was a clear sunny morning and the wet streets reflected the low sun dazzling Sam as he and Molly made their way to a dilapidated single story building which proudly stood alone among waste ground and piles of rubble, the sole survivor of a once prosperous area. Ken had stubbornly refused to sell his pub to developers and while the other buildings were bought and demolished around him he and his patrons sat in the dark interior listening to the roars of machinery clearing the way for a better future of which they had no interest in being a part. In the end the money dried up and nothing had been rebuilt in the desolate space so the old bar sat alone, depressed but for many still a refuge.

  Sam pulled on the tarnished brass handle opening the door and vented a blast of fuggy air from the pub’s dreary interior. He let Molly go in first but held tightly to her lead. Most places wouldn’t allow dogs but Sam came here often enough and Ken didn’t mind dogs in his bar so long as they were quiet, housebroken and their owners were putting cash in his register. As he stood at the door allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom Sam looked around for Arthur but couldn’t see him. There were three men spaced out at the bar which ran along the left side of the narrow room, all were apparently alone with their thoughts and their drink. A young couple in their early twenties were snuggled in a booth toward the back right corner and to Sam’s immediate right on a table beneath the opaque front window were half a glass of some deep amber liquor and a battered novel laid open with its spine facing upward. The only sounds were quiet giggling from the young couple and a low mutter from a drunk sitting at the far end of the bar.

  ‘Alright Ken, how’s yourself?’ Sam asked approaching the bar.

  Ken Byron was a short man at five feet six inches tall but with wide shoulders, seemingly no neck and arms as thick most men’s legs he was an imposing figure. His bullish stature helped him keep order in his bar single-handedly on many occasions but he’d gathered a collection of scars over the years the most striking of which was a raggedly healed gash on the right side of his face running in a diagonal curve from ear to chin where Ken had been just too late pulling back from a broken bottle slashed at his face. No one had seen the drunk who gave him the scar after that night and although he was probably smart enough not to come back it was rumoured Ken had more than evened the score and that the attacker was buried somewhere in the waste ground surrounding the bar. True or not it suited Ken to keep that rumour in circulation.

  ‘Haven’t seen you in a while, usual is it?’ asked the bar owner and without waiting for a response he proceeded to pour a pint of dark ale for Sam and a small amount of the same beer into an old glass ashtray for Molly.

  As he was paying for the drinks Sam heard a door at the rear of the bar creak open.

  ‘Bloody hell Ken, the stench in there gets worse every time I go in.’

  ‘Aye, well it’s funny you say that because the air out here gets fresher when you leave.’

  ‘You could at least throw some water down the urinals, smart arse!’

  Ken and Arthur laughed heartily at the easy going verbal exchange although it was true the neglected plumbing required urgent attention. Carrying drinks for himself and Molly, Sam turned to greet the old man, his new friend, as he passed the bar.

  ‘Ah Sam, it’s good to see you. I take it Alice told you I was here? Come on, I’m over by the window.’

  The two men settled at the small round table and Sam set Molly’s dish of beer on the floor where she lapped thirstily at the cold liquid treat. It wasn’t something she got often but Sam knew she’d lie down quietly and let him enjoy his pint if she got a drop too.

  Arthur and Sam caught up on what had been happening over the past few days and spoke again of the night Sam had helped the older man. Both men knew they had more serious matters to discuss bu
t neither at this point knew the other’s perspective, only that it was likely one they both shared. Arthur got another round of drinks and Sam, leaving Molly to contentedly doze on the floor, walked over to the old jukebox and selected several favourite classic rock tunes. The machine was an antique but just like the rest of the bar it somehow stubbornly hung on and continued to entertain when called upon. He figured some music would provide cover for their conversation and besides, it was nearly midday and about time to wake things up a bit.

  Taking his cue as the music filled the silence Arthur had a sip from his glass. ‘So tell me Sam, the other night in my shed when you saw my, ah, my camping equipment. You gave the impression you used to be a bit of an outdoorsman yourself? Although I don’t suppose there’s many city folks have appreciation for nature anymore.’

  Sam considered his reply as he took a long pull of his pint, carefully watching the old man’s eye for a sign that would warn him to steer off the conversation and make a swift exit. Even though Arthur seemed trustworthy caution was needed here.

  ‘Well, years ago I used to enjoy camping is all and it just seemed we might have something in common, you have a lot of gear and you like to keep your pack in good order, I know I do myself. But since the walls went up I’ve not been outside the city and I wouldn’t have thought an old man like you would risk getting shot to go hiking.’

  ‘Alright Sam, I think I can trust you and I think you want to trust me so let’s cut through the bullshit.’ Momentary silence returned as the jukebox shuffled between songs so Arthur swirled a melting ice cube in his glass with his finger, glancing around the bar until the next track played. ‘I’m planning to escape the city. You’ve seen the increased patrols, right? You know it’s getting worse out on the streets and conditions in all the Dreg sectors are getting really out of hand. You don’t have to be my age to remember a time before the crash when things were better. Still bad but not like this. Something is coming Sam, I don’t know what but it will be big and very bad. Me and Alice, we plan to leave, try and make it to the west coast, I have a cousin there and he has a house near a small harbour, practically deserted now there’s no private fishing boats allowed at sea. If we can get there we might be left alone and maybe we’ll have a chance. It sounds crazy but that’s my story, so now, what’s yours?’

  Listening to the old man tell of his plans Sam knew he was right to seek him out and confide in him. ‘Arthur, you’re very direct, I appreciate that. After last week I knew I had to find you again, to talk to you and I’m glad I stopped at your house for that drink or we wouldn’t be here now. I keep an ear to the ground myself and I’ve been preparing like you. Me and Molly can clear out if we need to. My family are from the mountains in the northwest. They abandoned the house, all got on the boats years ago when Central Control started to restrict marine traffic but I stayed. I don’t know how many times I’ve wished I went with them but I stayed for Lucy. I’ve thought of just getting out of this damn city and trying to make it to the old house, maybe getting further from there but I guess you can also get trapped in a place by nothing more than habit and situation.’

  Sam took another pull on his pint. ‘I got a letter from Lucy the other day. I think it’s about time to go’.

  'What was in this letter?' asked Arthur and Sam explained how the same increasing sense of unease, the escalating violence and Enforcer patrols were happening in Lucy's city now too. It was getting serious and they knew those that stayed in the city would suffer the worst of whatever was to come.

  'See Arthur, that's the thing, I plan to get out, same as you. I'm heading to the forest and mountains at home but I can't leave Lucy. I have to get to her and bring her with me but it means sneaking out of the city and hoping Lucy can get out of Raven City to meet me and Molly on the road somewhere. It'll be dangerous but we have to try.'

  Arthur stared at the wet circles on the table-top for a moment, thinking things through and then suddenly slammed down his glass as he reached some conclusion.

  'Well Sam, seems to me we're in this together now. It'll be safer if we travel together and for the most part we'll all be heading west anyway.'

  'Aye, well that sounds like a good idea for sure, but what about Alice, will she be okay with it?'

  'Don't worry, I’ll talk it over with her. Alice likes you, when she hears about today I know she'll be on board and glad of the company. I’d say she'll feel safer for having you with us on the road.'

  'Okay then, we'll make our way west together until you have to turn south along the coast, at least we'll be able to watch each other's backs till then,' said Sam. 'I say we don’t hang about, we leave tomorrow, before it's too late, if that'll work for you and Alice.'

  Arthur said he wanted to wait a day to speak with Alice and Sam agreed another day would be fine; it would give him time to contact Lucy, tell her the plan and make arrangements to meet on the road east of Raven City. The two men shook hands to cement their deal.

  'This calls for another pint!' Sam exclaimed as he got up and walked to the bar. He was happy to have found a companion for the journey ahead and excited now at the prospect of seeing Lucy again. He was concerned however that his travel companions were an elderly couple and hoped they wouldn't be slowed down too much but Arthur could handle himself and he felt Alice would manage okay too. Molly of course would be her happy, excitable self.

  'What's got you two in such a good mood?' enquired Ken from behind his bar, mildly interested to know what was cause for celebration.

  'Ah, nothing really Ken, it's just that Arthur found twenty quid in his coat pocket and the wife doesn't know about it so we're making good use of it while we can!' Sam laughed hoping he sounded convincing.

  'It’s good with me, as long as you’re spending it in my place,' said Ken grumpily and seemed to immediately lose interest again, much to Sam's relief. The escape from the city would be difficult enough without worrying who might have overheard their conversation and informed the patrols.

  Ken poured a generous measure of whiskey into a rocks glass and began filling a pint glass from one of the two working beer taps when the front door to the bar crashed open with enough force to swing it hard on its hinges and bang against the wall shattering the opaque glass panel. At the same instant a four man Enforcer squad burst in, one covering any exit from the front door, one keeping his shotgun levelled at the heads of the sitting bar patrons as the other two rushed toward the bar. Arthur dived to the floor and thankfully held Molly tight on her leash as she was snarling and barking angrily. The young couple in the corner fearfully held tight to each other while the three men seated at the bar had nowhere to go and froze.

  Hearing the door smash open Sam turned from the bar and found himself almost face to face with the first Enforcer and squared up raising his hands following an instinctual reaction to defend himself and was dealt a savage blow to the head from the butt of a shotgun that caught him in the left eye socket and cheek. Sharp pain instantly coursed through his face and sent him reeling into the bar as blood poured from the open wound. As bad as it was at least Sam wasn't the intended target and the two guards pushed past and grabbed the muttering drunk sitting at the far end of the bar, much to his horror and to the guilty relief of everyone else.

  'Under Protocol Nine, section four you are hereby detained. You have no further rights,' shouted the Enforcer who had struck Sam as he and his partner grabbed the terrified man and dragged him from his stool and out through the shattered door while he screamed his innocence. The Enforcers withdrew as suddenly as they appeared leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

  An epic guitar solo wailed from the juke box as the remaining occupants of the bar took stock of what had just happened. Arthur righted his stool and sitting up again at his table calmed Molly while the young girl in the corner sobbed into her boyfriend’s shoulder as he tried to steady his hand enough to take a drink and settle his nerves. Sam, groaning with pain, picked himself up off the bar and held his hand to his
head trying and stop the bleeding.

  'That's six fifty.'

  'What?' asked Sam looking at Ken across the bar while blood seeped through his fingers and trickled down his forearm.

  'Six fifty,' said Ken who throughout the whole episode had barely flinched, instead focusing on crafting the pint he had begun to pour.

  'For the beer and the whiskey, six quid fifty. I suppose you’ll be wanting a bandage or something, no charge for that.'

  'Oh, well that's bloody generous of you!' said Sam incredulously as he slapped a handful of coins down on the bar. Ken rummaged in a drawer under the register and then slid a small first aid box over to Sam who tucked it under his arm and lifted two drinks back to the table to try and fix himself up.

  Arthur helped Sam back to his seat while Ken dejectedly busied himself sweeping up the broken glass, splinters of wood and other fragments from his cherished pub while the remaining two men at the bar directed their gaze back to unfinished drinks and their thoughts back to whatever darkness had brought them here in the first place.

  'Enforcer bastards!' exclaimed Sam as he took his hand away from his face so Arthur could tend to his injury. 'This bloody place is getting well out of order. I pity the poor soul they took away. If anyone even sees him after this he'll never be the same man again after what they'll do to him.'

  Everyone had heard the stories but no one actually knew for sure what went on in the Central Detention Blocks. Most who were taken didn't return. Many were tortured before being sent to the prison farms in the far south and those who were released following intensive questioning were so psychologically damaged they were barely recognisable even to family and friends. They pathetically shuffled about like a ghost of their former selves with no apparent awareness of their surroundings, a hollowed out shell. They never lived long like that and it was widely believed that the only reason a few people were released was to serve as a warning to everyone else. The message was loud and clear - obey or you could be next.