Breaking East

by Bob Summer

  Breaking East

  Bob Summer

  Copyright © 2014 Bob Summer

  All rights reserved

  Bob Summer has asserted her right to be identified as the author.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, organisations, brands, media and places are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks, is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by trademark owners. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter 1

  There’d been a steady stream of customers in and out the caff all morning, but there was still no sign of Joe. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and slammed the door.

  ‘Woah,’ said Gavin. ‘What did that ever do to you?’

  I gave him the glare.

  He stepped back. ‘Just asking.’

  ‘Well don’t.’ Behind him more customers clattered in and the queue stretched out the door. ‘What’s going on out there?’

  ‘The Law are bringing in another truck load of cons, so everybody’s come out to have a nosey.’

  I passed him the water and took his cash. ‘Bad ones?’

  ‘Yep. Murderers and the like so the rumours say. They’ve put the checkpoints up at the bridge already.’

  ‘Right, that’s it.’ Checkpoints meant I’d have to queue to get east and I needed to be there fast. ‘Everybody’s going to have to leave.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Come on. Out.’

  ‘But I’ve just got my drink.’

  ‘Take it with you.’ I was heading around the counter to usher everybody out the door, when in sauntered Joe like he had all the time in the world. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  He frowned and stood a little straighter, annoyed no doubt at my having a pop at him in front of the kids in the queue. Well he should have thought about that before promising to be back in an hour and then staying away for three. Today was my last Matur class and if I missed it I’d have to sit the whole course again. Pulling my toenails out would be less painful.

  ‘Have you seen the time? Or did you just totally forget what day it is today? I wanted time to go home and shower.’

  He checked his watch and then ping! I saw the date hit him behind the eyes. ‘You look grand as you are,’ he said. ‘It’s not a fashion parade, you’ll be fine. Better get a move on though, the Law―’

  ‘―Have put up checkpoints, I know.’ There was no time to argue or chat. I headed out the door and away.

  Finishing the course was supposed to be something to celebrate. Other kids had parties with glasses of fizzy stuff and a big, squishy cake, but then again other kids had proper families, whereas I just had Joe, my dad’s best mate. And Joe might be many things, but guardian of the year he was not.

  I kept in the shade and set off at a jog, dodging the rubbish at my feet and weaving through the people gathering along the pavement. The Reds, dressed in their signature white Tees and red bandanas, kept their hands on their Tasers as they moved kids off the street corners, putting a stop to trouble before it got started. Tomorrow they’d be back in the east letting us get on with things and everything would slip back to normal, but today, of all days, it looked like the Law wanted total control.

  Running in the heat took its toll and, by the time I got to the checkpoint, I was huffing like a dog. Not as fit as I thought. Or hoped. And the place teemed with people. Boogah.

  Camped alongside the river bank, getting on the Reds’ nerves, were the usual protesters ― average age of a hundred and two. Okay, slight exaggeration, but they were definitely old with a big fat O.

  I joined the back of the queue to cross the bridge into East Basley and plotted what I’d say to Joe if I missed my last class. The only way I’d get my adult papers was by completing the Matur course. And I was so sick of being a kid. I counted the people ahead of me in the queue. Too many. Maybe I could jump a few if I kicked off a little. I shouted down the line, ‘What’s going on up there? What are we waiting for?’

  The crowd fell quiet. Only a crinkly old protester had the guts to join in. He waggled his walking stick at me. ‘Way to go, Atty. You tell ‘em, girl.’

  I grinned and gave him the thumbs up and yelled a little more. ‘What’s with the delay? Some of us have places to be.’

  A Red, one of those skinny, geezer types with a tattooed head and a ring through his nose, walked over and pulled me to one side. Result. He guided me past the queue and stood me near a van with the Law logo splashed across its flank. A scanner had been set up on top of a table. ‘Look at the screen,’ he said.

  I looked into the face recognition box. My reflection appeared to be a long way away and, as always at such times, it didn’t look anything like me. Even the colour was off. I might have a tan, but I wasn’t cow-pat green. The machine beeped and chunted out a slip of paper. The Red mused at it. ‘Bethany, eh?’

  ‘That’s what it says.’

  He gave an upside down smile and raised his eyebrows. ‘Quaint.’

  ‘Ain’t it just.’

  ‘Got your papers?’

  I handed them over. ‘Do you think I stole somebody’s face?’

  He fingered my ID, running his thumb over the watermark. ‘Pretty name is Bethany. Mind telling me why the old-timer over there called you Atty?’

  My dad used to love telling the story about how I kicked my way into the world ten weeks early. He swore I screamed so loud the midwife removed her glasses to check for cracks. ‘Holy devil on a moped,’ she said. ‘Just look at the attitude already.’

  ‘Because he’s a friend,’ I said. ‘But you can call me Bethany.’

  He grinned. Expensive teeth. ‘Well, Bethany.’ Sarcastic as hell. ‘What’s the purpose of your visit to the east of Basley today?’

  I studied the tat, a welsh dragon high on his forehead. ‘Why would I tell you?’

  He inhaled slowly. ‘I’ll remind you how this works, shall I?’ He flapped his hand indicating the van, the barrier, his badge. ‘I ask the questions and you answer. That’s how it is.’

  ‘Uh uh. I don’t have to tell you anything.’ I tapped my papers with my fingernail. ‘See? West Basley born and bred. Not brought over in a con van. Born. I can come and go as I please.’

  ‘Let me offer you a friendly word of advice.’ He put a megaton of emphasis on the word advice. ‘As soon as the new laws are passed we’ll be powering up the cage again, and it won’t matter what your papers say ― entry to the east will be at the Reds’ discretion.’ He folded my papers along the well-worn crease. ‘And you, Bethany, will just have to get used to it.’

  I spoke slow and clear like he might be an idiot. He probably was. ‘I’ll remind
you how it works, shall I?’ He wasn’t the only one who could put on a tone. ‘I have papers and the right to go east whenever I like. Caging off the paperless cons is one thing, but discriminating against the rest of us is a whole other story. Not to mention breaking international law.’ I smiled fruity sweet, but what I really wanted to do was spit up his arrogant, bony nose. ‘No new law,’ I put heavy emphasis and scorn on the word law, ‘can lock up innocent people.’

  His eyes were the deep shiny blue of a bluebottle and, for a moment, we stared at each other and I sent up a small prayer that I hadn’t over-cooked the bolshiness. The last thing I needed was to get arrested. His eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t think?’

  A fat man in a brown suit stepped out from the passenger seat of the Law van. I grabbed the chance to look away first without losing face. The fat guy’s cheeks bulged red and fleshy. Nobody could afford to get that blobby without being on the fiddle. ‘Filth,’ I scoffed. ‘So that’s what I could smell.’

  The Red turned to see what had drawn my attention and we both watched the journalist wander onto the bridge and lean over the rail to look into the river Bast. The Red called out to him, 'It’s supposed to swirl enough toxic waste to kill a donkey in under a minute.’ Back at me. ‘He’s here to report on the riots.’

  ‘What, that lot?’ I jerked my thumb behind me. ‘You call a bunch of oldies with a few placards a riot?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter what I call it. It’s what he calls it that matters.’ He stepped aside. ‘Off you go.’ He gestured me on my way. ‘Go on. Shoo.’ As I walked past him he added, ‘Be good,’ in the sarkiest, smarmiest voice ever and I so wanted to break his face.

  As I strode across the bridge past the journalist and into East Basley, I concentrated on my breathing, calming myself down and cementing each word the Red had said into my memory. The Law would need to justify turning the power on the cage somehow. A few old codgers singing a song does not a riot make, but journalists couldn’t be trusted further than I could spit a tractor. If that fat guy did a real good job of distorting the truth, the International Security Services might come down in the Law’s favour and send in the troops. And that meant raids, rationing and arrests. Electrifying the cage could be the first step in a process which might end in total lockdown. And last time the west got locked down, the Law killed my mother.

  Chapter 2

  When I reached the pretty little easty streets, I put my head down and ran along the edge of the kerb, keen to be on time but also hating to be seen lingering. All the happiness and cleanliness of eastern affluence set my teeth on edge. Besides, the Reds were never far away and always more than keen to pick off a stray westy like me, given half a chance. If they had their way, every kid from the west would stay west – locked up and forgotten.

  East Basley gym has huge glass doors and a foyer like a hospital waiting room, all shiny tiles and spongy carpets. Other girls mingled around waiting to be called in for the last how-to-be-a-responsible-adult class. ‘Personal Responsibility and Action Training’ it said on the bumf. Self-defence for idiots would probably be more accurate.

  Nobody was around to confuse any idiot Red by calling me Atty and so I scanned in without a problem. We were all summoned into the high-ceilinged, echoey hall and told to get into line. I picked somewhere in the middle, hoping to keep a low profile. A message pinged into my phone. Joe – Hang around and do a spot of listening while you’re over there, will you? Ta.

  Fantastic.

  The instructor looked a typical semi-retired Red, bitter and twisted at being taken off the frontline. After he’d panted his way through a demonstration of some basic, not to mention pretty pathetic, moves, he ambled up and down the hall spouting crap and nonsense about effective self-defence being dependent on physique and upper body strength.

  ‘But every case is different,’ he said. ‘Don’t be afraid to use your womanly wiles. Us men know you can be very imaginative when you put the effort in.’ He smirked at some girl’s chest before giving her a dirty wink. He stopped pacing when he got to me. ‘And what about you, my lovely? What skills have you taken from the course?’

  I matched his stare. ‘Oh I think I’ll be okay.’

  He adjusted his stance so he stood face on. ‘I see.’

  ‘I’m sure you do.’

  His eyelid twitched but he kept his voice light and fluffy. ‘Why don’t you come up front and show us your technique?’

  ‘Sure.’ It was the last class, what the hell.

  He positioned me so I faced away from him, and spoke to the rest of the group. ‘I’m going to play the attacker and my friend here,’ he put a sweaty hand on my shoulder, ‘will be my victim.’ He grabbed me around the neck.

  I dropped to a crouch and he let go.

  ‘Woah,’ he said. ‘I barely touched you.’

  I stood, span around thrusting the heel of my hand up under his jaw, caught him with a left to his throat, and stamped the heel of my boot into his right shin.

  Gently, of course.

  He staggered backwards, slid down the wall onto his hands and knees, gagging ― a pussy-cat bringing up a fur ball.

  A couple of the girls gasped.

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘Are you okay, sir?’

  He dropped back onto his heels, wheezing. ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘Are you sure? Shall I fetch somebody?’

  ‘No, no. I’m okay, thank you.’ He pawed at the wall and stood, stooped over. He rubbed his neck. ‘Yes, very well done.’ He looked over his shoulder at the others. ‘Okay, ladies. That’s it, you’re free to leave. Good luck, everybody.’

  The class filed out. I mingled with the others until I was out of the tutor’s sight but, rather than leave the building, I strolled through to the members’ area. It’s huge and plush, and has all the latest digi-devices, including the latest body scanning equipment. A Red walked through an arch and a machine spat out the recommended workout a second later. The scanner analysed and considered every possible factor, from his Granny’s medical history to what he’d eaten for breakfast since a week last Tuesday. Naturally, I avoided it. The Law knew more than enough about me already without adding details of how much waste I had lining my bowels.

  An area in the corner had been cordoned off with neck high partitions. Coffee machines and snack dispensers lined one wall, glowing under the glare of old-fashioned spotlights. Large soft sofas were scattered across the floor space, mostly full of pretty little things with big hair, waiting for their husbands. I sat on a chair within range of a few of the Reds’ wives, plugged my earpins in my phone, and tapped my foot to an imaginary tune. It would be good to hear something worth reporting to Joe. As I’d made the class, I was beginning to regret my earlier hissy fit. As head of the resistance Joe had a certain reputation to keep up: getting popped at by me in front of a caff full of kids wouldn’t exactly big him up as the hard man. But I also had my own reasons for listening in. The best way to find out if old bluebottle-eyes had been merely fantasising about caging us all up would be to listen to the women. They couldn’t help themselves ― they just loved to chatter.

  ‘I’d rather they didn’t but what else they gonna do?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘I mean, they must be ready to be released, eh?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘What colour you doing your toes?’

  Yawn, yawn. Having to listen to such tedious nonsense is why I couldn’t wait to get my adult papers, leave the county and do some proper jobs for Joe.

  ‘Have you tried this new perfume?’

  ‘Oo, I dunno.’

  ‘Have a go. Anyway, I asked him if these psycho-killers ― because that’s the only cons they’ve got left to let go ― I asked him if they’d be living by us.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said he didn’t know. Can you believe that?’

  ‘Ah no. You don’t say.’

  They had to be talking about the new con drop. The government’s Early Release Progra
mme was taken to the max in Basley. In fact, the only people who would never get out of the county jail were people like my dad - political activists, resistance soldiers, anybody seeking equality or the upholding of human rights - they were the most dangerous according to the Law. Murderers, rapists and kiddy fiddlers were released to live in the west and do their worst, while my dad objecting to his wife getting her head caved in? Well… I hadn’t seen him for years. Some believed he was locked up somewhere. Joe would like to convince me he was off being a hero. Others thought the Law might have shut Dad up for good. Not that they said it out loud, not in front of me anyway.

  That’s something else about sitting around listening to the posh talk tosh; it gives me too much time to dwell on stuff.

  ‘The thing is, I got a kid to think about.’

  ‘I know, yeah.’

  ‘I don’t want no trampy cons living next door to me, do I?’

  ‘No, I know.’

  ‘I mean there’s no way of keeping them over in the west, is there?’

  ‘I heard they’re making the checkpoints a permanent feature. Or even blocking it all off. They’ll be caged in, like they do with mad people.’

  ‘Really?’ Pause. ‘Okay.’

  Yeah, okay dokay pokay. Not only lock us down, but lock us down with the last of the lowest life forms. Nice one. I lounged in my chair and thumbed at my phone like I was changing tracks.

  ‘How about blue? I love blue on toes.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s all right.’

  ‘It’ll all be fine. They know what they’re doing, don’t they?’

  ‘Well that’s what I said. Or pink, shall I have pink?’

  I flicked my phone off, tucked the earpins back in my pocket and walked out through the main entrance - brazen, like I owned the place. Nobody challenged me. The kid on the counter looked like he wouldn’t tackle a puppy. In any case, confidence out-smarts doubt every time. Luckily for me, confidence is a bi-product of attitude.

  The Law cared little about traffic going west and I jogged over the bridge without so much as looking their way. The streets on our side of the river would never be called pretty. Everything - the buildings, the parks, the people, everything – looked worn out, cracked and bleak. Even Macky-D’s had shut shop and gone, the drive-thru a mass of brambles and rubbish. The grimmer it got, the less effort people put in to try and put it right. They’d given up and it showed.