Too Many Humans

by Jacob Rayne

  After a quick look around him, he walked to the staircase. He sprayed the camera in the far left corner, then went down a floor and sprayed the camera there. His intention was to make it look like he was hiding out on floor twelve.

  After this, he went back up to the thirteenth floor, ducked into the janitor’s cupboard and put on the disguise he’d packed in the backpack.

  The black, shoulder-length wig that his sister had used in a talent show – again before the world had gone to hell in a handbasket – the silver, glittery sunglasses, the dress and the pink sneakers. Everyone would be looking for a young boy, so it made sense to dress up as a girl.

  He quickly swapped his bag for the girl’s backpack he’d hidden in the corner behind the janitor’s metal shelving unit.

  He shrugged it over his shoulder and, after a quick look through the keyhole to ensure the corridor was empty, moved upstairs.

  It seemed the obvious thing for a terrified kid to do would be to go downstairs, so his plan was to go up the building.

  In his disguise, he felt there was no need to spray any more cameras, besides if he did it would give them a trail of blacked out screens to follow. Doing floor twelve would hopefully serve to divert their attention there while he made his way to the top.

  He did his best not to look shifty, trying to use his peripheral vision rather than looking around everywhere.

  He saw very few people on his travels. Apparently the word had already spread that the Cull Crew were in the building and everyone wanted to keep their noses out.

  His plan was going without a hitch until he saw one of the young lads from the building playing on the stairs. The marbles he was playing with clinked against the stairs, making a noise that seemed much louder than it ought to have been.

  ‘You new round here?’ the lad said, giving Brother an appraising glance that made his gorge rise a little.

  He didn’t know what to say; if he spoke, it would be obvious that he was not a girl.

  No need; the lad had already recognised him. He reacted as if slapped.

  ‘What the hell are you doing dressed up like that?’

  Brother didn’t know what to say.

  The neighbour’s face had changed from shocked to amused now. ‘I always knew there was something weird about you.’ He moved in and thrust his arm forward, slightly too fast for Brother to stop. The action made his wig fall from the side of his head.

  The neighbour turned to the open door to the staircase, and Brother’s heart dropped as he shouted, ‘Hey, what’s this kid got to hide?’

  Brother panicked a little; this was the one thing he hadn’t accounted for. The lad’s cry had echoed around the staircase, and it would only be a matter of time before one of the cullsmen heard it.

  Being caught by the cullsmen out here would be fatal.

  Every second he spent here was one wasted.

  The lad lunged for him, arms out, ready to grab him.

  Brother thought fast, shoving the lad hard. He pitched backwards, a comical look of dismay on his face, and tumbled down the stairs.

  Any mirth to be derived from the situation evaporated when he heard booted feet slamming the stairs below. He glanced down and saw two cullsmen on their way up the staircase. The closest one was maybe five floors below him, his legs pumping like pistons.

  Brother realised that the incident meant he would need to take out the CCTV network to cover his tracks. The closest security office was only two floors up.

  From his paper round, Brother knew that Watson, the security man, was fat and lazy. Any time he came by, Watson was dozing in front of the monitors, rolls of flab dangling over the back of his chair.

  With luck on his side, he’d be able to sneak in and put the CCTV out of action without Watson even blinking an eye.

  He chanced another look over the edge of the stairwell, saw three cullsmen on their way up. The nearest one was now only three floors below.

  He fought the urge to flee, screaming, and forced himself to think.

  Be quiet. Or they’ll find you.

  He moved up the stairs as slowly as he dared.

  His legs blazed with the exertion, but he forced himself to keep grimly on.

  He placed his feet carefully, trying his damnedest not to make any noise.

  As he reached the next floor, he chanced a look over the rail again.

  The cullsman was closer still, and again Brother’s survival instinct told him to leg it, but he forced this down.

  There’s still time.

  He reached the floor he needed and, his heart knocking against his ribs, pulled the door open. The door creaked a little, but he thought fast; spitting on his hand and rubbing it into the hinges. It quieted the hinges nicely.

  He edged the door shut and quickly ducked inside the open door of the security office.

  The monitors showed the cullsmen running straight past the doorway and continuing up the stairs.

  Brother breathed a sigh of relief, especially when he noticed that Watson, as he’d hoped, was sleeping in his chair, snoring loud enough to rattle some of the picture frames on the walls.

  The place stunk of body odour and stale fast food. A half-eaten burger sat on Watson’s lap, cradled in like a newborn.

  As Brother edged the door shut, he looked around the office, trying to figure out where the CCTV link was. He’d discovered this when dropping off Watson’s paper on previous visits, but it seemed the security office had had an overhaul in the short time since he’d last been here.

  He cursed under his breath.

  There were three laptops on the desk.

  The one on the right showed a couple of naked women doing things that Brother had heard his friends talk about but never actually witnessed with his own eyes.

  Had he not been in such dire straits he’d have taken time to satisfy his curiosity. Instead, he turned to the other computers.

  As he stepped forwards to get a closer look, the floor creaked beneath him.

  Watson murmured in his sleep, his head turning a little towards where Brother stood.

  Brother’s heart sank, but Watson didn’t stir.

  He let out a small sigh of relief.

  Then realised with a groan that he was going to have to reach past Watson to access the computer.

  Brother’s knees popped as he knelt, but still Watson didn’t wake.

  He managed to squeeze himself under the desk, rubbing only slightly against Watson’s bare leg. Varicose veins like swollen worms poked through the fat man’s skin.

  Brother grimaced at the sight but put it out of his mind.

  He saw the flashing green LEDs of the computer and smiled as he began to pull the wires out of the back of it.

  But the joke was on him when a shrill alarm began to blare.

  1.3

  Brother almost screamed at the unfairness of it all, but realised that to do so was to waste valuable time and risk drawing further attention to his plight.

  Watson’s eyes flicked open, and, in spite of his size and the fact he’d been asleep mere seconds ago, he was already standing.

  He scanned the room, a dopey expression on his face.

  A revolver in his ketchup-smeared hand.

  It’s ok, Brother thought, he won’t see me down here.

  But after a few seconds, the gun was on its way down towards him.

  ‘Wotcha doing down there, girly?’ Watson said, a sickly smile on his lips.

  Brother’s heart slammed against his ribs.

  His hand seemed to move of its own accord.

  The spray paint hit Watson full in the eyes, giving him a black stripe like a raccoon.

  Watson’s podgy hands flailed, desperately trying to rub the paint from his eyes. Brother watched him, transfixed, for a dumb few seconds, then realised he was in big trouble if he didn’t get out of here.

  He lunged forward and hit Watson in the gut with his extended forearm.

  The security guard flew back, his arse landing squarely i
n his office chair. He flapped his arms like a drowning man as the chair tipped backwards, sending him crashing to the floor with a cry of dismay.

  The gun discharged, blowing a hole in one of the picture frames on the wall to their right.

  Brother moved towards the door, only to trip as Watson’s hand rived on his ankle. There was nothing he could do to retrieve his balance.

  He hit the deck hard.

  Air raced from him like a burst balloon.

  For a few seconds he was too stunned to move. Watson gripped his leg tighter, holding him still while he began to close the distance between them.

  Brother regained his senses and tried to pull his leg away but Watson was too strong. All he succeeded in doing was giving his leg a nasty friction burn.

  He knew he couldn’t wait here, especially with Watson shouting for help at the top of his lungs.

  His free foot pulled back, pumped out, slamming into Watson’s cheek.

  Brother brought his foot back again.

  Mashed Watson’s lips against his teeth.

  Still his hand clung on.

  Brother lashed out again and again, losing count of the blows.

  It didn’t matter how many.

  All that mattered was getting free.

  Finally, the hand let go of his leg and Watson slumped to the floor, shards of teeth flowing from his mouth amidst a river of blood.

  Panting hard, Brother grabbed the edge of the desk and pulled himself to his feet. The room spun, but he knew he didn’t have time to recuperate.

  He inched the door open, checked the corridor to see if anyone was approaching.

  No one there.

  He knew that there were other security offices in the building, knew that the cullsmen would have at least one of them manned, so he figured it wouldn’t be long before they realised what had happened.

  That’s if they weren’t already on their way to him.

  The next floor came in a rush of blood and desperate pants of breath.

  He was only a few floors from his hiding place and the stairs soon disappeared beneath his pounding feet.

  Brother darted into the corridor, panic already beginning to blur his judgement a little. Still, he was pleased he’d run through his plan so often as he could’ve probably sleepwalked it.

  Corridor to the left, last door on the right, he thought. Then we’re home free.

  Limbs leaden, he ran until he reached the door.

  The dark musty room was the definition of a shithole but to him it was heaven.

  He locked the door, then took a walk to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face.

  After a few minutes of deep breathing, the room ceased spinning and his pulse had plummeted.

  ‘I did it,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t believe I fucking did it.’

  Relief was pulled out from beneath him like a magician’s tablecloth when he heard the external door burst open in a shower of splinters.

  Brother’s breath froze in his lungs.

  His heart once more began its thrash metal frenzy.

  What the hell do I do? he thought, forlorn.

  Tears began to glimmer in his eyes.

  So unfair.

  He’d done everything he could to avoid detection and now it seemed it was all in vain.

  They’re going to kill me, he thought. And it’s going to be agony.

  He contemplated taking the knife in his pocket and running it across his wrists, to avoid the torment that the cullsmen were sure to be bringing.

  The door slammed shut, seeming to be the loudest noise in all the world.

  Brother debated his next move, knowing that a fight to the death was on the cards. He pressed himself into the wall behind the bathroom door, grimacing when he felt something wet and slimy soaking through his shirt sleeve.

  The footsteps seemed to cover the whole apartment before settling outside the bathroom door.

  Then, after a moment that seemed to take a lifetime to pass, the unseen intruder stepped in.

  1.4

  Brother surprised himself with the speed of his reaction; kicking the base of the door as hard as he could.

  The door slammed into the intruder, drawing a high-pitched cry.

  Brother peered round and saw the lad he’d pushed down the stairs.

  His face was swollen and bleeding from his crash landing. He cradled his arm and winced in pain.

  ‘You?’ Brother said, his brow furrowing.

  ‘I thought it was you I saw creeping around up here,’ he said. ‘I followed you cos I wanted to see what you’re up to. Not so smart after all are you?’

  Brother’s head pounded but he forced himself to think.

  ‘I’m going to make sure they find you,’ the lad said, a malicious look on his face. ‘There ain’t no outrunning them, you know.’

  As Brother looked the lad up and down an idea hit him like a ton of bricks.

  Brother would have done almost anything to get out of here in one piece and he was beginning to loathe the sight of the intruder.

  Still, planning and carrying out someone’s death seemed to be two entirely different matters.

  Time seemed to become elastic.

  The boy’s eyes widened to proportions that – under different circumstances – would have been hilarious.

  As if he read Brother’s intentions, his hands raised in an amateurish boxing guard and he stepped forward.

  Their eyes locked, and in his gaze Brother saw that the kid understood that this fight would be to the death.

  Brother couldn’t believe he was about to do this, but this was the way the world was now.

  It felt like his chest was being crushed. He couldn’t advance or retreat, it was as though his feet had been nailed to the floor.

  In a way it was a relief when the boy’s bony knuckles dug into his cheek because it spurred him to action.

  Brother shrugged off the blow and threw a wild haymaker. The impact was loud, likewise the scream his opponent uttered.

  Brother shoved his hand over his mouth, desperate to contain the cry.

  The terror on the boy’s face was obvious up close.

  Shit, he feels how I felt when the cullsman came in, Brother thought.

  The bloody remains of his family flashed into his head, the effect like running headfirst into a brick wall.

  He dragged the boy to the bath and hurled him headfirst in the reeking, green-tinged water.

  Paused for a second, trying to decide if he was doing the right thing.

  This world is a brutal place.

  Go with the flow or get swept away.

  He pulled the knife from his pocket, his hand moving as slowly as if it was wading through molasses.

  Make it quick, painless, not like—

  He shook his head to remove the unwanted image of his eldest sister’s slow, miserable death.

  As he hesitated, the boy’s eyes snapped open. They seemed to do a lap of the room then fell upon him. As they focussed, the eyes bulged.

  His lips worked soundlessly, as though the words he needed to beg for his life just wouldn’t come.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Brother said and closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and thrust the knife at where he guessed the boy’s neck to be.

  The boy let out a scream as the blade sunk into him with a wet thud.

  Brother opened one eye tentatively. The boy was bent double, hands clasped to a nasty wound in his arm.

  As pained and terrified as the boy was, something seemed to click in his head.

  Before Brother could react, the mould-covered soap on a rope that hung from the underside of the shower system was in the boy’s hand and flying towards his head.

  It hit Brother a glancing blow on the side of the head and made his view of the damp-stained bathroom distort a little. The knife flew from his hand and disappeared across the floor.

  The lad was starting to sit up.

  If he gets out of the bath I’m done for, Brother thought and lashed out. />
  He cursed as his wild swing missed and his hand collided with the side of the bath. The boy’s bony fist slammed into his nose, bringing a horrendous stinging pain.

  Warm blood dripped down over his lips.

  It’s him or me.

  And I’m fucked if it’s going to be me.

  Propelled by this thought, he thrust his fists out again and again, knocking the boy back under his assault.

  He gripped his enemy’s lapels with a strength borne from terror. He knew that only one of them was going to walk away from this.

  His arms locked out hard, thrusting the boy’s head beneath the filthy bathwater.

  Bubbles burst from the surface as the boy tried to draw breath.

  Brother lifted him out to slam his head against the side of the bath.

  The boy let out a pained grunt that made Brother feel like an utter monster. His nose splattered clots of blood and snot against the sides.

  Brother dunked him again.

  Still the boy struggled, trying to get his head out of the water.

  Brother pulled him up again and the boy’s relief was palpable as he drew in a desperate breath.

  Brother slammed his head against the side a few more times, widening the slick of blood on the mould-encrusted acrylic. It dripped down to leave little red clouds in the water.

  The bubbles were tinged blood red now as the boy’s efforts weakened.

  Brother plunged him down, feeling the boy’s back hit the bottom of the bath.

  He held him there, not daring to relax his grip until the boy’s last breath had bubbled up through the filthy water.

  Then he went and barricaded the door to the apartment with the kitchen table.

  Though it sickened him, Brother returned to the bathroom to carry out the next part of his plan.

  As soon as his eyes clapped upon the partially-submerged corpse, it was like a switch had been flicked in his stomach.

  His abdomen contracted hard, sending his meagre last meal flying up his throat to spatter the bare floorboards at his feet.

  The last mouthful or so landed in the toilet, frothing as his startled eyes stared dumbly at it, searching for inspiration on what to do next.