by Jen Cole
Richard faced the uniformed constable who had spoken, keeping his expression mild, though his heart was beating nineteen to the dozen.
“Is there a problem?”
“Bit late for an evening stroll.” The voice had a hard note.
“I was actually trying to find a shop that was open, to get a snack.” Richard always stuck to the truth whenever possible.
“Just passing through are you?”
“That’s right.”
“And your vehicle is?”
Richard pointed to his van parked near the unlit hotel, and the officer twisted to look back.
“Make your way to it sir. We’ll follow you.”
The car did a tight U-turn as Richard walked back, frantically trying to think of a story to give them. As he reached the van, the police car pulled into the parking spot alongside, and the two officers emerged. The one who’d spoken to him was young, perhaps in his late twenties, with a rugged build and set jaw. The driver was at least forty and carrying twice as much weight as he should have been. He ignored Richard and walked around the van, looking at the number plates and talking into a two-way radio.
The younger officer continued where he’d left off. “Sir can you tell me where you’ve come from and where are you going?”
Richard thought fast. “I’ve just come from Bendigo, where the van was in for repair. Now I’m on my way to Benalla. May I ask what this is all about, Constable?”
“Any reason why your van doors are open?” The young officer ignored his question.
“I had to get a map out of the back. I didn’t see any urgency in closing the doors as I thought I was the only one here. I’ll close them now,” he offered, taking a step towards the van.
“Stay where you are sir.”
The constable moved to block him, forcing his return to the footpath.
The older officer leaned into the van, shining a torch around. Richard held his breath.
“There’s a suitcase in here.”
“I’m staying overnight in Benalla,” said Richard quickly. “I have to pick up some bedding supplies there first thing in the morning and get them back to the Welcome Inn in Shepparton before 9.30 a.m. or my bosses, Bev and Jeff Saunders, will want to know why.”
The constable seemed to relax a little. “Your licence please.”
Richard took out his wallet and passed the licence over.
“You’re Richard Sayers?”
“Yes.”
“This has a Melbourne address.”
“Yes, I only moved to Shep a couple of months ago and haven’t gotten around to changing it yet. My job at the Welcome Inn has been keeping me busy.”
The constable raised his voice to speak to his colleague without turning his head.
“You got that registration yet Bruce?”
His colleague’s radio crackled just then and they all heard the voice on the other side informing the officer that the van was registered to Bev and Jeff Saunders in Shepparton. The constable handed Richard his licence.
“Guess your story checks out. Sorry sir, we can’t be too careful. We’ve had word a fugitive is on the loose in the area.”
“Bloody hell! Is he dangerous?”
“It’s actually a woman sir, but she could be with a man and they could be dangerous, so I suggest you get on your way. Don’t pick up any hitchhikers.”
“I won’t,” said Richard fervently. “Thanks for the warning.”
Another wailing siren signaled the arrival of a second police car and a third siren could be heard in the distance, along with the sound of a helicopter approaching rapidly.
Richard appealed to the constable. “If I drive off now, they’re all going to think I’m the fugitive.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll let them know we’ve checked you out and they won’t stop you. On your way now sir.”
The constable wasn’t taking no for an answer and Richard stepped to the back of the van and closed the doors, noting that both Jo and the blanket were missing. Where could she be? He had no choice but to leave and he couldn’t even stop further down the road, or he’d again become the subject of suspicion, and next time they might check out his story more carefully. Fortunately this young constable had been too inexperienced to ask him to show the paperwork proving the car had just been repaired in Bendigo, or to make a phone call to the Welcome Inn to check they had an employee called Richard Sayers. It was unlikely he’d be so lucky a second time.
In heavy despair, Richard climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The older officer was talking into his radio and the younger was now walking to meet the second police car, which had pulled up nearby. A rustling noise from the floor of the passenger side nearly gave him a heart attack until the edge of a dark blanket flipped back and Jo’s face grinned up at him.
Richard drew in a huge breath and relaxed weakly against the steering wheel. Then gathering himself, he backed out of the angle park and headed towards the intersection, indicating left.
“Stay where you are Jo,” he said, trying not to move his lips. “They’re all around us.”
With a light heart, Richard drove back the way he’d come. The headlights of another police car speeding towards Murchison swept past, ignoring him and at the Wahring Murchison East crossroad, he turned right, beginning the six-kilometer drive to the Goulburn Valley Highway.
Jo’s muffled voice drifted through the blanket.
“Can I get up now?”
“Safer to stay there. You can throw the blanket off, but keep it ready in case we’re stopped.”
The blanket was pushed away and Richard glanced down to see Jo curled up like a cat.
“Jo you’re a sight for sore eyes! How on earth…?”
“Mainly luck. After you went off to look for some food… did you get anything by the way?”
“Sorry, I’ll organize some grub at the resort.”
“Good, I could eat a horse. What was I saying? Oh yes after you left, my alarm went off. The blonde wig was completely twisted around my money belt and I couldn’t untangle it. I’d had my hood up when the female agent was chasing me, so they still don’t know my hair’s short and I wanted to keep it that way. Then I realized I had the answer in my hands – the blanket!
“I climbed out of the van and went around the corner of the hotel for the broadcast. The street was deserted so I put the whole blanket over myself. I can’t tell you how weird it felt, standing like that. I kept expecting someone to walk by and yank off the blanket, but eleven o’clock came and went without any surprises. A minute after that I headed back to the van.
“As I got there I heard the siren and had to duck down behind the grill until the police car shot by. I could see you in its headlights and when they stopped to question you, I jumped into the front and covered myself with the blanket. I figured if the police decided to check out the van, they’d look in the back.
“Brilliant!” Richard smiled down at her. “And the great thing about being checked out by the first car on the scene, is they’ve radioed the others that this van’s okay, so we should get to our destination unchallenged.”
Nonetheless, he was relieved when they reached the Goulburn Valley Highway and were no longer the only vehicle on the road.
Jo shifted. “What I don’t understand is how so many police cars arrived in Murchison so soon after the broadcast. I guess the Hunter has finally resorted to using the police, but Murchison doesn’t even have its own service station, let alone a police station.”
Richard thought about it. “If the Hunter’s agents have started working with the police, they’d have told them you were in the Shepparton area. The police would have sent out roaming patrol cars and some were probably in the vicinity when word came through you were in Murchison.”
“So now we’re the subject of a police manhunt,” said Jo thoughtfully.
There was nothing to say to that and they drove in silence. Six minutes later Richard turned onto the Goulburn Weir Road and
followed it for a kilometer to the resort.
Slowing, he swung into the broad driveway and followed it past the front office to the luxury cabins generously spaced along the lake. Marilyn’s red Hyundai Veloster was nowhere in sight. The cabin at the far end was dark, and its car space empty, so he backed into it, turning off lights and engine.
“We’re here. It’s safe to get up.”
“I don’t think I can move.”
“Hang on, I’ll come round the other side.”
Richard opened Jo’s door and saw her shiver when the icy breeze hit. He slipped his hands under her shoulders to ease her out and she began wriggling to assist. Suddenly she yelped and her leg spasm-ed in a cramp. The two fell backwards onto the ground in a tangle of limbs and he laughed as they got to their feet.
“No permanent damage?”
She smiled. “I guess not. That space may have been smaller than the boot, but at least it was warm, and I had company.”
“Speaking of warm, let’s get back in. Marilyn hasn’t arrived yet.”
He helped Jo into the passenger seat and closed the door. Then he jumped into the driver’s side and started the engine to get the heater going.
“While I remember, here’s your room key.” Jo extracted it from a pocket of her money belt and then checked her watch. “It’s eleven twenty-four. What’s the plan?”
“That depends on Marilyn.”
A familiar lump began to weigh down Jo’s stomach. “Your colleague?”
“I guess I need to explain about that. We are colleagues, but it’s true we’ve also had a casual thing going. Recently I realized it was rather more casual on my part than hers. I’ve been trying to work out how to end it without tears, but now…”
“Oh. Complicated.” Jo spoke sympathetically, but her world had suddenly brightened. “And I noticed when you talked to her on the phone, you didn’t mention me, so no doubt she’s picturing a cozy rendezvous.”
“Probably, which is why it might be better if I speak to her before she sees you.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I… here she is!” He turned off the engine.
Jo watched as a sporty red coupe swept around the driveway and parked beside the third cabin down. A slim woman stepped out, taking a small overnight case from the boot before entering the cabin and closing the door behind her.
Richard retrieved the blanket from the floor and dropped it into Jo’s lap.
“It should stay warm in here for a while, and I don’t plan to be long, but just in case…”
She gave a theatrical sigh, but smiled at him. “Go sort things out.”
~~~~
CHAPTER 37
Melvin Briggs ground his teeth. That bitch had done it again. Without Fitani’s presence, Jo and the man with her had made a direct appeal to the audience. They were deliberately trying to stir up the silo dwellers. The game had to be stopped immediately… but how to do it in a way that wouldn’t backfire against The Company?
He’d not yet heard from Cedric or any of his other children. Were they all still too shocked from discovering what Jo had been saying? He opened a priority group call to the Morale Executive. The more heads on this, the better. The screen divided into a grid of sixteen squares – one for each member of the Executive. As the sections began lighting up, Melvin’s jaw dropped in disbelief. Shock was not an emotion on any of the faces that appeared. The expressions before him ranged from sleepy to disgruntled, and not one of them belonged to his children or nieces or nephews!
Melvin recognized Cedric’s Personal Assistant, and pounced. “Roberts, what is the meaning of this? Where is Cedric? And where,” he bellowed at the sea of assistants blinking at him from the screen, “is the Morale Executive?”
Roberts cleared his throat and the others looked relieved that he had elected to speak. “The Executive is attending an important function this evening, Secretary Briggs,” he said. “But they brought us in before they left and fully briefed us on what needed to be done. We are currently monitoring the progress of the game, along with tube and virtual discussion-room chatter.”
Melvin was almost beyond words. “And this important function?”
“Why, the first ball of the new hunt season, of course,” said Roberts.
When Melvin stared at him goggle-eyed, he added, “It’s the most important calendar event of the month, apart from the CEO’s birthday, but that’s only for Directors and their families. All Secretarial families attend the hunt ball.” Then, appearing to remember that Secretary Briggs was renowned for non-appearance at social events, he blushed.
“May I ask you all a question?” Melvin spoke in a deadly whisper, addressing the heads on the screen. “What if anything are you doing about the current situation apart from monitoring it?”
White faces stared mutely and Roberts spoke again. “We are recording any conversations that appear to be subversive…” He faded off.
“And have you made many of these recordings?” Melvin’s voice was sarcastically polite.
“May we have a few minutes to check with our assistants, Secretary Briggs?” It was Roberts who spoke, but the others nodded nervously.
“By all means.”
The squares on the screen greyed or were replaced by the Company Logo and Briggs sat in a daze. Was this how civilizations ended – with those in charge losing the ability to tell the difference between perks and real responsibilities?
He tried to concentrate on the problem at hand but his mind was filled with the twin images of the employees in their silos avidly following a human hunt, while young Company Executives attended a gala ball before riding to their own hunt in the tradition of the aristocracies of a bygone era.
In the years leading up to The Great Destruction, The Company, in preparation for the inevitable, had built vast subterranean refuges equipped with food stores, hydroponic farms, the most advanced electronic and scientific instruments, and many thousands of cryogenic vials of embryonic plant and animal life, to ensure Earth could be rapidly rebuilt once it was safe to return to the surface.
Following The Great Arising, after its newly gained blue collar workforce had been set to work cleaning the land and raising food crops, The Company had begun seeding small nature reserves in each Safe Place. Over the years as more cleaned land became available, they’d expanded the reserves and increased the variety of plants and animals within them. Not everything had thrived, but some of the animals had multiplied to an extent that called for regular culling. Bots had traditionally taken care of this but these days it was fashionable among the young set to go out on hunting parties and bring home game, which they cooked over roaring fires, and washed down with copious quantities of wine.
Cedric and his brothers and sisters on the Morale Executive, had apparently believed the hunt and its associated rituals took priority over preventing a potential revolution among the employees from coming to the boil.
Once again, Melvin ground his teeth. Part of his anger was self-directed. He’d obviously failed to impress upon his children the importance of their jobs, and why should they see it, when silo affairs had run smoothly with minimal intervention for a great many years? Look at the example he had set – often spending weeks at his country house, and only checking in remotely to ensure the few things needing to be done were being seen to. He knew other Secretaries in charge of various aspects of silo operations did even less.
Slowly the squares on his screen began lighting up again, with faces that now looked decidedly frightened.
“Sir.” Roberts again spoke for them all. “I regret to report that a great deal of subversive dialogue is occurring among employees in Safe Places all over the world. Many are speaking of the need for accountability from The Company. Also it seems the employees have somehow gained access to historical records from the pre-Destruction Era.”
“What!” cried Melvin. “How is this possible?”
“Unknown at the moment,” said Roberts uncomfortably. “T
he data didn’t come from our own historical archives. It’s been years since they were accessed.”
The Microwave Time Viewing technology, thought Melvin. The employees had pulled their own data from libraries of the past. Why had it never occurred to him they might use the Viewer this way? Because he’d trusted Fitani to safeguard it. Fitani had let him down.
Roberts was continuing. “Many of the employees are currently discussing modes of government. Some of the younger ones have begun quoting slogans such as ‘No Taxation Without Representation’, and asking why Secretarial and Director positions are only inheritable and unavailable to ordinary employees. Others want to know why they never hear from any Directors – just an occasional secretary of a Secretary.” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “And there’s one more thing, Sir.”
“Spit it out Roberts.”
“Some employees are talking about the blurred parts of the maps. They’re openly speculating about what goes on in the areas devoted to Sacred Company Business.”
Melvin Briggs frowned grimly. “Return to your duties,” he said, and severed the connection.
As he sat staring at the blank communication screen, Melvin had never felt more alone. He considered putting a call through to Hastmeyer, his own boss, and Secretary to the CEO himself, but rejected the thought as soon as it formed. It would be a waste of time. Hastmeyer was entirely occupied in catering to the personal whims and foibles of the CEO and his family, and always left actual Company business to Melvin, his secretary.
Melvin punched in Fitani’s access code and a Company message filled his screen: Employee Danny Fitani is at work. His shift will end in three hours, thirty-two minutes. Three and a half hours! So much could happen in that time, but it was unprecedented to interrupt an employee’s work shift. Quickly Melvin accessed the game. What was going on at the moment?
Jo was sitting alone in a van. He noted with grim satisfaction that between them, the police and the Hunter’s agents seemed to have her surrounded. Though they didn’t yet know her exact location, they would have it at 2.00 a.m. and if she tried to break through their cordon before then, she’d have to be caught. Chances were good that soon after 2.00, Jo would be dead and the crisis over. But if by some freak misfortune she wasn’t, he needed a plan.
