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by Rachel Martin

  A beggar pushed up beside him with his hat in his hands.

  “Spare any change,” he asked, staring up at Ashley with dead imploring eyes, a fake tear in the corner of one of them.

  Ashley sneered.

  “Go fuck yourself,” he said.

  At that moment, another beggar tried getting at his wallet. He shouldered the guy so hard that he would have fallen over if the platform wasn’t so completely over-crowded. Ashley pushed through the crowd to the other end of the platform. They were exactly like rats, as soon as he was still for long enough, they started gnawing at him. Up until that moment, he was still unaware of just how much he hated other people. He really fucking hated them. It was like a zoo. In fact, it was worse than a zoo. Animals still had pride. These people had nothing. The plan had to work, it had to.

  The train arrived. He pushed passed everyone and made it inside. When the doors shut, people got stuck in them. Other people kicked them out. Ashley clung onto the pole and tried to ignore the people all around. He detested the trains. They were forever filled with people all pushing into one another’s hate-filled embraces. The constant muttering under the breath, stepping on each other’s toes, smelling one another’s smells, B.O, flatulence, too much shit perfume, methylated spirits, that rot that clung onto everything, and someone was always eating, how? Babies were crying out of somewhere hidden within depths of the multitude. What kind of life will they have? Who would have children in this world? What idiot thought that was a good idea? He tried to block it all out. He tried not to imagine killing everyone on board, but the retarded conversations, the drops of sweat falling on him, the twisted faces, all filled him with rage. Keep it in; keep it in, keep it in. Only one more day to go. One more day, then I’ll never have to come back here ever again. I’ll be free. It was this thought that saved him. I’ll be free. He closed his eyes and entered his own private world to be.

  His stop arrived. As soon as the doors opened, he pushed his way out violently, elbowing all and sundry, not caring who he hurt. He literally fell out of the door. The sickness he had been fighting back was inching ever closer to escape. He stood on the busy platform, leant forward, balancing himself with hands on knees. He breathed in the hot stuffy air that was trapped deep down in the bowels of London. It was only ever-so-slightly better than the putrid air caught in the trains. His stomach turned over, he felt imprisoned, claustrophobic. The panic, they were sucking the air out of the tunnels. This was how they were going to do it. He was trapped inside the chambers of death. His heart started racing, his arms tingled, his fingers cramped, he began to sweat even more, he needed to get out.

  He ran down the dingy corridors, dodging, and nudging all the zombie-like walking dead out his way. He bounded up the permanently paused rusty metal escalator. Up and up. Everything non-essential was switched off these days. They had said it was a temporary energy saving measure, they had said they would turn them all back on soon, once the worst was over. That was years ago, when he was a little boy, holding onto his Mother’s hand. The worst was yet to come. Now grot, grime, and ever-increasing rubbish piles lined the corners and filled the grooves. Even if they wanted to, the escalator would never run again. On the walls, more and more graffiti, gang symbols, and tribal motifs appeared every day. Turf wars were the norm, no one was safe. It was just a matter of time before he would be singled out, shot, hung, and eaten, probably. He shuddered and ran. He had to get out of the putrid labyrinth. He pushed past the barriers, and out into the entrance hall. Out into the heat of the day. It was no better. The temperature was alive, predatory, he felt a million eyes upon him, a creeping sensation washed over his skin, something was terribly wrong, he pulled his cap down as far as he could. The plan has to work.

  He battled his way through the masses to the bus stop. He fought for a standing space under the canopy of the bus stop. The plan has to work, it has to work. He looked at the vomit-stained pavement and waited, trying to ignore all the dead voices around him. The bus arrived. He fought himself to the front of the queue. They were all so docile they barely noticed his aggression. How can they be like that? He wondered. How do they accept this world? Why do they accept it? Is he the only one who can’t accept how bad it is? Is he the only one that can actually see how bad it is? He kept his eyes on the floor as he walked through the bus. He didn’t want to make eye-contact with anyone. He didn’t want to see their pain and suffering. He had enough of his own to worry about. Somehow he managed to find a space at the back. He looked out of the window as more and more people piled onto the bus, until it was almost as over-crowded and odorous as the tube, and it was even more sweltering. He shimmied over as close to the window as possible. He caressed the knife in his pocket, a little piece of home, a little piece of safety, something that was his, in this insane world.

  The bus groaned as it pulled away from the kerb, metal almost touching the ground. The driver was continually beeping his horn, trying to force the people to get out of his way. Ashley stood up and pulled open the window. He couldn’t stand the stench any longer. A tiny bit of hot breeze hit his face. It had to do, for now. He watched the masses outside and blocked out the sensation of sweaty bodies pressing up against him. What were all these people doing? Crowds and crowds of people milling about, going round in circles, going nowhere. The few market vendors that remained defended their stalls with force. He saw a fight over a tin of food, he saw someone get stabbed while waiting in an endless queue to God-knows-where, he looked away, what could he do? What could anyone do? It was all collapsing.

  They turned a corner, down a narrow, shadowy street. The crowds seemed to get worse here in the shade, but the bus crowd thinned slightly. Thank God, he thought. His leg felt wet from the sweat of two bodies being pushed against each other in the heat. He sat up straight and stretched his back. They began heading down a wide open road. It was new. The tar was pitch black, and there were no pot-holes. The paint to mark the centre of the road was still there. Everyone on the bus turned their head and looked out of the window. Beside them in all its monstrous glory was one of the compounds. They all looked up at the ten-metre-high black metal wall, circling the five-square-mile or so of civilised land inside. On the top of the walls were mountains of razor wire and remote-controlled machine guns, he could see red lights, like devils eyes, glowing, laser-beams pointing down to the ground below, protecting the grass buffer between the outside world and the compound wall. Red dots scanned the grass always hunting, always looking for something to kill, they would never give up. He felt like he was looking at an ancient castle he had read about once. There may as well be a moat guarding them from their enemies too. Society had come full circle. It never had to be this way. Dread flowed through him. He realised that he was waiting for them to come for him. He was waiting for a terrible death.

  The bus was forced to a standstill near one of the entrances. Enormous gates with hi-tech, heavily guarded toll-booth barriers allowed only those with access to enter. Groups of military personnel stood beside the entrance, protecting the gate with hand-held machine guns. On each side of the gate were men in military vehicles with large machine-guns mounted on top. Hundreds of beggars and other desperate’s congregated outside the gates. They were continually trying to stop the few beautiful modern cars of the wealthy as they tried to re-enter the gates.

  Even through the noise of the crowd and the bus, Ashley could hear the soldiers.

  “Fuck off,” they demanded in no uncertain terms, again and again.

  They wore a disgusted expression as if they couldn’t quite believe the pitiful sight in front of them. Each time they said ‘fuck off’ it was angrier and angrier. There was spit flying out the soldier's mouths as they shouted. They raised their guns and began nudging the beggars away with the barrels. The soldiers clearly hated the beggars. But the beggars seemed not to notice the growing agitation. They were swarming the cars, running their bony hands down the doors and windows, trying to open them, trying to break them open. On
e of the soldiers raised his weapon: bang. The gunshot echoed off the walls, and then everything fell eerily silent as one of the beggars collapsed onto the floor never to rise again. All eyes on the bus were watching as the blood pooled around him. The rest of beggars shuffled away, but only to a safe distance. They stood in a circle, furious talking ensued, arms frantically waving about in all directions, fear lined all their faces. Someone from the military grabbed the dead body by the hand and dragged him away. Blood lining the way. He was dumped down into a ditch. Another soldier stood on the edge and sprinkled a white power over the body. There was no shock on the sun-burnt haggard faces of the beggars as this happened. They had obviously seen this numerous times before. The wild, frantic talking stopped. The beggars began watching the cars again. The soldiers started trying to speed up the compound re-entering process. The beggars crept closer to the vehicles, nothing would deter them.

  Ashley looked away in disgust. He hated them as much as the soldiers did, but he hated the people in the cars even more. The divide was so evident here. The scene playing out before him was worse every time he saw it. A sudden lurch rose from the depths of his stomach. Tears formed in his eyes. For some reason, he thought of his Mother. Her decline matched the decline out here. She used to be so beautiful, the other women used to look up to her. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t they control the climate, the population, anything? What was the point of the scientists telling them anything? They knew and let it happen anyway. They could have done something. They could have made the people do whatever they wanted. They had all the power and all the money. But they were useless. Worse than useless. Ashley grimaced and looked back at the horrifying scenes. This was all their fault. His pathetic excuse for a life was all their fault. The total and utter human wreckage was all their fault. It was utterly hypnotising, devastating, a sign of worse things to come. Ashley rubbed the tears away, angry at himself for allowing his inner struggles to materialise on his face.

  The bus finally started up again, but only after all the hydrogen cars had entered through the compound gates and passed through the sterilisation sprays. The bus travelled away from the grotesque gates of the rich, heading out of the city centres, and into the Estates. The bus began shaking as the roads got worse. There were cracks and pot-holes everywhere, and still, it got worse. The people on the bus started to bounce about and collide into each other. The suspension of the old bus started shrilling, metal on metal, that awful grinding sound. Ashley covered his ears. Hidden in the dreadful, deafening sounds, he could hear echoes of the myriad, individual voices screaming out, blurring into one horrendous noise, background radiation, it was all too much. He closed his eyes and prayed for things to get better. He actually prayed.

  His stop arrived. He ran down the aisle and jumped off from the oven of the bus into the grill of the outside. He stood straight and shuddered as he watched the rusty old bus moan away, down the broken road. The plan, the plan, the plan, the plan, the plan. He pulled the hood over his cap and shoved his hands into his pockets. He gripped the knife handle as if it were a stress ball. The street he walked down perfectly matched the degradation of his own. They could be superimposed over each other, and no one would spot the difference. Addicts jacking up under the shade of a thirsty tree. Alcoholics passed out on benches, or grassy knolls, literally anywhere. Groups of wild-children running around with no shoes on. Youths getting high on anything, then getting frisky. Wanderers, countless wanderers, emerging from dirty tents pitched wherever there was a piece of grass, or even on the concrete. Pegs were forced between cracks of the pavement. It was like a depressing version of the old music festivals he’d read about. Wherever he stepped the hats were out, the knives would be next. There was no shame anymore. He quickened his pace.

  He marched through a dilapidated, yet packed shopping arcade. The shops were mostly second-hand goods or cheap food stores. But even out here, on the outskirts of what was once the city, but was now just the slightly busier part of the housing Estate which covered all England, the food-shelves were becoming disturbingly bare, and expensive. Soldiers protected the main shops with guns. Ashley skulked passed them and re-emerged into the sunlight. For him the attraction was the cash machines, they were protected inside a state-of-the-art security door, but there were no soldiers. Instead, there were working cameras everywhere. The whole building was like a panic room. Unless you had access, you weren’t getting inside. Even in the blackouts, this thing hummed with life.

  He sat on a wall on the other side of the road from the room. He watched the people park up on the street in their old hybrid cars. Even with astronomical petrol prices, people who still had bank accounts didn’t want to run the risk of leaving without a quick getaway. He watched the people enter the room. He timed them. He waited. He looked around. He wasn’t the only vulture out today. He had a knack for spotting others like him. All of them were calm and collected like he was. All of them had a little more fire in their eyes than usual. They were much less pathetic, and there was an affinity between them. But he didn’t want the money, he had other ideas. An hour passed as he watched in the burning early afternoon sun, he began to learn the routines by heart. A certain sense of guilt flooded him momentarily, but he pushed all sentiments aside and focussed, this was about survival nothing more.

  Finally, his chance arrived. There was a rush. Several dilapidated hybrids all came at the same time and parked up on the edge of the road. Then a small middle-aged woman pulled up in a nice, well-kept car. It was perfect. She parked about twenty metres from the doors. The car was just out of view of the cameras too. She was nervously looking about, head scanning the area. He watched her dump her car keys into her bag. His heart raced. Go. He leapt off the wall and ran across the road, bending down trying to stay out of her line of sight behind the cars. He jumped onto the path in front of her and snatched her bag before she had a chance to react. He was sweating and fumbling. He shoved his hand into her bag and found her keys. He chucked the bag into the road then clicked the clicker to unlock the car. Then he wrenched open the door and leapt inside, locking the door behind him. The woman was hammering on the car window with her skinny fist. No one came to her aid. Ashley started the old motor up. He desperately skidded down the road, turned the corner, and disappeared into the distance.

  Nine

  Mia was clinging to Jack tightly. She was staring into his eyes with fear in hers. He held onto her firmly, trying to keep her calm. He leaned forward and grabbed the closest blunt instrument he could find, a candlestick holder. What’s going on? Maybe whoever it was would just leave if they were quiet enough. They sat like statues, frozen in place. Mia barely dared to breathe. The door rattled again. Mia’s face turned white. She clutched her stomach. Jack hugged her closer and waited.

  He suddenly remembered all the rumours he had heard, that people were being arrested for no reason what-so-ever. The soldiers just barged into people’s homes and removed whoever they wanted, without explanation. If anyone put up a struggle, they ended up regretting it with a sledgehammer to the ankle, or a crushed hand. People didn’t struggle anymore, and once they were taken, they were never seen or heard from again. No one had any idea what happened to them. The ones that were left behind tried to forget the ones that were taken, by ingesting even more medication, drugs, and alcohol. What choice did they have? If anyone spent too long thinking about it… well… Jack squinted his eyes shut. Stop it, he told himself. The world really had gone totally insane. For him to actually believe that there could be soldiers at the door was incentive enough to do whatever it takes to escape.

  There was a third knock on the door.

  “Mate, Jack, you giant oversized bastard. Let us in?”

  Mia and Jack both simultaneously expelled the air that was frozen inside them. They looked at each other, laughed, and stood up. Jack set the candlestick holder back down.

  “Shit,” Jack chuckled, stepping towards the front door. “I totally forgot Zach and Sasha were
coming over tonight.”

  Mia put her hands on her hips, and grinned widely, mischievously. He knew that look. He frowned, slightly, unconvincingly. She walked over to counter and grabbed the clean washing.

  “Don’t Mi,” Jack said as he put his hand on the front door handle.

  “What?” she said, looking over her shoulder, sauntering the couple of steps toward the bedroom door.

  “You know what.”

  She halted in the doorway and threw the washing into the bedroom. She put her index finger on her lip and slowly inserted the tip into her mouth. She gritted the nail between her teeth and raised one of her eyebrows. She was doing it again. They already thought she was crazy. He thought she was crazy, that’s why he liked her. He watched her hang onto the door frame and fall forwards dramatically, out of sight. He waited until she closed the door before letting out another long, drawn-out sigh. She really was too much sometimes. He laughed to himself.

  “About time,” Zach roared as he burst into the room grabbing Jack’s hand pulling him closer, hugging him, and slapping his back. “Wow, I don’t envy you with that lot outside. It’s like a bloody war-zone out there, and then having to climb up those steps every day. Where’s Mi?”

  “In the bedroom.”

  “Oh right…” Zach winked.

  “Not like that.”

  “If you say so!”

  Zach fell onto the sofa and grabbed the remote. He turned it over in his hands looking at is as if it were some sort of alien object.

  “OK, alright,” Jack sighed. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

  “Would moi do a thing like that?” Zach pointed to his own chest with an angelic look on his face.

  “As if you wouldn’t,” Mia replied as she emerged from the bedroom wearing one of her own clean T-shirts for once, and a pair of old jeans.