Ghetto

by M L Sparrow

  “One hour, thirty five minutes to destination,” the detached female voice informs me as the car starts forward and I lean back against the leather seat, settling in for the long journey. Mr Mason has a house in the country, as well as an apartment in the city centre, and on a gamble I’ve decided to go there. I hope I’m right.

  Chapter 23

  I have exactly an hour and thirty five minutes to prepare what I’m going to say, but as the car pulls up outside a large brick house in the middle of the countryside, far outside of the city, I still have no clue what I’m going to say. Stepping out of the car, I take a deep breath of fresh air and stretch my cramped muscles. My fingers are sore from where I’ve chewed my nails right down. Standing by the side of the road, I watch the car turn around and head back towards the city without me, causing my stomach to clench anxiously. Once the car’s out of sight, I turn towards the big house somewhat reluctantly, my feet taking me up to the tall, wrought iron front gates. After pressing my finger to the buzzer, I drop my hands to my sides and shove them into my jeans pockets to stop myself from further brutalizing my nails.

  “Mason residence, how may I help you?” a female voice says over the intercom, clear and crisp.

  “My name’s Sunny Beaumont and I’d like to see Mr Mason.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but I’ve come a very long way to see him and I know he’d be very interested in what I have to say.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Beaumont, but I’m under strict instructions not to allow anyone entry without an appointment.”

  “Please, Mr Mason and I know each other, could you just ask him if he’d give me a minute of his time?”

  A loud sigh, then “Fine. Just wait a minute, please.” There’s a click, telling me that the line’s no longer open and I lean my shoulder against the gate, staring up at the white-washed house as I wait. At least he is here, I suppose, and not at his city apartment. A good five minutes later, the voice comes back online. “Mr Mason will see you. Please make your way up to the house.” The gate begins to open and I do as I’m told, the gravel crunching beneath my trainers as I walk up the path.

  A middle aged woman with her hair scraped up into a bun opens the door, wearing a sensible black suit. “Come in,” she beckons, holding out a hand for me to shake once I’ve crossed the threshold and introducing herself, “my names Mrs Jenson, I’m Mr Masons’ house keeper. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to his office.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, gazing up at the grand, curving staircase and the crystal chandelier hanging over the foyer. I’ve seen the likes many times before, but the family pictures on the walls, the discarded coat hanging over the balustrade and the fresh flowers on a side table all make it appear almost homey instead of simply opulent for the sake of it. Following Mrs Jenson up the stairs, I study each picture as I pass. No fake smiles there. She leads me down the corridor to a door at the end which stands ajar, soft, classical music filtering out into the hallway.

  Knocking on the wood, she waits for an answer before stepping inside. “Mr Mason, Miss Beaumont is here.”

  “Send her in, Mary, and if you wouldn’t mind bringing us a pot of tea I’d be grateful.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she answers with a fond smile, before stepping back out into the hall and motioning me to go in. I do so and she closes the door behind me, shutting me in with the old man sitting behind his large glass desk, rare hardback books piled up upon it.

  “Sunny, what a surprise! What brings you here, you’re a long way from home?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I agree, twisting my fingers together nervously, “I needed to speak with you.”

  “Take a seat then, my dear, and have at it.”

  Sitting down in one of the plush armchairs, I admit, “I’m not sure where to start.”

  “I find it’s usually best to start at the beginning,” he informs me, a twinkle in his brown eyes, his wrinkled face creased with a gentle smile.

  “Well…” After a brief pause, the words just spill from my lips. I don’t mean to reveal everything, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Starting from being kidnapped, I tell him all about Sin and the other rebels, some of which he already knows because he is aiding them in their attempt to feed the hungry, and ending with my suspicions about Sin’s heritage. As I talk, Mr Masons’ expression slowly morphs from amused, to serious and thoughtful, to plain shocked.

  “So, you’re telling me you think this boy, the one whose about to be executed, is my grandson?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I nod, rubbing my palms against my knees as he scrubs a hand down his face, “I’m almost 99% certain and I need your help to save him, please. I’m begging you. I don’t know what to do. He’s going to die and I don’t know how to stop it.” I break off with a sob, quickly lifting my hand to smother it as I blink back the tears that well in my eyes. Despite my valiant effort, one slips over, trickling down my cheek and I brush it away with the back of my hand.

  Mr Masons’ chair squeaks as he gets up and rounds the desk, coming to sit in the chair next to me. Reaching over, he takes my hand in both of his and clasps it tight. When I look up at him, he smiles, “You better start calling me Colt, since you’re the girl my grandson loves.”

  The first thing Colt does is arrange for a DNA test, which is easy enough because everyone’s DNA is taken at birth, at the same time their Brands are done. He assures me, however, that he will help Sin no matter what the results.

  “I’ve put a rush on the results,” he informs me, once he’s made the call, “so hopefully we’ll know tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I can smell dinner cooking. You can stay here tonight and tomorrow we’ll both go back to the city to sort this mess out.”

  “Thank you, Mr…” At his chastising look, I correct myself, “Thank you, Colt.”

  “You’re welcome, my dear. This boy, Sin, he’s all I have left of my son, so it’s really me who should be thanking you for bringing him to my attention.” With that he leads me down the stairs, through the foyer and into a large dining room with his hand on my back, holding the door open for me and then pulling out my chair like a true gentleman.

  It is Mrs Jenson who brings in our dinner of chicken pie, new potatoes and carrots, though I’m not sure if she was the one who cooked it, and Colt invites her to eat with us, which she does without argument, implying that it’s a regular occurrence. By unspoken agreement, neither of us mention Sin.

  Once we’re finished and Mrs Jenson is clearing away, I ask Colt, “May I borrow your Tab? I need to contact some friends and let them know what’s going on.”

  “Of course, my dear, it’s up in my office, go ahead.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Stop thanking me, girl, it’s my pleasure.”

  I grin, “Thank you.” He laughs and waves me off. I’m laughing too as I ascend the stairs, heading towards the office, where I easily locate his Tab atop his desk. Sitting in the guest chair, because it feels too presumptuous to sit behind his desk as if it were my own, I log into the fake email account I created to contact Joel. There are no new emails, but I rattle off a quick message to Joel, which I ask him to pass on to Kit and Ben, telling him that everything is in hand and that I’m sorting out Sins’ situation. I hope he checks his emails regularly, I don’t want the rebels to do anything rash in aid of their leader.

  The next morning can’t come fast enough. I’m awake at the crack of dawn, after a fitful night’s sleep. Getting out of bed, I tiptoe out of my room and creep down the hall towards the office; Colt had said to make myself at home, so I take him at his word and settle down with his Tab again. I’ve just checked my emails, to see that Joel hasn’t yet responded, when something catches my eye. Setting the Tab down on the chair beside me, I lean forward, bracing my forearms on the edge of the desk as I read a print out for some kind of business proposition with the catch phrase, “All-Cure for All”, printed across the top in bold font. Reaching out, I slide it closer to me with my fingertips, p
eering down at the fine print.

  “You’d be able to see better if you turned the light on,” an amused voice says from behind me and I whirl around, wide eyed, just as the room fills with light. Colt is standing in the doorway, grinning at me. It’s that amusement that insures I don’t feel even a hint of guilt at going through his paperwork.

  “This is a proposal for putting All-Cure into everyday foods. No one would ever get ill, because any diseases or infections would be cured before they even knew they were sick.”

  “You’re quick, that’s exactly right. It’s a work in progress, there are a few kinks we still need to work out, but once we get the mixture right it will be the key to a healthy, happy world.” Zeal sparks in his eyes as he talks, reminding me of Sin.

  “Aren’t you worried about overexposure? Eventually people will become immune and then we’ll have no way to cure the sick.”

  “See, that’s why this is so ingenious! We’ve been studying how flu and cancer cells mutate to become immune to certain medications and trying to replicate the way they do this. In theory, the All-Cure will always be changing, so the immune system won’t have time to build up any kind of immunity.”

  “That’s smart, if it works of course.”

  “It’ll work,” Colt assures me, coming to sit in the chair beside me, moving the Tab to the desk, “it might take some time, but it’ll work in the end. In the meantime, we have a more pressing issue.”

  “Yes,” I agree with a nod, before asking, “Have the results come back yet?”

  “It’s barely five a.m, I doubt the technician is even awake yet.”

  “But you put a rush on the results, right?”

  “Right. They’ll ring immediately once they’ve run the test.”

  “I haven’t got a message from my friends yet either.”

  “Well, give it a few hours. There’s no big hurry at the moment.”

  “We only have two days left.”

  “I know, but we’ll sort this all out.”

  “He’s like you,” I say out of the blue, unsure where the words come from because Sin and Colt appear to be nothing alike, however, they both have a steady, self-assured way of speaking.

  A small smile tilts his lips and he reaches out to squeeze my hand. “That’s good to know. I’m glad he grew up to be a good lad, despite the life he’s lead.”

  “He is a good man,” I assure him, “the best. He looks after everyone round him and he never expects anything in return. And he’s smart too, but he doesn’t realize it.”

  “Good,” he murmurs absently, rubbing his bristled chin, “I just hope he can forgive me for not being there for him.” The sadness in his voice pulls at my heartstrings.

  This time I reach out and take his hand, holding it in both of mine as I say emphatically, “None of this is your fault and you shouldn’t blame yourself; you didn’t even know he existed, the same as Sin never knew about you. Plus,” I squeeze his fingers, “by helping get food into the Ghetto you’ve been inadvertently helping Sin for years, without even knowing it.”

  “That’s a nice way of looking at it,” he says softly, keeping hold of my hand, “I hope he sees it the same way.”

  “He will, you’ll see. And if he doesn’t I’ll talk him round,” I grin teasingly, making a laugh burst from him, before he pats my hand and gets up.

  “I believe you could do it, too,” he smiles. “Come on, let’s go get a cup of coffee to wake us up while we wait for any news.”

  “Okay.”

  Just as I’m leaving the office, following Colt, the Tab buzzes from where it’s lying innocently on top of the desk. As attuned as I am to technology I realize what the sound is immediately. I’ve got a message. Waving Colt on, I hurry back into the room, snatching up the devise and swiping the screen to bring it to life. Since I hadn’t logged out, the message is just sitting there waiting for me, so I pull it up.

  It’s from Joel and it’s not good news.

  My heart is pounding against my ribcage as I quickly bring up a News site alongside the email. Footage is playing in a loop with the words Breaking News below it. A well-known News reporter, Adele Connelly, stands in front of the Ghetto, the tall fence rising ominously behind her. I watch with intense focus as she starts talking, starting in the middle of a sentence as if the footage had been cut to only show the most important part.

  “…police have evacuated the Ghetto today, after numerous attacks by a rebel gang. This is the same gang suspected to be behind the theft of a shipment of guns on the 8th of June, so police are proceeding with caution, even as extra measures are being taken to ensure that no one escapes the Ghetto…”

  I stop the video there. It’s not exactly what Joel said, but it’s close enough. According to him the rebels had taken up arms and driven the police out by force, smashing any robots left behind and they planned to descend upon the city with their weapons in order to rescue their leader and right the wrongs done to them. However, the government couldn’t admit to the public how totally out of control this situation had become.

  Clutching the Tab to my chest, I hurry downstairs and into the kitchen, where Colt is pouring dark liquid ambrosia into two mugs. “We have a problem.”

  Turning to me, instantly concerned, he asks, “What kind of problem?”

  “Watch this.” I hold out the Tab and let him press play, watching him closely while gnawing my thumb nail. Once the video is finished the words burst from me, “I don’t know what my dad will do now that he’s under pressure.”

  “I know,” Colt says darkly, turning the Tab to face me, pointing out an update beneath the video. My breath catches as I scan the article; Sin’s execution has been moved forwards.

  “They’re doing it today,” I whisper, horrified.

  “Not if we have anything to do with it,” Colt replied firmly, before pressing one of the steaming mugs into my hand and ordering, “Drink this, go upstairs and get dressed. I’ll call a car and we leave in an hour.”

  “Can’t we go sooner?” I protest, clutching the porcelain mug tighter even though it’s burning my fingertips.

  “We’re out in the middle of nowhere, it’ll take a while for the car to get here. Usually, I have to book in advance.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t even considered the logistics.

  “Go,” Colt urges, “drink your coffee, take a shower, do whatever girly stuff you need to do.”

  I quirk an eyebrow. “Girly stuff?”

  “Yeah. Hair, make-up, the works. My wife used to spend an age getting ready whenever we went out.”

  “Well you don’t need to worry about that from me, I never was very good at any of it, I normally take about twenty minute’s tops, unless my stylist comes, of course, then it takes forever.”

  True to my word, I’m showered and dressed in under half an hour, scraping my unruly hair back into a ponytail as I jog down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I assume Colt is still getting ready, since I can hear the shower running, so I reclaim the Tab, which he has left on the kitchen counter and reread the email from Joel. It sends shivers up my spine; this could be the start of a war.

  I consider emailing him back, to ask if there’s some way he can get a message to Kit for me, but I doubt he’ll get it in time to change anything so I don’t bother. It would be easier if I could just call him. But that would be too easy to trace and I’m sure security has been amped up already due to the controversial nature of the upcoming execution. Already there was speculation about the rightness of it popping up all over the internet; people didn’t know what to think, the law was clashing with what they knew to be morally right, making them question both. But still, many people agreed with my way of thinking; how could he be responsible for something which should have been done when he was a new-born? Quickly adding my own agreement to a couple of the chatrooms, I make sure to sign my full name, Sunny Grace Beaumont. That’d get tongues wagging, the fact that the Presidents’ daughter disagrees with him on such an important matter
.

  Colt is ready exactly twenty eight minutes later and the car arrives nine minutes after he appears downstairs. We climb into the car and set off towards the city, about halfway there, when I’m just able to make out the skyline on the horizon, the call comes. Fishing an ear piece out of his jacket pocket, Colt fits it into his ear and answer, “Mason speaking.”

  I can’t hear the conversation, but his face says it all. When he’s done and has pulled the ear piece out, I ask, “What was that about?”

  “It was the DNA results. Sin’s not my grandson.” The disappointment in his voice is tangible.

  For a moment I don’t know what to say, but then denial hits. “No, that can’t be right. There must have been some kind of mix up.”

  “There was no mix up, Sunny, he’s not James’ son.”

  “Is he Emilies’ at least?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I still don’t believe that he’s not related to you, though.”

  “Sunny, it’s fine, I said I would help you either way and I will.”

  “But you’re so alike,” I cut in, frustrated.

  “Sunny, I’m disappointed too, but it’s alright. I’m still going to help you to the best of my ability.”

  Frowning, I bite back the rest of my argument, because if he’s anything like Sin, and I know they’re peas in a pod, then no amount of arguing will change his mind now that he’s got that stubborn crease between his eyebrows. Turning to stare out of the window, I lift my hand to my mouth, but since I have no nails left to chew I force myself to lower it once more, watching as the overgrown forest begins to thin and the green turns to ominous grey steel and glass structures that loom over us, ready to swallow us whole.

  Chapter 24

  Our first stop is the office building where my dad is working; Colt wants to have a word with him, to see if they can come to some sort of arrangement. Dropping him off outside the building, I watch as he walks inside, the glass doors sliding open to emit him, before leaning forward in my seat to type in my next destination.