Dead City: Outbreak. Chapter 4

Keeping you safe in Zone 4

For those of you who haven’t started the novel here’s a link to Chapter One

Chapter Four

After ending the call, Amy left Grandpa Matt’s apartment and made her way down the numerous flights of concrete steps to the grubby foyer. The lift had been out of order for several months and rumours had spread that a secret directive had been given from the Director of Energy Preservation not to repair it. Every ounce of electricity saved was a carbon credit earned for the local council and with the Department Heads enrolled in a bonus scheme where they received personal credits for the savings their departments managed, she could well believe it.

She stepped out of the stale and piss-laden air of the foyer and onto the road with her mind reeling. The exertion of coming down the stairs had left her a little breathless, but it was the calm way that Nancy, the Senior Life Enhancement Coach with the Medical Assistance team, had explained about Grandpa Matt’s appointment with Death that was causing her heart to beat hard and her stomach to lurch with watery lightness. Nancy hadn’t called it an appointment with Death, of course, but that’s what it was. Worse, when Amy had explained that Grandpa Matt didn’t need the appointment and that his referral had been a mistake, the woman’s voice had changed. Gone were the kind and gentle tones and Amy had been informed that a referral had been made and it was up to the Medical Assistance Team as to whether it was needed or not. Amy, not being his legal guardian, had no say in the matter. When the woman had gone on to explain that Mr. Matthew Bowman was without a legal guardian and that the Department of Life Enhancement was therefore obliged to take on that role, dread had swathed Amy like a damp pall.

In that moment she realised she would have to fight for Grandpa Matt’s life.

As Amy took a breath of fresh air to help ease the tension and rid her nose of the stairwell’s stench, her mobile buzzed. The knot in her stomach tightened as she pulled the phone out of her pocket. The screen was printed with her credentials and location—Personal ID, the name of the street, and the time. ‘KEEPING YOU SAFE’ was printed beneath. She looked up to the cluster of security cameras fixed to the lamp post. At eye level a sign was screwed to the post. In large, red capitals it read, ‘YOUR 24/7 PERSONAL SECURITY GUARD’. Beneath the statement was printed, ‘Keeping you safe in Zone 4’ and ‘Your security is our job’. At the very bottom was the logo for the local council.

The journey to the supermarket was short, but it was impossible to shake the feeling of being watched.

That’s because you are being watched, Amy. Get used to it. There’s nothing you can do to stop it.

Lead-lined clothes? Face-disguising make-up?

Sure! Doesn’t matter anyway, they’re tracking you with the phone.

Get rid of it.

Then how are you supposed to run your life? No phone. No money. No life. Simple.

She huffed and grabbed a basket from beside the supermarket’s door. It was a small store, one that hadn’t yet installed barriers at the door to register a customer’s entry like some of the bigger supermarkets had. Amy tried to avoid those when she could, even though the smaller ones were more expensive.

As she walked the aisles, she picked up several packets of meat, a selection of vegetables, and some mascarpone cream to make the chicken pasta bake Grandpa Matt loved, then headed for the tills. The cashier smiled and asked her about her day as she scanned the products. Amy lied and said she was having a good day; the usual conversation at the till that the cashier must have a hundred times a day. With the basket empty and the products scanned, Amy held up her card to the reader. It beeped and the cashier frowned.

“Sorry love, the card’s been declined.”

“But there’s money in my account. I checked this morning.”

“Sorry, but your cre-”

“Not to worry, I can pay cash,” Amy said opening her purse.

“It makes no difference. You’ve not got enough credits for the meat.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve reached your carbon limit on the meat this month.”

Amy stared at the cashier as she processed the woman’s words. Gaining carbon credits by buying vegan produce had been trialled in the area and they’d made it hard to buy meat by putting the price up, but she hadn’t heard that they were putting limits on what you could buy.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s part of the Zee-Cee Saves the Planet initiative,” she said.

“Zee-Cee?”

“Zero Carbon. We had a workshop on it last month. As you know, the world’s governments are trying to save the planet from climate disaster. It’s an emergency and the scientists have calculated that the rearing and processing of meat has to be reduced.” The woman spoke in monotone as she regurgitated the monologue learned by rote. “Zero Carbon by 2050. It’s essential to reach it otherwise we face an extinction level event.” She forced a smile, also learned by rote.

Amy noticed the large badge on her lapel. It was circular with a band of flowers. Printed at the centre, in green lettering and a rounded font, was ‘Zee-Cee Saves the Planet’. At the bottom a ribbon-style banner edged with gold, read, ‘I’m doing my bit. Are you?’

“But I’ve got money!” Amy said, pulling out a twenty-pound note from her purse. “I can pay!”

The cashier shook her head. “We don’t take cash no more. It’s a new thing, love. They were trialling it down south, and now all the stores are making the change. It’s the best for us all—to keep us safe.”

“But … I need the meat … my grandpa … I was going to make a chicken pasta bake.” Amy’s voice held a note of hysteria as she glanced at the basket with the packets of meat, mascarpone cream, and fresh parsley.

“But you’ve got more than chicken in your basket. You’ve got minced beef and sausages and diced beef too!” The cashier’s tone was disapproving, and her mood shifted. She glanced across to her colleagues whilst her hand moved beneath the till. “We’ve all got to do our bit!” she said, with an edge to her voice. “If we don’t, we’re all going to drown as the waters rise or burn in a wildfire. The models show-”

Amy snorted. “We’re in a city! In the middle of the country and not on the coast!”

The cashier’s arm moved as she pressed a button beneath her till. She gave Amy a hard, defiant, smile then glanced across to the aisle where another store worker, grey hair curling over the band of her intercom, had turned to watch them. The woman gave the cashier an officious nod, directed a shopper to another till, then moved towards Amy. She also wore the ‘Zee-Cee’ badge on her lapel. On the opposite side a badge declared that her name was ‘Jane’.

“Is there a problem Annie?” she asked the cashier.

“Potential 10-20, Jane. This young lady doesn’t have enough credits for her purchase. And she’s got stacks of meat!”

“A few packs is hardly stacks!” Amy retaliated. “I just wanted to cook some meals for my grandpa to put in his freezer.”

“If you put some back, Miss, then you may have enough credits,” Jane suggested.

After the conversation with the Life Enhancement Coach, Amy’s patience had worn thin. “This is stupid!” she blurted. “I just want some meat.”

“10-20 at till 5,” Jane murmured into her microphone.

The door to an office at the far end of the tills opened immediately and two black-clad security guards with bright blue tabards strode out. Jane raised a hand.

“There’s no need for that!” Amy said as she realised that the security guards had been called to deal with her. “I haven’t been rude or abusive. I just … Oh, forget it!” she exclaimed. “Keep the damned meat. I’ll go somewhere else and buy it.”

“Good luck with that!” the cashier scoffed. “That was abusive, Jane. You heard it,” the woman said as the guards approached, and Amy took quick strides away from the till.

Footsteps pounded behind her as she headed for the exit but as she hurried forward, the doors slid shut. She stood on the mat, expecting the doors to open, but they remained closed.

“If we could have a few words, Miss,” a deep voice said from behind.

She turned to the security guards and stood dwarfed by the men. Each wore a black uniform almost identical to that worn by the police. Only the blue tabard with the store logo marked them out as civilians.

“I haven’t taken anything, and I haven’t been abusive,” Amy said.

One of the guards held up a phone. For one relieved moment she thought she had left hers at the till and he was returning it.

“If you could just stand still, please, Miss,” the blonde guard said.

“I am standing still!”

“Without any abuse or attitude, please.”

With the doors closed behind her, she bit back an acerbic retort and stood with her arms folded. “Fine! But I’d like to leave. You have no right to keep me here. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“The store reserves the right to prosecute anyone abusing its staff,” the guard with blonde hair said.

“This is ridiculous,” said Amy, shocked at how the situation was escalating. “I haven’t abused anyone!”

The guard with darker hair held a phone at her face and took an image, then slid his finger over the screen. “Amy Bowman,” he said. “ID 756-731-0A”

A chill ran through Amy as she realised he had pulled up her details on his phone. “How the hell-”

“Abusive language is a fineable offence, Miss,” the dark-haired guard warned. “I suggest you curb yours.”

“She’s registering eighty,” his colleague said.

“Eighty-five is the threshold,” the dark-haired guard replied. He returned his attention to Amy. “Miss Bowman, I have to issue a caution. Your abusive behaviour has been logged, leaving me without a choice.”

“You’re fining me!” she said, startled. “But I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You caused one of the store executives emotional distress,” he replied.

“I was upset … she refused to serve me.”

“She was just doing her job. She can’t serve you if you don’t have enough credits,” he replied.

The blonde-haired guard tapped his phone’s screen then placed it in his pocket.

Amy’s phone pinged.  

“Thank you, Miss,” said the dark-haired guard. “You are free to go.”

As the doors slid open, Amy took several steps backwards away from the guards, bumping into the cluster of men and women that had gathered around the locked doors. Jostled by other shoppers she stumbled before turning and escaping the shop.

Minutes later, she stopped to catch her breath and check her phone. There were two notifications. One informing her of the charges laid against her by the store for ‘causing emotional stress to a store executive’ and the other informing her of the fine, instantly debited to her bank account. She stared at the screen. Her hand trembled as she clutched the phone to her chest, rage sending adrenaline coursing through her veins. The screen showed a negative balance of credits for the remainder of the month.