Chapter 9: Dead City: Outbreak

You are in violation of Protection of Persons Against Harms Statute A-356-D.

It has been quite a while (apologies) so if you need a refresher, or are new, start here: Index

Chapter 9

Amy stabbed at the mobile’s screen, re-entering her details. ‘Request denied’ reappeared. “Not happening,” she muttered and returned to the online form. ‘Application for Guardianship of a Vulnerable Person’. She stabbed at the keys, entering her own details along with her digital ID and those of her grandfather. Once again, the application was denied. A ping alerted her to an incoming email, and she switched screens. An opened message from the Department of Life Enhancement sat below the new message from the Department of Social Wellbeing. She opened and read it:

Application for Guardianship of Vulnerable Person

Status: Refused

Grounds: Applicant deemed unsuitable

Evidence: Class C misdemeanour: Emotional Abuse and Aggression towards a Store Executive.

Amy stared at the screen, struggling to comprehend the information; they were refusing her application for guardianship for Grandpa Matt because of the supermarket incident. “This is not happening!” she whispered and glanced across to her sleeping grandfather. Since the telephone call from Nancy, Senior Life Enhancement Coach from the Medical Assistance Team, the need to protect him had taken on a steel-like resolve and she had taken a few days off work to cook his meals and tend to his festering leg. It had improved, much to her relief and, with the weekend coming up, she hoped that by Monday she would be able to return to work and then fend off any efforts by the Medical Assistance Team to take him into their ‘care’.

As she replaced her mobile beside her on the sofa the doorbell rang. A neighbour, she thought, no one else would have access to the apartment block, hopefully Mrs. Strickland with the beef pie she had promised to bake for Grandpa, bless her.

As she opened the door, expecting to see the elderly lady bearing a cloth-wrapped pie, the smile on her face dropped and she felt the lightness of shock wash through her body. In the corridor stood two men and two women. Each of the men was clad in black, each stern-faced and, like the security guards at the supermarket, exuding an aura of defensive aggression. The women wore matching blue striped dresses, ill-fitting over their ample stomachs and thighs. The dresses were topped by identical navy cardigans. Each bore a badge on their collars bearing the initials DLE. The men’s lapels were also stitched with the initials.

Department of Life Enhancement. Since when do they need armed guards? “Yes?” Amy said, her thoughts scrambling, heart pounding.

Don’t let them in!

I won’t.

“Good afternoon,” the shorter, wider woman said. She had glossy brown hair cut into a severe bob with the blunt fringe cut straight above her eyebrows. The second woman, a blonde, had hers scraped back into a tight and immaculately combed ponytail, stray hairs fastened down with hairspray. Both, though on the plumper side, appeared to be in their mid-twenties which Amy took to be a cynical move by the state; a vindictive effort to employ younger staff, ones blithely unaware of their own impending mortality and so far less likely to be empathetic to their elderly patient’s plight.

“We’re here to assess Mr. Bowman. May we come in?”

No. Amy shook her head. “Can I help you?” she said.

The shorter, dark-haired woman turned her phone to enable Amy to see the screen. “We have an appointment-”

“I didn’t make an appointment.”

“We have an appointment to see Mr. Matthew Bowman,” she continued.

“We haven’t made an appointment,” Amy repeated.

The short woman continued to hold the screen at Amy. “It was made by his guardian, the Department of Life Enhancement.”

“They’re not-” Amy’s bowels grew watery. “It’s not possible to see him now. He’s asleep.”

The woman’s lips thinned. “We do have authority to enter the home of Mr. Matthew Bowman. A referral-”

“He’s fine. His leg is fine. I’m looking after him now.”

“And you are?”

“Amy Bowman. His granddaughter.”

The taller guard held his phone to Amy’s face, tapped the screen then said: “Confirmed. Amy Bowman, D.I.D 756-731-0A.”

The blonde woman tapped her phone and offered the screen to the shorter woman. She read it and then returned her attention to Amy. “Thank you for confirming that, Miss Bowman. As you are aware, you have been denied guardianship for Mr. Matthew Bowman for a Class C misdemeanour: Emotional Abuse and Aggression towards a Store Executive.”

The security guards behind the women shifted, focusing their gaze more intently on Amy.

“But it was nothing. They said I didn’t have enough credit for meat, and I needed it to make meals for my grandfather. He needed it to help him get better. The nutrition- I was frustrated.”

“She’s measuring eighty-four,” the larger guard said. “Almost at the threshold.”

The statement reminded her of the supermarket guard’s comment and Amy caught his gaze. “What does that mean?” she asked.

He smirked. “It’s your BPPVH rating,” he stated.

“Which is?”

His smirk broadened and a spiteful gleam crossed his face. “BPPVH. Bio-Surveillance of Potential Perpetrators of Violence or Harm. We issue fines once it reaches eighty-five regardless of circumstance.”

“The trick,” the other guard said, “is to remain absolutely calm and,” he narrowed his eyes, “co-operative.”

“If it gets to ninety-nine, we can make an arrest,” the short dark-haired woman said.

Their words had a chilling effect, and four pairs of eyes watched her reaction.

The taller guard turned his screen towards her. Beneath ‘BPPVH’ and between ‘Amy Bowman. D-ID: 756-731-0A' the green digital readout read ‘84’ but within a second it flashed and ‘86’ glowed red. A tattoo of triple beeps followed.

“Oops!” the large guard said and thumbed the screen. “Amy Bowman, I have to inform you that I am issuing a fine under the Protection of Persons Against Harms Statute A-356-D.”

“Do you have to?” Amy queried, once again startled at how quickly the situation was deteriorating.

“Once the system detects a breach, protocols must be followed. It’s out of my hands.”

“Just doing your job,” Amy said.

Amy’s phone pinged. The screen confirmed the fine.

“May I remind you, Miss Bowman, that a reading of ninety-nine could result in an issue for your arrest. Now, take a deep breath.”

Despite her fury, Amy took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm.

“Eighty-four,” the large guard said. “Well done,” he said with insincerity.

The short woman with the blunt fringe stepped forward and Amy stepped aside and let the group in.

They swarmed around Grandpa Matt. Within minutes, despite his confusion at being woken, the guards had forced him to stand and were instructing him to walk with them to the ambulance waiting outside.

“You can’t do this!” Amy protested. “You haven’t even checked his leg. I’m here. I can look after him. He’s getting better! Check his leg! You’ll see.”

Ignoring her, the group crowded the elderly man and walked him to the door forcing Amy to stand aside and watch in helpless frustration as he was taken away. She followed them down the stairs, politely protesting, heart beating hard but as Grandpa Matt, a guard with a hand on each arm, turned to her, terrified eyes brimming with tears, she lost control.

“Leave him alone!” she screamed. “Leave him alone you evil bastards!”

A man she recognised as a local - Andy? Mike? - looked up from his phone, startled at her outburst then watched slack jawed as the elderly man’s legs collapsed beneath him and he stumbled. The guards continued to walk forward dragging Grandpa Matt’s feet against the tarmac, one slipper falling off.

“Stop!” Amy screamed. “You’re hurting him!”

Andy ran forward and stepped in front of the guards, holding up his hands in a halting gesture. “Hey! Hang on. You’re hurting the guy.”

Amy ran to stand beside him, tears blurring her vision, and squatted to retrieve Grandpa Matt’s slipper. She replaced it with care.

“What’s going on here?” Andy demanded, unintimidated by the guards.

“They’re taking my grandpa away!” Unable to hold back her emotion, her voice trembled. “He doesn’t want to go, and I’ve told them that I’ll look after him but-”

“Ninety-eight, Miss Bowman,” the large guard said with a menacing tone.

“Take a deep breath,” Blunt Fringe said without kindness.

Amy quietened. “They can’t do this!” she whispered. “They just can’t!”

“Hey, if the gentleman doesn’t want to go, let him stay,” Andy demanded.

Whip quick, the blunt-haired woman turned, a cruel sneer barely hidden. “I’m afraid that as a vulnerable person without a guardian, he can’t be left alone.”

“He’s not alone!” Amy hissed.

Her phone pinged. Another fine.

“But he has someone to help. She’s standing right here.”

“Her request for guardianship has been denied,” the sharp featured blonde replied as the elderly man shuffled to the back of the ambulance.

Andy’s phone pinged. As he checked the screen, a deep frown creased his brows. “What the hell’s this?” he said. “I’ve been fined for obstructing an officer of the state!”

Ignoring his outburst, the woman held Amy’s eyes with a hard, unwavering gaze: “Mr. Bowman’s suitability for communal living will be assessed at the centre and a report made. You will be notified of our decision within four working days.”

“Evil bitch,” Andy muttered as the woman swivelled on her heels and clacked away.

Nausea swirled and Amy felt an arm catch her fall as her legs buckled.