Dead City: Outbreak. Chapter 6

Grab and squeeze

Dead City Chronicles: Chapter Six

After witnessing the state-sponsored abduction of Freddie Stockdale, leaving the boy with his mother was hard. Even now, standing at the petrol pump filling the car with enough fuel to get them to the protest and back, Andy wanted nothing more than to return home with the boy and lock the door behind them. The boy had been distraught after watching Freddie being bundled into the police car and his father beaten by the cop. “Pigs,” Andy muttered as he watched the digits on the pump climb. “Filth.”

At the house, after Sam had been placated with a round of buttered toast and a comforting hug from his nanna, Mike had convinced Andy to continue their journey up north and support the protestors.

‘Can’t you see?’ he’d whispered as the kettle boiled and Andy’s mother distracted the boy. ‘If we don’t take a stand this is only going to get worse. It’s tyranny, Andy, and it’s coming down to crush us with a hobnailed boot. That kid - he swallowed down bubbling rage - that kid was stolen from his parents for no good reason. I know Sid and Aileen, they’re sound.’

Andy had glanced across to Sam. A dob of jam sat at the corner of his mouth and his eyes were red from crying, but the heaving sobs had stopped. He had taken another bite of toast as he’d listened to his grandmother’s distracting chatter. A puppy from her golden retriever’s new litter, not more than seven weeks old, sat on her lap and Sam held out his hand to stroke its baby soft and golden fur. ‘I’m keeping this one. I’ve called him Beowulf-’

‘But he’s a retriever, not a wolf.”

‘He’s not but he can still be a brave warrior and chase cats from Nanna’s garden. Do you know who Beowulf was?’

Sam shook his head. Nanna tutted. ‘What do they teach you these days? Beowulf was a legendary warrior who killed the man-eating monster Grendel.’

‘How did he kill the monster?’

‘With his bare hands!’ she said with a snarl whilst raising her hands and clenching them like claws. Sam grimaced and she softened then chuckled. “Grandpa wants to call him puddles. Can you guess why?’

Mike tapped his arm. Andy turned his attention back to his friend. ‘We’ve got to show up. Silence is taken as consent, and we do not fucking consent to a digital fucking open air prison!’ he’d hissed.

‘Steady with the language, bud,’ Andy had replied with a quick glance at his mother which confirmed she’d heard Mike’s outburst. Without reprimand she continued to chatter to Sam, soothing him with maternal ease.

‘Sorry …’ Mike offered an apologetic palm to Andy’s mother. ‘It’s just … but you see why we’ve got to go up there and show our support. It’s spreading like a cancer, bud, and we’re the chemo that’s going to stop it.’

Andy shook his head. “I know. I get it.”

‘Doesn’t sound like you do,’ Mike continued. ‘That’s two local kids that’ve been taken from their parents on spurious grounds. We’ve got to think of them. Do you want this to be his future?’ Mike gestured to Sam at the table. He was stroking the pup’s head with one hand whilst biting on the slice of toast held in the other. More jam had smeared his lips. The tension across Andy’s had chest tightened and he had been on the verge of bailing when his mother had looked up from talking to Sam and said: ‘The both of you go. Sam’s safe with me and your dad.’ She’d held Andy’s gaze. ‘Freedom has to be fought for, son.’

As the petrol pump’s digital readout headed towards fifty pounds his phone vibrated then gave a series of loud and unusual repetitive beeps. He hooked the nozzle back onto its hook and removed the phone from his pocket whilst flipping the lid closed on the petrol tank.

The screen was flashing red. “What the hell?” As he stared at the flashing logo, a circle with the initials ZC at its centre, Mike’s mobile buzzed too. His was a longer beep of notification. As the flashing motif dimmed, several lines of red text appeared. For a second they were static and then flashed twice. It read: ‘You have reached your monthly fuel allowance.’ After several seconds another message appeared. ‘Touch the screen to continue normal mobile service’. Andy ignored the instruction. “What the hell!” he exclaimed staring at the screen with incomprehension. He glanced around the petrol station. At another pump, a motorist was also staring at his screen. “You got a notice?” he shouted across.

“Yeah!” the man replied. “Says I’ve reached my fuel limit.”

“Me too. What the hell is it about?”

The man shrugged. “Buggered if I know,” he replied then slammed his door shut and strode across to the kiosk to pay for his fuel.

Andy leant into the car. “Did you get a notification?” he asked whilst holding up the face of the mobile to Mike.

“Yeah. I got carbon credits for sharing a car journey.”

“What the … I got a notification that I’d reached my fuel allowance for the month.”

“You what?”

“Yeah.”

Mike shook his head, his upper lip curling. “The bastards are tracking us. Actually fucking tracking us.”

“I’ve got to click the screen to use my phone again,” he said staring at the now flashing message.

“Control and coercion. They’re holding us by the balls and squeezing,” Mike muttered darkly.

“This is nuts,” Andy said. “How am I meant to get to work and back if this is all the fuel I get?” The message on his mobile had come as a shock. There had been talk of limiting fuel, but that had all been maligned as ‘conspiracy theory’ and anti-government propaganda. Now it was here. Mike had been right; they wanted them locked in and off the roads.

Mike stepped out of the car. “I’ll go and pay,” he said and walked to the shop. Andy noticed the poster taped to the inside of the glass door. On it was the familiar circular band of flowers he’d seen on cashier’s badges at the local supermarket. At the centre in a cutesy font was printed, ‘Zee-Cee Saves the Planet’ and at the bottom in a gold-edged ribbon that made the logo look like a medal was written: ‘We’re doing our bit. Are you?’

“Z. C.” Andy said as the motif on his phone began to flash again. “Zero fucking Carbon. What a joke!” Why hadn’t he listened to Mike before? If they’d all come together when the rumours had started, then maybe they could have stopped it.  

They told you to your face.

No one believed it.

It was there in black and white.

We had lives. Work. Kids. I was busy.

Busy watching the telly and drinking with your mates whilst they built the prison around you.

Shut up.

You had time but you fobbed Mike off and laughed at his ‘conspiracy nut’ friends.

Andy withheld a groan.

It’s them that’s laughing now.

And we’re crying.

He continued to stare at the screen, mesmerized by the flashing text. Was it too late? The message to touch the screen reappeared. He switched his phone off then on again. The flashing ZC logo reappeared along with the message of compliance. He touched the screen. This time the logo flashed green and was followed by the message. ‘Zee-Cee saves the planet. We’re doing our bit. What about you?’

Mike returned from the shop shaking his head, a frown forming a dark line between his eyebrows. “Sorry, bud, but they won’t take my payment.”

“Why?”

“She said it’s linked your carbon credits. They wouldn’t let me pay.”

“This is nuts,” he repeated before walking to the shop to pay.

“I’ll give you some cash towards the fuel,” Mike called as the door to the shop swung open.

With the fuel paid for, they joined the slow flow of traffic on the road bound out of town. Silence sat between them as they moved forward. Traffic picked up to a more reasonable speed as they climbed the hill and approached the town’s boundary. After the final mini roundabout that led to newly built housing estates, they approached the large roundabout that would take them to the northbound motorway. Towards the top of the hill, the newly installed surveillance cameras came into view. At each of the roundabout’s exits cameras were placed to take photographs and collect data. Mike and Andy’s mobile’s beeped simultaneously as they took the third exit heading north.

Andy’s gut twisted a little tighter. The ping on his phone meant another fifteen quid out of his pocket and into the government’s coffers.

“Bastards!” Mike muttered as he checked his phone.

“What is it?”

“They’ve charged me! A passenger!”

“Fucking criminals!”

“And the price has gone up.”

“What? No way!”

“Yep. Getting out of the gulag now costs twenty quid a pop.”

“That’s just …” Andy fell silent, the familiar ache of anxiety twisting in his gut. A heavy weight began to press against his shoulders as the sparsely filled food cupboards at home came into mind. Last month had been tough and he’d been down to his last forty-six pence before another payment had cleared. Work was slacking off too, even in the wealthier towns and villages. People just weren’t spending like they used to and if he had to start paying twenty quid a time to get on the road and be rationed on fuel, then he wouldn’t be able to take the more lucrative jobs further out. There just wasn’t enough work in town to keep him going and he was clinging on to solvency by his fingernails. If this squeeze on his finances continued, they’d become bloody and broken and he’d slip from the ledge.  

“Tyranny is what it is, mate. Fucking tyranny.”

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