Alternative Chapter 2 and part of 3

Chapter  �" 13%

Scott placed his foot on the step and pulled himself into the darkness using the handles either side of the door.  It wasn’t totally dark as he turned to the rear of the vehicle looking for his seat.  A dim red light was just bright enough so he didn’t lose his footing.  The rear of the truck was lined with two steel benches facing each other.  The shadowy shapes of first four pickers sat on the bench to the right with eyes glued to the floor.  He wondered if they were considering the same thing he was.

He stepped forward and pushed himself through the thick anxious air almost choking on it.  He noticed that one of the pickers was not facing down but was looking right at him.  He was fidgeting around on the bench in contrast to the motionless sombre trio flanking him.

‘Hi Five’ came a muffled shout from the man in seat two followed by a short chortle.

Scott looked at him confused and unable to form a word.

‘It says on your suit, five… hi five.  Get it?’  He paused before laughing and continuing.  ‘I’m number two’ he laughed again, ‘Number two, that’s how they see us, I think we should all be marked number two, don’t you?’ said number two.

Scott glanced down to see an upside down stamp of the number five on his chest.  That was what he was now, a number.  More than that, he was part of the calculation used to measure the ratio of water to people.  The ratio would improve with this and every run either through yield or population decrease.  He thought about the last few runs the truck made and roughly worked out the percentage chance of his survival in his head.

Just 13%.

A hand was thrust out in front of him.  ‘Good to meet you, under the circumstances.  I’ll not tell you my name, not being rude, it’s just easier that way.  Just keep to the numbers, trust me, you will be thankful of not having to remember the names of the dead, if you make it back.’

Scott ignored the hand and offered no response as he looked where to sit but 2 continued pecking at the awkward silence with muffled chirpy words.  ‘We’re about to be emptied out into who knows where but if we are lucky we can make it back here kid.  Can’t we?’  He placed his hand on the back of the neck of the picker next to him trying and failing to shake some exuberance into him.  ‘We can all make it back, back to the honey bucket, hey?’ he continued laughing.  ‘Don’t worry kid, just sit down’ said 2 winding down his laughter.

The word kid stung.  It poisoned the sentiment turning the encouragement into a suggestion of weakness.  Scott dejectedly parked himself down on the section of bench marked with 5 and the suit puffed up around him as he puffed out his cheeks.  He considered how he must look, his face was hidden but it was obvious he was young in the oversized suit.

2 immediately leant in engaging Scott reluctantly in conversation, ‘I know you’re confused kid but stay positive, I made it back before, many times and you can too, can’t you?  Stay positive, that’s my advice.’

Advice was the last thing Scott wanted to hear, and positivity over the death sentence he had been handed was another slap in the face.  Every cheerful word shanked him.  He wanted to feel sorry for himself, wanted to wallow, wanted to be alone but 2 was poking at his sorrowful bubble with sharp optimism.  He had already resigned himself to his fate and wanted to just curl up in a ball and cry.  Hide from the reality of where he was.  Call for the mother he could barely remember.

Another number climbed in to the truck rocking it side to side.  If Scott was buried in his hazmat suit then surely number 6 was about to burst out of his.  His straps were unfastened and dangled uselessly around him.  He squished down beside Scott without a word and adopted the same pose as the other hopeless pickers.  Apart from 2 who seemed to had regathered his liveliness and immediately spoke.

‘Whoa, you’re a big’un aren’t ya?’ he said.

Scott had never seen the figure of 6 before and it was hard to miss.  His flowing gut spilled over him as 6 occupied the two seats next to Scott.  He wondered where he had come from and how he could have ended up sharing the same fate as him.  Anyone that size must have paper so why hadn’t he bribed his way out of this death truck.

F****n’ Gordo! Thought Scott, how much food and water had this guy wasted.  Though their bodies were pressed tightly together in the truck Scott felt the division.  Even through the airtight suit filled with a hundred repugnant odours he could smell it clearly.  The paper.  Maybe if 6 had spent less time eating and for sure drinking water maybe he could have done something to help the water situation.  Quite how anyone could help he wasn’t exactly sure but his hateful anger was placed squarely at the blob to his right.

Unprompted 2 burst back in to life ‘I used to do this you know, before it changed to mandatory service.  It was different then though, picking was an easy ride really.  I loved it.  There were plenty of resources back then.  We found everything.  Canned food, cigarettes, whisky.  Then the valuable stuff like electronics, motorbikes, cars even guns.  We would get a decent share of the spoils too.  I had so much paper at one point I didn’t know what to do.  Me and the gang used to go to Roy’s every weekend without fail.  You know Roy’s cantina, right?’ He finally paused for response but more to catch his breath.

‘Yes,’ punctuated Scott.

‘Well, when we finished we would wait for him to open at 8 am,’ he continued more animate than before becoming engrossed in his own story.  Arms started to wave mimicking every word of his memory, ‘we would bang on the shutter shouting, “Roy, get up you old b*****d,” until the lazy f****r got out of bed.’  His words grew into a small chuckle but his memory strained and was soon squashed under the weight of the present, ‘But it’s different now.’

2’s effervescent voice fell into a dark whisper as if speaking of secrets, punishable secrets.  ‘As soon as the moisture collector yields went down we had just one thing to collect. Water.  There was more and more pressure on pickers which meant the number of volunteers dropped.  Then when the first few empty seats came back volunteers dried up as quickly as the poor b******s left behind.’

‘Then when they made it mandatory it just got worse, so many dead now.  You can’t just send anyone.  No experience, no training, no nothing, you need to know where to look.  I said this but would they listen? No.’  His voice rose seemingly forgetting where it was and who could be listening.  ‘No wonder people come back with nothing, its wrong.  I’ve even seen Ex-pickers executed, non-completers they call them.  Like they were shirkers or something and didn’t want to find water.  Calling them traitors.  If they couldn’t find water then there wasn’t any to find.  I’m as sure of that as they are dead.  And no one really cares either unless it’s was a family or whatever.’

He was right, Scott didn’t care about the hundreds before him.  Not until his name was chosen.  As long as he got some water.

‘They generally choose to believe the line that it’s “for the good of the town.”  That is the point of all this now I reckon.  Population control that’s what it is, so there’s more water for them with paper.’

‘Francisco,’ shrieked from outside, ‘no, I won’t let them take you.’  This stole everyone’s attention and all faced towards the doorway.

The supervisor spoke ‘Hey, you, get away from here,’ he commanded.

‘It’s OK, remember I love you’ said a man’s voice softly and calmly.  It had to be 7 and the woman his wife or girlfriend.  The little blonde boy their son.  Her hysterical cries were gradually overtaken by the thumping boots of approaching Policia.

‘Please don’t hurt her’ pleaded the man as the sound of shuffling feet and scuffed dirt was heard.  She let out a blood curdling scream.

‘I love you Bobby, be a good boy for mommy’ he said fighting back tears.

‘Get in the truck,’ ordered the supervisor.

The woman continued to shriek and cry out for her man as her voice faded away into the distance.  7 entered the truck and took his place on the bench immediately bursting into tears.  Not even 2 offered a humorous greeting to him instead just leant over and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.

‘It will be OK, stay positive’ he said.

An awkward silence filled the room while the tears fell.  He finally pulled himself together and stopped as the eighth and final person entered the truck and sat down with relative simplicity.  The door slammed shut and the supervisor stood in front of the eight reluctant volunteers.  Scott and all looked towards him, the man who would be sending him and them to their deaths.  The shudder of an engine starting rattled through the truck and spiked Scott’s heart rate.  This was it, it was real.

The truck rumbled forward and shuddered under every bump and gulley it hit.  Even 2 had seemingly taken a vow of silence at this point with all looking towards the posturing figure of the supervisor.  He clung on to a handle of the roof with his left hand while his right clasped his holstered Cuatrabolt.

‘Ok, let’s dispense with going over the rules about acquisition procedure, conduct or safety.  Find bottled water, it’s as simple as that.  There’s a bag under your seat, if you find water out there put it in the bag.  Also any food or whatever but the only thing you need to be concerned with is water.  You’re map is attached to the bag, your search zone in marked clearly on it.  Study it then place it in the pouch on your own.’

Scott tilted the map towards the dim red light.  It showed a tangle of grey lines with squares dotted all around the small page.  Some of the squares had crosses through them and there was one that had been circled.  He figured that this must be his search area but he had no idea how to get there.

‘Now, lets me make it clear, when I say move you move, when I say stop you stop.  You must be back to the drop off point on time or we will leave you, we have a schedule to keep and you know what happens if we are here in sunlight.’

Scott knew what happened and he felt a chill blow though the oven of the truck.  It was what he had been imagining since he had seen his name on the paper that evening.  His skin blistering, popping, blackened and bursting open exposed to the raw power of the sun.  Screaming in agony his blood boiling and erupting out of his body evaporating to a dark red stain in the sand.

‘Come back with nothing and you know what happens.  Are we clear?’

No one really answered just clutched their bags or put them over their shoulders.  Scott placed the map in its clear pouch and clutched his bag close like a safety blanking, his only lifeline back to the town he despised.  As long as there was some water in it when he got back to the truck.  The supervisor finished his scan for questions and protests, ‘Good,’ he said and sat on the seat next to the door.

This somehow signalled 2 to restart his torrent of bothersome encouragement.  ‘You got your bag ready? You know where to go’ he said.  It was clear he had his bag and 2’s constant pecking of questions were irritating him more than being squashed against the wall by 6.

‘Yes,’ lied Scott hoping to duck more questions.

This response triggered 2 to continue the one sided conversation, ‘I mean so what if the last truck came back empty, they must have covered zones that were empty.’  Scott sat dismayed enduring 2’s words.  He was more talking to himself than anyone else.  ‘It just means eight less empty zones that won’t be assigned to us, doesn’t it?’ concluded Two.

The continual pecking finally broke the surface and Scott erupted ‘Listen, just shut the f**k up, I don’t wanna hear your bullshit, just leave me alone.’

The supervisor shouted ‘No talking.’

The sound was quelled for but an instant until two spoke again in hushed words.  ‘I like you five, you’ve got the right attitude.  Some fight in you.  Look around this lot have already given up they’ve not even check their maps.  Just find one bottle, that’s all you need to do, don’t you?’

‘I said shut up,’ yelled the supervisor rising to his feet, gripping his holstered gun which finally extinguished the words sending all backs to the walls.  He studied the rigid pickers for any guilty movement and finding none returned to his seat.

For the next hour the only sound heard was the chug of the huge diesel engine and the rattle and squeak of the suspension.  The enforced silence left Scott to chew over what 2 had said and bitterly swallow the hope.  The words sat in the lonely pit of his nervous stomach urging to be spewed out as if never eaten.  He didn’t want that hope haunting his last hours, false hope of survival.

13%

That’s all he could think about.  He continued to play with the odds in his head.  In the simplest form 100 people go in and 13 come out.  So in the truck there were 8 people and with a 13% chance of survival that meant 1 out of those 8 might come back.  Or looking at it the other way 7 out of the 8 in that truck would die.  He looked around to see who would survive, maybe 2 if his confidence was justified, maybe none today.  He looked at 6, there was no way he could cover much ground judging by the swell of flesh pressing against Scott’s hipbone.

He knew like everyone else that 6 was unlikely to make it, but focussing on the chances of 6 didn’t make his any better.  Maybe 6 would stumble on some water close by and make it back to the tuck in time.  There was no way to tell, no way of knowing what was there or what would happen.  The more he processed, the more his head dropped.  Poor chance, good chance, what chance was there to claw a way out of hell.

His thoughts strayed into territory he had not considered or at least wanted to consider.  Maybe he would make it.  Then a wave of nervous uncertainty splashed against his stomach.  Maybe if he was in tomorrow’s run maybe he would have a better chance.  Maybe there would be 2 or 3 survivors in tomorrow’s run.  Maybe a huge stockpile would be found and it wouldn’t matter about today’s run.  Or even yesterday’s run, maybe he would have done a better job than the person sent. It was all down to luck.  He cursed the luck that had brought him here in the first place.  Picked in the death lottery.

The truck of the dammed drew to a halt rolling the weight of 6 off Scott.  Just a momentary break until he flopped back on top of him.  The supervisor stood up and creaked the door open.

‘1’ he said.

Everyone heard the command, it was time for 1 to exit the vehicle but there was no movement, no confirmation, no reaction.  All heads sequentially to look at the seat marked 1.

‘1’ he repeated, ‘move it!’

1s back appeared to be glued to the wall and remained still.  Apart from the right leg which was bouncing up and down with the heel rapidly tapping on the metal grid floor.

The supervisor aggressively marched over, ‘I said f*****g move.’

1s head swung round to meet the onrushing supervisor, ‘Please don’t make me go’ pleaded a young girls voice, ‘please, I don’t want to die.’  She pushed herself further back cringing into the wall.

The supervisor grabbed her arm and pulled her from her perch.  Immediately she fell lifelessly to the ground.  He grabbed at her flailing arm again and dragged her along the ground.

‘No,’ she cried, ‘please, I can’t’ and continued to writhe around trying to break his grip.  Frantically she grabbed the seat, legs of the other pickers anything to stay in the truck.  Every other number sucked their feet back under their seat to make space for her to be pulled away.  Words tried to push from Scott’s mouth but his fear clenched his jaw tightly shut.  He wanted to do something, save this girl but his fate had glued him to the seat.

Finally the supervisor let her go and placed a sharp stiff jab into the small of her back.  Scott felt the jab and winced in sympathy but still was glued to his seat.  She unleashed a dull grown and her thrashing movements stopped.  He grabbed the arm again and wrenched her over to the door and pushed her out in to the night.

‘No,’ she whimpered over and over through her resigned sobbing.

He shouted, ‘you have three hours’ and angrily slammed the button on the first timer starting the countdown and the truck began to move forward again.  The timer changed from all zeros to show a countdown from “179:59.”  He looked up at the main clock, ‘f**k,’ he shouted, ‘that b***h cost too much time.’  With that he creaked the iron door shut shielded them from the disappearing cries of the young girl.

He looked at the spot in front of him where shad had sat.  Her map and bag were still there sliding around on the metal bench with every jolt of the truck until they fell to rest on the floor in front of his feet.  She would not make it.  The truth was as soon as her name was chosen she was dead.  Just being in that town meant she was dead.  It was all just timing.  Whether Now, in a week, or in a year.  Whether dehydration, stabbed in the street for paper, starvation, diarrhoea or being chosen for picking.  It was all the same, it was all just timing.

Time was not something Scott had really mastered as he heard Trevor’s voice in his head.  “You’re always f****n late,” in his most gravelly of voices.  Part of the daily reprimand for turning up to work late.  He promised himself that tomorrow he would be on time.  If he survived.

The paper and bag troubled the whole way until truck stopped again but he was glad that 2 had chosen to remain silent since his outburst.

As soon as the truck slowed 2 was on his feet, ready, willing, and seemingly able to go and get water.  Before the clock started, before his number was called, even before the truck came to a halt he was through the door and gone, sprinting off in to the night shouting ‘good luck.’  The supervisor hit the button on clock the second clock unceremoniously and the truck pulled away towards the third drop off.

The next two drops were wholly uneventful with numbers 3 and 4 begrudgingly getting to their feet and exiting the vehicle.  As soon as the door closed on 4 it set of a panic in Scott, he was next.  He fidgeted around although still squashed by the presence of 6.  He eyes frantically paced the floor in front of him.  He saw the bag and map of 1 still there reminding him of her whimpers and cries.  His breathing sharpened and scraped his dry throat.  His mask steamed with condensation clouding his view leaving him looking through a dark red fog.

Suddenly Scott felt a jolt.  The truck had stopped.  Fear stabbed into his stomach telling him it was time to go.

‘5,’ came as a beacon through the mist to the supervisor and the door.

Scott took a painful gulp and squeezed from beneath the bulk of 6s gut and rose to his feet.  He clambered again through the air that seemed thicker than ever stunting his progress.  The remaining three pickers offered no interaction remaining with their eyes locked on the ground in close solitude.

As he approached the doorway a hand fell on his shoulder triggering an urge to vomit right there in the suit.  The knife in his stomach twisted.  His skin tightened, shaking uncontrollably filled with goose bumps.  His whole body tingled and all strength had left his body.  His fingers fell numb and lifeless and he was as white as the suit once was.  This was the last human touch he would feel.  He thought about how many backs this hand had graced and how many shoulders had felt this final cold touch before him�"the hand of death.  He wanted to shake it off, throw it away from him but it drained and sank into his soul pulling all life out of him.

‘Remember, don’t come back empty handed,’ said the supervisor.  These words were designed not to motivate but to explain the stark truth.  If he couldn’t find anything then he would be sacrificed.

Scott was pulled forward almost hypnotically over the last few steps towards the doorway.  The supervisor opened the door and shouted ‘go, go, go.’

Scott did not match the energy and just stared out of the dim red light of the truck into the blind dark night.  The death wagon he wanted to fight his was away from was now his sanctuary and his feet rooted themselves in not to be moved.

‘Come on, hurry up’ growled the supervisor as he hit button 5 starting the countdown.  ‘Clocks tickin 5,’ He said with a smirk that shone through his mask.

The red digital numbers started to trickle away along with the remainder of his life.  He wanted the grab the red light and force it back into the digital.  More time to live.  A large boot in the middle of his back uprooted him and sent him flying out of the truck.

Chapter �" Exposed

On his knees, lifeless and surrounded by darkness he closed his eyes and took a long shaky breath.  The chug of the diesel engine faded away into nothingness.  He faded away into nothingness.  The nothingness he expected in death.

‘Get up you rat,’  The growling words arrowed through the darkness and hit him squarely in the chest.  He jumped to his feet searching the night for a face, jolting his head in every direction but knowing the whole time that the voice had fired from memory-Something triggering it in the darkness.

His trembling hand hit the timer button beginning the countdown on the white backlit display still studying the darkness for any movement.  He was right in the middle of the city.  He was standing on an unforgiving black material speckled with glassed sand.  Solid waves of it flowed over the ground seemingly with no end splashing up to every wall and gushing around every square corner.  The black sea with its sparkling sand tipped breaks had been frozen solid but instead of an icy coldness it was hot to the touch like last night’s half burned coals.

Huge black and grey walls fired off in every direction and shot high into the sky.  He could not see out of the maze whichever way he looked.  Above him was just a patch of open sky sneaking through to him through the blocked skyline.  He was a rat was trapped in some impossibly complex maze with no escape.  The truck was long gone and its direction was a mystery.  The shadowy recesses of shopfronts, offices and apartments barked at him to stay out.  He let himself believe for a second that he wasn’t crazy for and somehow the voice had come from one of the caves.  Quickly he dismissed it as being crazier than hearing voices.  There was no food or water plus nothing could survive the heat of the day this far south.  The video played again for his viewing pleasure.  Blistering skin on his arms, around the face he couldn’t see, falling to the ground in an agonising death, arms and legs writhing around on the parched cracked ground.  The malicious heat wouldn’t stop there though, not until it finished having fun with his body.  Once the skin and flesh had all burned away his brain would be set to boil in its own skull like some big old wrinkly potato bobbling violently around in thick starchy water sending his head shaking around like a steel pot left too long on the stove.  Foul steam forcing itself from beneath the rattling lid whistling out of every opening on his face along with the occasionally spray of grey bubbling foam.

He needed some comfort but the truck was now long gone and its dim red glow extinguished along with the link to the town.  He looked up to the sky for salvation but small patch of sky offered none.  The buildings closed in on him and leaned over shrinking the patch of stars the only thing he recognised.  His subconscious kicked on and told him he was safe and to stay there, nothing bad had happened there, something bad will happen if you move.  He knew it was wrong, if he stayed there he would die and he began to wonder just how long he had spent in the spot he had been dumped.

He turned on the torch but it seemed to offer no clues of what was inside the dark caves around him.  He clicked it on and off a few times to check it was working then flashed his eyes leaving a sharp point and trailing ghost of the round LED just to the right of the centre of his focus.  Alone in embarrassment he blinked a few times hoping to brush it away to no avail.  He decided to just leave it on regardless of how little use it was.  With no open sky or horizon to comfort him he looked once again at the map for some grounding but found none.  It was still as bewildering as it was when he first look at it and seemed to share no correlation to where he had found himself.

He studied it further and again saw the jumbled lines and squares.  He was in the maze marked as the red dot, the drop off location.  The obscure became suddenly clear.  The squares and rectangles were buildings and the lines the roads.  He thought he better get to it and begin the slow trudge forward through the city ruins.

The suit weighed down every step he took on his walk.  He considered how much time he had already wasted just standing there.  Exactly what he should not be doing but he still managed to keep his eyes clear of the timer.  The minutes seemed to grow hands and try and drag his head towards the digital display.  His eyes began to flicker towards the display catching a glimpse of the elapsing numbers.  Each glance called for another with the hands growing stronger with each passing second.  He allowed himself to check the time the hands firmly winning him over and dragging his head down.

2:43:34

The hands released his head and punched him squarely in the stomach. If there was anything inside, it would have filled the mask.  Almost 17 minutes wasted looking around, on his knees, thinking about the map.  17 minutes he could have been looking for water.  He groaned and considered skipping back in time to start again.  His feet broke into a slight jog to try and catch back what he had lost.  He had figured out some sort of path to the marked building and headed towards it.  Now he had looked at the timer he had set off a torrent of glances every second marking his fate.

I’m running out of time.  That’s another 20 seconds in another 14 seconds it’s another minute.  That’s on 4 minutes to an hour.  That hour went really quick, this hour could go really quickly.  Already another 20 seconds have gone.  The keep disappearing down the toilet with me.  30 seconds that’s half a minute.  There’s no time.

He took a few steps and looked again.

17 seconds, that’s almost another minute.

The thoughts about actually finding water had all been lost and replaced by despair about the countdown.  He managed to keep count of each building he passed four to the right then a left turn and another six ahead.  His mouth dried more so and his skin felt warm and clammy in the suit.  He tripped a few times on the uneven surface as he moved through the empty streets.  He stopped and looked at the building on his left and checked against the map. 

Reviews

[Cyndy Robinson]

Love this, hate it when it ends and I don't get to finish it, lol.

[Elise Anton]

Brilliant work Ryan. Can't wait for you to tie it all together. This is going to be one hell of a story, I really think you're going to nail it.

Thanks for sharing this with us and letting us give our opinion.