Water For The Masses

Peter wakes in an unfamiliar place and finds himself the victim of a manhunt. The secret he learns will change his life forever.

Waking up in a pile of trash was nothing new, at least not for Peter. Today was different though. His head felt like the unidentifiable mush smashed against his cheek. His blood pounded though his temples and his vision flashed with each beat. He felt hungover, but that was impossible. He hadn’t had a drink in nearly a year. When water was as scarce as it is below the Neon you tend to forget what beer tastes like. Sure he could find a another drifter making hooch but his life wasn’t something he was keen to gamble with. 

“What the hell” he mumbled to himself as he scraped the goo off his cheek.

He had no idea where he was, but then again most of the alleys below the Neon looked the same so it was easy to get turned around. Just like everything down here, there was a nice thin layer of grime everywhere. The grime permeated everything. You could almost taste it, but that was life for anyone living below the Neon. 

“Just once I’d like to see how the other half live” he said to no one in particular.

The rich lived in their bright neon high-rises safely above the ground, and grime, they so disdained. With unsteady legs, Peter made his way over the trash and debris towards the main street. He figured the faster he could get to a street he recognized the faster he could get back to the drifter camp he was staying at.  

There weren’t many on the street at this hour. Not that there would be anyone anyways. The street was littered with empty shops. Foreclosure was a way of life below the Neon. As the rich did everything to separate themselves from those less fortunate, they created more chaos in the wake of their leaving. Peter made his way down the street avoiding the sludge pooled on the sidewalk. His head pounded worse than before, but what bothered him most was his utter lack of what happened the night before. He had always prided himself on his ability to remember things. It was something he felt had kept him alive when he first started living on the street. 

Eventually he came to a crossroad he was familiar with. He took the small side street, which ran perpendicular to the main road, and trudged his way towards home. Roughly two blocks from what he now called home, he passed the service entrance to one of the last remaining shops open in the area. Normally delivers took place during the afternoon when enough light filtered down through the dust and grime to make transactions safer. Today was different. The service entrance door was opened wide and a group of six men were unloading boxes from a black van. 

“There’s three boxes left” said one of the workers.

“Hurry it up. We’ve got two more stops” yelled the foreman. “Don’t drop anything you idiots. I don’t need the boss coming down on my neck”

 Peter stood there, off to the side in the shadows, watching the men unload the boxes.  He wasn’t one to people watch but down here it was always better avoid run-ins with people you didn’t know. The last man made his way, arms full, toward the store. As he stepped up into the delivery bay he slipped and a small box, roughly a foot long and half a foot wide, slid from his arms. Surprisingly, he seemed to not notice. Peter watched the box slide down the steps and land between the stars and the building. 

After the men left, Peter waited a few minutes then cautiously made his way up to where the man dropped the package. The street was quiet. Not a soul in sight. Peter leaned down and carefully slid the box out of the spot between the building. Taking the box under his arm, and his heart in his throat, he made his way to his spot in the camp. Luckily not very many drifters were awake yet and his arrival home went largely unnoticed. 

Tucked safely towards the back of the camp was what passed for his home. Patchwork tarps hung limp, creating a lack luster roof for the lean-to. Trash littered the ground with boxes acting as tables. His only source of warmth was a ratty blanket crumpled in the corner on top of a sketchy mattress. Using his foot Peter made some space on the floor, kicking the trash to the sides. Sitting down caused his head to swim and his stomach to protest. He would need to find something to eat soon, but the box held his attention for the moment. More nervous than anything he tentatively pealed back the tape holding the top together. Moving the packaging material to the trash pile in his room, Peter was beginning to wonder if stealing the box was even worth it. Inside the cardboard box was was four cylinders connected at the tops by what appeared to be a thin copper wire. The entire object, cylinders and all, couldn’t be more than a softball in size. The metal was cool to the touch and vibrated slightly. Without giving it much thought Peter tossed the the metal contraption in the corner near what passed for the door to his home. He figured he could always scrap it for credits in the morning.

“Ho, Peter…where the hell you been” asked a drifter stepping through the front flap.

“Out”

“Well ain’t you a talker…got somethin’ to drink?”

“Yeah” Peter said as he walked over to the corner and began rummaging around for the bottle of liquor he knew was stashed in the heap of trash. 

“Ho, what you got there” said the drifter. “Awful shiny pice of metal there, Peter…how’s bout we share some credits and salvage it?” he asked as he picked up the box and sat down with it in his hands.

“How bout you keep your grime off my stuff”

“No need for the heat, just lookin’ out for you.”

“If I need your help then I’ll ask you for it.”

“Fine be that way. Bet you can’t get jack for it any-who” said the drifter as he handed the box back to Peter.

Peter say down opposite the man and began pouring drinks. He never liked the way people assumed they could share his property. Always seemed to happen. Must be the face he thought. He handed the drifter a drink and sat down with the box infant his feet. He could feel the vibrations coming from it. The drifter kept mumbling about credits and Peter paid him no mind. He took a drink and the condensation from the glass caused a drop of water to fall onto one of the cylinders. No sooner had the water hit the metal, the box began to groan louder. The corners of the box separated from the metal with a loud hiss.

“Ho…what the hell is that thing?” the drifter asked. “Don’t touch it!”

Peter set his drink down and looked at the box. With the corners separated from it, he thought that maybe the thing might actually expand. Grabbing two corners and pulling, Peter gasped as the cylinders became something resembling a small cot for a doll.

“What’s that in the middle? Why’s is all shinny and stuff?”

“I’m not sure” responded Peter.

The middle, between the four corners, was something that resembled a thin piece of silk. But it wasn’t silk. Peter had never seen anything like it before. It looked like a fabric, but hummed like a a light bulb about to burst.

“Touch it” said the drifter.

“You some kind of stupid? I don’t even know what the hell that thing is.” 

“Here put this apple on it” said the drifter as he tossed it towards Peter.

His hands wet from his drink, Peter wasn’t able to hold on to the apple. Both men watched as it fell from his hands smack in the middle of the expanded box. At first nothing happened. As the drifter was about to open his mouth, the apple began to sink down through the barrier, except what came out the other side wasn’t an apple. Small drips of water were beginning to fall from the bottom of the barrier. 

“I’ll be damned…” said the drifter.

Both men stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Peter could see the wheels turning inside the drifter’s head. He knew what he was going to do before the drifter moved. No sooner had Peter shifted his weight, the drifter lunged to grab the box. Peter reached out to stop the man, knocking over the box in the process. The two began to fight, Peter holding the man’s wrists and the man trying like hell to tear free. Peter let go of one arm and slammed his fist into the drifter’s gut. Once. Twice. A third time. The drifter weakly reached for Peter’s shirt and dragged him to the floor. They both hit the dirt hard. The drifter stopped fighting and Peter figured he had won, but the drifter started to shake uncontrollably. Peter let the man go and began to sit up. What he saw shook him to his core. The drifter’s head was half way through the box and water was coming through the other side like someone turned on a faucet. He hadn’t seen that much water in a long, long time. He stood and grabbed the drifter by the legs and pull his face out the box. No blood, just half a face with one good eye frozen in horror. 

He just sat there, numb with the drifter’s feet in his hands. He knew right then and there he should have left the box right where he found it. Nothing was worth this. Not even credits. He sat there for what could have been hours or seconds, he wasn’t sure. Slowly his wits began returning as he heard voices outside his home. Obviously someone heard the commotion he told himself. Stupid he thought. He had to get the hell out of there now. Soon someone would come in and then all hell would break loose. He sat up and walked over to the box. Carefully he grabbed the ends he used to pull it apart and tried to push it back together. It slide together as smoothly as it opened. The corners closed with a hiss and in his hands was the same contraption he first found. It still shocked him something so unremarkable could be so dangerous. He knew he needed to get rid of it. 

He grabbed a coat and threw it on. He zipped up the coat and stuffed the box down his jacket. He threw a ratty blanket over the drifter and walked out the tent.

“Stop right where you are Peter” said a man Peter had never met.

“Who are you?”

“Well I’m the owner of that box Peter”

“What box?”

“Don’t play stupid. The fact you are not giving it over to me right now tells me you know what you have…I’d like it back”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…I told you I don’t have anything” Peter said.

“Peter, Peter, Peter. You really think I’d just lose something like that” the man asked. “No, I left it there between the steps for someone to find. I’d like it back now”

Behind the man Peter could see four or five guys carrying what looked like rifles. Without even thinking Peter’s instincts took over and he bolted. 

“After him” the man said. “Peter…it’s not polite to leave a conversation before it’s over”

Peter ran as fast as he could. The faces and tents he passed were a blur. He could hear the men shouting behind him, telling everyone to get out the way. All he had to do was get to the back entrance and he could slip into the alley and disappear. He urged his legs to move faster. His heart and head pounded. His lungs burned, all the while the men behind him slowly began to catch up. He was almost there. He could see the opening in the gate. 

Pop…Pop…Pop

The tents right behind him cracked as bullets began whizzing past him. He could hear screams and knew someone had been hit. He ran faster, pushing his body to it’s limits. His vision began to blur…ten feet. Ten feet was all he had to go. Suddenly he arm was on fire. He looked down and blood was dripping from his finger tips. Time seemed to slow as he reached the gate. His body slammed into the metal and he wiggled his way through the bent bars. Up the alley and to the left he told himself. Almost free.

“Well Peter…did you think I would let you get away so easily?”

Breathing heavily, Peter couldn’t answer the man. How the hell he got here so fast was beyond him right now. How did he know about this exit onto the alley. He was dressed in a sharp suit and looked as if he had never seen dirt in his life. Slowly, one by one, the men chasing him entered the alley way. The biggest of the five calm walked up behind Peter and placed his gun into the small of his back and give him a shove.

“Peter, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. Allow me to introduce myself” said the man. “My name is Christian. I misspoke when I said the box was mine. It’s my employers. I’d like to not get fired. How about you just hand it over and we’ll forget about this misunderstanding?”

Peter still didn’t trust his voice. His breath was haggard and came in deep breaths. The men behind him were trained well. None of them seemed to be breathing any harder than normal. Who where these people. What the hell had he gotten into. 

“My employer is ready to pay you for the box Peter” said Christian. “The box is too valuable to be out in the public. Please come with us and you will be compensated.”

Peter weighed his options. These men were obviously well connected and well trained. He had no doubt they would dispose of him as soon as the could. He knew what the box could do and while he wasn’t sure if it was illegal, he didn’t want to find out. He really only had one option. Surprise.

“I think…I’d rather not” he said, and swung with all his might at the man with the gun right behind him.

Peter’s fist connected with a resounding crack against the man’s nose. He know it was broken and in the confusion he charged towards Christian. Peter dipped his shoulder and body check Christian with all his might. Both men stumbled and Peter tried to stay on his feet. He heard boots behind him and he half ran, half bear crawled as fast as he could away from the men. 

“Take him NOW” screamed Christian.

Suddenly, timed slowed again for the second time in less than an hour for Peter. He heard the pop of the rifl, felt the bullet hit him right on his shoulder blade. He screamed out and fell to the ground smacking his head as he hit the pavement. With blurry vision, the last thing he saw was Christian’s well kept shoes walking towards him. His last thought before passing out was they were too clean for below the Neon. Then everything went dark.

Peter woke with a start. His face stung and he blinked back tears. Christian stood before him with a smirk.

“Oh your awake. I’m glad I did’t have to smack you more than once. You hit your head pretty bad back there”

“Where am I” Peter asked. His mouth was dry and he tasted blood.

“Well if I told you that would ruin the fun out of keeping you here” said Christian.

“What do you want with me?”

“I told you what I wanted and then you felt the need to run away and make my men chase you. They hate that by the way”

“Go screw yourself”

“Well Peter. I am appalled. Is that anyway to speak to the man holding you hostage? No I think not.” Christian walked over to a table near by and grabbed a chair. He walked back to Peter and placed the chair in front of him. He smoothed out his suit and sat. 

“Peter please tell me what you think the box is for.”

“I don’t know…I just know water comes out the bottom.” 

“Ah…yes. We found that poor unfortunate man in your room. Nasty business that. How in the world did he get half his head inside the box I wonder?”

“We fought and I won” said Peter.

“It would seem so” Christian said. “Peter do you know where the water that fills the Neon’s stations comes from? No, well allow me to tell you. You see those of you who live below the Neon haven’t had fresh water in a very long time. When you don’t drink fresh water very often, you lose the ability to taste whether it’s fresh or not. My employer is a man who makes his money selling…shall we say, less than fresh water. You already see what the machine does. My employer has larger boxes than this one. This was the first model to be portable as it where. He wished to test the box’s field capabilities. I would say it was a success. We learned it’s water making abilities remains intact whether the box is large or small” he said this with a wink.

Peter suddenly reeled at the horror of it all. “You’re a monster. How can you get away with it. Someone will notice the missing people. The water…they have to know the water comes from somewhere”

“Oh Peter…please don’t be sick. This is just the way it is. I agree. We all need water, and those of us above the Neon just like it fresh. Those of you below never seemed to care. You know I can’t let you go knowing this now can I.”

“Look I ain’t stupid” said Peter. “How about we just come to some sort of agreement. I won’t say anything and you can let me go”

“Well that is one idea. How about this.”

Christian looked up and Peter’s world suddenly went dark. Someone stuffed a bag over his head and quickly punched him twice to the face and once to the gut. His head spinning he could barely resits as Christian reached out and grabbed his wrist. He could hear the buzzing of the box. He tried to pull away but someone grabbed his body and held him in the chair. He tried to pull his had away and got two more punches to the face. He could hear Christian laughing as a scream escaped his mouth. The pain suddenly became so extreme he felt as if he was going to pass out. As soon as it started, the pain disappears. The bag was pulled off his head. Blinking back tears Peter tried to focus on his hand. Except it wasn’t there…where his hand should have been was nothing but a stump. Still steaming.

“Oh Peter…you look parched. Here have a glass of water” Christian said

Peter know there was no water on the table. Christian laughed and laughed at the face Peter made.

“Peter, what have I been telling you. You haven’t had fresh water in a very long time. It’s not very often someone get’s a chance to create the water that will nourish him. You should feel bless.” 

Christian kept laughing and laughing as Peter was lifted out of the chair and taken out of the room. Disorientated and dizzy, Peter was led through a long corridor. At the end was a door in which Peter was shoved out of. He landed with a thud on the street. His arm ached and his head was throwing.

“Mr. Christian wants us to remind you about what will happen if you talk” said the man who threw him out. “Talking will result in the loss of more body parts.” 

“I…I…understand” Peter said

“Good’ the man said. “I guess if you ever get thirsty you could talk.” He laughed as he closed the door, leaving Peter alone in the street.

Peter gathered what little strength he had left and began walking down the street. He had no clue where he was, but then again with how the day had been he felt it was par for the course. Feebly he made his way to an unused bus stop. There hadn’t been a bus here in a long time, but the bench was a welcome sight. He sat, cradling his arm. The florescent lights buzzed above. Flashes of his hand burning ran through his mind at lighting speeds. He could still feel his fingers melting. The pure joy of Christian’s face as he handed him the water made Peter want to throw up. 

“You got something to drink” asked a man as he sat next to Peter.

“Go screw…” but Peter never finished the sentence. Behind the man was a light up advertisement. Giving water to the masses…Grab a glass today. Was all it said.

“Water…People…Water…People” mumbled Peter faster and faster.

“Damn weirdo” said the man as he hurried away. 

Author's Note

Looking to improve. This is the first short story I have written and any feedback is more than welcome. Trying to hone my craft and maybe take a crack at some day publishing.

Reviews

[Jane P.]

Characterisation and the narrative's atmosphere were skilfully crafted. A really fantastic piece of writing with great flow, pace and emotion. You have really captured something here!

I would recommend breaking up your paragraphs a little more, just to help the reader. Also you need to ensure you correctly punctuate your dialogue. Other than that, the feel of the story was excellent and your descriptions were very entertaining. The casual tone works really well and gives the audience clear insight into Peter's character.

Just a few grammar errors I picked up at the beginning:

drifter making hooch but
- 'hooch, but' (generally use a comma before placing 'but' in a sentence).

“What the hell” he mumbled
- “What the hell?” he mumbled

half live” he said
- half live,” he said

There were a few more throughout, but they don't distract from the flow of the story.

Awesome work, you need to upload more!

[Philip Muls]

Intense, good flow. Reminds me of the movie Blade Runner for some reason. Give us more.