Beyond the Blood Moon

by Vic Robbie

  After waiting an hour, repeatedly checking her watch, Dring approached from the far side of the park. His head moved from side to side, scanning the area for anything out of the ordinary, and he set off on a circular route that would gradually lead to her.

  As he came within hailing distance, his countenance warned her not to acknowledge him, and he sat at the end of the bench and pulled a bag from his pocket. ‘Good morning, beautiful day while it lasts.’ And he turned to her with an innocent smile.

  Before she could respond, he turned his back, opening the bag and taking out a sandwich. He separated two slices of bread and inspected what appeared to be rare beef and salad. She watched out the corner of an eye as he extricated a bottle of water from the other pocket, took a swig and started eating.

  Dring wasn’t a member of her circle of acquaintances, but she’d met him before. His eyes were watchful under heavy brows and his skin had a darkness that accentuated the lines on a countenance that was from somewhere in the Middle East where famine and an endless war had decimated the population before the Soviets got involved. It was a mystery how he’d gained access to the country. Aliens couldn’t live or even visit except in exceptional circumstances. But his skills were in demand, especially from many of her contemporaries.

  He was a doctor, not an official one as foreigners were banned from practising medicine. But he specialised in abortions outlawed by the State. Expensive but competent, he carried out medical procedures for some wives of members of the Praesidium and the authorities turned a blind eye. When he was no longer useful, they’d process him in the usual way.

  Still chewing and staring ahead, he whispered, ‘Don’t acknowledge I’m talking to you. If they’re watching, they’ll think it’s a silly old man talking to himself.’ Automatically, he looked up, but there were no spy drones to be seen.

  She brought a hand up to her mouth and whispered, ‘Okay, Daddy-O.’

  He almost choked on the meat and took another swallow of water. ‘You realise you are chipped?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Are you being tracked?’

  She averted her eyes.

  ‘A tingling in your hand?’

  ‘Not for a long time.’

  ‘Good. If you’re being hunted, the State isn’t involved.’

  ‘So far,’ she replied and put a hand to her lips, realising she shouldn’t have spoken aloud.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ He seemed weary.

  ‘Take it out.’

  With a sharp intake of breath, he blurted, ‘Do you know what that would mean? Removal of a personal microchip is tantamount to a death sentence. And that would also apply to the person who operated on you. Me. I’d advise you to reconsider.’

  ‘Do you have one?’ She forced herself not to look at him.

  ‘No,’ he chuckled. ‘I live between the floorboards like a cockroach.’

  ‘What would it entail?’

  Gathering his thoughts, he hesitated. ‘It’s a simple procedure. A small incision in your hand to remove it. Should heal in a matter of days although you’d need to be careful who saw your hand just in case. You never know who’s watching.’

  The State’s surveillance of its citizens was a fact of life and most accepted it as the norm and informers were rewarded with credits to access more privileges. Before meeting him, she wore a headscarf to hide her face when visiting a public toilet. Even in the cubicles, there were cameras. And from a small canvas bag, she took out a towel and draped it over the apparatus. She flushed the toilet and dipped her hands in the water and washed her face clean of make-up. It amused her that revealing her real appearance was actually her disguise. Before leaving, she reversed her coat and wrapped another scarf even tighter around her head, knowing she could be arrested for hiding her identity.

  Dring continued, ‘If the State makes a random status check and can’t make contact with your chip, they’ll come looking for you.’

  She considered that, but it was still the lesser of two evils.

  ‘You won’t have seen one of these chips,’ he interrupted her thoughts. ‘Like most, a chip would have been implanted in your first year of life, depending on your status.’

  She flashed a questioning look.

  ‘Members of the Praesidium and their families and some others have chips that afford them special privileges. I presume you don’t qualify for that category?’

  She laughed.

  ‘The chips are implanted without parental consent. Some people don’t accept they are chipped and would refuse to believe you if you told them. Who told you?’

  Before she could answer, he waved it away with a raised hand. ‘Better you don’t tell me. The less I know, the safer we both are. Apart from an occasional tingling in your hand, you wouldn’t realise it was there. They were first brought in long before you were born, and the State gave many seemingly logical reasons for using them. It was for the greater good and would make us safer in a dangerous world. Then it would make everyday life and living easier. I believe the slogan they used was “Convenience, not confusion”. The chip automatically opened doors for you, was your passport allowing you to pass through security checkpoints and access places without keys. You could start your car, use public transport and pay with a wave of your hand. And without credit cards, the planet would be saved from so much plastic.’

  Dring looked around before continuing, ‘The chip uses radio-frequency identification, which was in everything from credit cards to passports. Those who are a danger to the state are identified, tracked and apprehended before causing trouble. Although there are some who attempt to win back their freedom by having them cut out.

  ‘In these difficult times with the War in Asia, the State believes it is vital we all have those protections. To have a chip removed immediately labels you a terrorist. And removal would be only temporary. It may give you a brief taste of freedom, but it won’t last.’

  ‘How big is the chip?’ She pretended to cough, covering her mouth with a hand.

  ‘Slightly larger than a grain of rice and it’s injected between the forefinger and thumb of your left hand.’

  She lifted her hand and stared at it but couldn’t see anything.

  ‘It seemed to be perfect for our modern world, but they didn’t inform the people about the other aspects of chipping. Companies could check on the productivity of their staff. And they track everyone, even the innocent. Where they go, who they meet, what they do. Probably even tell when they are having sex. And certain targets are erased, so they become non-persons excluded from everything.’

  He shook his head. ‘Even if you get rid of your chip, they’ll track you through your phone and security cameras, using facial recognition. But the chip is much more dangerous than that because it can also control your impulses.’

  ‘When can you do it?’

  ‘In a couple of days if you’re serious.’

  Her bottom lip dropped. ‘I’ll be dead by then.’

  With a worried expression, Dring glanced around. ‘Let’s be honest. Everything has to be right before I’d do it. If they found out, I’d have to give them your name. Sorry, but I don’t enjoy…’

  He was staring over her shoulder, eyes narrowing and concerned. ‘Go now,’ he hissed. ‘Get away while you can.’

  Her stomach turned a somersault as she moved slightly to follow his gaze. Men in body armour and black helmets with dark visors, the StatPol, the State’s dreaded political police, were gradually taking up positions at the exits, directed by men in black suits, white shirts and dark shades, the Bureau of Interrogation.

  Casually, she rose and made for the nearest exit, struggling to contain the adrenaline surging through her and keep her pace unhurried and normal. The police surrounded the area and were closing in like a net tightening.

  Dread infused every fibre of her. She’d been here before. Several years ago, she ran with a crowd of Freebies who spoke freely about their lives and demanded freedom from the State. In a s
imilar area, the StatPol hemmed them in, reducing their space and squeezing them into the middle. Then they split them up into smaller groups until she found herself alone surrounded by six cops.

  No one spoke to her before one stepped forward with a power syringe and injected her in the arm. They didn’t need cuffs. They directed her to the exit and a detention vehicle, the cop’s handheld control operating whatever they’d pumped into her. Not moving at the right pace or veering off course brought a zap like a thousand burning needles piercing her skin.

  During her days in detention, she learned they controlled prisoners just as you would animals with electric shots to make you move faster, cattle prods, and nose rings.

  Held in solitary confinement, blindfolded and stripped naked, she couldn’t cover her modesty because her hands were handcuffed to a chair. Her cell comprised a concrete floor and plain stone walls with vents blasting out refrigerated air. Although she couldn’t see, she figured lights were always on and, at first, weird electronic music like a saw on metal played, gradually becoming louder so she couldn’t hear herself think.

  After so many days that she’d lost count, a hand pulled away her blindfold, and a cop ushered her over to a pile of rags and gestured for her to put them on. Once she was dressed, he used the shock treatment to force her along a corridor and into a room.

  At first, she thought she was alone, but gradually her eyes became accustomed to the light, and she made out a woman with her hair cut like a man’s and wearing a green uniform sitting behind a desk. The cop barked an order, but deafened by the music, when the woman shouted ‘sit’, she had to read her lips

  The cop stared at her before glancing at a tablet and what appeared to be a report.

  Following every movement of the woman’s lips, she understood fragments. ‘You’ve completed your re-education course. Sign here.’ The cop slipped the tablet across the desk and indicated a box for her signature. Without reading, she signed with a trembling hand.

  The cop with the prod encouraged her to move out to the detention vehicle, and after a short journey, they bundled her onto the sidewalk in bright sunlight. It took her several minutes to realise she was outside her apartment block, but she was too frightened to go in. For several days she roamed the city streets searching for her friends, but they’d disappeared, and their neighbours feigned ignorance when she asked about them.

  The park was silent now, even the voices of the children, and she trembled uncontrollably. Attempting to avoid direct eye contact, she noticed four cops moving determinedly to cut off her path to the exit.

  ‘You. Stop.’ One shouted, holding a scanner. ‘Hand.’

  She put out her left hand — how many times had she done that? — and he ran the scanner over it, causing its lights to flash and beep.

  The cop pushed up his visor to peer at the results on the scanner’s screen and glanced at her several times, looking confused. Eventually, he opened his phone and made a call, turning away from her so she couldn’t hear.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ready for action, the men bounced on the balls of their feet, preparing for the signal to attack.

  If all four charged at once, Headlock would have no chance. He’d been hit many times in the ring by an opponent using a baseball bat. Often across the back and sometimes in the face or the stomach, but his fellow wrestlers pulled back, so any blow was light although it might appear vicious from ringside. This hit would be more painful.

  The man with the machete wanted to make the first hit, and that was problematic. Any kind of contact with a blade could do serious damage. If he neutralised him, it would help level the playing field. Waving the machete menacingly from side to side, the youth advanced on his toes and lunged, sweeping the weapon from right to left in a move intended to slice through his midriff. But years of experience enabled him to step back out of range.

  Emboldened, the youth advanced again, faster this time, and Headlock feinted, momentarily throwing him off balance. Confident he was in control, the youth grinned, and his partner shuffled into position ready to strike with the baseball bat the next time he evaded the machete. Eager for the denouement, the youth exploded into action raising the blade above the right shoulder and starting down powerfully.

  But he’d anticipated the move and stepped into him, fastening his left hand on the youth’s right bicep and his right hand on the forearm and in one swift movement pushed back with his left hand and pulled down with his right, snapping the arm at the elbow joint.

  With a cry of bravado, the other attacker moved in, catching Headlock off balance. To lessen the damage, he staggered backwards, but the swing of the bat caught him a glancing blow to the end of the chin and jerked back his head. Battling to keep upright, he propelled himself out of danger, but a heel caught a raised cobblestone, and he fell, headfirst against the brick wall. Stunned momentarily, he lay with his shoulders against the wall.

  The professionals had had enough and moved in. ‘C’mon now,’ one of them shouted to the youth. ‘We’ll finish him.’ And he cocked a pistol.

  ‘Naw,’ the youth stuck out a hand, holding them back. ‘I wanna do it.’

  And he leered. ‘Okay, Headlock. Payback time.’

  The youth raised the bat above his head for one final swipe.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The blue rabbit watched the woman helping the child into the back of a SUV in the supermarket’s tree-lined parking lot. Her voice was soft and caring as she cajoled the girl into a car seat.

  ‘C’mon, honey.’

  Cooing to her, she reached down to the floor, retrieving a worn, much-loved, teddy bear. The girl was fractious, complaining in a crying voice. ‘Shopping’s boring. I wanna go home.’

  The woman backed out of the car and stood upright, then froze. Distracted, she patted herself down, checked her pockets and purse and glanced around, frowning. She opened the passenger’s door and reached into the glove box before bending and searching under the seats.

  Closer now. His breath heavy with anticipation.

  Exasperated, she went on hands and knees and peered under the vehicle. It must be here, but it wasn’t, and she got to her feet and stared into space, ignoring the cries of the complaining child. In her mind, she retraced her steps and nodded as if remembering then glanced at her watch and checked she had belted in the child.

  ‘Okay, honey, I’ve left something in the store. It’s over there, I’ll get it, and I’ll be real quick.’ She offered a reassuring smile. ‘I’ll be only a minute. Stay there and be a good girl. Love you so much.’

  Go.

  The woman ran off, heels clacking on the concrete, then halted.

  Keep going.

  Full of doubt, she started back before turning and disappearing into the store.

  Closer. He opened the car’s back door.

  Surprised, the girl stopped complaining and grinned, revealing the gap left by two missing front teeth. And she giggled as the biggest blue bunny she’d ever seen with large eyes and one floppy ear beckoned to her with an outsize paw.

  I’m doing it for the right reasons.

  ‘Hiya, I’m Bertie the bunny,’ the rabbit said in a sing-song voice. ‘Bertie wants to be your friend.’

  Like a cloud, doubt flitted across the girl’s face, and her bottom lip quivered. ‘I’ve got to stay here.’

  Do something. A trick. Anything.

  ‘Your mum will be here soon and wants me to take care of you until she gets back.’

  The girl was doubtful.

  ‘We can be best friends. Wouldn’t that be fun? And I can show you my magic castle.’

  ‘A castle?’ The girl’s eyes widened. ‘A real magic castle?’

  Don’t push too hard. Take it easy.

  ‘Here, let Bertie get your belt.’

  Unbuckled, she moved off her seat and laughed as Bertie covered his eyes with his paws.

  ‘Where’s your castle?’

  ‘I’m too shy to show you.’

&nb
sp; ‘Wanna see your castle.’ The girl’s bottom lip dropped.

  The bunny inclined his head and rested it on a paw as though thinking. ‘Okay, but only if you’re good.’

  ‘I will be.’ She slipped to the ground.

  No sign of the woman. Better than expected.

  ‘My magic castle’s over there.’ Attempting to disguise his heavy breathing, he pointed to the other side of the parking lot. ‘Can’t you see it?’

  The child stretched and peered into the distance and with a wavering voice, cried, ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘Course not, silly. It’s a magic castle. You can’t see anything until you’re closer.’

  The girl turned, questioning him.

  Don’t let her get away.

  ‘Here, let me show you.’ The rabbit held out his arms and wrapped them around the girl, lifting her off her feet.

  ‘Still can’t see it,’ she grumbled, her voice muffled in the fur.

  ‘Oh, you will, I promise,’ Bertie chuckled. ‘Bertie has never broken a promise yet.’

  Not so far.

  ‘Over there. Look.’

  Faster, but not too fast. Don’t alarm the child.

  When they reached the grass embankment, the rabbit put her down gently, and she hesitated and glanced back at the car and her bottom lip quivered again.

  ‘C’mon, this is fun. It’s over there.’

  ‘Where?’ she asked, unable to contain her excitement, and followed him down the embankment.

  ‘Behind those trees. Let’s run before it vanishes again.’

  He took her hand, and they ran towards the tree-line, her chuckles increasing with every step. And soon the foliage enveloped them, so they were no longer visible from the parking lot.

  Gotcha.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The ladder stretches up to a watery sun, and dense clouds swirl around the rungs beneath him. Every step causes pain, but he must climb, or the rising waves of greyness will suck him down.