The Recarn Chronicles- Omnibus Edition

by Greg Krojac

  “Alexander, this is going excellently. I couldn’t have hoped for more. We start Phase Two as soon as Phase One is complete. There’s no point in hanging around. No point at all.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  10:03 SATURDAY 15 JULY 2090

  The rapid collapse of the Illuminati and, ipso facto, the governing ONP parties could have created a sudden power vacuum and been a catastrophe for the world, had Garcia not been prepared for the eventuality. His ultimate aim was the total annihilation of Recarns but they formed 5% of the world’s 11 billion population and even he understood that there was no way that he could dispose of 550 million people overnight. They were dispersed all over the world and, even though the oppressive regimes were crumbling everywhere, the sheer number of Recarns made their hasty destruction an impossible task. Measures would have to be taken to control the existing Recarn population until it was their turn to die.

  Many of One Life’s command team had felt that the Businessman had been too soft on Recarns, focussing upon damaging the Illuminati and the ONP whilst leaving those Recarns who weren’t allied to these two organisations to exist in peace alongside the rest of the human population. Some had suspected him of being a Recarn himself but had dismissed it as being too far-fetched. Douglas despised Recarns, that was plain to see. He couldn’t be a self-hating Recarn, surely? Whilst the Businessman was alive and in charge they bit their tongues and kept their emotions in check, knowing that their extremist suggestions would be shot down at the first mention but, with Douglas’s demise and a new leader who shared their radical views, they could finally be honest to themselves.

  It was decided to prioritise the neutralisation of Recarns who were operating within the resistance movement first. Neutralisation was the official euphemism for what was really mass-murder; the word had a much softer feel to it and suggested simply that a threat was being rendered harmless, rather than the wanton destruction of a species. There were opposing voices within the One Life hierarchy, but Garcia paid no heed to any suggestions that he should be more tempered regarding those that had fought alongside the resistance, helping to topple the Illuminati. To him, the only good Recarn was a dead Recarn. It cut no slack with him that these men and women had played an important part in the downfall of the Illuminati. They had to die and they were very soft targets; it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. One Life knew their movements and it was child’s play to round them up and ship them out for processing. A few escaped and were able to go off the grid and disappear but the great majority were caught in Garcia’s net and entered into the system to be neutralised. If Max, Philippa, and Martin hadn’t had such loyal friends, they too would have been trapped and killed.

  A global missive went out via Garcia’s propaganda machine that a very important announcement would be made by the self-proclaimed Lord Protector of Planet Earth at 5 pm GMT. Garcia was rather taken by the Cromwellian title – was he not protecting humans against the mutant Recarns? What title could have been more apt? If people were not at home or a place of work, they were expected to go to the nearest cinema, sports stadium, digital advertising monitor, or any large screen that could be seen by the general public.

  4 pm GMT saw thousands of people starting to file into designated viewing centres around the world. Football stadiums such as Barcelona’s Camp Nou, Brazil’s Maracana, and London’s Wembley stadium started to fill up with nervous families. Confectionary stalls at cinemas were closed; this wasn’t going to be a leisure activity, but rather a chilling portent of what was to come.

  At 5 pm GMT screens flickered into life all around the globe. The audible buzz of the crowds was replaced by a deathly silence as Garcia’s face filled the screen. Families who had stayed at home either huddled together or sat on the edge of their seats with baited breath, wondering what was about to happen. Garcia looked directly into the camera, making viewers feel that he was boring directly into their skulls through their eye sockets.

  “People of the world. Humans of the world. A few pockets of resistance remain but I am pleased to inform you that the Illuminati is no more. The ONP is no more. We are free!”

  A loud cheer went up around the planet as people realised that the shackles that had subjugated them for so long were broken. Garcia allowed the crowds a brief celebration before speaking once again.

  “People of the world. A battle is won but the war against the Recarn oppressor continues. I have today passed into law various measures to ensure that we never again will suffer the pain and humiliation that we were forced to suffer under their tyrannical regime. Please listen and take note of what I say. These measures are now international law and are for your own protection.

  “From this day forth, human rights are just that. Human rights. Human rights are for humans, not for Recarns. They are mutants, and, as such, are not human. Consequently, the following measures are now to be considered the law in every country, effective from 18:00 GMT.

  “According to the Recarn Population International Act of 2084, all Recarns must be classified and registered. According to the Prohibition of Sexual Relations and Mixed Marriages International Act of 2084, no Recarn may marry or remain married to a human. According to the Acquisition of Recarn Land and Property International Act of 2084, the State of the country in which the Recarn land or property resides now owns such property. According to the Health and Education International Act of 2084, no Recarn may receive education or medical treatment from a human. According to the Freedom of Recarn Movement International Act of 2084, no Recarn is allowed on the street between the hours of 20:00 and 07:00. Any Recarn or human found to be flouting these laws may be subject to summary execution. These measures are non-negotiable. Thank you for your attention.”

  At Wembley Stadium, just as at every large sports or concert arena all over the world, a dropped pin could have been heard resonating around the stadium as the crowd attempted to make sense of what it had just listened to. The silence was almost deafening. Then a stamping of feet accompanied by rhythmic chanting grew from a murmur into a crescendo as the crowd became more frenzied.

  “I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. WE ARE US. I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. WE ARE US. I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. WE ARE US.”

  Along with several others in the crowd, John Fleetwood was ashen faced as he listened to Garcia’s announcement. He tightened his grip on his wife Susan’s hand as the words hit home, piercing his very being. He looked first at her and then at his three children, feeling physically sick at the thought of what they were going to have to face. He and his family were starting to attract strange looks from those sitting nearby, so he started to stamp his feet, joining in the rhythm that was bouncing around the stadium, giving a discreet nod to the rest of the family to do the same. The family began to chant, I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. WE ARE US. I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. WE ARE US. I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. WE ARE US. They felt nauseated at being forced to utter these words, but this was a question of survival; now was not the time to make a stand.

  After about another twenty minutes or so, people started to leave their seats and make their way to the exits. John was surprised at how long the process was taking; he had been to many a match at Wembley and it was always reasonably easy to leave the stadium. When he was about ten yards from the exit he could see the reason for the hold-up. Each person was required to undergo a Recarn Identification Test before being allowed to continue their journey home. Susan whispered to her husband.

  “This looks bad, very bad.”

  John nodded and turned to the children. He took his cash card from his wallet and handed it to his daughter.

  “Hermione. Take care of this. Don’t lose it whatever you do. If your mother and I get split up from you, take the twins and head for your Aunty Jenny’s house.”

  Hermione was worried.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere, I hope. But just in case, do as I told you. Your Aunty Jenny will look after you.”

  By now, the family was almost at the exit. A clean shave
n young man wearing a One Life armband beckoned the family over to a table, upon which stood an RIA, a Recarn Identification Apparatus. John went first, looking through the eyepieces of the RIA. He showed no emotion when the purple beam of light entered his eyes and returned a vivid red colour. A One Life militia man put his hand on his shoulder and led him over to a truck, one of a convoy of about fifty, where seventeen other people were waiting. Susan joined him a couple of minutes later. The parents breathed a sigh of relief when the RIA cleared first Hermione and then Harry and Ron passed the RIA. The children started to walk towards their parents, but John shook his head.

  “Your Aunt Jenny’s. Go to your Aunt Jenny’s. You’ll be safe there.”

  Ron was visibly upset.

  “But where are you going? Aren’t you coming with us?”

  “We can’t. We have to stay here with these men. We’ll be okay.”

  Of course, John and Susan didn’t believe this for one moment, but there was no point in upsetting the children even more. The couple was bundled into a nearby truck with the other Recarns and Susan was able to catch a final glimpse of her three tearful children through the crack of the door just before it finally slammed shut and the occupants were plunged into complete darkness. She waved her hand in front of her hoping to find human contact. A hand grasped hers. She couldn’t see a thing and just hoped that the hand was that of her husband.

  “Is that you, John?”

  “Yes. It’s me.”

  John pulled Susan towards him and put his arm around her, holding her tightly.

  “I’m not going to let you go. Whatever happens, I’m not going to let you go.”

  Susan knew that this was a promise that he couldn’t be sure that he could keep, but it gave her comfort anyway. They were words that she had needed to hear. The truck engine grumbled into life and there was a shudder as it pulled away from the stadium and joined the rest of the convoy as it trundled off into the distance.

  About an hour later, the convoy entered a large hastily constructed compound inside of which were hundreds of shipping containers. As the truck stopped, armed One Life militia men and women rushed forward and took up their positions at the back of each truck, awaiting the order to open the doors. Once the order was given, the doors were opened and the occupants started to spill out, blinking in the sudden brightness of the sunlight. The captives were led over to a corner of the compound and told to line up in ranks of one hundred. John took in his surroundings taking special note of the high electrified fence, topped with razor-wire, which surrounded the compound. He had been half expecting to have been arrested by One Life at some time, but the speed and efficiency of the morning’s operation had surprised him. He was thankful that he and Susan had at least been a little prepared and had arranged for Susan’s sister Jenny to take care of the children. A makeshift Tannoy system suddenly spluttered into life,

  “Mutants, welcome to your new home. Forget your quaint country cottages, forget your chic apartments, forget your homes wherever they may be. Your homes are now the property of the state and will be reassigned to humans who need them. You have no human rights. Why? Because you’re not human. You are an aberration, an unwelcome anomaly, a stain on the human species. These containers are your new homes.”

  One by one each Recarn was led to a branding station where the design that had for centuries been the symbol of the Illuminati, the eye within a triangle, was to be etched upon their foreheads. It mattered not that they may have had nothing to do with the Illuminati, and that they themselves had suffered under ONP rule along with everybody else. To Garcia, they were guilty by association.

  John was called to the branding chair, a heavy wooden construction designed for function and not comfort. He sat down and watched unemotionally as his wrists and ankles were fastened to the chair by heavy duty zip ties. He gave no hint of fear as his head was pulled back against the tall chair to be held in position by another zip tie, the plastic strap almost cutting into his top lip as it was fitted snugly under his nose. He was thankful for his moustache as it cushioned the impact of the restraint.

  Unable to move, he watched as the branding pen moved upwards and then out of vision as its operator made the first contact with his skin, the implement spitting sparks as John’s skin was cut and cauterized. He didn’t want to show any pain – he wanted neither to give his captors the satisfaction nor to frighten Susan – but was surprised to discover that the process was almost painless, as there was little to no heat or damage to the skin surrounding the motif. Released from his bonds, he returned to his wife’s side. She grabbed his wrist tightly.

  “I’m scared John.”

  “Don’t be, my love. It looks worse than it is. It’s actually quite painless,”

  “Really? You weren’t just being brave?”

  “Initially, yes. But it didn’t hurt too much once I’d got used to it.”

  John tried to make light of a very grim situation.

  “How do I look then? Does it bring out the shine of my dark brown eyes?”

  A hand on Susan’s shoulder stopped the conversation in its tracks as she was led off to be branded. She followed her husband’s lead and tried to show no emotion, but when John saw a tear trickle down her cheek it was like a knife to his heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  11:17 MONDAY 2 OCTOBER 2090

  The internment camps were starting to swell as more and more people turned on their families, friends, and neighbours, denouncing them to One Life and watching, sometimes happy, sometimes sad, as the Recarn suspects were taken off to be identified, registered, and processed. Many of those accused were innocent and previous friendships and relationships were fatally wounded, but Recarns were caught in sufficient numbers for the denunciation campaign to be deemed a success.

  Communities became distrustful of everyone. People were scared to have even a minor disagreement with each other for fear of being hauled away by a One Life Recarn Response teams. From the outside, these communities looked peaceful happy places with never a cross word spoken – virtual paradises – but within, they were a collection of individuals walking on eggshells.

  In fact, Garcia’s campaign was becoming too successful. New internment camps were created daily and those camps started to fill up rapidly. Something had to be done. To Garcia, the solution was obvious. To continually create new camps would cost both time and money, so why not simply accelerate the rate of neutralisations and consequently make space for the new arrivals? This had been part of the plan all along but now, instead of just being talked about, the time had arrived to make phase three a reality.

  Huddling together in their container, John and Susan Fleetwood struggled to keep warm. The biting cold of the last day of autumn seared into their bones. They were still dressed in the clothes that they had been wearing three weeks earlier when they had arrived in the camp, and it seemed that every square inch of their clothing was now grafted onto their skin. They were eternally hungry, being given just enough food and water to keep them alive, no more. John had suggested trying to catch one of the many rats that flitted between the containers so that they could gain some protein, but Susan had said that she wasn’t at the point where she felt she could eat a rat just yet.

  Of course, the couple was also worried about their children. The poor things must be out of their minds with worry, wondering when they would see their parents again. Jenny was normal, not a Recarn, so they knew that they’d be ok, that they wouldn’t suddenly wake up one morning and find themselves all alone, having to fend for themselves. Some normals got caught up in the house to house sweeps, but they were soon identified as normals and sent home with profuse apologies.

  A group of three militiamen peered into the container.

  “Come on. Everybody out.”

  The twenty occupants of the container looked at one another. What was happening?

  The leader of the trio, a young red-haired lad, about seventeen years old, barked orders as if he’d been bo
rn to his new found position of authority.

  “Come on. I said out. The sooner you come out the sooner we can get warm. Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey today.”

  The inhabitants of the container shuffled slowly out of the container and stood to face the three militia men. John spoke up.

  “Where are you taking us? What are you going to do to us?”

  The militia man gave him a steely gaze, or at least as steely a gaze that a seventeen-year-old boy who hadn’t even started shaving yet could give.

  “That’s for me to know, and you to find out. Suffice to say, you won’t be cold anymore.”

  Susan gripped her husband’s arm tighter.

  “Maybe we’re being taken to a building, a proper building, with windows and a door. That would be wonderful.”

  John didn’t like the way that this was going. They had been treated like street dogs for the last three weeks, feeding off the scraps that their captors tossed into the containers. Why would they be taken somewhere better now? He leaned in towards his wife and whispered.

  “I don’t think that’s what they have in mind. I don’t know what they’re up to but I have a bad feeling about this. Keep hold of my hand and don’t let go. Don’t let go whatever happens.”

  Susan nodded her agreement.

  The group was loaded onto a truck and taken to a clearing in a local wood. The nearby trees would have looked beautiful in the spring and summer but provided a much more sinister ambience when stripped of their leaves. The captives were frogmarched towards the middle of the clearing and one of the militia men took a spray can out of his small rucksack. He started to spray white foam on the ground, marking a circle around the nervous prisoners, like a football referee, before squirting the foam onto the nose of an elderly woman who was at the front of the group. She took a tissue out of her handbag and wiped the offending mark off, muttering to herself.