The Passengers

by John Marrs

  Next came news channel helicopter coverage, putting the scale of the blast into perspective. He viewed cars in close proximity to Shabana’s ignited one, while people ran to extinguish the flames from a burning child’s clothes. He could take no more. He pressed a button to turn his chair 180 degrees to face the rear seats, then grabbed a disused fast-food carton and tried to vomit into it. Several times he retched but there was little inside him to come up.

  A bead of sweat trickled from Jude’s hairline down his forehead, pooling in an eyebrow. He wiped it away. It was as hot as hell inside his car, and his nerves were making him more anxious. With no working air conditioning or ability to wind down the windows, there was no way for him to cool down.

  Moments earlier, he had felt a sense of pride watching Libby spar with the Hacker. Of all the people in the room, she was the only one brave enough to tackle him and try to make him accept that he didn’t need to resort to murder to make his point. He was even more attracted to her now than the moment he first saw her singing karaoke in the crowded pub.

  The night they met was the first time Jude had felt something so intense for a person since Stephenie. His mind rolled back to when he was fifteen. He’d been in the same classes as her since year five, but it wasn’t until year eleven that he’d truly noticed her, no longer through a child’s eyes but through those of a young man. And when he eventually plucked up the courage to ask her to go to the cinema with him, he felt like he might burst into tears when she agreed. She was his first kiss, and when he closed his eyes, he could remember with clarity how she tasted of strawberry lip gloss. He had never got over his first love or forgiven Stephenie or his brother for finding love with each other.

  And now there was Libby. From the moment that she reciprocated his smile, he was caught off guard by how intensely a simple gesture could rock his foundations. It was as if the world stopped turning for everyone but them. For so long, Jude’s repertoire of emotions had barely stretched beyond sadness and resentment. He hadn’t considered that there could be any room in his heart for love.

  Even the thought of her now gave him inappropriate thoughts, and he felt himself becoming aroused. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat to readjust himself, hoping the viewers wouldn’t notice. He focused back on Shabana’s burning car and felt his desire quickly evaporate.

  He replayed his and Libby’s first conversation and recalled it was more about what wasn’t being said than what was. The furtive glances, the warmth he felt as his cheeks blushed, the confidence she gave him to be himself, the hope, the desire, and their potential all coming together to create an intense emotion that only Stephenie had evoked in him before. If he were to list his requirements for a perfect match, they would result in Libby. He didn’t expect to fall head over heels for someone he’d only just met. But it had happened regardless.

  Even at the time, Jude knew that it was unfair and wrong. He shouldn’t allow himself to fall for Libby because that wasn’t in his plan. And when Libby had to accompany her injured friend to the hospital, as much as it pained him, it was for the best. By leaving just moments after her, it meant that if she returned, he could never break her heart. And that’s just what would have happened had their encounter extended beyond that one night. But before he left, he made sure to take something of hers with him.

  Jude rummaged around inside his rucksack for his toiletries, rinsed out his mouth with mouthwash, and spat into an empty beer bottle. Suddenly from outside his window he noted a sign for Bistford, a location he recalled from his time working for his father’s automotive business. On its completion, it had been branded “Britain’s first urban smart town.” It comprised a purpose-built network of roads for autonomous cars, vans, and lorries. The streets were narrower than regular ones because AI’s anti–lane departure technology ensured there were fewer margins for error than traditional roads.

  There were fewer parking spaces in the town centre because they weren’t required—after being driven to work, many Passengers sent their cars home until they were needed later. That freed up space for more pocket parks and areas of greenery. Bistford was paving the way for every other town, city, and village to prepare for a country where cars were no longer under human control.

  Jude had visited the town many times to test out the software his family business designed and programmed. It was only now as he reflected on his own contribution towards towns like this that he understood his culpability in today’s hijack. The vehicles he had helped develop for the masses were being used against them all.

  He felt the makings of a tension headache creeping up his neck and across the back of his head. In the door’s side pocket, he found a box of paracetamol. He popped two from the blister pack and swallowed them dry. “Up to seven hours of pain relief,” the wording on the cover promised. The Hacker said only one of them would survive that morning. Suddenly, seven hours felt like all the time in the world.

  CHAPTER 30

  UKToday.co.uk

  VIDEO

  Schools in chaos as parents rush to save children from Hacker’s bomb threat.

  Government orders all teachers to lock doors and prevent entry, leading to violent scenes.

  Prime Minister Charles Walker-Johnson appeals for calm.

  Read the full story >

  CLAIRE ARDEN

  Claire suddenly became aware that she was clutching her bump so tightly that she let go, afraid she might be hurting her baby.

  The route her car was taking involved motorways rather than smaller roads so she couldn’t be brought to a halt by an overzealous public. She wouldn’t want anyone to be injured because of her. A shadow above her caught her eye. She squinted through the glass panoramic roof at an object in the sky. It was something dark and hovered way above her. She assumed it to be one of the drones she’d heard the jury argue about. Claire hoped that it maintained its distance so that nobody else spotted it and realised it was following a Passenger. Her privacy windows meant that no passing vehicles could ever know she was inside. Earlier, it was a hindrance. But for now, at least, it might be keeping her from the same fate as Shabana.

  When the jury was tasked with voting later that morning, she prayed that she would gain their sympathy. She knew they might not be actually supporting her and that it would be the life growing inside her winning them over. It didn’t matter as long as he was safe.

  You have to make them want to save you, Claire told herself. Do whatever it takes to keep your baby alive.

  As her pregnancy advanced, barely a couple of hours might pass before she’d feel the urge to urinate. And the longer the car journey continued, the more Claire knew she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She looked around the vehicle’s interior, but there were no containers to pass water into. Besides, the world was watching, and would she really want the indignity of their seeing her do that? There was no choice but to just wet herself. So she moved to the other front passenger seat and did just that. It brought her only fleeting moment of relief that morning.

  She had potentially seventy minutes left until the Hacker killed her. Feeling her baby move sharply again, she feared that Tate was absorbing her stress, so she forced herself to think of something positive.

  Claire longed to hear Ben’s voice, so she removed her phone from her pocket and located a folder containing videos they made of each other. The one she chose she had recorded last year. Standing in their kitchen, she relived the moment he came through the front door and dropped his backpack by the sofa. He looked puzzled as to why she was pointing her camera phone at him.

  “Is that thing on?” he asked, and the picture shook a little as Claire replied with a nod. “Why? And why is there a glass of champagne and a bag on the table? Shit, have I missed our anniversary? Wait, no, that’s November. What are you up to?”

  “Open it,” she said with a giggle, and he made his way towards her.

  Ben’s bro
w crinkled and he pulled on the strings to open a small blue bag. He removed from it a light blue teddy bear, with a five-centimetre square screen in its belly.

  “Squeeze its paw,” Claire invited. Ben obliged and nothing happened. “The other one, and watch the screen.”

  Claire’s camera closed in tightly to Ben’s face, and as the bear’s mouth moved, it sounded like a heartbeat. A three-dimensional image appeared on its stomach as if it were inside the toy. It was of an unborn child moving. “We’re pregnant,” she whispered. “You’re going to be a dad.”

  Ben looked at her, wide-eyed, then back to the bear. “Really?” he asked. “Really?” He grabbed her by the waist, lifted her up into the air, and squeezed her tightly.

  Now, from inside her car, Claire burst into tears watching her husband gently place her back on the ground and steady himself against the table. It was a child they had tried so desperately to have but that they both were beginning to give up hope of ever seeing.

  “Are you happy?” she heard herself ask.

  “What do you think?” Ben replied. The screen became blurry as he went to hold her again. Claire shut her eyes tightly, and it was as if he were holding her now, her nose buried in his neck, inhaling his joy.

  Claire always assumed that if they were side by side, she and Ben could conquer any obstacle that got in their way. That morning she learned she was wrong.

  She snapped back to the present when, without warning, vibrations travelled through her body followed by a rumbling outside. She turned to see a convoy of four police motorbikes and several heavily armoured army vehicles appear outside, flanking either side of her vehicle. Above her, a helicopter had replaced the drone.

  “Oh God, no,” she said, panicked and hesitant of the extra attention they were going to bring her. But as the bikes sped ahead, she realised they were clearing a path for her. The armoured vehicles moved to each side, and police cars behind prevented any other driver from overtaking.

  It suddenly dawned on her that her whole life, other people had protected her. Throughout their fractured childhood of care homes and foster parents, it was her brother, Andy, who had given her the security she needed. But when he chose a life of petty crime over her, she chose education and met Ben. He had taken over the challenge of making her feel safe. And now it was Tate’s turn. If they were to survive this ordeal, she pledged never to allow her boy to be responsible for his mother again.

  From what she had heard, Jack Larsson was the most unlikable of the jurors. But having seen him win the upper hand over his political opposition during televised debates, she knew he was also the most tenacious and well-schooled in the art of persuasion. His having picked her to represent meant he must have thought he stood a good chance of keeping her alive. He wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  And neither would she. Immediately, she resolved to toughen up and take back some semblance of control of her life. Aware once again of the dashboard camera, she began to rub her bump more and talk to it, reminding Tate that she loved him and that she was praying they wouldn’t die. All the time, she spoke loud enough for her microphone to pick up her words. If the key to her survival was to get the world to pity her and vote for her, it was a small price to pay. She had to remind the jurors they wouldn’t be condemning just one person to their death.

  But inside, Claire was acutely aware that if she were freed from the car, she would need to vanish from the scene—and vanish quickly. Nobody could discover the truth about what she had done before her hijacking until long after she had gone to ground.

  CHAPTER 31

  SOFIA BRADBURY

  Sofia shook her head vigorously.

  “Oh, no, no,” she said. “I do not like this. Not one bit. Look at it, Oscar. It’s distasteful, isn’t it?” Her dog’s eyes remained closed. “How can anyone think that pretending to blow up someone in a car in such graphic detail passes for entertainment? Because I can tell you, it most certainly does not.”

  She raised her voice and stared at the camera. “Will someone pull this car over and let me out? I need to speak to my agent, and until that happens, you’re not getting one more reaction from me.”

  Sofia poured herself another brandy and swallowed her fifth painkiller of the morning. The buzz from the last one was already beginning to wear off. She held her glare at the monitor, waiting for a response to her demands. Instead, more shouting and crying came through the speakers. She rolled her eyes and spoke louder. “Read my lips—Sofia Bradbury is not reacting. This is not what she signed up for.” The vehicle continued at the same pace, offering no sign it was preparing to slow down.

  She turned to Oscar again. “Listen to that lot wailing like bloody banshees. They’re all competing to see who can make the most amount of noise and take the most screen time. It’s pathetic. This is not what I worked my arse off for, to end up on something glorifying violence. I think Rupert has made a huge mistake getting me involved in this.”

  It was the explosion of the car with the Indian woman inside—a Bollywood actress, Sofia assumed, as she hadn’t recognised her—that tipped her over the edge. The blasts from the first two cars were clearly visual trickery designed to elicit realistic responses from viewers and Passengers. But the third appeared much more detailed than the others. Supporting actors must have spent hours in hair and make-up to ensure the wounds were believable. Then there were smoke bombs; people running around with limbs falling off left, right, and centre; and stuntmen and -women ablaze. She knew today’s audiences expected more from their programming than her generation did, but still, who in their right mind would want to watch a child on fire?

  “I did a lot of Ayckbourn in the seventies, so don’t try and tell me I’m a prude,” she continued to whoever was listening. “I do not agree with the increasing amount of gore shown on primetime television for the public’s titillation. Therefore, I cannot, in good faith, remain on this programme until I’ve spoken to my agent or until a producer can guarantee me there is going to be more substance to this series than I have witnessed so far.”

  Sofia hesitated, debating whether making a fuss was the right thing to do. Standing up for herself might go one of two ways. It could backfire, making her come across like an old fuddy-duddy to the younger audience she craved. Or, by remaining true to herself, it could win her more support from an older demographic. It was a risk she was willing to take.

  She had been waiting for the show to cut to a commercial break and allow her to discreetly fit new ear guards into her hearing aids. The sound was becoming muffled, but she had just about heard the woman in the ill-fitting plaid suit lending Sofia her support over something. She assumed her long-standing status as national treasure was giving her some gravitas.

  Were she to remain in the show, Sofia figured her toughest competition would come from the pregnant girl who was milking her condition for all it was worth. Will you just leave that bloody belly alone? she thought. All that stroking and rubbing; it’s not made of Play-Doh.

  Quietly, Sofia resented and envied the girl. Many times over the years, she questioned whether she had done the right thing in not starting a family of her own. How much had she lost out on by not feeling another life growing inside her? Not loving another person unconditionally and allowing that love to be reciprocated? She would never know. But each time she doubted herself, she would think of her husband, Patrick, and it would remind her the decision was for the best. He would not have made a good father.

  As she stroked her sleeping dog’s head with one hand, she swirled brandy around a glass tumbler with her other and wondered what Patrick had planned now that she had been swept up in the Celebs Against the Odds frenzy. She hoped Rupert had cancelled the car driving him to the hospital where they were supposed to meet ahead of her public appearance. If he had not, it would be another thing for her to worry about.

  At least her filming schedule would give them a break for the
next seven nights, she thought, providing she survived in the competition that long. While the quality film and television roles offered to her had dried up, she was still in demand on the stage and often travelled for work, staying in hotels and away from home for weeks at a time. Unbeknown to Patrick, she had people to watch his every move and report back to her. Her cook, housekeeper, and gardener were reliable sources of information, as was the private detective she kept on a retainer. There was also her accountant and a forensic digital specialist who followed his digital footprint and who dipped in and out of his operating system without being seen.

  “Hello!” she said again. “Is anyone listening to me?”

  Suddenly a man’s voice came from one of the other cars. “You don’t get it, do you?” he barked.

  Sofia moved her face closer to the screen until she could see who was talking to her. It was the one who was married to another contestant. He reminded her of a daytime television presenter who’d once made her an indecent proposal in a dressing room. She had firmly declined.

  “Speak up, I can barely hear you.”

  “I said, you don’t get it, do you?”

  “What don’t I get?” she replied. “I am sure I have been in this business for a lot longer than you, darling, and I know what makes good television. This, however, is just violence for the sake of it. It is most certainly not entertainment.”

  “Of course it’s not fucking entertainment!” the woman’s husband yelled. “This is actually happening to you, to us! Wake up, woman. You are being held hostage—they’ve murdered three of us already this morning—why is that not sinking in?”

  Sofia registered that the screaming and crying had stopped, and when she looked closely at the other screens, her fellow contestants were all listening to and watching them.