“I think maybe I understand,” he said.
“You do?”
He shrugged. “Sort of. You’re not like the others in your family. Are you?”
Fern was staring at the front door. Morgan could feel the nervous tension pouring off her.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You’re the odd one out,” Morgan said. “I know all about that Fern. I was the odd one out in my household for years.”
Fern managed a weak laugh.
“Spare me the textbook bonding bullshit,” she said, looking at Morgan. “I’m not interested in being your friend. We’ve got absolutely nothing in common.”
“Fair enough,” Morgan said.
An uncomfortable, prolonged silence followed.
“But I’m just saying,” Morgan said in a quiet voice. “Home was always the last place I felt at home.”
Fern pulled the gun out of her jeans and pointed it at Morgan’s head.
“Shut up. Will you just please shut the fuck up?”
“Easy,” Morgan said. “I can’t put my hands up.”
She stepped forward.
“It’d be so easy to shoot you right now Morgan,” she said. “And you’d deserve it too after everything you’ve done to us.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Morgan said. “I won’t even try.”
Fern lowered the gun. Yet again there was another sneak peek at the front door.
“Expecting someone?” Morgan asked.
She shook her head. “Hope not.”
“They’re gone? Silentia? Your mum and dad?”
“They’re gone.”
Morgan felt the Kevlar ropes digging into his arms and legs. The only way he was getting out of this cell was if Fern untied him. That was his last chance. So the sight of her slowly retreating back through the doorway wasn’t exactly what he wanted to see.
“Wait,” Morgan said. “Can I ask you a question?”
Fern stopped. “What?”
“Do you believe in what they’re doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean do you believe in what your family are doing?” Morgan asked. “Bombs, killing people and all that crazy ideological savagery.”
“Ideological savagery?”
“I heard it on TV once. Answer the question Fern.”
“It’s a stupid question,” Fern said.
“Is it? Then what are you doing here?”
Fern hesitated. “Cleaning the house. Wiping down surfaces, things like that. Things that need to be done.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
Morgan braved a smile. “C’mon Fern.”
She sighed.
“Okay then,” she said. “Maybe I’m not quite as far gone as they are. Maybe I’m not willing to leave someone to die in here like this. Not even a scumbag like you. Yeah, I guess you could say I’m a soft touch. Dad, Mum, even Ellie – they’ll sleep like babies tonight knowing you’re in here.”
“But not you?” Morgan said.
Fern’s eyes dropped inevitably to the floor. “They should have shot you in the head.”
“Is that what you’ve come back to do Fern?” Morgan asked. “Shoot me in the head?”
“What do you think?”
Morgan looked around at the little prison he was trapped in.
“I think I’ll take a bullet in the head any day. And I’ll thank you in advance for obvious reasons.”
Fern stared at the pistol in her hand.
“Don’t know if I can,” she said.
A pause.
“Sure you can,” Morgan said. “You’re Silentia aren’t you? You do whatever has to be done.”
Fern glanced at Morgan, followed by the door. “Fuck it,” she said.
“Fuck what?”
She looked at him.
“Gotta take a side, right?” Fern said. “That’s what they all want isn’t it? Pick a side. It’s either them or us but make up your mind Fern and oh by the way there’ll be hell to pay no matter what you choose. Well maybe I don’t want to choose. Maybe they’re the ones who’re fucked up in the head. Maybe the world’s fucked up.”
“Spoken like a true teenager,” Morgan said, nodding. “And you know what? You’re right.”
Fern was a statue, a dark silhouette framed in the doorway. It was a long time before she spoke again.
“They can’t ever find you,” she said.
Morgan’s heart skipped a beat.
“What?”
“I can’t shoot you Morgan,” she said. “And I can’t leave you in here even if you do deserve it. That only leaves one other option.”
Morgan’s mind went into overdrive. Was she serious? Was she really going to let him go? But what if one of the terrorists came back? She’d have no choice but to lock Morgan up again. He couldn’t take that – the foul taste of the gag in his mouth, the blindfold choking out the light, and the sound of the cupboard door slamming shut and the key turning in the padlock.
If they were going to do it they had to do it now.
“If you let me go Fern,” Morgan said, “I’ll disappear. No one in this half of the world will ever hear from me again, I swear to God, Jesus, Buddha and Steve Jobs. I know a guy who knows a guy – he’ll ship me overseas on a cargo boat. Set me up with a new life. We always talked about it in prison, me and a friend. Busting out and what we’d do, where we’d go if we got out. This guy who can help me, he lives in the city. All I have to do is get down there, make a few calls get the wheels rolling.”
Fern was staring into space.
“Fern?” Morgan said. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard you,” Fern said. “But how do I know for sure you’re not lying? How do I know you won’t kill me and then go after the rest of my family? Who knows? Maybe I can still make them proud. They’d forgive me for coming back and shooting you in the head, I know they would. But they’d never forgive me for letting you go.”
Morgan felt like he was about to have a heart attack.
“You’re not a killer Fern. That’s why you came back.”
Fern walked back into the cupboard, flicking on the light at the wall. With the pistol in hand, she walked around to the back of the chair.
“Fern?” Morgan said, twisting his head over his shoulder. His neck felt like it was about to snap. “What are you going to do? Think about this Fern. You’re not a killer, you’re not!”
“At any cost,” Fern said.
“At any cost? What does that mean? What does that mean Fern? Talk to me for Christ’s sake.”
She was perfectly still at his back.
“It’s what Mum and Dad used to say to us,” Fern said. “Ellie and me, when we were younger. We’d be sitting watching the news at home, making the connection between the faces on TV – the faces of the people who’d been killed in the attacks – and what mum and dad were doing with Silentia. The TV stations, they’d always put a gallery of the dead people onscreen. Names and ages at the bottom. The children were always smiling in those photos. When I first realised they were dead because of what we were doing I asked Mum and Dad why we were doing it. They’d explain, tell me that they were saving the world. At any cost.”
She began working on the knots.
“I thought my parents were heroes,” she said. “Fighting the noise industries, fighting corruption.”
“I’m sorry Fern,” Morgan said. He could only imagine what Reggie and Terri had drilled into those girls from an early age.
“They’ve got something big going down this weekend haven’t they?” Morgan asked.
“Yeah,” Fern said, pausing for a second. “It’s big alright.”
She resumed work on the knots.
“Good knots,” Morgan said.
“Yep. The best.”
Morgan wasn’t sure if she wanted to keep talking. He decided to leave that up to Fern.
“I’ve wanted to run away for years,” she said. “But I�
�ve always been too scared and so I talked myself out of it every time. Guess if I do this, let you go, I’ll have no choice.”
Morgan could feel the knots loosening. His arms and legs were numb.
“I appreciate this Fern,” he said. “I sure as hell won’t forget it in a hurry.”
“Try anything and I’ll shoot you,” she said.
“Yes ma’am.”
Morgan felt sensation returning to his arms again. With a groan, he stretched all ten fingers as far as they could go, like some kind of hand yoga.
“Oh man,” he said, lifting his resurrected arms over his head and dropping the ropes on the floor. “I thought I’d lost you guys.”
“You can undo the leg ropes by yourself,” Fern said, backing off towards the doorway. “But if you’re going to do it, do it fast.”
Morgan quickly went to work on his legs. “And after that? What’s your ticket out of here?”
“There’s a car waiting for me at O’Brien’s bench,” she said. “Either I take that and meet up with my family, or I run.”
“O’Brien’s bench?” Morgan repeated slowly. “Where the hell’s that?”
Fern shoved the pistol against Morgan’s skull. He slowly lifted his hands in surrender.
“Take it easy,” he said. “I was just asking.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Fern said. “That’s my ride. If I choose to take it. Got that? If Silentia see you, you’re dead.”
Morgan nodded. “I was just curious about the local scenery.”
“Sure you were. Got those leg ropes off yet?”
Morgan clawed at the bulbous knots around his ankles. “Hang on…give me a…yep, it’s done.”
“Alright. Stand up.”
Standing up was harder than it sounded. Morgan winced as he used the chair to push himself back to his feet and take a couple of steps towards the door. His limbs sounded like a bowl of Rice Krispies.
“Oh Jesus,” he said. “I’m stiff.”
“Come out,” Fern said.
Morgan staggered towards the door. As the numbness wore off the pain in his left knee came back along with all the other aches and pains.
Fern edged back into the hallway. She had the pistol locked on Morgan’s head.
“Go on,” she said, making enough room for him to slide past her. “There’s the door. Get out of here Morgan. Take your trip to the other side of the world and don’t come back.”
Morgan nodded. As he walked into the hall, he kept his distance from Fern and the gun. Morgan had little doubt that like Ellie, Fern was more than capable of using the weapon if she had to.
“Hey if you’re running away,” Morgan said, walking towards the door. “Why bother wiping anything down?”
Fern shrugged. “Don’t know.”
He stopped.
“You’re not thinking of staying are you?”
Morgan heard a loud sigh at his back.
“I don’t know what I’m doing!” Fern yelled. “Can’t you see that? I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m going to do in the next five minutes.”
Morgan put his hands up. He had the strange feeling that Fern envied him in that moment.
“If you stay with your family,” Morgan said, still inching his way to freedom, “what are you going to do when they come back here and don’t find a dead body stinking up the joint? Your old man and Ellie were looking forward to seeing me again.”
“They’ll think you’re the world’s greatest escape artist,” Fern said. “I’ll make it work. I’ll even break the lock on the door to make it look like you busted out.”
Morgan gradually lowered his hands. The blood was flowing again, thank God.
“Want to know what I think?”
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“I’ll tell you anyway. I think you’re done with Silentia.”
Fern stared back at him, poker-faced. “Wanna know what I think?”
“Sure.”
“I think you need to fuck off.”
“Fair enough.”
Morgan stopped at the door. He turned around and Fern was leaning up against the wall, pointing the gun at him.
“Why don’t you come with me?” he said. “You helped me escape, the least I can do is return the favour. We’ll find a car and drive south. When we get there I’ll drop you off wherever you want and you can go your own way. I’m not scamming you Fern I swear to God. And I’m not a pervert either. I just see a kid who needs help.”
Fern shook her head. “But I’m not a kid,” she said. “Thanks anyway.”
Morgan reached for the metal door handle.
Fern called out to him.
“Hey. One last thing. Make sure you turn right at the end of the driveway. Don’t go left. That’s north and O’Brien’s bench is up that way. It’s like I told you, there’s someone waiting for me there.”
“Okay,” Morgan said. “Go right. I can do that.”
A brief silence lingered.
Morgan opened the door and looked out onto the empty driveway. It was so damn quiet. The winding path led down to the road. From the road, it was a lottery.
“Hey I’m sorry,” he said, keeping his eyes out front. “For putting a gun to your head today I mean.”
Fern’s voice sounded far away.
“I put a gun to your head today too. That makes us even.”
Morgan laughed. Then he ran off into the quiet lands.
Chapter 14
Morgan set a swift pace, charging down the track that led from the farmhouse to the road. He wasn’t in great shape. His left knee in particular, was fragile.
When he reached the end of the driveway, Morgan stole a glance to the left. He debated about going after that car, the one waiting at O’Brien’s bench. It was the smart move. He’d feel a lot safer behind the wheel of a car than he would on foot.
Morgan rubbed his sore head while he thought it over.
His legs felt glued to the crossroads, while an invisible force pulled his mind in opposite directions.
“No,” he said.
That car was Fern’s ticket out of here, not his. That’s if the poor kid went back to her parents of course. But if she was going back she needed that car to ferry her out of the quiet lands before the cops showed up. She’d given him a chance. The least Morgan could do was refrain from stabbing her in the back at the first opportunity.
Morgan hurried along the narrow road, breathing in and out in a steady controlled manner. Like a marathon runner, he was pacing himself. Unlike a marathon runner he didn’t know how far off the finish line was. As he walked he kept tight to the edge of the road, his shoulder scraping off the hedges and old walls that separated the roads from the green desert.
There were no road signs.
Several times Morgan was forced to stop and cover his ears. The silence was excruciating. Like the monster in a horror movie, it had bided its time, waiting for him to abandon the sanctuary of the farmhouse.
As he picked up the pace, Morgan glanced over his shoulder, sensing a distinct and malevolent presence at his back.
Soon this place would be buzzing with activity. Police sirens wailing. Flashing lights. Ambulances zipping down potholed, country roads, searching for the crash site. It could happen at any moment. It could be happening now. Or it might be hours away yet. At the very least Silentia were gone. And now that he was free of them, Morgan wished he’d found out more about their next attack. A location, a time – some little detail that could turn out to be the difference between life and death for someone. Reggie hadn’t expected Morgan to leave the farmhouse alive – if pressed he might have let something slip. With that information, Morgan could have made an anonymous phone call and put the authorities on red alert. Sure, calling the police was the last thing he wanted to do but the thought of innocent people getting blown up wasn’t something he could just push aside.
It would piss Reggie Ward off big time.
Morgan froze. There was a noise up ahead
. It was the snarl of a car engine, accompanied by the wailing shriek of tyres skidding as the vehicle took a sharp corner at high speed.
The corner was about fifty metres away.
Morgan thought fast. It was too late to hide so he slowed his pace to mimic a leisurely stroll. The closer he got to civilisation the more cars he would encounter on the road. Big deal. Keep walking. Maybe even try to hitch a lift although would anyone pick him up? Did people even pick hitchhikers up anymore?
Most people didn’t give a shit about a man on the side of the road. Even if they did they probably wouldn’t notice that the dishevelled-looking man at the side of the road was wearing a prison shirt.
He was just a regular guy, walking down a country road.
The silver Audi slowed as it approached Morgan.
Morgan’s heart was racing but he kept walking anyway. Head down. Next time to hell with it, he’d jump in a field and take cover.
The Audi steered into the middle of the road. It rolled to a stop.
“Fuck off man.”
Morgan stopped walking and stared at the Audi. No big deal. It was probably some country bumpkin who wanted to chitchat about the weather. That’s what they did around here wasn’t it? Talked to anyone and everyone? Who could blame a person for feeling isolated out here? For wanting to engage every stranger in small talk. Why the hell not? Morgan would humour the simple cretin, at least for a few minutes. Talk about whatever they wanted to talk about. He’d get through this.
Be nice. Be charming. That’s all he had to do.
And yet even as he thought it, Morgan wasn’t buying his own bullshit. Why would somebody pull into the middle of the road like that?
There was a vague silhouette behind the wheel. The broad-shouldered outline of a man, his features obscured behind the dark windscreen.
The Audi just sat there, its engine purring.
Morgan began to walk towards the car and that’s when the driver’s door was pushed open. A young man stepped out.
Morgan stopped and he felt his insides shrivel up.
“Oh no.”
It was Carl – Silentia Carl, the man with the coppery skin and red dreadlocks. The same guy who’d prepared Morgan’s coffin in the cupboard under the stairs at Reggie request.
The Dystopiaville Omnibus: A Dystopian Sci-Fi Horror Collection Page 13