The Dystopiaville Omnibus: A Dystopian Sci-Fi Horror Collection

by Mark Gillespie

Jack felt something – a light, slowly going out inside him.

  He’d lost her. Now he really was alone.

  Chapter 6

  Jack hung his head and closed his eyes.

  Nothing made sense. What the hell was going on in this town?

  Slowly, he took his back off the door and stepped further into the classroom. There was no sign of the robot shooter in the corridor outside. The school was ghostly quiet and that was every bit as frightening as the sound of those awkward footsteps.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said, looking at Donna. His voice was scratchy – he sounded like someone much older.

  Donna was perched on the table, her long legs hanging over the edge and her feet dangling a few inches above ground. She looked like a giant Barbie schoolgirl, dressed in a dark gray hooded fleece with long blonde hair that fell past her shoulder.

  Her eyes looked down at the cellphone in her hand.

  “What did it feel like?” Jack asked. “Did it hurt? Did you even know it was happening before it happened?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Jack turned around and leaned closer to the door. It felt like he was moving in slow motion. It was during these quiet moments, when the adrenaline wasn’t flowing so hard, that he realized how exhausted he was both mentally and physically. But he couldn’t allow himself to switch off. Now he was listening for those machine footsteps in the corridor. He put his face beside the door and concentrated. There was a musty odor coming off the wood that made the school smell older than it was.

  Nothing. It was so quiet outside Room 11.

  Jack turned and slid his back down the door. He stopped when his butt hit the floor and then with a quiet sigh, he wrapped his arms around his legs and closed his eyes.

  “I can’t do this,” he said. “This is too much.”

  He sat there for about five minutes, his back up against the door. Waiting for the shooter to find him. Waiting for something, anything to come along and end this slow torture. He was beginning to think the waxworks didn’t have it so bad after all.

  “Jack.”

  Jack sat up like he’d been zapped by an electric cattle prod. His eyes scoured the room.

  “Who said that?”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “Jack, it’s me.”

  Jack stared at the waxwork of his girlfriend sitting on the table. His blood ran cold.

  “Donna?”

  It was Donna’s voice. He’d heard it clearly – a whisper, no more than that but it was real.

  Jack looked at her. She hadn’t moved and her eyes were still focused on the phone in her hand. But she had spoken – she’d definitely said something.

  “Donna,” Jack said, keeping close to the door. “Did you just talk?”

  “Can you hear me Jack?”

  Jack’s jaw hit the floor. He jumped up to his feet so fast that he lost his balance and fell backwards against the wall.

  “Donna! Oh my God.”

  Jack staggered across the room like a drunk. He leaned closer to her, studying her smooth, glassy complexion and searching for life in her eyes. That’s what he wanted to see. God how he’d missed the little things – the flicker of an eye, the sight of fingers moving, the music and unique rhythms that people made when they walked – all that and so much more. Jack felt like he’d been wandering alone through this strange, static wasteland for a lifetime.

  “Donna,” he said. “Please talk to me. What’s happening? Are you in there?”

  “I’m here Jack,” she said. Her lips didn’t move but the voice came out anyway. “I can hear you.”

  Jack felt a barrage of mixed emotions – there was a spurt of joy at the sound of her voice but also a nagging horror. She was in there for Christ’s sake. Inside. She was buried alive in a fleshy tomb.

  So they were conscious after all. Trapped inside their bodies.

  “Donna,” Jack said. “I don’t believe this.”

  “I’m so happy you can hear me,” Donna said.

  Jack touched her on the arm. It was as stiff as a board.

  “Can you feel that?” he asked. “I’m touching your arm right now.”

  “I can’t feel anything,” Donna said.

  Jack nodded. He was still trying to get used to hearing her voice without seeing the lips moving.

  “Do you feel the same inside?” Jack said. “Your thoughts, feelings, memories, that kind of thing? They’re all there?”

  “I think so,” Donna said. “I don’t know – I’m so scared Jack.”

  “Are you in any pain?”

  “No.”

  Jack cupped her face with both hands. Her skin was cold, like marble.

  “What’s happened to you?” he said. “What’s happened to this town? Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

  “Something terrible,” she said.

  “But what is it?” Jack said, taking his hands off her face. He pointed a finger to the window. “Everybody in Alexandra Falls is like you Donna. Everyone except me I think. There are strange things going on out there – I saw something in the Octagon and I don’t know what the hell it was. It spoke to me – it knew my name. And there’s some kind of robot running around the school with a gun. It tried to shoot me for God’s sake, just before I came in here.”

  “We’re under attack,” Donna said. “It’s not just Alexandra Falls, not just America either.

  Jack screwed up his face.

  “How do you know that?” he said. “Who’s attacking us?”

  “I don’t have all the answers,” Donna said. “I’m sorry Jack.”

  Jack cupped her face again and tried to tilt her head backwards. It didn’t move – she might as well have been made of stone. Jack lowered his head instead, moving it into Donna’s field of vision.

  “Can you see me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Oh thank God. It’s so good to see your face again.”

  Donna’s voice cracked, like she was on the brink of tears. Could she cry even if she wanted to?

  “I’ve been calling out for help since it happened,” she said. “Calling your name over and over, hoping that you’d come for me. Then I heard someone open the door and I knew it was you, I just knew it. Thank you Jack.”

  “How can I hear you?” Jack said. “I can hear your voice like it’s inside my mind and yet I haven’t been able to hear anyone else today. And I’ve seen a lot of people – at home, in Hudson’s, the post office and now here in the school. You’re the only one I can hear. Why?”

  There was a pause.

  “I don’t know Jack,” she said. “Maybe it’s because we’ve got a connection. Something like that.”

  “I have a connection with my parents,” Jack said. “I couldn’t hear a damn thing when I went into their bedroom this morning.”

  He shuddered at the memory of his parents frozen in doggy style. Had they known he was in the room with them? Jack clenched both hands into tight fists. No, he wasn’t going to think about that.

  “How can I help Donna?” he asked. He straightened up and circled the table, like he was inspecting the woodwork for damage. “Is there anything I can do? There must be some way to unfreeze you.”

  “It’s too late for me,” Donna said. “I’m stuck like this, at least for now. But I think I can still help you Jack.”

  Jack frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “There was one piece of information that I heard,” she said. “Before it got me.”

  “What?” Jack said. “What is it?”

  “While I was here waiting for you,” Donna said, “I was skimming the news on my phone. It was obvious that something was happening. There were reports of strange outbreaks everywhere – of people trapped in paralytic states all over the country. They were saying that there’s something in the air – a dangerous chemical. Gas. Poison. That’s how I know it’s an attack.”

  “An attack by who?” Jack said. “Who the hell’s doing this to us? Is it human or something
else?”

  “I don’t know,” Donna said. “I don’t think they got that far. But there were live updates on the news, on all the social media sites about evacuations taking place. Thousands of people have been getting pulled out of the danger zones by emergency doorways that…”

  “Evacuations?” Jack said. He took a couple of backwards steps, shaking his head. “Emergency doorways?”

  “Yeah,” Donna said. “It sounded kind of far out I know.”

  “These doorways,” Jack said. “Do they look like a random pixel pattern of black and white? You know, like an old-fashioned broken TV screen?”

  “You’ve seen it?” Donna asked.

  “It’s the Snowman,” Jack said, his head swirling with confusion. “That’s the thing I saw back at the Octagon. I ran away from it.”

  “They’re here to help us,” Donna said. “You must find that doorway again Jack or hope that it finds you. It’s your only way out before the freeze gets you.”

  Jack felt like he was floating.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “That can’t be right Donna. An emergency doorway that just materializes in the middle of the street? We don’t have that sort of technology.”

  “Apparently we do,” Donna said. “Do you really think they show us everything?”

  Jack ran a hand through his hair. He was starting to sweat again.

  “The Snowman?” he said. “He’s on our side?”

  “Yeah,” Donna said. “But I don’t know what you saw in the corridor out there. I assume that’s one of them. Whatever it is, stay away from it. But you can trust the Snowman. Let him help you. He’ll take you out of here and who knows? Maybe they’ll find a way to bring the rest of us back too. Eventually.”

  Jack scrunched up his brow.

  “I can’t leave you here Donna,” he said. “You know that don’t you?”

  Before Donna could answer, Jack heard a faint electric buzzing noise in the room.

  He turned around slowly.

  The Snowman was in the classroom.

  It was a floating bubble of black and white light. The human shape was trapped in its center and those abnormally long arms were reaching across the room towards Jack.

  “No!” Jack yelled.

  He backed off towards the wall.

  Donna’s voice, soft and soothing, spoke to him over the buzzing noise that sounded like a giant fly was in the room with them.

  “Let him help you Jack,” Donna said. “Go to the light. Trust the Snowman.”

  Jack glanced at Donna and shook his head.

  The Snowman was getting bigger by the second. The black and white snow cloud swelled out, stretching itself across the classroom like it was displaying a tremendous wingspan. The human-shaped thing inside got bigger too. Its arms were getting fatter, more three-dimensional, and they were still reaching for Jack.

  “Jack,” the man’s voice said. It was a cold, flavorless voice.

  “Trust me Jack,” the Snowman said. “There’s been an attack – an invasion. We’re going to get you out of here before they find you. I just need you to walk towards the light. Will you do that for me?”

  The buzzing sound was unbearable. If it got any louder, Jack was certain his head would explode.

  He looked at Donna.

  “I’m going crazy,” he said. “Aren’t I? That’s what this is, isn’t it? I’m imagining it all. You haven’t said a single word.”

  Jack ran towards the door. He opened it and fled into the corridor.

  As soon as he was out of Room 11, Jack stopped dead. Someone else was there with him.

  He turned to his right.

  The robot shooter was standing at the end of the corridor.

  The sound of the slamming door had triggered its kill switch. With a cold jerking movement, it turned its masked head towards Jack.

  The shooter took a clumsy step forward. It lifted its lead foot high off the ground like it was stepping over a puddle.

  It pointed the AR-15 at Jack.

  Jack crouched low as a barrage of gunfire sprayed in his direction. When the shooting stopped, he ran towards the fire exit as fast as he could. Jack heard those terrible, clunking footsteps coming after him. Seconds later, the rapid-fire explosion of the semi-automatic was screaming in his ears again.

  He pulled down the bar on the fire exit. With a terrified grunt, Jack kicked the door open and ran outside into the cool sunlight. His mind and body were on autopilot now, steering him across the yard, around the side of the building towards the Civic parked out front.

  There were waxworks everywhere. Jack paid little attention to them.

  He made it to the car and jumped into the driver’s seat. His trembling hand reached for the keys that he’d left in the ignition.

  “Get me out of here,” Jack said, talking both to the car and to himself.

  His foot pushed the pedal to the floor.

  The shooter turned the corner of the building as the car screeched away. The robot came after the Civic, walking towards the car in such a cartoonish way that it was a wonder it didn’t topple over like a broken toy.

  “Leave me alone!” Jack yelled. He slammed a fist into the steering wheel.

  Then he hit the brakes.

  The shooter was approaching from a ten o’clock angle.

  Jack’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel. He should have driven away by now – taken the little circle road that spun around a grassy island and led towards the school gate.

  Escape. Go now.

  What are you waiting for?

  But Jack didn’t want to do that. He wanted to drive the car through the shooter at a hundred miles per hour or faster. He wanted to slam thousands of pounds of metal into that bastard’s head and smash it into little pieces that spilled all over the school yard. Then he’d see if it really was a machine or an alien or god knows what hiding behind the mask.

  The shooter walked towards the car.

  Jack’s hands were shaking. The shooter’s rifle got closer and Jack found himself staring down the barrel.

  He felt his nerve crumbling like a sandcastle.

  “Damn it,” he hissed.

  Jack reversed the car a few feet down the yard. Then he turned right and drove over the grassy island, taking a shortcut towards the gate.

  The sound of gunfire chased the Civic all the way to the exit.

  Jack didn’t look back. He drove away, pounding on the steering wheel with a sore fist, crying like he hadn’t done since he was a child.

  Chapter 7

  The car charged down the road at high speed.

  In the mirror, Jack saw the ugly block of bricks that was Alexandra Falls High School receding into the distance.

  He kept the Civic in the middle of the road, ignoring the lane markers. The car bounced over a dip and approached a steep downhill grade that led back towards the town center.

  The vehicle hurtled downhill. Jack bobbed up and down in the driver’s seat like he was sitting on an amusement park ride. His fingers gripped the steering wheel tight. He was waiting for the Snowman to show up – that fuzzy black and white cloud was coming after him. He knew it was. It would materialize on the road, stretching itself out like a giant net that wanted to swallow Jack and the car whole.

  Jack’s vision blurred slightly at the edges. A constant stream of sweat poured into his eyes. He felt like he was on the brink of passing out.

  “No!”

  He slammed on the brakes. The Civic skidded to a sudden stop and Jack, who hadn’t fastened his seatbelt, was thrust forwards like a crash test dummy. His upper body slammed against the steering wheel with an angry crunch. Jack groaned in pain. If there was an airbag in the Civic, it had failed to deploy.

  Lucky me, he thought.

  He sat back and took a deep breath. There was a dull ache in his chest but it wasn’t serious – at least he hoped it wasn’t. This was no time to get badly hurt. As he straightened up in the seat his clothes made a squelching noise. Ther
e was sweat everywhere – he felt wet and dirty from head to toe. The clothes were glued to his skin.

  That was the least of his worries.

  Jack rolled down the car window. He looked over at the sprawling fields and hills that stretched for miles to the west. It was peaceful over there. There was a pleasant breeze outside and it was calling to him like an old friend. Without question, this was the best thing he’d seen all day.

  “Just a few minutes,” he said. “I need this.”

  Jack opened up the glove compartment and found a stack of random brochures and pamphlets that had been acquired over time by the car owner. There was a ballpoint pen in there too. Jack took the pen out and slipped it into his pocket. Then, his limbs cracking loudly, he stepped outside and jumped over the short wooden fence that separated the road from the rolling hills.

  Jack walked slowly over the soft ground. He inhaled that glorious fresh air with all the enthusiasm of someone who’d been locked up indoors for years. Thank God there were no waxworks in the fields. No gruesome smiles, no marble-eyed stares. Nothing here to remind him of the horror of elsewhere.

  It wasn’t long before he decided to sit down. He glanced over his shoulder – the road was about a hundred and fifty meters away. To the front, endless hills and a sparse nothingness for miles.

  Jack collapsed onto the grass. As he lay on his back, arms and legs stretched out as far as they could go, his body felt numb, like it wasn’t even there. But his mind wouldn’t stop – it was every bit as tired as the rest of him but it kept going on, turning recent events inside out, trying to find some indisputable logic, or even a pattern that could be deciphered and perhaps lead to the answer about all this.

  There was an answer. There had to be.

  Jack sat up. He pulled out the crumpled sheets of paper from his back pocket. Then he grabbed the pen and turned the first sheet over, stretching it flat against his legs.

  He wrote quickly:

  Who is responsible for this?

  Revisit earlier assumptions…

  At first I thought it was a chemical attack. Manmade. There’s been so much talk of Russian and North Korean hostility in the news lately that it made sense to suspect them at first. It’s still a possibility – the Snowman, the robot shooter, Donna’s voice – what if I’ve imagined all these things?