Dave didn’t finish the sentence.
Onscreen, Jane Hunt’s monologue continued.
“…will undoubtedly come as a shock to many of you but as you are no doubt aware the dramatic rise of the global population shows no sign of slowing down. Education and birth control have failed to make a difference. As a result of overpopulation, crime rates are skyrocketing and competition for jobs and resources is as fierce as it has ever been. The toll on the environment has also been devastating with much of the natural world being cleared for farming, accommodation and other human derived factors. There are many reasons for the cull ladies and gentlemen, none of which will be of much comfort tonight.”
The newsreader hesitated.
“But if you are interested, a fact sheet is available on the government’s website. See the address listed below.”
Everyone in the farmhouse watched in stunned silence.
“This cull is global,” Jane Hunt said. “At least thirty of the world’s most populated countries are on board and I can assure you ladies and gentlemen, that race, religion or economic status do not matter. What matters are the numbers, which must be met before the cull can come to an end.”
“Oh this is good,” Dave said, laughing now along with Brian, John and some of the others. “It’s a bloody joke alright but I’ll say this for them – it’s a good one. She’s a good actress that Jane Hunt. Next stop Hollywood, eh love?”
Dave thrust an arm around Helen. His girlfriend’s bespectacled eyes were still glued to the screen.
She wasn’t laughing.
“Here is a list of numbers for the United Kingdom,” Jane Hunt said in a flat, emotionless voice. “Starting in Scotland. Glasgow, twenty-five thousand. Edinburgh, twenty thousand. Aberdeen, fifteen thousand. Dundee…”
“Is it April Fool’s Day or something?” John asked. He was lying on his back now with his head on Celia’s lap. As he watched TV the Concorde spliff dangled loosely in between his lips.
Celia was frowning. “I’m not so sure this is a joke guys.”
“Of course it’s a bloody joke Ceel,” Kylie said. “A cull of people? It’ll be all over Twitter in five minutes you wait and see.”
“Inverness, twelve thousand. Orkney, one thousand…”
“I can’t wait to see what the punch line is,” Brian said, showering the side of Anna’s face with wet kisses. “It better be good after a set up like that.”
Anna smiled, listening intently as the intended body count was read out.
“London, two hundred and fifty thousand…”
“Quarter of a mill for London?” Brian said. “How about that eh? Good thing we buggered off to the country for the weekend.”
“Two-fifty’s not going to make much of a difference is it?” Celia said. It was like she was having a private conversation with Jane Hunt through the screen. “There’s nine million people in London Jane my darling. That’s barely scratching the surface. Why not make it a cool million? Why do people always say that anyway eh? A cool million? What’s so cool about it? I’ll tell you this much – if someone handed me a million quid I’d be anything but bloody cool about it.”
“And in the southeast regions, twenty thousand in East Sussex, thirty thousand in West Sussex…”
“WOAH!” Dave said. “Back up a minute darling.”
“Where are we again?” Helen asked, looking worriedly around the room. “What county’s this?”
“East Sussex,” Ollie said. “We’re in East Sussex.”
“They’re taking this joke a little bit far if you ask me,” Dave said, glancing at Helen with mild concern. “Alright then Jane, time to wrap it up. What’s the punch line? What new show about human culling is the BBC trying to launch?”
Jane Hunt fidgeted with her earpiece. “Snipers are in position both in the air and on land,” she said. “Once again, please be advised that the cull will continue until target numbers have been met. Any wrongful deaths before or after the cull will be treated as murder and are thus punishable by law.”
Jane Hunt’s haggard face peeked out from behind a wall of makeup.
“Very best of luck to you all,” she said. “And if you make it through this evening alive we’ll be back with a news update at six o’clock tomorrow morning.”
The screen went blank. Then an explosion of noise hit the living room. The picture came back on and it showed a young girl, aged about five, singing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ in front of the three bored-looking judges on I Wanna Be a Celebrity So Badly I’ll Do Anything.
“Well that was a shit joke,” John said, already getting to work on another joint. “But that’s the BBC for you, eh? So bloody funny they forgot the punch line.”
Chapter 2
Anna was at the window again, staring out towards the back garden.
There was a distant look in her eyes, Ollie thought. He figured it must have been tough on her being the new girl, trying to fit in with a tight gang of seven other people who’d known each other since childhood. The others were bonded through trial and experience but Anna, as Brian’s latest girlfriend, was the newbie. Thing is, Brian’s girlfriends were always the newbies. As far as Ollie could remember the longest that Killing Floor’s lead singer had ever spent with the same girl was four months. And how Brian had struggled with that particular girl. The girl’s dad, if Ollie recalled correctly, was a copper in the Met and Brian had been terrified that this big burly gorilla of a man would come after him with a squad of plainclothes thugs if he dumped her.
Anna was drinking more red wine. Even though it wasn’t that late she appeared to be already dressed for bed, wearing what Ollie took to be a pair of black nylon pyjamas, skin-tight and showing off her long, stick thin supermodel figure. The change in clothes was a big change from earlier on when Anna had been every inch the sleek rock and roll chick, dressed to kill in a collage of brightly coloured 1960s mod gear.
“You alright over there Anna?” Ollie said.
She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Been a long day Ollie mate. Guess I’m just a bit whacked.”
“I was beginning to think we smelled bad or something.”
“Nah. I’ve smelt worse than you lot.”
It seemed like they’d mostly forgotten about the prank on the telly. Undoubtedly, Ollie assumed, an explanation would be forthcoming and the BBC would come off as smug, pretentious bastards trying once again to be edgy with their humour. With any luck, social media would decapitate them for it. As soon as he got a signal back on his phone Ollie would join in with the public execution.
A human cull. The bloody cheek of it. If there ever was such a thing then the BBC should be the first to go.
Ollie leaned over and checked his iPhone, which was lying on the coffee table. Zero reception.
Fucking sticks, he thought.
He picked up a can of Carling off the table and took a slug. It tasted warm and flat but Ollie threw it down his neck anyway.
Anna leaned her head against the window. “I can’t get over the size of Malky’s pool,” she said. “How the other half live eh?”
“Yeah,” Celia said. “I don’t care if it’s pissing down with rain tomorrow boys and girls. I’m going for a swim in that pool.”
Kylie winced. “Have you seen it? It’s shaped like a…”
“I don’t care,” Celia said, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m going for a swim.”
The room fell silent for a while and it wasn’t unpleasant. Brian continued to play the guitar and hum a melody while Anna stood at the window staring out into the night. The other six hovered around the couches, drinking, smoking and staring at the TV.
Ollie’s half-drunken eyes wandered lazily across the surroundings. Malky’s living room was plain at best. The furniture was old and worn down. Ollie was also aware of a stale, slightly musty odour in the house that lingered downstairs like an unwanted guest at a party. He made a mental note to bring air freshener if they ever came back here with Malky.
Celia must have been thinking the same thing. She leaned across the table, pushing aside at least half a dozen red and green Rizla packets, scattered around like breadcrumbs. She lit a scented candle, which along with the dozen or so others that she and Kylie put out earlier, intermingled into one super flowery fragrance.
Ollie’s nose twitched.
Dave put his mug of tea on the floor. He began to drum the side of the table.
“C’mon John,” he said, staring over at the guitarist. “Put the skins away mate. Eh? It’s time to go to work, what do you say lads? Have you forgotten why we’re here in the first place? What we’re supposed to be doing this weekend?”
John was rummaging through the Rizlas, searching for the right skins for his next masterpiece.
“What’s that mate? Did you say something?”
“We’re supposed to be writing songs,” Dave said. “Remember? Malky Hamilton – theee Malky Hamilton – handed us the keys to this place and told us to come back to London next week with five new songs. And to make sure there were at least two hit singles amongst them. That’s if we want to record a demo and have Malky take us on as clients, which will almost certainly land us a record contract. But look at us. So far we’ve barely got the guitars out of the cases.”
“He’s right,” Helen said. She sat forward and rubbed Dave’s back, just like a mother soothing a distressed child. “We’re only here for a couple of days and day one is almost over.”
Dave nodded. “All we’ve done so far is fuck around. Drink and drugs, how fucking original lads.”
John’s hazy expression landed on the mug at Dave’s feet.
“I hate to break it to you Dave,” he said. “But that hot beverage you just consumed contained a mood-altering substance. It’s called caffeine. Now just because some tosser in a suit says that caffeine’s a good drug and weed is a bad drug, it don’t mean shit mate. Weed is a plant innit? The very notion of making it illegal is ludicrous. Are you telling me that Mother Nature, God, the Universe or whatever you want to call it messed up when they made weed? It’s like God gave us a present and we shoved it back in his face and said no thanks mate.”
“Tea’s legal,” Dave said. “End of story.”
“Bloody hell Dave,” John said, dropping the skins and falling back into the couch. “How’d you ever end up in a rock and roll band?”
“Because I love music,” Dave said. “Not drugs. You know what I do for a living don’t you John?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“I’ve seen what drugs can do to people,” Dave said. “I’ve seen it up close and far too bloody personal.”
Ollie heard Anna’s wine glass landing on the window ledge.
“Did anyone hear that?” Anna said, turning around to face the others. “Just now. I thought…”
“What?” Helen said, half-standing up off the couch. “What is it?”
“Helicopters,” Anna said, looking out the window again. Outside the garden was shrouded in darkness except for a faint glow around the pool. “I thought I heard helicopters in the distance.”
“Oh look out!” Brian shouted, playing the theme to Jaws on the bottom E string. “Here it comes folks. It’s the Great British Cull-Off.”
Helen sat down again, scowling at Brian. “That’s not funny.”
Ollie stood up, limbs creaking. He stretched his arms to the sides and put his beer can down on the table. Then he walked towards the front window, pushing his head through a chink in the purple curtains. Malky’s house was on a small country road with a gigantic, sprawling field directly opposite. Ollie could barely see anything. It got dark out in the sticks in a way it never did in London.
“Can’t hear a thing,” he said.
But then he heard footsteps outside.
Ollie’s heart skipped a beat. He backed off a few paces, nearly pulling the curtains off the rail.
A man in a flat cap and long raincoat walked past the house. There was a border collie on a leash at his side. The man glanced towards the house, tipping his hat at Ollie who must have looked like he was a lunatic hanging off the curtains.
“Evening,” the man called in.
Ollie’s face burned bright red. He waved back. “Hi.” Then he dragged himself out of the curtains and faced the others.
“No helicopters?” Anna said, filling up her glass on the other side of the room.
Ollie sat down beside Kylie. “No helicopters.”
Brian winked at Anna from the floor. “It’s all that Pinot Noir love. You’re hearing things.”
Ollie turned his attention back to the coffee table. John’s head was buried in his work again – the non-musical kind. Meanwhile Brian was still messing around with the same chord progression that he’d started playing an hour ago.
Dave was sitting beside Ollie, glaring at the singer and guitarist.
“Hey guys,” Ollie said. “Dave’s right. We better get to work.”
Kylie curled up into a tight ball, lifting her legs onto the couch. “I can feel a fight coming on,” she said, reaching for her wine glass on the table. “Let’s get ready to rummmmmble!”
“No,” Ollie said, giving her a stern look. “There’ll be no fighting.”
He turned back to the lads in the band.
“But let’s face facts – we’re only here for a weekend. We bragged to Malky that we could bring five brand new songs to his office on Tuesday morning. We haven’t done sod all and Saturday’s nearly over. Five fucking songs!”
“Right,” Dave said. “At last, someone else is talking sense.”
“Take it easy guys,” Brian said, still strumming on the Ovation. “What do you think I’ve been doing all night? I’m working on a melody right here. This is shaping up nicely too – could be our first number one hit.”
“Working on a melody?” Dave asked. “Is that what you call it? Because from where I’m sitting Brian it looks like you’ve been fucking around all night.”
Brian pulled a ‘whatever’ face.
John sighed and looked up from his joint building. “A little weed ain’t gonna stop us banging out the hits,” he said. “We’re setting the ambience that’s all. Great songs need ambience to breathe. We’ve got a long night ahead of us – we don’t need to go to bed at ten o’clock you know Ollie.”
Dave jumped to his feet and stood over the coffee table, pointing an angry finger at John.
“I’ve worked five straight overnights this week,” he said. “You really think I’m gonna sit up all night watching you guys smoke weed until your face turns green? Fucking hell man! We’ve been given the keys to the castle and all you can do is get wasted, something that you can do any other night of the fucking week in your shitty little council flats. How many chances like this do you think we’re going to get in life? Eh?”
Celia stood up, open palms outstretched in Dave’s direction.
“Easy Dave,” she said. “Please. We don’t want to spoil the weekend with an argument do we?”
Dave’s angry laughter shook the room.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he said. “Get a grip Celia. You’re a little bit older than the rest of us but you’re none the wiser for it are you love? We’re not the fucking Rolling Stones enjoying a holiday in the country here. We can’t just do whatever we want. Don’t you understand? This is what makes the difference right here – what we do over the next two days determines the course of our lives. So what’s it gonna be? Fuck around and get wasted or graft and maybe change all of our lives beyond recognition? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. D’you think I like working as a hospital porter in London six days a week? You think that makes me happy? Six days and nights on my feet, stressed to fuck, trapped inside a stinking fucking hospital.”
Ollie could see the big drummer’s hands shaking.
“This is all I’ve got,” Dave said, finally lowering his voice. “It’s all I’ve got in the world.”
Helen grabbed Dave’s hand and lowered him gently back onto the
couch. “It’s alright love,” she whispered. “It’s alright.”
For a while they pretended to watch TV. Nobody spoke and little eye contact was made amongst the group. They’d all been here before with the exception of Anna and they knew that the storm would pass just as quickly as it had arrived.
Before anyone spoke, there was a knock at the front door.
Helen sat up, letting out a loud shriek. She cannonballed into Dave’s arms, tightening her grip around his thick upper body.
“Who is it?” she said.
“It’s the cull,” Brian said. He adopted a Dracula-esque voice. “Eeets ze kallllll. They’ve come for you Helen. Zey’ve kahm for your blooooodd.”
Kylie threw a packet of green Rizla at the singer. “Shut the fuck up you moron.”
Everyone turned to Celia, who was perched on the edge of the couch, staring thoughtfully down the hallway towards the door. Celia was the closest thing that Killing Floor had to a manager and she’d been the one who’d organized this trip with Malky Hamilton after he’d spotted the band at the Plaza gig.
“You expecting anyone?” Kylie asked.
Celia shook her head.
There was a second knock on the door.
“Maybe it’s the police,” Kylie said, keeping her voice down. “Somebody might have reported seeing the lights on in the house or something.”
“So what?” Brian said. “What’s unusual about that? Lights on in a house – hanging offence now is it?”
Kylie glared at the singer. “The house is usually empty Brain. Think about it.”
John clearly didn’t like the sound of that. He was sweeping Rizla packets off the table at turbo speed, shoving them into a reusable Tesco bag. When everything, weed included, was out of sight he started fanning the air with his hand. “Light some more of those candles will you girls? Bloody hell! Look lively everyone.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Brian said, standing up and dusting down his jeans. “I’ll get it then shall I? Before they break the door down.”
John nodded. “Yeah you get it mate. And try and get rid of ’em quick will ya?”
The Dystopiaville Omnibus: A Dystopian Sci-Fi Horror Collection Page 26