The Dystopiaville Omnibus: A Dystopian Sci-Fi Horror Collection

by Mark Gillespie

  “What do we do?” he said.

  Kylie’s forehead glistened as she sat on the grass. She put a hand on Celia’s stomach, as if to let her friend know she was still there.

  “Can you imagine what it’ll be like for the average Joe going into work on Monday morning Ol?” she said. “Walking in and finding the office half-empty. What if there’s no one behind the counter at Starbucks to serve you coffee? No buses because the drivers are all dead. Look on the bright side eh? At least rush hour won’t be so crowded anymore. I might even get a seat on the tube.”

  “I dunno,” Ollie said. “I dunno how it’s going to work.”

  “I do,” Kylie said. “Job opportunities. Slashing unemployment rates. That’s how they’ll spin it, just you wait and see.”

  Kylie buried her face in her hands and started singing.

  “Always look on the bright side of life – fuck fuck, fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.”

  Ollie put an arm around his girlfriend. “Kylie?”

  “I can’t stop thinking about my mum,” she said, coming back up for air. “I’ve got no idea if she and Jenny are alive right now. Right now. Christ, I just wanna go home. I’m done with this shit.”

  “Yeah,” Ollie said. “I feel sick just thinking about my folks. So I guess I’m trying not to.”

  Kylie pointed deeper into the field, which was shrouded in thick darkness.

  “It’s quiet over that way,” she said. “Seems like the noise is behind us. What do you say? Will we take a walk and see where it leads us?”

  “Yeah,” Ollie said. “Why not?”

  They climbed back to their feet and stood over their dead friend. Ollie wanted to say something, to let the mad world know that someone special had died and that it mattered. That she mattered. But he didn’t. Not for the first time in Ollie’s life, words failed him.

  “We’ll come back for you Celia,” Kylie said. “That’s a promise.”

  They walked through the dark field.

  “Ollie!” Kylie said, nudging him on the arm. Ollie roused himself from a deep, walking slumber. He had no idea how long they’d been on the move or how much ground they’d covered since leaving Celia. “Straight ahead. There’s something up there on the other side of the road. I think it’s a house or something. See?”

  Ollie studied the dim horizon. His head felt a little better after the walking snooze. There was something over there; it was further downhill, beyond another rundown wall and across the road that marked the end of this particular field.

  It was the grainy outline of an isolated building.

  “It’s a farmhouse I think,” Kylie said.

  “Looks more like a haunted house from here.”

  “Might be empty though.”

  “Might be. No lights on that I can see.”

  “That could mean anything,” Kylie said.

  Ollie nodded. “Either they’ve run off or they’re still in there hiding.”

  “Yeah,” Kylie said. “That house is a little too exposed for my liking Ol. If it was me, I wouldn’t hang around waiting for one of those helicopters to show up.”

  Ollie watched for any signs of life. Movement. A light going on. Anything. “Maybe there’s a car we can use to get out of here.”

  “We just take it?” Kylie said. “Like steal it?”

  “Yeah,” Ollie said. “We can always bring it back when this is over. If murder isn’t a crime right now then stealing sure as hell isn’t. We’ll call it a borrow.”

  Kylie nodded. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

  They walked down a gentle descent to the edge of the field. A four-foot wall stood between them and the road. They climbed it and found themselves on a single-track road, pockmarked with countless potholes.

  Ollie and Kylie crossed the road and approached the farmhouse gate. They leaned over the sturdy wooden entrance and had a good look at the property.

  There were still no lights on in the house. And it was quiet – dead quiet. The area out front was littered with interweaving concrete paths, toppled brick stacks and random bits of junk, the latter being mostly engine parts scattered haphazardly by the side of the house. At the bottom of the garden there was a red tractor. The tractor was parked next to another gate, which led into a small enclosure at the back. There was a long, low-roofed garage or shed building inside the enclosure.

  “That garage looks massive,” Ollie said. “What do you think?”

  “Hard to tell from here,” Kylie said. “Might be something there.”

  “Long shot innit?” Ollie said, feeling a sudden jolt of hopelessness.

  “That’s the story of our night Ol.”

  “Right then.”

  Ollie unlatched the gate and pushed it open. The squeaking noise it made reverberated around the entire county of East Sussex.

  “Perfect,” he groaned.

  They tiptoed down the driveway, stopping at the enclosure gate. They lifted the latch on this second gate and it squeaked badly, even worse than the first one. It sounded like an alarm going off.

  “Bloody hell,” Ollie said.

  His heart was galloping in his chest.

  Kylie stared back towards the house. Still there were no lights on inside the building. “I think it’s empty,” she said. “Either that or whoever lived there’s already, you know…”

  Ollie didn’t want to hear the ‘D’ word. “Yeah.”

  They continued into the back enclosure, walking down a small weed-infested path that led them to the garage.

  Kylie tried the side door and found it was locked. Using her phone as a torch she scoured the perimeter of the garage and signalled to Ollie. Ollie hurried over and saw that a back window was lying half open. Kylie pressed up against the brick exterior, reached a hand inside and allowed her skinny wrist to slide through the gap. She located the lever, unhooked it and pulled the window forward as far as it could go.

  “Hold this for me will you?” she asked, handing Ollie the phone.

  Ollie took the torch with one hand and kept the window fully extended with the other. He shone the light on the gap.

  Kylie was already poking her head through that gap, testing it out for size. “C’mon Ollie, stop messing around. Give us a push will ya?”

  “You sure you’ll fit through there?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Ollie sighed at their predicament. But what choice did they have? He put his hand on Kylie’s bum and nudged her closer to the window. Fortunately for them, Kylie was physically gifted for this kind of work. Small head, slim shoulders, tiny wrists – she was a walking jailbreak.

  Once her head was through the rest was easy. Her shoulders and upper body slipped through the gap and she forced her way onto a narrow countertop at the edge of the back wall. Ollie kept the iPhone torch on her, providing light until she got her bearings.

  Once or twice, as he waited, his attention drifted back to the ghoulishly quiet farmhouse behind him.

  He had the feeling that he was being watched.

  “I’m in.”

  Kylie turned back to Ollie, shielding her eyes from the glare of the torch. She gave him a thumbs up through the window.

  “I’ll let you in,” she said. “Give us the phone will you? There’s a lot of shit in here that I can’t see properly.”

  Ollie handed her the phone. “See a car?”

  “I don’t know Ol, just give us a second will ya?”

  Ollie backed a few paces away from the window. He listened as Kylie made her way down the length of the garage towards the side door.

  “Yes!” she called out, a little too loud for Ollie’s liking.

  “What is it?”

  There was a click. The garage side door swung open and Kylie was grinning as she beckoned Ollie inside.

  “At last,” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “A break. Get in here quick.”

  When Ollie was inside the garage, Kylie flicked on a light switch beside the doo
r. Ollie took a good look around at the interior, now bathing in a pale golden light. It was a big garage, easily forty or fifty feet wide at least and to his delight he saw that it wasn’t just a garage – it was a showroom. There were about thirty motorbikes in there, a private collection lined up in neat vertical rows stretching from one end of the room to another. They could easily have been on display inside a transport museum.

  “Oh nice,” Ollie said, rubbing his hands together. “Very nice.”

  “We’ve got a two-wheeler fanatic here,” Kylie said. “And there’s scooters up the back too Ol.”

  Ollie walked up and down, inspecting the goods. Scratching his chin thoughtfully.

  Whoever owned the bikes loved them and took good care of them. They were sparkling clean and seemingly in perfect condition, at least on the outside. Ollie saw Harleys, Kawasakis, Yamahas and more. There was even an old Triumph TR6 Trophy down the front – the same bike that Steve McQueen rode in The Great Escape.

  “Somebody loves this place,” Ollie said. “Now I really feel like an intruder.”

  “What about the scooters Ol?” Kylie said. “That’s what you ride back home. They in good nick?”

  Ollie wandered over to a small display of vintage scooters at the back. “He’s got two Vespas and two Lambrettas. Very nice.” He turned to Kylie who was hovering near the door. “I can ride any of these. The Supertune 250cc might be our best chance. We just need to find the keys.”

  “What about taking one of the motorbikes instead?” Kylie said. “It’ll be much faster won’t it?”

  “I’ve never sat on a motorbike in my life Kylie. You know that.”

  “It can’t be that hard can it?” she asked. “If you can ride a scooter you can handle a bike, at least for a few miles until we find the in between place.”

  “Bad idea darling,” Ollie said. “If we fall off the bike we’re in big trouble.”

  “Alright then,” Kylie said, giving up on the idea quickly. “Do me a favour then Ol and tell me that the scooter keys are sitting in the ignition. They are aren’t they? Ready to go?”

  Ollie smiled and shook his head. “You didn’t think it was going to be that easy did you?”

  Kylie’s back leaned up against the brick wall. “I don’t want to go anywhere near that house Ol.”

  “Me neither. We’ll have a quick look around here for the keys but if not…”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  After an intense rummage around the drawers and cupboards inside the garage they came up empty.

  “So be it,” Kylie said, wiping a cobweb out of her hair. “The keys are in the house, so we’re going in the house.”

  Ollie stared through the garage window. He felt a single bead of sweat running down the back of his neck. “You think it’s empty?” he asked.

  Kylie grabbed Ollie’s hand and they marched to the door together. “Let’s hope so darling,” she said. “Because that fucker up there reminds me of Norman Bates’ house. And we all know what Norman Bates was hiding in there don’t we?”

  They left the garage, turning off the light but leaving the door open.They reached the door of the farmhouse a minute later. Ollie didn’t know if they were standing at the front or back of the old place but it didn’t matter as long as the bloody door opened.

  Kylie did that cracking her fingers thing. It had never sounded louder to Ollie’s ears that it did in that moment. She reached out and turned the handle.

  The door creaked open.

  They walked into the house on tiptoe. Every step was a loud as cannon fire, at least in Ollie’s head. They were in a small kitchen. It was hard to see anything without the lights on but having spent so long in the dark that night, Ollie’s eyes adjusted quickly. There was a large wooden table to their left, positioned close to the door. Teacups sat on the table, along with several half-full glasses of water and a purple-coloured juice of some kind. There was also a can of Stella Artois at the head of the table. Ollie was tempted to go over and see if there was anything left in the can. Boy did he need a drink.

  There were four plates with some kind of curry still on them. Most of the food had remained untouched. Ollie’s nostrils twitched – the scent of spices in the air was strong.

  There was a photo collage on a pin board next to the fridge. That’s what Ollie was looking at it when the sound of gunfire exploded behind him. It happened so fast and it was so sudden that Ollie thought he was dead. Then he remembered that dead people don’t think and that’s when he moved.

  He and Kylie grabbed a hold of one another at the same time. They leapt back from the doorway and took cover under the kitchen table.

  There were two more shots. Both hit the wall above the sink.

  Ollie and Kylie huddled close together under the table. They squeezed hands, knowing that the gamble to come in the house might be the end of them after all. It sounded to Ollie like the shooter was positioned down the opposite end of the hallway. Maybe in the hallway itself, creeping closer to the kitchen. Shit. Had the shooter been watching them all this time? Little wonder they were pissed, having seen Ollie and Kylie go into the sacred bike showroom. Had they guessed the intruders’ intention upon coming inside the farmhouse?

  The back door. It was only a few metres away and they could make a run for it easily. At the same time Ollie knew that by running, he and Kylie were inviting a chase and in turn, a bullet in the back.

  They continued to hold hands under the table.

  “Get out of my house you murdering bastards!” a man’s voice yelled from the other side of the house. “I’m not giving up my family without a fight.”

  Ollie was about to whisper something to her but Kylie pressed a finger against her lips. She slid a few inches closer to the door.

  “We’re not snipers!” she called out. “We’re victims of this cull, the same as you. Five of our friends are dead.”

  A pause.

  “That’s just the sort of thing I’d expect a sniper to say,” the man said. “I hear your accent. Killers, brought in from London – that’s what you are. Cold blooded assassins.”

  “Listen,” Ollie said. His voice was hoarse. “We’re just trying to get out of this mess, same as you. We don’t want to hurt you or your family. All we want…”

  He hesitated.

  “All we want is the keys to your Lambretta Supertune 250. Yeah? Give us the keys and we’ll go. That’s a promise.”

  Harsh laughter. It sounded like the shooter was choking on some of that half-eaten curry.

  “Are you serious? You want one of my scooters?”

  “Yeah,” Ollie said. “I’m dead serious. And I’m dead serious when I say we’ll bring it back when this is over. That’s a promise.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “You dirty lying bastards. Fuck you. Fuck London and fuck this cull!”

  A fresh round of shotgun fire ripped open a massive hole in the cupboard above the sink. Ollie stared in horror as a procession of pots and pans fell out of the cupboard and onto the kitchen floor.

  There was a loud creak in the hallway. Was it a foot on the floor?

  Ollie grabbed Kylie’s arm. “He’s coming in. Bloody hell love, I think he’s coming in to finish us off. What do we do?”

  “Shhh,” she said.

  Kylie slid her back along the wall, inching closer towards the door.

  “Hold it,” she called out.

  Ollie held his breath. His hand reached towards the table, grasping for a knife or some kind of weapon. All he found was a plate of cold curry for his fingers to drown in.

  “Alright then,” Kylie said. “We’ll come clean. You’re right mate. We’re contract killers from London, working as snipers in the cull. Sorry but at the end of the day you’re just numbers to us. You’re pollution. But here’s the thing mate – you got us boxed in here pretty good and you’re the first number we’ve come up against tonight that’s given us a fight. Not bad, not bad at all. But you can’t win.”

&
nbsp; “You wanna bet?” the shooter said.

  “Can you beat an Apache?” Kylie said. “My thumb’s sitting on the green button on my phone right now. If I press it they’ll be here in less than two minutes. And by they I mean the Apache. Maybe even two of ’em. That’s guaranteed. Now, you don’t want your family to die do you? And seeing as how you’ve got us boxed in like this, well it’s complicated. But you give us the keys to the Lambretta and this is one stop we’re willing to forget about. Understand? I’m offering you a deal.”

  Kylie shrugged and slid back under the table.

  Ollie could hear a bout of frantic whispering elsewhere inside the house. Sounded like someone was crying. A child?

  “I’m listening,” the man said. “Keep talking.”

  “Throw the keys into the kitchen,” Kylie said. “Then I’ll throw you my phone and that way you’ll know there’s no Apache on the way. You can destroy it - I’ll tell my superiors in London that I lost it. Shit happens.”

  “Now wait just a bloody minute. You’ll toss the phone first. Down the hallway. Then we’ll talk about the keys.”

  Kylie’s nostrils flared in anger. “Shut up!” she barked. “We don’t have all night to fuck about with the likes of you. Give us the keys first and…”

  “Why should I shut up?” the man roared back. “Why should I? This is my house isn’t it? You’re the trespassers. You shut the hell up! No way I’m giving you a bike you psycho murderer. You walked here, you can walk out.”

  Ollie’s head fell back against the wall. Negotiations were going well.

  He heard that famous double click noise. It was something he’d heard before in hundreds of movies – the sound of someone priming a pump action shotgun.

  “Oh bollocks,” he whispered. “We’re dead.”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” the shooter yelled. “I don’t negotiate with murderers. Come at me then you bastards. Call your helicopters, call your bloody army and do what you have to do. I dare you. Because I’m not going down without a fight. Nobody tells me what to…”

  A flood of white light swept through the kitchen. Ollie heard the sound of car tyres crunching over gravel out front.