The Dystopiaville Omnibus: A Dystopian Sci-Fi Horror Collection

by Mark Gillespie

  A child’s excited voice spoke up: “Daddy! Daddy! There’s a car in the driveway.”

  A car door slammed shut. The shrill, panicky voice of a woman called out to whoever was in the house.

  “Charlie? Are you in there? Charlie? Is anyone home?”

  “It’s Aunt Sal!” the kid screamed. “Mummy. Daddy. It’s Aunt Sal, she’s come to save us.”

  Ollie and Kylie listened closely from the kitchen. Sweat gushed from Ollie’s head, dripping onto the floor. His fingers reeked of curry.

  “What do we do?” a woman’s voice said inside the house. “Charlie, what do we do? Sal’s out there – she’s out there now!” Her voice trembled as if she was holding back a flood of tears and Ollie for one, felt like a prize shit for terrorising these people in their own house. They were after all, just trying to survive like everyone else.

  “Charlie, Justine – grab the kids and get your arse in gear!” Aunt Sal called out. “Tommy’s in the car. We need to make a run for it.”

  She was banging on the front door.

  The shooter – Charlie – answered.

  “Sal!”

  “Where are you Charlie?”

  “Living room,” Charlie said. “We’ve got at least two snipers in the house Sal. They’re in the bloody house for God’s sake!”

  “Whaaaaat?” Aunt Sal screamed. “Run you stupid idiot! Get the kids out of there right now.”

  Ollie and Kylie sat glued to the kitchen floor, holding onto one another. The kids – it sounded like there were at least two of them in the house – were bawling. The poor things were scared out of their minds. Meanwhile the shooter and his wife argued over the top of the crying kids.

  “C’mon!” Aunt Sal yelled. “Get a move on!”

  At last, Ollie heard footsteps thundering back and forth on the other side of the house. The front door opened and slammed shut again. Muffled voices. Kids crying. Seconds later, the car roared as it backed out of the driveway at high speed. The last thing Ollie heard of Charlie and his clan was the ear-piercing shriek of tyres skidding in the distance.

  They were gone.

  “Oh Christ,” Ollie said. “Oh I can’t take much more of this.”

  His clothes were marinating in sweat. The skin on his neck felt prickly and sore. Despite the sound of Aunt Sal’s escape-mobile zooming off, Ollie and Kylie stayed under the kitchen table for another five minutes. Just to be sure that Charlie wasn’t setting them up.

  Eventually they crawled out. Ollie straightened up, his palms searching the wall for a light switch.

  “What are you doing?” Kylie asked.

  “Lights.”

  “No way. Leave it off Ol.”

  “What? Why?”

  She pointed to the ceiling. “We don’t want attract any unwanted attention do we?”

  Ollie’s hand leapt off the wall like he’d been electrocuted.

  He pulled his iPhone from his pocket and activated the torch. Kylie did likewise and they exited the kitchen tentatively, two midnight explorers walking into a vast hallway that left Ollie feeling exposed to whatever was left lurking inside these four walls – ghosts, snipers and God knows what else.

  “Battery’s getting low,” Kylie said, holding up her phone.

  Ollie nodded. “Me too. Let’s find the keys and be quick about it.”

  They worked their way through the big house, rummaging frantically through drawers and cupboards. Kylie searched upstairs while Ollie tackled the living room, stepping over a batch of empty shotgun shells on his way in.

  “Bloody hell,” Ollie said, stopping by the living room mantelpiece. He shone the torch over a row of framed photographs. “Hey Kylie! This guy’s got photos of himself with Mick Jagger, Roger Daltrey and Paul McCartney amongst others. Might be one of Malky’s mates in the industry eh? And he just tried to kill us, the cheeky bastard.”

  Ollie quietly admired the photographs of Charlie – a moustachioed fat man, and his rock star chums. “Likes his music, that’s for sure.”

  Kylie called from upstairs. “Come up and see this Ol. Quick!”

  Ollie hurried upstairs and found Kylie in a large bedroom that overlooked the front of the house. She was standing in front of a tall oak cabinet with a glass door. The door was lying wide open and inside the cabinet, ten rifles hung side by side by side, barrel end up.

  “Likes his guns too,” Kylie said.

  “Jesus,” Ollie said. “I’m glad this guy decided to make a run for it. Seems like a bit of a nutter if you ask me.”

  “Maybe,” Kylie said, dropping onto her knees. “Maybe not.” She opened up the first of two drawers at the base of the cabinet and lifted out a sleek black pistol followed by several boxes of ammo.

  “Nice,” she said.

  “Bloody hell,” Ollie said. “This bloke wants to emigrate to America if you ask me. He’ll fit right in there with all the gun nuts.”

  Kylie smiled. “That’s a SIG Sauer P226.”

  “A what” Ollie said, frowning. “How do you know what it’s called?”

  “Remember that leisurely weekend in the country I went on with the girls from work last year?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Turns out they had a shooting range at the mansion,” Kylie said. “We were at it all weekend. I’m a pretty good shot as it happens Ol.”

  “You what?”

  “I knew it wasn’t your thing, guns and that, so I didn’t say anything. But…”

  “But what?”

  “Well I went back to the range with Donna a few more times. Just to let off a bit of steam, you know?”

  Ollie’s jaw dropped. “Bloody hell,” he said. “I’m going out with Sarah fucking Connor. So now you know everything there is to know about guns eh?”

  “I know enough,” Kylie said, studying the ammo boxes and shoving one into the pocket of the jacket she wore over her mod-style dress. “Maybe I should emigrate to America too eh? With all the gun nuts.”

  Ollie shrugged. “I didn’t mean…”

  “Forget it Ol,” she said. “Here’s the thing. If we’re going to ride out of Dodge on the back of a scooter then it’s best to have a little firepower on our side. Right? You agree.”

  “Fair enough,” Ollie said. “Let’s find the keys and get the hell out of this creepy bloody house. But before we set off Kylie…”

  “What? What is it darling?”

  “I could murder a beer,” Ollie said. “How about you?”

  Chapter 11

  They sat at the kitchen table in something close to darkness. The main lights in the house were off but the fridge door had been left half open, allowing a pale orange glow to bleed into the edges of the room. The fridge hummed quietly in the background. Its presence was so strong that it almost felt like there was a third person in the house with Ollie and Kylie.

  The scooter keys were lying on the table. Kylie had found them in the bottom drawer of the gun cabinet, every key for every bike in the garage, clearly labelled, which in itself was a godsend in terms of saving time. Ollie found the set of keys with ‘Lambretta Supertune 250’ printed on the label in neat biro.

  Boom. They were ready to go.

  But first, that drink.

  They were sharing an ice-cold can of Stella Artois taken from Charlie the shotgun man’s beer shelf. Charlie would have shit the bed if he could see them now, with his gun, his scooter keys and now his beer. There was also a large bottle of Scotch on the kitchen counter but although it was tempting, for medicinal purposes if nothing else, neither Ollie nor Kylie wanted to dull their senses. Not with so much still ahead of them tonight.

  “D’you want anything to eat Ol?” Kylie asked. “That fridge is loaded with grub. Want a sandwich or something?”

  Ollie groaned. “I couldn’t eat a thing love.”

  “Yeah me neither.”

  Kylie shook the can to see how much was left in it. She took a brief sip of Stella while at the same time, running her finger over the handle of the gun. Ollie no
ticed that the barrel was pointing at him across the table. It was enough to make him shift his chair a few inches to the right. He hated guns, hated everything about them. They were alright in Tarantino films and books and fictitious settings, but in real life guns scared the shit out of him. Even scarier than guns were the people who worshipped them.

  The drone of helicopters outside was a constant companion, along with the humming of the fridge.

  “Fuck them,” Ollie said. He winced at the taste of the beer – he wasn’t a fan of Stella Artois by a long shot but tonight he would’ve drank nail polish if it meant taking the edge off a little.

  He eyed the bottle of whisky on the counter.

  “You alright Ollie?” Kylie asked. “Stupid question, I know. But, are you?”

  Ollie shook his head. “They’re dead. The rest of the band, Celia, Helen – dead.” His fist slammed off the table and all the plates and glasses trembled. “It’s a madhouse, a fucking madhouse. This weekend Kylie, it was supposed to be the best weekend of my life. It was a new beginning and now…”

  Kylie grabbed his hand across the table. “It’s not over yet Ol.”

  “I wish it was,” Ollie said. “More than anything, I wish it was.”

  Kylie stood up, taking a hold of Ollie’s hand in her own. She was staring at him, still smiling somehow despite the hurricane of hell that had battered their sails so mercilessly tonight.

  “What are you doing?” Ollie asked her.

  “Well this isn’t how I wanted to do this,” Kylie said. “But seeing as how we might not be alive tomorrow I don’t think I’ve got much choice but to get on with it.”

  Ollie’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  Kylie took a long breath as if she was about to dive from a great height into the uncertainty of the ocean.

  “This weekend Ol…”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re right,” she said. “This weekend was supposed to be the best weekend of your life. Something that years from now, if you were having a shit day being a millionaire rock star and all that, you could look back on and it’d instantly make you feel better. Good memories do that. They remind you that life can still be alright.”

  Kylie took a long slug of Stella, quite possibly finishing the can.

  “The best weekend of your life,” she said, wiping her mouth dry with her hand. “The best weekend of your life turned into the worst. But…”

  “What?”

  “Life can still be alright. Better than alright, it can be good Ol. If we get through this it’ll be good.”

  Kylie pulled her hand free of Ollie’s grip. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a tiny velvet bag. She placed the bag on the table next to the gun.

  “I was waiting for the right moment to do this,” she said.

  Ollie leaned forward in his seat, staring at the velvet bag as if it was a little green man from Mars. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Kylie blushed, something that didn’t happen often. “It’s not much. It’s also a little bit different from the normal sort of…”

  A pause.

  “Engagement ring?” Ollie said. “Is that what this is? Bloody hell Kylie, it’s an engagement ring.”

  Kylie smiled. “Take a look why don’t you?”

  Ollie checked the beer can. Empty. Then he picked up the bag and carefully pulled out a black titanium ring from inside. He looked closer. There was a striking design on the outside that resembled a sideways figure of eight.

  “That’s the infinity logo,” Kylie said. “No matter what happens Ol, our lives will always be intertwined. I truly believe that.”

  Ollie’s mouth hung open. “I don’t know what to say Kylie.”

  She snatched the ring out of his hands. Then she walked closer, dropping onto one knee and staring up at him. Her clothes and skin were covered in dry blood, something that Ollie tried to push aside.

  “Ollie Davies,” she said. “I’m never happier than I am when I’m with you. I mean it when I say it doesn’t matter to me where we end up. It doesn’t matter to me whether we stay on the same estate for the rest of our lives or whether we’re living it up in Monte Carlo with your millions.”

  “Well it bloody matters to me,” Ollie said.

  She offered him the ring.

  “Will you do me the honour?”

  “Oh my God,” Ollie said, nervous laughter spilling out of him. “Is this for real? I thought it was my job to pop the question? I feel all…what’s the word? Ejaculated?”

  “Emasculated?”

  Ollie laughed. Christ, it felt weird to laugh with all that had happened tonight. Weird yes, but in that moment, it felt right. Plus they’d earned it.

  “I wouldn’t mind an answer some time this century,” Kylie said.

  Ollie’s smile faded a little. “Are you sure about this Kylie? I don’t mean about this. About the timing I mean? Shouldn’t we wait until…”

  “I’ve never been more sure about anything in all my life Ol.”

  Ollie nodded. “Okay then.” He wrapped his arms around her and slowly, they both climbed to their feet.

  “Okay what?”

  “I’ll marry you,” he said.

  Kylie’s eyes lit up. She slid the ring on Ollie’s finger.

  “Cheers mate,” she said.

  They sealed their engagement with a kiss. At the same time, Ollie listened to the fireworks out there, imagining that the whole world was celebrating with them.

  Chapter 12

  They went back to the garage for the scooter.

  Still using his iPhone as a torch, Ollie made his way to the back of Charlie’s showroom where he found the candy blue and white Lambretta Supertune 250. Ollie patted the seat like he was greeting an old friend. He’d picked the Supertune because it was the fastest of the four scooters and it would give them some much-needed kick out there. The Supertune seat was also spacious enough to hold both Ollie and Kylie with a little room to spare.

  Ollie checked the fuel gauge under the handlebar.

  “Half a tank,” he said.

  “Enough to find our in between place,” Kylie said, opening up the garage door. “A nice quiet forest with lots of trees and no people. And preferably just a couple of minutes ride outside East Catchford.”

  “And quiet roads,” Ollie said. “Quiet roads all the way.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ollie turned the key and the Lambretta made a popping noise as the engine spluttered into life. Kylie climbed onto the back, wrapping her arms around Ollie’s waist.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Ready.”

  “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Ollie tentatively rode the scooter out of the garage. Following a narrow dirt track they came onto a seemingly deserted B road, which Ollie hoped was the quickest way out of East Catchford. Without GPS or road signs, navigating was all guesswork.

  At first Ollie kept the scooter’s lights off to avoid catching the eye of any snipers. It made the ride out of town all the more dangerous but he kept the Lambretta at a slow, cautious speed. Perhaps, Ollie thought, the road would stay quiet all the way out of East Catchford and right up until they found their in between place.

  That was wishful thinking.

  Three quarters of a mile after leaving the garage they emerged onto a larger road, catching up with a chaotic convoy of vehicles, all jostling for space like they were playing real life dodgems. Ollie felt like he’d brought the bike onto the set of a Mad Max movie. He turned the scooter lights on, just in time to see the first road sign he’d seen for ages. The sign pointed travellers towards the A26. Twelve miles. So that’s why the road was crowded, Ollie thought.

  A Ford Focus raced up behind the Lambretta, horn blaring. Ollie’s heart went into fifth gear. He gripped the handles tight, pulling the Supertune to the side and avoiding a collision by the skin of his teeth. He checked the road behind him. It was clear and so he took the Lambretta back into the centre
again.

  “You alright?” he called out to Kylie.

  “Fine!”

  Ollie gritted his teeth and pushed the scooter harder. Fuck them all, he thought. He wouldn’t be bullied or pushed off the road by any more car drivers. He had his fiancée on the bike with him for God’s sake. And they were going to their in between place, no matter what.

  His fiancée! Jesus, what a day.

  The Supertune was riding deep in the madness now, holding its own as escapees battled for supremacy and the grand prize – a clear stretch of road that would give them room to break free, to accelerate and get the hell out of there.

  Car windows were rolled down. Insults flew back and forth like tennis balls on the first day of Wimbledon.

  Ollie brought the Lambretta to sixty miles per hour, passing several overturned cars, some with the wheels still spinning. These cars had blocked part of the road but it was easy for the skinny little Supertune to slip through the gap. Some of the bigger cars and vans however, weren’t so lucky. Their escape was delayed or worse, over.

  There were bodies on the road here and there. Some had gone straight through the windscreen upon impact, landing far from their car in a puddle of broken glass and blood at the edge of the road. There were bodies in the middle too, practically lying on the single white lines. Ollie wondered if they’d been dragged there to sabotage the progress of other vehicles.

  The Lambretta screamed as it tore down the crowded road.

  Ollie’s stomach lurched on every winding corner. The Lambretta would dip to the side and for a split second it felt like the end of all things was imminent. Even if they were still conscious after a crash the convoy would quickly turn them into human pancakes. But Ollie was a good rider and he righted any wrongs quickly.

  The roads, flanked by hedges and walls, were closing in. The bends grew tighter.

  Ollie’s backside leapt off the seat when he heard a noise that sounded like the sky falling. The Supertune wobbled at the edge of the road and Ollie fought to regain control, narrowly avoiding a collision with a Volkswagen camper van.

  “Apache!” Kylie yelled.

  Ollie’s blood ran cold. He saw the black predator lurking in the sky, its rotor blades a dizzying blur of non-stop motion. The Apache was stalking the convoy, descending even lower as if it wanted to hang out and be friends with all the cars racing frantically towards the A26.