The Dystopiaville Omnibus: A Dystopian Sci-Fi Horror Collection

by Mark Gillespie

  The appearance of the killer helicopter killed any last trace of civilisation on that road. Drivers pushed their cars harder, ramming into the side of others with suicidal gusto. There were screams and the crunch of metal hitting metal. The terrified citizens of East Sussex were throwing it all on the line to create an opening, both to escape the Apache and to leave others in the firing line before them.

  The sniper fired once from the cockpit. It sounded like the crack of a whip over the convoy’s head.

  Ollie was shaking but he couldn’t give into the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He’d been expecting the Apache to use its machine guns and get it over with quickly. It should have been a straightforward massacre. After all, there was no property damage to worry about here, no stately buildings, no homes and no major landmarks. It was a small road in the middle of nowhere.

  Why wasn’t the helicopter using its full range of firepower? It would take forever for a sniper with a rifle to go through the convoy.

  They’re counting, Ollie thought. They’re counting. It was a glimmer of hope - were the killers nearing their cull limit? He recalled something that Jane Hunt had said on TV earlier that evening – several lifetimes ago now. It was something about the consequences of killing people after the target numbers were met. Murder. It would be considered murder to take a life after the cull was over.

  “It’s nearly over,” Ollie called out to Kylie. He couldn’t help himself. “I think the cull’s nearly…”

  There was a loud ping at his back. Glass exploding. Ollie turned his shoulder and saw the white hatchback behind the Lambretta speeding off road and crashing into the wall at the side of the road. Inside, the driver’s body was thrown forwards and the air bag inflated. The bag was of no use. The sniper’s bullet had done its job.

  The helicopter ascended away from the wreckage. For a second, Ollie thought that was it – the Apache had concluded its business with the convoy. But the helicopter lurked overhead, biding its time like a bird of prey that had its pick of small rodents in the field below.

  In his side mirror, Ollie saw the sniper leaning out of the rear of the cockpit. The shots came thick and fast, a barrage of lead rain soaking the convoy. Ollie thought the Lambretta was next. It had to be next.

  There were cars fishtailing wildly on the road, forcing nearby vehicles behind to take drastic action.

  A green Escort ahead of Ollie tried to reverse at speed to get away from a dangerously swerving Mondeo. Tyres squealed off the asphalt and it sounded like the scream of a banshee. The Escort almost swatted the Lambretta off the road but Ollie turned right, taking his chances in the middle of the fleeing pack.

  A young man of about twenty sprinted across the road in front of a high-speed van with ‘Pete the Plumber’ printed on the side. The man, whose face was leaking rivers of blood, high-jumped over the hedge and landed in the field. He got up immediately and ran off into the night, calling out for someone called Mary.

  “Crazy fucker!” Ollie yelled, watching him go.

  There were cars with bashed bumpers and cracked windscreens lined up at the side of the road like mangled spectators. Those who’d survived the impact of the crash were now fleeing the wreckage of these smoking ornaments, taking their chances on foot.

  As things went on, other drivers still on the road were getting more aggressive. They were ramming other cars as if for fun. Kylie pulled out the pistol, pointing it at anyone who got too close to the Supertune 250.

  “Back off!” she yelled.

  Ollie felt like screaming. “We need to get off the road!” he said. His eyes shot left and right, desperately seeking an exit from this horror show.

  “What?” Kylie called out. “I can’t hear you.”

  There was no time to explain.

  Ollie kept the scooter tight against the back of a cream Mini. He knew he was risking a collision but with any luck, the closer he stayed to a bigger vehicle the less obvious he was to the eye in the sky. He thought of those little suckerfish in the ocean that followed sharks everywhere. That was the way to go.

  Just a little longer, he thought. There has to be a way out of here. There has to be.

  After another minute of riding along a straight road, Ollie saw a left turn illuminated in the headlights of a car up front. Was it real? Or was it a mirage born of desperation?

  He stared hard in that direction.

  No, there was something there. It was a nothing road, a dirt track going nowhere at best but it was a way out. This was it. Every muscle in Ollie’s body was taut and cramped.

  Crack-crack-crack!

  The sniper kept picking off numbers.

  Cars spun off the road at a dizzying speed, some of them smashing through roadside barriers and going lopsided into the field. Others came to a sudden, screeching halt in the middle of the road. A wall of metal began to form, one that threatened to block off the escape route altogether.

  “Hold on tight!” Ollie yelled.

  He killed the scooter’s lights. Then he yanked the handlebar to the left and immediately felt the back wheel slide out from underneath him. The bike dipped and Ollie’s stomach jumped into his throat. He heard Kylie shriek and felt her tighten her grip around his waist. She had suddenly acquired the strength of a three hundred pound sumo wrestler. It all happened so fast but at the very moment that Ollie was convinced the Lambretta was going to tip over, the scooter righted itself and seconds later, began racing down the single lane track and away from madness.

  “YES!” Ollie yelled. He fist-pumped the sky. “You fucking beauty!”

  He felt Kylie tap him on the shoulder.

  “What?” Ollie said, slowing the bike down. The track underneath was bumpy and the Lambretta jerked up and down.

  “We might have a problem!” Kylie said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look behind us.”

  Ollie turned his head to the side and saw a set of car headlights crawling up the road behind them.

  “Looks like someone else took the same turn,” Kylie said.

  “Bugger.”

  Ollie pulled the scooter into the edge of the lane, hoping that whoever was driving the car would just zip past and be on their way. Maybe they’d even toot the horn and say thank you for clearing the road.

  “Copycats,” Ollie said. “They’re just looking for a way out. Same as us.”

  “Maybe,” Kylie said.

  Ollie steered the Lambretta into a neat groove at the side of the track. The front tyre rolled to a stop in a shallow puddle.

  He wheeled the bike around a few inches so he could watch the car’s steady approach. Make sure it went past. “Go on,” he said, waving the driver on. “The road’s all yours.”

  Ollie’s heart sank as the car – a pink and white 1969 Volkswagen Beetle – slowed to a stop. The engine ran for a few seconds longer and then it went off along with the lights.

  “Oh bollocks,” Ollie said, stepping off the Lambretta. After Kylie dismounted he dragged the scooter back onto flat ground and kicked down the stand.

  “Now what?” he said, walking away from the bike.

  Kylie kept the pistol lowered at her side. In the distance, Ollie saw the fierce spotlight of the Apache combing the road, its murderous glare landing on the smaller headlights down below.

  Crack-crack-crack!

  The Beetle door opened and a dark silhouette stepped outside. Ollie’s ears pricked up. He could hear a faint wheezing noise beside the car, as if someone was having trouble breathing. Quickly, he pulled his iPhone out his pocket, turned on the torch and aimed the light at the dark figure.

  Anna’s bloody face grinned back at them.

  “Alright guys?”

  “Oh that’s just perfect,” Kylie said, taking a step forward. She pointed the SIG Sauer at Anna’s head. “Count Bitchula’s risen from the dead – a perfect end to a perfect night.”

  Anna was clearly in bad shape. Her clothes were torn and covered in bloodstains. Her fa
ce was puffy and her nose appeared to be broken. One eye had been battered shut. There was not a single trace of the mod supermodel who’d boarded the train from London to East Sussex that same morning.

  Ollie was impressed she could stand up, let alone drive a car.

  The rifle hung loose at Anna’s side, the barrel scraping off the ground as the killer floated across the gap in between them.

  “What do you want?” Ollie said.

  Anna raised the rifle to a horizontal position. “Guess.”

  “Easy now,” Kylie said. Her pistol arm was steady.

  Anna gasped at the physical effort of controlling the gun. It appeared to be a Herculean task for her just to lift the Remington, let alone pull the trigger. As she struggled with the rifle, not to mention her balance, she continued to wheeze loudly as if suffering from a collapsed lung.

  “Nothing personal,” she said. “It’s just…”

  There was a loud bang. Ollie yelped in terror, clamping both hands over his ears at the same time and dropping the torch. His hands explored his upper body, searching for a fresh hole in the flesh. He couldn’t find one.

  Anna fell onto her back, one hand clamped over her right shoulder.

  Ollie grabbed the iPhone off the ground while Kylie marched forward, her face like a block of granite. The SIG Sauer was still pointing at Anna.

  Anna was kicking her legs like an upturned beetle caught in the glare of the sun. “You fucking bitch!” she said. “You shot me in the same shoulder you stabbed me in. What the fuck?”

  “Nothing personal Anna,” Kylie said.

  Anna lifted her mangled head off the dirt. “Where the fuck did you learn to shoot Kylie? I thought you were just a stupid little airhead.”

  “You’re not the only one with secrets Anna.”

  Anna’s head dropped back onto the road and she moaned in agony. “Bitch. That was a cheap shot.”

  Kylie closed the distance on the fallen assassin. Now there was little more than ten feet between the two young women. “I should leave you like this,” she said. “After what you did tonight to my friends. Might be a while before you die. Would you like that Anna? Would you like to die out here, cold and alone?”

  Anna made a primitive noise that landed somewhere in between a groan and a howl. “Fucking…fucking…”

  Kylie took aim with the SIG. “Go to hell Anna.”

  Ollie closed his eyes, bracing himself for the big bang. He couldn’t watch. He didn’t want to see anyone else’s brains blown out tonight, even if it was Anna and even if Kylie was about to claim a small measure of justice for their departed friends.

  There was a loud click.

  Ollie knew that sound from the movies. It wasn’t a good sound, not here, and definitely not now. He opened his eyes, his heart pounding like a drum. Kylie was staring in horror at the gun in her hand. She squeezed the trigger again and nothing.

  Empty.

  “Shit” Kylie said.

  She frantically reached for the ammo in her jacket pocket.

  Anna was cackling with insane laughter that matched the wild look in her eyes. She crawled towards her Remington, lying just a few feet away where she’d dropped it.

  Kylie saw what was happening. Her hand fell out of her pocket, devoid of ammo. It was as if she realised there was no way she was going to be able to reload in time. Anna had the drop on her, that much was certain.

  Kylie turned back to Ollie, her eyes wide but clear and focused. “Run!” she screamed. “Run Ollie! Get the fuck out of here.”

  Ollie staggered towards her. “Kylie?”

  She smiled. “I love you Ol. Now run you stupid bastard!”

  She charged through the dark at Anna. The petite girl from East London hurled herself at the enemy with all the fire and fury of a ten-foot tall Amazonian warrior woman.

  Anna rolled onto her rifle, grabbed it and let two quick shots go. Ollie watched in horror as Kylie clutched her stomach and then staggered forward, clawing through the air to get to Anna. Then she dropped like a brick.

  “KYLIE!”

  Ollie ran over to her. At the same time, Anna’s bruised and battered body somehow managed to stand up.

  Not Kylie, Ollie thought, looking down at his fiancée in horror. Not you. He felt something snap inside, as if a part of him had just died with her.

  He turned his attention to the killer.

  Anna was glaring at Ollie. Her bloodshot eyes spilled over with raw hatred as she held the rifle at her waist, the barrel pointing at Ollie.

  “You’ll say hi to Kylie for me won’t you Ollie?” Anna said. “Tell her the best girl won in the end.”

  Ollie began to walk slowly towards the assassin. He knew she had the Remington on him but it didn’t matter. Didn’t matter how many bullets she put in his head and body. He was going to kill her. He’d do it because it would never be over for Ollie as long as Anna drew breath.

  The voice in his head was clear. As clear as it had ever been.

  Kill her.

  Anna steadied the rifle in her hands. Her finger slowly squeezed the trigger.

  “See ya Ol.”

  She jumped back at the sudden noise.

  A wailing siren, perhaps several were blaring all at once. It was everywhere. Ollie saw flashing white lights in the distance. On and off, on and off. It was as if both the land and sky had been switched back on after a lengthy power cut. Ollie covered his ears; it sounded like an escaped prisoner warning, the sort of shrieking noise that informed locals that a dangerous criminal was on the run.

  Anna hobbled backwards, dropping her rifle and holding her hands up as if surrendering to an unseen enemy. She continued to scowl at Ollie.

  Ollie heard a roar from the heavens. He looked up and saw at least three Apaches passing by overhead.

  “NO MORE KILLING!” a tinny, electrified voice declared through a loudspeaker. “THE CULL IS OVER. I REPEAT, THE CULL IS OVER.”

  Two of the helicopters moved away while the third began to circle the sky above Anna’s Beetle and Ollie’s Lambretta.

  “ANY KILLING FROM NOW ON WILL BE TREATED AS MURDER AND IS THUS PUNISHABLE IN A COURT OF LAW.”

  The Apache began its slow descent into the field beside the dirt track.

  “I REPEAT, THE CULL IS OVER.”

  Chapter 13

  “Excuse me Ollie,” a nasally voice said from across the table. “Can you hear me lad? I just need a few more minutes of your time that’s all. After that you’re free to go.”

  Ollie continued to stare at the black ring on his finger. At the sideways eight pattern etched into the side.

  Infinity.

  “Ollie? Are you listening to me lad?”

  Ollie looked at the speaker. A badged official called Bob was sitting at the same table as Ollie. Bob was a middle-aged, bespectacled jobsworth. Bob was a by the book man, calm and reasonable at all times.

  Slightly patronising, largely infuriating – that was Bob.

  “We’d like you to confirm the names of your deceased friends,” Bob said. “Those who perished in the East Catchford residence this evening and in the nearby area. Just for the record, you understand.”

  Bob looked at the young woman sitting on the other end of the table.

  “And Miss Mara, if you could do the same for me please after Ollie’s done. Names and as much detail as you can manage. If everything matches up then I think we’re good to proceed.”

  Ollie glared at Anna. She returned the hateful look across the table.

  They were in a gym in a local school or a community centre or town hall – something like that. Ollie didn’t know the details. He’d been delirious when they brought him in kicking and screaming.

  There were countless tables and chairs set up in the gym, reaching from one end to the other. It looked like a general election count was taking place. There were all sorts of people sitting at the tables – survivors, counsellors, snipers and anyone else who could help speed along the paperwork.

  A
nd there was a lot of paperwork.

  After the nurse had checked Ollie over a security guard had escorted him into the gym. He was left at the table with Bob and later on, Anna joined the party. Despite being shot and stabbed and beaten half to death, they’d cleaned Anna up well. She looked almost human again. No doubt she was jacked up on painkillers too.

  “If you’ll just give me those names Ollie,” Bob asked again. Bob was smiling, showing off an impressive set of crow’s feet on either side of his face. But the eyes were impatient.

  “Where’s my phone?” Ollie said. “I need to call my family. What did you do with my stuff?”

  Bob stared at Ollie from behind his square glasses. “Your phone is with the rest of your belongings in a security box on the premises. As soon as you confirm the names of the deceased we can get your belongings back to you. And oh by the way Ollie, I’ll also need you to sign a survivor’s form before you go.”

  Ollie stared at the engagement ring on his finger. It was a perfect fit. How did she even know what size of ring to get in the first place? Ollie didn’t even know the size and it was his bloody finger.

  How did she always know?

  Best weekend ever, he thought. New songs, record contract, and lo and behold – a marriage proposal from the girl of his dreams.

  Numbers though.

  Anna winced at every subtle movement. She fidgeted back and forth on the seat, as if desperate to be comfortable. Despite the pain, she was trying to be friendly again.

  “It was nothing personal Ol,” she said. “I was just doing my job.”

  Ollie spat on the table.

  “Oh please now,” Bob said, reaching a hand into his back pocket. He pulled out a paper handkerchief and dabbed at the spit on the surface. “Ollie you need to control yourself lad. I know it’s been a rough night but it’s like I keep saying – the sooner we record the details the sooner we can all go home.”

  “What’s home Bob?” Ollie said. “My fiancée is dead. My friends are dead. What about my parents? Are they dead too? And if they are, what does home look like Bob?”