by Ian Williams
She stayed there scanning the scenery for a moment or two. Seeing the city like this was a small rest from the dark, stuffy atmosphere of the inside. At least going down again would be without the worry of stumbling upon even more of the dead. She had seen enough horror movies over the years to know that she was the ideal candidate for a surprise attack from any hidden nasties. Knowing where they were meant she could prepare herself to see them again. They were not about to jump out at her. But only the logical side of her brain knew this. The other side was already cowering in the corner and rocking back and forth in fear. Which was in control at any given time was not up to her.
A crunching noise soon forced her to choose.
With the gun following her torch like they were inseparable lovers, she searched the gloom behind her. With the sun still streaming in, the room appeared a lot darker in the corners than it had before. She was not entirely sure the sound had not been caused by her anyway. Perhaps she had trodden on some glass and crushed it underfoot?
Stepping back into the safety of darkness, she began to sneak around with her torch switched off; it was giving her away far too easily, so she ditched its guidance in favour of allowing her eyes to adjust to the lack of light instead. In the hallway she stopped and listened for movement. There was none that she could hear. Had she imagined hearing it? She continued on with her left shoulder gently dragging along the wall. If there was someone, or something, in there with her, she would find it first.
When she heard another sound, this time from around the corner she took earlier, she raced ahead and stopped just short of it. Then, with her gun raised up and ready to aim – the eye tracking system switched on – she stepped out to surprise the threat.
“Stop there,” she called down the corridor.
To her relief, her possible attacker, highlighted in red in her sight, was an overgrown pigeon. She could breathe much easier now that she knew she was not alone up there. Her company looked particularly uninterested in chatting too, which suited her fine.
This floor was finally done in her opinion. Anything that could have helped her had been taken days ago. She had a good mind to end it there and go back to Rhys’ apartment, except there were probably only another ten levels left. To be absolutely sure, she decided she would continue, at least a couple of floors more. Something important could still be there.
She checked her wrist watch for the time. 11:15am, I’ve still got plenty of time, she thought.
Lowering her gun, she stepped around the bird while trying not to frighten it. The last thing she needed was to be trapped in a small corridor with a panicked and flying, white-shit bomb.
“Right. You just carry on, buddy,” she said as a warning to her new friend.
With her back to the corridor ahead, she watched while the bird waddled away. Once it was far enough from her, she thought it safe to turn back and leave. It was then that she felt a small prick at the back of her neck. She slapped a hand to the area and rubbed at the slight pain, like she had been bitten by a gnat. Then a feeling of numbness began to spread, claiming each part of her like a cold wave washing over her body.
Seconds later her legs gave way, bringing her crashing to her knees. She searched around for whatever had caused it so suddenly. As each muscle in her body tried to fight off the invading command to sleep, she could only manage to turn her head to the right a little. But it had been enough to catch a glimpse of a shadow standing in the doorway behind her. It had not been an animal bite or a poison sting at all, it had been an injection. Someone had drugged her.
Moments before her mind began to switch into power-save mode, one thought had been going through her mind; she hated the city again!
Chapter 15
Progress
2pm, Friday: 10 hours until Switchover
The New City Hall sat proudly at the front of a large square. Its height was at least twice that of the next tallest within the city centre, which meant it resided very much at the head of the table and looked down over all others. An impressive sight, but one Conrad fought to take in fully without crooking his neck. He stood next to the stomach high perimeter gates that hemmed in the large crowd there to watch the Mayor’s speech and tried his best to see the top. With his hand blocking out most of the sunlight the building’s unbroken pattern of glass windows reflected back at him, he got half way and then had to stop. Bloody neck!
Beyond the densely built up gathering, populating the area directly in front of the new Mayor’s building, stood a stage. The temporary structure had been built across the steps leading up to the glass entrance. Above and to the sides of this were large speakers aimed out to the audience, to guarantee every word was heard. At least they would be when those up on the raised platform had gotten themselves ready. Preparations had started days before; even so a delay had occurred.
The weather was once again warm and with a light September breeze that ruffled a stretch of bunting decorating the area. Those in charge of organising the event had gone to a lot of trouble to make it a joyous occasion. The Mayor’s big announcement promised a lot. He had spared no expense to make sure his city knew it too. An impressive holographic banner hovered above the stage with the words ‘Switchover Day’ in big, bold lettering.
Just get through today and then you’re Scott-free, Conrad thought, rubbing his sore neck.
Over the course of his restless morning the idea of skipping the event altogether had tempted him a couple of times. He made his mind up at the last moment, at which point he had faced a mad rush to get there in time. His mind had become distracted soon after arriving as another decision played heavily on his thoughts. With time to think, he had seen his next choice laid out before him; he was going to quit at the end of the day. As soon as his duties there were done, he planned on handing in his notice to DCS Chalmers. Between seeing his partner put in hospital and his investigation into the serial-killer-cult deliberately being blocked by a panel of bureaucrats, he had had enough of the entire force.
A beep from his wrist computer dragged him back to the present.
“Hey, Conrad, what’s up with Joe? We heard he’d been shot or something.”
He held up the screen to find Ericsson’s Swedish looking mug staring back at him, with Roberts a few feet behind. As usual Ericsson talked more than enough to make up for his partner’s silence.
“He’s fine,” Conrad replied, his eyes hardly making contact with Ericsson’s. His body language should have told them of his unwillingness to chit-chat. Sadly neither of them were observant enough to pick up on it. He could see the two of them standing in front of the stage and laughing to themselves. Even from his position down the side of the audience, he could pick out their laddish behaviour. They were like a bunch of kids who had just learnt a rude word.
“What happened, you two have a lovers’ tiff or something?” Ericsson said. Roberts slapped his back from behind. They both chuckled heartily over that one.
Please just piss off! Conrad thought. People like them were the real problem with the force. They got in way too easily. Not like his generation, who had done it the good old fashioned way and started at the very bottom first. They were not expected to do much anymore. With so many automated systems doing what he and the older officers used to do themselves, it had become less about solving crimes and more about meeting targets.
It occurred to him that maybe his missing patience stemmed from a lack of sleep. It was all about him in reality. He was not young anymore. He already knew that of course, but in his tired and increasingly angry state of mind, he began to realise it even more. A good night’s sleep would soon help him forget all about it. He enjoyed a thought of his short-term future; no more early mornings or late nights, no targets to meet and definitely no idiots to put up with. Retirement was suddenly looking rather appealing.
Looking directly at his screen, his face creasing around the eyes, Conrad said, “Not now, OK.”
“Oh come on, Conrad, we’re just busting your bal
ls, that’s all,” Ericsson said, followed by a dismissive wave of his hand.
Conrad ended the call before the pair could say more. He wanted to get through the day without blowing his top. Without Joe there the possibility of that happening was much higher. His partner could always come up with a quick reply to shut Ericsson and Roberts up. Unfortunately, Conrad simply did not understand their humour.
A tap on the microphone up on stage brought all banter to an end, for the crowd too. It was time for the speeches to begin, and at ten minutes passed one it was not a moment too soon for those waiting around. At least if they begin quickly they may end quickly, Conrad considered.
“Can I have everyone’s attention please?” the woman on stage said. She had chosen to wear a light and flowery dress, which appeared far too eager to react to the occasional updraft. She spoke while batting it down every time the breeze flew by. “Firstly.” She faked a cough when some in the crowd had begun to talk again. “Thank you for coming and please remember to pick up your litter before leaving. Secondly, don’t forget to book your tour of the New City Hall. I guarantee you’ll be amazed at how such a building could be built in only six months. The central stone monument will literally take your breath away. I think you’ll also agree that it demonstrates just how dedicated Mayor Crawley is to our beautiful city.” She waited for the clapping to stop before she went on – it was not met with as much enthusiasm as she was expecting, so it did not take long.
Conrad’s wrist device flashed up a message that drew his eyes away from the people watching the stage a couple of feet in front of him. He was expected to watch out for anything untoward or suspicious, but that was not his current concern. He read the message to himself. All it contained was one sentence; ‘Put your earpiece in!’ It was from the DCS.
After an apologetic nod in her direction, he reached into his inside pocket and quickly pushed the small plastic device into place. He had only taken it out for a minute to relieve himself of an uncomfortable warmth inside his ear. After reconnecting it to his wrist device, he found a constant chatter already echoing out.
“Can you hear me?” the DCS said, in her usual stern voice.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Good. Everyone listen up please.” She said. “I need eyes all around the crowd, not just by the front row.”
“Understood,” Conrad replied, in his most professional tone.
While the woman talked on about other ‘interesting’ places to visit and more local events than anyone could ever be bothered to remember let alone attend, Conrad casually wandered the side path and scanned the crowd with his trained eyes.
For the less intuitive of officers, she added, “Report, immediately, if you see something or someone you don’t like the look of. And for God’s sake don’t focus on only one small area, check everyone if you have to.” The fact that she had seen the need to say this further backed-up Conrad’s opinion of the state of the police force. No-one could think for themselves anymore.
“OK,” the woman on stage said. “I believe we are now ready to begin.” She turned back to the small gathering of people on stage behind her – no more than six in all – and began to talk with her hand over the microphone.
As well as the Mayor himself, Conrad recognised the Deputy Mayor, Stanley Cartwright too. He would never forget that straight-faced nuisance in a hurry. He could not help but stare at the two of them and think of how the killers would probably be behind bars already without their repeated interference. Just one press conference would have uncovered enough to track them down, he was sure of it. Instead he and Joe had been forced to work in the quiet and without the usual help such a case desperately needed.
Conrad was finding himself becoming stuck on the subject again, after a night of much the same. His dislike of how caught up in the Mayor’s world of politics the police force of New Chelmsford was, had made him angry again. It distracted him to such a degree that he did not initially notice his wrist device ringing with an incoming call.
It was Barbara.
He looked down at his device and felt his mood shift unexpectedly toward the negative. He was pretty sure she would not want to speak with him in his current state of mind. So, instead of answering, he swiped the ignore option and hid the screen – and his guilt – beneath his sleeve. He turned his attention back to his current job and tried not to think on it any longer.
The woman on stage soon looked back to the audience and smiled a well-planned, and full of teeth smile, which made him feel a little better.
“Please give a warm welcome to Mayor Jonathan Crawley,” she announced.
The crowd clapped dutifully this time, including Conrad and the other officers. The silver-topped Mayor Crawley then approached the front of the stage and thanked the woman as she stepped aside. He waved to the crowd while he removed the microphone from its stand and held it casually in his left hand. Then, with his other hand, he swung the side pocket of his brown suit jacket out of the way, revealing his soft woollen jumper beneath, and slid it into his trouser pocket.
Everything about the way he moved and acted stunk of PR planning, even the way he began to walk the stage while he spoke. Conrad suspected he barely did anything that was not checked over by a panel of image experts first.
“Hello,” Mayor Crawley began with. “My thanks go to all of you for taking the time to join us in celebrating this most auspicious of occasions.” Even this sounded pre-planned, with its perfect tone and flawless pronunciation of every single syllable.
“Remember not to watch the speech, but the crowd,” the DCS said, to keep her officers focused on the real job in hand.
“I’d like to start today with a mention of what our city has faced in the past eighteen months. I know that many of you lost loved ones in the explosions caused by the relay overloads. To you, I say this; remain strong. To honour the 718 people our city alone lost on that terrible day, we will rebuild better than before, safer too. Yes, it hasn’t been easy getting everything back to normal, but we are almost there.”
“Not good enough!” A single voice called out.
Mayor Crawley reached the left edge of the stage, stopped for a second to search the crowd, and then began to walk the other way. It looked as though he reached the edge at the wrong part of his speech and then had to walk until he caught up. When he found his place again, he continued to speak. Conrad found it all quite funny, it was far too obvious that his every step was set out in advance. There was no room for him to reply to any angry calls from his citizens either.
He likened what he watched to when he saw images of politicians on a hospital visit, and how they all rolled up their sleeves to look like they were lending a hand. In reality, it was purely for show. Although he had thought many times about how he would love to see one actually helping out. Perhaps if they ended up covered in human blood and shit they would understand the job better? He liked to think so.
“Since the devastating terrorist attack on the relay network,” Mayor Crawley continued, “we have seen a lot of changes come about. Many of you have probably already noticed the new relays we’ve been installing in places around the city. You’ve no doubt realised they are bigger too. There is a very good reason for this.”
Above the stage, the holographic banner quickly changed into a larger display for the audience to see. A rotating image of the new and improved design of the city’s wireless power and data relays replaced the ‘Switchover Day’ message. While it demonstrated the proposed advancements to range and speed with a map overlay, Mayor Crawley proceeded to explain.
“In truth I didn’t want to simply replace, I wanted to improve as well. That was one of my pledges when I put together my bid to carry out New Chelmsford’s repairs. The auction the government held required a clear outline from the companies who put a plan forward; that is what I am to share with you today.”
Conrad’s wrist computer once again demanded his attention in the form of another incoming call. He quickly checked it
and found the same name, Barbara, across the screen. What did she want? Again he slid a finger across the ignore option and returned to watching the Mayor’s speech. I’ll catch up with you later, he mentally saw himself telling Barbara.
“But before I go into detail,” Mayor Crawley said, “I want to give you the timeframe for the replacements. Currently, these new relays have been implemented in and around the city centre, in roughly a three kilometre radius. Over time they will roll out into other areas too. That will be happening soon. However, we will be turning on the new relays before that happens.” Mayor Crawley stopped in the centre of the stage and gestured to the Deputy Mayor. “If you please, Mr. Cartwright.”
Again the display changed, this time to a large countdown clock. Huge red numbers ticked down above the stage. The audience hushed in response.
“Now,” Mayor Crawley started, with a hand across his white hair. “In around nine-and-a-half hours – when the clock runs down at midnight tonight – I will personally switch on the new relays. They will take over from then, and all of the service requests for those within the affected area will be routed through them. You should wake tomorrow with a much faster and more effective network at your disposal.”
The crowd cheered and clapped at the stage. They all enjoyed hearing the first positive news in a while, Conrad too, who also found himself caught up in the ceremony of it all. The news had reported rumours of something big coming from the Mayor, something that was sorely needed.
About bloody time, Conrad said to himself, as he watched the hovering timer tick past nine hours and twenty-six minutes. Finally some good news.