by Ryan Gawley
'Okay, come on now, relax. Take a drink and then let me have a look at this gash on your face,' said Arthur wincing in sympathy as he saw the deep cut running down from Sam's forehead across the eye socket and down to the left cheek.
'Ah shit Sam, it's not good. I reckon there's enough in this med kit to patch you up or you could try the emergency ward at Central Medical.'
'We both know I'm not going up there Arthur. Who knows what crap they'll stick me with? I'm not going to be a lab rat, just do your best Arthur,' said Sam wiping the blood from his hand onto his jacket and taking a long pull of his pint.
Arthur set about cleaning the deep cut before using suture strips to hold the wound closed. He stuck cotton pads above and below Sam's eye holding them in place with surgical tape. Thankfully the eye wasn't damaged and apart from some bruising and a long deep cut the injury wasn't as bad as it first seemed.
'Well, you weren't pretty before but you're just plain ugly now!'
'Ha, ha. Ow!' Sam laughed with Arthur and pain pulsed from his wound. 'Damn it, don't make me laugh. I suppose every scar has a story but this is one I could happily live without.'
Molly rested her head on Sam's thigh and looked up at him with her big sad eyes as she did when he was feeling sick or hungover. She knew when he wasn’t well and tried in her own way to console him. 'Ah Molly, always looking after me. Where would I be without you eh? Good girl,' he said reaching down and ruffling her ears to reassure her that he would be okay.
'Thanks for patching me up Arthur, I appreciate it,' said Sam downing the rest his drink in a few large gulps. 'That's the last straw. We're right to get the hell out of here Arthur and we need to stick to the plan and get moving as soon as possible. We need to think about how we're going to do this and do it right. I'm going to the bar, I owe you a drink for the surgery and then we can figure out what we're going to do.'
Over their next couple of drinks the two men discussed plans for where they could meet, what route would be safest and the time of day most likely to allow them to slip out of the city without arousing suspicion from the checkpoints or patrols.
'I have an old Landover pickup in a lockup garage,' explained Arthur. 'It belonged to a friend but he got sick a few years ago, cancer or something awful like that. We never found out what it was as he couldn't afford proper treatment and wanted to leave this world from his own bed, not from the butcher's block in hospital. He'd not used the truck in years but always kept the tank full plus a couple of jerry cans of spare diesel, you know, just in case. I was about the only person who still came to visit him toward the end and I guess he wanted the truck to go to someone who’d thought as he did and so he passed it to me. Must be no one else knew about it since no one has ever come looking so I head out to the lockup every few weeks to crank the engine over and keep the battery charged.'
'You're full of surprises old man! But it’ll attract a lot of attention won't it? I mean there's not many civilian vehicles on the road these days, especially among the Dregs. What are the patrols going to think?'
'She's a real wreck, looks like she's rattle herself to pieces but she's tough. With an old guy like me behind the wheel the Enforcers should believe I've had it most of my days, at least from before the crash anyway. It's believable enough and she's so beat up I’m guessing they're not likely to confiscate it. It's a chance we'll have to take. There's room for three in the cab but Molly will have to ride in the back.'
'Ah don't worry about Molly; she'll love it, her first ride in a truck. I reckon though we’d have more of a chance of getting through in smaller numbers. You and Alice take the truck through the checkpoints while me and Molly sneak out on foot until we're well out of the city. It will raise less suspicion that way and we can climb on-board when it's safe.'
They agreed they would meet again in two days outside the city, each travelling separately and rendezvous at the edge of the woodlands early in the morning while the city inhabitants were waking up and beginning the commute inward to their dreary jobs. This would ensure fewer eyes on the city perimeter and hopefully less attention paid to a couple of elderly travellers.
'I suppose I'll head home then Arthur, got a few things to do you know,' Sam said excitedly, feeling a bit drunk now but mentally listing some final arrangements before his last day in the city.
'No bother Sam, it was good to see you. I'll catch up with you another time eh? Take care of that scratch!' Arthur said loudly enough for others in the bar to hear while rising unsteadily from his stool for one last trip to the bar.
‘Make it a double please Ken, one for the road.’
CHAPTER 5
An attractive brunette woman in her early thirties was loading basic provisions packaged in plain grey paper into a wire shopping basket. The supermarket was unusually busy since the typically empty shelves had been partially stocked with rations following an unscheduled delivery from one of the remaining food production plants. She was startled when a tall grey haired man in a dark blue store security uniform approached silently from behind and grabbed her by the elbow.
‘Excuse me miss, please set the basket down. I’ll have to ask you to come with me.’ The security guard was used to stopping shoplifters and was actually sympathetic to most. He had often noticed the woman in the store accompanied by a child, a boy of about six years old he guessed. Today she was alone and the guard had watched as she slid several grey packets of processed meat inside a tear in the lining of her long wool coat. He had already decided he wouldn’t report her but instead take her to the back office just to scare her a little. Still held tightly by the guard the young woman stared, unfocused and wide eyed as if completely vacant. She said nothing for a moment and made no attempt to run neither did she yield to the guard’s gesture to follow.
‘Come on now miss, there’s no point pretending you don’t know what this is about. Let’s try to avoid making a scene here shall we?’
Suddenly a manic glare flashed in her eyes, her head rolled heavily to the left and a stream of bloody saliva oozed from her mouth as she clenched her teeth, biting down on her tongue and the inside of her cheeks. She began convulsing where she stood, the shopping basket she had been holding crashed to the floor, glass jars smashed, cans spilled out and rolled along the floor. The guard leapt back in surprise. He’d never seen anything like this and had no idea how to react, whether to try to help or call for backup from his younger colleague who was on duty near the store entrance. Other shoppers turned toward the commotion and stared dumbfounded as the young woman shook violently as though in a seizure then stopped, her eyes glazed over with an empty yet utterly terrifying stare, her head still cocked sideways at an odd angle as she began tearing out lumps of her hair. Another shopper screamed in horror as the psychotic woman scratched her nails down her face gouging deep channels of flesh from her cheeks.
The stupefied guard snapped from his indecision and quickly but cautiously approached attempting to restrain the woman for her own safety but she immediately turned, throwing herself toward him with flailing arms, screaming, scratching and biting anything that came close to her. People had gathered from other areas of the store and were now crowded at each end of the aisle to witness the terrifying spectacle of this poor woman suffering some kind of breakdown then attacking the overwhelmed security guard. Upon seeing the wounds inflicted on the guard nobody in the assembled crowd dared to help but none it seemed were concerned enough for their own safety to leave, instead curiously watching with morbid fascination as the pale-faced guard, covered in both his own and the woman’s blood, slumped against an empty freezer unit and fumbled with his radio urgently calling to his colleague. As the junior security guard appeared at the top of the aisle pushing through the mass of onlookers the older guard scrambled to join him and both began slowly advancing again with arms held wide and low.
‘Now calm down miss,’ said the older guard in as calm a tone as he could muster, ‘there’s no need for any more trouble. We can sort this out, jus
t come with us and we’ll get you some help, okay?’
The crazed woman looked to the two guards, and then turned to check the exit beyond the bewildered crowd. Without warning she darted down the aisle toward the door, shrieking as she ran, crazed and bleeding as the guards gave chase and terrified shoppers scrambled to get out of her path. In her rush to escape she failed to notice the glass door was shut and charged through it shattering the thick glass, lacerating her face, hands and legs as she fell to the pavement outside. She didn't stop but leapt to her feet and immediately ran out to the street into the path of a speeding bus where her body was smashed by the impact before she fell under the still moving vehicle to be pulverised under a massive tyre. She was dead before the shocked driver even got his foot on the brake.
The bus screeched to a halt and horns blared as other drivers swerved to avoid a collision. Many people who witnessed the accident glanced briefly at the horrific scene but most passed on by, caring little about just another victim of harsh city life. The people in the supermarket began returning to their shopping as if nothing happened. The show was over and what little food remained on the shelves would soon be gone if they didn’t gather now what they could afford. The younger guard returned to his post while his older colleague looked out to the street for a moment shaking his head at the tragedy then left to tend his wounds when a store worker arrived to clear up the broken glass from the door.
On-board the bus confusion and panic spread as shocked commuters screamed when they heard the impact and saw blood splash across the windscreen, others were angry and shouted to the driver to move on or they would be late for urgent appointments, still others were up out of their seats, asking what had happened and trying to get the best view of the carnage. No one could leave the bus because the driver hadn’t moved from his seat, he sat just staring through the blood streaked windscreen, his fingers tightly gripped around the steering wheel. He was the only person on the bus not moving or speaking.
One of the female passengers left her seat and tried in vain to release the front door using the emergency exit controls.
'Come on man, get moving or let us off this thing, I've no time to wait for you to get yourself together,' snapped a male passenger as he reached into the front compartment and shoved the driver’s shoulder to get his attention.
For a few seconds the driver didn't respond but just as the impatient male passenger considered shoving him again the driver tensed, his arms shot straight and rigid, his grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles whitening with the effort and suddenly he began to shake violently. The female passenger frantically pulled and pushed at the emergency lever but the mechanism had long since failed.
‘Ah, look, sorry about pushing you. Are you okay? Do you take any medication?’ asked the male passenger in a loud slow voice but the driver just coughed and spat crimson froth over the instrument panel in front of him.
In a single explosive movement the driver leapt from his seat and lunged toward the female passenger as she screamed, too late to run. Catching the woman under her chin with an open hand he swiftly advanced, lifting her up and back with incredible force slamming her head through the narrow reinforced window in the door of the bus in the same instant shattering both the glass and the back of her skull. The driver then turned on the male passenger who had shoved him but the man reacted quickly, raising his left arm to defend the attack. He wasn't quick enough however to stop the driver gripping him by the throat with his other hand and stared helplessly into the depths of the driver's expressionless, glazed over eyes feeling his wind pipe being slowly crushed by large hands exerting an inhuman force.
In the few seconds it took for the driver to kill his first two victims the remaining passengers realised they were trapped in the bus with a madman and all panicked, scrambling toward the rear of the vehicle, desperately trying to open the rear emergency door. Someone found the only fire hammer and broke a window midway along the right side of the vehicle allowing a few people to tumble out onto the street but twelve passengers missed the opportunity and were cornered farther to the rear. All knew they would be murdered by the psychotic driver unless they escaped and quickly.
The crazed driver thrashed about the confined space wildly lashing out at anything within his range whether it was flesh or steel. As the passengers screamed in horror and fought with the release mechanism on the rear door the driver continued to destroy the interior of the bus and his own body by punching, kicking, tearing and biting anything with which he made contact. In a matter of seconds he had reached the rear of the vehicle and grabbed the hand of a teenage boy, biting off the index finger then spitting it to the floor as the boy screamed in fear and agony. A desperate struggle began between the driver, the teenager and an older male passenger who accepted he had no hope of escape. He tried to help by fighting off the blood soaked savage, pushing and stabbing with the pointed tip of his umbrella allowing the boy the scramble farther back to join the crush of bodies at the rear of the bus. At last the emergency exit was opened and just as more of the terrified passengers spilled from the bus an Enforcer squad pulled up sharply in a heavily armoured matt black Land Rover Defender, standard transport for all Enforcer teams. They jumped simultaneously from the front and back of the truck, quickly assessing the scene and disregarded the injured passengers instead focusing on their target.
Two of the Enforcers tore open the front doors of the bus using hydraulic tools and entered the vehicle while their two squad mates at the rear pushed the escaping passengers aside. Four shocked passengers who remained inside were trapped between the psychotic driver and the psychopathic Enforcers.
‘Get down, get down!' shouted the squad commander as his men entered the bus from the front and advanced on their target.
A mother in her late twenties was struggling to get her young daughter out of the bus ahead of her but on hearing the order from the lead Enforcer she pushed her daughter to the floor and threw herself protectively on top. The teenager who had lost his finger was still screaming and stumbling about in shock but the older man who helped fend off the driver heard the shouts of the guards and grabbed the boy in a bear hug from the rear and pulled him backwards to the floor just as the two Enforcers on board each let loose a close range shotgun blast, both aiming at the head of the insane monster.
With two simultaneous deafening bangs and a thick spray of dark blood which painted a large section of the interior roof with a sickening fragment speckled red the driver's head simply disappeared. The body stopped moving almost instantly but stood swaying, dripping gore before falling forward like a felled tree onto the two male passengers still lying on the floor who now were desperately pushing themselves backward to escape, their heels slipping in the gruesome pool of bodily fluids seeping toward them from the rough stump between the shoulders of the fresh cadaver.
No attempt was made by the Enforcers to assist those shocked and injured passengers who hadn't fled the scene at their first opportunity. Unfortunately most of the city’s inhabitants didn't care either so the survivors were left to tend their own injuries and irreparably damaged psyches. As the Enforcers withdrew the squad commander barked into his radio.
'Patrol twenty-seven to Command; reported bus incident now under control. Request clean-up crew and wagons for body disposal.'
'Report acknowledged Patrol twenty-seven.’
He had just finished speaking when almost immediately the radio on the commander's chest crackled to life again and an urgent message was relayed. On his signal the squad quickly boarded their armoured truck and the engine roared as they sped off to their next incident. Unnoticed by the Enforcers and busy crowd the young mother, one of the last survivors to escape the bus, stopped comforting her daughter, all expression melted from her face and a red drool ran from her mouth as she began to convulse.
Patrol twenty-seven had been ordered to join a battalion of Enforcer squads currently racing through the city to converge on a downtown high school. Their or
ders were to contain the scene and subdue troublemakers with any level of force deemed necessary. A teacher at the school apparently had gone on a rampage, killed several students and now a full scale riot had developed.
It had been an average day in the hell that was life for a relief teacher in secondary level education, Geoff Dalton had the task of trying to teach geography to 4C, a class like any other who had no interest in learning and even less interest in respecting the authority of the faculty staff, least of all that of a relief teacher. In a bout of frustration Mr. Dalton had thrown a plastic ruler at a particularly rowdy pupil only to find himself gasping for breath a few seconds later as the pupil leapt from his desk and pinned him to the wall, forcing the bone of his forearm across the teacher's throat closing off his airway.
As the pupil laughed, egged on by his classmates Mr. Dalton stopped struggling for a few seconds then began to spasm uncontrollably causing the aggressive pupil to back off, the game had turned serious. When the convulsions ceased the teacher stood before the now silent class, his head cocked sideways, lifeless eyes directed at the boy who had attacked him, limbs twitching involuntarily then suddenly he launched his body across the room parallel to the first row of seated pupils, arms outstretched, fingers spread but tips turned in like claws. Dalton targeted the teenager and with his momentum carrying him forward he grabbed the boy's head in both hands, forcing him backwards while violently twisting the neck with a sickening snap. The teacher landed, not gracefully but heavily on his right shoulder with a crunching thump then slid on the smooth floor tiles head first into the sharp corner of a supplies cupboard which split his skull open killing him instantly.
The mangled bodies of teacher and pupil lay at the front of the crowded room in full view of the class. A few seconds passed before the class erupted in a roar of cheers as the teenagers whooped and hollered, drunk with excitement at the scene that had played out in front of them. All but one was engaged in the drama. A slight built and naturally quieter boy sitting a few rows back to the side of the room began shaking although in the commotion was not noticed. His tremors subsided, life seemed to drain from his face and just seconds later he screamed an eerie wail which few heard among the din before he took a pen in his right hand and stabbed it deep into his own leg. Again and again he took pens and pencils and drove their points deep into his own flesh.