The Ultimate Choice

by Lisa C Hinsley

  The rat was up on its haunches sniffing the girl’s face. It was going to taste her, call its little bastard friends, and have themselves a meal. Gourmet dinner, he thought. Frankie unholstered the RatAway, and with the can in one hand and his torch in the other, he stepped in front of her. He pinned the rat in the lightbeam and gave the little bastard a quick spray. The creature spun a few times in a rough circle before it ran full speed into a wall. After hitting the bricks, the rodent didn’t move again. Frankie turned his attention to the girl. He applied a liberal dose of RatAway to her. He regarded her a last time, and then crossed the alley to collect the rat.

  RatAway was a brilliant invention, he decided. The ingredients consisted of rat pheromones – the ones that shouted out, ‘Danger!’ and ‘Go away!’ One spray was usually enough to drive them into a panic. A liberal coat to your clothes, and you’d never be attacked by vermin. He grabbed the rat by the tail and ducked back into the shadows. No point risking being seen by her now.

  Silently, he inched along the wall and up to the street. He flicked off his torch and returned it to its holster. After a moment, he grabbed the truncheon and kept it tight in his fist, he needed to hold onto something other than a scaly rat tail. Further down the road, movement caught his eye. Jim, returning from Eastside.

  “Find anyone, mate?” he asked.

  Frankie tightened his grip on the truncheon. “Nope, all clear on Westside. Other than this baby.” He held up the rat and led Jim away down the street in one smooth action. “Sun’s coming up.” He nodded at the red glow growing behind the buildings. “Time to head in?”

  “Decent bit of rat you got there.” Jim eyed the vermin. “You sharing?”

  “Sure thing. We’ll split the meat back at the station. Fancy gutting the little bugger for me?”

  Frankie’s grip on the truncheon loosened with each step they took away from the alley.

  “So, aren’t you going to ask?” Jim said. A sick grin spread across his face.

  “Oh, yeah… you find anyone?”

  “You bet. Found a piece of garbage hiding along Chatingham Road. Put him out of his misery.” Jim nodded his head. “Oh yes, put the dawg down!”

  “Don’t forget to refill your kit, remember what happened last time?”

  “Bloody Limp-along. Ain’t he got nothing better to do?” He took his truncheon out and swung it through the air. “I should show him how to really use this.”

  While Jim fenced, Frankie drifted off. In his mind, he woke the little angel and led her to safety. He snorted. There was no safety, nowhere to take her. By leaving her, he’d merely given her another day of existence.

  The first workers were emerging onto the streets. Maybe she’d have more luck with one of them. Frankie climbed the steps into the station. It would be a long time before he forgot her.

  Chapter 5

  Cassie woke with a start. The light entering the alley flickered as someone passed by on the street. For a moment she didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe. What if that was one of the patrols searching for the homeless? Another person walked by, and Cassie realised the morning sun had risen. Here between the tall buildings, the light didn’t reach, for all she knew, it never did.

  She dared straighten her legs. Pain shot through her limbs, her neck ached, and her back felt on fire. One leg had gone completely numb. She grabbed the door handle and hoping desperately it was strong enough to support her weight, Cassie forced herself into a standing position and waited for the nightmare pins and needles that were surely soon to follow.

  More people passed by the end of the alley, becoming almost a constant stream. How many of them had watched the show last night? How many would recognise her? While she slept her hood had fallen down a little. She tucked her hair back into the collar of her shirt and pulled the hood into position. The first beginnings of tingles made their way along her leg. She shook her foot and stamped on the ground a couple of times. Clumps of dust fell from her jeans. Cassie patted her legs furiously as more and more clouded in the air.

  “Oh Jesus,” she muttered. Grey-black grime coated her clothes. She pulled her sweater over her head and flapped it until the air stopped filling with dust particles. The sensation of needles was flooding her leg now. For a while she stood motionless, leaning against the door, watching the shadows of people passing as the pain subsided.

  She put the sweater back on and after checking her trousers and jumper one last time, Cassie judged her clothes clean enough. Her foot still tingling, she limped from the alley to join the flow of citizens as they walked to the food distribution centre. She slipped in behind a woman carrying an empty food box. Head tucked down to stop anyone recognising her; she matched the slow gait of the others.

  A rumble echoed from her belly. She had no passport hidden away in her pocket. No ration book to give her weekly provisions. As the group rounded a corner, a long queue came into view. Most of the people she was walking alongside veered off and joined the end. They were now on a main road. Years ago, this would have been filled with cars, buses, even trams. She’d seen the history programmes on the television. Now there was so little expendable energy for vehicles, the government saved all their fuel to transport food up from the fields near the coast. Cassie risked looking up to read the road name – Vauxhall Bridge Road. That must lead over The Thames, and to the south. She checked out the position of the sun as it rose between two buildings. With east to her left, the bridge had to head south – and to the growing fields. Maybe she could win her way into the heart of a farmer. Help him produce food for the nation.

  Feeling more confident than ever, Cassie checked her blonde hair was staying put and that her hood was securely in place. A few workers headed towards the bridge, head down, she followed them, and despite everything, she couldn’t help but think things might be okay.

  Cassie walked for hours, following roads south. Fiery pain shot through her soles with every movement. Her basic issue shoes barely held together, flopping off her feet with each step, and a slick sensation she didn’t dare investigate suggested blisters had turned to open sores. How much blood had she lost? Did each footstep leave a red mark on the pavement? She didn’t bother turning to look. And she had more important things to worry about. Exhaustion threatened to drop her where she stood, and her stomach had given up asking for food, and now sat in her gut with this terrible shrivelled sensation. The thirst was worse, her lips had swollen a few hours earlier and she couldn’t stop the compulsion to lick them, each time her tongue was more like a piece of leather. She glanced at the sky. There were no clouds in sight, no chance for a spot of rain to end her torment.

  The sun had gone over her head and just dipped behind the nearest buildings when she came to a massive throughway. She stood by the edge for a moment, the only person coming this way. Eight lanes of tarmac extended as far as she could see in either direction. A grassy verge split the road into two sections. Myriad buildings began again on the other side. Curious, she stepped out and stood up against a metal railing that marked the road’s boundary.

  A low rumbling sound came to her ears and the ground began to vibrate beneath her feet. As the noise grew louder Cassie receded into the shadows. Two enormous trucks sped past, a wind whipping up in their wake. Her legs buckled as eddies of air whirled around her body. A dust cloud followed and surrounded her. Coughing – choking, she fell to the ground.

  Elijah

  Chapter 6

  Elijah thought the bundle on the ground at the end of the street was a pile of clothing scraps at first glance. Why someone would foolishly throw something so valuable away, he couldn’t guess, but he’d certainly not walk by such a treasure. The original owner was probably suicidal – had gone in for euthanasia, and had donated their possessions to a lucky finder. He was that person, he thought with a giggle. Elijah glanced about, no one else had noticed. The afternoon was drawing in; a few workers passed by on the other side of the street - on their way home no doubt. The four o’clock provisio
ns group shuffled past clutching a week’s food. The rags on the ground were somehow, magically, ignored. Elijah was closer now, he gave a quick search for foot patrols – the police would seize this from him. Take it back to their homes, a self-given perk of the job.

  The street came to a dead end by the old M25. He listened. In the distance, he heard the rumble of a transport coming through. Elijah stepped out of sight and waited for the trucks to go past. The vehicles stirred the air as they roared by. As the wind whipped up eddies of dust, the bundle moved. For a moment, he thought it was the gusts tugging at the fabrics. But a slight noise floated out, a whisper of angst, and a hand fluttered into view before settling out of sight on the other side of the bundle.

  “Elijah found a prize. No one else can see. Elijah’s prize. No one else can know.” He broke into a sprint and knelt beside the person. “Oh no.” He staggered back onto his feet, and glanced behind, then up and down the motorway. “Elijah has seen this face. Watched this girl on the television. She’s a bad citizen.” He stared at her. “Police looking for you,” he yelled and pointed a finger at her. He paced back and forth past her, searching for a patrol in -nervous twitchy movements.

  “Maybe the girl will die,” he said, “Make Elijah’s life easier.” He nodded. “Nearly dead, nearly gone.” He knelt beside her, grabbed her shoulder and shook. The girl flopped from a curled up foetal position onto her back. “Last breath?” He shoved her. “Soon the rigor mortis comes. Then Elijah safe.”

  The girl took a ragged gasp.

  “Shit.” He got up and started pacing again, hands stuffed in his hair as he held onto his head. “This girl is trouble.” He grabbed his hair by the roots, pulling forward until his face bunched up. He released with a sigh. “Elijah take her home. Have to take her home. Can’t leave girl here in the open for the police and the needles – not the needles, can’t be injecting nothing into pretty girl’s arm.” He gasped, hands clapped on his mouth. “She’ll eat all Elijah’s food. The patrols will know. Will break down Elijah’s door and sentence everyone to death.” He shuddered. “Girl needs to stay here to be found. Almost dead anyway.”

  He went back to her, and brushed the hair from her face. Elijah traced the sharp line of her cheekbones, cupped her face in his palm. “So beautiful. Elijah can’t let police euthanize her. Not right.” He nudged her.

  The girl sighed and rolled back onto her side.

  “Off to recycling you go, if Elijah leaves you here. No!” he shouted, and jumped up a moment later, a finger at his lips. “Shush, shush.” Had anyone seen? He searched about for watchers. The last batch of people from the distribution centre had gone. He was alone at the end of the street. “Can’t yell. Police find us here. Can’t be unusual. Police like to take unusual for questioning.” He peered down at the girl. The gloom of early dusk was setting in, shadows making her features more beautiful.

  A scent came off her. He inhaled deeply. Almost like strawberries, like the ones his brother bought home once. Fresh, real strawberries, so juicy they seemed to burst in his mouth when he bit them. Elijah breathed in again. He missed his brother so much. The girl was a sign, a way for him to tell Elijah what to do.

  “Take girl home and then decide.” He grabbed her and hefted her easily over one shoulder. “I’m taking this body to the police station,” he said to no one in particular. “Elijah found it almost dead. Needs to go for recycling.” Repeating these words as he adjusted her weight, he staggered up the street, and towards his flat.

  Chapter 7

  Cassie opened her eyes and the room came slowly into focus. The sun streamed in through bare windows, the white washed walls bright – almost painful to her sight. She blinked, not yet ready to move, and tried to figure out where she’d been taken. The cot she lay on was standard issue. She felt vague lumps under her that all the mattresses seemed to have. In the room beyond the bedroom came the low murmur of a television. The studio crowd roared and then cheered at something, followed shortly by the distinctive baritone tones of the horrid Bob Devine.

  A heaviness pervaded her limbs, as if she’d not moved them in a while. Cassie struggled to a sitting position. The room was basic issue, like the one she used to live in – a wardrobe on the opposite wall and a bedside cabinet next to the bed – where a glass of water stood. Suddenly, she remembered her thirst, her tongue leathery in her mouth, her lips still swollen. A swirling dizziness threatened to take her into darkness once more. She grabbed at the glass, almost knocking it over in her eagerness to drink. The water tasted cool, clean and she drunk in moments. She put the glass back on the table, carefully. She didn’t know who was in the other room. They might hear her waking noises and come to investigate – she wasn’t ready to meet her saviour yet. Or was the person her captor?

  Cassie thought the drink would satiate her, but instead of her thirst being quenched, a sudden need for water raged. She’d get more in the other room – in the bathroom or the kitchen. Laughter from the television only served to remind her someone else was probably in the flat. Her throat burned, her body shook with urgency. She didn’t think whoever brought her here planned on saving her. Why would they – to share what little food they had with a stranger? Somehow she had to get past the person in the other room and keep heading south. If she could figure out which way that was.

  The last thing she remembered was trying to walk to the fields. Then… what happened? She’d found a wide road, after that, darkness. Cassie lay back down, as if still asleep, ignoring the raging thirst in her throat. If the police had discovered her, she’d not have woken up. So if not them… who?

  A door opened at the other end of the flat and slammed – the front door by her reckoning. She’d been alone. She might have escaped, or gone to get a drink, God how she needed more water. Footsteps drew closer, stopped, and then came the scrape of a chair on the floor. Did the person sit down? The television volume went up a little, and as Bob Devine introduced the Eye Hopefuls with a particularly sad empathic lady explaining her journey into blindness. Cassie heard a sigh – more specifically a deep, masculine sigh.

  “Shit,” she whispered. She could only think of a limited number of reasons someone would save an illegal, like her. A woman might want to put her to work, but a man… What if he wanted her as a sex slave? Would life be worth living for that? And what if he made her pregnant again? She buried her head in the pillow for a second as a scream grew in her throat. The sensation passed, and she glanced towards the bedroom door. Her captor let out a guffaw, laughing along with the audience as something humorous happened on the show.

  There was another possibility. Everyone was so bloody hungry. People whispered rumours, terrible rumours. Once a month when she had to make the journey to the factory and drop off her work, she and the other seamstresses gossiped. Usually they discussed silly things, but every so often one of them told of darker news. A local person – disappeared, and not taken by the police, identity and ration cards left behind. Who was it… Samantha? Had she said it first? The word that terrified. Worse than the needles. At least needle death was swift and painless. Samantha had whispered, “Cannibalism.” The thought of being eaten, to be kept alive as a living larder – that made the stuff of nightmares.

  What if her captor intended to eat her? Had she escaped from that awful game show and walked halfway across London only to become dinner for some madman?

  Panic rose in Cassie. She knew the man in the other room planned to eat her. Why else would he keep her? She knew he’d eat her, like she knew she had no chance to get away.

  But she escaped The Ultimate Choice.

  Cassie tried to sit up. She flopped on her side. “Oh, Jesus,” she said under her breath. She had no strength in her muscles. The television snapped off, and the man coughed for a moment before scraping the chair back on the lino. Footsteps came closer. Maybe he had a knife in his hand, ready to carve the flesh from her bones. She grabbed the underside of the bed frame and pulled herself off the edge of the mattress. Sh
e flopped onto her side. Pain shot up her arm. Quickly, she shuffled under the bed.

  The man stepped inside the room.

  She watched as the door swung open and two bare feet came into view. Cassie pushed herself further back, up against the wall, and held her breath. The man made a curious ‘hum’ sound, and walked another step in.

  “Where are you girl?” He strode up to the window, his footfall heavy.

  He must be a big guy, she thought.

  “Where have you gone, girl? I want to talk with you,” he spoke like he was almost singing.

  Cassie curled up even smaller as the man changed direction and took a tentative step towards her.

  “I left a girl on my bed.” There was a knocking sound on the bedside cabinet. “More water for you, girl.” He turned around and walked out of the room.

  Cassie couldn’t believe her ears. She’d half-expected to be dragged out from under the bed, strapped down ready to have her first amputation. Maybe she was going to get out of this alive. She waited for the television to flicker back on and the sound of the chair scraping over the lino. Then she slid across the floor until she was half out from under the bed. A fresh, full glass had replaced the one she’d drained. The thirst that had been superseded by fear returned, so fierce her vision seemed to narrow and all she saw was the glass, filled to the brim with clear, fresh water.

  She dragged her body to a sitting position and risked reaching up. Her arms weak, Cassie grabbed the glass and held it with both hands to steady it, to not spill a single drop of precious water. In one quick series of swallows, she drained the glass. This time her need to drink lessened just a little.

  “Girl,” he called.

  He was coming back. She heard him as he crossed the other room with long purposeful strides. It had all been a ploy to coax her out from under the bed. He was going to grab her now, tie her down to the bed, eat her or rape her, or both. Cassie felt her breath shorten until she could only take in short gulps of air. The bedroom fuzzed over with a curtain of sparkling grey flecks as she dropped back to the floor, and pushed herself under the bed.