Utopia: A Dark Thriller: Complete Edition

by Adam Steel

  The Cinema was modest. It was constructed in the same style and simple stonework as the buildings that surrounded it.

  The girls clasped their paper tickets as if they were precious gems as they made their way into their seats in the darkened area that contained the cinema screen. The chatter of excited children went quiet as the screen flickered into life and the screening began. Kaleem settled into his seat beside Sara and Aya and watched as his daughters chirped with delight when Peter Pan came to life on the screen. Even though he did not approve of such ‘foreign films,’ their smiles, and laughter, made it worthwhile.

  Aya was captivated by the film. The adventures of the Lost Boys and Pan, held her and Sara’s attention completely. They giggled at how Pan would foil the plans of the evil Cook and marvelled at magical powers of Neverland.

  An earth shattering noise cut off Pan’s childlike voice mid-sentence.

  Aya screamed, blinking, as her eyes were torn from the screen. She recoiled, confused as a cascade of dust erupted from the ceiling and the world lurched. Pan’s carefree voice had been replaced with frantic shouting and screaming. Figures scrambled in the darkness around her and the room filled with choking dust. A brilliant light streamed into the room, illuminating the chaos. A huge section of stone, and metal, fell from the ceiling with a tremendous crash. Her world turned sideways as she was torn from her seat by Kaleem’s strong grip. She caught a sideways look at the screen as Kaleem hauled her, and Sara, towards the exit like a giant with a soft toy in each hand.

  Pan’s face had been torn in half and the vibrant colours had disappeared under a veil of dust. Pan’s adventures were banished from her mind as she looked down from the screen and saw what was under the pile of stone where a row of seating used to be. Her screams were drowned by a hideous cracking noise. Intense sunlight, spilled in as the ceiling disintegrated. An enormous crash followed and the impact of a huge object threw her to the ground. The painful grip on her arm was released. Another set of hands grabbed her, sweeping her up in a cacophony of shouting. She was propelled forwards in a stampede of feet and legs.

  Looking back, she could see what she thought was Kaleem was lying on the floor. His arms were splayed outwards at twisted angles. Most of his chest was missing, replaced with large blocks of stone. Everything was painted in red: more vibrant than the colours in Pan. Amidst the terror and confusion she saw something that made her blood run cold. It was a little body wearing a white dress (now red with blood) clinging to the hand of Kaleem’s body.

  It was Sara.”

  Aya awoke, covered in sweat.

  The nightmare was still fresh in her mind and the memory of her father and sister brought fresh tears to her tired eyes.

  Outside the door she heard a small shuffle. Underneath the crack in the door, two tall thin shadows blocked the light. Legs. The sound of a page turning, and someone shifting position in a seat, drifted into the room. Mada. She was camped outside Aya’s room, making sure she didn’t leave. Aya shrank back under the covers. She had never felt so trapped and helpless. Her world had turned a dirty grey colour.

  Outside the window dawn was coming.

  CURE Central Station: Sector Two

  Monday 4th June

  Later that morning, Aya made her way down the street towards her workplace: CURE Central Station in Sector Two. She looked neat in her CURE uniform. Every inch the secretary, but she felt anything but. In her mind she was exhausted, run down and defeated. That morning she had avoided Mada; getting changed and ready for work as quickly as possible. She couldn’t deal with yet another argument, and there was nothing to argue about, anymore. Mada had appeared before she had left. Aya could see that she had pretended to have been in bed all night, and not standing guard over her.

  “Remember to hand in your notice to the Station Commander today,” Mada had ordered.

  Aya had nodded obediently, and left without saying a word. Anywhere was better than being at home.

  Aya had tried Max’s phone again as soon as she was out of sight of home and safely on the monorail. It was still off. He was still ‘Gone’. Her mind reeled at what could have happened to him. She didn’t feel ready to accept he had run out on her. It didn’t seem to fit with the image she had of him. Max had a bad habit of slinking off when she got heavy, but it never felt like this. Something was deeply wrong. She knew it.

  By the time she arrived at her workplace in Sector Two, she was feeling depressed and dreading the day. The police station was busier than usual. She passed the procession of hung over drunks that were being released from the drunk-tank. She checked each face out of habit. None of them were Max. Disappointed she signed in at reception.

  ‘Morning Aya,’ Aniese, the receptionist, chimed, ‘How was your birthday? Good?’

  Aya couldn’t hide the visible slump in her shoulders.

  She shrugged her shoulders, ‘Uh...great…thanks…had a great birthday…was really nice,’ she lied expertly.

  Lies were becoming very easy for Aya. Living with Mada had made her an expert. She didn’t feel like explaining her woes to anyone right now because that would mean thinking about them all over again. Besides, Aniese was an infamous gossip. She might as well shout it across the station floor.

  ‘Is the Commander in yet? I need to have a word with him,’ Aya asked, deflecting the questions about her ‘non-existent’ birthday party.

  There was no point delaying giving her notice. Mada, or Aarif, or his creepy man-servant Ajit, would almost certainly check up on her.

  Aniese put her hands on her hips and ‘tutted’.

  ‘You’re his secretary. You should know,’ she teased. ‘Haven’t you noticed all the commotion around here?’

  Aya looked around. She hadn’t really noticed, but something was definitely up.

  She shrugged hopelessly, ‘I give up. What is it?’

  Her question was about as sincere as the ones she usually got from Aniese.

  ‘Where have you been all weekend? In a cave?’ Aniese ‘tutted’ again, and shook her head slowly from side to side.

  Aya thought about where she had been since Friday night, and how Max’s darkened room resembled a cave. She said nothing and tried to dampen her growing frustration with Aniese.

  Disappointed at not being able to extract any further information on ‘the birthday party’ (a thing which Aniese seemed overly interested in), she continued.

  ‘There’s been a big drugs bust down in Sector Seven. Rumour has it they’ve collared one of the Marseilles brothers and you know how long Commander Betts has been working on that particular pet project. Ages. It’s going to be a big promotion for him, I expect. Looks like you might get a new boss if that happens.’

  Aya was thinking it would not matter who her boss was going to be, because if Aarif had his way, she wouldn’t be there much longer to worry about it. Aya gave a small nod. That was big news indeed. The Marseilles gang had been extremely difficult to get close to and pulling one of the ringleaders was a major breakthrough.

  ‘So,’ Aya paused, ‘Betts is in the press room?’ she queried.

  With a story like this, she expected Commander Betts would be up in front the cameras faster than the Marseilles gang would be thrown in prison. But not by much.

  Aniese nodded. She was already distracted by other colleagues that were arriving. Gossip from Aya seemed to have dried up, and she was already looking for the next possible victim.

  Aya headed over to the press conference room after briefly saying goodbye to Aniese, who barely noticed. The door was ajar and the room filled with people. Sat in front of an eight pointed star, with a silver key on it, was the CURE Station Commander Betts. He was flanked by two of his Sergeants. They were making a statement to a room of flashing cameras and reporters with notebooks and Info-Pads.

  Aya caught the closing end of the statement, but had arrived too late to hear the names of the perpetrators they had arrested. The room erupted into chaos as the questions session began, while other
reporters were busying uploading the data on the story to the news Info-Com system.

  Commander Betts was struggling to keep control of the crowd of reporters. He looked like a headmaster trying to shepherd a group of wayward children. The press struggled over each other to get as close as possible to him and shove their microphones as near to his mouth as possible.

  Aya caught the tail end of some of the hastily shouted questions.

  “Is this it for the Marseilles gang?”

  “Can you confirm you have arrested all the ringleaders?”

  “Is Sector Seven safe to walk in at night now?”

  Questions came thick and fast and Commander Betts was doing his best to deflect the majority of the questions as they flew at him.

  ‘I can confirm arrests have been made...No I didn’t say that...No I can’t comment on that either…But I will say this. The Marseilles gang’s days are numbered and Apexir will no longer plague our streets, our homes, or our society.’

  Commander Betts was making to leave, when a young blonde woman, in red high heels, pushed her way through the crowd and put herself between him, and the exit. He looked irritated as she almost shoved her microphone up his nose.

  ‘Abigail Winters, Reporter for The Daily Informer. With the Marseilles gang under control, can you comment on the rumours of people living outside of Coney and Eden and the efforts being made to police them?’

  Betts glared at her.

  ‘Excuse me Miss. This press conference is over. Please move aside,’ he ordered.

  The reporter didn’t move, she merely turned and spoke into the camera man behind her loudly.

  ‘So…Commander Betts. Are you denying that there are people who might be living outside the cities?’

  The anger on Commander Betts’s face was plain to see, even right across the room and he went to push past her to the door.

  Abigail spoke loudly to her cameraman again as Commander Betts made his exit.

  ‘There we have it. No official comment on people living outside of Coney City. No denial of such reports…’

  Aya left the room and made her way to her desk outside Commander Betts’s office. She saw him enter in a foul mood just before her, and cringed when he slammed his door. Commander Betts really hated reporters. She’d hand her notice in later. She could always say Commander Betts was ‘not available’ or maybe just ‘gone’.

  Aya sat down at her desk and began typing away at her paperwork. Soon she’d be confined to the house. Cooking, cleaning and being a ‘wife’. She hit the keys angrily in frustration. Then, the phone on her desk rang; rudely interrupting her. She debated ignoring it. It was probably one of those nosy reporters wanting an exclusive, she thought. Behind her the Info-Com on the wall lit up with the news of the drugs bust.

  The reporter’s story was already breaking.

  The phone rang again and impatiently she picked it up.

  ‘Yes? Station Commander Betts’s office?’ she said abruptly.

  There was a brief crackle on the line before a rushed, rough voice came through.

  ‘It’s Max. Don’t hang up.’

  Aya’s breath caught in her throat. She swung around in her chair, mouth agape. She couldn’t think what to say.

  ‘Max? Max?! Where ARE you? Why didn’t you come back? What hap…’ the words died in her throat and she was rendered cold and dumb.

  On-screen (on the Info-Com), the mug shots and names of the arrested people were scrolling along the bottom. Max’s face stared back to her from the screen.

  ‘Oh my God,’, she said and her hand went to her mouth in horror.

  The rest of the conversation was a blur.

  “Max had been arrested. No it wasn’t what she thought. No he wasn’t in a gang. Yes it was a huge mistake. Would she please shut up and listen.”

  When Max clicked off Aya sat there in shock. In her hand was a hastily scribbled note. Max’s words still echoed in her mind.

  “They’re sending me to one of the CURE Prisons. I need you to contact someone as soon as you can. Don’t ask questions just do it...”

  She looked down at the paper. An address in Sector Seven, ‘docks area’, was scribbled there in her own shaky handwriting. A name was scrawled underneath it.

  Chapter 10: Jack

  Sector Seven: Monorail Station

  Monday 4th June

  The monorail glided to a halt at the Sector Seven platform and disgorged its cargo of passengers onto the sidewalk. Aya stepped off the train. Her heels clicked against the platform floor. A cooling breeze was stirring and evening was starting to settle in and it was beginning to rain. She hadn’t managed to get any work done that day after Max’s disturbing phone call. Fortunately, Commander Betts had been in such a foul mood that he had not noticed.

  The monorail slid out of the station as silently as it had entered. The station looked out of place in Sector Seven. It was the only new structure she could see. Dilapidated buildings filled the narrow streets either side. The reconstruction or “reformation,” as it was known hadn’t been rolled out to Sector Seven yet. It was the only part of old London still standing. Aya had never been to Sector Seven before. Seeing it now, she wished she hadn’t come at all. It was known as the “docks,” district because it faced the sea. It still had some of the old docking infrastructure, although it was now a docking area by name only. Off-shore TALOS cutter ships patrolled tirelessly, like a shoal of hungry metal sharks waiting to devour anyone who dared intrude in their patch of water. All the shipping faculties had been relocated down to the Port of Utopiana where Max worked. Correction – used to work. Now he was probably in prison, she thought.

  Aya reached into her suit pocket and check the hastily scrawled address again.

  She had no idea where Southside Street was. She checked against the neon glowing street map on the station wall. The address wasn’t far, although it did mean she’d have to walk down through some pretty narrow-looking back lanes. She could almost imagine the dark shady corners by looking at the map: corners that could hide anything, or anyone. It wasn’t like the other Sectors, where everything seemed so open and Honest.

  Her nerves jangled. Better get this over with. Max’s desperate message spurred her onwards. She left the station and walked deeper into Sector Seven. It took her a lot longer than she had anticipated and it was getting late. The area was as dilapidated as its reputation. The buildings had suffered a substantial amount of damage on the Day of Reckoning, but despite the shattered state of some of them, they had still provided some shelter for the survivors. Initial repairs had been crude, boards and poles supporting the collapsing structures. Over time repairs were made to the original repairs until there were more layers of repair than the original buildings. People had lived in them for years without power, and decades of cold and damp had caused them to moulder and turn black. The place looked as miserable as she felt inside – dark and grey. The streets reminded Aya of ‘old London’ in Victorian times, and a story about a man called Jack the Ripper. The very name ‘Jack’ conjured up a dread of who exactly she was going to meet.

  Aya was shocked that a place like this could exist so close to the shining example and magnificence of the rest of Coney City.

  Aarif and Mada had shown her pictures of Phoenix Palace, the grand structure that was almost finished in the centre of town.

  “Where you’ll be getting married,” they had said in unison.

  It seemed impossible to her that the grand structures of Fin-Sen, the TAU and Phoenix Palace sat only a short monorail ride from this desolate place.

  A petrol driven car roared past her on the street and she coughed at the cloud of exhaust fumes that belched from the car’s exhaust. The ‘old-style’ cars were so noisy compared to their silent Genie powered cousins. She felt like a princess visiting a dungeon. Even Maxs’s pad felt like a step up from this place. The streets were deserted. The rain was getting heavier and her shoes were soaking wet. The puddles of water that were forming in the paveme
nt were splashing mud up the back of her legs. She couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes watching her from the backstreets and corners of buildings. She quickened her pace and almost screamed when a man suddenly stepped out from behind a corner to block her path.

  The people in the area were called the “Docky’s.” It was not an affectionate nickname.

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ she blurted as she moved to get out of the Docky’s way.

  He shadowed her expertly before ‘hocking-up’ a ball of phlegm and spitting it on the pavement in front of her. He grabbed his hands on his crotch and crudely thrust his pelvis towards her spitting out the words.

  ‘Cure this Biatchh.’

  He leered menacingly at her as he shoved his way past.

  Aya stood, shaking, as the man went on his way. Her knees knocked together as she trembled. She felt close to tears. Even being home with Mada was better than this. She felt weak and miserably afraid. She looked down at her red and grey CURE uniform. Stupid. Stupid. Coming here dressed like that. They’ll think I’m a CURE officer, not just a secretary. She hadn’t realised what she’d been walking into until it was too late. The urgency of Max’s message and the impossibility of escaping from Mada and Aarif if she went home first meant she’d had no choice but to come straight from work, and there was no way she’d want to be here after dark.

  She recalled the reporter’s questions to a besieged Commander Betts.

  “Is Sector Seven safe to walk in at night now?”

  “No…I didn’t say that...”

  Those words were now echoing very loudly in her ears. I have to hide these clothes. Got to try and blend in, she thought.

  Aya looked around. The street was empty. No malls. No clothes shops. Not even a newsagent. The sky was slowly grower darker and the breeze was getting steadily colder. The rain was now pelting down filling the puddles and gutters. The place suddenly looked very black. She shivered, but not from the cold and the wet. She was liable to get her legs broken, alone, here, dressed as a CURE officer. Or worse.