New Reality: Truth

by Michael Robertson

  Tom shook his head. "Coincidence, Jake."

  Unable to suppress his grin, Jake said, "Karma."

  "Whatever. Any water?"

  The bottom row where the water should have been was completely empty. Jake sighed. "No."

  Grinding his jaw, Tom looked at the tower. "And you still think Rixon have nothing to do with this? When was the last time you came across a vending machine that had all of the water removed from it? They're fucking with us again!"

  Wishing he had an argument didn't make it a reality.

  Swiping his hand through the air as if he were batting away a fly, Tom said, "Anyway, just pass me anything without caffeine in it. I'm fed up with drinking Coke. It only makes me thirstier."

  Retrieving two cans of Tango, Jake walked over to Tom and handed him one.

  Guzzling the sweet, orange-flavored syrup so hard it burned his throat, Jake then belched half of it back up into his mouth. There was a slight kick of bile as he swallowed it back down again, but the taste was mostly unaffected.

  Finishing the can, Jake tossed it on the floor, the wind sending it skittering over the rubble. After watching it roll away, Jake burped, careful to keep the liquid in his stomach this time. "I feel like I could drink a swimming pool dry."

  "Take it slow, Jake."

  "All right, Mum."

  Tom raised his hands. "I'm just saying. You'll make yourself sick if you carry on drinking it that quickly."

  As if on cue, Jake's stomach rumbled, and he had to take several breaths to keep the liquid down. Turning his back on Tom so he could hide his discomfort, he then returned to the vending machine.

  When he came back, he had five chocolate bars fanned out in his right hand. "Pick a bar, any bar."

  The faintest smile cracked Tom's face.

  It was good to see his friend happy. Looking at the gloomy sky, which was getting darker by the minute, the glowing red letters on the phallic symbol of their oppressive master standing prominent on the horizon, Jake scratched his head and searched the floor. "It'll be night soon. We may as well lie down here until morning."

  While opening a chocolate bar, Tom glanced around. "I'll only do it if we take shifts on guard. One of us should always be awake from now on."

  "Okay, I understand. Now tell me what's been following us."

  The bags on Tom's long face pulled it to the ground as he stared at his friend. He said nothing.

  Shaking his head, Jake stretched his arms up in an attempt to force the lethargy from his aching body. "You look like you need it more, Tom. You sleep first."

  ***

  They were stopping for the evening. Should she seize the opportunity? She could end it all now. It had to happen sooner or later. If not tonight, how long could she drag it out?

  She watched them eat their chocolate and drink more fizzy drinks. She watched Tom lie down and fall asleep almost instantly. Rubbing her sore eyes, she watched Jake pace up and down.

  She watched him stand still.

  He sat down.

  Once he was horizontal, his eyes slowly shut.

  Her voice came out as a soft hiss. "Sweet dreams, Jake. Sweet dreams."

  Chapter Twelve

  Jake's eyes flashed open. Shit! How long had he been asleep? Lifting his head from its awkward position, a crick in his neck stabbing into the bottom of his skull, he drew a sharp breath as he looked over at his friend. Tom was still snoozing. Good.

  It was as dark, dusty, and desolate, as it had been when he'd passed out. Relaxing his shoulders, he smiled to himself. Nothing had happened. Thank God.

  Pushing himself upright, his shoulders burning from the effort, Jake rolled them in large circles. It did little to ease his discomfort.

  The concrete slab he'd slept on had made his back so cold his spine had turned to ice. Hugging himself tightly, Jake sat there and shivered.

  With the wind smashing into his face and the pattering of grit hitting the lenses on his glasses, Jake squinted to try and make out his surroundings. On the best of days, it was hard to see more than about fifty meters ahead. At nighttime, exhausted, and with a sugar-fueled headache cramping his face, Jake was virtually blind. But he'd promised Tom that he'd act as look out. All he could do was make sure he didn't fall asleep again.

  Swallowing a couple of times, Jake grimaced at the taste. The high-sugar diet and lack of dental hygiene left a layer of fur on his tongue. It tasted like bile, and no amount of running it across his teeth could banish it.

  As Jake became more lucid, he started to feel his pounding heart. It was on the edge of a panic attack, and worms of anxiety writhed in his guts. Why did he feel like this?

  Then he heard it.

  Gasping, he spun around.

  It was close, but where?

  A raspy, rattling wheeze breathed in his ear. Turning sharply, Jake still couldn't see a thing. Where was it?

  He looked over at Tom. He was still asleep.

  Then he heard a deep exhalation. A satisfied, gravelly groan. Almost post-coital.

  Where was it?

  What was it?

  With his skin turning to gooseflesh, Jake remained rooted to the spot, shaking where he sat.

  When the rubble shifted a few meters away, he snapped his legs back and pulled them beneath him as if he were about to lose them. The disturbance, a Mohawk of raised rubble, made a beeline for him like a shark's fin through water. Seconds before collision, it vanished.

  Scanning around, Jake's heart galloped. What if another sinkhole opened up? What would he do? Should he wake Tom?

  A puff behind him made him spin around to see an explosion of dust shoot from the ground.

  Was it another one? One was bad enough.

  Focusing on his breathing, his heart ready to explode, Jake remained sat on the flat lump of concrete.

  The movement around him stopped, but Jake could still hear it. It was scrabbling beneath where he sat.

  Looking down, Jake's stomach sank. He was sat on a headstone. No wonder it was the flattest surface in the vicinity. Running a shaking hand over its cold surface, he felt the engraved legend to someone passed. It was too dark to read it.

  Keeping his palm on the inscription, he then felt a vibration on the other side, a prolonged scratching like someone dragging a trowel along it. Jake snapped his hand away.

  With the slow dry rasp running through the slab, Jake heard the slapping of salivating jaws. His pulse rocketed.

  Frozen to the spot, panic swelling in his chest, Jake held his breath for the length of every scratch. They seemed to last forever as they dragged along the underside of the concrete.

  When Tom let out a loud snort in his sleep, Jake yelped.

  The sound beneath him stopped.

  Maybe it had gone. Maybe it was as scared as him as he was of it. Maybe--

  Scraaaaaaaaaaatch!

  ###

  It was impossible to guess how much time had passed, but if Jake were to give it a go, he'd say it had been about twenty minutes since the last scratch. Maybe he was alone again. Maybe he could finally move.

  Looking across, he saw Tom was still sleeping. At least he'd missed the ordeal. It made no sense for him to have any more fear in his heart. There was currently enough in Jake's for the both of them.

  Jake's bladder ached. He had to get up. Looking around, he chewed his bottom lip. It was like being a child all over again. He used to wake in the middle of the night, desperate for a wee, but refused to get up because of the monster waiting for him beneath the bed. The second his small bare foot touched the carpet, it would grab his ankle and rip him under. It would drag him into the rubble and feast on him with frenzied ferocity.

  But Jake wasn't going to piss the bed this time. Just the thought of Tom waking made him nervous. To see his friend giving him the same worried look that he'd received from his parents every morning. To utter the same words--'Isn't he a bit too old to piss the bed now?' Or 'we'll have to get him a rubber mattress.' They'd speak as if he wasn't there--as i
f he had no feelings.

  Getting to his feet, fatigue shaking his weak legs, the ache from his existing injuries threatening to throw him back down to the floor, Jake turned his back to the wind. Clumsily freeing his penis from his trousers, he urinated with the flow of the gale. The hot liquid burned as it left his bladder, dehydration turning his piss thick. It felt like passing honey.

  Putting himself away a little too soon, he felt a warm trickle run down the inside of his thigh. Sitting back down on the slab, Jake curled over and rocked in the cold wind.

  After sitting cross-legged for some time, Jake closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.

  In. Pause. Out.

  In. Pause. Out.

  The distant barking of a fox rode on the wind. The sting of grit pattered against the side of his face. The smell of decomposition filled the air. The smell was always there, but he was so accustomed to the reek, he now had to focus to notice it.

  In. Pause. Out.

  In. Pause. Out.

  With everything settling down, his heart stabilizing and his muscles relaxing, Jake let his shoulders unwind.

  When he opened his eyes again, he saw the dark night through the soft lens of meditative calm. The last of his tension had vanished. Everything was going to be okay. Maybe it was just a bad dream. That must have been it, just a--

  Scraaaatch.

  ***

  Continuing to shape her fingernails, she ran them across the rough surface. Scraaatch. Scraaatch. Scraaaaaaaatch.

  Jake wouldn't sleep tonight.

  But that was all.

  Hopefully his fear would drive him from the city. That way she wouldn't have to deal with him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Jake opened his eyes, the diluted daylight burned them and sent sharp pains tearing through his sinuses. Snapping them shut again, he let out a long groan. The last thing he remembered was sitting upright, shaking from the cold as he strained to hear over the howling wind. After being sat like that for a few hours with no sign of the creature, he must have drifted off again.

  Lying on the cold slab, he reopened his eyes slowly. Remaining on his back, Jake stared up. The grey clouds above churned like the cogs of a giant machine. Drawing a deep breath, he released another exasperated sigh. How much more of this could he take?

  Finally finding the motivation to move, Jake sat up. Crossing his legs, he scratched his head and continued squinting. The sunglasses seemed ineffectual, but he wasn't prepared to take them off to test that theory.

  Running his tongue around the inside of his mouth sent an electric buzz straight into his jawbone. Wincing, he clamped his hand across his face. Three or four teeth in the back left corner of his mouth had turned so sensitive that he couldn't eat on that side now. It was at its worst when he first woke in the morning, and it was getting worse every day. How long would it be before the other side felt the same? Swallowing back the stale taste of halitosis, the bitter tang of decay now a permanent resident on his tongue, he wondered if he'd be sucking his food by the end of the month.

  When he looked around and saw the disturbed rubble from the previous night, his stomach tensed. Last night had happened. It wasn't a hideous nightmare, regardless of how much he wished it was. Glancing across at his friend, he saw Tom was still sleeping. The long hike had taken a lot out of both of them.

  Standing up, his muscles aching in protest, Jake looked down and froze. Rubbing his eyes, he reread the headstone's inscription.

  Jake Weston

  Good friend. Dearly Missed.

  19th November 2048 -

  The other date was illegible. Deep scratches tore through it, scratches that looked like claw marks. Shaking where he stood, Jake continued to look at the headstone. Why was it crossed out? What date was on there?

  Stood staring at the tombstone, Jake wobbled as he was battered by the ragged wind. He tilted his head to the side, narrowed his eyes, and rubbed the date with his foot. None of his actions helped him read it any better.

  When he looked at the line of raised rubble again, his eyes following it away from where he stood, he searched for movement. Seeing nothing other than storms, he dropped into a painful crouch, his legs aching and knees popping. Picking up a handful of the finer bits of ruin around him, he took the small pebbles of brick and shards of masonry and covered his name over. Tom didn't need to see it. He already had enough on his mind.

  Standing back up, he glanced at the vending machine. The supplies could wait until both he and Tom were ready to load up.

  Arriving next to his sleeping friend, Jake prodded him with the toe of his boot.

  When Tom's eyes yawned open, bloodshot and out of focus, Jake scratched his head. "You look like shit, man. Are you okay?"

  Lying still, his normally tightly tied hair dancing in the breeze, Tom groaned and rubbed his face. "My head hurts. I'm not sure I can go anywhere yet."

  "We have to keep moving."

  Pulling his hands away, squinting as he looked up at his friend, Tom sighed. "Just give me five minutes."

  Glancing behind again, Jake shook his head. "No."

  The fog lifted from Tom's features, and he craned his neck to look behind too. "What did you see?"

  "Nothing." The reply was quick. Too quick.

  Every trace of tiredness had left Tom at this point. "What did you see?"

  "Nothing. We need to find Rory, don't we?"

  Swallowing, Tom nodded and sat up, grimacing with the movement.

  Handing him a can of Sprite, Jake shrugged at the distaste on Tom's long face. "There are other choices in the machine."

  Taking the drink, Tom looked at the tower. "They purposefully took the water from that vending machine. I know it. They did it to fuck with us. That's all they seem interested in doing. Arseholes."

  The end of Tom's sentence barely registered when Jake looked down and saw he was lying on a similar slab to the one he'd been on. Looking Tom square in the eyes, he clapped his hands. "Right, come on, man. Let's go."

  Draining the can of Sprite, his face twisting, Tom showed Jake the palm of his right hand. "Chill out, yeah? I'm moving."

  As he watched Tom get to his feet, Jake winced in sympathy. If Tom felt anywhere near as bad as he did, then he was going through hell right now. "So what did you dream about?"

  Looking up, Tom scowled. "What?"

  "What did you dream about last night?"

  "My wife and son." The anger left his voice. "I dream about them every night."

  Not knowing what to say, Jake put an arm around Tom's shoulder when he was fully upright. "This is going to be the day, Tom. I can feel it. We're going to find Rory."

  "Don't play with my emotions."

  "We've got to be positive. Law of attraction and all that."

  "Law of what?"

  "Like attracting like. You manifest what you focus on."

  Scoffing, Tom shook his head and slipped away from Jake's half hug. As he walked off, he called over his shoulder, "Whatever."

  Holding back, Jake looked down.

  Tom DiFool

  A father. A husband. The best friend a man could hope for.

  10th April 2045--10th April 2077

  The letters blurred and Jake swallowed the lump in his throat.

  ***

  Staring at the headstone, she smiled and rubbed her hands together. It wouldn't be long. "What a wonderful birthday surprise!"

  Chapter Fourteen

  Snapping from his daze, Jake lifted his head to see his friend walking away. Looking down at the headstone one last time, he cleared his throat. "Tom, wait up!"

  The long man stopped and turned around.

  Jake pointed towards the vending machine. "We need to take supplies."

  Although Tom hesitated, after a few seconds, he gave Jake a somber nod.

  "I'm not excited about living off that shit either, but what other choice do we have?"

  The same somber nod answered Jake. At least it was an affirmative response.


  Walking over to the exposed machine, Tom a few paces behind, Jake heard his friend slip. When he turned around, he saw him standing on one leg. "Are you okay?"

  Gritting his teeth, Tom frowned hard. "I think I've fucked my ankle up. I hate this fucking place. I hate Rixon. I hate that I can't be around my family."

  "Come on, keep your chin up. Let's keep moving. We'll find Rory."

  "Don't tell me to keep my chin up. I've been keeping my chin up for four fucking years now." His face had turned red. "How much longer do I have to hold it up for?"

  "Let's just get our supplies and keep moving, yeah?" Picking his way over the terrain, Jake glanced at the gamer they'd turned over. The deep sore on her back was plugged with grit. Shuddering, Jake peered into the hole at the vending machine. A chill ran through his veins. "Shit!"

  When Tom appeared next to him, Jake winced in anticipation of his friend's reaction.

  "What the fuck? Where's all the fucking food and drink gone?"

  Unable to find the appropriate words, Jake stared at the carcass of the vending machine.

  Still red faced, but now shaking too, Tom threw his middle finger at the tower, his voice cracking as he shouted, "Fuck you, Rixon!"

  Picking up a rock, Tom lobbed it in the direction of their corporate overlord. "Fuck you, you fucking arseholes! Fuck you!"