Impersonator (Forager Impersonator - A Post Apocalyptic Trilogy Book 1)

by Peter R Stone

  “Malcolm Thomas, you are under arrest on the charge of possessing contraband Elatyon drugs and will accompany us to Custodian Headquarters,” the sergeant said. He clipped handcuffs on my father as he spoke.

  My father nodded and limped after the sergeant, the other Custodians filing out behind him.

  “What happens now?” I said when they got the door. I knew the penalty for smuggling drugs into town or supplying them was the death sentence. I wasn’t so sure when it came to individual usage.

  “He will be brought before the magistrate tomorrow,” Sergeant King said, barely pausing in his long legged stride.

  With that, they were gone, leaving my mother, sister and me standing in the midst of a flat torn to pieces. We were stunned into immobility by the revelation that our lives had just been destroyed with even greater finality than the flat.

  “Now what do we do?” Karen asked. She sat wild-eyed amidst the crockery, napkins and tablecloths the Custodians had strewn all over the floor. “If Father goes to prison and Brandon doesn’t go back to work, who’s going to provide for us? Where will we get money for food, water and electricity?”

  Tragically, Karen had a point, thanks to the Founders’ absurd ruling that women were not permitted to work.

  “He’s been taking drugs?” Mother said, finally finding her voice. “The fool’s been wasting all his money – the money we needed for food and necessities – so he could get high instead of facing his problems? How could he be so selfish? Couldn’t he see what he was putting me through these past months? Going to market at closing time to buy the dregs left over at closeout prices, buying food past its expiry-date? And still barely having enough money to do even that!”

  “That’s a little harsh, Mother. He’s been through a meat grinder lately,–” I began.

  “Harsh? I’ll tell you harsh. It’s getting criticised by him day after day for serving ‘slops’ for dinner because I had no money to buy anything better, when all along he spent that money on drugs! It’s hearing other mothers mocking me under their breath because they see me turn up to market when the stallholders have started packing up. It’s–”

  “This isn’t all about you, Mother!” I snapped.

  “Then who is it about – that loser I’ve put up with for twenty years?”

  “If you’d actually given him some emotional support instead of criticising everything he ever did, maybe he wouldn’t have stooped so low that he thought drugs were the only way out!”

  “Don’t try to put that on me, Daughter. Look around you. This is all his doing. And you think I let him down?”

  “We all failed him, Mother. None of us helped him when he got out of prison.”

  “Rubbish. He chose to react like that, getting drunk, moping around the house – taking drugs! He could have snapped out of it and pulled himself together at any moment. He just chose not to.”

  There was a knock at the open door followed by a man clearing his throat. Putting our argument on hold, we were surprised to see the building supervisor hovering in the doorway.

  “Am I interrupting something?” he asked. He was a short, stick-thin man with greying hair. He was looking around the room with his mouth open in dismay. He expected his tenants to keep their properties in better condition.

  “Sorry, Mr. Hinchcliffe. My husband is not home at the moment,” Mother said warily.

  “I know. I just witnessed Custodians whisking him away in handcuffs.” He stared at my mother in disdain. “Which brings me to a most unfortunate topic, one I’ve been putting off. But considering this scandal, I now have no choice but to inform you that unless you pay your outstanding rent in full, I will have you evicted from this flat within twenty-four hours.” In witnessing our horrified expressions, the supervisor looked most pleased with himself. He was enjoying this.

  “What outstanding rent?” Mother asked.

  “The eight weeks back rent you owe.”

  “Eight weeks? But how is that possible – hasn’t my husband been paying you?” She reached out a hand to the dining room table to steady herself.

  “Obviously not. Now, if you don’t mind, I will be on my way. Remember, twenty-four hours.” The arrogant little man turned to leave.

  “Mr. Hinchcliffe, you can’t give us twenty-four hours notice. You have to give us three warnings!” Mother said as she hurried towards the door, her countenance framed with determination and building rage.

  “I already gave three warnings to Malcolm. Didn’t he tell you?” The supervisor said.

  Mother looked at me, dumbfounded. I could read her mind. First drugs, now this? What had Father been doing?

  “How much do we have to pay to avoid eviction?” I asked, before he could get away.

  “Sixteen-hundred-and-twenty, but as I’m not an unreasonable man, a thousand-and-eighty will give you another month’s grace. You have twenty-four hours.” That said, he strutted down the walkway like the chicken that ruled the roost.

  “This just keeps getting better and better! What else has that man hidden from us?” Mother righted an upturned dining chair and sat heavily upon it. I’d never seen her so weary.

  “What’s going on?” Karen asked. I’m not sure she understood everything the supervisor said. She was too shocked by the virtual destruction of our flat and belongings.

  “Do we have any money, stashed away somewhere, for emergencies like this?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Your Father already used it.”

  “What happens if we get evicted? Where can we go?” I asked.

  “Nowhere!” I could hear her heart rate accelerate. She was beginning to panic. “Grandfather passed away, Grandmother’s in the home with Alzheimer’s, and Nanna lives in a one bedroom flat with her sister. Not to mention she hasn’t spoken to us for a decade.” And we had no friends thanks to Father’s gradual withdrawal from the world and Mother’s acerbic tongue.

  Pushing herself off the chair, she grabbed me by the shoulders. “Eldest Daughter, the time for misplaced loyalties is over. Stop covering for your brother and tell me where he is. You saw him today, didn’t you, when you went out looking for him? I’m sure he has enough to cover this debt.”

  “I have no idea where he is.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Seriously, I don’t.” Which was the truth. He gave me no indication of where he was going when he walked out on us last Thursday.

  “Oh, this is ridiculous! He must be staying with one of his friends. You know, those four simpletons who pop in here to see him from time to time. What are their names?”

  “Con, Jack, Matt and Dan,” Karen said. She had a slightly dreamy look on her face when she mentioned Jack. She liked him, which was a pathetically pointless exercise since we had no input on who we would marry.

  “He’s not with them–” I began.

  “And how would you know?” Mother barked.

  “Because I spoke with them today. Well, not Dan. He passed away last week. In an accident.”

  “What? How’s that possible? I thought you went looking for Brandon today?”

  “Actually, no,” I said quietly.

  “Then where did you go?”

  I held up my hand. “I, ah...”

  “Answer me!” She took a step towards me.

  I searched her face, seeing brown eyes the mirror image of my own. I saw her desperation as she frantically tried to hold herself and her world together, a world that was rapidly slipping through her fingers. Karen, meanwhile, looked both bewildered and alarmed. More vulnerable than I had seen her before.

  At that moment, I realised that in spite of how badly they treated me, I didn’t want to see them suffering like this. They were my family. And if we got evicted tomorrow, what they were going through now would seem a picnic compared to how they would feel then.

  There was a way I could help them, although it was the last thing I wanted to do. I could continue impersonating my brother and go back to the Recycling Works. Not just tomorrow to
get paid and buy seeds so I could try to escape again, but for as long as was necessary so I could provide for my mother and sister.

  That meant I would continue risking discovery masquerading as my brother, cop more of Con’s destructive, condescending attitude, and risk bumping into more Skel. There was one plus – I’d get to see Ryan again. However, that might not be such a good thing, considering the way he reacted when I saved his life and his desire to be left alone.

  “Come on, answer me! Where were you today?” Mother asked again.

  “I impersonated Brandon and went to work as a forager. That’s why I know his friends don’t know where he is. They thought I was him and were angry I hadn’t been to work since last Thursday.”

  “You did what? Have you lost your mind?” My mother’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

  “Tomorrow’s payday, Mother. If I masquerade as Brandon again tomorrow, I’ll bring back a week’s wages – from the days he worked last week, plus the day’s I’ve worked. That may get the supervisor off our backs.”

  “Daughter, that’s a man’s world out there! You could be injured, killed, caught by Skel, and who knows what else! There’s no way I would let you do that. I can scarcely believe that you did it today and got away with it!”

  From there we argued back and forth for an hour. I kept pointing out that we had no other choice, with Father going to prison and Brandon missing. Mother kept bringing up the same points over and over again. The dangers to my person, dangers of being caught, and how that would disgrace the family – or rather, her.

  Finally, I laid my hand on her arm. “Mother, if I’m caught and have to go to prison, it’s a price I’m willing to pay if it means we can keep the flat and have food on the table in the meantime. And what is the point of keeping our honour intact if we are starving?”

  At that, she finally relented, though begrudgingly. To be honest, I think she gave up because she had no energy left to argue

  “Right, then, we need to tidy up the flat,” I said.

  Chapter Twelve

  In a whirlwind of activity that helped keep our minds off our woes, we cleaned up much of the mess. We were in the kitchen, washing and drying all the pots, pans and plates, and putting them back in the cupboards, when there was another knock at the door.

  “Oh for goodness sake, who is it now?” Mother exclaimed. A glance at the clock revealed it was nearly seven. Two more hours until curfew. That was another aspect the Founders’ vision. Everyone had to be home by nine o’clock to maintain public order and reduce crime, which according to the Founders, tended to be more prevalent at night.

  “More Custodians?” Karen asked, wild eyed.

  “I don’t think so,” I replied. I had not heard any boots tramping down the walkway outside.

  I hurried to the door and opened it a crack, and almost did a double take when I saw Jack’s smiling face. Matt was behind him, looking over his shoulder, while Con leaned back against the railing.

  “Ah, hi Chelsea, how are you?” Jack asked, blushing. He looked at my birthmark but quickly returned his gaze to my face.

  “I’m good, thanks.” I forced myself to smile. It took a conscious effort to use my normal voice and not speak an octave lower like I had today.

  “That’s great. Hey, is Brandon in?”

  “Sorry, he’s not feeling well,” I said, thinking that would get rid of them.

  Con pushed off the railing. “Tell that wuss to get his butt out here on the double or we’re coming in to get him.”

  “Don’t speak like that around Chelsea!” Jack hissed behind the back of his hand.

  Con starred daggers at him.

  “We’re throwing a celebration in Brandon’s honour tonight, so it ain’t gonna work if he’s not there,” Matt said.

  “Celebration in his honour?” I asked.

  “You know, since he saved us from the Skel today,” Jack said, beaming. “Didn’t he tell you?”

  “Brandon saved you from Skel?” I acted suitably surprised.

  Jack filled me in on their miraculous escape from the Skel, embellishing it in the process. I had to suppress a laugh, for his rendition had me overcoming the Skel with scarcely believable combat skills.

  Con pushed Matt and Jack aside. “You sending him out or are we coming in? We’re wasting precious time, curfew’s only a couple of hours away and we’ve got a lot of drinking to get done before then.”

  There was no way I could let them in, so I lifted a hand to stall his approach. “I’ll go get him.”

  I closed the door and ran for the bedroom. Seemed I would be donning my Brandon persona sooner than planned.

  Mother caught me half way across the room. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I have to go with them. As Brandon. Otherwise they’ll find out and I won’t be able to go to work tomorrow.”

  “I don’t like this, not one little bit,” she growled.

  “I’ll be careful. Can you please help me change?”

  “If you want to break the law, don’t expect me to–”

  “Come on, I’ll help,” Karen said.

  I didn’t see that coming.

  * * *

  “Come on, little buddy. This is your night, so live it up!” Jack beamed. He opened the door to the Forager’s Club and gestured me inside. Even Con and Matt deferred to me. I was way out of my depth and I knew it, but it was too late to back out now. The charade had to continue for my family’s sake.

  The club was nothing like I expected after hearing my brother’s stories about what went on here. I’d always envisioned a brightly lit room with neat rows of tables and benches with the foragers sitting and occasionally chatting politely with each other.

  The reality was a large, poorly lit room with dark grey walls, black ceiling, and white-flecked black marble floor. Black netting hung from the ceiling and all sorts of memorabilia from pre-Apocalypse days adorned the walls, brought in from the ruins. Wooden wagon wheels, rusted and pristine hubcaps, shredded tyres, exhaust pipes, engine blocks, defunct computers and plasma-screen TVs, and on it went. Entertainment was three pool tables, a selection of painstakingly restored pinball machines, and of course, a bar at the back.

  Round, knotted wooden tables were spaced haphazardly around the room. These were frequented by rowdy men of all ages who laughed raucously while engaging in animated conversations. Without exception, every forager present, which had to be just about all of them, had a stubbie – a glass beer bottle – in his hand.

  An old jukebox in the centre of the room pumped out songs from the late twentieth century – those with lyrics approved by the Custodians, of course. Songs that promoted sex, drugs, or seditious messages were banned.

  I was impressed, and mightily jealous. All the men in Newhome frequented clubs like this pretty much every evening after work, while we women had to sit at home twiddling our thumbs, doing cross-stitch, or watching TV. This so wasn’t fair. All the same, even with these freedoms, the men were still just as trapped here as the women were at home.

  I glanced about quickly to see if Ryan was here, but couldn’t locate him. That was no surprise, considering he preferred to be alone.

  Jack moved to put his arm around my back, intending to shepherd me towards an empty table.

  “No touchy! Sore back! Had a tussle with Skel today, remember?” I blocked his arm and stepped forward. If he put his arm around me, there was no way he’d miss my narrow waist hidden beneath my brother’s baggy windcheater.

  Con grabbed my shoulder. “Thought it was only your leg that got hurt?”

  Didn’t that guy miss a thing? “Okay, so I downplayed my injuries a bit.”

  “It’s ‘injuries’ now?” He stuck his chubby face closer.

  “Seriously, Con, you need to chill out. I got a couple of bruises, that’s it. And before you say more, yes, I had them checked out. No broken bones.” Which was true, after a fashion, because Karen applied a herbal balm on the bruises when she helped me don my
Brandon disguise earlier.

  “Come on, Con, what’s with the third degree? He’s fine.” Jack pulled Con’s hand from my shoulder.

  Con complied with a scowl, but couldn’t resist leaving one last barb. “Next time you get hurt, you tell it like it is. You may be a pain in the neck, but you’re one of my team. My responsibility. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “I think that’s Con’s way of saying he cares about you, but don’t quote me on it.” Jack whispered just loud enough for us all to hear. Con rose his eyebrows.

  “First round’s on me,” Matt said when we got to a table. He disappeared towards the bar and returned with five chilled stubbies. Officially, I’d never had beer before, but Brandon had slipped the occasional bottle to me when no one was looking, which was lucky. If I didn’t drink tonight or couldn’t hold my liquor, they’d ask too many questions.

  All the same, the other three went through several stubbies each in the time I consumed just the one. Fortunately, they were too busy yabbering and laughing to notice. Many other foragers dropped by our table and congratulated me for owning that Skel today. I played along as though I knew them, and no one caught on.

  My friends were tipsy or well on the path to getting drunk when Con suddenly straightened up. “Here’s trouble,” he said.

  We looked over to the door and saw four neatly dressed men enter the club and check it out.

  “What the blazes are they doing here?” Matt snarled.

  “Who are they?” I asked.

  “The tall, bald one is Richardson; he’s the supervisor of one of the appliance manufactories.”

  The men split up, approached four different tables, and started chatting up foragers. Something was up, though, for they spoke furtively, often glancing towards the door.

  Our table was the second one Richardson visited. He was probably around fifty, like my father, though the aging process had been kinder to him except for the lack of hair.

  Three foragers followed him over and gathered around our table. One looked thoughtful, the other two sceptical.