Skin

by Liam Brown

  Even when we eventually turned off the motorway, the military presence didn’t end there. When we’d fled the city, the streets had been empty. There hadn’t been another vehicle on the road. Now the city was hardly recognisable. The streets churned with military personnel, searching cars, setting up barricades, directing traffic. Though most of the buildings we passed still looked abandoned, large white tents had been erected in public areas, marked Aid or Medicine or Relocation or Missing Persons.

  Colin, who had opened the windows again the moment we were off the motorway, seemed delighted by the activity. ‘You see, guys?’ he said, turning to the children in the back seat. ‘Everything’s going to be okay. The army are here to look after us.’

  While Charlie shared his father’s enthusiasm, marvelling at each armoured vehicle and automatic weapon he spotted, the sight of more soldiers only seemed to increase Amber’s anxiety.

  ‘Is the virus still here?’ She grasped my hand, squeezing it so tight I stopped being able to feel my fingers. ‘I thought they’d found a cure. Why is everyone wearing masks?’

  It was true. Not only was every soldier clad in the same white hazardous materials suits and masks as the ones on the motorway, but the civilians also had their faces covered, some with simple surgical masks, others with full respirators that looked like they’d been bought from hardware shops.

  ‘Try not to worry, sweetheart. It’s probably just a precaution. I’m sure—’

  Before I could finish, the car lurched forwards. I looked up to see a soldier had stepped out in front of us, his palm outstretched.

  Colin scowled, his enthusiasm for the heavy military presence suddenly evaporating. ‘Not another bloody checkpoint,’ he said, before leaning his head out of the window. ‘Is there a problem here?’

  The soldier didn’t answer, though. Instead, he gestured for us to join yet another long queue. This one, however, didn’t look like another checkpoint. Rather, it led towards a colossal white tent that had been set up in the car park of what used to be a supermarket, this one perhaps ten times bigger than the other tents we’d already passed. I squinted at the sign in the distance, red letters sprayed hastily above its entrance:

  DECONTAMINATION ZONE.

  THIRTY-ONE

  SITTING AT MY computer later that evening, I wanted to cry. My hangover hadn’t slackened at all. If anything, it had got worse, no matter how many energy bars I crammed down my throat. Still, I tried my best to be upbeat, reminding myself how lucky I was. After all the time I’d spent in the school, the only symptoms I’d come away with were fuzzy head and stomach cramps. I was a walking bloody miracle. It was no good, though. I didn’t feel lucky. I felt rotten. And not just physically. The more I puzzled over the fact I hadn’t got sick, the more confused I felt about the whole thing. Why hadn’t I got sick? Was it really just a fluke? Or was it a sign of something else? I thought about what Jazz had said. About the virus being dead. I remembered reading somewhere that flu viruses were only capable of living outside of the human body for around twenty-four hours or so. Was it possible then that, without anyone left to feed on, this virus had simply fizzled out on its own? And if that was the case, then why on earth were we still living like this? Divided. Alone. Miserable. Why hadn’t anybody told us it was safe to go outside again?

  I shook my head, trying my best to stop dwelling on questions for which I knew there were no answers. I was alive. That was all that really mattered. And, while I still hadn’t heard from my children, I knew they were safe, too, the whirr of Amber’s treadmill still just about audible through the walls. Now, the important thing was focusing on the present. I had a job to do. A marriage to save.

  As I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the monitor, though, I didn’t feel like I was about to save anyone. I felt like an idiot. In addition to the ungainly virtual reality headset that was perched on my forehead, I was wearing a pair of futuristic-looking gloves, a tangle of wires snaking down my arms. To complete the look, I was squeezed into an unflattering outfit that can only be described as a full-body wetsuit, the inside of which was studded with an uncomfortable array of pads and sensors, each one digging painfully into my flesh. In his email, Colin had stressed that this was only a prototype suit, and that the finished product would be more refined. For his sake, I hoped he was right. I couldn’t imagine clients actually paying to dress up like this.

  Glancing at the clock, I saw it was already ten past eight. I was tempted to abandon the whole thing. I could simply turn my phone off and say I’d fallen asleep. Surely Colin would understand? One thought back to the night before was enough to change my mind, though. And so, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, I plugged the trailing cable from my suit into my computer, clicked on the link Colin had sent me and lowered my headset.

  FOR A MOMENT I was blinded by a snowstorm of pixels. The disorientation was so violent I feared I would throw up. Seconds later, though, it settled. I blinked. Looked around. To my astonishment, I was no longer sitting in my room. Rather, I appeared to be sitting on a beach. A stretch of coastline so photogenic that no holiday brochure could ever do it justice. The sand as fine and white as powdered bone. The sky the colour of crushed sapphire. And sandwiched between the two, an infinite slash of turquoise water, stretching all the way to the sun. It was a vision of paradise.

  I stood up. Looked around. The attention to detail was astonishing. I could actually feel the sand between my toes. The sun on my skin. I realised how much better I suddenly felt, the snarl of my hangover instantly soothed by the rhythmic lap of the tide.

  ‘Hey! You made it!’

  I turned to see Colin waving as he emerged from the water. At least, I thought it was Colin. As he drew closer, I wasn’t so sure. He was too tall, his hair too thick. He looked trimmer, too, his pale paunch replaced with a flat stomach, the muscles in his arms defined. When he spoke again, though, he still had Colin’s reedy voice. ‘I was worried you weren’t going to come.’

  ‘Well here I am. And there you are. And just look at you. Been hitting the virtual gym?’

  ‘Oh this?’ Colin grinned sheepishly. ‘One of the neat things about this version of TouchSpace is that you get to design your own avatar. It’s just a bit of fun, really.’

  I glanced down at my own body, noticing for the first time my cartoonish bosom, a pair of beach balls straining to escape a skintight swimsuit. ‘And what about these? Are these just a bit of fun?’

  Colin blushed. ‘I mean… I didn’t have much time to build anything for you so I just picked something off the peg. Is that okay? You can go back and choose something else if you like? Hair, ethnicity, body type. It’s all customisable.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s fine. Let’s just hope this thing isn’t programmed to simulate back pain.’

  ‘Great. That’s settled then. So, do you want me to give you the guided tour? We’ve got half an hour or so before the other delegates log on.’

  ‘Really? I thought you said it started at eight-thirty?’

  ‘Ah. Yes. I just thought it might be nice for us to have the place to ourselves for a while. In a few months’ time this place will be crawling with virtual tourists. But now… Well now it’s just us. We could go for a swim if you like?’

  ‘ You want to swim ?’

  This was not the Colin I knew. On our family holidays in the old world, I had known him to sit on the beach, rather than get in the water, his back the colour of raw bacon, his face buried in some godawful sci-fi novel. He’d claim he was happy to watch our things while we swam, but I knew the truth. He was scared. The sea terrified him. Even on our honeymoon in Barcelona, we spent our days apart, him traipsing around museums and football stadiums, me nursing a jug of sangria on Icària Beach. No, poor Colin has never been much of a swimmer. At least, not in the real world.

  Here, though, he was different. In fact, this steroid-buff version of my husband appeared to be practically amphibious. Bobbing there in the perfectly rendered digital ocean, the
water as clear as champagne and as warm as a bubble bath, I watched as he dived beneath the waves, his bronzed legs kicking like a synchronised swimmer. Periodically he came up for air, having retrieved some treasure from the seabed. A starfish, a conch shell, a crab claw.

  ‘It’s incredible, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Even now, I keep finding things I’ve never seen before.’

  ‘It’s certainly very realistic. How does it work? Like a virtual holiday? People log on and hang out at the beach?’

  ‘That’s one option. But to be honest, you’d be wasting your time and money if that’s all you came for. The beach isn’t much more than garnish. The real action happens in the city. That’s where the parties and clubs and bars and all the rest of it are.’

  I looked back at the deserted beach, stretching out as far as I could see. ‘There’s a city here?’

  ‘Well, it’s more of a town at the moment. But the team have got huge plans. There’s talk of historical recreations. San Francisco in the sixties. Berlin in the thirties. Ancient Rome. Egypt. Greece. The only limit is the client’s imagination. And, of course, how much they’re willing to pay. Speaking of which, it’s probably time we were going. People are going to start arriving soon.’

  I followed Colin out of the water, glancing around for a towel. Within seconds, though I was completely dry. ‘Hey, have you got anything I can change into? I’m not sure I want to meet your fancy clients dressed like Baywatch Barbie.’

  Colin grinned. ‘Of course. I’ve actually got something lined up. Wait there one second?’

  The whole world seemed to shimmer and warp for a moment. And then he disappeared.

  ‘Colin? I called. ‘Colin?’ I stepped forward into the spot of sand he’d last occupied, my temples beginning to tighten, my heart racing as I realised I’d been abandoned.

  A second later, however, he reappeared. Only now he was no longer wearing swimming trunks. Instead he was dressed in a white tuxedo, complete with a red bow and sash. ‘I hope that’s okay? It’s off the peg again.’

  I looked and saw my own swimming costume had been replaced by a sequinned black dress. On my feet were a pair of stiletto heels.

  ‘Not exactly beachwear,’ I said, reaching down to unhook my shoes.

  When I straightened up, Colin looked worried.

  ‘I’m joking. It’s perfect. Thank you.’

  He whistled with relief, before reaching for my hand.

  I hesitated, fighting away visions of Jazz from the night before.

  Flesh on flesh.

  Skin on skin.

  ‘It’s perfectly safe. Trust me. There’s nothing to be scared of here.’

  I smiled. Swallowed down the visions. Slipped my hand into his. It was fine.

  Together, we began to walk.

  Hand in hand.

  Husband and wife.

  THOSE FEW MINUTES together on the beach might just rank as the happiest moments of our entire marriage. Certainly, they were the best in the last five years. Strolling along that perfect slice of virtual shore, it was possible to forget that I was actually alone in my bedroom, hooked up to a sophisticated computer. Everything just felt so real . There was a light breeze blowing as we walked, and I burrowed into Colin’s side for warmth. This was much better than being with Jazz, I told myself. All the comfort of another human with none of the risk attached. Colin had been right. This thing was a game-changer. If this was what the future looked like, I decided, then perhaps things weren’t quite so bleak after all.

  We’d been walking for maybe ten minutes when I detected a sound in the distance. The muted throb of a bassline. We kept going, the music swelling louder and louder, until eventually we came to the source. A huge, glass-fronted nightclub, backing directly onto the beach. Inside, a wild party sounded like it was in full swing.

  I frowned. ‘You’re meeting your clients in here?’

  ‘This is one of the most popular spots in the whole town. Why, is there a problem?’

  I looked over towards the pair of menacing security guards who were looming either side of the entrance. ‘No. I’m just surprised. This doesn’t really seem like our kind of place, that’s all.’

  Colin squeezed my hand. ‘You’re going to love it in here. Trust me.’

  And then he was leading me towards the doors, nodding at the security as though they were his best friends.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Mr Allen,’ they boomed in unison as we slipped through the doors.

  Inside, the music was intimidatingly loud, a seamless mix of commercial dance, each song indistinguishable from the last. It was like stepping into a live action perfume advert, an impression that was further compounded by the décor, a slightly corporate glaze of stainless steel and glossy black surfaces, everything bathed in soft, tasteful lighting.

  ‘Isn’t this awesome?’ Colin yelled. ‘We had some of the top DJs in the world contribute exclusive mixes for us. In later versions we’re hoping to make it possible to integrate with your playlists. Imagine that. A nightclub that only ever plays the songs you want to hear.’

  Again, I was struck by how different he was. In the real world, Colin had always despised places like this. Even when we were young, before the children came along, he would have done anything to avoid going into town, balking at the price of drinks, laughing at the hyper-groomed clientele. Now, however, he seemed utterly at home.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ I shouted back. ‘This place is empty.’

  It was true. Whereas from outside the club had appeared to be jumping, the only people I’d seen since arriving were the security guards at the front entrance. Though there was a long bar stocked with an artful display of craft beers and premium spirits, it was completely deserted. There weren’t even any bar staff.

  ‘Oh, they’re here all right. There’s a basement bar downstairs. People tend to congregate down there. It’s legendary . Here, follow me.’

  Again, I allowed myself to be led by the hand through a maze of polished glass. As we walked, the club seemed to get darker, the music so loud I could feel it reverberating in my ribcage, rattling my heart out of rhythm. I was feeling hungover again, wave after wave of anxiety crashing over me. More than anything, I wanted to return to the solitude of my room. But I couldn’t. Not with Colin so happy. He was like a little boy showing off his homework project to a teacher. And so, when we finally reached a small unmarked doorway on the far side of the dance floor, I forced a smile and made my way down the stairs.

  IT WAS QUIETER in the basement. Much quieter. Once the door had closed behind us, the thump of music from the club upstairs dropped away, leaving only a low murmur that I couldn’t quite place. Broken pipes? A swarm of bees? It was too dark to see much of anything at all.

  As I made my way down the stairs, however, strange shapes gradually began to emerge from the shadows, and I saw the room was crammed with people. I say people, but in truth none of them looked like anyone I’d ever seen before. Rather, they appeared to be strange, mutant beings, dressed in PVC hoods, tottering on vertiginous heels. Some of them had collars around their necks and crawled on the floor like dogs, while others were strapped into latex corsets, completely naked below the waist.

  None of them turned around to greet us as we reached the bottom of the stairs. Instead, they stood in a loose circle with their backs to us, their attention utterly absorbed by whatever was happening on the other side of the room. I turned uncertainly to Colin, but he only smiled, gesturing for me to move deeper into the room.

  The crowd shifted, creating a gap in the circle. It was then that I realised where the sound was coming from. Lying on the floor, surrounded by the crowd, was a writhing mass of tangled limbs, an abstract sculpture made of flesh. At first, nothing made sense. It was like an optical illusion, everything bent and splayed at impossible angles. But then the sculpture seemed to shift slightly and I realised what I was looking at.

  In the centre of the circle, a woman lay moaning and writhing on the floor. Arranged around he
r, penetrating her from every angle, were three men, their faces contorted with a mixture of concentration and pleasure. I watched in horror as one of the men let out a whimper, shuddering violently into the woman’s mouth, before collapsing backwards onto the floor. Almost instantly he was replaced by another member of the crowd, this time a leather-clad woman who grabbed the woman by the hair and pulled her face violently towards her crotch.

  I’d seen enough. I took a step backwards from the circle, but as I did, I felt a pair of hands slip around my shoulders and begin roughly kneading at my oversized chest. I lashed out with my elbow, struggling to break free, only to feel a wet tongue sliding up my neck towards my ear.

  ‘It’s fucking hot , right?’

  I turned around, shocked to find Colin bearing down on me. Or rather, Colin’s avatar, for I knew now this wasn’t really my husband. The quiet, sensitive, if slightly apologetic lover. No. This Colin was some sort of sex-crazed monster. This Colin was a stranger.

  ‘I think I want to go home,’ I said quietly.

  Colin grabbed my wrist. ‘Go? Are you crazy? Do you know the strings I pulled to get you in here tonight? You just need to relax a little. It’s all totally anonymous. You can be anyone you want here. Do anything you want.’

  I tried to pull my arm away, but he only gripped me harder. He seemed to be growing taller by the second. ‘Really, Colin. I don’t like it.’

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ he snarled. ‘You’re embarrassing me.’

  ‘You’re hurting me.’

  ‘Hurting you? How do you think I feel? It’s been five years, Angela. Five years since we’ve been together, and you want to leave before we’ve even fucked? You’re my wife. I have rights.’

  ‘Please, Colin. I don’t want it like this. Not here. Not with these… people.’