The Dawn: The Bombs Fall (A Dystopian Science Fiction Series) (6 page)

“You don’t need their sky program,”
Zack said. “God himself is shining down on you, isn’t he?” Leonard's face
contorted from confusion. “Lights that only you can see coming through the
clouds, remember? Sunlight just for you like some sort of message from above. You
must be the next disciple. Maybe you're The One. I should start calling you
Neo.” Zack gave him a nudge in the arm, but his joke seemed as tasteless to
Leonard as the food.

“Who is Neo?” Leonard asked.

“Never mind,” Zack laughed.

“I know what you think.” Leonard
pulled his tray in closer to him, stirred his lump of porridge. “But you’re
wrong. It’s happening. I can feel it and I can see that the world is waking up.”
He poked his spoon at the unleavened bread. It cracked into tiny pieces. “Can’t
even make bread, stupid son of a.....”

“Hey, OK,” Zack said as he rested his
hand on Leonard's shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make fun.” Leonard looked
up at Zack and pushed his plastic food tray away. Zack reached across and
pulled it back towards him. “Come on. Don’t leave your food.” Leonard jabbed at
the shrapnel-like pieces of bread and scooped them into the compartment with
the porridge.

“You have to let people have their
dreams in this place, Zachary.” He spooned a tasteless lump into his mouth,
turning his nose up as he swallowed it down, as if he still hadn't learned to
stomach the taste. They wouldn't eat again until after the triple bell, the one
that signalled that work was finished for the shift. “It’s necessary.”

The silence remained as sure as the
heavy clouds themselves, which they both stared at to avoid the awkwardness. Leonard
stirred at his unleavened bread, eating small sections at a time because it
bothered his poorly-fitting false teeth. His gums, like everything, had shrunk,
rendering his teeth too mobile to eat something so crispy. Zack handed him a piece
of his own which was indeed softer, and Leonard took it. A peace offering. Zack
motioned to the television and the familiar theme song that sounded like an old
game show began to play. A hush fell over the Food Hall and all eyes turned
like the point of a compass towards north.

“It’s the Omega Lottery,” Leonard
said, his words stuttering as excitement got the better of him. “It's about to
start.” The screen filled with lights and clapping as the theme tune faded out.
Daley Cartwell's orange face and over white teeth burst onto the screen. His
hair was as shiny as his suit, a pale lemon colour that made him look like a
canary. He smiled and smiled, as if he himself might be the one to win the
prize. As if he himself was awarding it.

“I don't.....” Zack began.                             

“Sshh,” Leonard hissed, before
turning back to the screen.

Welcome, welcome, welcome, everybody
one and all to the sixth Omega Lottery. Citizens of New Omega, we are about to
open our doors to you once again, and prove to you all how we are rebuilding
the world we have lost. Isn't that great?

He paused for a moment of
appreciation. The crowds in Omega Tower clapped.

Citizens of New Omega, near and far. From
Alpha to Theta. You have your numbers. Some of you have more than one. Some of
you still have time and credit available to get yourself more. The draw will be
broadcast on all television screens. The lucky winner will be contacted without
delay and will be brought here to Omega Tower where he or she will begin their
new life with us. They will take the stepping stone to help in building a
better future for us all, where we can all live in freedom once again. It's a
challenge, right? Are you up to it? We sure hope so. Because your future is our
future. Together we can build it. In time we will live again as one.

The lottery advertisement cut
straight to a treatment for head lice, thirty credits, available now. It seemed
like quite a good deal, or so Zack thought. Leonard was almost bald, save a few
straggly lengths of hair at the back, which in here was probably an advantage.

“Well, I guess you never know,” said
Zack, still aware that the air between them seemed as clear as the air beyond
the walls of Delta Tower. “You just never know. Imagine. Imagine the chance to
leave this place.” He felt it his duty to get excited about the lottery, to
show interest after he had ridiculed the idea of the lights again. He had
promised himself he wouldn't mock Leonard's beliefs, but he had gone and done
it anyway.

“Eh,” Leonard replied dismissively, “whatever.”
The negativity of Leonard's response made Zack consider that even without the
glasses he knew Leonard needed, that he too must have seen the subtitles
scrolling along the screen. No over sixties. Nobody under sixteen. They had no
idea how old they were anymore, but he would bet that Omega knew. Leonard had
been discarded by the only civilisation he had left, and he felt it. He wasn’t
part of the planned future, just a leftover from the past. Something to be
stored and contained until its time was depleted. He was no longer required. No
longer needed. No longer valuable. Zack decided not to push it.

“Yeah, like you say, it’s never going
to be anyone from Delta Tower.” He spooned in the last mouthful of porridge,
gulped it down. “Anyway, if your lights become something, none of us will need
a lottery.”

Bravado aside, Zack couldn’t help but
fantasise that there might only be a few more bell cycles left of living In
Delta Tower. It was an intoxicating feeling, the chance at something new. The prospect
of a second chance, when he could leave the carbon copy days behind. He
imagined a Food Hall that didn’t smell, the pillow that didn’t taste. He
imagined that he might be sitting in a chair rather than at a bench, with
something other than vitamin-enriched porridge and dry unleavened bread to eat.
The thought of flavour made him salivate and the thought of warmth made him
almost want to cry. The idea of new clothes, of running water, of all the
simple things that made him still yearn for his old life. His old apartment
where he had a television of his own that he enjoyed watching. A cat that used
to keep him company. Where Samantha came to visit before he let her down, and
before life conspired to destroy any chance he may have had to make it right. The
idea of the lottery had forced him to imagine a life of something worthwhile. Something
other than existence, and a life where perhaps he could atone for his sins.

The first double bell sounded, the
end of breakfast. Zack made his excuses to Leonard, which fell upon a sombre
mood thanks to a combination of his own doing and his exclusion from the Omega
Lottery, and headed down to level twenty.

Zack waited about five feet away from
the stairway, turning a pebble-like piece of glass around in his pocket. There
was no chance of missing Ronson from here. Although there was no such thing as
late anymore, because nobody had any idea what the time was, there was still
that feeling of urgency in the execution of a plan well made. Several Guardians
had passed him and he had tried to look casual. Some of them he thought he knew,
some of them he was sure he didn't. The stairway from level nineteen that led
to level twenty had always seemed to Zack an obvious place to position a Guardian
if they had really wanted to prevent people getting into Delta Tower from the
sublevels below. But there was never one there. It made him believe that the
bidirectional filtering of people both up and down was an accepted fact of
Delta life. An essential part of it. Delta provided clothes, a bed for most,
and a ration of water and food. It enabled you to survive. But to live is not
only to survive. To live is to feel, to experience. To enjoy, to love, to
belong. These were lost senses in Delta, and the underclass that dwelled
beneath their city in the sublevels and occasionally filtered above ground, had
done something to restore them.

It was true that those people who
dwelled in the sublevels beneath the scorched land suffered. There were post-war
diseases, and many of the children got thyroid cancer. Zack couldn't look at
them as they pottered around unaware of the significance of their swollen
necks. Others, like the boy in the bar the night before, had bad teeth. Once
Zack had seen a baby born down there. He had arrived towards the end of a six
hour struggle. There was another man there. A doctor. Zack's first thought had
been one of hope. He imagined the excitement of a new child and the
celebrations that would ensue. The only time that pain didn't seem to matter. But
as soon as Zack saw the child he knew it wasn't good. The child was blue, the
cord stuck around its neck. The man claiming to be a doctor turned to Zack and
said
I can't do anything. I just can't do anything.

The mother held the child until it
died, blood pouring out of her, seeping into the trousers of the doctor as he
kneeled in front of her. She kept saying over and over
My baby. My baby
.
Zack held the woman close to him, tried to warm her whilst the doctor worked to
save her. Zack knew she was dying from the way her breathing weakened, a sort
of innate human knowledge because he had never seen anybody die before. He
wasn’t sure which of them died first. Afterwards he and the doctor carried them
outside, dropped them into the ashes of their old world. It was the only time
he stepped into the dust left behind from the war, before the exits were
boarded up. It didn’t matter to him that it might be this very act that would
eventually take his own life in the years to come. He gazed out across the
barren dust-covered wasteland, the only sound the wind and their feet on the
ground. He knew in that moment, when he saw the ruins of the old world, that
there was nothing left for him but Delta. He didn't go beneath the surface of
the ground for what were probably years after that.

He caught the first glimpse of the deerstalker
hat coming into view. Zack moved towards the door and as Ronson walked through
it he wedged the pebble of broken glass in the locking mechanism. He held the
door until it rested onto the glass stopper and then scooped his hand around
Ronson’s waist. “Just keep walking,” Zack said as they paced along the
corridor. “That door will stay like that. Pull the glass out on your way back,
ok?” Ronson nodded.

“I don’t think much of your contact,
Zack,” Ronson said, puffing as they walked alongside each other. His hands were
fidgeting with the edge of the hat to ensure that the scar was covered.

“Who?”

“That Guardian, Sam. Right full of
himself, he is. Asked me what business I had going up where I didn’t belong. Told
him to ask you if he had any problems. Don’t know if you’re going to be in
trouble.”

“No, I won’t be,” said Zack, an angry
fist forming in his pocket. “It’ll be Sam that regrets it when he doesn’t get
his water supply topped up any time soon. Sorry about that. He is kind of an ass.”

“All of the Guardians are. Anyway, I
don’t care. It’s worth it. Fresh water. It’ll be like heaven.” Zack could see
that they both coveted the next step up. The lottery had infiltrated his thoughts
since the announcement by Daley Cartwell, the only thing close to a celebrity
in New Omega. As much as he wished that he could be satisfied with his present
life, and as much as he tried not to compare it with the past, it was
impossible. Zack watched Ronson as his head twitched left and right, taking in
the details of the building, his fascination with the walls, the ceiling, the buzz
of the lights, no matter how broken they were. It must be his first time above
ground. As Ronson approached the first door, his hand was outstretched metres
in advance, ready and excited to grip the handle and turn it. A mechanism that worked,
as it was intended. Something that had survived. He even glanced back as they
passed through the door and neared the water treatment plant. Ronson dreamt of
a life as good as this. And yet for Zack this place was like a prison,
somewhere he was trapped without options. His entrapment in Delta felt like his
punishment, his penance for the wrong that he had done in the moments before
the bombs fell. The wrong that he never got a chance to undo. The thought that
this could all be behind him soon was like a hallucinogenic drug, heavy on the
tongue and rich in fantasy. But it wasn't just the new surroundings he craved. It
was forgiveness. A chance to forgive himself. To be free from Delta would mean
that the chains that bound him here were removed, shattered, and he could begin
to leave his past mistakes behind. Every one of his dreams could be tied up in a
single thought. Omega. He traced his finger over the marking on his wrist, the
numbers eight, six, five, and two. Preceded by a sign. A small black triangle. Delta.
His mark of captivity.

The last stretch of the corridor was
heavily laden with Guardians. Water was a precious resource, and one worth
fighting over. Blood had been spilt in Delta tower over water. Water was
Delta's job. Water filtration and supply to all other towers. Every tower had a
responsibility. Zack turned to Ronson as they rounded the corner. “You scrub up
all right, you know that?” Zack could see that Ronson’s natural instinct was to
keep his head down, but this statement made him look up, made him consider the
idea that he could still pass for something near human.

“I do?”

“Chin up, Ronny,” Zack whispered. “You
belong here, remember? Don’t give the game away.” Zack gave Ronson a slap on
the back, let out a laugh that ground its way out from the pit of his stomach
as if they were discussing something else. “And yeah, you do.” Zack nodded at
the final Guardians, their agreement to turn a blind eye already cemented in
place from the many trades before.

Zack pushed open the door to the
water treatment plant. Ronson stared at the three giant pipes rising up along
the far wall. Attached to each was a series of taps, all locked behind a
reception desk boarded up with wired glass. There was a gate at the side that
opened with an electronic grunt when Zack punched in a key code.

“Won’t be long before others arrive. Hand
me the card.” Ronson fumbled in his pocket, his fingers clumsy with nervous
excitement. “Thanks,” Zack said as he took it from him. He pushed it into a card
reader, and the name Boris Matthews shone in tiny yellow LED dots. Zack pulled
a large plastic container from underneath the counter and positioned the
opening up to the tap behind him. After a couple of clicks on the computer they
heard the rumble of water cascading against the plastic.

“Simple as that,” Ronson whispered,
not once taking his eyes from the container. Once it was full the tap
automatically switched off. Ronson felt the presence of another body behind
him, and when he turned around there was a man standing with a small plastic
bottle in his hands. The man smiled but Ronson did nothing. A stranger could be
a dangerous thing in the sublevels, and even after all this time stuck down
there, they were still around every corner.

“Morning,” the stranger said. “Got
yourself a five litre, eh? You must have been putting some hours in,” the
stranger said to Ronson. Ronson, conscious of his clothes, his smell, his hat,
and of nothing more than the scar on his face that he hoped so much wasn’t
showing, just about managed a smile back with the side of his lips that still
moved. The sound of the water container hitting the desk grabbed Ronson's
attention and he turned back to Zack without answering. Zack tipped it on its
side, lifted a small hatch door and slid the water carrier through the space
underneath the glass partition.

“There you go, Boris. Get that
straight home, right?” Ronson nodded, almost unable to lift the container, the
sides of it buckling back and forth as it contorted from the volume of water
inside. “Don’t make any stops.”

“He spoke to me,” Ronson whispered as
he leaned in. “He said good morning.”

“You need a rest, Boris. No more
extra shifts for you this week. Got it?” Zack stared at him, wide eyes
imploring him to grab the container and go. The stranger was also getting
impatient, and this was the last thing Zack needed. The stranger took a step
forward, rested a hand onto Ronson’s shoulder.

“I think you’ve finished here, Boris.”
The stranger’s fingers bored into Ronson’s skin through the threadbare jumper. He
scrunched up his nose, smelling the air, inching closer and closer towards
Ronson. “I think I feel thirstier than I thought I was. I’ll take five litres
today as well. I have been working hard, too.” He slapped his card on the desk
with his grubby hand. He pushed it along the counter, and then raised a finger
to the underside of his nose. Zack knew that the man had realised that this was
a trade, and that Ronson didn't belong here.

Zack inserted the card into the
reader. Richard Donoghue. “You don’t have enough credits.” Zack placed his
hands down on the counter in an effort to look immovable. “Boris,” Zack said,
turning to Ronson. “Time to leave, Boris.” Ronson nodded, wriggled free of
Richard's grip. He wrapped his arms around his five litres of water and took a
few steps towards the exit.

“I think you must have made a mistake,”
said Richard. “I know for a fact that there are fifty credits on there. Check
again.” Richard took a step towards the door, his eyes still on Zack. “Or, I
could just tell one of the Guardians that Boris stole my water. If you'd prefer
to play it like that.” Only a second from running, Ronson turned in time to see
Zack pulling up another five litre container. With his head down, Ronson fled. He
flew through the corridors at the speed of a lightning bolt, a new found energy
that surprised even him. He was back through the door to level nineteen and
down the stairs in half the time it had taken him to arrive.

After Ronson and Richard left, Zack
made the necessary checks on the water supply. It was his job every day not
only to dish out the rations, but also to measure the different mineral
quantities that they pumped in. There was lots of poor hygiene and substandard
nutrition throughout Delta. How many days can you eat the same fare without
getting bored or skipping meals, or sustain any acceptable standard of health? There
had been an outbreak of the influenza virus and many people had died. That's
when Omega announced the Mineral Supplementation Programme in the water.

Today he had to fulfil the rations
for Omega and Epsilon Tower. Each day, a different order. The needs of Omega
Tower were always met, but for the other towers it wasn't always possible. They
got what was left.

The irony of the New Omega Manifesto
wasn't lost on most residents. A set of principles supposed to ensure a fair
and comfortable life for all. Creed Four: No citizen of New Omega shall die of
thirst or hunger. Most people accepted that the manifesto really only applied
if you lived in Omega Tower. People joked that it was really called the Omega
Manifesto. The manifesto had been fly-posted on every floor, but after they
were defaced the Guardians were instructed to take them down. That's when the
televised address started, twice daily, read by President Grayson himself in a
pre-recorded speech. It always reminded Zack of how little he believed in it. They
were the promises of Omega Tower, but it was Omega Tower who made the demands
that prevented Delta Tower from fulfilling the requirements of the other
towers. Delta could only pump in so much water, and there was only a limited
supply of the chemicals needed to treat it. Sometimes they would run low, and
the water would end up with a specific taste or smell. In the early days the
pipes were always getting blocked and it made it hard to process enough water. It
meant that somebody had to go down into the storage facility where they drew in
the raw, untreated water. There were only a few instances recently, but
unclogging the metal grids blocked with anything from human waste to dead fish
was the worst part of work in Delta Tower. But it was better now than it used
to be. In the early days there were blockages nearly every other shift. The
problem was that some people had tried to hide in the sewers when the bombs
came. Most of them died and got washed into the water system as far as the
metal grids that were designed to stop small items going any further. None of
the bodies that Zack had ever pulled out had tattoos on their wrist, and that's
how people knew they were outsiders. The really unlucky ones.