The Dystopiaville Omnibus: A Dystopian Sci-Fi Horror Collection Read online

  Morgan’s ears pricked up.

  “An actress?”

  “Yes.”

  Terri was staring at one of the landscape paintings on the other side of the room.

  “For real?” Morgan asked. “You’re an actress?”

  “Yes.”

  “Terri Ward,” Morgan said. “Can’t say the name rings a bell, sorry. But then what would I know? So what sort of acting do you do Terri? TV? Films?”

  “Who cares?” she snapped.

  “I’m just asking. Jeez.”

  “What for?”

  “Well why the hell not? It’s interesting. If you’d said waitress I wouldn’t give a flying fuck to be honest but an actress, that’s…interesting.”

  She shrugged. “I do a bit of everything okay?”

  Morgan grinned at Reggie who was pinching his nostrils together, trying to stem the bleeding.

  “You must be rich man,” he said. “To land a knockout babe like this and an actress to boot. An actress. Well played sir, I doff my cap to you.”

  Reggie sat in silence.

  “You an actor too man?” Morgan asked him.

  But Reggie still didn’t speak. He just sat there like a brick wall parked on the couch.

  “I asked you a question Reggie boy,” Morgan said.

  It was Terri who spoke.

  “He’s an insurance salesman,” she said. “That’s all you need to…”

  “I was,” Reggie said, glaring at Morgan. “I was an insurance salesman. But not anymore.”

  “Reggie!” Terri said, looking at her husband. “Don’t. He doesn’t need to know anything about…”

  “What did you get fired for Reggie?” Morgan asked, butting in. “You did get fired didn’t you? Because I’m sensing a little tension on the subject.”

  Behind those thick glasses Reggie’s eyes didn’t seem to blink.

  “I made one too many complaints.”

  “Complaints to who?” Morgan asked. He was intrigued. “About what?”

  “To head office.”

  “Yeah? What about?”

  Reggie leaned back on the couch, his eyes on Morgan. He looked almost relaxed, despite the bloody nose.

  “Lots of things,” he said. “Too many things according to them but the one that tipped the scales? I suggested that the Schedule should be removed from the office environment. I said, quite rightly, that it interfered with the quality of our work and led to poor performance.”

  “Take the Schedule away?” Morgan said. “You actually said that?”

  “I did.”

  “Jeez Reggie. That’d be a violation of basic human rights. You’re one crazy hombre.”

  Reggie closed his eyes for a few seconds. It looked like he’d lapsed into a bout of spontaneous meditation.

  “You’re right,” he said, opening his eyes again and focusing on Morgan. “Maybe I am crazy. But let’s take a look at the so-called normal. The average attention span, what’s left of it, is shrinking faster than ever. Forty years ago it was twelve seconds, twenty years ago it was eight. I don’t know what it is now but I know the number would make me shudder. And it shows in our production. Compared to the pre-Schedule era, the quality of all our industries – commerce, arts, food, medicine, whatever – it’s pitiful. Across the board, day by day, we’re getting worse.”

  “Silence sucking bullshit,” Morgan said. “They’ve been saying that crap for years and guess what Reggie boy? The world’s still turning.”

  Reggie’s lips curled into a smile. It took Morgan aback, just for a moment.

  “What’s your name?” Reggie asked.

  Morgan figured it didn’t matter whether he told them or not. They’d find out soon enough when the boys in blue came knocking.

  “Carter Morgan. Most people just call me Morgan.”

  Reggie pointed at Morgan’s shirt.

  “I’ve seen those Northern prison uniforms before,” he said. “That snake-like logo with the initials. It’s quite distinctive.”

  “Good for you Reggie,” Morgan said, walking over to the window. “Your glasses work just fine.”

  He looked outside. Green fucking desert. How could the silence huggers worship something so bleak?

  Morgan glanced at the SUV parked in the driveway. Stared at it, longingly.

  A sudden thought jumped into his head.

  “Say,” he said, turning back to the couch. “I heard someone say once that silence huggers ripped the stereos out their cars. They said it was something you people did all the time, sort of like a self-sabotaging protest against the noise industries. If you ask me though, that’s a load of bull. Everything in moderation right? Silence huggers like to listen to music too. You listen to the radio. Podcasts. Audiobooks. And if you want silence in the car, turn the stereo off, no need to rip it out for God’s sake. That’s just crazy.”

  “What are you talking about?” Terri said.

  Morgan laughed out loud.

  “What am I talking about?” he said. “Here’s what I’m talking about. Looks like I don’t need a phone to get juiced up after all. All I need is that big fat SUV sitting out there in the driveway. It’s got everything. It’s got a stereo. It’s got wheels and it’s got tinted windows. That’s more than enough to get me out of the quiet lands.”

  “You’re in no condition to drive anywhere,” Reggie said.

  “Get the keys Reggie,” Morgan said. “This is your lucky day man. A bloody nose, a sore head and a stolen car – if that’s the worst thing that happens to you and your family today then consider it a win.”

  “I think the keys are in the car,” Terri said. “Just take it and go.”

  “Excellent,” Morgan said. “Now listen up. You good people are coming out to wave me off because I don’t want anyone running to that landline the second I step outside. Know what I mean? Now let’s go.”

  They all went outside, the Wards first and Morgan at the back. In the garden, Morgan instructed Terri and the girls to wait on the lawn while he and Reggie went over to the SUV.

  Reggie led the way. He opened the front passenger door and stepped aside, allowing Morgan room to do what he needed to do.

  Morgan stepped forward with caution as last minute nerves kicked in. How long had it been since he’d driven a car? Too long but he’d figure it out. He poked his head through the gap in the doorway, his eyes scanning the wheel, moving across the dashboard towards the…

  “FUCK.”

  There was a black, gaping hole where the stereo should have been. They’d done it – they’d mutilated the fucking car for political reasons.

  Morgan felt his body go rigid with anger. For the love of God. Why did they do it?

  It was an abomination.

  He leaned in further, examining the back of the car. It smelled brand new, like it had just been wheeled out of the showroom. Behind the backseats, he saw two circular-shaped holes, neatly cut wounds where the twin speakers should have been.

  “Sick,” Morgan yelled, hurrying away from the car like he’d found a ticking bomb inside. One hand was clamped over his mouth, the other still holding onto the pistol.

  His head was spinning like a circus carousel.

  “Now what?” he cried out. “You people are out of your minds. You’re sick. Jesus, what have you done? That was my last chance and you just pissed all over it with your extremist, stereo killing bullshit.”

  “It’s our car,” Reggie said. His voice was shockingly calm. “We can do whatever we want to it.”

  “You can still take the car for God’s sake,” Terri said, walking forward. The girls stayed close behind her. “Take it and go Morgan. It’s your last chance before our visitors arrive.”

  “How can I drive without sounds?” Morgan yelled. “Don’t you people understand what I’m going through here? I can’t drive without juice.”

  Morgan’s blood ran cold. They’d closed in on him while he’d been focusing on the car. Now the Wards had encircled him like a pack of hungry canni
bals. They wanted him to pass out. And when he’d passed out they’d go apeshit, stomping on his head with their big country bumpkin boots. Busting his head in, splattering his brains all over the driveway. They were all in on it – Mummy, Daddy, and the killer kids. They’d laugh. Spit in his face.

  “Get away from me!” Morgan said.

  Red and white spots danced in front of his eyes.

  Morgan pointed the pistol at the nearest blur. It was Reggie Ward and he was staring at Morgan, assessing his condition. Was he on the brink of tackling Morgan? Those peering eyes, hidden behind the horn rims, probed deeply, waiting.

  “You don’t have it in you Reggie boy,” Morgan snarled. “You don’t have it…”

  Morgan went quiet.

  He spun around just as Terri made a run at him. There was something in Terri’s hand, something that Morgan couldn’t quite make out.

  The red and white spots danced faster.

  Morgan pointed the gun at Terri. “Get away from me!”

  She stopped.

  He put a hand to his head, shielding the light. It was too much. Being outside, it was infinitely worse than being in the house. The silence, Jesus Christ, it was so potent.

  A second later, Morgan threw up a bellyful of prison breakfast slop. Somebody shrieked in disgust. One of the girls.

  The vomiting cleared his head.

  Morgan heard someone running in his direction. He aimed the gun straight ahead.

  “STOP!” he yelled.

  Terri Ward froze just inches away. She’d taken a second shot at it. There was a baseball-sized rock in her hand and she looked ready to throw. Reggie had been sneaking up behind Morgan at the same time. They were trying to sandwich him. Crush him.

  Morgan pointed the Glock back and forth. He was encouraged by the bitter disappointment all over their faces. His eyes must have looked clearer. Maybe there was even a little colour back in his cheeks.

  “Fucking junkie,” Terri hissed, letting the rock fall onto the dirt. It rolled away at her feet.

  The woman’s face burned with hatred.

  “Back off,” Morgan said. “All of you. Especially you Terri.”

  His vision was clear. The dizziness had also passed, at least for now. Thank God he’d puked or he would have been dead already, his skull caved in by the petite, blonde-haired actress.

  Morgan had little doubt she would have done it. He’d seen the murderous look in her pretty eyes.

  And she’d still do it, given half the chance.

  Chapter 6

  Reggie sat perfectly still, watching as the junkie paced back and forth across the living room. He moved robotically, switching direction every two seconds like he’d bumped into an invisible wall.

  Morgan’s brutish fingers fidgeted with the rubber grip of the pistol. It was as if the weapon was always slipping out of his grasp.

  Reggie calmly observed the pale-yellowy colour of the man’s skin; it was like watching rot set into a life-sized statue. He wondered how long Morgan would last. In the meantime he had to keep his cool, outlast the fading man.

  It shouldn’t be too hard.

  Morgan stopped pacing. He faced the Wards who were back sitting on the couch, bunched up close together.

  “Alright,” he said. His voice was wheezy, like it belonged to a much older man. “I’m running out of time. We’re running out of time.”

  He glared at them.

  “You folks ever see the sickness?” Morgan asked. “Up close? You ever see what it can do to a human being?”

  Reggie had never seen a case up close but he knew what Morgan was talking about. He’d seen images of the often-bloody aftermath of the sickness. The noise industries often attached these images to their products to warn the public about the dangers of silence. Only a few days ago Reggie had stumbled across a disturbing news article about a twenty-two year old woman who’d been trapped in the lift of a tower block north of the city centre. What was her name? Wendy…something. She’d been okay at first. After ringing the alarm and alerting the authorities Wendy had sat down calmly in the corner of the lift. She’d pulled out her phone and passed the time listening to podcasts and the Schedule.

  One hour turned into two hours.

  Still no one came for her.

  Wendy waited for the rescue services to show up but what did she expect? This woman lived in the slums and her situation wasn’t deemed a priority like other priorities in better neighbourhoods. When the firefighters finally arrived they had trouble accessing the precise location in the lift shaft where she was trapped. By now, five hours had passed. The battery on the woman’s phone was dead and there was no auxiliary power in tower block lifts to broadcast the Schedule.

  Wendy had screamed and hollered for help. But it didn’t make the rescue move any faster.

  Eventually the firefighters found her. It was dark and silent inside the lift. Cold too. The rescuers told the media it was like walking into an underground tomb after they’d prised the doors open. They pointed their torches around Wendy’s tiny prison and found her naked and bloody in the corner.

  When Wendy saw them she began wriggling around on the floor like a mad human-snake hybrid, desperately trying to get away from this strange invading force. According to the reports she’d scratched herself badly. Reggie recalled one gruesome photo online. They’d been dragging her out the lift. Wendy’s skin was hanging off the underside of her arms like strips of damp paper dangling off a clothesline. Reggie had winced. This young, attractive woman had been reduced to a prop from a horror B-movie.

  Wendy had been a mild-mannered, average citizen before the sickness took her. Reggie couldn’t bear the thought of what might happen to a criminal like Morgan if he lost it completely.

  “How can we help you?” he asked Morgan.

  Morgan wrinkled his brow in concentration.

  “We’re going to work together,” he said. “We’re going to liven things up around here. Shake up the quiet lands and do it fast.”

  “Jesus,” Reggie said.

  “It won’t be that bad Reggie boy. Let your hair down man, see how the other half lives.”

  Morgan tapped the pistol off his forehead. His eyes were narrow slits, peering into empty space.

  “How about a little music to begin with?” he said. “Do you guys have a stereo inside the house or have you destroyed those too?”

  His eyes went back and forth across the line.

  “Somebody answer me for God’s sake.”

  “Not here,” Terri said. “Back home in the city we do.”

  Morgan went back to pacing the room, chewing on the Glock barrel at the same time.

  “So what can you guys do for me?” he asked. “Can you sing? Can you play any musical instruments? How are we going to put some life into this old place?”

  None of the Wards answered.

  Morgan made a loud, tut-tutting noise. He even wagged a stern finger at them all.

  “Enough with the silent treatment,” he said. “For Christ’s sake. Let’s get one thing straight from the get-go people. I ask a question, you answer it. We’re trying to create atmosphere not kill it. Noise, noise, noise. If you shut up, you die. Now is somebody going to answer my question? Or am I going to start shooting? Because screaming, that’s a noise too and God knows it’s a good one. People scream in movies all the time and other people pay good money to hear it.”

  Fern half-raised a hand in the air.

  “There’s a keyboard upstairs,” she said.

  Morgan stared at her. “A keyboard?”

  She nodded. “An old Yamaha. It’s on its last legs but I think I heard Ellie messing about with it last night. Right Ellie? It still works?”

  Ellie was gazing out of the living room window.

  “It works.”

  Morgan rubbed his hands together.

  “Hallelujah,” he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere. A keyboard, that’s okay. It’s not quite Jimi Hendrix, a Fender Stratocaster and a thousand watt M
arshall stack but shit, we can work with it. I take it somebody in this room knows how to play this Yamaha keyboard?”

  Fern pointed a thumb at her sister. “She’s the musician in the family.”

  Ellie glared at Fern. “Thanks.”

  “Ellie?” Morgan said. “Now that is a surprise. No offence kid but you don’t seem like the musician type to me.”

  Ellie shrugged. She went back to staring out the window.

  “She’s good,” Fern said. “She can play.”

  Morgan took a long, laboured breath. Reggie got the feeling the junkie was fighting the urge to pass out.

  “Okay,” Morgan said, leaning a hand against the wall. “You’re up first Ellie. You get to open the show. Go get your keyboard and bring it down here for me. Loosen up those stiff shoulders kid – you’re a rock star and this is the biggest gig of your young life. Today you’re playing at Wembley Stadium in front of thousands of adoring fans. This isn’t Live Aid, it’s Carter Morgan Aid. And you’re a badass killer on the keys Ellie Ward.”

  Ellie threw a worried expression at her parents. Both Reggie and Terri responded with encouraging smiles.

  “No,” Morgan said, walking over to the couch. His arms swung loose at the sides like they belonged to a broken doll. “Don’t look at them. They’re not in charge today. You do what I tell you and I’m telling you to go get that keyboard.”

  “Go on Ellie,” Terri said. “Do what he says.”

  Ellie sighed. She got up and shuffled across the living room like someone walking to the electric chair.

  “It’s heavy,” she said, turning towards Morgan. “I need help getting it down here.”

  Morgan clicked his fingers.

  “Fern. Help your little sister out will you?”

  Fern stood up and went to the door.

  The two girls left the room. Morgan was yelling after them before they’d even reached the foot of the staircase.

  “And be quick about it,” he said. “If you girls are gone for longer than two minutes I’m going to start getting nervous and my trigger finger has a habit of getting real itchy when I’m nervous. I’ll probably have to shoot someone to calm myself down. It’s weird I know. Do we understand each other?”

  It was Fern who yelled back.