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

  “Yes!”

  “Smart girl that one,” Morgan said, turning back to Reggie and Terri on the couch. “You should be proud.”

  Reggie sat in silence, smothered by a feeling of hopelessness.

  There was a loud banging noise from Ellie’s bedroom followed by footsteps and hushed voices on the stairs.

  “Let’s go!” Morgan bellowed. “Less talking, more walking. I’m dying here for fuck’s sake”

  Ellie squeezed through the open doorway with the top end of the keyboard in both hands. Fern followed close behind, carrying the rear. There was a folded up metal stand tucked under her arm.

  “Let’s go,” Morgan said. “Let’s set her up.”

  “Please Mr Morgan,” Terri said. “Don’t humiliate us like this.”

  “Don’t call me Mr Morgan. That shit gives me the creeps. It’s just Morgan.”

  “Don’t humiliate us like this Morgan.”

  “Let’s go,” Morgan said, ignoring Terri’s quiet plea. His attention was fully on the girls as they set the keyboard down.

  “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”

  Fern unfolded the metal stand and placed the legs on the floor, making sure it was secure. Both girls then shoved the coffee table closer to the wall, creating more space in the middle of the room. They each scooped up an end of the keyboard and placed it on the stand.

  Ellie took her position behind the musical instrument. Meanwhile Fern stretched the cable at the back, pulling it towards an unused plug socket on the wall.

  “It’s on,” Ellie said, checking the red light.

  “You can sit back down again Fern,” Morgan said.

  For a second, Fern hovered like a statue at the edge of the room. She was staring at Morgan.

  “I said sit down.”

  Morgan pointed to the couch.

  “Fern,” Reggie said, noticing his daughter’s hesitation. “Come over here. Come on, do it now.”

  To Reggie’s relief, Fern walked back to the couch and sat down in between her parents. Her eyes glazed over, like she was in some kind of weird daze. Terri locked an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and whispered something in her ear.

  Ellie was hunched over the keyboard, fiddling with buttons and dials. She tapped out a quick major scale. Then she adjusted the volume. The instrument, which was capable of replicating hundreds if not thousands of sounds, was currently in its default piano mode.

  “Louder,” Morgan said. “All the way up kiddo.”

  Ellie nodded. She adjusted the volume dial and then shrugged.

  “What now?”

  “Relax for starters,” Morgan said. “You’re like a corpse standing up Ellie. I’ve never seen a kid so stiff in all my life. What is it with you? Stop acting like an old woman and start having some fun.”

  That was too much for Reggie.

  “How do you expect her to relax?” he said. “You’re pointing a gun at her.”

  Morgan lowered the Glock to his side.

  “Better?”

  Ellie nodded. “Better.”

  “Play something,” Morgan said. “Play the first thing that comes into your head.”

  Ellie’s fingers ran along the keyboard, warming up. After a minute she tinkered briefly with a sweet, slow melody that Reggie recognised as the opening notes of one of Bach’s French Suites.

  Morgan’s face screwed up in disgust. He clapped his hands together.

  “Cut.”

  She kept playing.

  “ELLIE!”

  Morgan ran a finger over his throat, signalling for her to stop. When Ellie noticed her hands leapt off the keys like they were giving her high-voltage electric shocks.

  “What?” she said. “What is it?”

  “What the hell was that Ellie?” Morgan said. “I said be a rock star, remember?”

  Ellie looked horrified. “It’s Bach.”

  “Bach?” Morgan hissed. “No fucking way. I’m not feeling that at all kid. Now I thought we understood each other. If you can play that complicated medieval shit you can play the kind of thing I want to hear. Something raw, something loud, something that’s preferably going to give the Richter scale a fatal heart attack. Now how about we start with a little twelve bar blues? High-volume, high tempo. You know what a twelve bar blues is don’t you Ellie?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  Morgan hopped back and forth, playing air guitar and doing his best Chuck Berry impression.

  Da-da-da-daaa-da-da-da-daa!”

  Reggie lowered his head, cursing his inability to stop this madness.

  “Take it away Ellie,” Morgan said.

  Ellie stared down at the black and white keys. She looked like a swimmer about to dive into shark-infested waters.

  “Da-daaa-da-da-da-daaa!”

  Morgan was back to playing the air guitar.

  Ellie closed her eyes, placing her fingers on the keys. After a little fumbling around, she unlocked the rhythm that Morgan was looking for.

  “YES!”

  Morgan stood in front of the Yamaha. He was conducting, using the Glock as a baton.

  “Louder. Harder! Louder. Harder! Play from your heart Ellie!”

  Ellie pushed herself up against the edge of the keyboard. She was doing it – pounding out a hearty, muscular twelve bar blues.

  She was even tapping her foot off the floor.

  Reggie watched in horror as the colour poured back into Morgan’s cheeks. It was instantaneous. The escaped prisoner, who’d been like death warmed up, was now dancing like a wild man across the living room floor.

  When Ellie finished another round of twelve bar blues, Morgan made a swift, looping motion with his index finger like he was stirring a cup of coffee.

  “And again!”

  He began to sing at the top his voice:

  “WOKE UP THIS MORNING…GOT MYSELF A BEEEEEEER!”

  Reggie’s head throbbed with a dull pain. The farmhouse felt like a fairground ride that was spinning out of control. At least Ellie was keeping Morgan’s sickness at bay, that was something. Now that she’d warmed up she was beginning to improvise a few extended runs in between Morgan’s strangled-sounding vocals.

  “GOT MYSELF ANOTHER BEEEEEEER!”

  Morgan flopped into one of the armchairs, a delirious grin on his face. The gun lay flat on his stomach.

  “Damn,” he shouted over the music. “It’s like Jerry Lee Lewis on steroids. Go Ellie!”

  He waved at Reggie and Terri with a goofy smile on his face. Reggie saw that Morgan’s pupils were wildly dilated. His eyes were like those of an excited cat stalking birds in the garden.

  Reggie tore his eyes away, focusing instead on one of the paintings on the wall. A man in a rowboat, sailing down a muddy chocolate river, surrounded by the picturesque vistas of the Highlands on either side.

  “You got any Psuricon 500?” Morgan said. “I can’t afford to get a headache right now.”

  Terri shook her head. “No.”

  “That’s too bad,” Morgan said.

  Terri looked at the escaped prisoner. She edged forward, balancing her slim frame on the edge of the couch.

  “Just take the car,” she yelled. It was like trying to hold a conversation in a busy nightclub. Right next to the speakers.

  “Please just take the car and go.”

  “I will,” Morgan said. “Eventually.”

  Terri fell backwards into the seat, a look of profound disgust on her face. “Stupid junkie! You haven’t got a clue, have you?”

  Reggie heard it. He was pretty sure that Morgan didn’t though.

  The music dropped out and a sudden silence cut across the house.

  Reggie sat bolt upright. “You okay Ellie?”

  Ellie nodded. She was shaking out her wrists, wincing a little. “Not used to playing,” she said. “Definitely not used to playing so hard.”

  A look of horror swept across Morgan’s face. He jumped back to his feet and charged across the room. He was a man on fire, running toward
s the river.

  “Who told you to stop?” he barked at Ellie.

  “I’m cramping,” Ellie said, holding up both wrists.

  “You’re cramping?” Morgan said, looking confused.

  He sidestepped towards the couch and grabbed Fern, dragging her to her feet and away from her parents.

  “C’mere.”

  “No!” Terri screamed. She looked at Reggie, her face chalk white with panic.

  Reggie’s insides were twisted in knots.

  “Let me go,” Fern yelped.

  Morgan wasn’t listening to anyone. He yanked Fern over to the keyboard and put the gun to her temple. His crazy eyes were fixed on Ellie.

  “You don’t stop playing,” he said. “You don’t just drop out on me like that you hear what I’m saying?”

  Reggie stood up. He swallowed hard, tasting something bitter. Was it terror? Terri was beside him, paralysed with fear. But somehow she managed to climb to her feet.

  “Morgan,” Reggie said. “Take that gun off my daughter’s head or I swear to God, I’ll make you suffer.”

  Morgan swivelled around. Yes. The madness was definitely back in the man’s eyes again, just like that. The colour was fading from his cheeks all over again.

  “Careful Reggie,” Morgan said. “Wasn’t it that foul temper of yours that got you fired?”

  Reggie stared at the man. He nodded.

  “Yes it was.”

  “Sit the fuck down man.”

  Reggie sat down again, urging Terri to do likewise.

  “Please don’t hurt her,” he said.

  But Morgan was glaring at Ellie.

  “You think this is a joke?” he said, thick rope-like veins bulging from his forehead and neck.

  “No,” Ellie said.

  “We know it’s not a joke,” Terri said. “Just…please don’t hurt my girls.”

  Morgan didn’t say anything for a while. Finally he took the gun off Fern’s head and let her go. She hurried back over to the couch where she was showered with hugs and kisses from her parents.

  Reggie could feel Fern’s body trembling.

  “So you got tired?” Morgan said, turning back to Ellie.

  “Yes,” Ellie said.

  Morgan nodded. “If it happens again, let me know and I’ll tell you if it’s okay to stop or not. You hear me? You don’t just drop out like that. Silence sickness can hit a man like a freight train and when it comes it comes fast. Don’t drop out without warning me, you understand Ellie?”

  Ellie’s skin was as white as a ghost.

  “I understand.”

  “Good,” Morgan said. He pointed at the keyboard. “Now get back to work.”

  The music fired up again. Twelve bar blues.

  Reggie sat staring into empty space. It felt like there was sulphuric acid swirling around in his guts.

  Before he knew it, he was back on his feet.

  Morgan’s grin fizzled out. He strutted over to the couch and rammed the gun barrel against Reggie’s chest.

  “What are you going to do Reggie baby?” he yelled over the whirling chords. “Think very carefully about your next move.”

  Reggie had always been good at reading faces. For as long as he could remember he’d been able to accurately interpret expressions – every line, every twitch – it all had meaning. Reggie could take those individual quirks and boil the excess posturing down to a single emotion at the root of everything. And based on what he saw in front of him, Carter Morgan was afraid. Most people were afraid, deep down. Morgan was terrified. Reggie didn’t know what Morgan was terrified of. It might have been recapture, the sickness, maybe even the act of killing Reggie in cold blood here and now, but whatever it was it would dictate his actions. Fear was boss. And Reggie knew that if Morgan had to, he would pull the trigger. He would kill Reggie in front of his family.

  Reggie backed off. He put his hands up.

  “That’s better,” Morgan said. “Know your part in this play man. And it’s best you conserve your energy anyway. Ellie’s not the only one who’s going to liven things up around here for me.”

  Reggie sat down, shaking his head.

  “You’ll get nothing out of me.”

  “No wonder you got fired,” Morgan said, lowering the pistol to his side. “From what I can tell Reggie, you’re not exactly the cooperative type are you? And yet look at Ellie. Look at your little baby girl. She’s done her part playing the keyboard and doing a damn good job of it too I might add. Terri and Fern will do their job when the time comes. But you? I don’t know about you. You’re not a team player and my guess is that’s why you don’t have a job anymore. Right?”

  Reggie stared at the floor. “I told you what I did,” he said. “And why I did it.”

  Morgan sighed. “But I need team players on this dance Reggie. And right now it’s time to pick the next dancer.”

  He pointed the Glock at the three captives sitting down. His arm hopped up and down the line.

  “Eeny, meeny, miny moe. Catch a silence hugger by the toe. It won’t squeal so don’t let go. Eeeny, meeny, miny, moe. You are next.”

  The gun stopped on Reggie.

  “Looks like you’re it man.”

  Reggie was still shaking his head.

  “I might not seem like much of a man to you Morgan,” he said. “But let me make one thing very clear – I’m nobody’s performing monkey.”

  “You’re my performing monkey,” Morgan said. “And I’ll prove it to you. But before we start dancing you’re going to do something for me. You’re going to tie Terri and Fern up so they don’t get up to any tricks while my back’s turned.”

  “No,” Reggie said.

  In a flash, Reggie felt the cold steel of the Glock pressed up against his cheek.

  Morgan grinned, showing off a surprisingly flawless set of white teeth. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to argue with a loaded gun Reggie?”

  Reggie turned his face away from the pistol.

  “No they didn’t,” he said. “Because I didn’t grow up in the Wild West.”

  Morgan signalled for Ellie to lower the volume. She did as she was told quickly.

  “Here’s the deal Reggie,” he said. “You can tie the ladies up now and I one hundred percent guarantee you that they live through this thing...OR…you can keep pissing me off, wasting my time and I shoot one of them in the leg. What’s it going to be stud?”

  Reggie wiped the sweat off his face. “God damn you Morgan. Tie them up with what? We don’t have any…”

  “Rope?” Morgan said. “No rope in an old country house like this?”

  “There’s rope in the cupboard under the stairs,” Terri said.

  “You see that?” Morgan said, acknowledging Terri with a military style salute. “That’s the spirit of cooperation I was talking about. Terri Ward – she’s a team player. She’s part of the ensemble. Fern’s a team player too. Even little Ellie’s a team player and she’s daddy’s little girl. These lovely ladies are willing to help me out just fine. Why do you think that is Reggie?”

  A devilish grin lit up Morgan’s features.

  “Do you think they like having me around?”

  Reggie’s head felt like it was trapped in a steel vice.

  “Go get the rope for me Terri darling,” Morgan said. “Go on. Real quick now. No funny business if you please.”

  Terri stood up. She offered Reggie a sympathetic smile and walked into the hall. Reggie sat beside Fern, sick to his stomach. So sick he was almost numb. He heard Terri rummaging around in the cupboard under the stairs. A minute later she came back with two short coils of creamy-coloured rope. She offered the rope to Morgan.

  “That’s all we’ve got.”

  “Good,” Morgan said, taking the rope off her. “You can sit down again Terri. And thank you for your cooperation. Reggie, get moving. Tie their hands behind their backs.”

  “I won’t do it,” Reggie said.

  “Reggie,” Terri said, sitting back down on
the other side of Fern. “Just do it. We’ll be fine.”

  “Listen to the boss lady,” Morgan said, laughing softly. He offered the rope to Reggie.

  “Take it man.”

  Still Reggie didn’t move.

  “Reggie,” Terri whispered. “Please.”

  Reggie’s hatred for Morgan swelled up inside. It was a forest fire waiting to happen.

  He took the rope from Morgan.

  Morgan stepped away from the couch, whistling and tapping his foot along to the music. Reggie proceeded to tie Terri and Fern’s arms behind their backs. He apologised countless times in the process.

  “Good knots,” Morgan said, watching Reggie closely. “Now do the legs too will you? I need to make sure these two delightful young women don’t run off. I know Ellie’s not going to run because that keyboard’s going to be playing all the while I’m out the room.”

  Reggie stared at Morgan.

  “What are you going to do with them?” he asked. “Tell me or I swear to God I won’t tie another knot.”

  “First things first Reggie,” Morgan said, twirling the Glock on his finger like a Wild West gunslinger.

  “The question is, what am I going to do with you?”

  Chapter 7

  Reggie walked slowly upstairs. Morgan was a couple of paces behind with the gun in hand, the barrel pointing at Reggie’s back.

  “Are you scared?” Morgan asked.

  No answer.

  “Don’t worry man,” Morgan said. “I’m not taking you up to the bedroom if that’s what you’re concerned about. You’re not my type. Mrs Reggie Ward however – that’s definitely my type. How the hell did you ever land a piece of…?”

  “This is a waste of time Morgan,” Reggie said, not taking the bait. “I told you outside I wouldn’t be bullied. And I’m sure as hell not going to start singing and dancing for you either.”

  “We’ll see,” Morgan said. “Keep walking man.”

  Reggie could hear the music in the background. Ellie had discovered the Yamaha’s inbuilt drum machine and to add flavour, she’d sprinkled some lightweight percussion over the top of the blues session. Now it sounded like a live band in the front room.

  “Stop here,” Morgan said.

  Reggie stopped outside the small bathroom at the top of the stairs. The door was ajar, a silver key hanging out of the keyhole.