No Escape

The cameras are everywhere, but they do not see everything. A citywide lockdown makes it difficult to escape but it’s still possible. But it requires a good deal of knowledge and a vast amount of money to leave. I have found friends and together we have planned our escape from this place. And tonight, it’s all going to come to a head. This is it. I don’t know how long I have been trapped in this place. All of the horrors I have seen, will soon be a thing of the past.

I move through the streets, following a coded map to avoid any of the street cameras that keep an eye on the first signs of the plague. I walk through the Marionettes Park and before reaching the street make my way into a nearby drainage canal that takes me beneath three different streets. Behind the cover of trees I climb out of the canal through the common yard of a projects block and then into a back alley. Right now, I’m somewhere behind St Anthony School. It’s closed now. I don’t want to even think about what the students did to each other. I heard there were a lot of amputations.

There are stairs that lead down to the old maintenance tunnels and a civil defence shelter built back in the heyday of the Cold War. I wonder if they ever knew this plague would come. That cloistering ourselves in places like this only intensified the effects of the plague. And that is why most of the schools are closed. How many children are there left in this city? I don’t really see them anymore.

The door that leads to the maintenance tunnels is unlocked left by my friends. I open it as quietly as I can, though it still creaks in the still air. Beneath the school, the air is stale and musty. Stagnant water has collected into large pools, making it difficult to move around quietly. It’s dark, the lights have been shut down long ago since the school’s closure. I reach in my pocket for a torch and turn it on. While I hear the occasional rodent scurry, I never see a rat, or mouse. I remember that even the crows and raven flew from this city first days since lockdown. There haven’t been many animals left in the city. Like the children, they have disappeared, only I feel that the animals have found greener pastures.

Holding the torch out I navigate my way around the tunnels. Two lefts, a right and another left. They were the instructions when I deciphered the code my friends gave me. We’ve been attempting to communicate in secret. If the authorities knew what we were up to, we would be in deep shit. You see, all of my friends are like me, able to see thing the regular police cannot. All of them strange attractors. We’ve used our resources, effectively police resources to plot, fund and execute our way out of the city. I only know part of the plan out of this city. We did this so we could all leave, and not one take the desperate attempt of taking all of the money, or all of map for the escape route.

I make it to an old storage room and there is a warm light coming from it. I open the door slowly, and I see four others in the room. There is Sebastian, a chain-smoker who originally investigated the ruins of the Matriarch Hotel on Valentines Day. Next to him Marcus, nervously chewing at the skin of his thumb, the rest of his fingers covered in bandages and plasters. There is Ina, who I know has investigated an event at an orphanage, but she won’t tell me about it. She has begun to pull her hair out, but still has enough to cover it. I wonder where Paul is, but Sebastian nods and Paul appears from behind the door, gun in hand, ready and lowered to the ground.

I breath a short sigh of relief, I understand that we need to be cautious, but I do not want to be shot by Paul. Sebastian is straight to the point, “Do you bring it all?”

It’s always money with Sebastian. “Yeah of course I did”, I say with a little disdain, putting down the case in front of me. Sebastian doesn’t seem to trust anybody with the possible exception of Paul. I think they both served in the military together. Putting the cigarette back in his mouth. Sebastian gets up from seat made from an old milk crate and goes to inspect the case. Clicking open the springlocks, he looks over the contents. With an approving nod, he locks the case and hands it back to me.

“Good, good, ” he says, “we’re just waiting on one more.”

“One more? ” I thought I was the last one. The entire plan was shared between us, a new person throws a wrench in our work. “We had everything here, what do you mean one more?”

Sebastian took a drag on his cigarette that it glowed red hot, then breathing out while speaking, “because he managed to get more money. We’re going to need it to get out, the more the better to bargain with.”

Sebastian was too focused on money. I knew who we had to deal with: the people who lived under the city. These were the ones who escaped the authorities’ control. I’ve heard they live in complete darkness. And they must be insane. They would have no use for large amount of cash. They wanted something else, but Sebastian wouldn’t tell me what…

We hear footsteps coming in, evenly paced, not rush. Calm, deliberate steps. “I guess this is him,” Sebastian says as he throws away the spent cigarette and draws another to his mouth. The man comes through the door just as Paul begins to hide behind it again, gun at the ready. I hear the safety click in his hands.

The man, I’ve met before. His name is David. He is another strange attractor, but I’ve never worked with him, nor really seen him around the offices. Maybe he worked the night shift. In his left hand he had a large dark kit bag, which he set down. But as he did, there was the sound of metal scraping. David’s hair is wet and there is sweat running down his brow, he would look exhausted if he wasn't breathing so calmly. Something is amiss, the feeling is growing… Do the others feel this? I look at Ina, who eyes me back. I think she sees it too.

Sebastian is straight up, “Did you bring the money?”

David answers after a slight pause, as if attempting to compute the answer in his head, “… Y-Yeah. I also brought other things.”

Marcus is up, “what other things?”

“You know, tools, to help us, get out of here. See have a look”, David reach down to the bag zipper to undo it.

Marcus gets off the crate he used as a seat and goes to inspect the bag David is opening. I can’t see into the bag, but I look back at Ina and now she’s nervous. The feeling is a silent scream…

David reaches into the bag as Marcus peers into it. “Here let me show you, David says, as he grabs hold of something inside.

Then suddenly there is a glint of silver as David’s hand springs from the bag straight into Marcus’ neck. Blood is everywhere as the slash cuts him open. He barely has time to scream, only able to pull an expression of pure shock. So does everyone else as David is sprayed, covered in Marcus’ claret, frozen for a moment in what has just happened. There is an inhuman look in David’s eyes. Paul aims and fires, but it’s a glancing shot into David’s shoulder. David makes a beeline towards Paul knife raised for a second strike. David moves fast, but I see this as my opportunity to get out. I grab Ina’s hand and we run for the door. As we go, I hear Sebastian joining the fray.

Bolting down the hall, I can hear more gunfire, screaming and yelling. It steels us to run harder. Sprinting down dark halls taking nearest corners, almost blindly. We just need to get away. Ina is almost outrunning me. Neither of us have any idea where we are going, only praying that we just get away.

Soon enough, there is a door, without slowing down we both ram the thing and the lock, latch and parts of the hinge give way. Back outside we realise we’re on the other side of the school. Though exhausted from running, we begin to take in our surrounds. In the distance, a large column of smoke billows from the other end of the school. A part for the school where Sebastian, David were Paul were. Both Ina and I look at each other. How long were we down there? The realisation begins to sink in for both of us. Sebastian, Marcus and Paul had the other parts of the escape plan, in addition to all of the money we left behind. All of it up in smoke. We had no way out of this city.


We walk back cautiously to the smoke and find that the authorities are already attending. Mandlebrot is there. He seems almost pleased to see us. Fear creeps into my mind. Did he know of our escape plan? How much did he know? What would happen to us if he did?

“Ah, good. You’re here,” Mandlebrot says with a razor-like smile. It seems we have a problem. Looks like some of your type were having a meeting, maybe plotting to leave.”

I look at Ina. A calm seems to wash over her. Odd…

“However, one of them turned on the others and set himself alight,” Mandlebrot continues, “But I think we have enough evidence”

He produces a clear plastic bag and inside is a heavily burnt red notebook. How did David get a copy of the book? Will this plague get me?

“And this is fortunate. Last time, all of them were destroyed”

Last time. I think back to my apartment and the burn marks in the empty apartment. The burnt paper. They must have been notebooks. Maybe Paul investigated that event and managed to find a whole copy…

Mandlebrot snaps me out of my train of thought, by dropping the bagged evidence in my hands, “Come. We have work to do.”

As he walks off, I look at Ina, and find she is staring into the column of smoke rising into an equally dark sky.

Read more...

A Ghost for Each Room

Real estate is a tricky business in the city since lockdown. Everybody wants out, and so nobody wants to buy. There are no investments here, no renovator’s dreams, no place to call home. Everybody rents. I guess somebody does own the property, but I haven’t personally seen a landlord since the Massacre. The rental market is very competitive. As people are attempting to save what they can to buy their way out of the city, everybody is looking to rent places, mostly apartments, that are as cheap as dirt. Most of the hovels really aren’t fit to live in for any period, but that is how desperate some people are to get out. Most people search to live on their own. They know about the city and the plague that affects it. Few are willing to dare sharing a place just in case they become affected by it and kill themselves or each other in horrible ways. There is a catch to all of this though. Whenever a place drops in value, it means that the plague has taken another round of victims. Many people avoid taking the risk, fearing the remnants of what affected the previous occupants will echo and affect them.

My only problem is that I want out of the city. I’m tired of seeing people die in horrible ways. I’m tired of that Mandlebrot and his reptilian smile, his fake platitudes and sterile manner. I’m tired living in constant twilight not knowing what time of day it is. I’m tired of the screaming silence of this city. This place is cursed and we cannot leave.

The nervous real estate agent stood in the empty apartment with me. She did not want to be here. She held onto her folio-folder close to her chest, like it was a child she didn’t want to give up. She didn’t touch anything, even giving me the key to unlock the door. The entire tenement was made up of poured concrete; all the windows reinforced with steel mesh. The electrics and fittings look older than me. The paint is poor; I can still see where the shotgun blasted the wall, with tiny golf ball-like dimples in a spray pattern. Look long enough at the wall, and you can make out the blood spatter.

I looked into the face of the real estate agent, at any given moment she would run and never return, her job was driving her mad. She would force a smile, but it took effort to do that. I think she wanted out of this more than me. “I’ll take it,” I said. I had to tell her again, because she didn’t initially believe me. She was totally stunned. She forced another smile through, handed me the paperwork and quickly left.

I took the next day to move my things into the apartment. I didn’t have much. Most of which I have earned over the last several years has been eagerly saved. I have been acquiring this small fortune in the hopes I can buy my way out of this city. With the help of a few friends around this city, I should be able to finally leave this wretched place.

After an entire day of packing, moving and unpacking, I felt like taking a break. Normally, I would have no interest in meeting the neighbours, but they were making no noise. I’ve lived in tenement blocks before. And while I may never have conversation with another occupant, I would hear their movements, from making their trek from bedroom to bathroom, or moving furniture, and sometimes just sobbing. I would see them in the hallways, as we pass each other like ships in the night. Or maybe meet in the communal laundry and catch each other staring at each other. But here, there was none of that. The halls remained empty and the apartments around me were silent. So in my break, I decided to do a little exploring.

I walked out into the hall, locking the door behind me. The hall itself was no better than the apartment, grey concrete lit by naked fluorescent light. The carpet was so thick and industrial it was crunching under my feet. I walked to the next apartment and gently knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked again. Still silence.

In my experience, with working with the police, you would at least get a terse “Go Away”. But there was nothing. I didn’t want to push it as the door was locked anyway. I continued down the hall, ears sharp for any signs of life. Not finding anything on my floor, I went up one. These tenements all looked the same, it was a wonder if you could find your place if you forgot the number in which you lived. I wondered down the hall, knocking on the occasional door, but still getting no answer. Then one creaks open as I knock on it. Unlocked, I gently push it open a little more. Aside from the sound of protest from the hinges, there is still silence. I knock on the door while surveying the entryway of the apartment. The place is exactly the same design as mine, even the accents on the breakfast bar. I say hello but there is still no response. I enter further into the apartment and find it empty. There is an odd smell that I can almost place. No furniture remains. There is no radio or television. Did someone leave and forget to lock up? No, there was something wrong here. I can still the markings in the carpet where furniture was once placed. I look in the bathroom, empty, not even a soap bubble. But it is the bedroom that tells the real story.

The moment I enter the bedroom, I realise what has happened here. There is massive fire damage in one corner of the room. The carpet is destroyed down to the concrete flooring. That would have been the smell, burnt carpet. The ceiling for most of the bedroom is sooty and it looks that the flames reached the ceiling. Moving closer to the destruction, it looks like the fire was fairly well contained to this corner, though I’m not sure whether it was the fire service and their rapid response, or something else. I see something in the ashes. Looks like burnt paper.

I leave the apartment, when it begins to dawn on me. This place, the entire block has been affected by a viral event. I wonder how many others combusted like this poor soul. No wonder the real estate agent wanted out, this place has become cursed and I was dumb enough to sign into it.

I return back to my new place to find the phone ringing. I pick it up and answer.

“Hi”, an odd voice says over the line, “it’s time, meet at the usual place.” I hang up the phone. I move over to a chest of draws and feel for the false bottom. The panel clicks open and inside is large bundles of notes. This is my share of the escape plan. I grab a kit bag, filling the bag with the notes and covering it with a few good clothes. Now that I think about the lease and the place, I don’t care. I’m out of here.

Read more...

Dawn Statues

They were frozen. All across the city, some two dozen people stood naked outside their homes and in the streets, dead. A layer of ice crystals covered their now statue-like bodies as they were found in the early dawn. Mandlebrot was driving me to the scene of one of the deceased. The day was upon us, although cast in a perpetually grey light.

Mandlebrot grinned with eery curiosity, “There are around thirty-two of these so far, but there could be more.”

I hated Mandlebrot. Always grinning, always smiling with keen eyes hidden behind dark shades. I never got anything from him. At times he was so alien, ignoring the plight of the people of this city, more interested in the shockwaves these certain events created. Events like when more than now thirty people have frozen to death in the early morning for no apparent reason.

While Mandlebrot drove through the street, I looked at the file he had given me. Police had already visited several scenes and taken photographs, and now it was my turn to investigate the matter. I looked at the pictures. All of them were naked,ice cyrstals glittered on their skin, which had turned a greyish blue. They all had serene looks on their faces, their eyes were closed and there was a calm wash over their faces, like they received some kind of absolution. Some had hands clasped in prayer, other had their palms open raised towards the sky.

At this point I realised a connection in the photographs. Their skin all glittered in relatively the same way. In one picture, the glint of the sun could be seen in a window. All of the victims were facing east. All towards a sun they would never see. I have not seen real sunlight in this city for years. Hopefully, whoever took these photographs had the time to enjoy the break in the grey wall of cloud that loomed overhead.

“What was the time of death?”

“They believe it was after three A.M, Mandlebrot grinned, “There has been some trouble with moving the victims. Some of them didn’t freeze all the way through, and as fragile as they were, many did not remain in one piece.” As I said, Mandlebrot was a bastard.

We arrived at one of the scenes, just another suburban house. Many of these suburbs are empty. As everyone is scrimping every coin they have in order to leave the city, most cannot, or will not pay for the cost that it takes to live in these places. Only the truly desperate live here, they do not expect to leave. “This is the woman’s house,” Mandlebrot says as I am looking at the photo, of the lady in her mid-thirties, brown hair framing her face in curls. Eyes closed and hands together in silent sleeping prayer. She seemed the most peaceful of the victims in the photographs. She seems so serene…

We both leave the car and move towards the house, ducking under bright yellow police tape. I walk by a drop sheet, bloodstains have leaked through, obviously when they tried to move her. Maybe her feet snapped off…I try not to think about it. The door has been left open by the regular police. Before we enter, Mandlebrot offers me a pair of gloves to handle any evidence.

“No,” I remind him, “I’m allergic to the latex. I thought I already told you that.”

Mandlebrot paused, there was a moment that he seemed confused, “Hmmm. I will remember that now.”

In my pocket is a pencil with a rubber eraser and a white handkerchief. I pull these out as we split up and begin to search the house. The residence seems to be schizophrenic. Some rooms are kept in immaculate condition. Others are in state of complete chaos. You can analyse a person purely on how they keep themselves in their homes. Two of the bedrooms are immaculate, the beds are made, the toys and personal effects are arranged in a stately way. The main living area is much the same, even the fireplace, barely has any dust or soot. The remainder of the house is the complete opposite. The kitchen is nothing short of filthy, plates and dishes staked high. Grime, grease and dirt are layered across every surface. The fridge is filled with food that is now unidentifiable. Empty packets, tins and containers are scattered across the floor. The bathroom is no different, I can’t even enter it, the smell is that bad. I cover my face with my sleeve and use my hand with the handkerchief to close the door. I move to the main bedroom. Here it is interesting. One half of the room neat, while the other is chaos, books and worn clothes cover the floor. Even half the bed is unmade while the other half remains untouched. This whole place is missing people. The woman was waiting, diligently, patiently and faithfully waiting for a family that would never return. As I am about to leave the bedroom I notice something out of the corner of my eye. Beneath a pile of books there seems to something out of place, something that does not belong.

Moving in close to the stack, I get the pencil and place it below the stack of books, the rubber eraser giving some grip to move the books aside with a little leverage. Beneath the stack is a small notebook, with a blank red cover. I picked it up with the white handkerchief. “What do you have there?” Mandlebrot had snaked into the room behind me. I showed him

“This…seems to be out of place,” I said, “the rest of these books are published, Proust, psychology, odd poetry books, but that will have hand writing in it.”

Mandlebrot flicked through the book, “Yes…but not all of it is hers, if it is at all. Look.” He showed the opened book to me. There was not just one or two sets of handwriting, but several in different sections. Mandlebrot took out a plastic evidence bag and slid the book inside. We collected other potential evidence and then the cleaners arrive. Dressed in forensic white, the cleaners would collect all of the woman’s possessions and incinerate them. There is some theory that this would help stem the spread of violence. Now, I’m beginning to think we should incinerate the book, but it could point to the origin to this whole mess.

We return to headquarters and pour through what we have collected. However, it is the red book that I’m interested in most of all. Every seven or so pages features a different set of handwriting, some are neat, almost contemplative, others are manic scrawl. The entire book is a litany of suicide notes. One person makes final confessions and thoughts and it is passed onto another for them to leave their last words.

Some of it, poetry:

i can’t tell the difference
between night and day
i don’t even remember
how did i get here
everyone and
everyday
looks the same
i’m finding an exit tomorrow
maybe they’ll play
something nice
on the radio

(I remember some cases that involved people having a bath with their radios…)

Some of it is prose:

…I don’t know what do to anymore, I make the drudge to work everyday, taking the same path and the same path back. I remember when I was a kid I would watch an ant make lazy circles in the sun. Made me wonder, how long could it do that before it broke the cycle. My mother never bought the toys I wanted. Never knew why. The porn doesn’t make me hard anymore. I’ve tried other stuff from the market, even violent stuff, but it’s like there’s nothing there. Like dead skin. Sometimes I think of scaling the wall, just to see what's on the other side. I don’t care if they have dogs, or guns, or if they’ll arrest me, or place me in that hole St Anthony's. I need out, I’m tired of walking in circles.

Another entry catches my eye:

The walls don’t speak, they scream. This city is a hungry one.. Don’t drink the water. The centre is the maw not the eye of the storm. Avoid the speakers that do not talk. Darkness is not merely the absence of light, but not of colour. The Journey is not begun until the first step is taken and not completed until you have arrived at the place before you took that first step. Watch for our sign. The labyrinth that cannot be seen, must be felt through. The right step will lead to disaster, the wrong step will lead to safety. The way out is through.

Lastly, the final entry in the book:

I wait and they haven’t come back.

They said they would come back, but they haven’t yet. Maybe they will but I’m not so sure now. Ever since that horrible day things have been worse for us. So many people have died and there’s nothing we can do. We’ll just continue to die here and no one can save us. I sometimes wonder what is happening outside of the city walls. Some people try to scale them, but I’ve never seen them come back. No one knows whether it is just us, or that this is happening to the rest of the world. The days have been increasingly dark, and you don’t see the stars anymore at night. I wish I could see the stars again, but I wish I could see the sun once more. Feel it’s warmth again. I left their rooms the way they left them, I needed something to hold onto, my memory is getting worse. I try to think back to when I was a kid and I’m not sure of things, like it's missing. Important things. I can’t even remember what my parents looked like. I thought I had a sister, but now I’m not so sure. I’m not even sure whether the authorities know anything about what is happening to us, or even if they have some way of helping us. Some people where I worked thought it was a plot, to keep us in line. Then some of them disappeared. I hear about new deaths every day. I have accepted that. If this city wants us, there is nothing we can do. It will have us. All I want to do is see the sunrise one more time.

The moment I read this, something clicked. I opened the file that Mandlebrot gave me and look for the woman’s photo, staring for a while at her serene frozen face as the dawn sun warmly makes the ice glitter. There is a tear in the corner of her eye, now solid and perfectly formed.

Mandlebrot enters suddenly, startling me. He has a large case in his hand. With his free hand, he sweeps part of the table clean and empties the contents of the case: all of them identical red notebooks.

Read more...

The List

With my break from work almost over, it's time to reflect on something I did before leaving. And that was lending my car to a friend from work to drive it around so it didn't just sit in a car port looking abandoned.

Fearing that my car would be used recklessly, I made a list of things that the person in question could not use, or perform in my car. Hopefully, I covered most things.


So here it is.

1. Do not crash my car.
2. Do not attempt to perform any handbrake turns in my car, but not because I think it’s seriously dangerous. I just don’t think my car has great “drift value”.
3. If something breaks down on my car, please tell me and get it fixed. We can come to an arrangement over how it gets paid.
4. Please do not speed in my car, run red lights, or in the event of doing the former two, engage in a high speed chase with the police.
5. If you are going to use my car to dispose of evidence, please use adequate plastic sheeting, the boot is notoriously difficult to clean.
6. Do not crash my car.
7. Don’t forget to keep the car filled with petrol. It’s just embarrassing when you run out.
   After several years of being in the sun, the LCD screen on the CD Player has become a blank orange screen. The radio has been set to Triple J but this is not a preset. You may want to create a mix cd that you know the tracks intimately. Also the CD player tends to skip when you hit an ant, but not a pothole.
8. The Air Conditioning is a bit funny. A couple of years ago, the fan settings 1, 2 and 3 stopped working, the highest setting still does. It’s funny because I only ever really used 3 and 4, so if you want to stay warm, you’ll stay pretty toasty.
9. Do not crash my car.
10. The suspension is still good in my car. This is NOT an excuse to have sex in it.
11. Please do not transport illegal or dangerous items in my car, please see rule #5.
12. Clean any stains that you leave in my car. I will not believe it is “nail polish”.
13. In the event you are involved in an actual car accident. Please consider your well being first. I will organise my insurance people to sort something out.

Read more...

Merry Walpurgisnacht!

I hope you all have a great Walpurgisnacht, while I'm trapped on the road.

Read more...