Michelle Muckley - The Dawn - The Bombs Fall

Zack pushed open the doors to level forty nine. There were a few people up there, always the same faces. Some of the people who came here did so out of denial. They would stand here day after day hoping that they would see something different. But they never did. Zack came here for different reasons.

He walked towards the wall of glass. Those close to him moved away. Privacy with the old world was a respected moment. People didn’t come here for company, and they knew nobody else wanted it either. They came here for a one-on-one with what was left of their past. A chance to look at an ex-partner and ask for help in understanding the separation. Sometimes Zack came here to reflect, to think about those he left behind. Other times he just stared, allowing his eyes to travel over the peaks and troughs of the crumbling remains, as if his mind still hadn’t accepted or processed what had happened. The vista was always the same. The view floated somewhere between day and night, but couldn’t be described as either dawn or dusk. It was something else that nobody knew from before. There was a greyness to the world, a bleakness that soaked everything in misery. The wettest drizzle-filled day from the old world a hundred times over. There was nothing of colour on which to focus your eye, no life to watch and enjoy, or laughter of a child to lighten a heavy mood. From where he stood he saw only flattened buildings, a decimated skeleton of the old city. It was an almost unrecognisable landscape save the odd feature that clung to the ground or burst through it. A charred tree, a small building whose wall had survived, or a distant pylon almost intact. In the distance he could see Zeta Tower, the lights of which always helped him orientate, like the red hand of a compass always telling him which way was north. He knew from the other side he would see Epsilon. He had heard rumours that there had been an incident in Gamma, and that somebody had got in from the outside and killed all the residents. Just rumours Zack guessed, like the roof of Delta. He thought maybe they had been started like a primitive form of law, an early religion whispered into terrified ears to help control the residents of the other towers.

His stomach was grumbling but he ignored it. He had got used to controlling his biological urges. It was easy to control hunger when there was no hope of it being stemmed. As he rounded the north-western corner of the building he got his first glimpse. The giant tower of Omega standing strong in the distance, ablaze with light like a sunlit shard of mirror. It was a magnificent sight. There were more people here today staring at it, dreaming about a new life because of the lottery. It gave everybody a chance, at least in theory. He imagined more people would be here by the end of the day, a steady stream of escapists all desperate for a look at the host for their desires. Omega was like a blade bursting up through the ground as if the building itself had decided to cut through the earth, slice it open and pierce through like a unicorn’s horn. It was covered in glass, just like Delta, and the lights were always on. Unless you wanted them turned off. Then you could make a choice. In Omega there were choices that simply didn’t exist for the people who lived in Delta. He looked out across the miles between the life he had and the life he craved. Every previous lottery had brought with it the same masochistic hope, each time obliterated, leaving him feeling more desperate than ever he had before.

He left level forty nine and walked down the stairs, his fingers trailing along the lines of Braille-like puncture wounds in the wall, dust clinging to his fingertips. Delta had been damaged, and maybe it had lost its roof if you believed the rumours, but it had stood firm enough. The blast had shaken it, just like it had the other remaining buildings, but it hadn’t torn it apart. There were nine of them left, including Omega. The rest of the city had been destroyed. Nobody knew by whom, but Zack didn’t think about it anymore. There wasn’t any point.

“Excuse me,” said a quiet voice as Zack felt something pull at his trouser leg. He hadn’t seen the boy lying on the floor next to him, his head resting on the wall at an uncomfortable looking angle. His limbs were limp and pathetic, like broken and charred matchsticks. His stomach was swollen like a child of famine. So much for Creed Four. “Do you have any food?” the boy said.

Zack bent down close to him. The smell arising from the boy’s breath was hot and stale. Was he here when I went up the stairs? His lips were dry and cracked, and his head seemed swollen too. “I’m sorry, Champ. I haven’t got anything.” Zack reached down and picked up the boy’s hand. It was tiny and shrivelled like the claw of a bird. “Where are your parents?”

“I don’t know.” The voice was barely audible. Zack leaned in closer.

“Where do you live?” Zack asked.

“I don’t know,” the boy said again.

“Your name? What’s your name?” Zack could feel the quickening of his heart beat, that feeling of responsibility coupled with absolutely no clue what to do.

“Billy,” said the boy.

“Billy?” Zack brought his hand up towards Billy’s head, which given the chance of support, succumbed to the soft cushion of his palm. “How did you get here? Where are your parents?” Zack asked again. He could see that the boy was almost asleep, and as his head sank into the flesh of Zack’s arm his wrists flopped away from his lap. Zack reached down and picked up Billy’s right arm. He held it softly like one would cradle a baby. There were two small veins running along the surface of his wrist, and the skin hung as loose as a cloth across the bones and tendons. There was no number. No black triangle. He was a child born into disaster, born into a world where life didn’t exist anymore, and where he was lying in a corridor with nobody to care for him. The Third Creed: No citizen of New Omega shall feel alone. The Fourth Creed: No Citizen of New Omega shall die of thirst or hunger. They didn’t mean anything to the people of Delta Tower. Billy didn’t say anything, and instead his eyelids fluttered closed, no energy left to hold them open.

Zack burst through the doors of level forty eight. It was a different place to thirtieth. Nearly twenty floors up, and it was chaos, each floor higher a descent into mayhem. There was rubbish in the public spaces, people asleep on the floor, and the smell was putrid. It was so hot in here and the smell of bodies was so rich that it hurt Zack’s eyes. This place had been an advertising agency once, or so the sign would suggest.

“Where are Billy’s parents?” Zack shouted to the nearest crowd of people, huddled in a group on the floor. The corridor was full of people hanging around, some sitting on the floor like the nearest group, others propped up on broken window sills in the place that glass should have been. But yet nobody answered. There was noise, a background hum, but there was an undercurrent of lethargy in the place. Apathy. “You,” he said, gripping the collar of the nearest man who was stumbling towards him. The man’s head was floppy like a ragdoll, his eyes glazed, his smile fixed. “Do you know a kid called Billy?” The man didn’t say anything. Instead he just rolled. He rolled backwards, his eyes rolled in his head, he rolled on his trip. Is that what I look like when I do drugs? He asked himself as he let go of the man, who it seemed didn’t even know he had been touched.

He moved forwards, his feet negotiating the carpet of legs and dirty blankets. With his breath held and throat tight, he pushed open the doors to the Mess Room. Every floor had one. He didn’t go into the one of thirtieth much. He preferred to go up to level forty nine and look out of the windows and get lost in the silence and an occasional memory. “Where are the Guardians?” he said into the air. He realised that not only was the noise different to the other levels, but the only sounds that he could hear were human in origin. It was the hum of chatter, deals, and trades. The television next to him had been smashed, and as he looked along the corridor he noticed that the others too had been damaged and no longer worked. One was hanging from its brackets. Only one of them was still working but even that was without the sound. Then his eyes settled on the only Guardian in sight. He was dressed in the white uniform, the black epaulets and black boots. The cap and balaclava were discarded at his side. This Guardian wasn’t on patrol. He was slouched up against the wall with a woman’s head in his lap. Both of them high, Zack would guess.