Michelle Muckley - The Dawn - The Bombs Fall

“I don’t know, Leonard.” Zack sat up and swung his feet off the edge of the bed. The third double bell rang, signalling that it was time to go back to work. Zack worked his feet into the old trainers that he had been wearing every day since his Delta incarceration began. He reached down, his head dizzy with hunger, nausea creeping over him from the emptiness of his stomach. He swallowed hard and tied up the laces. “But if you say it’s there, I’ll take your word for it.” Zack stood up and picked up his water container, and pulled his ration card out of the wall-mounted card reader box. There was about an inch of water left. It would be enough to see him through the shift. The Guardians were rigorous in checking the water supplies of those who worked in the Water Distribution Centre. Trades were allowed. Stealing was punishable by denunciation under the rule of the First Creed: No citizen of New Omega shall steal from another. Nobody really knew what denunciation meant, but when it was threatened by the hyped-up Guardians, it never sounded like something anybody wanted to experience. “Anyway, what’s with the scratching?”

“You’re only saying you believe me , because you want me to believe your crazy stories,” Leonard said as he continued to grate his fingernails over his ribcage. “I think I’ve only gone and got the damn scabies.” Zack was sniggering, but Leonard didn’t see the funny side. Leonard broke the scratching for a second and reached down to pick up the small bag that Zack had taken to carrying with him over the last few days. “You want this?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said taking the satchel and throwing it over his shoulder.

“I don’t understand why you have started carrying that with you. It’ll make the Guardians suspicious. What do you need so much that you’ll lug it around all day?” Zack was cautious, eyeing his open door. He walked towards it and pushed it shut.

“Listen,” he said, hoisting the bag onto a propped up knee. “I’m searching. I have been down to the basement every day since. I have been looking at each floor, trying to see where she could have exited from.” He opened the bag and offered it up for Leonard to rummage inside; the iPod, an old magazine, a book called Super Structures, and one ration of water that he had risked denunciation for.

“But why are you carrying these things with you?” Leonard asked, pointing at the bag.

“If I find out how she got in,” Zack said, shaking the items back down into the dirty satchel, “then I can get out that way too.” Leonard was shaking his head, unimpressed by the plan. He looked back at the windows to made one final check for sunlight. There was none.

“I think you’re mad,” he whispered as they closed the door behind them, their conversation concealed by the sounds of New Omega Television. “I’ve said before that to go out in that is suicide. Dawn is coming, but it’s a slow process, Zachary. Omega will tell us when it is safe.”

“But you believe that the clouds are breaking enough for sunlight to come through. The atmosphere might have changed. It must have changed.” They stopped talking as they arrived at the entrance to the lift, several other men and women, a small crowd of familiar faces all waiting for it to arrive. Two Guardians were standing at the side, both with their hands on their Assisters. Zack leant into Leonard’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “She got in somehow.”

Leonard exited the lift on level twenty one and walked towards the laundry where he worked. Zack saw him punch his card into the check-in slot, and before the lift doors closed Leonard turned around and flashed Zack a wink. He also shook his head left to right with a smile, demonstrating the freedom of movement. The pillow really had helped him. He never complained anymore. It made Zack feel good.

That shift for Zack, just like the rest of his shifts since he had seen Emily’s tattoo, passed by in a daze. He was unfocussed and distracted, and desperate for the bell so that he could just get out, eat, and get himself down to the basement to continue his search. There was no way that she had made it up to the lobby and got out that way. It had to be the basement. He had searched level one, and two. Tonight was level three.

As soon as the triple bell sounded he was out of the water treatment plant. He waited for the lift, and as expected, Leonard joined him on level twenty one. They rode in the claustrophobic space packed with people, several of which Zack noticed to be preoccupied by scratching their limbs and fingers. They queued for their long-term antibiotics and continued into the Food Hall.

Beyond the doors they found chaos. There were people jostling for seats, people running, actually running with their food to get a place at the tables. It was true, there were more people in here than usual, but what was the hurry? Zack looked over at the serving hatch to see mineral-enriched porridge being heaped onto a tray, and he turned to Leonard and said, “Well, the rush isn’t about the food, that’s for sure.”

They got in line and more people filtered in behind them. They reached the serving hatch and as Leonard handed over his tray, Zack asked the server, “What did you put in the food tonight? Everyone has gone crazy.” The server handed the tray back to Leonard and held out her hand for Zack’s. She was a small woman, pretty face, or perhaps might have had at some point. She had bright blue eyes that always seemed to shine, and Zack often found that he looked forward to seeing her because she looked so alive, even when she didn’t smile. Which was every day.

“You haven’t heard, have you?” she said, as she dolloped a lump of porridge into his tray. Zack looked to Leonard who was already staring back at him, both of them wondering what they had missed. Zack took the tray and the steam from the porridge wafted up and caressed his chin. Maybe this was why he liked the server. It was one of the few times he felt the comfort of warmth.

“Heard what?” they both asked in unison.

“They announced the lottery. It’s starting any time now.”

They found an empty couple of seats next to each other, the best they could find with a view to at least two televisions. They had only just sat down as the music cut in, a mix of trumpets and electronic piano like a fanfare mixed with 1980s electric pop.

Tonight, began the voice over. The Republic of New Omega is bringing you your lottery, live from Omega Tower. The lottery of the people is coming to your tower. Tonight, somebody will leave their old life behind and join us to begin a new life here in Omega Tower. Tonight, somebody will be sleeping in a new bed, wearing new clothes. Tonight, it might be your world that is set to change. One of you becomes the future. You become your neighbour’s future. Tonight one of you becomes The New Omega Lottery Winner.

This same spiel was playing every third advert, which meant it was getting close. Every time it started it brought the hungry crowd to its knees. The silence would descend, catch every breath and pull all eyes to the screen as the same enthusiastic voice repeated the same words.

One hundred and twenty credits for a blood transfusion. Thirty credits for scabies treatment. The crowd went quiet and the ecstatic voice played again. Next, fifty credits for a dental check. Regulation clothing for all towers coming soon. A great time to peddle lies. Tonight you become your neighbour’s future……

Zack had to zone out. He couldn’t take the crescendo. The butterflies were fluttering around his chest, dipping and diving into his stomach so that the porridge couldn’t settle. Leonard was scratching himself, concentrating on his armpits. He had definitely caught scabies. Zack’s head began itching and he hoped that it was just psychosomatic. He turned to see that Leonard had already finished his porridge and was eating his cracker bread like popcorn, one arm wrapped around the tray, the other mindlessly shovelling shards of cracker past his badly fitting false teeth, occasionally stopping to wriggle them back into place when chewing was troubled. There was a gnawing in Zack’s stomach that might or might not have been hunger related, but there was no hope of him getting another mouthful of porridge down. He pushed his tray aside. Leonard turned to look at him, temporarily distracted by the insanity of wasting food.