Nothing Is Ever Simple (Corin Hayes Book 2) Page 14

  I’d found a way to live with my friend again. Alcohol. I needed a drink.

  A skittering sounded from my left and I began to sweat. A groan from my right. I turned my head in that direction, seeing nothing in the dark. There was a thump from somewhere. I started to breathe faster.

  “There is nothing there,” I whispered.

  A scratch of something moving.

  “Rats,” I said.

  A scratch. A chitter.

  “I’m not scared of rats.”

  A pop and a wheeze.

  “No idea what the fuck that was,” I whispered. “An asthmatic rat with gas?”

  I tried to quantify and qualify every sound I heard for the next… I’ve no idea how long. The dark steals your sense of time, your sense of being. When you can see nothing it can be hard to tell where you end and the world begins. Your hearing, your sense of touch, become the sole experience of the world and your brain takes over. The subconscious, the lizard part of it, the fight or flight, fear or safety, known or unknown, asserts itself. It is an act of will to keep your conscious in control.

  Will-power is not my strongest trait, stubbornness is. I wasn’t going to be beaten by the Fish-Suit, the act of swallowing and breathing liquid that my lizard brain told me would kill me. So the dark, where I spent half my day, admittedly asleep, didn’t stand a chance. I’d have preferred some alcohol though.

  The sound of the engines starting up and the feeling of the sub beginning to move was a blessed relief. It was, in the unmoving, infinite darkness, something normal and every day. The horrors of the dark retreated to the back of my mind and I settled back against the crate, closing my eyes, calming my heart. The lights came on.

  Light meant people. I shifted round, moving from sitting to crouching. Listening. Someone was whistling. The high pitched sound carried round the cargo bay, echoing and bouncing from metal walls and row upon row of boxes. It was impossible to feel any vibration but that of the engines and the bass thump of footprints was lost amongst the rumble of generators.

  Move or stay? Another decision to make and little information to base it on. Move and find the person, or wait for them to find me? Maybe they wouldn’t find me. Maybe they were just passing through. A little check here, a little look there, call it done and move on. That was likely. The cargo bay was sealed, all the workers accounted for. I was well-hidden. All right, I was right at the back and a little hidden by the boxes I’d moved. Tactically, moving was a good option. If I could find the source of the whistling I’d have more information to base my next decision upon. It was back to the kids’ game of hide and seek.

  I went with stay. Let them find me. Good luck to them. Most workers would only do half a job, given the choice. If this was a simple post departure walk through, which I suspected, it was so routine that even getting half the job done properly was stretching it a little. Staying put was the right option. I was so sure of it I settled back down, rested my back against the crate and closed my eyes. Secure. Safe. Peace and quiet. Hidden.

  “Well, well, well,” said a voice. “What do we have here?”

  Chapter 30

  I tried not to move, to breathe in a slow rhythm keeping my eyes closed.

  “Hey,” the voice said. A man’s voice. Deep in tone, but sounding unsure. “Wake up. Get up.”

  Eyes still shut, I waved sleepy hand towards the sound. A go away gesture.

  “I’m talking to you, man. Wake up.” This time the voice was accompanied by the sharp jab of a boot into my leg.

  “Huh,” I grunted, shifted my leg a bit and went back to pretend sleep.

  “Wake up.” There was definitely insecurity in the voice, but sadly not in the foot which kicked me harder this time.

  “What?” I yawned. A nice touch.

  “What you doing here, man?” Another poke with the toe of his boot.

  “I’m awake. I’m awake. Sheesh. Can’t a man get some sleep in his own bed?”

  “What?” His turn to be confused. “You’re on the Transport Sub Hannibal. Not in your apartment. Get up. You have some explaining to do.”

  At last, from his point of view, I opened my eyes. From my perspective, putting it all down to a bad dream would have been a better option. He was tall, at least with me looking up at him, and young. Couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen, maybe less. Probably his first job, hence the thoroughness.

  “Where?”

  “The Hannibal, transport sub. You’re one of the dockhands from the factory?” He managed to make the statement sound like a question. Definitely a teenager.

  “I’m not at home?” I clambered to my feet, slow and steady, and looked around. “Fuck.”

  “You were asleep.”

  “I was?” I took a look at his face whilst pinching the bridge of my nose between forefinger and thumb. The acne scars were new and the angry red lumps on his chin, plus the almost radioactively yellow spot on his forehead, told me there were a few more on the way. He’d shaved today, a faint line of dried blood trailed from one of the spots down his scrawny neck.

  “Yeah, found you here. Asleep.”

  “Must have been the painkillers,” I said, holding up my bandaged hand. “How long till we reach the city?”

  “Another thirty minutes or so,” the teenage boy said.

  “Can you wake me when we get there? I have to get home quick. Wife will be wondering what’s happened to me. Been on the night shift. Should’ve been home an hour ago.”

  “No. Sorry, man.”

  “Really? Come on. One day you’ll have a nagging wife who won’t understand. Right then, you’ll be wishing someone was nice to you.” I added a little pleading whine to my voice. Youngsters like to think they have adults all worked out.

  “Can’t do it,” he said, puffing his chest out and speaking in a firm tone, taking charge. “I’ll have to report this to the sub’s captain.”

  “You don’t have to.” I added a little more pleading into the tone and my eyes. “Give me a break. Hurt my finger working in the factory and they gave me some painkillers, must have knocked me out. Could happen to anyone.”

  “Still got to report you.” He shook his head and an expression of pity mixed with the self-righteousness that only those who haven’t truly experienced the world have crossed his face. “Officially, you’re a stowaway and that’s a crime.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Gotta report it.” He looked down at the Pad in his hand and back to me. “Might get a bonus.”

  “You’re first job?” I said. He nodded. “Been at it long?”

  “Second week,” he answered.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said, smug grin never wavering. “My duty to report it. Says so in my rule book. Here.”

  He held out his Pad for me to read the bit of the rule book he’d brought up and helpfully highlighted.

  “I see. As you get older, you’ll learn sometimes you need to bend the rules.” I tried him with a smile of my own, sincere but knowing.

  “Foreman said I have to follow the rules if I want to keep the job and you are a stowaway. I have to report you.”

  “All life is about learning. No time like the present to learn a new lesson. For instance, how are you going to report me?”

  “I...” His voice trailed off and he started to scan through the pages on his Pad looking, no doubt, for the proper procedure.

  “I’m sure it is there somewhere. Speak to the foreman, I would have thought. But really, that’s not the point and here’s where the lesson begins. How are you going to report me and keep an eye on me? You know, to make sure I don’t run off and hide somewhere else.”

  “Well, I could,” he began and paused before the light of inspiration shone bright in his eyes. “You’ll have to come with me.”

  I looked at him. Tall, skinny, gangly, spot covered face, smug grin back in place. “Really? Suppose I don’t want to go with you.”

  “You don’t?” G
rin wavering.

  “Not really. I don’t see what’s in it for me.”

  “You have to. Even if you run away, the security forces will find you before we dock. Once I tell the foreman, she’ll start the search.” Grin back, but uncertainty in his eyes. I could tell he knew there was something missing, something he hadn’t thought of.

  “But,” I said, giving him the benefit of an older man’s wisdom, “you’re here, stood in front of me, telling me you are going to get me in a lot of trouble.” I could see the first look of fear in his eyes. “What I would have done, and I don’t mean to teach you your job, is tell the foreman before you woke me up. I’d have made sure to have three or four strong men and women with me, just in case the person I was waking up and getting into a lot of trouble was a violent person. That’s what I would have done.”

  He twitched. People do when fear becomes real. Adrenalin is released in a great torrent that floods the brain and muscles causing an uncontrollable twitch. Fight or flight? I could see his eyes darting left and right, measuring distances, working out his chances. A young boy, prime of youth, quick and fast, against an old man. No competition. Every teenager views everyone over the age of thirty as an old man. Bravado? He could fight, he could take me. There was no need to read his mind. I’d had the same thoughts at his age. His hands curled into fists.

  “You sure?” I wanted to give him a chance to run. Not that I’d let him get away, but better if he ran, I didn’t want to hurt him. Fear could control him enough, I thought. Fear of me, of realising he’d tried to flee. Thoughts of cowardice. That kind of thing really mattered to a teenage boy. I really didn’t want to hurt him.

  He swung a fist and made his choice. It was a very typical punch for an inexperienced fighter. I should know, I’ve been beaten up by experts. His arm went all the way back, his fist almost parallel to his head before it started to move forward. Sadly, for him not me, his feet weren’t set at all, not for the wide swinging punch that came round in a great arc. All of his weight went behind that fist and absolutely none of his balance or power. I was pretty confident that even if the punch hit, it wouldn’t hurt much.

  However, I am not in the habit of letting someone hit me. I have this strange aversion to the whole idea of being punched and kicked. So as he leaned into the punch, I stepped inside the arc, reaching up and catching his wrist as I did so. I carried on turning as I stepped in, pulling his swinging arm further round, letting his own weight unbalance him. My hip, I shoved into his stomach, and my free arm I wrapped around his waist, turning all the time.

  His feet left the floor and, using my hip as his pivot, over he went. I didn’t let go of his arm, using it and my grip on his waist to control his fall. It wasn’t gentle, I wanted it to hurt when he hit the metal floor. He needed to know that I had hurt him, to see how easy it was for me. I wanted him to wonder what else I could do.

  The air exploded from his lungs as he hit the deck. I could feel the impact race up his arm which I now gripped under my own, pushing against his elbow joint, making it flex in the wrong direction. It needed something else. The simple throw could be mistaken by a boy, in adrenalin’s thrall and with youthful delusions of immortality, as just a bit of luck, not skill. A quick jab with my right hand into his ribs, not hard enough to break the bones, but enough to show him that I could, if I wanted too.

  “If you call out,” I said in a low voice, trying for menacing and, to my own ears, failing, “I will break something, a rib or two, maybe your arm. Do you understand?”

  He opened his mouth to speak and I jabbed my fist, a lighter punch this time, into his ribs.

  “Just nod if you understand,” I instructed and put some pressure on his elbow. He nodded. “I am glad we understand each other. Now we are going to have a peaceful journey to the city, where I shall depart in peace. If you cry out, call, try to escape you will be departing in pieces. Is that clear?”

  He nodded.

  Perfect.

  Chapter 31

  The boy, I didn’t bother finding out his name, gazed at me with that sullen, the world owes me something look that teenage boys seem to develop as part of their growth towards being a man. It had lost its edge, as every man’s does once they realise that there is always someone better, faster, stronger, more vicious than you out there. It morphs over time into desperate resignation. A grown man expects the worst and often gets it. How they deal with it is up to them. Me, I’m stubborn hence all the bruises, the bullet scar, aching shoulder and bandaged finger. To be honest, I’m not sure I had the right way of things.

  On a bright note, his shoes were the right size so my outfit was finally complete. It had been tempting to wear his socks, but that was a step too far, even for me. Instead, I’d wadded one up and shoved it in his mouth and used his remaining clothing to tie his hands and feet. It wasn’t tight. If he wanted to he could free himself in around ten minutes of wriggling.

  A change in the sound of the engines hinted we were approaching the city docks. I favoured him with a smile. “Not long now.”

  He glared back and mumbled something unintelligible. Probably a swear word or clever insult about my mother. Good on him, still some fire there. Teenagers are a resilient species.

  “That is certainly one school of thought,” I said. There was a series of loud bangs and thumps against the hull. “By the sound of it the docking clamps are in place. I’ll be leaving you soon, but I want you to remember something.”

  He gurgled at me, eyes bulging as he tried to spit out the words he wanted to say. Can’t beat a good, sweaty sock in the mouth. Perhaps all teenagers should be fitted with one.

  “I doubt that is physically possible. Now listen clear and good. You can tell whomever you want what I did to you. You can make up a good story about how five fellows jumped you when you weren’t looking, but you got one of them good before they took you down. It doesn’t matter to me. No one is going to find me. Give them my description, look for the camera feed if you want, it is all the same to me.” I’d already uploaded a worm from my suit Pad onto his. Once he connected it to the sub’s systems my face would vanish from all recordings. He didn’t need to know that. “What I want you to learn is this. You’ve a long life ahead of you, a good one if you choose it, but you’ve got a temper, a short fuse, and a slow brain. The next time you think about tackling someone, or see a crime, you damn well think it through first. Not everyone you meet is as nice as me. Some will kill you because it is easier than not killing you.”

  He was silent for moment, his eyes locked on mine. For once I was being totally honest and I hoped he could see the sincerity in my eyes. I could see the thoughts racing through his mind and, after a long moment, he nodded.

  “Good boy.” I couldn’t resist a friendly but patronising pat on his cheek.

  A new light flooded the cargo bay as the doors opened. The shouts and call of the city dock-hands filtered into my little hidey hole. I waited a few minutes until I was sure there were workers moving around the bay, beginning the unloading. This sub wasn’t stopping here long, just time enough to unload the goods and then it was off to another city in the wrong direction.

  “Good luck, lad,” I said, standing and walking away. I didn’t look back. He’d be fine. Today had been a learning experience for him. It doesn’t stop once you leave school, the lessons just get harder.

  Just like the factory, workers rushed back and forth, lifting boxes and crates onto their trolleys and heading out of the sub. It was a simple task to join the throng, stolen Pad in hand, and pretend to belong. A few flicks of the screen, a nod here and there, a glance around. An easy role to play and the docks of the city weren’t like those in the factory. Sure there was customs, but only for the cargo and passengers. I was a worker, I could simply walk out of here.

  So that’s what I did. Past the dock-hands, the foremen, the armed guards without so much as a strange look or worried glance.

  # # #

  Even though I’d just managed to find
a full set of clothes, and had washed my underwear, I needed a change of clothes. Walking round the city in a worker’s overall would be a good cover for a while, but it wouldn’t last forever. At some point I’d start to stink. At that point, they wouldn’t need the cameras to spot me, the smell would be enough.

  My clothes would likely be in the apartment that Rehja had imprisoned me in. Going back might be a risk or, the thought occurred to me, it might be the last place they’d expect me to go. It was also worth remembering that they thought I was dead. A tragic airlock accident. They happen occasionally. My body wouldn’t have been found, I was still in possession of it. That wasn’t unheard of. The current could carry the body so far away it would never be found.

  On the other side of things, perhaps they had disposed of all my worldly belongings. Dumped them into the waste incinerators and turned them into electricity. Even now, the burning remains of my underpants could be powering a light strip somewhere in the city. In that case, going back to the apartment would be pointless and might expose my presence. There was a simple way to find out.

  I wandered through the early morning crowds, amongst people dressed in overalls of different colours mixed in with the suit wearing administrators, managers and executives on their way to work. A feeling of déjà vu washed over me. Probably lack of sleep.

  I took a deep breath and put it to one side as I reached out and activated one of the wall panels. A person could stay up-to-date with current news, stock market fluctuations and salacious gossip via their personal Pads or the Panels. Activating my Pad and searching the city-web might giveaway my location and the fact I was alive.