Freedom Incorporated, Peter Tylee [literature books to read TXT] 📗

with religion’s death rattle by coincidence. People in western society were abandoning religion in droves, adding to the flocks of listless sheep that called themselves ‘spiritual’ or, more honestly, heathens and atheists. But without religion to anesthetise them, people were discovering how meaningless life could be - unless they were lucky enough to find their true calling as Jen, Samantha and Cookie had. Antidepressants had filled the void. But nobody - not even radical brain-chemistry professors - had imagined the craze, which had started in the 1950s with Imipramine, would mutate into the current trend. It was rare to find someone that didn’t need a cocktail of prescription medication to placate his or her brain into accepting another day of socially inflicted hardship and struggle. Of course, it didn’t help that people were destroying their pituitary glands by overexposure to a deluge of harmful chemicals and electromagnetic radiation, or that corporate-funded nutritionists had brainwashed them into believing corporate-driven rhetoric that left them starved for nutrients. It all added up to one conclusion - western society was doomed. It was like a ticking bomb that every mathematical simulation said should have detonated over a decade ago.

Dan snarled his reply, “Then you shouldn’t fear death. You won’t have to explain to a deity how you’re such a good person when you did something so evil to my wife.”

The black hatred penetrating Dan’s gaze and the tiny tremble in his hands were the first clues Adrian recognised. His foolish notion that he wasn’t in danger back-flipped and he faced the prospect that Dan might actually shoot him.

It changed everything.

He quivered in his chair and felt overwhelmed by regret for his crimes, though not due to any perceptible compassion for his victims or remorse for his actions. He was sorry his actions had landed him in trouble. “Please… don’t.”

“Is that what my wife said before you glued her eyes shut? Is that what she was saying when you raped her?”

The tension quickly eroded any sense of decorum that Adrian’s upbringing had instilled in him and he started to sob. Tears leaked from his red-rimmed eyes and a river of snot oozed from his hairy cavernous nostrils. “Please don’t kill me.”

Dan watched him cowering down the barrel of his gun, weighing his own emotions. If he’d held any faith in the justice system, circumstances wouldn’t have forced him to make this decision. But he knew the system was corrupt. So…

What to do?

*

Saturday, September 18, 2066

17:34 Baltimore, USA

Jen’s headache was only getting worse and an abdominal cramp had begun singing a solo in the general chorus of pain rippling through her body. Two doses of Esteban’s ‘party juice’ - as the other women called it - and she had tremors. She wished a pharmacologist would explain to her what sort of nightmare she should expect. It’s not going to be pretty… She gritted her teeth through the next wave of gut wrenching and pounded clenched fists against her thighs for distraction. It felt like a hot knife was slicing through her innards. She couldn’t remember ever experiencing more agony and was pleading for unconsciousness. Devils with pitchforks were dancing at the edge of her vision, snickering in delight at her torment.

Then the wave passed and she felt euphoric from lack of pain. But, with sinking heart, she knew it would begin again in quarter of an hour. That’d been the recent pattern and the spasms were growing worse. Her mouth felt parched despite the water she’d guzzled, and the nausea had returned.

Jen was unsure which was worse, the nightmares in her sleep or the nightmare reality had become.

She checked her watch. He’s not coming. It was something else to add to her growing list of reasons for being depressed. It was just a cruel psychological game, she realised, scolding herself for falling for their tricks. Why did I believe him? It seemed silly in hindsight. What possible reason could he have for helping me? She drew a blank. All that shit about his past… It made her angry. I can’t believe I was so trusting, so naïve! Given the opportunity, she’d wind the clock back and do her best to slaughter him and escape using his microchip. Now things looked impossible. Her muddled mind made thinking hard. When the tremors began again, she wouldn’t even be able to hold an icepick. Even between waves her hands were unsteady; she held them tightly in her lap to deny the proof of her addiction. And her blood disorder threw another variable into the mixture. Her stress hormones were far above safe levels and had been for several days. Every additional day of stress added to the probability that she wouldn’t live to see the sky again. Or the ocean.

She retreated into her mind where she felt safe. They couldn’t touch her there.

But a furore outside distracted her from the light meditation. She hadn’t heard any commotion since her arrival and it seemed out of character for the Guild so she stood and wobbled to the door.

The disturbance came from the far end of the compound, about 50 metres from Jen’s room. A man was shouting and a woman shrieked. Then the man yelled at the woman to shut up and Jen heard the slap that landed her on the floor. Jen’s face smarted in sympathy as she staggered down the hall. It had to be something important to gather everyone’s attention. A fire? It was the first explanation her foggy mind offered. What will happen to the captives? Will we burn alive? There were no sprinklers on the barren ceiling, only recessed down-lights. I guess we turn to charcoal…

But it wasn’t a fire.

A small crowd had gathered around the portals and people were jostling to gawk at something. Jen’s curiosity kept her inching along and she craned her neck to snatch a glimpse for herself.

What she saw chilled her blood.

It was Adrian.

Or what was left of him.

The air buzzed with excitement and the onlookers’ expressions ranged from revulsion to horror and alarm. He was naked from the waist up and a message had been carved into his torso. Two words: “You’re next.”

His eyes were still open and they stared vacantly ahead. Trails of salt were flaking on his cheeks where tears had dried, and his mouth gaped, as if the corpse wanted to speak one final word but couldn’t draw breath to make it happen. He’d died from three gunshot wounds to the head. The entry holes made a neat triangle just to the right of centre. Blood had splattered over Adrian’s face and trousers. One rivulet had made the epic journey down his chin and dripped onto his abdomen, forming a lake in his bellybutton.

Jen first concluded that Esteban had discovered Adrian’s betrayal. The carnage was precisely what she’d expect of a lunatic like Esteban. It’s a message for me… I’m next. But the longer she gazed into Adrian’s vacant eyes, the closer she came to revealing the truth. It was within her the whole time, just waiting for discovery. It wasn’t Esteban. Realisation sickened her more than the ghastly sight of Adrian’s corpse. Her legs gave way and another wave of pain exploded in her gut as she sat convulsing on the floor. Throughout the tremors, she wrestled with demons that shouted something she didn’t want to hear: Dan killed him.

*

Junior wiped his nose and furiously rubbed the stubble on his chin until his skin was so sensitive the touch become unpleasant. This wasn’t supposed to happen. During times of high stress he needed to keep his hands occupied - every few minutes ran them through his curly mat of strawberry hair. “Get back would you!” He took a menacing pace toward the gathering crowd and they began to scatter.

“Do you know what this is about?” asked Terrance Leichhardt, one of the older members who lingered despite Junior’s demand. He was in his late fifties and hefted significant political weight in the Guild’s inner sanctum.

Junior shook his head and lied, “No sir.” It was imperative that he show due respect to high-ranking members. “I don’t even know where he went.” At least that part was true, Adrian had just up and vanished.

“Take care of the mess, will you?” Terrance said in a dry, smoker’s voice. He’d curled his words as if asking a question, but from a man like Terrance Leichhardt a question was really a command, which carried severe penalties if Junior didn’t follow it to the letter.

“Yes sir.” Junior nodded meekly, running another hand through his hair.

Terrance turned and strolled back to the Imperial Lounge where Junior couldn’t follow, his patent leather shoes squeaking as he went. He was keen to resume a fascinating debate on evolution and hoped the incident with the dead member hadn’t irrevocably disrupted it.

Now what? Junior looked again at his friend’s naked torso and the message somebody had carved into it with a knife. The pinkish flesh was beginning to turn blue. Or is that my imagination? He didn’t want to touch it. He’d touched a dead body before and the experience had given him the creeps. The cadaver’s cold, livid flesh against his warm fingers had made him want to scream. But, gathering his resolve, Junior approached the corpse and gently closed Adrian’s eyes. He could stand the vacant stare even less.

It was Dan. He had no doubt about that. And he obviously knows where we are. He wondered how many hours he’d tortured Adrian for information. Junior blanched, unable to admit he would’ve capitulated immediately. An egoist, Junior would never deliberately suffer on anybody else’s account.

Adrian’s body was kneeling upright, propped there by wooden slats that’d once been part of a chair. Junior pushed the body forward and it landed on its face with a thud.

There was no sign that Sutherland had removed Adrian’s microchip. Of course! How else would he make it through the portal? Junior leered at Dan’s error. He blew it. How stupid. Still, it was unsettling to have a close associate murdered by someone intent upon slaying him too.

He didn’t want to roam outside for long. Not with Dan on the prowl. So he found a thick sheet of plastic and wrapped it around Junior’s corpse. Next, he dragged it to cold storage and unceremoniously dumped it in the corner, next to crates filled with microwaveable dinners. I’ll get rid of it once this is all over.

Which raised another question: Where the fuck was Esteban during all this? Isn’t he supposed to protect us? Shouldn’t we stick together? He knew it didn’t make sense to huddle in the Guild forever, that way it’d never be over. Esteban was doing the noble thing by using himself as bait. So why did Adrian leave? And where’d he go?

He cast Adrian’s corpse a final disgusted look before flipping out his phone and pressing the speed dial for Esteban. No answer. He tried again. Same result. Damn you. He trotted to the portals, hesitating before stepping inside. Maybe I shouldn’t… He had a good idea where Esteban would be. And I won’t be long. So in the end his self-confidence overshadowed his mountain of qualms and he dialled the code, vanishing from the Guild’s portal chamber.

*

Jen stumbled back to bed between tremors and lay quivering under the sheets, twisting and contorting when flashes of pain needled her body. She couldn’t remember ever being more miserable. She lay there wondering how her life had become so horrendous. A week ago she’d been happy, working on the biggest hack she’d ever dared to hope for. And now?

How could you? It seemed so barbaric. How can you write a message on someone’s chest with a knife? It dawned on her that she didn’t really know Dan