ONE

The doofer in the back puked shiny gold bars. They slowly evaporated unless doofer didn't swallow them again. That was what happened when these new mutated chems got to people. The doofer was also laughing; he was in a state of euphoria. Mitch had thought it was the sound of retching, but it was the sound of laughter: weird croaky laughter. Mitch Jefferson looked on, disgusted at the being in the back of the privatised police hovercar. They were just old-fashioned dopefiends. To him, they were a waste of life. Mitch threw a blanket over the unkempt waster in the back; he didn't want to have to look at it for much more. To him these freakers were no longer human. He vehemently hated all druggers and work-settlement drop-outs. Though he found them little trouble to apprehend and strangely peaceful people.

            It was 2060 A.D. Mitch had been a privatised police operative since 2050 AD and the whole system was in a constant state of flux. The State-Corporation wanted the status quo; they were depending upon no real radical change ever happening – that everything just ticked over for ever more. The company that contracted Mitch was called CitiServeGuard. They were one of the largest private security groups and had some influence in other parts of the world, particularly in what used to be known as Russia and China before the State-Corporation absorbed all those countries.

            Mitch cursed the environmental decay of the Earth. He had never thought it would happen during his lifetime, but it had. Despite his proud status as a jobsworth bastard, being on the CitiServeGuard roster was not a well-paid existence. In fact, life was getting too expensive and his work exhausted him to breaking point. In real terms his pay was always getting cut and he only got one weekend off every month. Then he ended up sleeping all day on his days off, after endlessly trying to stay awake with synth-caff drinks while on shift.

            Unfortunately for Mitch, he was also out of restdays, which were Sundays you could claim back. Mitch always wondered about the dream money he might've made doing something else; he had been in debt his entire life, accruing his parents' one-hundred year mortgage during his childhood; but it kept him on the straight and narrow, and he always voted for the State Party which was the natural base of the State-Corporation. Deep down, Mitch was hoping for some trickle down off the rich elites that clung to all power. He had been called out to many multi- millionaire secure compound homesteads and liked the look of the lifestyle. He wanted it badly, so he would comply with whatever stupid laws that were passed.

            “Shut up back there,” growled Mitch to the detainee in the back.

His squad partner, Ed Macer, had fallen asleep. He had been on shift for two weeks and he didn't care if he fell asleep on the job. Due to constant staff shortages and the incoming purchase order of new clones, everything had been very hectic; however, the laws were very strict about clones being cops. Clones to police real people was a slippery slope. Mitch had his doubts – not that he would do anything about it. He thought Ed was one of these covert clones as he never done anything outside of work: Ed had no known family, and only talked about work and the people he associated with at work. In Mitch's theory, Ed Macer was the perfect serf; the dream employee for any greedy capitalist corporation. Mitch personally felt Ed could not handle the work, even though Mitch had never worked a two-week shift. Though Ed's laziness was all too human; it put many holes in Mitch's covert clone theory. Mitch's previous partners had been no better than Ed: the one before Macer had been fatally wounded and subsequently re-animated as a blind and toothless air-sucking zombie; the one before that was still AWOL. He had left his family behind to service his debts. The selfish bastard, thought Mitch. He had tried to help but he had his own financial problems, what with the divorce and the alimony payments, not to mention all his other debts he had to service. He hardly had enough money to live on; not that he had any time to spend it. He had to work and clear all his debts.

            Mitch drove through a barren cityscape. Nothing thrived no more. After the rioting, the people just let the zombies wander about. They done nothing apart from suck at the toxic air anyway; some of them occasionally seemed stuck in a trance or tried to re-live some old memory of their previous life. If you hit those zombie blighters though, they just might blow up: they were full of toxic gases which they sucked from the polluted atmosphere. Who would have thought the dead would come back to help rid the planet of its poisonous gases? It was some weird karma; that generation had largely caused this environmental devastation, so it was only right that they attempt to correct it for the future.

            Mitch looked at the sky; the sun was hotter than ever. There was only intense heat these days, very little rain. The rain was horrendous and icy. Sometimes toxic gases got into this ice and reacted with the heat making it look like comets burning up. It was scary when you were a kid but everyone had got used to it very quickly - ever since the cities had effectively become shanties and the general population had moved into the secure work settlements. The payoff was freedom versus security with all of these work-settlements.

            Mitch increased the hovercar's speed as they approached the work-settlement concourse; he had to scan in for his entry to be verified, and possibly provide multiple identifications to again access to the work-settlement. Many people had left them to live wild in the toxic wastes and the ruins of the old cities. That was where all the rioting was. If you were sensible you would stay in the work settlements. Most riots in them, which were a seldom thing, were instantly quashed through extreme force. Mitch approved of this casual shock and awe; in fact, he had studied a lot of its effects and was a supporter of the war against drugs. He also supported eradicating all 'bad' people. Mitch was simple in a way.

            “Wake up, Ed, we've gotta punch in. And then log this waster at HQ,” said    Mitch as if Ed was awake.

Ed groaned and licked his Aryan lips, as Mitch put the car into autodrive. It shuddered as he had to quickly reset the programme for it to self-drive. Damn technology, nothing ever worked. He switched off the car's voice mode; nobody wants a fucking car talking to you. Ed sneezed, shaking his head to remove the dregs of snot-spray that had lodged on his cheeks. If he was a clone, he was a damn good one, thought Mitch. He didn't like the whole trend towards cybernetics and mixing it with cosmetic surgery. What was wrong with being a real human? The population was now in a state of decline and the State Corporation were already bringing in clones and robotically enhanced beings in through the back door.

            Mitch felt nauseous; he gagged then realised the doofer in the back. Mitch hated the smell of the waster in the back; everything left a bad taste in his mouth these days. He wanted to spit but his mouth was parched. Ed rubbed his eyes and looked at Mitch.

            “Cheers for driving this one, Mitch. It's been a long shift; I'm shattered. I think I'm going to have to take a rest day, but I think I got a conference in Old Miami,”said Ed.

There he goes, thought Mitch, always about work. It always comes back to how he can get back to work.

            “Why don't you just take a coupla rest days; recharge yourself for a bit, Ed?” Mitch asked. He was unsure if Ed would take the work-breaking bait. Ed rubbed his eyes and yawned again.

            “I don't know, Mitch. I really don't know. We just gotta always put work first these days. Maybe they'll let me take some rest days; think I'm owed a couple but, you know, I don't rock the boat.”

            “Sure, Ed, I know that. But you owe me a good sleep on the next shift outta town,” said Mitch, half-joking, half-serious.

                “Course, buddy, I'll cover that. You know me, Mitch? I'll do that, no     problem.”

Ed didn't appear to be offended. Mitch smirked, and checked the autodrive programme and looked at the wasted mess under the blanket in the back. The doofer had coughed up a strange resinous tar. Ed sighed heavily. “I just don't know what to do about that conference in Old Miami. Guess I could take that Sandy along, if she can switch shifts; but I got this new sex bot with VR receptors. I call her Lacey. It's taking masturbation to a whole new level. I can't be bothered with fucking around no more. It will be the way of the future; really safe sex for all,” joked Ed.

            “Why worry about that, no women giving birth anyway. It's like the toxic air has sterilised everyone and frozen everybody in this mess. I hate those zombies too, they're just a waste of space.”

            “Hey, at least they suck at the air and are not eating brains, like in them old films and comics,” said Ed.

Mitch laughed at that as it made him think if clones were able to make humorous observations. To think that 'Scooby Doo' – particularly the 'Zombie Island' adventure - had been more accurate than all horrors ever made was a trifle amusing. This was also one of the few conversation topics that Mitch had with Ed that wasn't purely about work. Mitch labelled it as current affairs, though he didn't give a fuck what went on abroad; he was too busy working and the State-Corporation had bought up all nations ages ago.

Ed laughed along for bit. “God, to think that 'Scooby Doo' was close to being spot on, eh Mitch?”

            “Ed,I agree I always wondered how deadly the undead's bite could really be   with radioactive rotting teeth. It doesn't make sense unless there's some kind of mutation that makes the undead's teeth and primal urge to eat flesh more powerful. It never made sense,” said Mitch.

Mitch watched Ed, as he shrugged at what Mitch had just said.

            “Well, I only saw a bit of all that, Mitch. I don't have the time to be honest. And I had no idea you were so into it? ”

            “Yeah Ed. If I get time, I like to surf the archive player – who doesn't these  days?. It's free, it's all there. I only get to browse a little too, but it's endless.”

Ed nodded. He yawned again. “Well, thanks again, it's not been a bad end to a long shift. I can't wait for a synth-caff and a piece of that new vitamin chocolate.”

                “Oh right, I haven't had it. Is it nice?”

                “Yeah, Sandy loves it. I only tried a small bit of Sandy's, but I might as well have a bit more. I can't remember what it's called. Mellazoozam or something.”

                “I might try it some time; I'll look out for that new one. I'm just using the standard rehydated cubes. It's so much cheaper and I hate to think about eating.”

There was an awkward silence as eating had become a strange ritual when everything was so toxic. The only food left was genetically refined substitutes and it was tough to get excited about them. They were modified with vitamins although they were dubiously processed; but nobody knew what they would do to humans in the future. The auto-drive finally parked the hover-car in the appropriate parking storage bay at CitiServeGuard HQ. The hover-car went into limp mode before re-charging all its systems. Luckily everything was automated as nobody had a clue to fix anything.

            “Our stop, fucker,” said Mitch to the mess of a waster in the back.

Mitch smirked at the puking mess. What a waste of life, he thought to himself. It also made him think about zombies. To think all those stereotyped zombie ideas of the past had been way too far out for reality, even for a reality in which decomposition had slowed down due to the abundance of toxic air in the atmosphere; the zombie flesh was somehow frozen in time, but the soft eyes and the delicate gums that held the teeth couldn't be sustained by the weird toxicity levels the zombies fed off.

                “Come on get the fuck up, we wanna go home!”

                “Wanna get high?” croaked a reply from under the blanket.

                “Don't be smart you, slimy fucker,” scolded Ed as he grabbed the waster by the arm to cuff him.

                “What happened to all that weird puke? The gold bars and that weird tar?” Mitch asked Ed.

            Ed looked baffled. “What puke? There's nothing there now, Mitch!”

                “I don't know, Ed. I'm not making it up, I'm sure of it, while you were asleep; he'd sicked up all over the floor in the back. It's all gone! That sick fucker must've ate up his vomit! Who fucking does that?”

The waster smiled and started to laugh. Ed and Mitch looked at each other in disgust and laid into the laughing waster, violently beating him. The fried fuck up was like a punch-bag but none of their blows really seemed to hurt him. What made Mitch even more angry was the fucker was still laughing throughout the beating.

 

https://books2read.com/u/b5rBrR 

 

 

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Texte: Herb Skew
Bildmaterialien: Herb Skew
Cover: Herb Skew
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 25.09.2015

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