Total Write Off - 2nd round match 3 (Exodus)

pickarooney

PINK and CYAN compete in the second quarter final of Total Write Off on the theme of Exodus. For more details on the competition, see here.

Voting is by poll, with invisible results and open for 5 days. As far as possible, please try and give some feedback for the story you vote for and the one you don't vote for.

Best of luck to PINK and CYAN.

pickarooney

CYAN

The moon slunk behind the cloud. Peter Manning watched its pale light flickering in a silvery shimmer against the cloud's edge, growing steadily dimmer. Moments later, the ghostly wreckage of what had once been a thriving little town was cast into complete darkness. A vista of black sky interrupted only by the faint twinkling of distant stars. Hazel eyes lingered briefly on one of the slightly brighter ones. His progeny might call it home some day. They shifted down then, ignoring the orange glow, some fifty miles north, a lone bastion of civilisation against impending oblivion. It would last another month and then a different kind of light would burn. Of fire and hell, of the essence of what was left of man.

Peter glanced at the screen of his smartphone, cracked and caked with dust. The red dot at the centre was still blinking at the centre of the display. It had done, faithfully so, for the past two hours. The fact that the GPS tracking seemed to have been working correctly provided Peter the only glimmer of reassurance that his source had been reliable, that he had not been fleeced of the last of his prized possessions. Most of the satellites within the North American sphere of influence had been appropriated by The Expedition, two years ago. Commercial services had blinked out one by one as they were deactivated. But there were still a few in orbit that remained under private control, accessible to a privileged few.

It as now or never. He pocketed the phone, pulled the pistol out of it's holster and checked the clip for the twentieth time that hour. 'Get up,' he hissed under his breath. His body, clad in the same faded and torn clothing he had put on nearly a week ago, failed to respond. 'Get... up!'

Springing to his feet, Peter left the shadow of the abandoned car he had been leaning against, and sprinted across the asphalt, weaving his way through empty shopping trolleys and cars with open doors. He maintained a crouch throughout, moving as silently as he could manage, holding the pistol out ahead of him, coming to a stop against the wall of the house. He waited and listened but heard only a silence so profound that the sound of his heart beat was clear against his chest.

The tattered wooden fence, enclosing the back garden, had fallen into disrepair long ago, and he was able to easily pick his way through it. Removing his back pack, and setting it against the inside of the wall he withdrew a pair of night-vision goggles. He'd tried them on a few times but still wasn't used to seeing the world in such odd, green lines.

'There might be traps,' Oslo had warned him as he had handed the equipment over.

'Why?'

'Because they know. Someone, well, like you, might be coming.'

But the traps would be basic. Something that could be erected hastily and since he was looking out for them, Peter was able to avoid the trip wires and other alarms, placed carefully to resemble pieces of scattered junk.

#

After fifteen minutes of painstaking searching, a broken kitchen window provided access. They had been careful to select a secure house, and had barred as many of the entrances as they could. But there were few secure places left in the world any more. Once again, Peter was able to grab the empty can inside a can that had been perched on the inside of the kitchen counter behind the window. Placed just so, to crash to the floor and dispel the safety of silence, should an intruder attempt to climb through.

Empty cans of pickled fruit and vegetables and packets of dried foodstuffs had been left in a circle where they had been eaten them. The lack of dust on their surfaces when compared to the rest of the rubbish in the kitchen said that they had only been there a for a little while. Peter tip-toed around them and poked his gun up the wooden stair case.

The odd creak was unavoidable and his heart as beating faster and faster. It took him almost five minutes to ascend twenty steps, as he stopped after every few to listen. Everything till now had been planned. Everything, that could have been predicted had been so, except for this. He had no idea what would be waiting for him inside that door. It could very well have been the barrel of a gun.

He checked the phone again to make sure he was outside the right room. The door was already open a crack and through it, Peter could see that someone had slumped against the wall beside it and fallen asleep.

Closing his eyes and uttering a silent prayer for luck to whoever damned the fates of men, he burst through, pressing his pistol against the forehead of the startled men, his other, grabbing the shotgun that had been cradled in the man's grasp.

The man awoke with a start and turned his face to look at Peter, the gun now pressed against his forehead, between his eyes. He blinked, blue eyes trying to shake cobwebs as Peter removed the shotgun and slung it over his shoulder.

'David!'

Peter brought a finger to his lips and shook his head at the women who had sat up in the bed. She obviously hadn't bothered to undress before climbing in. Two smaller shapes still lay unmoving in the sheets beside her.

'Take whatever you want,' the man said, his tone calm and even, despite the situation. 'Food, supplies. Just take it and go.'

'I will,' Peter replied.

'Daddy?' One of the shapes had woken. A young boy, less than ten years old.

'Don't move, Kev. Stay with mommy,' the man answered. Mommy responding by hugging the boy close to her chest.

'No. Actually,' said Peter. 'Why don't you come over here, Kev.'

The parents protested, but eventually, Kev came over, and Peter shifted his target, taking hold of the boy as a shield in front of him, holding the gun against him.

Ten minutes later and David Wilson's wife tied him, their daughter and finally her own ankles with clothing and sheets, under Peter's instructions.

'I need you to take a little time to free yourselves after I'm gone,' he'd explained.

Finally, Peter secured her hands and checked the rest of their bindings.

'It's in the closet,' said David. 'Everything you need.'

Rather than reply. Peter shuffled over and began to pat the man's pockets. Holding the pistol in his left hand, he pushed his right into the inside jacket pocket and feeling a thick cardboard booklet, pulled it out.

'You don't need that,' said David.

Peter opened it and looked at the page by the moonlight that was filtering in through the window. It was exactly what he needed. David seemed to recognise it too, the spark in Peter's eyes. With a scream he leapt up, straining against his bonds,.

'David!' his wife screamed.

But with his movement restricted, Peter was able to easily subdue him with the butt of his pistol.

David fell back against the wall, beside his family, blood oozing from the gash on his forehead and trickling down his weathered chin.

Peter pocketed the passports before taking aim. His hand was trembling.

'Please,' David looked up at him. 'Let them be, at least.'

'I won't hurt them,' said Peter. He pulled the trigger and the young man who had begun his career as a telecommunications engineer fifteen years ago, and had married the love of his life twelve years ago, became a murderer. There were three more flashes from the muzzle of his gun. He had no choice. Oslo’s advice had been clear.

'What if someone finds them? What if they make it to the fence before the launch. Do you want to have to face their accusations then?

#

Peter had been tracking the Wilson family for three days, and it took him almost as long to get back to the shack where his family had holed up. His wife couldn't understand why he had to leave them, and when he had done so, he had known that they might not be there when he returned. But it was the only way.

The Expedition project had been set in motion a decade ago. When the worlds scientists had concluded that the planet would only remain hospitable for another century or two. The damage could not be repaired and conditions would grow increasingly harsh. Half a million, carefully selected and incredibly lucky Americans would board a fleet of thirty space-faring skyscrapers and set sail among the stars towards the planet, Astronomers had labelled, new Earth.

'If you can get the ID, why don't you go also?' Peter had asked Oslo, as he had handed over the packet of information that was his part of the bargain. Data on the last remaining North American fossil fuel reserves outside the jurisdiction of Expedition city.

'And die in the cold, dark void? You'd have to be a fool. Or a parent.'

Peter had smiled wistfully.

'No thank you, Sir. There's time for one, final party, and it's going to be something else.'

Peter knew the kind of party Oslo had been talking about. Anarchy. Where men, women and children would be no more than playthings for the amusement of others. A veritable hell before a final Armageddon.

As he trudged the last few steps to the house where he had left his family, Peter wondered, if his wife knew what he had done to try and save them, would she still think him as much a monster as he thought of himself?

But before he could knock on the door, something hard and round pressed against his back, between his shoulder blades.

Peter raised his hands and turned to see the man. A young Caucasian, barely out of his twenties. Peter recognised the spark in his eyes and his own despair began to mushroom.

'Please,' Peter begged. 'My family don't know anything. You can leave them be.'

The man nodded, finger trembling over the trigger. 'I won't hurt them.'

pickarooney

CYAN

It had all gone tits up. Gary crouched in the small corridor and tried to wince away the pain in his wretched ankle. He hadn’t meant it to go down like this. He braced his hands against his knees as he tried to catch his breath, sucked air into smokers’ lungs. He was wheezing, which wasn’t good. The last thing he needed was an asthma attack. That would definitely be the end of him.

He looked around the place he had ended up. A long dingy corridor, one of those back entrance access ways that the public are never meant to see. Scuffed walls where loading carts had been pushed up and down. A floor stained with errant pricing stickers and various spillages. He could see a metal exit door at the dim far end of the passage, with a glowing security keypad on the wall beside it. At the other end, back the way he came, was the door he had just barged through. Any minute now, the uniforms would breach it and discover him here, caught like a rat in a trap. He was so stupid! His dad was right; he had just enough brains to be dangerous, but not enough to be smart.

He turned his foot gently. Small stabs of pain from his ankle, but nothing bad. It would be ok. He felt for the small prize in the pocket of his hoody, a 100ml bottle of Calvin Klein’s Escape. He shrugged. ‘A bit bloody appropriate now’. He sniffed the box. It smelled of nothing but cardboard. He couldn’t even see if it was worth all this aggro. His mates would call him a poof after this as well, if they found out.
He had been careful, he thought - removed the sticky security tag - and still, the minute he put his foot outside of the perfume store, a twit from Security had been on him, asking him in officious tones ‘to accompany him back to the store’. Like hell he would. The last time the cops had brought him home for nicking stuff, his Da had gone berserk at the thought of filth sniffing around the place. Getting sent down wasn’t a problem, he was still too young for any proper aggro, but if Gary brought pigs to his house again he might as well jump off the motorway bridge and have done with it. Dealing with the cops was nothing compared to handling the old man in full tilt.

He checked the passageway, which was lined with blank security doors. He pushed each one in turn, not really expecting any would open. But it was worth a shot, in fact, it was his only shot. At the third door along the corridor, he struck gold. It pushed open an inch, not locked, but instead braced with something heavy on the opposite side. Gary shoved till he had a small gap he could wriggle and scrape his body through.

He found himself standing at the back of a large storeroom, behind a dusty pile of cardboard boxes, all filled with some forgotten or out of season stock. This was the grubby rear end of one of the shiny, magical stores that face out into the public side of the mall. There was nothing shiny and magical here. Just a layer of dust and a selection of cryptically marked boxes which, from their printed labels, all seemed to originate in China. The storeroom was deserted but for the lingering smell of cigarette smoke; a nicotine addicted staff member couldn’t be far away. Gary crept along the rows of boxes, to where he could see the bright doorway to the shop floor, an oasis where he could blend back into the anonymous crowds of shoppers. ‘Always look like you know where you’re going’, his Da had told him. ‘You’ll not get stopped unless you look like you don’t belong’. So Gary took a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back, and walked out into the shop.

Surrounded on all sides by pastel shades, Gary could feel a red flame of embarrassment crawling up his cheeks. A fifteen-year-old boy in dirty jeans and Converse really has no business being surrounded by expensive women’s underwear. He wouldn’t stand out more here if he wore a sign. ‘Keep moving’ he told himself, ‘get the fuсk out of here!’ The bloody mall was turning into a pain in the ass.

Tiptoeing as innocently as he could past teeny bits of lace he had never seen before outside of a copy of Playboy, he made his zig-zagging way towards the sanctuary of the entrance. As he passed the till a snotty looking woman eyed him up and down like he smelled bad. She was buying what looked like a silk tent.

‘Ah missus, that’ll never fit ya, your arse is too big’.

Gary couldn’t resist having a go; the fat old cow deserved it. He grimaced at her as he legged it out the door, and her indignant response was lost to shopping centre muzak.

Back out on the concourse, he felt his adrenalin spike. Where were the uniformed goons now? No sign in either direction. Sweet. All he had to do was stay sharp and keep out of their way for the 200 yards to the north exit. Piece of cake. It was lunch hour, and the place was buzzing. Gary walked with an insouciant lope, fast, but trying not to look as if he was rushing. The wide-open doorway beckoned him. Beyond it was the salvation of North Street and the 4A bus home.

But no, it hadn’t been his day since he got up and his luck wasn’t about to change. They were there, two dark blue uniforms, scanning the walkway for him or some other poor miscreant. He would have to go right past them to get out of this frigging centre. The place was doing his head in.

So without considering if it was wise or not, he ran, taking off for the door. He skidded across the shiny floor, (harder to run on than you’d think) wheeling past a gang of girls, bashing into randomers, leaving a trail of irritated shoppers in his wake.
The goons weren’t long spotting the chaos, but they were old, at least 30, and their chugging frames were no match for Gary the wonderboy. He suddenly laughed. This was probably the first decent run they’d had since giving up football in school twenty years ago. Well, sod them. He wasn’t getting caught. Not today.

His ankle twinged as he launched through the door and leapt the barrier beyond it in his best James Bond parkour. He could hear the laboured breathing of Mr & Mrs Security dork behind him, but they were flagging. Gary danced around the flowing traffic of North Street and onto the step of the 4A just as it belched a cloud of diesel smoke and pulled out into the road. He sat into a seat at the back and smiled out the window. Raised a scruffy middle finger to the cherry-faced security officers as they scowled and panted in the smelly wake of the bus.

Gary rocked and jerked with the motion of the bus as it slowly made its way through town. He drew rude pictures on the steamed up window, and scowled at a granny who scowled back at his impudence. He stuck out his tongue, and she turned away with a ‘harrumph’. Gary didn’t care about her. She thought he was scum anyway, so why bother trying not to be? He rang the bell and stepped off the bus at a point where the larger concrete buildings of his skank town had begun to give way to the run down decrepitude of the suburbs. He pulled up his hood and made his way to the entrance of a building set back off the road. It was beginning to rain.

Along two corridors and up a stairs, no one stopped him or asked what his business was. Perhaps depressed looking scumbags were the norm here, he thought. He entered a room in yet another grey, anonymous corridor, walked over to the window past quiet people who hardly noticed him there, and stood at the end of a bed.

‘Hi Mum’

His mother didn’t answer, but a small smile played on her lips and he knew she heard. He sat lightly on the edge of the bed, so as to not disturb her frail form and make her wince. He laid the small box on the bedcovers.

‘Happy Birthday, I got you something’

A slight nod this time, and a more visible smile. He always hated this. It was hard to see her there. Every time he came she seemed smaller, as if she were leaving the world in slow increments, piece by tiny piece. Who knew when she would finally give it up and let go? He held her hand and laid his cheek against the smooth cold skin of her wrist, and shut his eyes. Her breathing was slow, and steady. She wasn’t leaving him yet.

angelll

God this is a hard one,both really good but so different! Will have to come back to them later and read again.

Hrududu

Pink - The world in this story was painted really well. There was some great imagery that has stuck with me since I read it earlier today. It was a gripping story and I'm interested in seeing what else is going on in that world. I did wonder though how the guy at the end knew to target Peter. Did Oslo sell him out?

Cyan - This one jumped off the page. Its a story that almost makes you forget that its a story. What I mean is when a piece is well written the words almost fall away. Sometimes a writer steps back in then with a clunky phrase or purple prose and that pulls you out of it. But almost from the start I was in Gary's world.

Blush_01

Both were fantastic, and it was a tough choice.

Cyan won out by a narrow margin for me though.

pickarooney

CYAN

I couldn't decide after a first read but PINK won me over the second time around. Two really well-written pieces (the quarter finals have been painfully difficult to separate) with a similarly frantic pace and a 'bad' protagonist we can empathise with. I love the name 'Oslo' - it was little details like this I think that swung me in the end.

azzeretti

CYAN

Pink wins for me. I was immediately drawn into it. The situation was described vividly. Peter's desperation and reasons for it intrigued me. It was well written and an enjoyable read.

Cyan was very well written but there was something that didn't sit well with me regarding some of the language used. I felt it would have been better suited to writing it in the first person rather than the third.

Both really well written though.

The Mad Hatter

I liked them both, but Cyan is the winner for me. I agree with the above comment that sometimes the language doesn't sit quite right with me - for instance, I'd have expected him to say Mam rather than Mum - but that felt like a small thing. The release of information in Cyan was nicely controlled, and the last line was absolutely touching.

Pink was a very strong story too, and the world was well-created. The plot had a nice circular quality to it, and the atmosphere was established very well from the start. I didn't find I really connected with the characters, though, and that's what pushed Cyan to the lead for me.

Mr E

This was the hardest one for me. I read them a few days ago, I read them last night, and again tonight. In the end, it was Cyan for me... what a great story. Both authors should be proud though - the standard was really high.