(Ch2)

As the news of the border closure spreads, tensions rise and the citizens of West 22 find themselves helpless and frustrated.

            The three mail men trudged solemnly down a dust covered and colourless street, their eyes on the road at their feet. They had barely spoken a word as they delivered the mail, and Mathers had hurriedly scribbled the bad news on the blackboard in each of the courtyards and they had escaped before the message could be properly absorbed. There had been the sounds of unrest at their backs the whole evening, but as they approached their home and final delivery there were no sounds except the rattle of the trolley's loose wheel. 

 

                        The flicker of the nightly bonfire flashed a warming yellow on the arch as Don, George and Mathers approached, and from the outside their courtyard seemed to be the last blissfully ignorant pocket of the whole zone. As they entered, however, they realised that the news they carried had beaten them there. The bonfire was ringed by an unusual number of stern faces, all of which were tilted towards the three. They walked into the light and, with a sigh, Mathers gave a slight, knowing nod.

 

                        All of a sudden the crowd erupted in angry shouts and each person turned to the next to tell them exactly who they were going to kill, and what they were going to do. As Donald circled the group in search of Lewis, whom he had been in the scouts with as a child, he heard a man declaring that he was going to visit his cousin in West 21 tomorrow and he'd knock out every guard that stood in his way, but they were welcome to try and stop him. 

 

                        Donald found Lewis sitting on the glass-less windowsill of his house on the north end of the courtyard. Two other boys were with him, and Donald knew them both. Lewis saw him coming and shouted out to him.

 

                        "Hey, Don!" he called, "Come here. Tell us what you know, what's happening?"

 

                        Donald looked each boy in the eye in turn, and then slumped against the wall.

 

                        "Quarantine, seems like," he said. "No travel between the zones."

 

                        "See, it is the sickness, just like I said," said the boy sitting on the ground. His name was Joseph and as far as Donald knew he was the only person in all of West 22 who had been past the Inner Wall. He was a Junior Ambassador for the CPC and wore a pale blue handkerchief around his neck, which was the only thing he wore that he bothered to keep clean.  "I told you, didn't I? I told you."

 

                        "Are you sure?" Lewis asked.

 

                        "Yep," Don said with conviction, settling on the ground beside Lewis. 

 

                        "And how do you know that, Don?" spat Richard, the other boy. He wore the same threadbare jacket as every other day and right now half his face had disappeared in the shadows cast by the inconsistent light of the bonfire. 

 

                        "Well its the only thing that makes sense, isn't it?" he answered gesticulating with his hands. 

 

                        "My father says they're having trouble with the food," Richard suggested. "He came back from the market in West 12 last month and said something about a couple of the zones between here and there. Said he saw an old lady mixing some kind of gravel or sand into her rice or something. He couldn't make sense of it so he asked a mate of his who told him it was becoming common, doing that, so they don't feel so hungry."

 

                        "Why would they close the zones for that?" Lewis asked.

 

                        "Well, that was a month ago," Richard went on, "Imagine how bad it is now! There hasn't been a food drop since then either."

 

                        "You think they're rioting or something?" Donald asked sceptically.

 

                        "Well, yeah. Wouldn't you?"

 

                        "No, no-one's mentioned any riots in the Embassy," Joseph declared, shaking his head. "I'm with Donald on this one. Plus, an outbreak explains why they've closed all the borders."

 

                        "Who says they've closed all the borders?" Lewis asked, dropping from his perch and crouching down closer to the others. "Maybe its just us. What'd they say anyway? You were there, right?"

 

                        Donald glanced at the crowd and spotted George by the fire, kicking up dust as he paced about and talked heatedly with all in his reach. 

 

                        "Yeah, I read the notice," he said distractedly. "Restricted travel, no more mail and I'm out of a job. That's about all it said."

 

                        Donald's words fell heavily on the others and something changed in the air. Donald kept his head down but he could feel their eyes on him and he knew that he had just told them something new. 

 

                        "No more mail?" Joseph said stuttering. The silence now broken, Lewis and Richard let slip their own urgent questions which Donald answered as best he could even though he knew it was mostly speculation. The truth was that no-one knew what was happening for sure, and it made them all feel a little uneasy.

 

                        Time past as the boys talked, and the crowd began to thin as the tired workers found their way to their beds. Richard returned home after a minor dispute with Joseph about the trustworthiness of the businessmen of the CPC, and in turn Joseph also departed. George's voice could still be heard above the rest expressing his outrage and threatening to beat the living daylights out of anyone who tried to calm him down, and Mathers had wandered away to a quiet corner where sat and watched his dead sister's dead husband's brother. Don and Lewis talked for an hour or so more about all manner of things, from girls to food stamps to the shifty trader that tried to sell Lewis a handful of dead batteries. 

 

                        "I mean," Lewis was laughing, "What the hell am I supposed to do with batteries anyway? Do I look like I can afford anything electronic?"

 

                        The two of them laughed tiredly and Donald was thinking about saying goodnight. Lewis had his head resting against the wall and his eyes closed. Suddenly, and without opening his eyes, Lewis spoke.

 

                        "Where do you reckon you'll get assigned now?" he asked.

 

                        Donald picked at the dirt under his fingernails while he pondered the question.

 

                        "Don't know," he said finally. "Maybe I'll get off the manual labour list. Six years in the scouts has got to count for something, right? Maybe I'll get to use some of what they taught me. Or maybe I'll be in the embassy with Joseph. That'd be all right, I suppose."

 

                        "You could work with me!" Lewis said, perking up a bit. "Paula said she's petitioned for another hand in the warehouses. You'd be sick if you knew how much stuff spoils in there."

 

                        "Hey, boys," said Mathers, sitting himself down beside Donald. Neither of them had seen or heard him approach, and in their drowsiness it was almost as if he'd just appeared out of thin air. 

 

                        "Ah, s**t!" Donald exclaimed, bracing his hands in the dirt as he jolted from shock. Mathers swiftly swung his arm and gave him a clip around the ears. 

 

                        "Watch your mouth, kid," Mathers said. He peered into Donald's eyes and though his nephew said nothing he was satisfied with the apologetic look on his face. "I need to have a word with you. There's something we must discuss. Lewis, stay and listen, you should hear it too."

 

                        The boys exchanged a glance and then shuffled closer. There was something about Mathers' behaviour that suggested secrecy and importance, and Donald and Lewis couldn't hide their intrigue. 

 

                        "Look around you," Mathers began, speaking to them but watching the stragglers at the bonfire. "What do you see?"

 

                        "I see... more people than usual," Lewis said uncertainly.

 

                        "Look deeper, boy. Open your eyes and really look. Listen. Something is happening, surely you've noticed it?"

 

                        "Yes," Donald said. "People are angry."

 

                        "None more so than your uncle. Look at him over there."

 

                        Donald looked at the few still around the fire. There were only five or six people left standing there, and they had formed a sort of semi-circle with George at the centre. He'd stopped pacing but he was still pounding his clenched fist against an invisible chest in front of him as he spoke. His face was no longer angry but earnest.

 

                        "What do you make of him?" Mathers pressed.

 

                        "He's calmed down a bit," Lewis said. 

 

                        "Yes, indeed," Mathers agreed. "He was quite irate. He is a proud man, and is not dealing with this very well at all. He's going to do something stupid, I'm sure of it, but what I don't know."

 

                        "Maybe I should talk to him," Donald suggested, but Mathers grabbed him by the shoulder with a slight snarl.

 

                        "Don't you dare, Don," he said throwing in another clip on the ear for good measure, "Don't be stupid. If you go up to him spouting that CPC dribble and trying to rationalize he'll bloody well kill you! Remember when Joseph, that glorious idiot, was running that "Support our Troops" campaign and asked him to donate his food stamps? Your uncle nearly had him eating that precious blue neck-tie of his. Taught him a thing or two about fear."

 

                        "There's no getting through to some people," Lewis said casually. 

 

                        "He may be a little pigheaded but he's still a good man," Donald said, determined to defend George despite his flaws. "He's just angry about my father's death. Did you know he still blames the CPC for it?"

 

                        "Don't speak so casually about things like that," Mathers chastised the boy. "Have some respect. And the two of you can be just as pigheaded."

 

                        "How so?" Lewis asked, taken aback.

 

                        Mathers rose to his knees and leant over Lewis in a manner that left both boys unsure if he intended to strike Lewis in the face or reassure him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

 

                        "I put it to you, Lewis, that the CPC is not our saviour. That they are not the shining beacon of hope that you see, but that they are slavers, and you are enslaved. That you have been brainwashed and dumbed into blind, thankless obedience, that you are a drone and they are the queen, that they possess all the power despite their dependence on us and the work we do. I put it to you, Lewis of West 22, that you are not Lewis at all but a number, and if they so decide that they have too many numbers, you will be removed, and be nothing at all. Not Lewis, not a number, not a worker, not a drone. You will be smoke and ash, and that is the unavoidable fate of us all. I put this to you not to be believed, but to be considered. Can you do that, Lewis? Can you consider this? Or will you dismiss it?" Mathers said, his voice slow and even, almost hypnotic. He had steadily shifted closer to Lewis as he spoke, and now the boy was trapped in Mathers' stare, unable to escape the interrogation. 

 

                        Lewis was unsure if it was his turn to speak, and there was a brief silence as he flicked a glance between Mathers' cold stone eyes. Just as the silence was becoming unbearable Lewis found his voice.

 

                        "I don't know who you've been talking to but you can't say s**t like that to normal people," he said, his eyes wide but not with fear. His face bore an expression of shock, disbelief and indignation. 

 

                        "Just as I thought," Mathers concluded, rolling back onto his feet and standing. "Goodnight, loyal Lewis, may you find space in your skull for rational thought. Donald, think about what I said. Who knows what tomorrow holds. I'll see you in the morning."

 

                        Mathers took three steps and disappeared around a corner, out of sight. Donald and Lewis eyed the corner suspiciously for a few silent moments until they were certain he had gone and would not overhear them.

 

                        "Bloody hell," Donald breathed.

 

                        "Yeah. First thing tomorrow I'll head over to the barricade and tell them what he said."

 

                        "No, don't," Donald said defiantly. "He didn't mean any of that. He was just trying to make us think, that was all. Something is happening. That's for sure."

Author's Note

I am keen to hear about any aspect of this, from spelling to grammar to plot to character to anything else that you feel is worth a comment. Mainly, though, I am curious about the plot and plot progression.