it
worst.’
‘Why?’ I say and Tom gives a heavy sigh.
‘Because the whole regime is based on a fear of terrorism. There are regular attacks in the major cities and no one knows for sure who’s responsible. Torch thinks the regime is
actually behind many of them. It’s their reason for identity chipping and it’s why they invented the Revealer Chip. It’s all about control.’
I look ahead, the man’s terrified face still superimposed on my retinas.
‘Help.’ That’s what he was trying to say. And we just drove away and left him there. I don’t know what they’ll do to him. Maybe he’ll be killed. Or
maybe he’s going to end up in the Facility. Deep in some rotten part of me, I’m relieved it’s happening to him and not me.
We drive in silence for ages. The sky has clouded over again and a thin drizzle is falling now. The windscreen wipers swish and thump rhythmically.
After a while we reach a motorway that has about ten lanes each way. It makes me a bit nervy and my back prickles with sweat. Tom closes all the windows and I can hear the low hum of
air-con.
We stop at a service station to fill the van with petrol. Tom’s face is serious now. All the banter has gone. Nervousness ripples in my belly. It somehow felt safer when we were in the
middle of nowhere. I can’t help worrying that every car overtaking us is filled with CATS or whatever they’re called, all hunting me down.
Coming off the motorway at last, the traffic slows and thickens, no longer moving easily. We’re at the top of a giant hill and below us, Tom tells me, is Sheffield. But it’s hard to
make out buildings because the whole thing has a kind of yellow fog hanging over it.
‘What’s that?’ I say.
‘Just rush hour pollution,’ says Tom. ‘It’s known as the miasma. Car use has gone off the scale because no one feels safe on public transport these days.’
I stare at him, confused.
‘Terrorist attacks,’ he says wearily, making air quotes with his fingers.
We crawl through the suburbs of the city. The houses look pretty much like any houses, although some of the better-tended gardens have all sorts of colourful plants splashed
over them. They’re a weird contrast to the toxic yellow air outside the car. I swivel in my seat to look at some massive palm trees taking over one front garden. They look weird. Sort of
tropical.
‘The one upside to climate change,’ he says with a wry smile. ‘We get a few exotic plants. Unfortunately, that also means exotic insects so, if you see any mozzies, make sure
you kill them quickly. Malaria is a big problem here now, and there was an epidemic of dengue fever a couple of years ago.’
‘What the hell is dengue fever?’ I ask.
‘Believe me,’ says Tom grimly, ‘you don’t want to know.’
As we crawl through the streets I can’t stop staring at the strange plants. Someone in a black 4x4 alongside us mouths something and a black screen instantly covers the window.
Tom notices. ‘Try not to draw attention to yourself, Cal,’ he says sharply. I turn away, stung. ‘People get jumpy about being stared at.’
We stop at traffic lights. And then an alien creature suddenly appears at the window next to me and I just about lose my entire skin in fright.
It’s staring in at me, its long flesh-coloured snout flat at one end and dotted with tiny holes. Its eyes are black and round. Even more bizarrely, it seems to be wearing a suit. And
riding a bike.
‘What is that?’ I point a shaking finger at the window. That’s when I notice lots of other creatures with the same face.
Tom smiles. ‘Don’t freak out, it’s only people wearing their miasma masks. They keep out the worst of the pollution. You only have to wear them during rush hour. Look in the
glove compartment.’
I reach forward and open it up and see two slippery pinkish things pooled in the bottom. I pull one of them out. It’s soft and light and only takes on its proper shape when I give it a
worst.’
‘Why?’ I say and Tom gives a heavy sigh.
‘Because the whole regime is based on a fear of terrorism. There are regular attacks in the major cities and no one knows for sure who’s responsible. Torch thinks the regime is
actually behind many of them. It’s their reason for identity chipping and it’s why they invented the Revealer Chip. It’s all about control.’
I look ahead, the man’s terrified face still superimposed on my retinas.
‘Help.’ That’s what he was trying to say. And we just drove away and left him there. I don’t know what they’ll do to him. Maybe he’ll be killed. Or
maybe he’s going to end up in the Facility. Deep in some rotten part of me, I’m relieved it’s happening to him and not me.
We drive in silence for ages. The sky has clouded over again and a thin drizzle is falling now. The windscreen wipers swish and thump rhythmically.
After a while we reach a motorway that has about ten lanes each way. It makes me a bit nervy and my back prickles with sweat. Tom closes all the windows and I can hear the low hum of
air-con.
We stop at a service station to fill the van with petrol. Tom’s face is serious now. All the banter has gone. Nervousness ripples in my belly. It somehow felt safer when we were in the
middle of nowhere. I can’t help worrying that every car overtaking us is filled with CATS or whatever they’re called, all hunting me down.
Coming off the motorway at last, the traffic slows and thickens, no longer moving easily. We’re at the top of a giant hill and below us, Tom tells me, is Sheffield. But it’s hard to
make out buildings because the whole thing has a kind of yellow fog hanging over it.
‘What’s that?’ I say.
‘Just rush hour pollution,’ says Tom. ‘It’s known as the miasma. Car use has gone off the scale because no one feels safe on public transport these days.’
I stare at him, confused.
‘Terrorist attacks,’ he says wearily, making air quotes with his fingers.
We crawl through the suburbs of the city. The houses look pretty much like any houses, although some of the better-tended gardens have all sorts of colourful plants splashed
over them. They’re a weird contrast to the toxic yellow air outside the car. I swivel in my seat to look at some massive palm trees taking over one front garden. They look weird. Sort of
tropical.
‘The one upside to climate change,’ he says with a wry smile. ‘We get a few exotic plants. Unfortunately, that also means exotic insects so, if you see any mozzies, make sure
you kill them quickly. Malaria is a big problem here now, and there was an epidemic of dengue fever a couple of years ago.’
‘What the hell is dengue fever?’ I ask.
‘Believe me,’ says Tom grimly, ‘you don’t want to know.’
As we crawl through the streets I can’t stop staring at the strange plants. Someone in a black 4x4 alongside us mouths something and a black screen instantly covers the window.
Tom notices. ‘Try not to draw attention to yourself, Cal,’ he says sharply. I turn away, stung. ‘People get jumpy about being stared at.’
We stop at traffic lights. And then an alien creature suddenly appears at the window next to me and I just about lose my entire skin in fright.
It’s staring in at me, its long flesh-coloured snout flat at one end and dotted with tiny holes. Its eyes are black and round. Even more bizarrely, it seems to be wearing a suit. And
riding a bike.
‘What is that?’ I point a shaking finger at the window. That’s when I notice lots of other creatures with the same face.
Tom smiles. ‘Don’t freak out, it’s only people wearing their miasma masks. They keep out the worst of the pollution. You only have to wear them during rush hour. Look in the
glove compartment.’
I reach forward and open it up and see two slippery pinkish things pooled in the bottom. I pull one of them out. It’s soft and light and only takes on its proper shape when I give it a
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