Cistopia: A Gripping Dystopian Novel by Harley Grigg

Author:Harley Grigg [Grigg, Harley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The Tatlow Heights building had an other-worldly look to it that morning, diabolical and corrupt, even though she had been there not forty-eight hours earlier when it was still nothing more than a rundown redbrick. It pulsed with the ghost of her old self, was stained by the bilious residue of the equality minister. She shuddered at the stone steps, at the thought of where the occupants of flat 15b were now, the torments they were being subjected to.

The thought unsettled her enough to make her want to retch. Her complicity in their fate was naked to her now. No internal voices feeding her the lies of justification, no great divide forged by the myth of duty separating her, artificially, from her own sense of reason. The tide of guilt was as abrupt as it was crushing, a hot rock tumbling through her bile duct.

She wavered at the portico, put a hand to her mouth. Nothing came. Jake reached out, propped her at the elbow. A deep breath. Another. The moment passed.

Chrissie pressed the buzzer on the intercom for 16a. Unlike the buildings in better parts of town, there was no videye on the front door. Had there been, chances of getting inside would have been slim. The electronic box gargled, said nothing. For a while they exchanged looks, hoping a response would come. She jabbed the button again. Same result. Jake gave her a what now? look.

“We’ll have to wait it out,” she said. “Across the road, maybe. See if he shows up.”

“A stakeout?” Jake said, a flash of a smile.

“Trust me. They’re no fun.”

They were back on the pavement when the intercom finally chirped in response. A distinct Yeah?—though distant and hoarse, like the person on the other end didn’t get many visitors.

Jake dashed back up the steps, leaned into the speaker, tried his best Scottish brogue.

“It’s Pete. Let me up.” Line perfect.

“Shit.” The box spluttered. Hesitation. “How’d you get out, dude? Are…are you alone?”

“Let me up.”

The less he said, the less likely the guy on the other end would detect the lie.

A long pause. Seemed like the bait hadn’t been swallowed, like the occupant was smart enough—or paranoid enough—to leave it at that. But the pause was followed by the buzz of the digital latch releasing on the security door. It sounded like a thin sigh of relief.

They took the stairs. The carpet, worn, gave off a musty odour mixed with the faint linger of disinfectant, mouse droppings and foods cooking behind closed doors.

At the door to 16a, Jake nodded once to Chrissie, pressed his thumb over the peephole, knocked three times. It cracked, revealed half the face of the teen Chrissie had found in the airing cupboard. His eyes, bloodshot and tired, darted rapidly, registered the man standing in front of him was not, in fact, his unlucky dissident friend.

A question seemed to want to come out but the teen was mute, rooted to the floor.

Until he saw Chrissie.

Even with her head down, the hat pulled low over her ears, he recognised her at once.

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