Sky1 by William Amerman

Author:William Amerman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, science fiction, apocalyptic apocalyse dystopia dystopian science fiction thriller suspense
Publisher: William Amerman

Chapter 15

Getting out of the park was easier than getting in. Nick approached a series of interlocking gates that exited back to the city, trying not to think about the human wreckage he’d left behind him. He pushed against the first exit gate, and the spiked arms rotated neatly into the second.

SP lights chased each other up the side of a building down the street. He was already locked in the one-way exit-gate system, so he had no choice but to move forward. The last exit gate opened, birthing him back into the city as the number of lights multiplied. The street had vehicles queued three abreast for at least two hundred yards. The end of the line rumbled past the park entrance. Outside, he realized the vehicles were troop transports, not assault rigs.

Before he turned to walk in the opposite direction of the flow of transports, he saw a couple of drivers’ heads twist his way. Their cold eyes reflected the faint orange and red of their front-mounted display instruments.

Nick walked self-consciously. On the way out of the forest, he'd discovered that the bio-suit hood would stay pretty straight at anything less than a trot. He jutted his chest, keeping the trainee insignia on the left breast angled away from view, probably giving the impression he was some sort of spinal-injury victim. And that might be more memorable to them than seeing the insignia, so walk normal.

He slipped into the first alley he came to. The address Tim gave him was not far. For the first time since Muldoin, his profession was an aid to him. As a journalist, he had been all over the Ground. So he knew exactly where the address was, and that it took a twenty-minute walk to reach there. He did it in a trotting twelve, despite pinched feet and an unsteady helmet.

He felt the pouch at his waist. The nitro was his only currency, the only barrier between his family and the thousands of SP troopers they seemed to be importing from other Grounds. He felt the impossibility for a moment. What kind of revolution would stand against that?

There was no basis for revolution on Ground 134, either. The people were too shallow, having had their basic needs met for too long. The quick disorienting slap of a quarantine notice was not the same as years of deprivation. Muldoin had taught him that the edge of a revolution should be honed for a long time and from a lot of different angles before it would be sharp enough to wield against fat government oppressors.

Decades of scarcity, outrage, and injustice were needed, something passed from father to son—generational angst. An absence of basic necessities and a malicious restriction of liberties was a requirement. A scarcity of luxuries was not the same thing.

He arrived at the building that went with the address he’d been given. He scanned the outside of the large structure, looking for a light in any of the windows, but they were all dark.

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