New Reality: Truth (4 page)

Chapter Three

Moving at a quicker pace than usual, Jake slipped on a lump of rubble, a spike of panic gripping him as he anticipated the crack of his ankle. It never came. Staring into the oncoming wind, his eyes protected for the first time, Jake could just about see his friend. Cupping his mouth, Jake called after him as he disappeared into the dust storm ahead. "Tom! Wait up, man." The weather chewed his words up and spat them back in his face with a side helping of grit.

Despite the glasses enabling him to see better, Jake's cheeks burned from the sandblasting. But he kept his face up. To look down may mean losing his friend forever. The clouds already threatened to consume him completely.

With his heart beating like it was trying to bash free of his chest, Jake pushed on. In the past two years, they'd never been out of one another's sight. Narrowing his eyes, he kept his focus on Tom. He wasn't going to let that happen now.

When Tom turned around again, Jake waved his arms in the air. "Tom!" The shouting irritated his itchy throat. Resting his hands on his knees, he bent over double, gasping in between hacking coughs.

Coughing to the point where gritty phlegm lifted up his throat, Jake vomited a bitter mix of bile and mucus. Fighting to catch his breath, he remained bent over, his mouth stretched wide beneath the scarf covering it.

Every time he stood upright, another attack stopped him still. If he lost sight of Tom... He shook his head to banish the thought and continued trying to breathe.

By the time Jake had recovered, Tom was just a silhouette in the storm. Biting down on his lip, he pushed on, his lungs burning, his head spinning.

###

Having not stopped since leaving the crater, Jake's legs felt like they'd trebled in weight. Every step sapped his energy. Dizzy and nauseous, he reached his tolerance for looking into the wind, dropped his head and carried on.

The floor evidenced a previously corporate monopolized society. Carrier bags were strewn amongst the wreckage. All of them had different logos. All belonged to the same parent company.

A glance up showed him that Tom's outline was still there. Just.

With sweat dampening his forehead, the grit clinging to it, Jake looked down again. The floor was dotted with empty beverage cans. There was a variety of flavors and designs. All were owned by one soft drink manufacturer.

Like Tom, Jake kept glancing behind. Although he couldn't hear their pursuers, that meant nothing. The things following them existed in the shadows. They only made their presence felt when they wanted to.

There was more evidence of their bygone society on the floor--Toys, books, old DVD's--all of them licensed by the same merchandising giant.

All Patrick Rixon had done
with New Reality was enter the consumer marketplace with the best product. The free market economy allowed the strongest to survive and monopolize. At just twenty-three, the German did what his fellow countryman of over a century and a half ago had tried to do--he'd taken over the world.

Sweat ran into Jake's eyes when he looked up. Blinking several times, he returned his attention to Tom. There was no sign of him slowing down. He must be exhausted.

When Jake tripped, the air left his lungs.

Pain tore into his right shin seconds later and spread through his leg. Rolling onto his back, the jagged ground spiky against his spine, Jake pulled his knees to his chest. Rubbing the point of impact like he was trying to set his leg on fire helped, but only a little.

Looking up, Jake jumped when he saw a sharp steel blade close to his face. Protruding from the ground like a trap, he'd missed it by mere centimeters. The thought of landing on it made his already weak body weaker. How were they still alive in this place?

Shaking the thought away, Jake lifted his head and looked for Tom. He still hadn't stopped. Then Tom looked back again.

Lifting his upper body to wave his arms in the air, Jake called in a weak voice, "Tom!" He then collapsed from the effort, biting down on his tongue when he hit the hard floor.

With the metallic taste of his own blood running down his phlegmy throat, Jake watched Tom turn around and then continue marching away.

If Jake didn't get to his feet now, then he'd surely lose him forever.

With sweat itching beneath his clothes, he pushed himself up on his good leg. The injured one pulsed. When he put light pressure on it, his heart fluttered. He expected it to fold beneath him. It didn't. Pushing down harder hurt more, but it wasn't broken. There wasn't time to hang around. Setting off after Tom, Jake now moved with a heavy limp.

If Jake had any chance of catching up with his friend, Tom would have to slow down. Shouting so loud that he shook, Jake called, "Tom! I'm sorry, man. I thought we'd be okay for a while." The scarf covering his mouth muffled his words, and the need to cough crawled in his throat.

Tom didn't respond.

"Tom, come on, man, wait up!"

When Tom looked over his shoulder again, Jake shouted, "Come on, Tom! Hear me out, mate."

The maudlin man slowed down. He then stopped.

When Jake hobbled close enough, he saw the deep frown on his friend's face.

Looking him up and down, Tom shielded his eyes as he rubbed both temples with the thumb and index finger of one hand. "What have you done to yourself?"

Taking several steps closer, Jake stopped and rested his hands on his knees. His spinning head spiraled as he pulled air into his starved lungs.

After a couple of minutes, Tom made a point of looking at an imaginary watch and then behind them in the direction of the things.

"Sorry, man," Jake wheezed, his pulse sending disorientating blows to his temples. "Let me get my breath back." Holding up his index finger, he added, "One more minute."

While looking past his friend again, Tom spoke in a dry voice, "Been a day for waiting, hasn't it?"

Ignoring the snarky comment, Jake kept his focus on his breath.

After taking his full minute and then some, Jake stood upright and interlocked his fingers behind his head. "I'm sorry, man." Drawing another deep breath, he winced at the burn in his lungs. "I really am." A sharp headache throbbed behind his stinging eyes. The saliva in his parched mouth had turned to a thick and bitter paste.

Watching Tom's face twist as he pulled a heavy gulp, Jake could only assume the lack of liquid was affecting him in a similar way. When Tom spoke, his voice came out in a croak. "You never listen to me." He scratched his face, sharp and hard. "Next time, I'm leaving you on your own." Squinting, he looked behind Jake again.

Twisting to see what his friend was looking at, Jake turned back around and studied his face. "What did you see over the hill?"

Dropping his eyes to the floor, Tom shook his head. "Nothing. I didn't see anything. I just wanted you to hurry up."

"Then why did you tell me to not look behind?"

Looking behind yet again, Tom bounced on the spot. "Why did you fuck about so much?"

"What are we running from, Tom?" Jake wasn't going to drop it.

"What are you talking about?"

His tall friend's grey eyes were wild, unsettled. "If there was nothing to see behind earlier," Jake asked, "then why did you stop me looking? Why are we running?"

"I'm not running." Jabbing a long finger at Jake, Tom sneered. "I just want to be away from you."

"That's not it, Tom. You saw them, didn't you? What did they look like?"

"Stop talking rubbish. I didn't see anything."

When Jake didn't reply, Tom looked away and ground his jaw. After a few seconds, he looked back, his gaunt face locked tight. "Do you appreciate how hard it was for me to stand watch while I worried about you being killed? You were so vulnerable in that bloody crater, and you wouldn't listen to me."

The scar tissue burned in Jake's triceps. It had been just over a year, and he could feel the wound as if it were still healing. At the time, it felt like the Bot had taken his arm clean off. Staring straight at his friend, he raised an eyebrow. "I know exactly how it feels, Tom."

When Tom's harsh posture sank, Jake's heart ached. He'd pushed it too far. "I'm sorry, man."

Tom didn't respond.

When would he learn to think before he spoke? "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gone there." Talking about Thalia was out of order.

Tom stared straight through him as if he hadn't spoken, his eyes glazed.

Grabbing his glasses, Jake paused before removing them and handing them to Tom. Squinting, he shielded his eyes with his spare hand. "Here, have these. I'm sorry."

After clearing his throat, Tom brushed loose strands of his hair away from his forehead. He had the tightest ponytail, but not even that was a match for the strong winds. Looking at the glasses through tear-filled eyes, Tom paused. Crow's feet stretched across his temples. Clarity returned to his features. "I don't want your stupid glasses." After another deep sigh, he looked across at the sky-scraping obsidian obelisk on the horizon. Other than the dusty sun, which they saw infrequently, it was the only thing on the skyline.

Lifting the glasses towards his friend, Jake said, "Are you sure?"

A scowl met his question.

The relief was instant when Jake slipped the glasses back on. Allowing his weeping eyes to clear the grit themselves, Jake ignored the burn as much as he could and followed Tom's line of sight over to the dark tower. Running down its spine, blurred on the horizon, it read RIXON. An exact replica of the tower dominated every city.

"I can't believe our only landmark is that phallic symbol of oppression," Jake said. "Look at it, it's penetrating the clouds like they're the world's arsehole. Quite fitting really." He then threw it the bird.

It was nice to see Tom's eyes brighten and the scarf across his mouth lift as if he were smiling. "Someone probably saw that. I'd imagine those arseholes controlling our lives love that kind of reaction. It shows they're winning."

"You really think the rich have retreated into the towers and our lives are entertainment for them?"

Tom shrugged. "Of course. It may have looked like Rixon crushed all of the other companies, but the previous corporation's grip on the world was too firm. There's no way they simply vanished. Those companies set the rules, not Rixon. He only succeeded with their permission. For all we know, Patrick Rixon's just a front for them. I guarantee you that the fat cats from before are the ones waiting in the towers now." Turning to look at Jake, he raised his eyebrows. "As for us as entertainment? What else are they going to do while they wait for everyone to die?"

Whether Tom was right or not, living in such a heightened state of paranoia wasn't for Jake. Searching their surroundings, he shook his head. "I can barely remember the city now. I try to imagine where the Cube Building once was, the University Clock Tower, the Alpha Tower."

"It's hard to remember Birmingham not looking like this isn't it?" Scanning the wasteland, Tom wrinkled his nose. "Not stinking of death and decay."

Having got so used to the stench, it was only when it was pointed out to him that Jake could smell the decomposing gasses.

Looking up, Jake watched the broiling clouds. Grey and heavy, they looked like they contained churning rocks that would rain down oblivion. "I couldn't quite believe what I was seeing when they leveled the city."

Tom didn't reply.

"The controlled explosions lasted for... what? About a week? I didn't get much sleep during that time." When Jake drew a breath, his lungs burned. "I got that much dust on my lungs that I don't feel like I've been able to breathe properly since."

Shaking his head, Tom said, "It was a crazy week. It was quite amazing to see how the Bots cleared the gamers out of a building, leveled it, and then put them back on the rubble. Their efficiency was impressive."

"They were designed by a German. What do you expect?"

The rag on Tom's face jumped away as a forced laugh shot from his mouth.

"It was a good idea of yours to hide by the Rixon Tower, Tom. There was no way they were blowing up their penis of corporate domination."

At first Tom didn't reply. Instead, he stared at the tower before finally sighing. "Sometimes I wonder if it was. We should have just let a building collapse on us; that would have been a hell of a lot easier." Throwing another glance back in the direction they'd come from, Tom looked back at the tower.

"You don't..." Jake fell into a coughing fit. Once he'd recovered, he lifted the scarf covering his mouth and spat a metallic-tasting bilious lump of phlegm on the floor. It wobbled on a dusty brick. Swallowing several times did nothing to tame the burn in his throat. "...mean that."

Speaking in monotone, Tom said, "I do." Tears welled in his eyes. "If I'd have known what we were going to do Thalia..." A frown dipped on his brow.

Without another word, Jake hobbled over to his friend and put an arm over his bony shoulder. The two of them stared at the tower.

After about five minutes of standing with his arm around Tom, Jake could feel the tingle of an impending cramp in his shoulder. Unwrapping himself from his tall friend, he patted him on the back. "Come on, man, let's go."

Tears streamed from Tom's wide eyes as he stared into the distance, unblinking, even in the dust storm.

Clicking his fingers, Jake said, "Tom, come on, we've got to get moving."

When there was still no response, Jake couldn't think of anything else to say other than, "What if they're still following us?"

Tom's eyes snapped even wider, and he jerked his head round to stare in the direction they'd come from.

Moving closer to his friend, Jake spoke softly. "Why don't you tell me what they look like?"

Silence.

"Okay, mate, fair enough. We need to get moving though."

The tall man still didn't reply.

Hobbling off on his still sore leg, Jake stopped almost instantly when Tom said, "I can't believe that it was only four years ago when we were caught up in the rat race like every other mug." He laughed with zero humor. "Do you remember the advertisements? They were everywhere."