Inner City Read online

  As he ran, Callen took little notice of the city around him. To him it was unremarkable. He’d lived his Seven years, taking all the technology and infrastructure for granted. It existed and he lived with it. Nothing seemed to impress him about it, nor did it impress any of his young friends or the countless hordes that called it home. The only people truly impressed by the way the city lent itself to modern life were the elderly. Anyone over the age of one hundred could remember when the world they lived in was new. They remembered how they’d marvelled at every new building as it was moulded from indestructible plastics and clicked into place as the pieces came together. They marvelled at the climate control systems that gave them perfect weather and mirrored their regimented lives.

  The pollution problem had long been solved with pipes that took the city’s exhausts and sent them into the wilderness. Wealth was accounted for by a tally of debits and credits recorded on a microscopic chip worn on band around a person’s wrist. To flash this across a scanner recorded the transaction and adjusted the balance. To remove the band, made the contents irredeemable and only the chemical signature of the owner, given off in a normal relaxed state, could validate it again.

  Those eating at local cafes on the sidewalk watched Callen pass. They made no attempt to find out where he was running to. It would have been novel to think, in less enlightened times a Seven year old running in desperation down a main street close to midnight would have raised more concern. Tonight it barely brought a sideways glance.

  Callen was looking for darkness and he thought he’d found it in the park. A long thin stretch of artificial grass, bushes and trees, that lay between two lines of large multi storeyed apartment houses. Every foot of every park was assigned in accordance with the number of people living in the area. The single light in the park shone out and the trees provided a canopy that gave Callen some momentary security. For the first time in almost an hour Callen stopped running. He slumped down and lay on his back on the cool imitation grass. He gained his breath quickly and within a minute or two was able to sit quietly and look around. To one side of the park was a small lake. He could see the bushes that surrounded it. This would be the perfect place to hide. He moved to the bushes and stopped suddenly. A strange noise could be heard; someone in pain. Callen took tiny steps towards the bushes. The noises became louder and his curiosity pushed him further and made him forget about his own escape.

  With one more step, Callen was as close as he dared. He raised his hand and inserted it between the long slender leaves of the bush in front of him, moving them out of his line of sight. What he saw shocked and confused him. On the shiny resin rocks that formed the surround of the lake, nestled deep amongst the bushes and well out of sight of anyone, lay two naked teenagers: a boy, maybe seventeen years old and a girl about the same age. Their clothes were nearby on the ground in no particular order and their bodies were entwined. Their skin beaded with sweat, set off like small fluid crystals against the moonlight. The young girl was on her back, with the boy on top of her. Callen watched in awe. He knew what he was watching from talk he’d heard amongst his friends. Callen wasn’t sure what to do. The couple could be exiled from the city or incarcerated for most of their lives for what they were doing. If Callen didn’t report them and this was discovered, he could be arrested as well. The young lovers continued until slowly they came to rest. They breathed heavily and went quite still, lying by each other as if sleeping. Finally they laughed, enjoying their moment together. Callen went to move. He caught his foot on a lower branch as he backed away. The bush shivered into the silent night and the couple suddenly sat bolt upright, staring at the bush. They were looking straight at Callen who froze behind the bush. The boy went to his clothes and quickly did up his pants. From his jacket he took a shinning blade, it kissed the moonlight with a ray of reflected light. Callen could not move now if he wanted to. The young girl began to dress as the boy took steps, one by one, bringing him closer. Callen trembled in fear. The boy circled, desperately searching the leaves for whatever made the bush shudder. His shaking hand gave away his mood. His bare feet took slow but sure steps on the smooth resin floor. His damp naked torso a backdrop to the glittering blade held aloft.

  He stopped dead, staring straight into Callen’s eyes through a gap in the leaves. Callen jumped up to run, but the boy was too quick and with a scream from Callen and a bold yell from the young boy Callen was roughly pushed to the ground.

  “Do it”, said the girl now almost fully clothed.

  “He’s a kid”, said the boy, firmly holding Callen to the ground with the blade gripped menacingly near his neck.

  “He saw us. You know what that means if he tells someone?”

  “I don’t think he’s going to.”

  As he spoke the young boy motioned with the knife to Callen’s pants. A wet spot had appeared and was growing like the boundaries of a victorious country at war. Callen was shaking all over.

  “He’s not going to be too scared to tell tomorrow.”

  The young boy thought about the point his girlfriend was making. Slowly he turned his head to Callen. The two stared at each other for a moment, until the young boy spoke.

  “Sorry, kid.”

  He raised the knife and brought it down hard towards Callen’s chest.

  Callen reacted with a reflex out of fear and he jerked to avoid the knife. It wasn’t enough to escape the blade completely, but it was enough to save his life. The knife dug into his skin to the side of his rib cage. A rib guided the blade away from its intended mark. Callen cried out and kicked with pain. The boy with the knife recoiled back in shock at the unexpected defence. There was blood on the knife and Callen’s shirt was witness to the fact the knife had pierced his skin. He lurched in pain, throwing the young attacker off balance. Callen got to his feet and began to run. He ran holding his side and headed directly for the light of the nearby street. Being caught for running away from the Helfners now seemed like his best option. The young attacker took off after Callen, his steps getting closer and even the adrenalin charge of saving his life wasn’t enough to help Callen’s seven year old legs outrun his pursuer. He yelled out. He didn’t direct it at anyone, he simply yelled, screaming for help. The teenager in pursuit, stopped. In an instant he turned and ran in the opposite direction. His girlfriend was quick to follow and the park swallowed them up in darkness. Callen continued to cry out until he reached the road. He turned and showed surprise that his attacker had given up the chase. He was met with a sea of faces; some out walking, some from nearby restaurants, spilling onto the sidewalk, and some peering over balconies from the apartments above. To aid a youngster asking for help had its rewards and everyone was suddenly keen to offer assistance.

  Callen looked around and stared into the deserted park. His hand was on his side, covering the blood trickling down inside his shirt. A woman noticed.

  “This boy’s hurt.”

  Callen looked to his side and removed the pressure of his hand from his wound. The shirt was shinny, wet with blood.

  “Oh, my God,” said another women with the well pronounced vowels and expensive clothes.

  “Child, you need help.”

  Callen put his hand back to his side and winced. The two women took hold of him. Callen kicked one in the shin.

  “Owwww! You little shit!” she screamed. Her vowels lost their expensive cloak.

  Callen ran from them both. The crowd, which had gathered to see what was going on, once again parted before him and he was back to running as fast as her could. He still thought the carriage system was his best option. If he could just make it to the underground lines he could slip off at a station and find some safety in the darkness of the tunnels that ran below the city. There he could rest, tend to his wound properly and wait until it had stopped bleeding. All he wanted was a place to hide and work out what to do without having to worry about anyone interfering with his plans.

  Callen ran as if he had a bad stitch. Occasionally he winced a
t the pain from his side, but he was determined to keep going. He hadn’t come this far and endured this much to give up now. When he finally reached the station he stood at the entrance and realised he had another problem. When he was taken from his parents and placed with the Helfners his credit band was taken. He had no credit to purchase a ticket. He watched commuters come and go. There seemed to be no way for him to get though the electronic gates without setting off the guard’s alarm. With so much at stake the last thing he needed was to be arrested for fare avoidance.

  He sat on one of the seats nearby and tried to come up with a solution. He couldn’t think of anything. He used the public toilet and rung out his shirt as best he could. He took some micro-thread towel and fashioned a poor bandage from it, before laying it across his wound. The wound was doing more than weeping. It was bleeding and Callen was in two minds about pushing on or turning himself in. He decided once a bandage of towelling was in place and his shirt was done up and dried he’d spend some more time searching for a way onto the carriage system. If he couldn’t solve the problem, he’d go back to the Helfners to be tended to. He sat down on a bench and began to think of how to solve his dilemma - sleep got in his way as his head wilted to rest on the back of the high moulded bench and he finally escaped, this time to dream.

  The sun had come up. A blue sky and high white clouds spotted in irregular patterns and projected onto the underside of the UV curtain made for the perfect day. It was exactly twenty five degrees. The weather bureau saw to that. Callen was woken by the sounds of commuters passing nearby on their way into the station. He woke himself properly, paying little attention to any of those passing, until a group of around twenty school children, all in casual clothes, came down the far ramp. One teacher accompanied them and barked orders. They were about Callen’s age and almost as an impulse he jumped onto the end of the group, walking calmly amongst them towards the entry gate. The teacher ran the school’s credit bracelet back and forth over the scanner. As Callen approached he held his breath. The red light went green. He was through and he followed his adopted classmates down onto the station platform.

  Chapter 4.

  Getting lost from the class was little trouble. Callen made a casual wander to the platform level toilets and took up residence in one of the cubicles. The children’s voices continued to drone out on the platform, until the whirring rush of the carriages approached from down the long darkened tunnel. The carriages stopped, exhaled and then inhaled with a clatter and a hiss. The voices of the young children became muffled as the doors closed them in for their journey. The carriages strained and then purred their way to a speed that generated the familiar sound of the windy express. All that was left was the distant rumble moving away and the sharp metronomic footsteps from departing commuters heading up the ramp towards daylight.

  Callen walked out onto the deserted platform. He looked right and left and saw no-one. For the first time in hours he felt more at ease. Now what? Across the platform on the wall facing him was the ten foot smiling face of a woman with perfect hair and teeth: her beauty secret, pro elastin-mannitols. It meant nothing to Callen. He hardly even noticed the pro elastin face above him as he sat with his legs hanging over the edge of the platform. He’d decided to move from the platform and hide in the tunnel for as long as it took to sort out his bleeding stab wound. Again he looked the empty station over, before quickly lifting himself off the plastic platform and lowering himself to the tracks below. He walked quickly before coming to a stop to size up the tunnel he was about to enter. He began to walk, hugging one of the walls. He was clear of the station, but quickly losing the advantage of light. His eyes slowly acclimatised and he found it surprisingly easy to see. He moved at a steady pace and the entrance to the underground labyrinth grew smaller and smaller behind him.

  He walked until he could find a place to rest, an indent in the wall or a door to hide in. He found nothing. The sheer plastic walls continued and he worried about the carriages. There’d be one along soon and Callen wasn’t sure how much room he had to spare. He was about to find out for certain. A rumble in the distance gave away their approach. Callen felt for the wall. He pressed his back firmly into it. The carriages growled, louder and louder as they raced to meet him. Then, around an invisible bend in the distance they appeared. A bright light and a pilot’s window was all he could see, but a steady gust of wind began. Callen waited as the carriages whistled past. The wind they created was almost enough to make him adjust his stance. The bright windows flashed like a mosaic of the city’s belongings: an old man with a grey moustache, a business woman reading a paper, a mother and her young child. They appeared then disappeared as if by magic before Callen’s eyes. He took his head off the plastic tiles that had been his cushion. Could he be seen by those travelling aboard the carriage? If so, any number of police or guards could be sent to find him. There seemed no possibility for him to relax.

  Callen began his lonely walk again – there had to be somewhere to safely rest. He felt like he was walking for miles and all the time he had a feeling of staying still. The tunnel was remarkable only in its relentless similarities. A yellow line, within the white plastic walls to the side of the composite plastic tracks, kept him company. There was nothing different from one step to another and the sameness was depressing. If he kept walking he’d end up at the next station. Even he could see the pointlessness in that.

  Callen heard footsteps behind him. He stopped and listened in silence. There was no sound. He began to walk again and within a few steps he heard the sound again. Maybe only an echo through the plastic chamber, he thought to himself. He walked a few steps and then stopped suddenly. He briefly heard steps, but they could have been the sounds of his own bouncing off the plastic walls. They came from behind, some distance away. Perhaps from the point where the tunnel curves. Was it an echo? Is that how echoes work – around corners?

  “Hello,” he called out in the most feeble of seven year old voices.

  “Hello,” he heard back, repeating itself as if growing thinner and enveloping the voice of each call that had gone before. It was an echo. Callen’s nerves were growing weary of this adventure and the journey into the dark tunnels under the city was not providing him with the trouble free resting place he’d hoped for. All he wanted was to rest and recover while the hunt for him cooled down, then he could catch a carriage back to his real home. He walked on dragging a hand along the smooth wall beside him. He caught a glimpse of something in the distance. It looked like a door and surprisingly, he could see the outline more clearly if he didn’t look directly at it. He couldn’t work out what was going on. First his ears were listening to echoes and now his eyes were seeing mirages. Or was there a door up ahead? He quickened his pace. With each step he turned his head sideways to see the outline more clearly. As he moved closer he no longer needed to rely on refraction to see it. There was no doubt about it being real. His excitement grew as he closed in and that excitement turned to pure joy when he reached the doorway and discovered an unimpeded entrance to stairs that led down, away from the glare of the carriage windows and away from the last possible threat to him being found.

  Callen carefully walked down the stairs. Step after step, until in blackness, he ran out of steps. He stood, alone and lost. He couldn’t see a wall or a direction. He couldn’t even see the steps he’d come down and his first impulse was to turn around and climb back up the stairs. The thought barely settled in his mind before his parent’s image came to him. He lay down to rest and almost immediately fell asleep. Above him he could hear the rattle of another passing carriage. At least he was past that particular worry for a while.

  A rasping sound sparked the birth of a flame from a lighter close enough to Callen’s face to singe his hair. Floating in darkness, lit up in horrifying theatricality, was the face of the seventeen year old boy who had tried to stab him. He’d followed him to finish the job and found Callen in the most perfect place to commit a crime undetected.

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nbsp; “Hello, kid,” he said, knowing this was his moment of terror to deliver. Callen opened his mouth and squeaked. Somewhere in his throat there was a blood curdling scream ricocheting around, searching for an escape that it was never going to find. A knife came out and flashed silver against the flame.

  “Not too many people come down here. Which is good for me, I reckon.”

  Callen began to shake uncontrollably and his lip was flicking back and forth. To the sound of yet another carriage rattling past overhead, the knife was brought around to Callen’s throat. Callen’s legs went weak and he began to cry as he closed his eyes and tensed his face, preparing for what was to come. It never arrived. The knife fell from the boy’s hand and hit the ground. A moment later the boy joined the blade on the ground. Above, the carriage clattered away as a shuffling could be heard close by. Callen went to run, seizing his good fortune, but his legs buckled and he tripped. He lay on the ground, clutching at his injured side and moaning. The boy’s lighter flicked back to life. The boy hadn’t moved and he and his knife both remained motionless at the feet of a bearded old man dressed in rags. The old man flicked the lighter closed and began to shuffle off.

  “Please,” Callen called after him.

  “What?” came the gruff reply as the old man stopped in his tracks.

  “I don’t know where I am.”

  “You’re below Sydenham Street.”

  With that the old man began to walk again. Callen was quickly on his feet. The pain from his side had sharpened, but it didn’t stop him following the sound of the old man’s footsteps. The old man stopped on hearing the boy behind him.