It gets darker, danker… the air itself begins to smell bad. Sounds of water dripping. For decades he’s seen nothing but the pristine smooth walls and ceilings of the Facility with their right-angled joins. This is chaotic. It’s dirty, ragged… joins that fail to join… that leak dust and debris.
Then they are outside. There’s no warning, no gradually increasing light. No transition. They were there underground, now they’re here outside.
It has been so long that outside has become an abstract concept. Elation weaves panic with exhilaration, real emotion flurries so close to the surface, he isn’t sure he can remember how to breathe. But he can. Air is all around him, carried on a breeze, uncontrolled, currents that swirl without thermostatic manipulation, that pick up dust and debris without filter, that make him cough and gasp. A voice that has said four words aloud in half a century is liberated into a whoop of pure delight.
He is outside, breathing air, under the sky. Alive. He closes his eyes for a moment to allow the rush to settle. He wants to laugh until tears run down his face.
Everything from before crowds him. Suliman who has never cared is overwhelmed by a desperate urge to live.
Cee-Gee is his only lifeline now. He knows what motivates her. Even now when she’s broken free, when she’s bundled one of her sacred guardians into the heart of a furnace, he holds the key to controlling her. All he needs is a clear head and some quick thinking; how to use the motivator and hide the lie?
He laughs because he can, though the urge has gone. The air and the outside, the sky and this thing called being alive have fogged his brain. Quick thinking will return… given time. He’s grown too used to having all the time in the world, too used to being a step ahead.
The caricouch slows and stops. Cee-Gee says, ‘Show me the children.’
The outside world assaults his senses. He has to savour it to the exclusion of all else. There’s a lie there to mollify Cee-Gee. He just needs time to work out what it is. Cee-Gee will wait. Cee-Gee is programmed to wait. There’s all the time in the world.
‘Show me the children! Now!’
the end About the author
JX, who has insisted on being known by his initials (JX – JayEx) since he was four, dabbles equally in music and words and considers himself to be a more accomplished wordsmith than musician. He originally wrote All the Time in the World as the first chapter of a novel that somehow never went beyond its opening. Success in this anthology might be the motivator he needs to complete it.
All the Time in the World won 2nd prize in the Fire and Ice competition.
A WORM IN THE TOFFEE APPLE
R.L Kerrigan
Alice was always jumpy this time of year. She palmed a couple of Diaxims from the top of the dresser and urged them down her dry throat. Mark said it was just the fireworks. She rather thought it was the horrid pregnant silences between explosions which made her worse. But it was day time now. No fireworks yet.
She twisted the fat diamond rings around her slender finger and looked out of the bedroom window. The cold mid-afternoon sun streamed through the monkey puzzle tree and across the perfect front lawns. Next door’s new Tesla Off-Road glinted beautifully. It had been left out on display in front of its huge and empty garage for one reason, thought Alice. But there would be no persuading Mark on this. He had been quite clear. Until his bonus review at the firm was completed there would be no upgrade on the cars. There were the village fees and upkeep on the French house to be paid and if she wanted to ski at all this year, she would have to cut her cloth. They could afford it. Mark was just being a difficult bastard.
Pursing her lips at the injustice, it occurred to Alice that she hadn’t been out of the front door at all today. A trip out might be just what she needed. The doctor had been clear that she was to stay active and positive if she wanted to be happy and valued. She was lucky to be here. London had been so taxing. A lifetime ago. It was like a jungle, so hard to feel clean, even in the compounds. The distant memory pricked out sweat on her top lip. The rules were different there. Why any decent person would choose to live in that swarm was beyond her. Of course the firm had a presence there, but made sure its top execs had remote and virtual working tools so that they never had to actually leave the Villages.
Descending the stairs to the nursery room, Alice checked her phone for messages. Nothing from the agency. Two days now. Still no new nanny. Was it any wonder her nerves were starting to fray? Really, Mark was bloody lucky she knew how to pull together in a crisis. He had said he would give the agency a piece of his mind after Eva upped and left… Evie… Ellie? Whatever that sodding girl’s name was. To be given Village papers and then to just disappear? The ingratitude of it boiled Alice’s blood. She scooped up the silent child from its play pod and made her way through to the garage suite. Sunglasses, handbag, keys, kid.
She flicked on the garage light with an elbow. The pale space was flooded with cold white light. Three cars, Mark’s vintage Harley, a couple of over-flow champagne chillers humming quietly with empty crates from the vineyard stacked on top. The latest order of Mark’s favourite Grand Cru was still on the floor in front of one of the fridges. Bottles and bottles. She wouldn’t be putting it away for him. He could drink it warm, thought Alice with a small tut as she made her way to the four by four in the middle, flung wide the back door and clipped in the car seat.
As she pulled out on to the driveway the child started to squawk loudly. Alice passed it the dosing dummy, flipped the noise cancellers on in the back, and in an instant all was tranquil again. Scrolling the short list of her recent places on the dash screen, she selected Beans on the Green and commenced auto-drive. She shouldn’t even have to touch the display, but she was stuck with this archaic model. Alice sat back, massaging her temples as she grappled with the day’s biggest question: what would she donate to the parish bonfire night charity drive?
The destination alarm pinged, breaking Alice’s deep thought. They had come to a halt under a willow between the village green and the river. Exiting the car, she spotted a woman making her way across the grass towards the café. Alice recognised her from her hypnofasting class. It was working, she thought enviously, the woman looked beautifully frail. Seeing Alice, the woman gave a weak wave, twig fingers scraping the air in a languid arc. Alice looked away first, dropping a pair of large sunglasses over her narrowing eyes.
Alice waited until the woman was out of sight before removing the car seat from the back of the car. She didn’t want to be seen without help unless she could immediately explain why. But more than that, she didn’t want to risk the child exiting the car before making sure the Xanpaed in the dummy had silenced it again. Villagers didn’t pay what they did to have the tranquillity and order of the village spoiled by an uncontrolled infant. By-laws couldn’t be clearer on this.
She hadn’t got much further towards the café when Reverend Quinn hove into view. He was upon her within moments, long lolloping strides bringing his waxy smiling face to within uncomfortable inches of hers.
‘Alice my dear. Is that you over there by the river?’ He gestured towards the car.
‘Only, I must ask, did you see any rats on the far bank? They find a way of getting over you know.’ His eyebrows slanted comedically, his moon-face suddenly the picture of angry concern. Alice remembered that he was up for the position of Council member with portfolio for pest control. His sermon on Sunday had been all about the cleanliness and godliness proximity. He was clearly pitching for the role vacated by the late Mr Antrobus, whose non-detection of a sizeable nest in a village storm drain had cost him dearly.