Implant

By Stephen L Long

Imagine a world where you can trust no one. Imagine a world where you are tracked by implants in your body that report your every move to the authorities. Imagine a world where every facet of your life is controlled, from where you live to whether you can have children. Imagine a world where dissenters are hunted down mercilessly...

It is

• Language: English
• Publisher: 2QT Limited (Publishing)
• Release date: Dec 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781913071981

Book preview

Title Page

Contents

1. Trapped

2. Leaving

3. Found

4. Europe

5. Hidden

6. Implants

7. Afloat

8. Tempest

9. Centag

10. Italians

11. Greeks

12. Islands

13. Patmos

14. Turks

15. War

16. Cypriots

17. Sanctuary

18. Reunion

19. Jerusalem

20. Celebrity

First eEdition published 2020 by

2QT Limited (Publishing)

Settle, North Yorkshire BD24 9RH United Kingdom

Copyright © Stephen L Long 2020

The right of Stephen L Long to be identified as the author

of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that no part of this book is to be reproduced, in any shape or form. Or by way of trade, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser, without prior permission of the copyright holder.

Cover Design by Charlotte Mouncey

This book is also available in paperback format ISBN 978-1-913071-97-4

eBook ISBN 978-1-913071-98-1

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. The place names mentioned are real but have no connection with the events in this book.

For Jennifer, my rock, my soul-mate, and the love of my life

In the year 2166 the world has become a highly controlled, unified society. Almost all the planet’s countries have been amalgamated into ten geopolitical kingdoms. Technology has advanced to such a level that it is a salvation to some but intrusive to others, essential for the life of much of the world but a curse to many. Everyone is united and living in harmony in one global community.

Or are they…?

1. Trapped

Terrified, and panting from the chase, I cowered under the thorns of a gorse bush. ‘God, help!’ I prayed silently, not knowing whether He would listen or if He even existed.

The Centag came on, his head turning left and right as he sought me out. A miracle seemed my only hope, a forlorn one at that.

He took a step towards me, scanning the undergrowth, knowing I was here somewhere. He stopped, listened and sniffed, then looked straight at my hiding place. I held my breath, not daring to move as I made out the twin tubes of his night-vision goggles pointing straight at me. My ghostly green image must have been projecting straight into his eyes. I waited for his yell.

It didn’t come. We stared at each other for what seemed a lifetime before he turned to continue searching elsewhere. My heart was beating so loudly that I couldn’t believe he didn’t hear it in the silence of the night. Capture seemed inevitable. Why hadn’t he seen me? Why hadn’t my body heat betrayed me? Was he checking to see if I was alone? Was he calling for help to surround me?

He continued turning, searching, hunting. In the darkness, the predator prepared to pounce. Then he took a step away from me. And another. He finished his turn and walked away, but still he hunted.

I breathed and repeated my supplication to the Almighty before adding a quick and heartfelt thank you.

I was nineteen, but an old hand at the game that had started the night before my eleventh birthday eight long years ago.

***

That night, Dad Eric had taken me to meet Janine on the beach outside town. I never thought to ask how he knew her, and he didn’t say, but they embraced when they met.

‘Jannie, you’re looking well. You alright?’ he asked. Years later, I could still hear his gentle voice.

‘Could do with a bath, Eric, but other than that, yeah. I’m doing okay.’ She didn’t look it. ‘You alright? How’s Graham?’ My emotions were already raw, and the mention of Dad Graham’s name triggered the first of many bouts of sobbing that night. I wondered if I would ever see either of my fathers again.

‘He’s fine, but he couldn’t bear to come. Claire’s gone around to stay with him.’

‘So, this is the young man?’

‘It is.’ Dad Eric laid his hand on my shoulder. ‘Look after him, Jannie. He’s so young and vulnerable, and he’s very precious to us.’ His voice cracked.

I recalled the horror I felt when she put her arm around me. She smelled bad. She was wearing some sort of long coat whose original colour was buried under so many layers of dirt and grime that I couldn’t tell what it was. One sleeve had been reattached badly at the shoulder and an old bit of rope served as her belt. A ragged curtain of string-like hair stuck out from beneath her woollen hat. When she smiled, her teeth were yellow and her breath stank. What a stark contrast she was to Dad Eric and me, who were both clean and well dressed.

I looked down to see if her dirty arm had left a mark on my new coat.

‘We’ll be alright. I’ll look after him.’

I cried. Dad did too, though he fought to control himself. He gave her a package which she tucked under her arm. ‘I’ll still leave parcels every week. You know the places.’ She nodded.

He handed me a bag of clothes and food. ‘Be brave, my son.’ He wrapped his arms around me in the sort of hug a loving father gives to his only son, and finally his control disintegrated. ‘Be good…’ He let go of me. His arms fell to his sides and his body seemed to sag.

‘Come, we must hurry.’ Janine grabbed my hand and led me from the beach. The shingle shifted under my feet so walking quickly was difficult, but she pulled me along.

I kept turning around to see Dad Eric. He stood there for a few minutes, looking even more miserable than I felt, until we reached the steps leading up the hillside. Then he wasn’t there any more.

Even holding Janine’s hand, I felt completely lost.

Night fell long before we arrived at a huge deserted house outside a village. ‘Welcome to the old vicarage,’ Janine said as we went inside.

‘Vicarage?’

‘That’s what it says on the wall outside, so that’s what we call it.’

The house was mostly in darkness. A heavy curtain made from an old carpet hung behind a man who was sitting on a chair, watching the entrance. ‘This is Mike,’ Janine told him. He nodded before moving the curtain aside to let us through.

It was the first time anyone called me that, but after that the name stuck.

We went through a second door into a room lit by the flames of an open fire that mixed the smell of burning wood with that of unwashed bodies. There was nothing you could describe as furniture, only a few wooden boxes serving as chairs. Here and there, tattered, grimy sleeping bags marked someone’s place for the night.

Four or five more people turned to look at us as we entered, and it was obvious they were all wary about their unknown intruder. Janine introduced me and, one by one, they gave me their names. Only later did it occur to me that it was unlikely any of their names were the ones their parents had given them. Not that it mattered; the names merged and I forgot them immediately.

One girl wore a new-looking padded jacket; I wondered whether she had someone looking out for her or, like me, had only recently become an outlaw. Another girl shook my hand. ‘Janine’s a good ’un,’ she said. ‘She’ll look out f’ya. Do as she says and you’ll be okay.’

A man waved a half-hearted greeting from his seat near the fire, and I took an instant dislike to him.

The last man who greeted me was much older than the rest. What was left of his long hair hinted that it was white but, like everyone else in the room, he and his hair needed washing. ‘Hello, lad. I’m Ratty. You can sit on my box if you like.’ He rose from a box by the fire, brushed past Janine and left the room.

A few minutes later the guard arrived, having been relieved from his duty, and we smiled at each other. Then the questions started. Everyone wanted to know what was happening in the world. Had I seen the latest news? Had I brought any food with me? Where were the nearest Centags? We talked for hours until I fell asleep sitting on Ratty’s box beside the dying embers of my childhood.

***

He froze, a hideous black statue. Menacing, threatening, a raptor biding its time, watching for the slightest movement to reveal its prey.

There was a faint noise, like a leaf being torn somewhere between us.

His head snapped round to face me once more.

Then nothing.

No sound, no movement. Whatever had caught his attention was now avoiding it. But he knew it was there somewhere.

He waited, watching, listening, searching.

***

Outlaws are nocturnal; we lurk in the shadows and avoid places where people or Centags go. For the first few weeks I stayed close to Janine and went wherever she went. I was learning all the time. She taught me how to survive and search out food. At harvest time we stole potatoes and apples, but mostly we scavenged from waste bins, and she showed me where there were rich pickings. Soon I was as stealthy as anyone, walking silently and melting into the night.

I thought I was good at it.

We were hiding amongst the ferns at the edge of woodland one day, watching for Dad Eric to deliver a package. I longed for a glimpse of him; seeing him in the distance would have reassured me that the normal world was still out there somewhere.

A hundred metres away, a bridge carried a quiet country road over a dry streambed. But that day there was more traffic than usual: several Centag vehicles drove along the road and up the hill on the other side of the valley before returning a little while later. None of them stopped.

As evening fell and all was quiet except for the occasional owl, another car arrived. It crossed the bridge and carried on up the road. At the top of the hill it stopped, turned around and waited. Finally it headed back but, as it reached the bridge, someone leaned out and dropped something into the gully. I couldn’t see who it was, but I knew it was my dad.

‘Be still,’ Janine whispered, grabbing my arm to stop me rising. ‘Wait. Let’s make sure we are the only ones watching. There’s no hurry.’

That was easy for her to say; I was keen to see what Dad had left for me, eager to touch something he had touched so recently. I hoped for some biscuits, or maybe a tin of rice pudding, my favourite. He always left me two or three pairs of socks and I could have done with them. But we stayed hidden and watched. It was a long night.

You can never quite tell when dawn is starting; you just become aware that it is lighter than it was, and the black around you is changing to grey. The sun rose behind us, lighting up the opposite side of the valley. In the quiet of the early morning we heard an engine long before yet another Centag van appeared and headed off up the road, casting a long shadow onto the sunlit hedgerow.

The reflection of the sun on something shiny developed so slowly that we didn’t notice it at first but, as the shadow of the van passed over it, it caught our attention. Janine whispered that it could be the lens of a camera hidden in the grass, pointing at the bridge. If so, they were watching.

‘Ditch it,’ Janine whispered. I was surprised because that was Dad Eric’s phrase and I could almost hear him saying it. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’

We crawled backwards, deeper into the woods until we were sure our movements hadn’t been seen. Then we rose and fled.

‘How did you know they were there?’ I asked.

‘I didn’t. It was a feeling here.’ Janine patted her belly. ‘I thought I saw something last night, but so briefly that I could have imagined it. There was more traffic than I expected and when the Centags came so early – well, something felt wrong. That reflection was the last piece of the puzzle and I knew we had to get out. You’re better taking a long time checking than getting caught.’

Had I been on my own, I’d have walked right into their trap. I had learned a hard lesson. If I didn’t develop similar gut-feelings soon, they would catch me. Perhaps I was not as good in those days as I thought I was.

***

A fern rustled, startling me out of my memories, and the Centag brought his gun up to the firing position. Like a hawk watching a distant mouse, he focused on his target. The safety catch slipped off with a click and I waited.

They say that you don’t hear the shot that kills you. I hoped that was true, but I didn’t want to find out. I was ready to run but, as I thought he would fire, a young deer stepped out into the open between us.

The Centag relaxed and lowered his gun. I breathed again.

***

Janine showed me how to find places to hide for a day or two, or even a few months, hidden from society and Centags. She taught me to notice little things that ‘normal’ people missed, but which showed that the Centags had discovered a hideout and were probably still watching it.

‘Think where you might hide a camera to monitor this place,’ she’d say and sometimes we’d find them. We didn’t always destroy them.

‘Look at that,’ she said one time, as we passed a broken gate by a half-demolished house. ‘There’s fresh grease on that hinge. Someone doesn’t want it to squeak when it’s opened. It’s a trap. They’re watching it.’ On my own I wouldn’t have noticed but we never went near that place again.

***

We stayed at the vicarage for a few weeks then Adrian, the one I’d taken a dislike to, was late getting back. We assumed he’d been nicked, so we grabbed whatever we could and fled. Janine and I went one way and the rest another. We never returned to the old vicarage and, apart from Janine, I never met any of that group again.

Some time later, we heard that another group of outlaws had moved in. The Centags were watching and captured them all. Adrian must have told them where it was, and my dislike of him turned to hatred. Even now, I shudder at the memory of him.

We didn’t find any shelter for nearly a week, but it was summer so we slept under bushes or behind walls. That was okay until the rain started. It’s hard to sleep with water dripping on you, no matter how tired you are.

On a hill above a river estuary, a row of partly collapsed cottages stood in what I supposed was once a beauty spot. The cottages looked as though they’d once been nice homes, but those days were long gone – together with the roofs and windows. One room still had a ceiling so it was dry. We made ourselves comfortable there, even though it was a long walk to Dad Eric’s drop points.

We had a reasonable supply of fish from the estuary, and we could raid seagulls’ nests on the cliff face for their eggs when the season was right. We needed to get them the day they were laid or the chicks would start to develop and the eggs were useless. They tasted foul but you learn to ignore your dislikes when food is scarce.

Janine taught me how to snare small animals and birds and how to prepare and cook them. ‘You only eat the ones which don’t eat meat,’ she told me, so I had to learn what different creatures ate.

‘Look at that,’ she said one morning. An animal’s footprint showed clearly in the sand behind the cottage. ‘Fox.’

‘How d’you know? It might have been a rabbit.’

‘Look at it. A fox print has four toes, each with a claw – it’s a type of dog so it can’t retract its claws like a cat – and one triangular heel pad. Its paws are in line on each side. A rabbit usually sits back on its rear feet, so the back print is long and points slightly outwards, whilst the front print is shorter.’

Janine showed me where a mouse had scurried away to its nest. It occurred to me that if tiny animals could leave such obvious signs, big creatures like us must leave even greater ones. I looked behind me and saw my own footprints. Broken grass and disturbed earth, damaged leaves and dew dislodged from a spider’s web told the world where I’d been.

I learned to be much more careful about where I put my feet.

***

Early one morning, with the dew still on the ground, we had turned onto a lane after a successful scavenging session when Janine stopped and stared at the ground.

‘Tracks,’ she said, ‘too wide for a car.’ Two faint parallel lines showed where the grass had been bent. ‘A big vehicle has gone up the lane and hasn’t come back.’ The lane led to our cottage. ‘Hide here and wait for me to come back,’ she ordered. ‘Usual rules. If I take too long, get out.’ She climbed over the wall at the side of the lane and disappeared.

I waited ages. I’d decided to leave when I heard her calling my name. ‘It’s an ambush. They’re inside, waiting for us. Let’s go,’ she said.

‘How do you know?’

‘There were marks in the lane where the van or truck had stopped. Plenty of boot marks heading towards the cottages, but none coming back. The van is hidden up there behind the buildings.’

‘Centags?’ I asked.

‘No, worse; Mils. The truck wasn’t white like Centags use, but Global Military’s dark green.’

A chill ran through me. We knew where we were with Centags; they were civilians who worked for the councils. Dodging them was almost a game. They were nasty enough but, even though they were armed, they usually just arrested you. But Mils? They shot you on sight and they saw you from a long way off, long before you saw them.

It only took us a few minutes to run back to the main road. Janine stopped me before we got there. ‘Wet your shoes and scrub them hard on the chalk,’ she said. We looked as though we were dancing. ‘Now run beside me on the pavement.’

We left a lovely set of white footprints for the Mils to follow. The further we ran, the fainter they got until they faded out altogether. We carried on for another kilometre or so then turned north through fields to circle back towards Eastbourne.

The cottage had been our shelter for over a year. We’d even got to the point of washing clothes and hanging them up to dry. Cold water didn’t clean them much, but they were always better for it. A cupboard with a missing door had been our food store, and there was a fair amount in it – certainly enough for a few days. But it was all still in there with the Mils.

There was nothing to link us to my dads, or to say where they lived. We had burnt any notes or letters as soon as we’d read them, and no one ever put names on anything. It was an outlaw rule: nobody kept anything that could point either Mils or Centags to anybody else.

After we had to leave the cottage we slept wherever we could: in woods and barns, under hedges and in cellars. We liked older houses because they were usually deserted and run down. They offered good shelter and normal citizens rarely visited them, but now there were fewer and fewer of them left.

Back in the old days, single families lived in them until that became socially unacceptable and the councils re-housed them in more ‘appropriate’ apartments. Their nice houses were confiscated and eventually demolished to make way for modern steel and concrete apartment blocks. Most towns and cities now looked much the same, with hundreds of identical grey boxes, all of which had six, eight or even ten floors.

Sometimes we were lucky and discovered an empty apartment. It was luxury to have warmth and running water, but we could only ever stay for a day or two before it was allocated to someone. You never knew when the new tenant might turn up and, as these apartments usually only had one way in or out, the chance of getting caught was way too high.

‘Have a bath whenever you get the chance,’ Janine said, banishing me from a bathroom in an unused apartment. She emerged ten minutes later, a cleaner version of her former self, and sent me in.

As the autumn rain and wind ripped the last few leaves from the trees, we found our way into the basement of a large office block. Pipes and cables hung in neat rows from the ceiling, and metal cabinets with sturdy locked doors stood in rows on the floor. An air-conditioning plant hummed to itself in one room, and a massive central-heating system in another.

We set up home behind some giant pipework where we could see anyone coming in and escape through a nearby window if we had to. It was an occupied building, so people expected lights to be turned on and off. We had a warm, dry and comfortable hideout; we even had electric light for the long dark nights, not that we needed it because there was nothing to do or look at. But it was a good hiding place and we stayed there until spring.

One day two men arrived, switched off the air-conditioner and started dismantling it. We sneaked out whilst they were busy working and never returned.

Farms were good places to hide. Some of the older ones hadn’t changed much in centuries. When an outbuilding fell into disrepair, the farmers simply moved their equipment into a spacious new barn, leaving the old building as a home for rats and spiders. These were great for us, but we had to be very careful not to disturb the dust around the doorways.

Over the years councils had merged many small farms into big production units, replacing the houses and outbuildings with modern warehouses and fitting strong locks onto the doors. These agricultural factories were too well guarded to be useful to us, so we avoided them.

Life was terrifying and exciting if we were running, and boring if we weren’t. Obviously I couldn’t do the sort of things I used to do with my dads, which I saw other kids my age still doing. I couldn’t play in the park or go to the cinema, browse the shops or watch the view-screen with my friends.

Dad Graham was a teacher. He’d given me a good start, and now the world itself had become my tutor, so not going to school didn’t bother me too much. But I missed having friends.

***

‘Where’s Valerie?’ Janine asked. Everyone looked at everyone else but nobody answered.

‘She was here a few minutes back,’ I said. ‘And her things are still here. Maybe she’s gone to have a wee or sommat?’ There was no privacy in the old garage we’d lived in for the last week, and no one wanted to do that sort of stuff with others watching.

The big metal front door was jammed and it only led onto a lane blocked with decades-old bushes and brambles. We used the little door at the back leading into the garden of an old crumbling house. It was locked from the inside.

‘Someone must have helped her,’ Janine accused.

Everyone denied it, so someone was lying.

Valerie had been with us for a few weeks. She was a nice girl, always smiling and cheerful. She never spoke badly of anyone, even those who had betrayed the groups she’d been with. She wasn’t like Pete and Maggie: Pete never seemed to have anything nice to say, and Maggie was always moaning at him. I didn’t understand why they stayed together – I reckoned they’d be happier in separate groups. Of course, we suspected them and they us.

‘Out!’ Janine commanded. Without question, we picked up our meagre belongings, opened the door and ran.

A Centag van was parked at one end of the road. It wasn’t far to the other end, and there was about enough cover to hide our escape. Pete surprised me by volunteering to stay hidden with Maggie until Janine and I escaped. We didn’t argue.

The Centags didn’t see us, but we never saw Pete or Maggie again.

Two days later, a well-dressed man walked towards us. He was obviously a legit; that’s what we call someone who’s not outlawed and still has all their implants. He seemed dazed and bewildered. We reckoned he was either so drugged up that his mind was somewhere else, or he’d gone outlaw and didn’t know what to do.

‘She’s gone,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘Gone. Didn’t even goodbye. Gone.’ He kept repeating it.

For two outlaws to come face to face with a legit