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Too Many Miles
Down in the Dirt (v130) (the July/Aug. 2015 Issue)




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Too Many Miles

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Bagged!

Lisa Gray

    It was two weeks after the amnesty. I was clearing out the cupboard under the stairs when I found it. Sheer terror overcame me. I knew what had happened to the last person who had one. They’d been dragged screaming from their house in a dawn raid and never been seen again. I couldn’t let that happen to me.
    I had to get rid of it.
    I stuffed it hastily down my bra and backed out of the cupboard, conscious of the camera in the hall, the one the government had decreed had to be fitted in every room of every house in the land. I hoped nothing was showing.
    Now what? I thought.
    I could stuff it in the dustbin but I knew that was useless. And dangerous. The Bin Police rifled through everything that was discarded. They’d find it and trace it back to me from the microchip on my dustbin. No there had to be some other way.
    I made it look like I was doing my normal household chores while I considered my options. And my chances.
    There was only one way. I had to get it out of the house.
    That was going to be difficult. The curfew was on. Anyone found out walking on the streets would be “fazered” and dragged downtown. You were never the same after that. Those weapons were more and more powerful.
    Then there were the gangs of real criminals, though no one ever referred to them, waiting to way-lay anyone, even the police, who were afraid of them. They were outside the law.
    And where would be safe to stash it anyway?
    They dragged the canal and river frequently looking for them and patrolled the beaches. Even burying it was out of the question. Specially trained sniffer dogs would track them down and DNA would trace it to you.
    And then I had an idea.
    The dump.
    Outside the supermarket.
    I’d seen it in the weeks leading up to the end of the amnesty. It had been filled with them.
    But was it still there?
    It had to be. There was no other option.
    There was only one problem. It was out of town.
    Getting out of the house was easy. I had my usual nightly bed-time shower, climbed into bed and switched off the light.
    I was glad of the black-out curtains. It made it easy to slip out of bed, down the stairs and out the door.
    I looked at the rusting car in the driveway. If only I’d been able to use that. I’d have got there sooner. But that was before the oil had run out.
    Different days, I thought. Safer days. The only ones who were safe now were the gangs.
    But this was no time to spend reflecting. Thinking was dangerous and not done now.
    By anyone.
    I backed into the shadow of the building as the street camera swept by me and pulled on the rubber gloves I had stashed in my pocket. I knew they hadn’t spotted me.
    I removed it from my bra and started wiping it clean of any fingerprints. Now I only had the DNA to worry about.
    Still, I reassured myself, if they traced it back to me, I could always say I’d handed it in during the amnesty and it must have got overlooked in the dump.
    Now I just had to reach there.
    It was a long way. Still, I told myself. It would be safer than in town. As if to confirm my thoughts, the sound of a police car sped past, its siren sounding sinister in the surrounding silence. There were no other cars. Bio-fuel had seen to that. No one could afford them except the police. And the gangs.
    No one could afford anything.
    I moved out from the security of the building and made my way along the street, darting back again into the shadows every time I spotted a camera.
    So far, so good, I told myself.
    I spoke too soon.
    There was the sound of a dog barking.
    He won’t last long, I thought.
    None of them did.
    I felt the sweat break out on my brow as I heard the sound of the police siren.
    They’d spotted me.
    It was all over!
    The car swerved to a halt at the last house in the road. I’d automatically pulled back into the safety of the building. Black-helmeted officers poured out of the car and rammed the door of the house. There was screaming and yelling. Ten seconds later they emerged. The owners were bundled into the car. Along with the dog.
    They wouldn’t be seen again. And the dog?
    Only on a plate.
    Desperate times.
    But I couldn’t stand around feeling sorry.
    Or I’d be dead meat.
    I waited till the car had driven away then made my way out on to the out-of-town highway. If I could just get out of town, I would be safe. Although the gangs had transport, they rarely ventured away from the lucrative pickings of the city.
    And there were fewer cameras.
    I’d just reached the city boundary when they jumped me.
    I’d been walking in the cycle lanes, darting into the undergrowth every time I spotted a camera doing its swoop, thinking at least I was safe from the Bike Gangs that haunted them. There was a booming black market in bicycles and no one was safe riding one.
    “Grab her!” shouted a voice and before I knew it, four of them were down on top of me.
    I felt my arm stripped of my bangle and watch and my necklace ripped from my throat. I thought of the contents of my bra.
    “Let her up!” said the same voice.
    Rough hands pulled me from the ground and I found myself facing an eyebrow studded youth dressed in black leather with black spiky hair. His mates, who had forced me to the ground, stood around threateningly.
    “What you up to?” he said.
    The long knife in his hand forced me to confess.
    “Nothing,” I said feebly.
    “Nothing!” he mimicked. “You don’t venture out in the curfew for nothing! Hand it over!”
    He was better educated than I had first thought.
    “What?” I replied.
    “Whatever it is you’re carrying,” he said, waving his blade menacingly.
    I knew I had to call his bluff. It was my only chance.
    His mates were advancing towards me.
    I stroked my throat as if I were considering his offer and plunged my hand into my bra.
    “I’m going to let you have it,” I said, withdrawing it from my bra.
    It worked better than I thought.
    “Bloody hell!” shouted one of them.
    Another one dropped to his knees.
    “Please, missus, spare us. We don’t want it. If we were caught with it, it would be the end of us. Even the fences won’t take it. You can keep it! Honest! Ain’t that right, Joe?”
    He turned to his leader but I didn’t wait around for his reply. I was already running across the fields, turning back only to give a threatening wave with it then stuffing it back in my bra when I was out of sight of them.
    Ten minutes later I’d reached the perimeter of the supermarket car park. My eyes scanned the forecourt. Deserted. Except for one rusting, wheel-less, abandoned car. And no cameras. None were needed here. The supermarket shelves were empty. There was no food. Hadn’t been since all the grain had been used for bio-fuel.
    Even from where I was standing I could see the dump.
    I cursed.
    I should have known it. It was padlocked.
    I looked all round for something to force open the lock.
    For once I loved the gangs of criminals. In their hurry to remove the wheels from the abandoned car, they’d dropped their jemmy. I picked it up and scurried over to the dump. Using all my strength, I levered open the lid. I peered inside. It was empty. I reached my hand into my bra. All I had to do was throw it in the dump and close the lid. Then I’d be safe.
    Suddenly the supermarket car park was flooded with light.
    “Put your hands in the air and step away from the dump!” shouted a voice.
    I froze. I should have known.
    I dropped it and raised my hands in the air.
    There was the slow, sickening sound of footsteps behind me and I felt my arms forced downwards and backwards as the handcuffs clicked cruelly into place.
    “You didn’t really think you could get away with it, did you?”
    The voice was cold, merciless. He spun me round.
    The black-helmeted officer looked like a bad bug from a B-rated movie.
    “We always get you in the end,” he said.
    His words confirmed it.
    “We have our informers.”
    Behind him, a safe distance away I could see Joe, his spiky hair standing out like the Statue of Liberty, silent as ever. Then he slunk off into the night. To join his mates.
    The black-helmeted officer bent down and pulled it from the dump. He waved it threateningly in the air.
    “You know the law,” he said.
    The plastic carrier bag waved unsteadily like a flag of surrender.
    “You’re bagged!”



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