Page 17 of The Lost Zone


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Ted took it, but Josiah knew he had no intention of using it.

“Sorry you’ve had a wasted trip, but it was good to see you again, Alex,” Ted muttered.

“And you, Ted.”

Ted held out his hand uncertainly. Alex pushed it aside and gave him another warm hug, which Ted returned with a look of relief.

Ted escorted them back into the shop. “Take care of yourselves – both of you – if you’re going after Tyler,” he warned as he unlocked the door. “That bastard and fuckers like him run this country. You’ll be lucky to get out of this alive.”

Josiah saw genuine fear in his eyes.

“I was right about one thing though, Alex. Youarestrong. If anyone can bring Tyler down, it’s you – and Mr Fancypants here looks like just the right bloke to help you do it.”

Alex didn’t say another word. He looked utterly deflated as he walked quickly back to the duck with his head down and his shoulders hunched. Josiah caught up with him, slipped his hand silently into his, and gently squeezed.

Chapter Four

DECEMBER 2088

Alex

Alex’s days were all the same. A gently chiming bell woke him at 8a.m., he was examined by the doctor, and was then left to his own devices. Each day, he ate breakfast and took a walk in the grounds. Each day, he made his way to the clifftop, looked down on the grey waters below and decided whether to live or die. Each day, he didn’t know what he would decide until he found his feet moving away from the edge and continuing on their path.

He knew Belvedere well now. He’d walked down all the long corridors, looked in all the empty rooms, and explored every inch of the grounds. The only place he was unable to go was the newer building attached to the rear of the house, protected by the sophisticated security system.

He was gaining weight – Belvedere’s meals were delicious, and after every dinner D smuggled him a little snack. He had no idea why, whether she’d taken a shine to him, or felt sorry for him, or just thought he needed fattening up. He didn’t need the extra food but took it anyway, because her furtive manner implied that she’d risked something to give it to him. He wasn’t sure why she thought that anyone would care, because nobody seemed remotely interested in him or what he was doing. It wasa puzzle, like everything else about Belvedere. The place was good for him, though; he could feel himself growing stronger from the fresh sea air, good food, and regular walks.

The only person he talked to every day was Dr C, but they were brief conversations about how much weight he’d gained and how he was sleeping. B was a frequent presence in the house, but she was always so busy she rarely had time to do more than bid him “Good day, Mr Tyler” before bustling away. He tried to engage D in conversation once, but she was so petrified she ran away.

At first, he welcomed the peace and quiet. The silence was a blessed relief after all the drama of recent months. He revelled in his daily walks and quiet afternoon naps. Most of all, he looked forward to taking his photographs from their hiding place behind the bathroom mirror and leafing through them. He grew bold enough to smuggle them into his bed at night, tucked into the waistband of his pyjamas, and spent a long time looking at each one in turn before placing them under his pillow and falling asleep.

When he looked at the photo of Solange, he tried not to think of her body lying at the bottom of a lost zone, bloated by water. Yet every night, as he drifted off to sleep, he had the same vision. He saw a cloud of hair floating in the water and a pair of dead eyes, wide open, staring into the void.

Every morning, he took his precious photos back to their hiding place. Every evening, after dinner, he went to the recreation room to read or watch the screen until bedtime. It was a comfortable existence, but as the days passed, he became aware of a new emotion: loneliness. He never once wished himself back at Vertex Tower, but he missed Solange’s easy laugh, Ted’s cheesy stories, Lorenzo’s bitchy gossip, and even Mick’s dirty jokes.

After two weeks, he’d nearly reached the bottom of the massive pile of magazines in the rec room. He’d methodically made his way through them, more out of boredom than anything else. He was just flicking through, barely paying attention, when he turned a page and found himself staring at a photo of a big blond man with piercing blue eyes. Alex froze. The picture was small, tucked away at the bottom of the page, but the face was unexpectedly familiar.

Beneath it was the usual sensationalist nonsense:Heartbroken investigator mourns husband cut down by deranged IS! Are we seeing a dangerous new trend in violent indie crime?

The magazine was several weeks old, published a couple of weeks after Peter’s murder. Alex tried to read it, but his gaze kept returning to the photograph of Joe. His jaw was taut, his skin grey, and his face frozen in grief as he walked beside a lost zone with his black dog beside him. He was wearing dark blue jeans, a maroon sweater, and a pair of tan lace-up boots. A black leather jacket hugged the contours of his broad shoulders, accentuating his powerful build. Even in the midst of his grief, his appearance was immaculate. Alex suspected Joe found comfort in the daily rituals of grooming and selecting his outfits – a comfort he must need more than ever right now.

Alex glanced around the recreation room, but, as usual, he was alone. He carefully tore the photo out of the magazine, folding it along the edges to keep it perfectly intact. He would take it back to the dormitory later and store it in his secret stash. He wasn’t sure why. He’d known Josiah Raine for less than an hour, and it had been a brutal, bloody hour at that, but he felt a deep connection to the man. Joe had lost Peter, and Alex had lost Solange very soon after, both in sudden, shocking ways. It wasn’t the same, exactly, but the events of that night had shaped both their lives.

“So, how long have you worked here?” Alex asked C the next morning, in a bid to have a conversation that lasted for more than ten seconds.

“Too long,” C chuckled as he supervised the medibot in its routine daily exam. He motioned that Alex could step off the scales.

“Are you an IS?” Alex asked, removing his tee-shirt, familiar with the routine. “I haven’t seen an ID tag on you, or on B or D, and I can’t see a chip.” He gestured at C’s wrist.

“Good lord, no.” The medibot performed an exam of Alex’s heartbeat. “None of us are.”

“That’s unusual, isn’t it?” Alex frowned.

“A won’t have any servants working for him. It’s one of his rules. He’s a man of very definite views.” C chuckled.

“What’s his reason for it?”

“I’m not sure,” C mused. “We do train indentured servants here – maybe he wants to keep that delineation clear for everyone.”