The Outsiders Read online

  He slid down to sit on the floor, bending his knees and resting his elbows on them. This was it. Nothing in the library. Watched all the time when he was awake, never allowed to move on his own. Matty felt more like a prisoner than a patient. He sighed and looked towards the wall, noting absently that again, no doors were visible. There might have been once, as he saw two different kinds of brickwork, but those doors were as closed to him as everything else.

  "I fucking hate this," he said. "I hate it all."

  He remembered he had to get a novel to read, although it hardly seemed there was any point. Sighing heavily once more, feeling the weight of depression heavy on him, he shifted and started to stand, then stopped.

  The corner of a piece of paper strewn with dirt stuck out from underneath the bookshelf nearest him. Curious, Matty leaned forward and pulled at it. In response, a booklet appeared. It was flimsy, he saw, as he examined it carefully, and had been done in a rush, the ink smeared and the staples uneven, though the title was awfully interesting.

  "How to Live After the End."

  Beneath the title was a photograph of a bomb, a black and white image that Matty remembered suddenly. It was a picture he'd seen before, in history class at university, discussing the fallout of the Hiroshima bomb and what the mushroom cloud had looked like.

  Looking around to make sure that Bill wasn't watching him, Matty folded up the booklet and stuck it beneath the waistband of his sweat pants. He pulled his T-shirt down and stood up. Hopefully, it wouldn't come loose and he'd be able to get it back to his room without it being discovered and most likely taken away from him. He didn't know exactly why he felt it'd be taken away, yet his gut told him that would be the most likely outcome.

  He made his way to the fiction section and selected three novels that he couldn't remember reading before—not that memory had much meaning to him right then, he thought—from the thriller and mystery section. It hardly seemed worth bothering going to the counter and checking them out to himself, so he went back to the chair where he'd last seen Bill.

  Bill was still there, still fast asleep, his chin on his chest. Matty reached over and shook his knee. "Bill. Bill! Wake up."

  "Hm? Oh. Right." Blinking, Bill woke. He yawned then stretched. "Find a book?"

  "A couple," Matty said. "I won't need to come back for more for a few days."

  "A few days? Damn, boy, why?"

  "Because I like to read, I'll read these quickly," Matty said.

  "Whatever. I don't get it, though. No one bothers with this place anymore."

  "I'm sure your opinion hurts the library's feelings."

  "Whatever," Bill said again. "Come on, back to your room."

  "What about dinner?"

  "I'll bring that to you around 7 tonight. The doctors are having a meeting in the mess hall, so you'll have to stay in your room, I'm afraid. I'm really sorry, I'll have to lock you in."

  Matty huffed. "Way to go to make a guy feel like a prisoner, Bill."

  "I know. It sucks. We all suggested that you'd be fine, that you wouldn't wander around, 'cause you don't anyway, but nup, the big guys said to lock the door tonight, just in case, so that's the way it is."

  "I'm really glad I got some books to read. Next, I want a TV."

  Bill burst out laughing at that, a hearty guffaw that made Matty's eyebrows shoot up. "You're a funny guy, kid. A TV! Ha!"

  "I'm guessing that there's no TVs?"

  "Dude, there's been no working TVs since… God. Since my granny was a lass."

  "Huh." Well now, Matty thought. That was an interesting piece of trivia.

  As if realizing he'd said too much, Bill shook his head and clapped Matty's shoulder with one heavy hand. "Let's head back. You'll be okay once you're in your room."

  The walk back was silent, but Matty didn't mind. He had plenty to occupy his thoughts. First in his thoughts was the fact that he remembered how to use a card catalogue and that contemplating using a computer catalogue was something that wasn't foreign to him. He had found his way around the library without any problem, he had remembered that. Why could he remember these little things and not the larger, more important things?

  He grunted a farewell to Bill as he entered his room, sighing as he heard the sound of the key in the lock of the door. Just great, he thought. Not only did he remembering trivial things, now he was locked into a small room without any windows. At least he had the intriguing booklet he'd found.

  Matty set his novels on the small cabinet by the bed then sat down and dug out the booklet from beneath his clothes. Leaning back against the wall, he crossed his feet at the ankles and began to read.

  The print had blurred in places, smeared in others, smudged with dirt and cobwebs. He peered at the inside cover, reading the words written there with interest, his earlier annoyance at himself forgotten.

  "Printed by the Friends of Earth and the Earth Liberation Group. Edited by Daniel Lang, printed with gratitude by Elisa Moses in her office. Distributed 2016, January."

  Matty quickly leafed through the booklet, counting the pages. There were only 24, and they were covered in small type. He got the feeling that it had been put together in a hurry. Returning to the front page, he began to read. Nothing on the inside cover gave him any further clues about the contents. It was only on the first page that information began.

  "People talk about dystopia in terms of fiction. Movies, books, comics. It's a popular trope, that's because no one thinks that it'll ever happen. 1984 was a popular book and movie, too, and we were living it. Orwell would've been horrified. Isn't that the way? Authors who write this sort of fiction are horrified if they live to see what their imaginations created become reality. That's what's happening now. We might not be living in Brave New World, but we're certainly close.

  "War is everywhere. All sorts of intelligence has been leaked to the masses. (Not saying that part is a bad thing). Governments are destabilizing each other or driving the media towards frothing reports about 'us versus them.' The rise of fear and hatred is approaching disastrous extremes. We need to act.

  "There are too many bombs on this planet. It's fair to say that all it takes is one megalomaniac with a grudge and a short temper to set one off. We've seen it in the planning stages with North Korea. That nation isn't the only one—it's just the most obvious one. We need to plan ahead for what's going to happen, which is going to be an ultimate apocalypse triggered by some idiot with no sense who wants to show off.

  "We could assassinate these people, though someone else would take control and we don't know who that might be. Is it better the Devil you know, though? Or is it better to take a chance and risk it by eliminating the loudest and most obvious individuals who are hell bent on a new world order of totalitarianism?"

  Matty set the booklet down. "Bloody hell," he breathed. This booklet seemed to be nothing more informative than a tract about the end of the world. Obviously, given that he'd been told all of humanity now lived underground, the author's fears had been verified. If everything in the booklet was more of this sort of hyperbole, Matty was afraid he'd learn nothing of value. He returned to reading and turned the page.

  "Some folk think we're over-reacting. Others don't. Important others, too, others who live and work in the shadows. The most secret of spies who work for every nation, who see what is going on and have their own concerns. Deep in the anonymous parts of the Internet, there's chatter about doing something, about working with certain individuals who know what to do. There's no names for these people—they use code names.

  "We need to contact these people to offer our help. It's our hope that with the publication of this booklet, both in physical form and on the Internet, that someone from their organization contacts us. Our planet is under threat, not just from changes in the climate, from overpopulation, from food shortages, natural disasters, and political nightmares. Our very way of life is at stake if we don't do something soon.

  "There's talk online of a group of elite, wealthy individ
uals who are also concerned, just like the various spooks with their code names. They've set up a foundation to preserve knowledge and science, and to preserve lives. Rumor says that there's a cryogenic facility, but as we all know, rumor can be fickle. Still, rumor is all we have right now."

  Matty lowered the booklet, frowning to himself. Was that who had put him in the cryo? Some unknown wealthy person who thought that he, Matty MacDougall, had value to the world? Who would that be, and what value did he have to warrant such a decision?

  "This is getting really ridiculous," Matty muttered. He shook his head and continued reading.

  "The United Nations is deaf to our pleas. Protests and petitions no longer have any effect. Injustice is growing, murder is so common now that anyone can get away with it. It's always the same reason—revenge, dislike, fear. Once upon a time, we could negotiate. Once upon a time, the UN was respected. Now it's just a figurehead and largely ignored by governments who do their own thing.

  "This isn't World War Two. This is nothing like what has gone before. It's getting to be that no one can walk down the street at any time of the day or night by themselves. If you are part of the spy network or the wealthy families involved in trying to salvage things, please contact us. We want to help. We place ourselves at your mercy.

  "There will be no mercy for anyone if things aren't stopped. We'll all be dead, Earth along with us. Millions of years of life and history will have no meaning, because no one and nothing will be left alive to appreciate it. Help us. Someone. Anyone."

  Matty turned the page, wondering what would be next. His frown deepened as he saw that the next page contained a list of names and locations. The header read, "Signed by:"

  These must be the people who had written the booklet. There had been three pages of text and the rest of it was names. Matty flipped through it carefully, scanning the names to see if any of them jolted his memory. It wasn't until the second to last page, as his despair of finding anything reached its peak, that his gaze landed on a name that sent a shock through him.

  Arkady Petrov, Moscow, Russian Federation.

  "Who the hell are you?" Matty murmured. He ran his finger over the name. Arkady Petrov. A Russian, obviously, whose name sent a frisson of familiarity through Matty. It wasn't just familiarity though, there was another feeling, warmth that filled his chest, making his heart beat a little harder.

  "Arkady Petrov. Arkady." Matty closed his eyes, repeating the name over and over in his mind.

  A memory swam to the surface of his thoughts, making him freeze.

  A man with messy dark blond hair sprawled in a seat by a table, a cup of coffee in front of him and an Uzi beside it. The man was smirking. He was dressed all in black, including a flak jacket, and he had a pale scar on his left cheek. He was handsome, cocky and confident, and Matty remembered that on assignment that confidence could narrow to a laser focus that was no less handsome.

  "Matty, come on. You know what we're dealing with, yes? Yes. There is no sense using codes now. It's beyond that. We have to do these things. We have to do them now."

  "I know that, Arkady. I just don't like it. I'm really fucking pissed off, to be bluntly honest."

  "Don't hold back there. I would say you should as there are ladies present, but I'm sure they have heard much worse."

  Laughter.

  The memory faded away.

  Matty opened his eyes. His heart pounded heavily. He wanted more. He wanted it now.

  "Goddamnit." He threw the booklet across the room and got to his feet, starting to pace as he swore to himself. The frustration of not knowing was becoming overwhelming. Tomorrow, he was going to see Dr. Andrews, find out what could be done to get his brain to cooperate and give him his memories—his life—back.

  He stomped over to pick up the booklet from where it had landed beside the wash basin. There was no use leaving it out in the open. Matty wasn't comfortable with Bill or one of the nurses finding it. He certainly didn't want anyone to report what he'd found, as he'd have to answer questions that he had no answers to. He was certain that if he asked his own questions, Dr. Andrews would sidestep them or give him non-answers. The lack of history books relating to the last one hundred years in the library had spoken louder than words that the information contained within them was important and considered something best not left for anyone to find.

  It didn't matter what Bill said about no one using the library—once upon a time, someone had. Now he, Matty, was using it. Steps had been taken to protect the information, so Matty was going to have figure out other ways to get it.

  One thing for sure, he now had a name and a face to go with that name, of someone he knew, someone he knew quite well, someone who's name made his heart pound.

  Arkady Petrov was a start.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Matty had hidden the booklet inside the mattress on his bed. He had spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning, thinking about the small memory that had been unlocked, the face of the man who smirked, who spoke with a Russian accent and drank coffee while carrying a high-powered gun, who set Matty's heart a-flutter. Toward dawn, going by the time on the clock on the bedside cabinet, Matty had heard the key turn in the lock of the door to his room, and he had pretended to be asleep, hoping that whoever entered his room wouldn't notice.

  He heard someone enter, muttering about the ridiculousness of this situation, how everyone should just get on with things. Matty recognized the voice—it was Bill. Bill shuffled around the room, picking up clothes, putting them down, picking up the books that Matty had borrowed and going through them. It was obvious from the sounds he was making that he was conducting a thorough search of Matty's few belongings and the library books.

  "Damn well knew there wasn't nothing here." Bill's last words were followed by a grunt. Matty strained his ears, listening as Bill left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  Matty sat up, feeling a greater sense of urgency than he had since coming out of cryo. He was being watched—he was sure of it. Maybe there were cameras in the library and someone had seen him find the booklet? Or maybe Bill had reported that Matty had borrowed a few books, then been sent to make sure that was all he'd borrowed and nothing else. A sudden thought occurred to him and Matty swore under his breath. He should have checked the newspaper section. He might have found something there. Now, though, he was positive that if he went back to have a look, all the newspapers would be gone. He was certain that someone did not want him to know what had happened in the world while he'd been in cryo, or what exactly had led to humanity moving underground.

  With a grunt, he flopped back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling lost in the soft darkness. He was tired, his body demanding rest, his muscles aching from tension, feeling so tight that he knew he would ache the next day. Yet his mind worked overtime, playing scenarios and ideas at him at a rapid rate, so he could not relax himself to sleep.

  Another quick glance at the clock showed it to be nearly 6 a.m. Matty groaned and rolled onto his side, kicking his blanket off the bed. He punched his pillow, hoping to release some of the tension he felt, to no avail. He was just going to have to let his mind and body work this out on their own. One thing he knew without a doubt now was that unless he remembered things on his own, he'd never know anything, and the sooner he accepted that, the better. Perhaps by doing so, allowing his mind to move at its own pace, it would move quicker.

  That thought cheered him considerably. He shoved away all the 'what if's' that were screaming for attention, pounding at the inside of his skull. He concentrated on his breathing, listening to himself as he breathed in then out, in then out. Slowly, he felt his muscles begin to relax, his mind began to clear, and before he knew it, he fell asleep.

  *~*~*

  "Wake up."

  Matty grumbled petulantly as he felt himself being shaken into wakefulness. He felt tired and his head felt as if it were full of sand. He didn't really want to get up, he wanted to sleep in and spend the day in b
ed. It seemed that Bill, who's voice he recognized easily, wouldn't allow that.

  "Why?" Matty asked, even as he slowly pushed himself up.

  "It's time for breakfast, that's why." Bill looked at him in concern. "What's the matter with you, anyway? You're usually up and ready to go by the time I come in here."

  "It took me a while to get to sleep last night," Matty said. "I had a lot on my mind, it took me some time to get my brain to calm down."

  "What could be so important that it kept you awake?"

  "Oh, not much, just little things like being locked up in my room like a fucking prisoner," Matty shot back.

  "Hey, now, I told you that was a—"

  "Yeah, I know. Can you give me some space, please? Let me get dressed and ready for the wonderful day of nothing that lies ahead of me."

  Bill retreated and Matty stood up. He felt a small surge of victory that he'd surprised this man, perhaps even shocked him a little. Let someone else feel those things for a change. He quickly got dressed then went over to the small bathing area, took care of the morning ablutions, brushed his teeth and went to join Bill by the door.

  "Ready when you are," Matty said.

  "Okay." Bill led the way as usual, walking down the corridor in his normal unhurried pace. As ever, he didn't say anything until they reached the mess hall, when he gestured for Matty to take a seat and went to get him his breakfast. One day, Matty thought, Bill might actually let Matty get his own breakfast. Wouldn't that be a small miracle.

  When Bill returned with the tray of food and drink, he set it down in front of Matty and sat down opposite him. As Matty tucked into his bacon and eggs, Bill regarded him, his expression one that Matty had never seen before. It was an expression that seemed to Matty to be one of mild confusion.

  Good.

  "Man, what's eating you?" Bill finally asked.

  "Nothing. I want to see Dr. Andrews after this."

  Bill's eyebrows shot up. "Why?"

  "Do you have a degree in psychology you didn't tell me about? Because if so, I'm happy to lay out all my thoughts and feelings for you right now."