... to get to the other side. #2

Chapter 2 - Brorwck gets her first taste of dystopian London.

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This is Chapter 2 - if you haven’t read Chapter 1, it’s here…

Chapter 2

Brorwck watched the fractured streets of London zoetrope across the window of Charlie’s black cab. The glass-free slits of steel towers revealed a sky that was clear, blue, and bird free. Being a chicken, Brorwck had never thought about the sky. In fact, until an hour ago, she had never seen it. She concluded it was pretty but overrated, much like Aardman’s Chicken Run 2, a film that Olga had made her watch many times to ensure she didn’t lose touch with her inner chicken. Brorwck missed Olga far more than any ‘chickeness’ that had long since flown the coop.

“You all right there?” Charlie said as he steered around another pile of soup in a bag, bodies awaiting collectors who would never come. “You wanna better view?” Charlie reached under his chair and pulled out a thick leather-bound book. Brorwck instinctively leaned away from the large volume. In her experience, big books were cookbooks, which were always bad for chickens, eventually.

“Brorwck?”

“Ah… well, this ‘ere is The Knowledge! It’s a book see, that contains everything a cabbie needs to know to be a cabbie in London.”

“Buck, buckark…buk, buk?” said Brorwck. She’d heard about the knowledge in a YouTube video she’d watched with Olga. The prospective cab drivers had to learn thousands of streets by heart to pass the test… it was legendary in London.

She was impressed.

“It’s not the actual knowledge, of course, that was never written down as far as I know. It was just a way of navigating the streets in the straightest line possible. Not much use out there…’old on, let me put this thing down.” Charlie carefully placed the book on her seat, and she hopped onto the soft red cover, clawed feet on either side of gold embossed words “The Knowledge” stamped in the centre.

Satisfied, Charlie continued, “Straight lines ain’t really wot London is all about nowadays. So I started me own knowledge for future cabbies… all the things yah need to know to navigate a dystopian ‘ell-‘ole by cab an’ stay alive.” Charlie smiled triumphantly. “You look after it for me, yeah an’ in return ‘ol Charlie will see you alright to Windsor or near as dammit, eh!” Charlie’s hand rested gently on the cover, transforming his words into a promise made on a holy book.

“Buck, Buckark.” Said Brorwck. It was clear Charlie was very proud of his life’s work, and Brorwck felt she might have underestimated this salt-of-the-earth type. People were more complicated than American sit-coms would have you believe.

“Nice view?”

Brorwck’s head tilted and flicked in the sun, each eye checking her elevated view. Sadly, it didn’t warrant the effort, but she was grateful for the kindness.

“Buk, Buck…”

“You’re welcome, love. It’s a long ol’ way and I don’t want yah getting a cricky neck.” Said Charlie. He enjoyed watching this feathered ball of life. She was one of the most intelligent passengers he had picked up and it was a breath of fresh air to have some stimulating conversation, even if it was a little one-sided.

“Buk, Buk, Buurck?” suggested Brorwck. She knew nothing about driving but felt it would be better if Charlie watched where they were going.

Charlie wasn’t sure he fully understood the nuances of Chicken, this being the first time he had interacted with one not wrapped in clingfilm, but he sensed she wanted him to focus more on driving and less on her. He smiled as her thin legs retracted into her feathers and she smoothly lowered onto the book. She reminded him of a mime artist in a tiny lift.

“You would ‘ave done well in Covent Garden back in the old days with moves like that!” he laughed.

“BuRuck buk!” agreed Brorwck. A life on the stage would have suited her outgoing nature. She liked that Charlie cared, but she didn’t want him to get too close. For both of them, this needed to remain professional.

“Buk, buucark..buk…buk” she reminded him.

“I see where you’re coming from, but, well, I need to be straight with yah. It’s not gonna be easy to reach Windsor. It’s wild out ‘ere, but I don’t want you fretting. Ol’ Charlie still has a few moves of his own.”

He was trying hard not to sound worried, but London was a bleedin’ mess! It wasn’t great before the war, bombings, riots, flood, pestilence, flood and repeat to fade. Now, the roads weren’t roads anymore; they were underground tube tunnels, sewers, front lawns, parks, shopping centres and a dry river bed, which might have been the Thames once upon a time. What would have taken him a couple of hours five years ago would take them at least twelve. They had to find somewhere safe to stay overnight, and in this version of London, nowhere was safe overnight for a chicken.

“Hold on luv, minor detour.”

Charlie turned hard left, and the cab bounced over a fallen Heras fence into a building site. Or a demolition site? There was little difference. They bounced over the rutted ground into a large concrete pipe and stopped. He waited in silence for a moment.

“Always check you ain’t been seen, rule number nine.” He whispered to Brorwck. They waited for another minute in silence. Three giant empty windows stared back, like a skull through the pipe opening. Brorwck wasn’t one for foreshadowing, but death never seemed far away outside.

“All good.”

“Buk Buk” lied Brorwck. There was no point in adding fear to the mood.

“Great. Hop off me book a second?”

Brorwck stepped off the Knowledge, and Charlie carefully lifted the book onto his lap, resting it against the steering wheel. He wiped his hand over the gold-embossed words ‘The Knowledge’ stamped on the cover, then slowly opened it. He ran his finger down the handwritten contents list. Brorwck, whose reading had improved in the last year to prepare for the journey, caught glimpses of the headings.

‘The rules 1-100, Food easy p21-24, Food tricky p24-p26, Water easy p33-p39,… Direct routes fast p52-p58, - Underground tricky p61 - p67, Charging easy p79, Sanctuary(Night) p84-p88…’

Charlie’s finger stopped. He tapped on the words and smiled. “Here we go.” Before thumbing the well-thumbed pages.

He slid his finger over the scrapbook pieces of paper, lifting some up to review additional notes on the back. There were addresses, routes, a rating system, and notes for cross-reference pages. This was the work of a dedicated man, although it was difficult to know whether he was most devoted to the book or staying alive.

Brorwck hoped it was the latter.

“Buuckark?” she asked.

“Hmmmm, no, not really. Lots of options, see, but none of ‘em are ideal with a… you,” replied Charlie. “See this ‘ere…” He tapped a curling green post-it note.

‘Nina’s favourite Post-it colour’, thought Brorwck.

“This is a garage just west of Battersea. It’s tricky to get to, but it’s like Fort Knox. I stay there sometimes when I’m over that side… But there’s this gang of young un’s that come by. No real danger, sticks and stones kind of thing, they know to leave ol’ Charlie and his cab well alone…” His voice trails off. Thoughts of Molly sneak in, taking her to school hand in hand, playing tag, skimming stones, sticks as swords in the park, morph into images of dirty orphans armed with nailed-up sticks swarming like ants. Kids grow up fast or die in London.

They would want the chicken.

Charlie would want to stop them.

Nobody wants that ending.

“Nope. That’s gonna end up messy, an’ I don’t enjoy getting messy when kids are involved…” Charlie turned the page.

Who could they trust in a city that regularly consumed its inhabitants up to six months after they stopped breathing? A live chicken would be enough to restart the war! Charlie knew there was only one place to go.

“I guess we could go see Mum.”

Brorwck cocked her head. Charlie didn’t seem that happy about the idea.

“Buk, Buk, Bukark?” she said to check it was what he wanted to do.

“Ah, it’s not the quickest way, love, but it’ll be safe when we get there, and we might even find you something proper to eat.” Charlie forced a smile, then snapped the Knowledge shut before offering it up to Brorwck. As she hopped onto the cover, she knew Charlie wasn’t telling her something, but such was life for chickens.

Charlie rolled the cab silently out of the pipe and headed east through the building site. He navigated them slowly through the ruptured innards of London, staying hidden as much as possible, never driving on the road, always watching. Brorwck, for her part, was the lookout, but she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. However, Charlie assured her she would recognise it when she saw it… he was right.

As they drove through the front of ‘Forget-me-not Flowers’, past buckets of rotting sticks, the cleared road bent to the left. Charlie grunted. The sound alerted Brorwck to a change. Another sharp turn, then they dipped down through a hole in a floor, through an underground carpark and then back onto the… road. As they emerged into the grey light, a distant clang of metal on metal snapped Charlie’s senses to attention. He scanned the street with sentry efficiency.

“Buck?”

“Hmm!”

“Buck, buk?” asked Brorwck again.

This wasn’t right.

“Bugger!”

The road stopped.

“Burck?”

“Yeah… not good!” said Charlie, gently lifting his foot off the pedal. In front was a twisted amalgam of London buses and scaffolding adorned with overripe human fruit that dripped steadily onto the churned tarmac below. Noticing the change in Charlie, Brorwck bobbed up and gave the deserted streets a quick one-two. She saw nothing.

Being lab-born, she lacked the predator-detecting instincts of her predecessors; she was a chicken who wasn’t chicken. However, Charlie knew fear, and if he intended to ambush a cabbie and his chicken, it would be right here.

“Don’t worry pet, ‘ol Charlie has a few tricks up his sleeve.”

Fixing his eyes front whilst creeping the car forward, he surreptitiously reached past Brorwck and flipped open the glove box, revealing several of Charlie’s tricks.

“Buur-ckark?” Browrck exclaimed, drawn to the rows of bright oval buttons in front of her.

“Woah! They’re no travel sweets, darling,” said Charlie, gently pushing her sharp beak away from the glowing orbs.

His hand hovered over the control panel, thumb and forefinger rubbing together like a gunslinger from some movie he would never see again.

Charlie held his breath. Brorwck didn’t. Chickens breathe quietly by default.

Drip…drip…drip…CLANG!

A wave of disorganised rage erupted from the barricade. Armed with pipes, axes, poles, clubs, a leg bone with shoe, whirling chains, a broom, ice picks, walking sticks, and golf clubs, the bony mob exploded over them. Indiscriminate and wild, the fury tore into itself as much as the car. They rained down like dismembered cats and dogs. Blood sprayed across the window, faces crushed against the glass, sliding up and out as a yard sale of improvised weapons battered their sanctuary.

Charlie waited. The onslaught continued, piling up, piling on, erupting over.

“Close your eyes”.

Brorwck buried her head under her wing as Charlie pressed the red button. Something whined and whistled deep inside the car, the air thickened, ozone smelling like liquid metal.

The hungry screams phased into the whistle, reaching a crescendo of rage.

Then…

The drop!

‘Hawhoomph…’ the hungry electricity leapt from metal to flesh to flesh, ripping skin from bone, fusing muscle, and boiling blood. Teeth separated from jaws, propelled by screams, and tongues sought refuge in throats, ventilated by snaking lines of light.

“Hold tight!” said Charlie, like they were navigating speed bumps. He pressed the yellow button.

Brorwck snapped to attention as static fizzed over her feathers. Wide-eyed, she watched the mob turn to passata, sliced and diced by radiating waves of electric razor wire. Bodies left legs, legs turned to cubes, and heads cracked open, adding brains, eyes, and tongues to the street-wide people paella.

‘Perhaps…’ thought Brorwck, ‘… this is overkill!’ She made a mental note to bring it up when they were safe again.

Charlie slowly eased his foot onto the accelerator and used the lubricated surface to expedite a swift u-turn and point them out of the kill zone.

“Should be back on schedule in a minute, love!” said Charlie reassuringly. Brorwck was less worried about the additional time and more anxious about the scrum of armoured meat blocking their escape. Brorwck looked left and right for any alternative that involved fewer objects that looked like kebab skewers.

“Bro..wuck, buk, buk, buckark?” suggested Brorwck.

“What?” said Charlie.

“Bro..wuck, buk..buk, buckark?” pointing her beak toward the glass shop frontage to their left.

“Hell yeah!” Charlie didn’t need to be told three times. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, spraying street food over the groaning remains of their assailants. The car slid sideways on the violent sauce before finding purchase on the tarmac and accelerating forward. The sudden change in direction took a moment to register with the salivating army, enough for them to reach the path before the wall charged.

“It’s gonna get bumpy!” laughed Charlie. The adrenaline seared through him, and he felt alive, truly alive, for the first time in years.

The two tonnes of black cab launched off the curb and exploded through the glass. The Mannequins startled into excited marionettes, bouncing off the window over the car before assaulting the oncoming horde. Their pursuers began stabbing, tearing, and eating the plastic people, allowing Charlie and Brorwck to complete their escape.

The cab gripped the old shop carpet, propelled through lingerie into home furnishings, and exited via an ‘I heart London’ gift concession into the safety of a covered delivery tunnel.

Brorwck and Charlie stared straight ahead as the concrete tunnel moved them west under the shopping centre. It was dark but empty, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long. They needed to put distance between them and whatever was chewing through John Lewis’s behind them.

“Brorwck?”

“Yeah… I know. Sorry.” Charlie felt responsible. He was responsible, he lost focus, and he wouldn’t let that happen again.

He made a promise, and he intended to keep it.

“Let’s go see Mum.”

Chapter 3