The Dying Fall
Chapter 20: That Strain Again
Song for this chapter:
Chapter 20: That Strain Again
Like an icy slap, the evening air stung Carrie’s cheeks as she left the Employment Centre and headed home. The breeze was slight but it carried a night frost on it that made Carrie walk a little faster than usual, her chin buried in her woollen scarf and hands shoved deep into the pockets of her winter coat. It was dark already, the pavement lit by the pallid light of the streetlamps and the head beams of the buses, which gleamed momentarily in glassy shop fronts as they swished along the roads. Carrie had been cold all day at the Plant and her brief half an hour in the Employment Centre hadn’t been long enough to thaw her fingers and toes.
It had taken ten days for an Employment Officer to respond to her application with a date for an initial interview. The officer, a monotoned man in his thirties who asked Carrie to call him Jones, had gone to great lengths to explain that there had been a considerable rise in applications to the Employment Office recently: competition was high and jobs were in short supply. Jones had not been impressed that Carrie had turned down a scholarship degree with the Eco Ministry, but had reluctantly admitted that with her calibre of qualifications he could probably place her at an Eco Office easily enough.
“You’d have to start from the bottom,” he had warned. “Admin, data entry—that sort of thing. But it’s possible, if you do a good job for a year or so, they might offer you a place on a degree programme again.”
Whilst she’d faked a smile and tried to look earnest as she’d answered Jones’s questions, Carrie had felt her heart slowly sinking inside her. As logical as it was to quit the Plant for a better paid job that would take her off Dryce’s suppliers list, Carrie was going to miss it. Despite the early mornings, unreasonable quotas and permanently cold conditions, she was going to miss doing something that kept her hands busy but her mind free to wander. If she didn’t have her time in Nano’s basement to look forward to every weekend, she wasn’t sure she’d have the courage to sit in front of a computer screen for eight hours a day, five days a week, every week, and process figures, potentially for the rest of her life.
Carrie became a little more alert as she approached the town square. The place was eerily quiet, not just because there were fewer people about than usual for this last quarter of an hour before most work places emptied, but because the people seemed quieter, as if hushed by the dark and the cold. It wasn’t just the evening and the weather, however, that were responsible for the subdued atmosphere: there had been a distinct depression in the air since the WiLS protests had been quashed by the Patrol earlier in the week. An hour had been added on to either end of the curfew hours, starting next Monday: 9 p.m. to 5.30 a.m.. The announcement had come out of the blue and there had been particularly strong feelings about it at the Plant, since it meant all manual labour workers would have to get up and ready for work by candlelight. The protest had been small—just a few hundred brave people gathering in the square with handmade signs, and a woman with a strident voice, leading the chants. The protest had been denied a permit, so several Patrol units had turned up to forcibly break up the gathering. There had been a scuffle, warning shots had been fired and the tyres on a Patrol vehicle had been slashed. Several arrests were made and the protestors had dispersed, their rally having lasted less than an hour.
Rather than quenching the rumble of dissatisfaction, the Patrol’s heavy-handed approach had only caused the tension to spread. Carrie had heard low, muttered conversations about it all week on the disassembly floor, in the canteen and on the bus. The authorities seemed to be aware that they’d only temporarily repressed any rebellious feeling, not eradicated it completely, as the patrols had more than doubled, especially in the town square and other areas where government buildings were located. This was why Carrie was wary as she crossed the cobbles of the square. She’d been stopped and searched once already this week, as she’d got off the bus after work. Fortunately it had been a day when she’d decided not to take anything off the electronics line. Although she hadn’t picked anything up today either, mainly because she didn’t want to sit in the Employment Office with stolen goods stuffed in the waistband of her jeans, Carrie really didn’t want the delay and hassle of a spontaneous stop and search this evening. For one, they’d make her remove her scarf and coat and it was just too damned cold for that nonsense.
Carrie cast a quick look about her for black uniforms as she crossed under the cobnut tree and to the other side of the square. Just before she reached the pavement by the bus stop, a sound crackled in the air behind her and she stopped dead in her tracks.
For a second, the breeze carried a familiar tune to her ears and then there sounded a voice that seemed to echo to all four corners of the square with a tinny quality that pinged sharply off the cobbles and the fronts of the shops.
If music be life, give me excess of it
Until I die.
That strain again…
Carrie spun around, wondering at first if she was the only one who could hear the song. Other pedestrians around her were slowing to a halt, gazes searching for the source of the sound.
Sweeter than violets, loading my senses…
Allowing her ear to chase the sound around the square, Carrie finally pinpointed its origin to the cobnut tree, where she could make out an old, wireless soundbox taped more than halfway up the trunk, just out of reach. It must have been activated remotely so it was impossible to tell who had set it off.
Lifting me high.
Here it comes again, that dying fall…
The melody was suddenly joined by the stomping of running feet as a couple of Patrol officers raced out of an alley way. It took them a few frantic seconds to locate the soundbox. One of the officers immediately gabbled into their radio to report the incident whilst the other went straight to the theatre, presumably to find a ladder.
Stealing my life, taking my all…
Some of the pedestrians began to move on, eager to get out of the cold and out of the line of fire of any potential trouble that might start. But most of them stayed where they were, milling in groups on the pavement as they waited to see what would happen next. Carrie backed up onto the curb, but didn’t go any further, frozen by a toxic curiosity to watch the reaction of the strangers on the street to her song. In some of the windows above the shops, and in almost every doorway of every building around the square, silent listeners appeared, like bees drawn from their hive by fresh nectar.
The officer who remained in the square eyed the bystanders with a narrow gaze. After a moment he stepped forward and gestured impatiently at the nearest group.
“All right everyone!” he declared loudly, “Keep moving!”
But no one did.
When I die, then I’ll rise:
Rise louder than before.
Shifting uncomfortably, the officer spoke into his radio again. Still the song soared on the evening air.
Here it comes again, that dying fall…
Thinking it would probably be wise to walk away now, Carrie began to turn away, but as she did her ear caught a second sound that joined Rox’s voice in its melody. She stopped again, her heart stopping with her. The Patrol officer had heard the noise too and for a moment was utterly flummoxed as he stared at the pockets of onlookers around the square. Someone—no, several someones—were humming—even singing along to the words.
The officer quickly walked towards a small group of pedestrians standing on one corner of the square, as if looking for the culprits.
“Right!” he said, raising his voice forcefully. “I said move on! The show is over—come on! Move it!”
The group he was targeting shuffled apart a few feet but no one had any real intention of leaving just yet. And still several voices kept Rox’s vocals company as they soared on the air.
But when I die, then I’ll rise:
Rise louder than before.
The tension was suddenly broken when two further pairs of Patrol officers entered the square and began moving through the onlookers. The audience instinctively began to scatter, hunching into their coats again and scurrying away into the night. Carrie glanced just once over her shoulder as she turned to leave and saw the Patrol Officer who had gone to the theatre walking towards the cobnut tree with a ladder. For a few seconds longer, the song seemed to follow her as she left the square.
If music be life, give me excess of it
Until I—
And then it cut off and Carrie felt her own heart pause before jumping into an erratic rhythm.
What had just happened?
Carrie knew that Dryce had made Vannah the first track on the DEBUT bud, which Nano had been dealing for a week now. Gubbs had also told Nano that he’d played Vannah at several undersounds across a number of regions and it had consistently got a good response. But that didn’t explain why someone had strapped a soundbox to the cobnut tree in the middle of the square to publicly broadcast the song.
It made Carrie nervous. Nano had tried to persuade her to come to the undersound this evening to hear Vannah played to the crowd for herself and she’d been tempted—until now. There would be repercussions for what had just happened. Who knew what the authorities would do? At the very least, the number of patrols on the street would remain high, if they didn’t increase even further. Dryce had to either be extremely arrogant or just plain mad to still run the undersound in the current climate.
Carrie tried to put thoughts of what had just happened out of her mind as she arrived at Meg’s. But even as she helped Talissa prepare dinner and then ate with Meg on the sofa, whilst the others ate at the table in the kitchen, she couldn’t help thinking about the stillness of the crowd and the voices that had joined the melody as it echoed on the icy evening breeze.
After they finished dinner, Carrie sat with Meg and watched the subtitles flicker over a wildlife programme on the television, whilst Talissa put the children to bed. A little way through the programme, Meg put her hand on Carrie’s arm and squeezed it to get her attention. Carrie looked around to meet Meg’s questioning gaze.
“What’s wrong?” Meg asked, her voice a little raspy and hesitant.
Carrie shook her head. “Nothing.”
Meg let go of Carrie’s arm and leant forward to retrieve a notepad and pen from the coffee table. Even though she still had her voice, she didn’t seem to like using it. Since she hadn’t yet mastered sign language or lipreading, she had taken to using the notepad to communicate.
Why are you here?—Meg wrote on the pad.
Carrie frowned at her, took the pad and pen and scribbled back: I’m hanging out with you.
‘Why?’ Meg mouthed wordlessly, and then wrote on the pad: Isn’t there an undersound?
Carrie shrugged a ‘So?’.
Why aren’t you there?
Carrie stared at Meg, reading the mixture of frustration and accusation on her face. She shrugged again, then changed her mind and took the pen.
Too dangerous.
Meg rolled her eyes and wrote: Isn’t it always? Go!
Carrie was incredulous and annoyed enough to scrawl her answer in capitals. NO!
GO!—Meg wrote.
Carrie frowned at her and Meg brushed the pad and pen to one side as she shifted so she could better face Carrie. She put her hands on Carrie’s shoulders and gave her a desperate look.
“Please!” she said.
“I don’t understand, Meg—” Carrie began.
Meg cut her off by taking hold of her hands. “No. Regrets,” she said.
They stared at each other for a moment and then Meg released Carrie’s hands and went back to watching the wildlife programme. Carrie looked at her for a little longer and then got to her feet and scooped her coat from the arm of the sofa. She hesitated at the living room door and Meg glanced briefly around at her before turning back to the television.
Carrie went through to the hall where Talissa was coming down the stairs with Jono in her arms.
“Thank you for dinner,” Carrie said.
“You’re welcome,” Talissa said with a smile. “Heading home now?”
“Yes.”
Carrie let herself out of the house and stood on the street whilst she pulled on her coat and buttoned it up. She stood for another minute, torn between her common sense and the illicit desire that burned deep down inside her. Then she began walking up the road, as if her feet would decide for her. By the time she reached the end of the street, her mind was made up.
Next weekend: Chapter 21—Anthem
The Dying Fall: Index
Welcome to the index page of The Dying Fall. Please scroll down to find links to each published chapter. If you need any help, let me know via the message button at the bottom of the page.
Author’s Notes:
I’ll be honest: I’d choose working at the Plant over data entry, every time. Every. Time.
Chapter 21: Anthem, coming next weekend.
PJ