Free Paradigm (9781909490406) by Ceri A. Lowe Page A

bottle away.
    â€˜That’s to be expected,’ he said. ‘Now hold onto something.’ Alice screamed as Mr Hutchinson poured a sliver of vodka onto the wound and rubbed it with a cut strip of the sheet. She held onto the couch with both hands.
    â€˜Stop!’ she screamed. ‘It hurts.’
    â€˜Nearly there,’ he said, rubbing harder. ‘We need to make the wound clean.’
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    B y the time Mr Hutchinson had finished cleaning the wound and tying the tight white strips of sheet around it, the bleeding had subsided and Alice felt giddier and sicker than before. When he was done, he sat on the couch next to her stroking her hair, taking big gulps from the bottle and muttering words that Alice couldn’t quite make out. Her leg was propped up on the pillows and her head ached as she drifted in and out of a sleepy place.
    â€˜Shh,’ said Mr Hutchinson as he tipped the last dregs of the bottle into his mouth, ‘we’re going to be alllllright.’
    â€˜I want my mother,’ said Alice. ‘I want to go home.’
    â€˜Oh, but you are home,’ said Mr Hutchinson putting his arms on her shoulder and her chest. He pressed down hard until Alice could barely breathe.
    â€˜You are home,’ he soothed, ‘and I’m all you’ve got in the world.’

4
    The FreeScreens
    I n the darkness of the shelter, Carter got slowly to his feet, the images of the Deadlands and the children of his own he had never met still scorched on the inside of his head. His eyes were watering and his mouth was dry. The light of the FreeScreen in the shelter flickered on and off, casting a soft orange glow out into the darkness. Apart from the soft hum of electricity that ebbed out from the Barricades, it was silent.
    Twins.
    There had been no multiple births in the Community since the Storms. It wasn’t impossible—unless it was a sign. A clear sign. But when—and who? Before he went away—at the going-away party? He didn’t remember much of the night except for the lights and colours. His grandfather had been there for a short time. And Professor Mendoza, with a group of her new students. The one with the red hair.
    A wet breeze whipped underneath his collar and over the smoothness of his face, droplets catching his eyes as he looked down the path. He smelled the air. Soon it would turn to heavy pellets and then hail again; if he didn’t make it to the Community and inside some reinforced shelter, it could get dangerous.
    Carter didn’t remember much, just the phosphoric flame of her hair, but it had all been over in a matter of seconds as the sun bled back behind the hills on his last night in the Community, fifteen years ago. He made the shape of their names with his mouth—Ariel and Lucia—over and over again until his mind was filled with nothing else. He would get their address, visit them and, now that they were grown up, he would have no obligation of responsibility towards them. They could even support him in becoming Controller General. The sound of his grandfather’s voice echoed in his head and, through the pain of his absence, he pulled himself together. He was tired and he needed to get back to the Community. But he would get their address first.
    Carter traced his fingers across the soft fibre of the screen, watching the cursor follow the swirl. The FreeScreen was a truly great invention—to date, the best Contribution ever produced by a Contender. He clicked on their names and waited.
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    C arter had been nine years old when the Industry had installed the whole wall of FreeScreens in all public and private buildings throughout the Community. Their introduction had been the most recent Contribution of the new Controller General, Alderney, and Carter remembered it well—it has been less than a year before the disappearance of his parents. He’d woken up one night as his mother, Jacinta, paced through the rooms