I turned on the TV tonight and impulsively homed in on The Preservation Network to see if there was anything being reported about the massacre at King’s College. The people that didn’t return home that night, surely there was a loved one looking for them? This couldn’t be simply forgotten?
Well, the event at King’s College was being covered but to my disbelief the broadcast was attributing the deaths of 115 civilians to an act of viral warfare by a terrorist organisation known as the ‘Antidote to Neurological Zombosis’. They had, allegedly, inserted an NZ sufferer into the middle of the crowd in order to instigate an outbreak, and that Zombie had turned the scene into a bloodbath. Only the ‘quick thinking of the Preservers contained the incident and ensured no further loss of life’. The news reporter stated the chaos meant that the perpetrators were still at large, and he conveniently omitted the reason why anyone was there in the first place, but was vehement in his condemnation of this group of ‘humans that are not on the side of humanity’. Ms Locke’s soundbite, being rolled out as part of the narrative.
This group have never, ever been mentioned by The Preservation, or indeed anyone else, before. I would know if they had. As far as the public at large is concerned, this is the first admittance by name of a crusade that exists in opposition to The Preservation. Ms Locke had hinted at it in our interview last year, but refused to divulge any details. This broadcast was the world’s introduction to the terrorist organisation hereafter known as the ANZ.
The story seems completely plausible and I would have had been convinced myself had I not been there to see what actually took place. My own eyes exposed the misdirection and I’m left more than a little vulnerable. I’m thinking back through everything I’ve seen and read and described on their behalf. I’m left to wonder if their communications have always been this transparent. What have been I doing all these years?
More importantly, I was there and my name is on their register. It they wanted to find me, it would not take long. Are they looking for me right now?
My hands are shaking and my head thumps endlessly and I want to turn myself in and end this but I can’t. Not now.
I’m still here. No knocks at the door, no phone calls, nothing. Silence.
Out here, anyway; in there, Lucy has truly returned with a vengeance. Her face is clearly visible to me and the other actors of the dream acknowledged her presence, as if royalty had arrived on the scene. Dreams are no longer normal, just varying degrees of nightmare, but this was particularly disconcerting, as if the queen had returned to claim what is rightfully hers. If anything, she seems to be even more decomposed and decayed than before, but maybe I’m imagining it. What is my imagination in this situation, anyway?