Treacherous Heart

With every hastened step towards the Upper City my clothes became heavier, raindrops raced down my face freely as I had long given up trying to wipe them off. I made a quick scan of my surroundings, checking for any sign of white armoured suits or guns. It seems the months of surveillance had paid off as I met no resistance on my way to the small entrance in the shadows of one of the upper city’s shimmering silver towers. One more quick check, a swipe of my stolen key card and I was in.

I calmed my nervous breathing before stepping forward into the glass chamber ahead of me, immediately the chamber turned red, a sign that I was contaminated. Despite all my training and preparation I was not ready for the harsh cleaning treatment that followed. My already soaking body was doused with hot high-pressure disinfectant from all angles, scalding my skin. I hissed in pain as suddenly the treatment reversed, a strong suction pulled some of the worst off my clothes before the chamber filled with hot air like a hundred hairdryers were all pointing directly at me, freeing several strands of hair from my tightly wound bun. Light filled the room forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut tightly, as it burned through my eyeballs and into my brain. The light faded and I opened my eyes once again. Through the green spots limiting my vision I could see some kind of thermal image appear on the screen in a series of rainbow colours, I had only seen this kind of technology once before in The Trenches. Most medical equipment had been hoarded by the Upper City since the war ended.

The lighting turned green followed by a loud cheery ping announcing that I was now clean enough to enter. I had hoped as much. The weeks of careful isolation and bargained medical care had paid off, I was in peak health. Dipping my hand beneath the collar of my shirt I gripped the tightly sealed heart-shaped locket laying there, dainty and unsuspecting, my determination solidifying tenfold. I could do this. Entering the tower I followed the route Higgs made me memorise until I knew it as well as my own name, curtseying to any shiny, bleached-clean Uppers that I passed in the hallways, my grimace of disgust twisted into a polite pleasant smile, hoping that my maid uniform was not too obviously homemade. I already stood out from the pure white dressed locals in my black servant outfit, I didn't need anything else highlighting my presence in case someone realised I didn't belong here. Follow the plan, get to a main air facility unit and get out, it’s that simple.

I hurried along the halls trying to remember every turn. The lack of signage or landmarks on the plain white walls making everything ten times harder despite my fierce training. After a while I started getting nervous, what if I had made a wrong turn? I could be going around in circles for all I knew. Just as I was starting to panic I made a right and found the staircase Higgs had mentioned. The thick heels of my boots clopped quietly up the stairs, echoing and squeaking slightly as I continued on my memorised way towards a glowing green sign highlighting ‘Bridge 13’. Stepping into one of the glass bridges that lead to the central and main top dog tower, I could suddenly see the world. Hundreds of miles of city lights filled the landscape, shimmering in the heavy rain. The Upper City’s towers sparkled as if they were made of diamonds, standing like giants over the dirty ramshackle Trenches. I could vaguely make out where my neighbourhood was in the dark. Looking like the dirt beneath the Upper City’s shoe. It only fueled my anger, reminding me just why I was here. While my friends and family limped through life on the scraps they had left post-taxes, Uppers lived in silver towers with no real-world concerns and no illness. Well, now all that was going to change.

After crossing into the central tower and another several minutes traipsing through the disinfected maze I found my way to the primary air facility. Since the war, since “The Apocalypse”, the outside air had been riddled with diseases and viruses caused by the pile-up of rotting corpses. All the upper class members of society had left the poorer of us to suffer through and survive it if we could while they locked themselves up in their shiny disinfected disease-free towers where even toilet roll was cleaned 20 times before they used it. They filtered and created their own oxygen and clean air which pumped through every one of their towers fully automated, they were literally breathing completely different air from us. It could have been a secure and sustainable way for them to survive completely cut off from the rest of the world. If, of course, it wasn't for what I was about to do.

“Help, please! Someone just collapsed!”, I staggered around the corner, tumbling to my knees in front of the air facility security guards as if I had sprinted all the way here, “Please, an older gentleman just collapsed on bridge 13, he needs immediate assistance! His poor wife is in hysterics”.

One of the guards knelt down beside me to check if I was alright, breathing shakily, I waved for him to follow his friend as she raced down the corridor to help the nonexistent elder. Tilting my head to make sure their footsteps were out of earshot I quickly stood up, swiping my key card again and pushing through the door. Fully automated technology meant no people to worry about apart from the guards which was relieving as I wouldn't have much time before they discovered my ruse and came back for me. In the centre of the tall cylindrical room was a huge glass tube with what must have been hundreds of steel pipes extending from it filled with fresh clean air for the Upper City population. In front of me sat a much smaller glass chamber with a series of pipes and laboratory equipment inside. The equipment looked long abandoned, clearly unused since people became unnecessary in the facility. I knelt down in front of the smaller chamber and opened the lid of a large conical beaker, careful not to damage the thin tube connected to the lid. Reaching into my shirt I pulled the locket over my head and started the unlocking mechanism. Carefully nestled inside sat a tiny vial filled with a potent, sickly yellow-brown liquid, I popped off the securely fastened lid and poured it onto the bottle, only filling a fraction of it. Returning it to my neck I began undoing my bun which hid another four vials, breaking the heels off my shoes and sliding out another eight. Emptying each of them into the beaker it was soon half filled. I tightly replaced the lid and placed it on top of the hotplate. Turning it on to 150 degrees celsius I watched it start to bubble and turn into a pale yellow gas.

For the last 2 years a whole team of scientists and doctors in The Trenches had worked tirelessly to distil some of the most spreadable and painful viruses and diseases that we had survived into one final product, which I was tasked to deliver straight into the heart of the Upper City. Shutting themselves away from disease and illness meant that they were safe but their immune systems grew weak while ours adapted to become far stronger. The people in The Trenches could survive anything in those little test tubes. Who knew what would happen to the Uppers if I flicked the switch to release these potentially deadly gasses into their air system. I wonder what new sickness would emerge from their rotting corpses?

I flicked the switch.