Moxyland

Toby

I leave a voicemail for Lerato. And send a msg. And an email. But there’s no response. Of all times. The manager guy comes over. ‘Hey, man, listen, I changed my mind. I really need you to go now.’

‘What the fuck? I’ve still got four minutes.’

‘It’s on the news, china. You should… wow. You need to get medical attention.’

This is not exactly a revelation, kids, although I have to tell you, I’m feeling a little more up about the whole thing, probably due to ditching that little princess Kendra. Course, I’m gonna have to find her again, cos this is exactly the kind of shit I should be getting on cam. Documenting how the nano cleaned her up like a Catholic in confession. I scratch my beard.

‘Fine. But then I’m keeping the coat. And gimme that whisky.’ I say, pointing to one of the bottles up behind the bar counter.

‘What? Hey, come on, man. That’s not cool.’

‘Neither is Marburg. Wanna risk it that it’s really not contagious?’ I cough for dramatic effect. He doesn’t need to know it’s faked.

I’m prowling the street, swigging openly from the Fish Eagle, trying to figure which direction Kendra would have taken, when the same damn street kid from before sidles up to me.

‘You Toby?’ he says, uncertainly.

‘Look, kid. Seriously. Now is not the fucking time. Piss off.’

‘Jussus. No need to be so rude, my larnie. I got someone wants to see you.’

‘Oh, look. I appreciate the sentiment. But I got my preferred dealers. And I really don’t like buying my illicit streetside, especially here with all the cams. Tell your friend he may want to consider relocating to a less heavily watched area.’

‘Toby. You’re Toby. Come with me.’ The runt is so insistent, I follow him down the side street into a parking lot, half underground, quiet on a Sunday, with a CCVTV system that’s looking a little fritzy, judging by the frayed wires swinging from the cam by the entrance boom. We go deeper in, between the cars, to find Tendeka huddled in a convincing impression of a bergie, a hoodie pulled low over his face. He looks like shit. It’s the texture of his skin, sort of murky beige like clay that might slough off his skull. The street kid is on the point of tears.

‘Okay, I did it. Can I go now?’

Tendeka waves, tired, dismissive. ‘Yes, Whitey. Thank you. If you see Zuko. Or Ashraf… No. Never mind.’

The kid waits, squirrelly on the balls of his feet in those oversize shoes, to see if there’s gonna be more, and then scuttles away, too fast to be polite. The motivation right there, kids? I’d say that was fear.

‘He’s frightened. I’ve lost everyone, Toby. I don’t know where they are. When I saw you, across the street…’

‘Jesus, Tendeka. You are pretty fucked up.’

‘Not looking so great yourself.’

‘You could hit me. That always seems to make you feel better.’

‘I would if it helped. But it doesn’t work. You’re still a fucking prick afterwards.’

He smiles. And I know what will make it even better. I hand over the bottle. We get shitfaced. Not a bad way of killing a coupla hours, all told. Only catch is that while the cheap scotch makes me bouncier, it’s bringing Ten down bigtime.

He says it’s the end of the world. We’ve got a difference of opinion here. ‘Sure, we might feel like death set on defrost,’ I tell him. ‘But how else are they going to make it seem authentic? It’s a bluff and I’m calling it. I’m not going to roll over and hand myself in at one of their immunity centres. Immunity from the virus supposedly about to chow down on my spleen, but not from the nice officers waiting to arrest me for illegal activities.’ And I know it’s a hoax because it’s letting up, although I’m still itching like crazy. The inside of my wrist is red from scratching.

Tendeka agrees that we shouldn’t go in. But see, this is where we part ways, because he’s swallowed the hoax wholesale. He tells me it’s exactly what they planned, him and his chomma in Amsterdam. He tells me he’s going to die. Because that’s the only way to expose it, for the outside world to know it’s real. He yaks on about some bomb thing, can’t believe I haven’t seen the footage, but when have I had a chance to kick back with TV? So he set off this bomb, cos he says if it’s just him dying from this bug, they can cover it up. But the bombs will focus attention on this thing. It’ll stop people getting the vaccine. They’ll die. In the limelight.

He’s fucked. It’s hilarious. So when he asks me if I’ll come with him and bring the BabyStrange, cos his camera-phone’s fucked from the station fry-up, and he needs to get this down, who am I to say no, kids?