Young Writers Society

The drive to Philadelphia had taken longer than Christopher thought it would, but now he was almost there. The man let go of a deep breath, urged his car forward, and it complied. The sun was going down, the birds were chirping, and the car sputtered to a stop as it finished rolling down the hill, barely a mile from the city outskirts.

“Really?” Chris groaned. The car didn’t respond. “Fuck you,” he said, stepping outside and kicking its front door closed. He took a moment to breathe into his gloves and straighten his sweater before heading around to the boot to lug out his suitcase.

The car’s antiquated robotic voice came from its speakers. “I’m sorry. I am out of power.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Chris muttered, looking up to the city and setting his teeth.

“Will you push me the rest of the way?” asked his car.

“Do I look like someone who can push a car to you?”

“I don’t have eyes. I cannot see.”

“No, Car Dude. I can’t push you there.”

Car Dude was silent for a while. “Are you planning to leave me here? Alone in the snow?”

“Stop trying to get my sympathy, man.”

“Okay.”

Chris scratched at his white hair, trying to think. “Look, I’ll get you towed in as soon as possible, alright? Go hibernate.”

“Alright,” said the car. Its headlights dimmed and flickered off, leaving Chris alone with a twenty-minute, painfully-cold hike.

-

Philadelphia didn’t seem that much different to Dover, besides the skyscrapers. And the fact that it wasn’t sinking into the ocean. That, Chris surmised, was most likely thanks to the big fat moat and the big fat wall that shielded the city from the sea to its east. The big fat wall that was blocking his way in.

For a moment the pale-skinned man stood in place, looking up at the hunk of metal and concrete that loomed over him.

“Yo!” he called out. “Anyone up there?”

“Hey!” The sudden sound from his right made Chris jump in place and drop his suitcase.

“The hell-”

“Oh!” said the voice, its previously-perky tone deflating somewhat. “Sorry. Did I scare you?”

Chris righted himself and recovered his suitcase, not quite managing to do the same with his dignity. Now that he looked, he saw that the voice was coming from an innocent-looking speaker box off the path.

“Uh, hi,” he began, stepping closer. “Yeah, you did. Kinda.”

“Sorry again,” said the speaker box. Whoever was on the other side sounded female.

“That’s alright – um, is there a way around this wall, or-?”

“Oh – yeah –” He heard computer keys, the creak of a chair. “Sorry, I’m a bit new to this job-”

“That’s alright,” Chris murmured, looking back up at the wall. It rose at least a dozen metres up into the air, preventing him from seeing anything at all on the other side. With the moat right in front of it, the thing made Philadelphia look like a huge castle. Hadn’t been made to encourage tourism, that was for sure.

“Hey, um…”

“Sarah,” said the speaker-box lady.

“Sarah, why do you guys have a wall around the city? I mean, I understand the part protecting it from the water, but… Why surround the whole city?”

“Dunno,” Sarah replied. “I only just got hired here two days ago myself, so… I dunno,” she repeated lamely. “Maybe it’s cause the wall would look weird if it just ended at the ocean? Like, walls usually go into mountains and stuff, or they form a circle or a square. Would look weird if it just kinda ended, right?”

“Yeah, alright,” Chris mumbled.

“Oh, here it is.” The sound of Sarah clearing her throat came through the speaker. “Full name?”

“Christopher Silverstone.”

She was typing, wherever she was. “Occupation?”

“…Unemployed,” Chris said. “Why are you asking me this stuff?”

“Oh, it’s just for your identity card.”

“Right.”

“Reason you’re here?” Sarah asked.

“Coming here from Dover.”

There was a slight pause from the speaker box. “Ohhh. Dover. Ground underneath eroded away, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Dang, that was, like, days ago. You’re late.”

“Yeah, well…” Chris said, turning back to look at Car Dude, who was still sitting at the foot of the hill. “My car kinda sucks.”

Chris heard Sarah stifle a giggle and a little tingle went up his back. “Okay, here,” she said. There was the sound of mechanical whirring and a little plastic green card came out from a slit underneath the speaker. “There’s your card. Don’t lose it, yeah?”

#3,325,466. Christopher Silverstone. Dover refugee.

“Thanks,” he said, brow furrowing.

“No worries! I’m gonna open up the gate now, should be right ahead of you.”

“Alright – oh, um, wait –”

“Hm?”

Car Dude. He’d forgotten about Car Dude. “D’you know about any towing services in the city?”

“There’s one at Olive Street, up the northern side,” Sarah said. “Don’t know if it’s safe to go there, though. Mercenaries, y’know.”

“Mercenaries?”

“Yeah. Nasty people. But there is a nice heated pool in that area. Looks like you could use one.”

“Was it the gloves or the sweater?”

There was a smile coming through her voice. “Both.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to visit, then.”

“Cool,” Sarah said cheerfully. “It’s called The Millennium Pool. Tell Kristy I said hi!”

“Sure.”

Chris heard the audio on the speaker switching off, and stood standing next to it for a few seconds before it turned on again.

“Fuck, sorry – gate – forgot-”