A Touch of Hope

Chapter 15 - A dashed hope

Unfortunately, Greg didn't give the news Flipsey wanted to hear. Still there was no news of Amelia's whereabouts. All Greg reported was what Flipsey already knew, there was no sign of her, it was as if she had disappeared. Flipsey longed for any news from her. Any sign that she was still alive. They needed that hope right now.

Flipsey's shoulders slumped as Greg continued to give his report. More resistance cells had gone dark across the country. Morale was at an all-time low with many rebels choosing to abandoned their posts and conform to society.

There had been a number of deaths the previous night (14th February), in homage to an outdated ritual celebrating the old tradition of love. With Pax plague and the introduction of the contact laws, love had become an old, redundant concept. People still tried to celebrate the day that had been dedicated to Saint Valentine, despite attempts made by the Ragant. The most popular way to celebrate was to sneak into the dark alleys that webbed across the city and meet with the contact dealers, an underground network of criminals that had seen a gap in the market and agreed to do forbidden favours in return for money. Hugs were particularly in demand. People craved the contact and found that such full-on, close physical contact overwhelmed their senses, dulled by years of no contact, and helped to relieve stress on a scale unheard of. The rebels had tried to work with the dealers but had quickly realised that despite a similar willingness to go against the government, the dealers were less keen for the laws to be abolished, seeing it as their livelihood. The rebels felt they had much more noble goals.

Making small talk as they crossed towards the large wooden crates, Flipsey avoided all talk of the nightmares that had plagued him and the girl he had heard, instead choosing to comment on the weather. Giving the crates a wide berth and a weary side-eye, they crossed to a rickety metal platform that was imbedded into the floor behind the crates, well outside of the dust circle that surrounded them. The metal of the platform was scratched and worn as if it had had plenty of use. It was relatively clear from dust, with just a few patches covering it that had recently cascaded from the roof. The platform was a bit of a squeeze for the two large men, as Flipsey's shoulder was pressed against the track that could carry the platform up to the roof. Greg's finger stabbed at the console standing up out of the floor. It was a simple console, designed to blend into the basic nature of the warehouse. Upon it sat two buttons, one for up and one for down. The platform jittered into movement as it began to sink into the floor.

Flipsey's hand gripped the wobbling mental bar that had been fixed to one side of the platform as they slipped down into the darkness, and the depths of the base for the challenges that faced them.