Chester and the 24-hour Lottery
Chapter 8; Zombies Everywhere

Council leaders Diamond, Crane and Allard stared at Chester from the back of the windowless vehicle with undisguised skepticism. He didn’t blame them; he was feeling the same, turning to eye Van who smugly grinned.

“Thank you for accepting a ride into Wayfarer City for the Halloween party,” Van spoke with sugary sweetness, “We have one more stop to make.”

Although he’d taken a nap on the way to Neighborhood Allard — which was like visiting a foreign country from the confusing haphazard placement of their homes and storehouses surrounding giant factories — he was bone tired. These were pharmaceutical workers who partook as much as they produced. Emily Allard in her wrinkled conservative dress had a not quite there stare when Van asked if anyone was thirsty or hungry before the two-hour drive to Neighborhood Saldivar.

“Chester,” Crane, a portly man in his late fifties, sitting on the low bench beside Diamond nodded towards Allard on the other side, “I think you should see if she requires medication before taking off. These people consume large amounts of psychostimulants.”

He blustered horrified, “Why? And also why hasn’t anyone heard about this? All I’ve learned is the progressive bio-science they manufacture as their DNA deemed cream of the fucking crop. She looks like a zombie, not a leader accountable for pharmaceutical biotech.”

“Chet,” Van slapped his arm hard, “Be less vocal.”

Not able to discuss the issues withheld from citizens was maddening. Chester turned, looking around. He thought his trailer park, with its filthy air, inadequate food rations and high alcohol intake bad, but this neighborhood had it beat. At least a dozen people stood stock-still nearby, glassy eyes vacant, bodies so relaxed a stiff breeze could topple them over.

The massive concrete buildings surrounded by tiny houses and broken roads he captured in all its ugliness with the Vid Frames. He tilted his head, watching lazy white fumes expel into the air from laboratories where brainiac zombies produced the bio-medicine he’d never had enough credits to indulge in.

“This is wrong,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, “No wonder we’re not allowed to cross into other neighborhoods when shit like this is going on.”

“Mr. Drivel!” Garth shouted beefy arms crossed as he glared in his direction, “Will you be leaving with these three council members?”

Van inched close whispering, “You’re not doing anything unlawful. Communities are witnessing what the government keeps hush-hush. He’s trying to intimate you.”

Chester rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I’m not blind,” Then he waved to Crane who blathered they would cheerfully follow him wherever his heart desired.

Over the top, but whatever.

Garth marched over, towering over them with a heated stare, “Governor Spell’s concerned you’re encouraging discontent. Involving council members is not a route you want to explore. He warns that any-”

“Shut up,” Chester waved him away like a pesky fly, turning and walking over to the vacant-eyed crowd.

Van giggled behind him, “You should have seen his face! What are you doing?”

He ignored her, stopping in front of an older woman who gave him a slow blink as if just realizing where she was, “Hello, how are you?”

She frowned, drawing her jacket closer, “It’s you! Planning on hauling our med supply like you did food in Crane? Or do ya wanna fight me?”

“Not at all. I have to say, you seem high as fuck. What type of drugs are you on?”

Before the surly lady could respond, jerked backward by his shirt collar, Van pushed aside as Garth manhandled him towards the trucks where officers pointed rifles at his new friends.

“What are you doing?” Van yelled, unafraid as she ran ahead to block Garth, “Chet was looking for Allard’s dosage for the trip! Right?”

“I’m instructed to bring Mr. Drivel to Fort Ozark for a debriefing,” Garth shoved Van’s shoulder, “You are free to do what you wish.”

“Chet!” Van’s voice desperate when they thrust him into the back of a truck, “I’ll meet you in Neighborhood Saldivar. Contact me as soon as you can!”

Chester didn’t bother replying since the door slammed in his face and driven away before he’d come to terms he was in deep shit. Sweating and more than a little panic-stricken he clutched his stomach and tried to breathe.

Garth turned to him from the passenger seat, “That woman will get you killed Chester. What’s the state going to think when they wake up tomorrow and have to work twice as hard because you’ve taken their food and declared alcohol forbidden? Your mother is looking forward to seeing you.”

“Ha! Keep lies about Marla to yourself. Are you going to kill me for throwing a party and inviting the state for fun? Is our illustrious Governor frightened of balloons? If I’d realized, made Crane order streamers instead.” he tsked.

Garth cracked a small smile, “I don’t like your smart mouth. It’s a long drive, maybe you should nap.”

“Maybe you should take me back so I can kiss that pretty girl again. I’d have thought Governor Spell liked our make-out session.”

Garth frowned then injected Chester in the neck saying, “Sorry for the interruption of Mr. Drivels’ broadcast. Enjoy highlights of last year's champion!”

Chester caught the man’s wrist, thinking as the drugs quickly took over his body, THIS HAS TO BE AGAINST THE RULES!

* * * * * *

“There are no reports of forced violence, the exact opposite as neighborhoods are coming together and... sir, he’s awake.”

Yeah, awake and pissed. His eyes snapped open to a cold wall to wall cemented room with monitors. Tied to a chair by his hands in a plush armchair, groaned to discover his Vid Frames long gone. That didn’t bode well. Kicking his feet to make sure he had movement, glared at Garth and Governor Spell.

Gary Spell was younger than any other Governor before him at nineteen. Every time Chester saw the guy it was like watching a robot perform tricks, his mannerisms, and facial expressions never quite suited for his tall, broad-shouldered build with stick-like legs and arms. A puppet on strings, moving to commands he forces others to dance too.

When Spell stood in front of him he noticed Garth squinting at the screens along the wall. Something’s happening out in the world and he feared for his life.

“Chester Drivel,” Spell’s monotone lilt sending shivers down his spine, “Do you know why across every state in our glorious nation, lottery winners are preparing for a festival?”

He blinked, wanting to laugh, “Ugh… It’s Halloween? People wanna party?”

Garth came over and popped him in the mouth. A man without humor, eh? Between automation Spell and turgid Garth, understood he needed to tread lightly. Dicks.

“I get it, you don’t love parties!” He growled, tasting blood, “Amy Ingles hit harder though.”

“Enough,” Spell said, “Food is being diverted and alcohol banned. The Institute is reviewing your broadcast. Who’s leading you?”

Fuuuuck… The Institute? Good thing he’d taken a piss back in Allard.

Chester cocked his head, “What are you afraid of? That families have full bellies and wake up tomorrow feeling hope? Did you pick out a costume yet?”

Garth sneered and Spell sighed, “The state of Ozark couldn’t care less if you finish your next twelve hours. In fact, we could make them think you are out shopping with your lovely mother if we were so inclined.”

Now he scoffed, “She is not lovely! Marla’s a whoring alcoholic who hasn’t faced reality in years.”

Spell slid to a door between the banks of screens, swiped a key card and when it opened Marla came in appearing so different Chester almost laughed. Her hair was washed, pinned up to frame her made-up face which still couldn’t hide the dull brown inside her lifeless eyes. He thought they looked more lifeless than usual. She wore a pale blue dress, more presentable than he’d seen her in the last ten years. Huh.

“Chester,” Marla stared over his shoulder, “Please tell our governor what plans the resistance has?”

“There is no resistance! Ozark kills anyone who so much as whispers the wrong direction of the law. Everybody knows that! When I left the trailer yesterday did it seem I knew I would win the lottery?”

His mother’s jaw slackened, blinking every so often without answering. Eerie as hell! He shook his head as silence filled the cold space. All eyes on him.

Chester pressed his lips together, refusing to say anything else. They could question all they wanted but the plain and simple truth was he’s flying by the seat of his pants. How did his idea of feeding Neighborhood March or prohibition gotten into the mindset of other lottery winners?

“Vanyla Spring’s a pretty young woman,” Spell spoke after a few minutes of silence and creepy staring, “I could have brought her here, but chose to give you a chance to come clean. What is the purpose of your recent actions?”

To kiss a spunky green-eyed girl who’d probably never kiss me back under normal circumstances, Chester thought while keeping mute.

Garth stepped forward but halted when Spell pulled out an injector, waving it in front of Marla, who’s eyes tracked it. Coldness seeped through Chester’s veins, realizing they dosed her. With what?

“Marla Drivel is now a productive member of Ozark who will care for you while working hard for the betterment of society. Do you prefer her this way?”

He swallowed and nodded, “She’s not drunk, so that’s a start. What exactly are you threatening me with? A cake baking mother?”

Garth hit him for that wisecrack, then grumbled unintelligible, turning to the monitors again. Spell placed the injector in his pocket, launching another stare-off. Chester kept his eyes off of his mother as mixed emotions twisted in his gut. She may treat him like shit, but doesn’t deserve to be turned into a thankless puppet.

“I don’t make a habit of divulging state secrets but you’ve already been to Allard. Maintaining peace has become... tiresome. How placid sweet Marla behaves is nothing compared to what I will do to your girlfriend. Answer my question.”

“I know nothing,” he maintained, hoping they believed him, “Meat is delicious and sharing is in my nature!” Ha! “I get what I’m doing goes against the usual M.O. of previous winners, but The Institute will prove my innocence. Hell, didn’t you watch me kill? I stabbed a woman I worked with for the last five years and then ate a steak! It’s not against the rules if council members want to hang out with me!”

Spell took Marla’s elbow, leading her out the door with him. Garth ignored Chester’s impatient sighs. Why was he protecting Van? He knew why. She treated him better than anyone and wanted to help.

He needed to help his state because if the government made everyone into mindless puppets then who would stop to admire a sunset?

When Governor Spell came back, ordered Garth to return Chester to his vehicle. Setting a new pair of Vid Frames on his lap with no explanation, gave him one last cutting remark, “Remember, we’re always watching.”

Chester didn’t react.

“Your mother’s going home,” Garth revealed when on the road to rejoin Van and Joey, “You better watch yourself because I’ve never seen anyone get a pass. You’re up to no good and should have been shot in Diamond.”

Rolling his eyes Chester sat back with a smile, “Going to need my knives back and as far as that lucky pass goes, my mother is a shitty cook.”