Izzy Izzard Dystopian Thrillers
Loads of Trouble
Where is Dougal?
The copper watched my approach, his fingers all twitchy, and hovering close to his gun. He wasn’t happy because I hadn’t crossed at the lights, because it was close on curfew time, and because the dark times, the evil walking our streets wanted to hurt us all, and grumpy, nervous, and agitated kept him safe. I stopped before him, clutching at my arms, the cold freezing my bones. He pulled at his peaked cap, a stream of water splashing onto his black boots. He widened his stance, small pig eyes staring, a deep snarl rumbling, and rotted teeth grinding.
‘Is bad,’ I said to Elliot.
Not good, Izzy.
‘What do I do?’
It was ten pm, and I was kitty wet, lost scraggy dog miserable, and wanted to know why my brother had an old, sad, beat-up copper guarding his door.
You can’t be arguing with a copper, not when his fingers are caressing the trigger of a gun.
I agreed with Elliot. The coppers in Ostere town had lost their manners and liked to shoot. I blamed the army. They stalked our town with rifles, shooting creatures not deserving of a bullet. Coppers used to investigate and protect, but with soldiers shooting stuff, they were powerless to protect and serve, so armed up and joined the fray.
‘But there’s no harm in asking a question.’
Izzy, don’t be hot-headed, don’t be throwing a tantrum, and play nice. We’re not safe here.
I’m Izzy. I’m almost eighteen and, according to the state mental doctors, I’m certifiably crackers. There are a lot of words that describe my condition, but I like crackers. Up until an hour ago, I was an inmate at Arundel Asylum, but I’d managed to escape, to flee their drugs and abuse, expecting to be met by my big brother, Dougal. The irritating voice, the one that never ceases, is my other brother, my twin, and his name is Elliot. He’s well dead, but he haunts me day and night. He’s mostly good to have around, but he can get irritating, and when he’s irritating, he’s, like, so annoying...