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    Killing Floor: Dystopiaville
    Killing Floor: Dystopiaville
    Killing Floor: Dystopiaville
    Ebook116 pages3 hours

    Killing Floor: Dystopiaville

    By Mark Gillespie

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    About this ebook

    'A nationwide cull of the British population will begin immediately after this special broadcast.' - The BBC

     

    Killing Floor, an up and coming rock and roll band, are on the brink of superstardom. But things take a turn for the worse when a joyous weekend in the country turns into a nightmare of survival.

     

    Will anyone get out alive?

     

    Dystopiaville is a series of stand-alone novels and novellas inspired by TV anthology shows such as Black Mirror and The Twilight Zone. The books can be read and enjoyed in any order. If you like horror books with a twist, you'll love Dystopiaville.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMark Gillespie
    Release dateDec 12, 2021
    ISBN9798201403010
    Killing Floor: Dystopiaville

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      Book preview

      Killing Floor - Mark Gillespie

      CHAPTER ONE

      The television screen went blank.

      At first no one cared. I Wanna Be a Celebrity So Badly I’ll Do Anything had been on for the last half-hour, spewing out an endless conveyer belt of dross – dancing dogs, yodelling pensioners and priests juggling on unicycles. In other words, the usual Saturday night brain rot.

      For the eight people sitting in the living room of the East Catchford farmhouse, the blank screen was an improvement.

      That’s a real shame innit? Brian Taylor said. Brian was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a blood red Ovation acoustic guitar resting on his lap. He’d been strumming back and forth over a G to E-minor to D chord progression for as long as the TV had been on.

      Somebody give the telly a slap.

      What for? John Jones asked, leaning back on the tattered couch. He was in the middle of rolling a joint that was shaping up to become as big as Concorde. It was a daunting task and his eyes, although bleary, were laser focused on the job. Nobody’s watching it.

      I like a bit of telly in the background, Brian said. And you never know what sort of inspiration you’ll get from the box.

      Even from crap like that? John said.

      Brian nodded. It might throw up a good lyric or two, you never know. Go on someone, give it a slap.

      Ollie Davies was on the couch opposite John. He was sitting next to his girlfriend Kylie and her head was pressing down on Ollie’s shoulder, which meant she was on the brink of nodding off to sleep.

      Don’t slap it, Ollie said, looking at Brian. At the sound of his voice Kylie removed her head from his shoulder, wiping her eyes as if she’d already been sleeping for hours. That’s Malky’s TV. Good way to impress him innit? Trash the guy’s house.

      Brian snorted in disgust. Malky Hamilton’s a millionaire Ollie. He doesn’t give a fuck about that old antique. Look at it for God’s sake! I bet you Napoleon watched TV on something just like that. Anyway, Malky barely uses this house – he told us so himself, remember? He’s probably got a bloody IMAX squeezed into his house in London.

      Ollie shrugged. All the same Brian. It’s…

      The TV made a shrill noise. It sounded like there was a bird trapped inside the box.

      What the hell was that? Dave Vincent said, edging forward on the couch. The big drummer and his girlfriend Helen were reclining on the same couch as Ollie and Kylie.

      They all stared warily at the Panasonic.

      What’s going on? Helen asked.

      The screen chirped for a second time and when the picture returned the reality show was gone. There were no old age pensioners gyrating to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, and no bored housewives trying to sing like Elaine Page either.

      There was a woman sitting behind a news desk. Staring at the camera in silence.

      It’s Jane Hunt, Brian said. There was a satisfied grin on his handsome face. Oh yes my son, lovely jubbly.

      Jane Hunt was a regular BBC anchor and Britain’s most recognizable mainstream news presenter. All the lads in Killing Floor had a ravenous crush on her. She had that conservative stiff-upper lip thing going on, which combined with great looks and a variety of sleeveless dresses, made her a big hit with the network. Jane Hunt was a breath of fresh air, a far cry from the usual soggy-looking British news presenters who read from the autocue in dry, flavourless voices.

      What’s she doing on now? Ollie asked.

      Dave took a sip of tea from the Union Jack mug in his hand. Somebody must have died, he said. Check out the look on her face for God’s sake. That’s not the Jane I know and love.

      Anna Mara, who’d been staring out of the back window for the past thirty minutes, walked across the living room with an oversized wine glass in her hand. The glass was three quarters full with a spicy Pinot Noir, which was the exact same colour as cranberry juice. She dropped onto the floor beside Brian and wrapping her arms around her man, kissed him hard on the cheek.

      Brian smiled. What was that for love?

      Felt like it, Anna said.

      Shut up you two, John said, passing the freshly rolled Concorde joint to his girlfriend Celia.

      Yeah shut up, Celia said, staring admiringly at John’s creation. I want to hear this. I want to find out who’s dead.

      But Jane Hunt still wasn’t talking. She was sitting there at the news desk like a conservatively dressed mannequin, showing the occasional sign of life by fidgeting with her earpiece. Behind her, Ollie thought that the inside of the TV studio resembled a lunatic asylum. White walls, freshly painted. No image cards relating to the news stories. There was a terrifying blankness to the picture.

      What the fuck is going on? Kylie asked.

      Finally, the news presenter cleared her throat.

      Ladies and gentlemen, Jane Hunt said. "We apologise for interrupting this evening’s broadcast of I Wanna Be a Celebrity So Badly I’ll Do Anything but we have a very important announcement to make on behalf of the British government."

      Bloody hell, Dave said, his eyes narrowing in concentration. He continued to sip at the tea in his hand. Maybe it’s the Prime Minister that snuffed it. We can only hope, eh?

      Shut up Dave! Celia yelled. She grabbed her pack of Marlboro Golds off the table and threatened to throw them at the drummer.

      Jane Hunt continued: I’d like you to brace yourself for a shock.

      Another pause.

      A nationwide cull of the British population will begin immediately after this special broadcast ends.

      There was a moment’s silence in the living room. Then Brian and John howled with laughter at the exact same time.

      Good one, Brian said, applauding the old Panasonic telly.

      Ollie just sat there staring at the screen along with the others, wondering if Jane Hunt was being fed lines through her earpiece or, as her face suggested, she was delivering the broadcast in a state of shock.

      What’s this all about? Helen said, looking pale around the gills. What’s going on?

      It’s a joke, Kylie said, patting Helen’s legs. Ain’t that right Ol?

      Ollie nodded. I bloody hope so.

      What are they culling then? Brian asked, pushing the question through a sustained bout of laughter. Badgers?

      Shut up Brian! Dave said. They don’t interrupt TV shows to announce badger culls do they? Either it’s a joke or it’s…

      Dave didn’t finish the sentence.

      Onscreen, Jane Hunt’s monologue continued.

      …will undoubtedly come as a shock to many of you but as you are no doubt aware the dramatic rise of the global population shows no sign of slowing down. Education and birth control have failed to make a difference. As a result of overpopulation, crime rates are skyrocketing and competition for jobs and resources is as fierce as it has ever been. The toll on the environment has also been devastating with much of the natural world being cleared for farming, accommodation and other human derived factors. There are many reasons for the cull ladies and gentlemen, none of which will be of much comfort tonight.

      The newsreader hesitated.

      But if you are interested, a fact sheet is available on the government’s website. See the address listed below.

      Everyone in the farmhouse watched in stunned silence.

      This cull is global, Jane Hunt said. At least thirty of the world’s most populated countries are on board and I can assure you ladies and gentlemen, that race, religion or economic status do not matter. What matters are the numbers, which must be met before the cull can come to an end.

      Oh this is good, Dave said, laughing now along with Brian, John and some of the others. It’s a bloody joke alright but I’ll say this for them – it’s a good one. She’s a good actress that Jane Hunt. Next stop Hollywood, eh love?

      Dave thrust an arm around Helen. His girlfriend’s bespectacled eyes

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