THE PROJECT
At midnight a couple of burly men in tracksuits and Dior shades ushered me down a secret passageway after I flashed them a barcode on my phone. Deep down at the bottom of a long ladder, I heard shrieks of laughter.
I walked along a dank tunnel that led into a wide-open space. To one side athletic women in bikinis played badminton on a patch of sand under swinging halogen lights. Opposite, old men wearing dated eighties suits sipped espressos beside tables propped up with pieces of folded cardboard. They lit cigarettes, but without a breeze to speak of they became engulfed by blankets of smoke.
I was greeted by a thickset man named Rodrigo. His trousers were pulled up high above his waist and his unruly beard was peppered with fragments of dried noodles. He had puffy bags under his eyes and something about him reminded me of Stalin.
I asked him how things worked in the community and he became po-faced, stern even, saying, “In The Project, no one wears masks, there is no social distancing and no one gets tested. We demand true freedom here beyond all else, and we will crash and burn before we let this place be compromised.”
“Yeah, yeah, freedom, I like it,” I said.
“So, let me show you around,” Rodrigo said, digging a nail into his beard displacing some noodle particles.
I really needed to vent, to tell my story, so I explained how I left my wife, my kid, my job - all to be a part of this new liberated world. But he seemed bored by me, like he’d heard it all before, so I decided to just shut up and enjoy the tour.
There was the silent disco where clubbers gyrated to techno on wireless headphones. Beyond the cinema and the food hall, men were busy heaving wheelbarrows, mixing cement and erecting scaffolding. Rodrigo went into some detail about how supplies were gathered from above ground - secret tunnels were used to ferry materials under the cover of darkness - and then he told me he would assign me a similar construction job because they needed all hands-on deck to complete The Project.
Then, beyond the social area, were the living quarters. It was still incomplete and until the flats were fully habitable, people camped on the Astroturf nearby.
“Space is at a premium,” said Rodrigo, “but somehow we always find a way to expand. For now, we’ll set you up with a tent but it shouldn’t be long before a room becomes available.”
*
I soon found my feet in The Project - getting friendly with fellow construction workers as we installed light fittings deep underground. The strenuous work was a welcome relief from my previous job in the upper world where I cold called members of the public - essentially lying to people in a soul-destroying sales job.
At night, I hung out in the bar with friends where comedians and drag queens performed, and I drank away my worries, sending laughter deep into the outer reaches of The Project. Memories of my family and my former life still haunted me, but I was learning to forget and truthfully, I had never felt better.
But things changed fast.
Firstly, I lost my sense of taste and smell. I kept quiet about it for a while but finally I felt compelled to confide in my friends when I became feverish. Every one of them told me to pretend nothing was wrong because that’s just how things are done in The Project. They said if I kept my illness quiet people would look the other way and I could remain free.
As my health continued to deteriorate, I decided I had to confront Rodrigo.
I found him guzzling ramen noodles on a bench in a largely deserted food hall. I paced about before him nervously.
“I think I have the virus, Rodrigo, what shall I do?”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he said, waving me away with a free hand.
“Seriously, I think I should see a doctor,” I said.
“Didn’t I make myself clear about our policies down here?”
“Yeah, but...”
“Listen, the oppression of the health care system - testing, vaccinations, quarantining - are strictly prohibited in The Project, you know that.”
“But I’m sick, I need help.”
“Things will get very nasty for you if you force this issue. These rules are made to ensure this community’s freedom and that’s what you signed up for, remember?”
“What if I’ve changed my mind? What if I say I want to go back to my old life overground?”
Rodrigo snorted sarcastically and said, “So you can return to your sales job and reunite with your family? Everything you’ve tried to escape from? No, I don’t think so. Take your mind off things for a while - have a drink, see a film. I’m sure it’s all in your mind and you’ll feel better in no time.”
I wasn’t going to push my luck - I wasn’t brave enough to face the consequences - and Rodrigo was right, there was nothing left for me above ground. My fate would be inextricably linked with The Project. I was at its mercy.
That night I went for a long walk deep into unexplored tunnels. As rats scurried around my feet my breathing became strained and my knees almost buckled. As the subterranean underpasses became more and more constricted, I heard cries of pain. I followed the sounds as I delved deeper underground, determined to unravel the dark secrets of The Project, determined to discover a way to survive within its boundaries.
by Tim Frank
Tim Frank’s short stories have been published in Bourbon Penn, Eunoia Review, Maudlin House and elsewhere. He is the associate fiction editor for Able Muse Literary Journal.