Chariot

We needed the money.

I want you to remember that, whoever you are reading this. I want you to remember this started because we needed the money. That’s not an excuse, or a justification, that’s just the simple truth sitting at the heart of everything. We needed the money.

My name is James. My story is one you’ve heard before, that old song of bad choices and worse luck. Barely twenty years old, broke as a twig and dumb enough to go and get my high school girlfriend Karen pregnant. She didn’t want to get an abortion and frankly, I didn’t want her to either. That was how my family began. Two teenagers stuck in the middle of their own bad decisions, praying like hell they weren’t about to make another one.

In hindsight, it was the best one I’ve ever made. The first time I held my daughter, beautiful little Gracie, I knew that nothing else in the world would ever matter to me more. Even now when I think about that time in my life, all the bad stuff that was so overwhelming in the moment just fades away and leaves only the good things. Gracie tearing through the house pretending to be a dinosaur or a racing car, or a dinosaur racing car. Karen humming to herself while watering the wildflowers she kept on the kitchen windowsill. Me reading the same books to Gracie that my grandfather had read to me. Those are the things I remember, and I would not trade them for the world.

But like I said, we needed the money. Two high school dropouts don’t exactly make bank. We had some help from Karen’s grandmother, but for the most part we were on our own. We had a house, which was crap, a car, also crap, and far too many bills visiting at the end of every month. Sometimes we managed to squirrel away a little bit, entertaining dreams of Karen going back to school and finishing her degree. Maybe finally making something out of our lives but it never happened. Every time we looked to be making headway, something else would come and snatch it away, leaving us right back where we started.

That’s what brought me to Chariot in the first place. You know Chariot, that ride-share app angling to bring down Uber that, like me, never seems able to get its act together. Frankly the only reason I went for it over the bigger name was because it had a better revenue split with the drivers. You can put up with a lot when it earns you fifty percent, not even Karen could disagree with that, much as she tried to. She didn’t want me driving around weirdos and creeps all day, but the prospect of more income inevitably settled the argument.

There’s not much job training for Chariot and that’s putting it generously. After your background check clears, you get called into the branch office to fill out a bunch of legal stuff and sign your contract. Out of that you get a driver account on the app, ten minutes of being shown how to use your company issued card reader, and that’s basically your lot. The rest is all on to you to figure out.

My first day driving was…well, it was a disaster. I made the mistake of picking an area that combined the two worst flavors of the job, bad customers and no customers. Took me almost an hour to pick up a fare, who then proceeded to throw up in the backseat of my car and wander off without paying. Smelled like rancid meat so thick that I almost threw up myself. It took me twenty minutes to clean up the seat and attempt to cover it with air fresheners. My second fare still commented on the stench but at least they paid me.

I drove fifteen people that night. Two of them I was damn sure had just murdered someone, one burst into tears halfway through the ride and another threatened to cut off my nose before passing out. He gave me five stars and tipped me twenty bucks when we reached his destination.

By the time I got home, I was equal parts exhausted, scared and confused. I felt like I’d just survived a warzone, disconnected from reality and moving on automatic while my brain struggled catch up. Karen was still awake, and we sat together on the couch while I told her all the night’s horror stories. She listened to every word, agreeing with my venting and sympathizing with my fears. Gracie woke up at some point, bad dreams, and we brought her down to sit with us until she fell back asleep. That moment is burned into my memory, the three of us sitting on the floor, holding each other close and not saying a word. Together. A family.

Everything felt better in the morning, especially when I checked my bank balance. If you’ve never faced the sight of an empty account, you won’t understand the simple joy of seeing it newly filled with money. Not a fortune, small or otherwise, but just that little bit means so much. It means being free to top off your gas tank without fear of destroying your budget. It means you can get away with having takeout for dinner when you’re just too exhausted to cook. It means the simple relief of a good night’s sleep, free of worries about how you’re going to survive another month.

Over the next few weeks, I steadily managed to get my head around the world of ride sharing. I learned to keep my trunk well stocked with paper towels, air fresheners and rubber gloves. Barf bags in the back seat, tissues and wet wipes in the front, ready for any fares who needed them. I figured out the best times to work various streets, where the cheapest gas could be found and how to navigate the nightmare that is city traffic.

The most useful skill I picked up though, was learning how to talk to the customers. Most are decent people and, if you pay attention, its not hard to figure out how they want to interact. You learn to recognize who wants conversation, who wants someone to rant to and who just wants a quiet drive. My customer rating skyrocketed as a result, one of the highest in the entire city. Many of those reviews specifically made note of how safe and comfortable I made them feel. 

Maybe that’s what got their attention in the first place.

It began in the autumn, almost a year later. I’d been having a very good night, working the bars during the traditional evening of celebration that capped off exam week at the local university. Everyone was happily drunk and giddy enough to pay the ridiculous surge pricing for a lift home. I wasn’t complaining in the slightest as we needed the extra cash. Some very expensive surprises had popped up that month and even hacked to the bone, our budget was coming up short. We’d been trying not to think about what would happen if we missed paying off the difference. Suffice it to say, it wouldn’t be good.

Around two in the morning, the people started thinning out and I decided to pack it in for the night. Just as I was going to log out, literally finger hovering over the button, one last fare popped up. A single just a few blocks away and, wouldn’t you know, with a destination right near my house.

Obviously, I accepted it. Pushed the little button to send my details like I had a million times before and drove off to pick them up. Why wouldn’t I? It was literally on my way home, easy money, so convenient. Too convenient.

I spotted him out front of a dive bar and could immediately tell he wasn’t happy drunk. More of a “I am effectively drowning in liquor and have no urge to stop” kind of drunk. He didn’t sound all there when I pulled up to the curb, babbling and slurring near every word that came out of his mouth. Eventually I managed to confirm who he was and get him settled into the back of my car, where he immediately fell asleep. I made sure he was breathing before we set off for his destination.

Chariot has built-in mapping software that automatically constructs a route for you. It defaults to the shortest, although sometimes it will redirect around things like construction or traffic. I didn’t really need it anymore though, months of working the city leaving me with a working knowledge of all the major routes through it. So, when the app told me to turn onto a street that in no way led to where we were going, I noticed immediately.

Passing it off as a glitch, I took the correct turn, hoping the system would fix itself once it refreshed. Instead, it told me to take another wrong turn, this one leading even further away than the last one. Again, I ignored it, wondering if there was something going on with the servers. When it happened a third time, I pulled over to try and figure out what the hell was going on.

“Wazzgoin…” the man slurred in the back.

“Just checking something sir, nothing to worry about.”

That seemed to satisfy, and he fell back into his drunken nap. Plucking my phone from its mount, I pulled up a more detailed view of the route and realized that it wasn’t right. The original destination had been altered to a location well away from where the man had requested to go. Confused, I manually re-entered the original address and waited for it to process. When it had finished, it still told me to go to the blatantly wrong place. Shaking my head in annoyance, I decided to navigate the old-fashioned way, but before I could put the phone down, it buzzed. I had a text coming in through Chariot’s private messaging system.

FOLLOW THE ROUTE

There was no sender, just a string of random numbers and letters. Worried I’d been hacked, I tried to close the app but found it frozen. Not just the app, but my entire phone refused to respond to any input, like the touch screen had been deactivated. I tried everything, up to and including shutting the phone off, but nothing could break through Chariot’s stubborn refusal to close. Another text came in from the same nonsense sender.

FOLLOW THE ROUTE

My fingers trembled as they typed out a response, the screen suddenly deciding to work again.

WHO IS THIS?

FOLLOW THE ROUTE

NOT UNTIL YOU TELL ME WHO YOU ARE.

Instead of a response, a new program opened, the window going blank but for a buffer circle in the center. Before I could even think to try closing it, the program finished loading and a video began to play.

Suddenly, I was looking at myself. Myself, watching my phone as it played the video of me watching myself. In a panic, I looked around my car interior, trying to locate the camera. I never spotted it but eventually put together from the angle that it had to be in the center console. Throwing my jacket over it, I looked back to the screen and discovered to my horror that it now showed only fabric and shadows. This wasn’t a recording, it was streaming live.

WHO THE FUCK IS THIS!?

FOLLOW THE ROUTE

FUCK YOU! I’M CALLING THE COPS!

It was something of a hollow threat, given that whoever it was clearly had control of my phone. Before I could put it down, the screen changed again. My banking app popped up, somehow already logged in and displaying my account.

And there it was. Sitting right at the top of the transaction list. A deposit for the exact amount we needed to cover the month. Down to the fucking cent exact, already cleared and waiting to be spent. For a long while I just sat there, staring at the number, brain struggling to keep up. Before it could come to any concrete conclusion, the screen switched back to the Chariot app, another text already waiting for me.

FOLLOW THE ROUTE

I should have said no. Should have told them to go fuck themselves. Should have turned around and driven away as fast as I could. Should have gone straight to the nearest police station and told them everything. Even just woken the guy up and urged him to get out and never look back. Maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything. Maybe it would have just made things worse but…I should have said no.

The guy barely even stirred as we got back on the road and started following the new route. It took us well away from where he wanted to go, all the way to the other side of the city. Nothing but abandoned, run-down buildings that hadn’t been torn down yet. The kind of place where you never saw anyone, but you were sure someone was watching you. The destination was an old brick factory, sitting back from the road and shrouded in shadows. I pulled up to the curb just like normal but didn’t have the slightest clue what to do next. My phone buzzed again.

MAKE HIM GET OUT

“S-sir? We’re here,” I tried, praying he wouldn’t wake up. No such luck as he his eyes snapped open at the sound of my voice.

“Mnnnn,” he grunted, levering himself up on shaking legs. A last second stab of guilt overtook me.

“Sir, I don’t think you should-“

He didn’t listen. Instead, he absently dropped a crumbled wad of bills onto the front seat and opened his door to step out, not even bothering to close it behind him. I watched as he stumbled away, the thick shadows moving in to hide him in the shroud. Just as he reached the edge of where I could still see him, he stopped, swaying on his feet as he looked around. After a moment he turned back to face me, features dimly lit by the glare of my headlights.

“Ehy, tiszzaint-“

He never got a chance to finish the sentence. Without warning the night came alive, shadows roiling as something within began to swarm. All I could see were silhouettes, vaguely human shapes with too long limbs and bulbous heads that did not fit their slender frames. The only detail I could see clearly were their claws. Long and sickle shaped, their visceral sharpness such that I could feel it from where I sat, ready to rend and tear whatever helpless prey they could reach.

He screamed. The man screamed as shadows swarmed him in a frenzied mass of death and savagery. They lasted only a moment before being cut off by wet slices and a drowning gurgle that will haunt my dreams forever. I didn’t see what they did to him, but I can guess. The sounds painted a very vivid picture. They kept me rooted to the spot, terrified to flee in case those same claws were next turned on me.

Soon silence returned and the shadows stilled, retreating into whatever nightmare they had emerged from. Still I didn’t leave. I could feel that something was standing there in the dark, fear of it dancing across the hairs on the back of my neck. It took only a moment for the sensation to be proven right when footsteps began to crunch across the dirt towards me. My car dipped slightly as something settled into the seat behind me and closed the door. My phone buzzed.

SHUT OFF THE CAR. DON’T TURN AROUND

No fear of the second one. I did as the text instructed and the engine fell silent, headlights flicking out to plunge us into the true darkness of a moonless night. Another buzz.

HELLO JAMES. I’M SO GLAD WE CAN FINALLY MEET IN PERSON.

WHO ARE YOU?

YOUR EMPLOYER. AND WE HAVE TO SAY, YOU’VE BEEN A MODEL EMPLOYEE FOR US JAMES.

The thing in the back shifted in its seat with a sound like scales sliding across leather. Not doing anything, just reminding me that it was there.

WE’VE BEEN WATCHING YOU FOR A WHILE JAMES. MANAGEMENT THINKS YOU HAVE GREAT PROMISE WITH US HERE AT CHARIOT.

PROMISE?

GREAT PROMISE INDEED. AND WE WANT TO HELP YOU REALIZE THAT PROMISE.

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

WE WANT TO SEE YOU SUCCEED JAMES. AND WE FEEL THAT YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO DO THAT IN YOUR CURRENT POSITION.

Bafflement briefly overrode terror as I realized what they were implying.

YOU WANT TO PROMOTE ME?

WE WOULD LIKE TO JAMES. MANAGEMENT IS VERY EXCITED TO SEE YOU MOVE UP IN THE COMPANY. AND WE WANT TO DO EVERYTHING WE CAN TO HELP YOU AND YOUR FAMILY.

Suddenly the screen changed, opening the Chariot app to a screen I’d never seen before. It read simply ‘Class 2 Login’ followed by a white circle that looked like a thumbprint scanner. I suspected that trying to close this screen would not be a good idea.

DOES THIS SOUND LIKE SOMETHING YOU’D BE INTERESTED IN JAMES?

WHAT HAPPENS IF I SAY NO?

The screen changed again, returning to my bank account. Before my eyes, the deposit vanished from the list, along with the rest of our savings. Just gone, without a trace that so much as a cent had ever been in there. Then it all came back, like it had never gone away. I should have said no.

I ACCEPT.

I’d barely hit send when I felt the edge of a claw press into the side of my face. I almost, almost, looked back and would have but for a deep, rumbling growl that drifted forwards from the back. The sound disturbed me on a deeply instinctive level and kept my eyes locked dead ahead.

I barely felt the pain as the claw bit into my flesh, dulled by the adrenaline hammering through my veins. It opened a shallow cut on my cheek, just below my right eye, and held itself in the wound before pulling away, coated in my blood. The claw shifted in front of my face, the red liquid pooling at the tip and beginning to drip down onto my phone.

It was a messy effort, blood coating the screen and soaking into my jeans. Eventually, one drop fell onto the white circle and the screen changed again. Or rather, the blood on the screen changed, coming alive as it all rushed towards the now red circle, sucked up like water into a sponge. At the end, my phone was left spotless, the screen now reading ‘Welcome to Class 2’.

WONDERFUL. WE’RE LOOKING FORWARD TO WORKING WITH YOU JAMES. TAKE TOMORROW OFF AND COME BACK FRESH ON MONDAY. THEN WE’LL GET STARTED. CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR PROMOTION.

Task complete, the thing behind me opened the door and stepped out into the night. Its presence lingered long after it had gone, and I stayed there long after that. Everything felt unreal, surreal, in that moment. My world was shattered, and I floated in the remains, terrified to do anything lest they come back together into terrible, terrible reality.

The first week of my promotion was no different. I drove fares like I always had, went to my other job, played with Gracie and held Karen close. I never told her what happened, how could I? Instead, I lied, telling her I’d just been given a raise, which wasn’t technically untrue. I was getting paid more for the same work. She seemed satisfied with that and let it drop.

I had no such luxury. Every day was a terrifying slog, waiting for another text to come in, telling me that it was time to do something horrible. Every day that it didn’t only made everything worse. My dreams became filled with visions of monsters and shadows, pressing in around me but never going in for the kill. Always waiting for something. Always waiting.

It was almost a relief when the text came through.

BRING ONE. FOLLOW THE ROUTE.

Almost.

At first it was simple. Requests that one, sometimes two people be brought somewhere they blatantly didn’t want to go. Somewhere abandoned and far away from prying eyes. Homeless people were good for this. They could easily be bribed to get in the car. People like that first man, drunk to the point of being barely coherent, they worked too. They warned me against taking too many from one area at once and moved me around to make sure the disappearances weren’t noticed.

Then things got more complicated. They started requesting things. Body type, skin colour, age, gender. Like shopping lists. They would send their orders and leave me to hunt around the city for just the right match. And it was hunting, homeless people and sad drunks being nowhere close to what they wanted. Their requests were too specific for that. I had to start taking people by force.

My kit changed to suit this new purpose. Rope and handcuffs next to the cleaning supplies, along with strips of cloth for makeshift gags. I tried ether for a while, but it proved too unreliable. Much easier to simply keep a handgun stashed next to my seat. People are less likely to risk something stupid when they’re looking down the barrel of a revolver.

I make no excuses. Whatever terrible things you may think of me, trust me, I’ve thought far worse. Sometimes I would have thoughts about fighting back, turning on them or even just telling someone about what was going. Sometimes I thought about ending it all.

But Management always knew. They were always watching, no matter how many times I destroyed their cameras. And sometimes I would find things around the house. Little things that only meant something to me. Scratches on the sidewalk, bundles of sticks molded into the shape of hands, bits of cloth torn from whatever my last fare had been wearing. You didn’t have to be a genius to get the message.

The most terrifying thing though? They hadn’t lied. Class 2 came with a hefty pay raise, enough that I could afford to quit my second job and focus full time on Chariot. It was an actual living wage and for the first time in our lives we knew the twin comforts of savings and disposable income. We started putting money away for Gracie’s future. Mortgage payments no longer ran the risk of bankrupting us. Karen started going back to school.

Things were good. Are good. Really good. Would be perfect if not for how they were being paid for. Maybe they could have gone on forever. I think I might just be the right kind of fucked up to keep on living through this hell if I means my family survives. I could have done it.

But two nights ago, I had another sit down with Management.

WE ARE VERY IMPRESSED WITH YOU JAMES. VERY IMPRESSED.

WE’D LIKE TO OFFER YOU FURTHER ADVANCEMENT.

I am now a Class 3 employee of Chariot. I have no idea what that means or what my new responsibilities are but given everything else…

It’s funny. I’ve done terrible things, deplorable things that have assured me the deepest darkest pit in whatever awaits us all. And I could almost have lived with it, because it was familiar. The devil you know may be a disgusting, terrifying creature but at least you know him. At least with them, you know what you’re going to see when you look into their eyes. I’d just about come to terms with my devil but no more.

I think its about time for me to quit.

Karen, if you’re reading this, know that I love you. Tell our daughter that daddy loves her, and that he always did the best he could. I hope you can both find it in your hearts to forgive me one day, but I would understand if you couldn’t. Maybe I should have made different choices, done something to keep it from going so far. Or maybe not. Maybe I was doomed to this from the start.

Because we needed the money.

END