Like all species that survived the apocalyptic plague of Yukult, the elephant had adapted. A DNA mutation from a chemical spill in the Indian subcontinent had caused the DNA code of elephants to merge with its surroundings. A number of old Routemaster Double Decker buses had been dumped in the jungle near the chemcial spillage where these elephants lived. And thus the Double Decker elephant was born.
The surviving Indians, enterprising as they always were saw a market for these fine animals that could carry hoards of passengers through cities at quite a pace. The seats were already a tough grey leather. There were gaps in the sides of the elephant so furniture and large bulky items could be loaded sideways.
They could be fed on bananas which were widely available and the only problem was the great heaps of dung that would be deposited along the streets. The streets stank of dung, but the municipality of Vindaloo was used to this and had bought several drones that masked the smell by pumping essence of jasmine above the streets.
The elephants were relatively calm and docile. They didn't mind carrying the humans around as long as they were given plenty of food and water which they would take from the fountains on their route.
But then one day everything changed and the double decker elephants went on strike. They hooted their water into the air. A revolutionary elephant had told them of the greener pastures in the jungle where they could find plenty of water and do whatever they wanted to do all day. The news spread among the elephants. Their aggression built, their teeth would grind together as they ate their bananas. And they turned on their human owners. They stampeded out of their Elephant Stations and rioted their way out of the cities overnight.
The next day, everyone who depended on the elephants was left at their stops. They would wait 5, 10, 15 minutes... even an hour before the news dawned on them. Their elephants were not coming. They would chat among themselves and get increasingly agitated.
How would they get to the call centres and hotels in downtown Vindaloo where they worked? Walking was out of the question. The highways were fast, dangerous and rammed with grumpy people who wore suits and travelled in cars with blacked-out windows.
So they shrugged and went back home and made some food for themselves.
Meanwhile in her empty English village, Cheryl Hobbs was waiting to get through to her bank. She was at her kitchen table with a gasoline-strength cup of coffee and a knife that she stabbed into the butter to spread over her toast. She had been on hold for 18 minutes and 25 seconds her phone told her. Her impatience and agitation was building. She glared at her toast and demolished it angry bite by angry bite.
She made calls to her bank because it seemed her ex-husband was using her credit card to buy golf clubs and visit the golf course. WITHOUT HER PERMISSION! She had phoned several times before to cancel the card, but due to an IT glitch, it hadn't worked. Her husband was bleeding her dry and she wished she'd caught Yukult, to get away from him.
She was listening to an instrumental rendition of Sorry by Justin Beiber for the 6th time and had destroyed her toast. She looked around the kitchen for something to take her agitation out on. Eventually she picked up her mug of coffee, only to find it empty and smashed it against the floor. The shards went everywhere and it hadn't made her feel any better, and now she was even angrier about the mess she would have to clear up.
The call centre tower that Ms Hobbs was calling was vacant. Nobody had been able to make it in from the distant suburbs due to the elephant strike. No cleaners. No call centre reps. The only people who had made it in were the executives who were flapping around, shouting in a great meeting around a glass table. They talked and talked and talked, but the city had become so reliant on the elephants to haul everyone around that there was no way to bring in everybody.
Then the power cuts happened. The computers stopped working. The electronic locks stopped working. Indeed the executives were locked inside the building. The lights stopped working. This made them increasingly fearful and insecure and more eager employees were figuring out their survival strategy for however long they would be trapped in the building. First it would be food and drink. The smart ones went around hoarding resources. The instant coffee, that would be worth something. The big water bottles - they would be worth something too. Some went for the staple guns that could be used as weapons. Some threw chairs at the vending machines to snatch all
the high-energy chocolate bars that could be used to barter their way through a crisis. Some attempted to escape. But the Yukult plague had caused all new buildings to have special high-density glass that could quarantine people in an outbreak. So when people attacked the glass walls, the glass walls fought back and hurt their attackers more. It was a mess.
Out in the jungle, the elephants were equally finding their own pecking order, although it seemed to be more civilised. Normally being reliant on humans to feed and water them, they were now reliant on themselves. They broke up into groups and factions, looking for resources that could keep them safe. Some elephants found the banana trees and stuffed the bananas into their double decker cavities.
Mrs Hobbs however had no game she could play except getting angry at herself and her husband and her whole existence in general. She went into her garden and screamed.
The pitch of her voice had such a clanging tone that it caused the glass of the greenhouse to shatter. She then turned her anger inwards. And glared without making a sound.
The Indian families who had the day off were quite unused to having some time for themselves. They sat around and ate dosas and made their own entertainment while the jasmine drones piped in wonderful smells, hovering above their heads.
Balance had been found... for now.
