Working With Low Word Limit

[Kwing]

Here's a story I've been wanting to write for quite some time. I don't write often, so I was hoping taking a class for this would be the best way to force myself to get it done. The good news is I have a lot written. The bad news is that it's due in a week and a half and my word limit is only 3200. There are a lot of really specific things in this story that are intentional and some really specific things I want to change. For instance:

For the most part, none of the characters in this story have strong beliefs, and are mostly driven by environment. Both protagonists take steps that radically alter the power structure of the developed world, but they aren't zealots or activists; rather, they're just curious. Also, most things that allow them to accomplish what they do are by ridiculous coincidences. The idea here is to intentionally portray how improbable change actually is. The one precaution I do want to take is to make it so that the characters are aware of how unusual the circumstances are; they are not expecting to be successful.

Rather than explicitly explain the story's setting, I want to sidle it in with the plot in order to streamline it and to keep below the word limit. This has led to some instances where the text itself is a bit unclear, so I'm working on making everything clear in as few words as possible. It might be beneficial for me if some people read the story before my setting and breakdown so that I have a couple people that can give feedback only on what I've written.

The word limit has also crunched a lot of plot points together and made some of the scenes do little more than service the mechanical aspect of the plot, which is frustrating me. For instance, when Trent finds out Cynthia's age, his to interrogate her under some very shady circumstances happens unnaturally fast. This decision needs to happen in one scene but I'm at a loss for how I'm going to make that happen. Another example of this word crunch is that most of the action in the beginning of the story happens off-screen; the reader only gets explanations of what happened from the main characters talking afterward. As a final note, I acknowledge the absurdity of this story but again much of the crudeness is due to the word count. I don't have time for the narrative to unfold at a normal pace.

SETTING:

In the future, humans live in subterranean biodomes which collect, concentrate, and regulate solar energy, some of which shines directly down on the city, and the rest of which is directed into solar panels to power the city. Motorized mirrors regulate internal temperature and direct solar energy. Portland, Montreal, and Reykjavik are among the cities that have moved underground.

Before the events of the story, climate change accelerated, and heat waves reaching 160F wiped out most of the planet, with rolling blackouts occurring from air conditioning usage. The few that remain above the surface were gunned down attempting to get in.

Living conditions are not miserable, but labor is, with the average work week being between 70 and 90 hours.
During the (short) temperate springs and falls, workers clean the glass and solar panels sustaining the city. Given the right weather conditions, people roam the surface, but long journeys are made impossible due to the lack of transport, geographical knowledge, and time.

BASIC SUMMARY:

Chapter 1 - Trent is a young man loading cargo in Portland. After falling asleep during a long shift, he wakes up to the turbulence of the plane landing in Montreal. He panics and peeks out, only to see his ex Cynthia arguing with the pilot. After realizing he has witnessed a confidential discussion, he sneaks away.

Chapter 2 - Trent reconnects with his friend Elliott while cleaning the solar panels on the surface. On break, they explore and find a message in a bottle.

Chapter 3 - Elliott talks to Trent about the manifesto, which mentions Cynthia as a corrupt billionaire 50 years in the past (as well as a corrupt political climate at the time.) Trent mentions that his grandfather said similar things about Cynthia's age, but that he didn't believe him due to him having Alzheimer's. He then calls Cynthia to hook up, using a BDSM scene as a false pretense for gathering information.

Chapter 4 - Trent talks with Elliott after his meeting, explaining the usage of anti-aging medication by aristocrats and his decision to kill her with a heroin overdose. They discuss a unique opportunity to confront the pharmaceutical suppliers and shift the balance of power.

Chapter 5 - Trent, impersonating Cynthia, sets a meeting with the owners of the pharmaceutical company in Portland, posing as someone picking up anti-aging meds on her behalf. He and Elliott ambush the couple. Elliott takes one (Edward Addison) hostage while the other (Gertrude Addison) is forced to “introduce” Trent and to a defense contractor (Rupert Sherman.) Note that all three of these people (and Cynthia) have some degree of commonality because they are a select few people who do not age and are more or less part of a conspiracy that keeps the medical technology secret.

Chapter 6 - Trent kills Gertrude and fatally injures Rupert. As Rupert flees, Trent lets Elliott into Rupert’s mansion, implying Edward has also been killed. They find Rupert attempting to destroy the biodomes using a weaponized satellite system, in order to take the world down with him. Trent attempts to stop him but is stopped by Elliott, who argues this is the only true change that could have happened.

Chapter 7 - Trent, now in Mt. Adams, recounts his escape in the helicopter and the signal he received from the mountains as he watches the city’s destruction from afar.

THE ACTUAL STORY:

ONE

The force of landing jolted Trent awake. Aside from his aching body, the first thing he noticed was that he was in a small, dimly lit space, and everything was still. The second thing he noticed was that his ears had popped, and it was then that he remembered he was still in the cargo bay. Though grogginess prevented him from panicking, he could tell he was in trouble. By the security light in the corner of the bay he could make out the shape of different packages around him. Evidently, the sixteen hours he’d spent loading crates had caught up to him, and he’d expired in the middle of his shift.

The hatch was locked. His phone was dead. He had become an unwitting stowaway on the flight, and now he was trapped. Unfortunate, but not surprising. Shipments were usually behind schedule, so if nobody could reach him the pilot would rather take off than risk further delay.

Trent had raised his fist to pound on the door when he heard voices coming from outside.

"This isn't just about it being late, it's about customer service being complete garbage! Do I need to personally audit every fucking order I make?"

"I'm sorry ma’am, but I'm not in control of-"

"Well who is!? I've contacted Addison multiple times and he doesn’t do shit! I’ve already wasted too much time dealing with this already. Give me my order and leave."

Trent took a step back and ducked behind a crate. Surprised as he was, that voice was unmistakable. He had a fling with Cynthia in flight school. While they hadn't broken up on bad terms, he knew better than to make his presence known when she was angry, lest he get caught in the crossfire. As the hatch opened Cynthia came into view, along with a short, stout man. Trent watched from the shadows as he loaded several crates onto a dolly and began wheeling them away, an impatient woman following at his heels. By the time they were out of view, he had already decided not to stick around long enough to get the full story.

[Kwing]

TWO

“To be honest, Trent, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, least of all in Montreal.”

Trent laughed as he climbed out of the telehandler. “I can’t say I expected this either. I don’t usually wake up 3000 miles from where I fall asleep.”

Elliott began walking with him through the rows of solar panels, most of which were still filthy. “I take it you haven’t been flying much?”

Trent shook his head. “I’ve been stuck in Portland since I left the academy.”

“If you’re going to stay in one place, that’s where to do it. I’d kill to get natural light underground.” Elliott gestured to his pallid skin, which was slightly sunburnt from walking around on the surface.

“I could take it or leave it. I loved the infrastructure when I was studying here, though. No other city was this developed before the Big Bake.”

“True.” Elliott grinned. “You’d have been screwed if I didn’t live here. Who would you have stayed with? Cynthia?”

Trent cringed. “I could have. She told me to call her if I was ever back in town.”

When the St. Lawrence River was close enough to smell, both broke into a run. The river, like wind, was a treasure of the surface that could only be cherished twice a year. Elliott waded knee-deep into the water and stared at the ruins of an old suspension bridge in the distance, while Trent pushed past him and dove under.

“There’s tons of catfish this year. Wanna see?”

Elliott made his way into the deeper water before dipping his head under. “Holy shit. Didn’t anyone tell them the end of the world already happened?”

“My grandpa said these things are indestructible. Although that one doesn’t look too happy.” Trent pointed to a sad lump of mass floating downstream toward them.

Elliott watched it approach. “That’s not a fish.”

When it came close enough, Trent plucked the bottle out of the water. “Hey, something’s in here.”

He’d barely started unscrewing the cap when both of their phones began whining from the shore. “How many rows do we have left?”

“Two more by the end of today, and each one is 10 kilometers.”

“Shit. I’ve already lost one job this week, let’s not make it more.”

THREE

Elliott set the pages down on his desk and took a deep breath. “It’s not your average love letter.”

“So what is it?”

“More like a history book than anything. Did you know CRAMP used child sex trafficking to influence legislators?”

Trent looked up from his phone. “The interest group? Civil Rights Activism for Marginalized Peoples?”

“The same. This dude says it was the only way a grassroots organization could compete with corporate lobbyists. The whole thing is filled with this kind of stuff. It’s not just scandals, either. Oh, also…” Elliott flipped back several pages. “You want to know how Cynthia paid for college, flight school, and the jet? She inherited $60 billion in stocks from her mom.”

Trent sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples. “That’s… How old is that?”

Elliott skimmed through the pages. His brow furrowed. “The most recent source in here is over half a century old. Wait...”

There was a long silence, and when Trent finally spoke he didn’t make eye contact. “When my grandpa met Cynthia, he told me they used to date when he was my age. Everyone just assumed it was his Alzheimer’s speaking.”

“Come on, Trent. You’re not actually suggesting-”

“I don’t know.”

Elliott chewed his lip for a moment. “Why don’t you ask?”

“When I met her she said she was two years older than me. If she were older, why would she change her story now?”

“You could make her tell you. You said when you were dating she let you-”

“No. No way. I am not doing that.”

Elliott’s gaze pierced him through the dimly-lit room. “How else would you find out? Of course, you’d look like a nutjob if you were wrong.”

FOUR

When Elliott opened the door his friend looked as pale as he was. Before he had the chance to ask, Trent had already shoved past him and begun vomiting in the toilet, his knuckles white against the bowl. Elliott planted himself in the doorway of the bathroom. “Trent…?”

“She’s dead… Killed her. We’re in big trouble.” When he saw Elliott’s eyes widen, he added, “Not right now, but soon.”

When he had calmed down and cleaned up, Elliott offered him a cup of tea, which he took gratefully. He took a deep breath, but when he spoke his voice was almost mechanical. “Cynthia was 97. She was using anti-aging medication. Everyone with her kind of status is, and they all look our age. She said they would hunt me down.”

“So you made sure she couldn’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah. She had heroin in her purse.”

[Note: this chapter obviously isn't finished, and five and six aren't even written yet. So yeah.]

SEVEN

I’m sitting at the mouth of a cave in Mt. Adams watching the mushroom cloud over the place that used to be my home. I hope by writing this I can make sense out of everything that’s happened, but for all my efforts I can’t find any moral or lesson to take from this madness. I don’t even know why I’m still alive.

After Elliott locked me out of the control room I was sure it was over. Looking back, I’m not sure what drove me to keep looking for a way to survive. It made sense that if anyone was going to have a helicopter it would be Sherman, but I hadn’t so much as thought about flying out until I saw the pad, and that wasn’t even the hard part. Liftoff was a start, but I had nowhere to go. Even if I avoided the blast, winter was approaching and I wouldn’t have lasted a week on the surface.

There were no cities to go to, and none that I could have reached on a single tank of fuel anyway. I headed for the mountains because they were the only landmark that stood out on the horizon, and if nothing else I might get to die somewhere pretty.

The bombs hit earlier than I expected. The noise was deafening, and I was still close enough to see the geodesic dome collapse inward. The first feeling was horror. Then relief. Then finally, after I had turned back to look at my destination, the realization crept up on me that I was the only one left. For the rest of the flight, all I could hear was Elliott’s voice echoing in my ear. “This is change.”

The first time I saw the signal I thought the snowcaps were glistening. When I saw the person holding the reflector I thought I was hallucinating, but at that point I didn’t care. I set the chopper to hover and climbed down. We introduced ourselves. We shook hands. He was real.

There are 274 of us, with eight women expecting. The caves are deep enough to shelter us from the elements. I should be happy knowing that other people are alive and that I’m safe, but I can’t help wondering if Elliott was right. Maybe the only way to stop human suffering is to stop humans. And if that’s true, these people are slowly undoing what he came so close to changing.

CLOSING WORDS:

I guess like most people on this forum I want general tips and feedback. The big thing for me right now is getting advice that allows the story to feel more natural without the word count destroying me. That's what's killing me in chapter 4 and will probably continue to be a massive problem later on.