Death's Dominion

by Simon Clark

  ‘You killed him, didn’t you?’ She stared in horror. ‘You murdered the soldier. Look at his blood.’ She grabbed hold of his hand and raised it to his face.

  Dominion remained there like a statue that could be as ancient as those standing stones that had withstood the forces of nature for the last 3,000 years.

  As she held his hand she grasped the wrist tag. ‘Dominion?’ She looked troubled. ‘It says here you were at the transit station. But you only made transit a few days ago. You shouldn’t be able to walk this far yet. Who brought you here?’ She shook his wrist as if to snap him out of the trance. ‘What made you murder the soldier?’

  In a blur of movement his fingers splayed out as he gripped her jaw. Then he tilted her face up toward his. ‘I am Frankenstein.’

  Even though she couldn’t move her head she retorted ‘You’re not Frankenstein … Frankenstein never existed.’

  ‘I am God Scarer.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I – Monster.’

  ‘You’re not a monster. You’re one of us. And this time next year there won’t be one damn transient left on this planet.’ Again she tried to break free. ‘If you’re going to crush my skull – do it. Because there’s no rule against killing our own kind.’

  Dominion studied her face for a moment. Her expression puzzled him. ‘You are hurting?’

  ‘Hurting! You’re breaking my damn neck!’

  Dominion released her. Once more his arms returned to hang limply at his side as he gazed at the play of sunlight in the valley.

  Rubbing her neck, she glared at him. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ When he didn’t answer she said, ‘Call me insane but I could hear singing. It came from up on the hill. And guess where it’s loudest?’ She nodded at the stone circle. ‘Only you don’t hear them, do you? That makes me a lunatic. No wonder with the madness of the last three days. I saw people butchered at the transit station. I fled with my friend, but the mob got us. If I hadn’t escaped I’d be dead, too. They burnt Lorne like she was a piece of garbage. But what’s the point in telling you? You’re still ga-ga from transition. Hell. You shouldn’t even be on your damn feet, never mind running round the countryside murdering human beings. The world really has gone crazy …’

  ‘You’re not going to get much sense out of our brother, Dominion, here.’

  Dominion watched as Paul Marais emerged from the bushes. Seven individuals followed him. They wore tired, hunted expressions.

  Paul shook his head. ‘Dominion. I should be surprised – nay astonished – that you’ve managed to conjure up another fellow God Scarer. But a wee birdie tells me that you, old pal, are going to be the fount of one surprise after another.’

  7

  This, Our Monster Law

  As the sun rose over the hilltop there was one of those significant pauses. One that had the potential to be filled with a laugh, a scream, a gunshot. There was only this overwhelming sense that a change would occur with shocking suddenness.

  She looked at the group of men and women – of God Scarers – that stood there scared themselves. Behind them, with an eerie note of coincidence, or even destiny, exactly the same number of standing stones that comprised The Nine Sisters reared out of the earth. They shared the same circular distribution. Nine figures in a blue-black stone. In turn, alongside them, their strange doppelganger: nine figures that science had brought back from the dead.

  The uncanny voices she’d heard since escaping being burned at the stake rose in volume. There’s a purpose to this she told herself. I’m meant to be here and so are these people. That song she heard inside her head threatened to shake her brain from her skull. She had to do something. She sensed the ancient standing stones – maybe even the very universe would explode if she didn’t.

  ‘I’m Elsa.’ The words felt as if they blurted crazily from her. The faces that regarded her suggested they didn’t hear the tidal wave of voices that reached into her soul to shake her heart. ‘I was at the transit station.’

  ‘So were we.’ The moment the man in green surgical scrubs spoke the singing stopped with a suddenness that felt like a drag of claws across her nerve endings. If she flinched he didn’t notice. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen you before in the coffee bar. My name is Dr Paul Marais.’ He spoke with gentle Scottish accents that were easy on the ear.

  Elsa strode forward with her hand extended. This is screamingly insane and normal all at the same time, she told herself. Here we are, survivors from a massacre: we’re acting as if it’s a staff meeting.

  She shook hands. ‘Doctor Marais.’

  ‘In the circumstances, call me Paul.’ He gave a tired smile. ‘This isn’t a place for titles. Good to see you’re in one piece, Elsa.’ He nodded. ‘You’ve already met the big guy. He’s—’

  ‘Dominion. Yes. I read the wrist tag.’

  A red-haired woman in a nurse’s uniform looked taken aback. ‘Dominion? Why was he allowed to chose a name like that? It’d never be allowed on the register.’

  Paul sighed. ‘I know. Humanity would see Dominion as controversial. Whatever interpretation you put on it, it hints at domination. Language these days is elastic anyway. They call us transients, to denote we’re the product of a transit station. Of course, transient means short-lived. Ephemeral. Now we have Dominion here. And as for me I can’t help but think about that Dylan Thomas poem: And Death Shall Have No Dominion. Anyone here believe in destiny?’ Paul gave a bitter laugh. ‘Dominion is going to be full of surprises. And it isn’t just going to be his rule-breaking name. Isn’t that so, Dominion?’

  Elsa saw that Dominion didn’t move. He continued to gaze down into the valley as if he saw things there that no one else could.

  Maybe as I hear things these people can’t, she told herself.

  Paul cleared his throat, perhaps noticing she appeared distracted. ‘Elsa. Allow me to introduce you to our party.’

  ‘Party?’ This was the redheaded nurse again. ‘We’re all that’s left out of more than two hundred people at the transit station. You saw what happened to the 3 newborns. They wrapped explosive round their necks and blew their fucking heads off.’ Her voice had risen to the point that when she stopped speaking the silence seemed unnaturally intense. Even the birds stopped singing.

  Elsa saw Dominion had not moved. He stood a good head taller than anyone else in the party. His new growth of hair showed as a blond furze on his gold-brown scalp. He wore the sweatshirt and sweat pants that served as pyjamas for the ‘newborn’, the newly reanimated dead as they convalesced at the transit station. His almond-shaped eyes were deep fathomless black rather than brown. Her gaze was drawn back to the bullet holes in his chest that showed as pink wounds through the punctured fabric of the sweatshirt.

  Elsa was first to break the silence again. ‘So what’s Dominion’s story? By rights, he shouldn’t be walking round the countryside so soon after transition.’

  ‘Because Dominion here woke up in the regenerator. As far as I know that’s a first.’

  The group shot startled glances at Dominion. ‘So this is the guy?’ said one. ‘Everyone’s been talking about him.’

  ‘The one and only. Our new pal Dominion. Monster or miracle? You decide.’ Paul held up his hands. ‘No doubt Dominion here’s going to be the topic of our conversations for a wee while to come. But in the meantime we should finish the introductions. Elsa, this is Beech.’

  The redheaded nurse nodded at Elsa.

  Then Paul introduced the others in quick succession. Most were from the medical team with the exception of three transients who’d passed all their individuation tests, and were due for repatriation. Paul finished by adding, ‘What we need to do now is find some cover. We stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. And once I’ve taken care of Dominion’s injuries we’ve got a decision to make.’

  ‘And that is?’ Elsa asked.

  ‘We’ve got to decide whether we want to survive … or simply give up and die.’

  The shock? The trauma?
The post massacre malaise? Maybe the arrival of Dominion was the catalyst for change. Elsa watched as the group went from mute fear to nothing less than a pyrotechnic display of arguments and accusations.

  ‘You said we’d be safe once we got clear of the transit station.’

  Paul held up his hands. ‘I never said that. Safer was the word I used. There—’

  ‘What we have to do is find a phone. Then we call the police; tell them we’re turning ourselves in. They won’t harm us.’

  ‘Want to bet?’

  ‘And what are we going to eat out here,’ the redhead demanded, ‘roots and beetles?’

  A thin man with mournful eyes shook his head. ‘There is no escape. We know humanity want us dead. We should surrender ourselves to that fact.’

  ‘You mean just give up?’

  ‘There’s nowhere else to go. There are no hiding places.’

  Elsa detached herself from the group to join Dominion. He stood impassively gazing into the valley where deer drank at a stream.

  ‘Dominion,’ she began, ‘do you just see animals down there, or do you see something else?’

  He said nothing. His black irises followed the movements of a fawn dipping its muzzle into the water.

  ‘You know something?’ she continued. ‘What brought me up here was the sound of singing. I followed the sound from way down there … down where my friend was burned alive … you can still see the smoke from the fire. When I heard the music I figured there was nothing else to do but to find where it was coming from.’ A breeze stirred the grass. ‘Want to know something else? For some reason, when I hear the singing I’m convinced it’s the voices of people who died thousands of years ago. What do you make of that, Dominion?’

  Again no reply, or even a hint that he’d heard what she said.

  Despite his silence she found she couldn’t stop the flow of speech. ‘So I hear songs from dead mouths. What does it mean? I can’t say. All I do know is that when I walked toward the source of the music it brought me here. To these standing stones. And to you.’ By now a huge stag had joined the herd of deer. It raised its head to call out down the valley. ‘Do you think our arrival made them argue.’ Elsa nodded back at the group of survivors who yelled at each other. Paul was trying to placate the angry men and women. ‘They don’t know whether to try and find somewhere safe, or to hand themselves in. Of course, if they do, they’ll be tied to a stake and burned alive. No one wants our kind now. They’re hell-bent on making all God Scarers extinct.’

  Members of the group spilled away. ‘Elsa you remember me. I’m Xaiyad. We used to live on the same floor at the transit station. Will you explain to this idiot’ – he indicated one of the physios who glared at him with his arms tightly folded – ‘explain to this idiot that the locals don’t find us physically repulsive. It’s because the rest of the world imposed economic sanctions on this country, and for the last twenty years ran its industries into the ground – that’s what’s turned the sapheads against us.’

  ‘Sapheads?’ Elsa echoed. ‘Didn’t we decide years ago that to call Homo sapiens sapheads was insulting?’

  ‘Call them anything you like these days,’ Xaiyad retorted bitterly. ‘When they get their hands on us they’ll still rip us apart whether we’re polite to them or not.’

  ‘That’s just the point,’ continued the second man. ‘You just steamroll through—’

  Paul appeared. ‘Show us some mercy, guys. I need to treat Dominion’s wounds, then we should get out of here.’

  Someone snarled, ‘Leave it here.’

  ‘It?’

  ‘You said yourself it killed a soldier. Something went wrong during transition.’ The man tapped his temple. ‘Wrong here. This thing will be a liability.’

  ‘Thing?’ Elsa turned on the man. ‘This thing is the same as us. In humanity’s eyes he’s a monster. Just like you and me!’

  Paul approached Dominion. ‘OK, my wee pal. I’m going to take a look at those wounds. Are you all right with that? You’re not going to pull my head off for my troubles, are you?’

  Elsa turned away from the bickering men. ‘Paul, I’ll help.’

  ‘Thanks. But stay clear of the big guy’s arms. To look at his impression of a statue now you wouldn’t believe it but when the spirit moves him he’s bloody fast.’

  ‘I can handle it.’

  ‘And those not so wee fists of his are like sledgehammers. I can vouch for it.’

  As Paul gently examined the seemingly immovable Dominion she asked, ‘What made him kill the soldier?’

  ‘Self-preservation.’

  ‘We’re not allowed to harm a human, even to save our own lives.’

  ‘I know that. Dominion here is a law unto himself.’

  ‘How bad is it?’

  Paul whistled. ‘I’d like to peel back that skin and take a look at what wonders lie within. I know our bonny clan is hard to kill but these three bullets have only penetrated the skin and subcutaneous layer. They’re not lodged in the chest muscle.’

  ‘So Dominion is different to us?’

  ‘You mean an evolved version of us? You’ve been listening to the same gossip as I have.’ Paul shrugged. ‘Search me. From the look of these slugs I’d say they were handgun fare, either fired from a pistol or sub-machine-gun. They might be low velocity compared with a rifle but even so …’ He whistled. ‘I’m having no luck shifting them.’ He wiped his forehead. ‘Here I am on a hilltop trying to squeeze bullets from flesh like they’re nothing more than metallic blackheads. But no go.’

  ‘Can you leave them in there?’

  ‘I could. My guess is that a guy like Dominion won’t fall prey to infection anytime soon. But I wouldn’t want to risk it.’

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘To remove bullets? A scalpel would be useful. The surrounding tissue has begun to close over them.’ He grunted. ‘Although where we find a scalpel up here is anyone’s guess.’ He glanced up at Dominion. ‘At least our patient is placid. For now.’

  ‘I’ll take a look round,’ Elsa said.

  ‘Ah, you must have been a girl scout in a previous life.’

  ‘Something like that,’ she replied as she walked away.

  If anything, she volunteered to search for a tool that would remove the bullets from Dominion’s chest because she wanted to escape that quarrelsome bunch on the hilltop. By now they were debating that their very act of escape from the transit station massacre might be construed as an act of violence toward humanity.

  As she moved through the bushes she spoke the familiar mantra aloud to herself: ‘Do no harm to humanity. Do not allow harm to befall humanity due to our action or inaction. This is our monster law.’ Maybe we’re all entering the valley of personal madness, she told herself. Our ethical arguments become a flight from reality. Right now, however, Elsa wanted to concern herself with solving practical problems. She needed to find some implement to allow Paul to remove the bullets. What they did then to save their skins was another matter.

  Elsa scanned the ground for a sharp enough object. A piece of broken glass maybe. Or even a sharp enough twig. The branches on the bushes were green and pliant. They wouldn’t be any use. And she could see no glass. The area consisted of grasses, wildflowers and bushes mixed with prickly yellow gorse. The only man-made objects were the standing stones of the Nine Sisters. If this had been a popular place for humankind 3,000 years ago they shunned it now. She didn’t see so much as a cigarette butt. Elsa tilted her head to one side. Even though she concentrated on the sounds around her – the birdsong, the buzz of insects – she couldn’t hear the song of the dead. It had fallen silent again. A mental aberration, she told herself. Your friend died on a pile of burning logs last night. Any wonder you’re hearing things? She paused. A different sound reached her ears now. The faint musical notes of water trickling over stones. In a few steps she’d found its source. Surrounded by lush ferns a spring poured water out of a cleft in the rocks. Elsa crouched beside it. First, s
he cupped her hand to contain some of its crystal waters then she tasted it. Sweet and cold, as if it had passed through a subterranean ice field. A lovely taste. She devoured more. Then, after wiping her lips on her fingertips, she looked down into the small pool that had received the trickle of spring water. This may well be the source of freshwater for the ancient people who’d erected the circle. She could picture muscular figures quenching their thirst after labouring over the blue-black stones 3,000 years ago. After hours of hauling rock this spring must have seemed like a slice of heaven. They’d have relished the flow of ice-cold liquid down their throats. She imagined the bronze age men and women gathered round here at the end of their working day to talk, enjoy the spring water, and take pleasure in the sight of the sun slipping down toward the horizon. After resting for a while they’d gather their belongings then head back to their village for a meal then to sleep.

  Elsa leaned forward over the pool that was no larger than a table top. For a second she studied her reflection. Her widely spaced eyes were calm after the madness of the last seventy-two hours. Her long hair spilled forward, tips touching the surface of the water. When she looked through the surface membrane of the pond her eyes focused on the stones at the bottom of the pond. She dipped her hand into it then dug down into the stones. A moment later she brought out a handful. It occurred to her there might be a shard of glass that Paul could use as a blade to prise the bullets from Dominion’s flesh. All she could see, however, were pebbles as water trickled through her fingers. The pebbles were a dull red, but there were splinters of flint in there that showed as silvery flakes. She repeated the action, allowing her fingers to act as a sieve. At the third attempt she looked at what lay there in her hand and said to herself, ‘This will do.’

  A few minutes later she passed what she’d found to Paul.

  He looked at her in surprise. ‘Elsa? Is this what I think it is?’