by Seth Rain
‘I saw your tattoo. Still don’t know the year?’ Mick asked.
‘No,’ Scott said. ‘They gave it to me, but I didn’t want to know.’
‘Good decision, I’d say. I thought the Chosen were meant to lead the way for the rest of them?’
‘I don’t think any of it makes sense.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Mick said.
They carried the bodies from the cart and placed them on the pyre. Scott took a blanket from the stretcher and covered the old man and woman. As he arranged the blanket, he noticed a little of the old woman’s eye beneath a half-closed eyelid – violet like the others.
‘Why them and not us?’ Mick asked, staring at the shrouded couple. ‘Do you know?’
‘No.’
‘What makes us so different?’
Scott had no answers. ‘Have you seen the colour of their eyes?’
Mick nodded. ‘Must have something to do with it.’
They both stared at the bodies laid out before them.
‘We’ll do just the two today,’ Mick said. ‘Then get back to the girl.’ He lit the pyre, took several steps backwards and bowed his head.
‘Mr and Mrs Martins,’ he said.
‘Mr and Mrs Martins,’ Scott said, also bowing.
The fire erupted, and they pushed the cart back to the pub. It was still early. Dawn would still be in bed asleep, Joe curled up on the bed beside her.
When they reached the other side of the square and looked across at the pub, a car burst into life and sped away down the lane.
‘No!’ Scott said, running to the pub.
Mick followed, his stride lumbering and heavy.
‘Check on her!’ Mick shouted.
The pub door was open. Scott bounded through the door and up the stairs to the bedrooms. He burst into Dawn’s room, knowing she wouldn’t be there. He was right.
He checked the other rooms but there was no sign of her.
From downstairs, there was a deep moaning.
Scott took the stairs three at a time.
It was Joe: he hung in a doorway from his neck. His tongue lolled and his legs swung back and forth.
Mick stared at the dog, a hand covering his mouth.
‘She’s not here,’ Scott said. ‘They’ve taken her.’
‘How long has she got?’ Mick asked, reaching to take down the dog. ‘What’s her date?’
Scott’s brow furrowed. ‘Not yet. And she’s pregnant.’
Mick’s hands stopped, before moving again to release the dog.
‘We need to go after her,’ Scott said.
Mick shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t think we’ll get her back now.’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘There’ll be more of them.’
‘Who the hell are they?’
‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed,’ Mick said, ‘but there ain’t a lot of young women around these days.’ Mick laid the dog on the ground and rested a hand on his side.
‘Young women?’
‘There are men out there who’re trying to get hold of ’em – any young woman they can get their hands on.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I told you – I’ve not seen anyone for weeks. Didn’t think they’d turn up now.’
‘I’m going after them.’
Mick rested a hand on the dog’s side. ‘You have guns in that vehicle of yours?’
‘No,’ Scott said. ‘Didn’t bring them with me.’
Mick disappeared into a room behind the bar and came out with a large duffel bag.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Mick asked.
Scott thought back to the night Dawn had arrived at Hassness House. Remembering that moment now made him see it as important. It wasn’t just hindsight – he’d thought it at the time. For no other reason than he figured it was the right thing to do, he wanted to look after her. He thought that must be down to some malfunctioning paternal gene inside him. But whatever it was, the idea of those men hurting Dawn made his skin burn and his chest fill with rage. His anger was coloured by what had happened to Rebecca, Freya, Isaiah…
‘I’m sure.’
Seven
Scott recognised the London streets. ‘We’re close,’ he said.
Freya, who sat next to Noah on the back seat, leaned forward and pointed to the self-driver’s display. ‘Two minutes away.’
‘We should get out here,’ Noah said. ‘Freya, where do we meet your contact?
‘By the river,’ she said. ‘Tate Modern – the old Bankside Power Station.’
‘And he’ll tell us where to find Juliet?’
‘That’s the plan.’ She leaned forward, looking through the windscreen. ‘Pull over,’ she said to the self-driver.
Through the window, Scott watched people go about their business. But there was a difference in the way people walked, the way they spoke to one another, the way they looked up at the sky. It was impossible to say exactly what it was or to describe it, but it had something to do with belief, with control being sacrificed to the inevitable. How people could be so passive amazed him. Yet he’d been guilty of doing the same himself.
Scott got out of the self-driver and followed Freya and Noah. They walked along the side of the Thames. Before him, behind the river, which arced to the right, was the London skyline, clear and shining in the June sun. Once again, the majesty and scale of the sight made him doubt the death sentence Mathew had given humanity; it seemed so unlikely, given everything that humanity had achieved, that he could wipe it all out so abruptly.
Noah had changed. In only a few months, he appeared to have aged, exaggerated because of his dishevelled hair and grey beard. He was broken. Of all the people Scott had known, maybe except Freya, Scott thought Noah was the most determined of all. But the defeat Noah was feeling was clear in every footstep, in every sigh. Scott saw the same defeat in the faces he passed. He recalled a poem he’d read at school many years before. A William Blake poem: ‘London’. It was as though Blake had foretold the future – this moment in time, when people advertised their loss of hope on their faces. He’d never forgotten the line about ‘mind-forged manacles’. Scott felt them too. Noah, like every other person who avoided eye contact, wore them. But not Freya. She always rebelled. It was in her make-up. She still hoped they could stop Mathew’s date. Scott doubted it.
Freya pointed to a narrow alleyway running alongside the old power station.
Scott turned, checking they weren’t being followed. He glanced up for signs of drones. There were two, but hovering some distance away on the other side of the river. Surveillance would detect them if Mathew was looking for them, but he had no reason to do that. He had more important matters to deal with. Scott had served his purpose.
Freya led the way into the alleyway, Scott bringing up the rear.
A Watcher stepped out of a doorway in front of Freya.
‘Samuel,’ she said, relief in her voice.
The Watcher nodded, his expression stern, his eyes flitting between the three of them. ‘We need to be quick,’ he said, peering through the narrow space between the buildings.
‘Mathew’s not interested in us,’ she said.
The Watcher gave her a concerned look.
‘Where is she?’ Noah asked impatiently.
The Watcher held up a hand. ‘She’s fine.’
‘Fine?’ Noah snapped. ‘She’s a prisoner.’
Freya put a hand on Noah’s arm. ‘It’s okay, Noah. He wants to help us. Help Juliet.’
Noah half-turned away and shrugged away Freya’s hand.
‘Samuel, can you tell us when and where?’ Freya asked.
The Watcher looked up at the sky and shook his head. ‘Mathew can’t know I’ve done this.’
‘You know, deep down, that what Mathew’s doing is wrong,’ Freya said.
The Watcher shook his head slowly, his face reddening. ‘Mathew … he’s doing … things … to young women.’
‘Like what?’ Scott asked, his brow furrowed, the word ‘things’ ringing in his head.
‘I don’t know.’ The Watcher rubbed his face with both hands. ‘I shouldn’t say anything.’
‘You’re lying,’ Scott said. ‘What’s he doing to the women?’
‘It won’t change anything if I tell you,’ the Watcher said.
Noah moved closer to the Watcher, as if about to grab him. Freya stood between them.
‘Help us get her out,’ Freya said. ‘If the Rapture is His doing, then nothing we can do will stop that. But if it’s Mathew’s doing, we have to stop him.’
The Watcher’s expression changed: his eyes set on Freya, his mouth straight and firm.
The three of them waited for the Watcher to speak.
‘She’s being moved,’ the Watcher said finally. ‘Thursday morning. There will be two Watchers with her.’
‘Why’s he keeping her prisoner?’ Scott asked.
The Watcher frowned, as though this was a foolish question. ‘Because he loves her.’
‘He loves her?’ Noah asked. ‘So he keeps her locked away?’
‘Mathew sees it as protection,’ the Watcher said. ‘Until it’s time.’
‘Why’s he moving her?’ Freya asked.
‘He wants her away from the AI, in case she manages to connect with it somehow.’ The Watcher’s eyes rested on Scott. ‘There are rumours that the AI contacted you.’
Scott felt three pairs of eyes on him.
‘We don’t have time for this now,’ Freya said.
The Watcher handed Freya a piece of paper. ‘This is where she’ll be taken. I think.’
‘You think?’ Noah asked.
Again Freya placed a hand on Noah’s arm to stop him, then smiled at the Watcher. ‘Thank you again, Samuel.’
The Watcher nodded, turned to leave, then stopped. ‘Do you think He wants this?’
Freya shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But we have to be sure it’s His doing and not Mathew’s.’
The Watcher nodded, then hurried through the alleyway and out onto the path beside the river.
Eight
Scott sped along the country lane after the car.
Mick, on the back seat, took guns out of the large duffel bag and loaded them with ammunition.
‘You should have told me there was a chance those men would come back,’ Scott said.
‘I told you. But I haven’t seen anyone around here for weeks. I’d never have left her alone if I thought—’
The front wheel hit the verge, the front of the 4x4 lifting off the ground before slamming back down with a thud.
‘I shouldn’t have left her alone,’ Scott said. ‘It was down to me.’
Mick pushed a magazine of bullets into a rifle, making a snapping sound. He held the gun up to his face and aimed out of the window.
‘Where do you think they’ll go?’ Scott asked.
‘Keep going,’ Mick said. He leaned forward and pointed. ‘That way.’
Scott turned onto a wider road and powered up the hill.
‘Stop here,’ Mick said.
Scott skidded the 4x4 to a stop on top of the hill and they got out.
‘What are we doing?’
‘Shush,’ Mick said. He closed his eyes and lifted his chin. ‘Listen.’
The fields and trees swayed back and forth with the breeze. Scott waited and listened. There it was – the faint hum of an engine, a car accelerating.
Mick opened his eyes and pointed. ‘There. See? Dust.’
Scott got back into the 4x4, waited for Mick, who got into the passenger seat, and set off after the car. Scott drove as fast as he could.
‘They won’t go far,’ Mick said. He gripped the rifle tightly, the other one lying across his lap, waiting for Scott. ‘They won’t think anyone’s crazy enough to follow them.’
‘Turn right,’ Mick said, at a T-junction. ‘There’s a village that way. Oakengate. That’s where they’ll go.’
‘How do you know?’
‘That way,’ he said again, pointing. ‘Like I said, they won’t think anyone’s dumb enough to follow them. So there’s no need to go far.’
The wheels skidded as they hurtled down another country lane. After half a minute, they were in the village.
‘Slow down,’ Mick said. ‘We don’t want them hearing us.’
Scott eased off the accelerator and coasted into the village.
‘We need to stop,’ Mick said. ‘Look for them on foot.’
‘We have to find her before…’
‘If we turn up in a 4x4, they’ll see us. If something happens to us, she doesn’t stand a chance.’
Undecided, Scott stared at the road ahead then pulled over next to a row of shops that had been looted, the windows and doors smashed in. He opened the door. ‘Give me one of those,’ he said, motioning at a rifle.
Mick threw it over to him. ‘You know how to use it?’
‘Yeah,’ Scott said. ‘I know how to use it.’
Mick led the way through an alleyway behind a church. Hunched over, Scott silently followed.
‘I see it,’ Mick whispered. ‘Their car.’
Mick gestured for Scott to edge closer, then pointed to a large house on the edge of the village.
‘They’re in there,’ Mick said.
Scott set off in front.
‘Back way,’ Mick said, pointing to a passageway to the side of the house.
Scott was both angry and afraid. He leaned against the house wall. Mick reached past him to check the patio door. It was open. Mick beckoned for Scott to follow him.
Inside, Dawn was screaming and yelling.
Scott ran in and up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, he kicked open a closed door.
Dawn was on a bed. There was a man on top of her. Scott struck him with the butt of his rifle and the man fell off the bed. Two other men were in the room. One had a gun and fired at Scott. Then there was the sound of two gunshots from behind. Mick’s rifle. The two men fell to the ground. The man Scott had hit was either dead or unconscious, he couldn’t be sure – and in that moment he didn’t care which it was.
Dawn leapt from the bed and ran out of the room.
The three men lay on the floor, motionless.
‘You okay?’ Mick asked Scott.
Scott checked himself, patting his chest and legs. In the wall behind him was a bullet hole.
Mick knelt beside the men on the floor and looked at their hands. Each one had a homemade tattoo – today’s date. They wanted tattoos like the Chosen and had done it to themselves, or maybe each other. Scott remembered Dearil … and the only other time he’d brought about someone’s death on their date. He thought about the Watchers and about the time he had tried to shoot himself to prove the date was wrong.
‘We should go,’ Scott said.
Mick shook his head. ‘I think this is all of them. Since it’s their date today, they must have figured they’d nothing to lose.’
Scott left the room and searched for Dawn, who had run into the bathroom and locked the door. He knocked.
‘Dawn. Did they hurt you? Are you okay?’
There was no answer, only the sound of running water.
‘They’re gone,’ Scott said. ‘You’re safe now.’
The water stopped. All was quiet inside the room.
‘They killed him,’ she said.
Scott leaned his ear closer to the door, his brow furrowed. ‘Killed who?’
‘Joe,’ Dawn said. ‘They killed him.’
Scott placed the rifle on the floor and sat with his back against the wall next to the bathroom door. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have left you there alone.’
After a short while, the door opened. Dawn stood in the doorway, her shirt and jumper ripped, her expression tired and hurt. She looked younger than he remembered, and he wanted to hold her. Comfort her.
‘They’re gone,’ was all he could say.
‘Please tell me,’ she said.
‘My date. Please.’
Scott stood, picking up the rifle at the same time.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘I need to know.’
‘Why? It’s a curse. Believe me.’
‘Please,’ she said, wiping her eyes.
Scott looked away. Knowing her date was a burden and he imagined the relief he would feel if he told her. But it would change everything for her. ‘I will,’ he said. ‘But not here. Not now.’
Nine
Mick laid Joe on the pyre that was smouldering with the remains of the Martins. He added more timber around and on top of the dog.
Scott placed a hand on Mick’s shoulder and glanced at Dawn, who stood with her arms folded across her chest.
Mick lit the fire. Joe’s fur disappeared in a flurry of blue, then yellow, flames.
‘I know someone,’ Scott said to Mick. ‘Someone who might help.’
Staring into the flames, Mick said, ‘Help? How?’
‘Her name’s Juliet. She was one of the programmers who developed the AI.’
‘I heard she was dead,’ Mick said.
Scott shook his head slowly. ‘No.’ He felt Dawn staring intently at him.
‘What can she do?’ Dawn asked, unfolding her arms.
Scott was still not used to her talking to him, and tried not to act surprised.
‘There might be others whose dates are wrong. I’ve heard it many times.’
‘Like yours?’ Dawn asked.
Mick looked from Dawn to Scott. ‘Your date’s wrong?’ Mick asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ Scott said. ‘I don’t know. Juliet can speak with the AI. She might help us.’
Mick looked around the village square, then back to the fire. ‘Can’t see a reason for sticking around here.’
‘Where is she?’ Dawn asked. ‘Juliet?’
‘She came north too,’ Scott said. ‘After the Rapture. She headed to Scotland.’
‘Scotland?’ Mick said.
‘Loch Tay.’
Mick stroked his beard. ‘It could take days to get there.’
‘You have other plans?’ Scott asked. ‘The motorways are pretty clear.’
‘The whole way?’
‘Maybe,’ Scott said. ‘We should try.’
