They all got out and were ordered beside the house again. The DJ stayed behind them. That did not stop Johnny rubbing his jeans where his phone was and trying to think. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot, no fuckin’ talkin’ unless I say!” The four travellers were lined up while their captor continued to smile at them, sometimes for a minute at a time. This made Lucy and Corey frown angrily in between the heavy breathing. “Right nobody move.” The DJ kept the gun pointed at them while he shuffled away to the left of his house so he could see something behind it in the field. He appeared to laugh, shook his head and skipped back. “A-heh heh. Y’know what?” He said in a chipper tone. “I completely forgot!” The sawn-off was pointed at Corey who widened his gaze. BANG! Corey had a hole through his chest. His former friends all screamed. “Don’t you run or I swear to Christ y’all git the same!”
“You fuckin’ piece of shit,” said Lucy in a failing voice and started to cry.
“Well I’m guessing he never shut the heyll up?” Rick was thinking about making a dive for the gun but didn’t like the distance. “Okay, I’ll come clean. Y’see what it is,” the DJ gestured with his gun, not letting the motionless body now leaking blood get in the way of his point, “there are only three posts in the field.” Rick and Johnny flashed a look at each other which only made their captor smile. “Now I’ve only got 40 minutes till I gotta be on aiyr again. Get steppin’!” Once they got around the large house they could see three well-spaced out posts in a large field, presumably for scarecrows. Johnny cussed under his breath and noticed how much space there was. He considered the fact that if someone was looking at them from a distance they would see a family hunt. He also realised that if the gunshot that killed Corey was heard, and that was a big if, no local would have thought anything of it. Another bit of wildlife bites the dust at the most. A single file was kept during this 300 metre walk towards the first post.
“What about this Angie McWilliams?” the DJ suddenly asked as boots folded grass. Another bad feeling went off in their stomachs. Each tried to think if they had put their foot in it during the ride here. Thinking made it plain to see why Corey went first. “I didn’t know the girl!” said Rick in a quavering voice. “Maybe not, but you could of fuckin’ helped her! We’re not all ‘tarded here y’know.” Silence felt like the best policy. “Well fuck me if my brother fought to protect shitheyds like yourself.” He kept tutting and sighing. “I’m not on no rampage. Just doin’ ma bit.” It was that last comment that made Johnny realise more than anything else this was a mad man. Once they got to the first post the DJ kept a nice distance and chucked them a length of rope. “Okay, now you,” he pointed at Johnny, “tie him up,” he pointed at Rick, “and it better be real tight.” Eyes commutated all kinds which slowed the process but didn’t stop it. Slowly but surely Rick had his hands tied behind him on a post too tall and sturdy to escape. Lucy looked back with tears down both eyes. “C’mown now! Only got 25 minutes till I’m on aiyr again.”
Lucy was next. Johnny knew he needed to do something but was still clueless when the second piece of rope was thrown at him. A single car had not gone past since the horror began. Lucy was tied up as instructed. The DJ got close to her, analysing her bare legs and arms which had already caught the sun. “You git to work on your tan out here ma darlin’.” While he said this Johnny was locked onto a knife he just noticed sticking out of one of his jean pockets. “C’mown then! Ain’t got all day!” With a good five metres established they marched towards the last post. Johnny’s heart was thumping as he stared into the featureless horizon. “Y’know somethin’? You seem like an alright fella, but, the fact you hang out with them lot makes you a shitheyd by default.” Upon getting within three metres of the post the DJ realised how dangerous it was to have to tie a prisoner up himself. “A-heh-heh! Shit! I really haven’t thought this-”
At that moment Johnny gripped the barrel of the sawn-off with his left hand as best he could and successfully took the knife which was jammed right into the bastard’s stomach. A different yell was heard but the madman proved to be rather strong as Johnny tried to twist it. The DJ stomped on a foot of Johnny’s who took the blade out and went for another stab but began to fall…and lose his grip on the barrel. The DJ had a clean shot. Its noise brought about a silence from the remaining two prisoners who were too delirious to know what emotions they were feeling.
“You fuckin’ shitheyd!” The DJ spat on the leaking corpse of Johnny and stumbled back to his house. The ponytail was undone like it may somehow help him cope with his injury. It didn’t matter that he heard Rick and Lucy yelling at each other about how to loosen the ropes. He was hurt bad. Climbing up the stairs was the most difficult thing he had ever done, each effort losing him more blood. He re-entered the dusty radio station, dumped himself on his spinning chair and let out a nihilistic laugh. “Urh, welcome back.” He had to cough while putting pressure onto his abdomen. “We hoped you enjoyed that and…urh…want you to know we’ve got plenty more of that good ‘ole Oklahoma brand of country.” He glanced at the framed picture of his brother, glugged whiskey from a nearby bottle and raised it to him. “I’m pleased to say I’ve got a whole hour of the incomparable Willie Nixon – my brother’s favourite - may god rest his soul.”
He hit the button to start the record and looked down at his wound which was pissing blood, blood which was leaking through the cracks in the floor. He felt real woozy and heard a ringing in his ear. This eventually characterised itself as sirens. They were coming from cars which were making their way up his dirt track - at the top of which laid Corey. “Well I’ll be dayumed.” Turns out this was the third complaint about a station fabricating accidents – the last two in conjunction with missing people. The officers got out of their cars, used their open doors as shields and demanded that “Noah Brooks come out, unarmed and with your hands up!” Standing once more Noah pulled down the ladder which led to his sniping spot. In an effort that all but killed him he ascended to the secret area, wedged the gun into his shoulder, put the earphones in and looked through its scope. The head of an officer flickered in and out of the crosshairs as it became difficult to aim. Rather than squeeze the trigger he aimed upwards and zoomed in to see a Buick cruising along. The driver was solo, nodding his head, tapping the steering wheel. He was listening to 131.1 FM. Noah had just about enough strength left to smile.
Mocarium Disferia
With the slide correctly positioned he turned his microscope on. The ocular lens has its own magnification but cooperates with a choice of four other ‘objective’ lenses that can magnify up to 1000 times what the naked eye can manage. Adjusting the light is needed so the subject is neither dull nor washed out. A dye is required to colour the microorganism’s tissue. Once everything has been tweaked it’s time to watch the show. Less than half a millimetre in length, an amoeba shapeshifts its plasma body to create pseudopods (arm-like appendages) which help it move. Those with no interest see animated saliva. That is not the case here. Despite watching it many times he doesn’t blink to watch those pseudopods trap bacterium. It’s feeding time. Technically the process is called phagocytosis and involves a kind of absorption. To watch this in real time can take yonks. After twenty minutes he stands upright to give his neck a rest. The study is not taking place in a lab but an 18 year old’s room.
Rishu Bajwa considered himself an amateur microbiologist. It’s true there were no qualifications to his name but he had been reading up for three years, owned lots of equipment and conducted field work. This had pinched his social life. Even his dentist encouraged him to go out more. When his parents weren’t fighting the same cause they’d smile at his singlemindedness. “He’s really good you know?” Rishu’s mum would tell dad. School had been something of a sore point. He was poor at English and worse at maths. A mild interest in chemistry won average grades. His capacity to learn remained low until he stumbled across Robert Hooke’s 1665 publication Micrographia in a city library. Open for exhibition inside a glass case, Rishu
read the little blurb then focused on this extraordinary drawing of a drone fly. This particular sketch was of its head, allowing for a great close-up of its honeycomb eyes and mouthpart. Rishu was blown away by the precision – achieved with the aid of a microscope. Something about the detail on something so tiny gripped him. A secondary, more much interesting world existed with the help of magnification. When Rishu got home he downloaded it on pdf and it became his favourite book.
One of its contributions was the coining of the term ‘cell’. The amoeba he had been looking at was single-celled and spoke of his primary interest - parasites. Cordyceps fungi which destroys ant colonies, hairworms that take over praying mantises, the green-banded broodsac which turns a snails’ eyes into pulsating bait, so it may attract a bird, so it may carry on inside a new host - these micro assassins that fall under everything’s radar! But nothing could arrest Rishu’s attention quite like the parasites which can be deadly to humans, most notably the organism known as Naegleria Fowleri or “brain-eating amoeba”.
The basics of microbiology and parasitology were hoovered up. Rishu could both recognize and describe the life cycles of many organisms instantly. If you showed too much interest he would begin to speak in a different language. All the scientific jargon was reeled off like he invented it. Within his room there were still traces of an obsession with video games. Nowadays those consoles were pushed firmly underneath the television, control pads an all. The walls were covered in reference material and upon his desk stood the microscope. With the dawn of each new day he dreamt about the big contribution he was destined to make. The next logical step was to get a place on the microbiology course at the University of Manchester. Until then it was the waiting game.
This summer break was set to be an irritating one if he stayed indoors. His mum would not stop pestering to go out more while his dad routinely asked for help at a furniture business. If this happened when he was in the middle of something Rishu would end up arguing – a common event because it usually ended with him being forced out. From here it was into town where he would meet up with his three mates. Because each had different interests that meant lots of walking, first checking out the clothes stores on Market Street. Next they would drift in and out of game stores, argue about which current titles were the best. A stroll through the Arndale followed, eventually turning into the market for a panini or a burrito, fairly good for the price. The common theme throughout was taking the piss out of each other, a benign piss-taking were no one was singled out and everyone found it funny. The classic finale was to settle in a pub where football might be on. Though Rishu had a good time with them he wasn’t as big a fan of drinking. It always made him focus on what to do when back home. He took ages to finish his customary one pint.
New equipment was ordered whenever possible. At the moment he was waiting for some containers, syringes and a face mask. He planned to take samples of a local canal. Field work was essential and brought with it the exciting possibility of a new species. The area he intended to visit was well guarded from pedestrians and residents alike, stowed under a metal bridge while large, steel columns were dotted about the location. The face mask was needed to prevent inhalation of anything that may cause illness. Rishu’s only real concern was his friends catching him which would lead to heckling then being yanked into the pub. It wasn’t a problem that his parents knew.
With it being mid-July you’d expect it to be sunny but in Manchester everything was overcast and not particularly warm. As soon as the equipment came through the door Rishu unpacked it and made the trip to town. From one of the bridges he descended some stairs and navigated the canal below to get to the said area under the metal bridge. Everything was peaceful when he got there. Out came the syringe to take a sample, the container to put it into. On went the face mask. Positioning himself by the edge of this calm body of water, Rishu looked at its muddy complexion. Getting on his knees was necessary. After doing one he put a lid on it and then walked further along to get another. Aside from microorganisms he was also checking for the water quality via PH levels and so forth. Within the hour he was back home.
The manner in which he prepared his slides and microscope you’d think Rishu was on the cusp of something. In reality this was normal, excited at the prospect of refining his skills. With everything ready and container uncorked he used a pipette to take out a miniscule amount of fluid that was squeezed out onto the slide. He gazed through the ocular lens with a grin. There wasn’t much to look at save for common bacterium and microorganisms. That did not stop him from admiring them. Once it was removed a new slide was used for the second sample. A bit more fluid was squeezed out this time and he switched to maximum magnification. On this setting the detail was excellent, good enough to sketch from. Rishu watched the same things float about then adjusted the knob on the side to move the viewing platform. There was nothing out of the norm…until he worked his way to the far left of the slide.
Clearly it was a protozoan in its Trophozoite or active stage (when it searches for food), but its shape was highly irregular. The outline was not oval but branched off in other directions. At its base were multiple flagellums (hair-like appendages). It looked like a miniature weed that had been uprooted. The shape of it really did not fall in line with, well, anything else, but Rishu took his time to confirm hallmarks of an amoeba. Its motion was also strange, randomly folding parts of that multi-limbed body. A fine membrane undulated around the perimeter. It varied in speed and reversed the action which was kind of hypnotising. Rishu knew there could be other anomalies and used the pipette to reclaim this specimen. He put it into a new container, labelled it then checked the last sample which was similar to the first.
It was important not to get ahead of himself. He flipped through his many books to check this find wasn’t easily dispelled. An hour of scanning his picture index showed nothing like it. This growing feeling of having discovered something put him in a state of inactivity. He was too excited to make the next step. He considered bringing the specimen to the university but feared they would take credit for it. For the best part of a week he barely showed his face. When his mates got in contact for a drink he claimed to have no money. When they said they’d pay for his he suddenly became ill.
One afternoon Rishu’s mum was busy hoovering. She had been doing it for so long he interpreted it as trying to purposefully disturb, so he’d be forced to go out. He was currently looking for similar microorganisms online but could no longer concentrate. When he was sure of her intent Rishu stuck his head out of his room to protest. Sure enough mum quickly revealed her cards and an argument began in which personal things were said. The resulting silence eventually became uncomfortable. Rishu’s mum reached out to her son one evening when he was fixing dinner.
Originally from New Delhi, the Bajwa’s had been a part of this neighbourhood for three generations. Their late grandfather had made it a point to integrate as best he could, to be British without hiding his faith, and Rishu’s parents had carried on the tradition to the point they were perhaps the most beloved neighbours in a mostly white neighbourhood. Rishu was told that university is just as much about meeting new, interesting people as it is studying. She just didn’t want her only child to lock himself away when the time came for him to leave home. Rishu could see in her eyes that she was going to miss him, and that ultimately, all the fussing and grating habits were signs of care. He acknowledged her points and she promised to ease up on the issue which was timely. Following the truce Rishu decided he should run tests on his specimen.
For ideal conditions he picked an afternoon when dad was away at the furniture store and mum was a few blocks down with a friend. The plan was to conduct simple tests that wouldn’t risk killing it. After turning the microscope on Rishu used the pipette to transfer the microorganism onto a new slide. A good start was to place bacterium from one of the other samples beside it. He carefully watched it move closer and marginally extend one of its body-spokes. For a minute nothing happe
ned. Then, in a blink, the bacterium was sucked up into this passageway. There appeared to be some kind of rigid structure where the endoplasm (a fluid like centre) normally is. While Rishu considered the possibility this was in fact not an amoeba he watched the bacterium rapidly ping about until it became nothing. A moment after it escaped 1000X magnification a purple tinge may have come over the specimen, “but I’m not certain,” he scribbled down.
Like any self-respecting microbiologist, Rishu had various samples. Again using the pipette he seized a Stentor (a trumpet-shaped Protozoa) and put it next to the unidentified. Normal amoeba could ingest Stentor’s the usual way but were too big to go up one of those channels. When it got close enough one of them elongated to then pierce the outer membrane. This was very unusual. Next the endoplasm was sucked out. Seen as this regenerates it did not kill it so Rishu put it back in its container. He continued to jot down what he was seeing. “The tip of one of its body-spokes morphed in order to pierce membrane – highly advanced anatomy for something that appears to be single-celled.” There were many other microorganisms he could have used but Rishu decided to up the ante.
Instead of using the pipette he used a needle to prick his finger. Rishu wanted to see how this microorganism reacted to human blood. Pushing the microscopes platform to one side he pricked his index and squeezed out a drop many times bigger than the specimen. Once it got close Rishu waited for it to utilise one of its passageways. Instead it disappeared into the pool of red. Two minutes and nothing happened. Rishu feared he had killed it. Another minute and there was some kind of reaction. Tiny bubbles appeared on the surface. Quickly they multiplied and got much bigger, so big in fact that when Rishu used the naked eye for curiosity sakes he could just about see them bubble away on top of the slide. This lasted for another minute. At its conclusion the blood dried out and there was no more trace of life. Actually, it appeared Rishu had killed it. Still he wrote enthusiastically, but now with a frown, “Strong reaction to blood, perhaps a chemical one – formation of bubbles – no more sign of life.”
Dare to Read: 13 Tales of Terror Page 14
