by Loui Downing
The door opened with a bored creak to reveal the shadow of a young man starring at the contents of the shack. To his surprise it was quite clean, well cleaner than he had ever seen. A broken chair lent up against some loose bricks near the plastic smeared windows. For the first time in a while he actually felt safe. He closed the door that latched as the metal collided on either side. It was approaching the afternoon and Neville’s stomach was becoming more impatient. He placed down a clump of leaves that he retrieved from his jacket pocket. Blood ran down is arm and onto the moon coloured concrete. The leaves unraveled to uncover animal meat. Neville went outside and sprinted down to the cottage below, with the hope of finding cooking utensils. He came out struggling to lift a maroon rucksack lofted over his shoulder, full of pans and cutlery. In his hands laid several logs for a fire he was to start. The first thing he wanted to do was to initiate a fire in the corner of the shack, as one outside would be too risky and leave a risk of a trace. He placed some wood into a pan and lit with a match; throwing a wire mesh over the top for the meat. The tough and radiant red meat hissed as it felt the heat; blood dripping slowly into the fire. The only thing that troubled Neville was that he had never cooked like this before, so he made a guess at when it was ready. The hours past and it was soon approaching four o’clock thought Neville; reaching for a metal canister and generously pouring some wine into it and sat back, looking out at the stars that could already be seen due to the light cloud cover.
A gigantic glow enlarged across his face at the thought of the things in front of him; for once he felt happy and relaxed. Feeling glad that he had escaped the patrols, yet sad at the thought at where he could be in a few days. Part of him wondered whether to stay there and wait until he was found, surely no one would punish him, and after all he is a young man.
The meat and wine warmed Neville, returning a normal colour to his face. He grabbed his rucksack and lifted out a duvet and some pillows and placed them underneath the window. After a quick inspection for horrid insects he could settle nicely. As soon as his head touched the pillow his eyes were falling like the flames of the fire. Random flickers of flame light remained the only thing active, creating an orange and chocolate glow over the shack’s innards. Neville’s consciousness faded as e eyes felt even heavier and his muscles relaxing one by one. He started to dream again, this time he lay motionless as though he had expected it.
“Neville…Neville…wake up!” cried Liona, as she laid out the breakfast for the family. Neville was slumped in all directions over his bed, his hair sticking in every direction possible. He lifted his head and gave a grunt for a response back to her. Neville hated morning, especially this one. It was the start of his revision sessions at school for his exams, and despised revision as an unnecessary task.
Joseph came thundering into the room as Neville realised and started to tidy himself, however his attempts had gone unnoticed.
“We have to leave Neville, get up, this is serious!” said Joseph, his throat fluctuating with nerves. Neville got up finally and snapped back his curtains, noticing the unusually busy activity on the roads outside. Roads jammed with cars of people all rushing around. The door slammed at his house and he stood there as he watched his family drive away. He ran after them, calling their names as he burst out of the house. A note lay on the kitchen table as he went back inside’.
Neville,
Edward isn’t well. Keep safe.
Mum and Dad
The clatter of the shack door restored Neville facing the small beams of the roof. A bitter coldness covered the landscape as it must have been around four or five in the morning. He wiped away the sweat from his forehead and walked outside and stretched. Still nothing was around, no activity, no nothing. It seemed to surprise him every day, although he half expected to wake up and everything was normal again. A glum feeling at the pit of his stomach ate away at him, despising himself at not leaving with them. Why mum and dad would leave without me is a mystery, thought Neville. He pondered over where they could have all gone, but came to a dead end, something that would happen every time he tried to think further than his dreams.
The story that had twisted and torn at him now grew into a deeper desire to uncover what was involved in his past. If he could go back now and change his decision, it would certainly be that one without a doubt. Even though he had no idea where they had gone, he knew that life may have been different if he had just listened to their concerns. He felt at that age like everyone had given up on him, but now looking back he realises he had more than he knew and was angry about the fact. If only he knew what happened that day. His memories magnified by his dreams, if only he could sleep for longer he could uncover more about his childhood. Since that day his life had taken a dramatic decline, being lonesome in his teens and growing up on his own, teaching himself to read and write and reading newspapers people had thrown away. He used to get bullied by other pupils at a school nearby him, as he used to try and listen in on the tuition outside of the class window. In light of all this misery, one thing that remained with Neville was his unique and dignified spirit to persevere.
Morning rose early as Neville listened to the birds’ chirps from the shack door. Sodden air wrapped around him and a pong of socks hit him hard as he entered the shack again. Realising that he was the cause of the smell, he decided to find a stream or water nearby. A well lay perfectly in the back of the cottage garden so Neville washed himself as much as he could, he had never felt so fresh before. His socks rinsed a baffling blue, a collection of muck from his travels trailing along each limestone towards the depths of the well. Neville finished cleaning himself and placed some old boots on that had been left outside even though they were a few sizes bigger than him, so it looked as though his was wearing flippers. A crunch under his feet made him look down to find a radio device in bits. After carefully examination of it he found the volume and listened in.
“Red 3PL D00ER- what is your position? I repeat Red 3PL D00ER this is Foil BG1 do you copy?” crackled a man’s voice, Neville’s heart racing at the thought of a patrol being nearby. The radio went silent and crackled as Neville listened for a few minutes later, trying to gain as much information as possible.
“Three children Red 44HL W225R in zone 3J can you check it out?” prompted another voice coming in thick and fast, Neville only just catching snippets of the sentence.
“BG7 this is Red 44HL W225R I have located a house in zone 2AP contains evidence of life. I say around 2 hours ago” replied a much younger women’s voice. Neville couldn’t believe the thought of other survivors. He had to get to them and fast, but how could he. Neville starred continuously at a tiny map on the reverse of the radio. His finger hovered over ‘Horndon’.
The orange tangy flash agitated the workers within the surveillance quarters. Men and children busy recording and repairing devices for the capture and prevention of procreation. A young boy around fifteen-years old received a splatter of soup and stale bread for his lunch. His clothes in pieces like his health, although from his expression it wasn’t revealed. The scruffy old maid in the canteen was always miserably; she often threw people’s meals at them if they wanted more or asked for it’d ingredients. If you were not quite awake enough you could end up with food all over your face as Rue once experienced.
“Rufus!” shouted another boy, much older than the young boy. His nickname was Rue, but Andrew purposely used to call him Rufus, which resulted in Andrew being hung from the locker area by is t-shirt if they were alone and he said it. He carried on slurping his soup and ignored the calls of Andrew, praying that he wouldn’t see him. Unfortunately, he was spotted cowering to lower his face from Andrew.
“What you doing down there? Not hiding I hope!” said Andrew loudly as he slapped his back with a harsh swoop.
“No…no I’m just…” replied Rue, struggling to improvise for an excuse.
“Yeah, well I’ve just been talking to with Dennis Tenderton, you know the Ca
ptain’s left hand man’s son. He says that there has been reports of a survivor in England, he has killed some people and he is still hasn’t been caught. There are three children survivors also which may be in danger” said Andrew, within hesitating for a breath of air.
“Really? What are they doing about it?” questioned Rue as he politely placed his fork into an undercooked square of carrot.
“Patrols everywhere apparently, searching for him high and low, no idea why they are making such a fuss though” replied Andrew, taking a large gulp of orange juice.
The boys froze as an older girl walked passed them and headed for the canteen area; her name is Sun-Hi. She would flock her hair from side to side and pronounce her walk if she knew any of the boys were watching. Her skin is as fresh as a handful of natural spring water. Her parents came to England in the earl eighties, as her mother was connected to the fashion industry and they followed the work as well as the fame. She on the other hand came into the world in the year of nineteen-ninety-nine. Her mother Sen-Win Hi and father Sey-Yung Hi died in a tragic aeroplane crash on the return from a promotional evening from America. Despite the hurt within her childhood she was taken under the wings of foster parents Brian and Angella Weelmouth. A kind and honest couple from southern England, that work hard and play hard. They enjoy theatre and art, Brain has the gifted talent of oil painting, and has had three in the national art gallery in London, whereas Angella is musically gifted with instruments like the cello and violin.
Sun-Hi was overwhelmed with the support that they gave to her. Not to mention the vast sums of money heading her way every so often.
Andrew and Rue were temporarily disengaged from the world that much that they didn’t see their friend Seef approaching.
“Hi!” said Seef as he banged his tray of food down beside Rue.
“Oi, guys come on. You know she knows it!” added Seef, identifying where their eyes were directed at.
“We know, but it is a nice sight!” replied Andrew, obtaining a disgusted look off a female guard as she walked passed.
“So, what have you been up to Seef?” asked Rue, intrigued as Seef is always up to something or other. Seef is around five and a half feet tall, average build and is a scientific genius. He is unpopular with the ladies but is renowned for his scientific breakthroughs to aid the production of surveillance equipment and services.
Mid-afternoon settled in only to be woken by a deafening walling and flashing green lights. Officers and workers rushing around into other buildings as fast as they could and disappearing. A stream of robotics paraded down the main building, heading for the docking bay. Silver in their complexion but built like a human. A metallic clap on the ground identified their density and possible strength. Heading off the main cargo hold and down onto the island, heading off into the forest ahead stealthily, crouching and virtually silent. As soon as the slithery robots scattered through the terrain the wailing and flashing lights halted. Captain Ingle came out of the shadow and walked towards the control room clutching some confidential papers underneath his arm. As the light faded the frost swooped in leaving its breath on everything possible. He reached for a heavy clock on a nearby rail and headed for the balcony that overlooked the front cargo hold. A south-easterly wind bruised and battered him from side to side, rippling up and down his clock. A sense of regret dawned on the Captain, although he reassured himself that he was doing the right thing. He opened the pale documents and started to shred the paper with his hands and tossed it over the ships edge as he watched it plunge into the mouth of the ocean.
Neville collects his belongings and heads back to the car he saw earlier, only to find that the body is no longer there and there are robots stood looking at him intently.
“Come quietly” said a soft voice from underneath the glove compartment. Neville moved a few inches, only to notice the robots replicate his move. With a sudden sprint he leapt into the car and began sparking the cars ignition to get it started.
“Come on…come on” cried Neville as he frantically tried to start the engine. At last the car revved up, but the robots were closing in on him and could be seen sprinting at full speed in the rear view mirror. He jammed the car into gear and pressed down on the accelerator with his hand, forcing the car into a skid as it sped off down the road. A loud clamping noise from behind Neville made him jump and temporarily lose control. A robot had caught up with him and had jumped onto the thin covering material of the roof. Neville looked up and saw the material rip and a mechanical hand jolt through as it connected with his neck. The car swayed off into the muddy side road, throwing stones and rubbish flying into the wind behind. The robot had full grip of Neville and wouldn’t let go at all costs. Neville was being hoisted out of his seat except his seatbelt was halting him, cutting into his stomach and shoulder. A creature dashed out from under the passenger seat, grabbed hold of the robot and jammed a sharp stick into the wires, releasing his grip on Neville. Neville resumed his seat and attended to his shoulder, he was in so much pain it felt as though it was dislocated. The creature was an odd creature wearing rags and no shoes. His hair messy and oily like his ugly yet kind face.
“! s’R.I.A esoht nrobbutS” spoke the creature, smiling and looking condescendingly at the mangled robot in the rear view mirror.
“What?” replied Neville, in slow motion.
“Ah, English! Sorry, thawt you were one of vowz” replied the creature.
“What are you?” added Neville, looking intently at the creature before him.
“A gangloi ov course! Have vou not heard of me! I vam in charge of retrieving things vom your time to mine” replied the creature, picking an ant out of his toes and eating it at once.
“What has that got to do with me?” replied Neville, disgusted at what he just witnessed.
“It vas more to do wiv you than you know” said the creature defiantly. Neville hands vibrated violently against the steering wheel as his speed increased. He seemed to be ignoring the creature as he faced looked determined. He grabbed an out-of-date atlas from under his seat and began looking for Hordon. He found it, all he had to do now was to work out where he was and he would be there in no time.
“I am here to help you” cried the creature as he fastened his seatbelt after seeing the speedometer rise several miles per hour.
“You’re not real so please leave me alone!” replied Neville looking straight ahead at the empty road. A heat wave could be spotted shimmering off the road in the distance where there was a decline in the road’s surface.
“I am… Neville!” replied the creature.
“How do you know my name?” cried Neville, taking his eyes off the road to look at the little gangloi.
“I’ve seen your brother…Edward” replied the creature, knowing that this would attract his attention. Neville slammed the breaks on as the car screeched into the soil area off the road.
“My brother? Why…why would you say these things!” questioned Neville.
“I haven’t seen him since I was six years old, he could be dead now for all I know” added Neville, his blood boiling under his skin at the thought of the creature mentioning one of his siblings.
“I think not my friend” replied the gangloi as he pulled a shiny silver ball from under his rags and held it out for Neville to examine. Neville looked closely to see a young boy and two girls coming out of what looked like a dome, there were some adults in the background.
“How do I know that this is real?” replied Neville, shrugging off the images on this magic ball.
“Look closely at what he is holding!” replied the gangloi, placing a crooked finger on the ball towards Edward’s hand. Neville shot back into the door panel as he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. There placed in the clutches of Edward’s hand was a family photo identical to Neville’s.
“So, there you are, I am no liar” added Gangloi smiling briefly.
“I have little time before the A.I. R’s come back for me. Reme
mber, when you reach the house do not be fooled by a means of entry!” said Gangloi, reaching for something on his back.
“Here, I can give you this, but you must remember to bring it back. Only use it when you want to see the truth!” said Gangloi, handing Neville what looked like a torch as he vanished into an explosion of thick white smoke.
“Wait, what…” shouted Neville, desperate to find out more information. He started the car and started to drive again, noticing that the fuel tank had only half of a tank of fuel left.
Neville was bound to his seat as his eyes felt heavy, letting his mind run away with the road in front of him. He had been driving for over three quarters of an hour and was approaching the first junction. A wonky handmade sign directed Neville right down a road that bore no tarmac as expected, just gravel and soil which could be heard as the tires glided over the land, sounding like a million ants scuttling at once. Twenty minutes later and Neville was approaching a sign that welcomed him to Horndon. He was pleased to be there as it was falling dark quickly and he wanted to find shelter before midnight. The A.I. R’s were at the back of his mind, occasionally popping forwards and making his heart race at the thought of one being near him. The village consisted of around thirty houses, most of them demolished and ruined. A phone box and bus stop were the highlight of amenities of the village, accompanied by a swing and a round-about for the small minority of children present. A crackling came from the radio Neville had found. He braked sharply and pulled out the mangled radio, carefully trying to sustain its durability.
“Red 44JL X118P this is BG9. Children surrounded in the house. I repeat zone 3.dpo Code 113 do you copy” said a hurried South American accent.
