IMPACT_A Post-Apocalyptic Tale_The Complete Series

by Matthew Eliot

  Ms. Brand suddenly raised her voice. Cathy’s eyes darted towards her. This wasn’t going to be good.

  “Well then,” she said, arrogantly, “maybe you should have stayed at home, don’t you think?” Cathy’s heart sank. It could hardly get any worse.

  But it did. “In whatever silly, backward country your home is,” Ms. Brand added, in a very audible mutter. Then, she actually turned towards the other Council members, with a smug, poisonous little smile. Like they were all on the same team.

  Even Bill Hughes, who occasionally seemed to agree with her views on foreigners, appeared embarrassed. Everyone around the table sat in silence, not daring to comment.

  Beside her, Paul buried his face in his hands.

  But Cathy wasn’t going to take it. “Ms. Brand,” she said, standing. “Please apologise to that man.” Ms. Brand looked at her with disgust. “Look dear, we’re taking sides here, can’t you see? Do you want to be on their side, with this… this…” she ran her eyes up and down Jeremy, her lips knotted in revulsion. “This destitute,” she concluded, and Cathy actually felt a bit of relief. Ms. Brand could have gone a lot harder than that.

  Among the crowd, people started raising their voices. Cathy tried to contain her irritation (for Jeremy, for the idiotic Ms. Brand, for this whole situation), but her words came out shrill and almost hysterical. “Please apologise, Ms. Brand. Now.”

  Oh come on you silly cow, just say ’sorry’, can’t you see you’re making everything wor–

  “Or else what?” asked Ms. Brand, confrontationally.

  “Please ladies, please,” came Jeremy’s voice. He was standing with his arms crossed, head slightly tilted to one side, like a teacher speaking to two childish students. “As I said, this is to be a peaceful debate. Please don’t quarrel among yourselves.” People chuckled. He was making them look ridiculous.

  “Jeremy,” said Paul, resting a hand on Cathy’s shoulder, “would you perhaps let us know more about this cure?”

  Jeremy’s gaze shifted to the priest. There was something in his eyes. A look that didn’t appear when he observed others. A sparkle of hatred, thought Cathy. But it was gone in an instant, replaced once more by his mellifluous smile.

  “Yes. As I was saying… I was sick. Like all Afflicted, my life was to be a wretched one. I had nothing to look forward to, any longer. Until, that is, I was cured.” Dramatic pause. “But before I go into the details of what the cure consists of, let me tell you that it is absolutely safe, and incredibly effective. It works, every time. I have never once seen it fail. Wouldn’t you,” he said, raising his hands to the audience, “want to be cured? Leave this awful suffering behind you, forever? Be a healthy member of society once again?”

  A loud, resounding chorus of yes! erupted from the crowd. Jeremy nodded, caressing his beard.

  “Wait!” called Cathy. Patience was failing her. She pointed a trembling finger at Jeremy. “Of course we all want the Afflicted to be healthy again. Of course we want to cure as many people as we can. But you know, and everyone here must understand, there are no miracle cures. For anything. And when it comes to the Affliction, there currently is no cure. We can treat some of the symptoms, if that.”

  “Cathy,” began Jeremy warmly, “I–”

  “No,” she interrupted him. “I’m talking now. Wait a second.” Jeremy threw his hands in the air, sarcastically. Cathy continued, “All I’m trying to say is: let’s not get our hopes up. We don’t know this man. We don’t know if we can trust him,” (a few boos from the crowd), “and we sure as hell don’t know if his cure works yet.”

  “Except, you do,” said Jeremy, calmly. “As I said, I too was once sick. Now I’m not. And it’s entirely thanks to the cure I am offering you today.”

  Cathy tried to protest, but the cheers from the sick were too loud. She felt helpless. Something inside her now knew this man was a phoney and a crook. He was pandering to suffering people, looking to exploit them, their hopes. But why? she wondered. What is it he really wants?

  “All right,” said Frank, the farmer. “Mr. Jeremy sir, could we just line up our fellow Bately residents who have this evil illness, so you can administer this cure? Seems to me that would be the best thing to do, right?”

  “Well,” began Jeremy, thoughtfully. “That’s exactly what I’d like to do. I understand Cathy’s passionate position, believe me.”

  “Don’t patronize me,” said Cathy, bluntly. Jeremy ignored her.

  “I, too, was skeptical, to begin with. Luckily, there was nothing to be skeptical about. It cured me, for good. But, before we can do what Frank suggests, I have a little request for you…”

  Cathy and Paul exchanged a glance. Here we go.

  “I fight for the well-being of all Afflicted, not just you, in Bately,” Jeremy said, pacing slowly up and down, between the audience and the Council members. “And I have recently discovered that there is a nearby community of sick…”

  “Is he talking about the Pack?” Paul asked Cathy. The other Council members looked at each other, frowning.

  “If he is, community isn’t quite the right word… gang would be more appropriate,” she whispered.

  “… and this community,” continued Jeremy, “is enduring all the hardships I mentioned. They live together, trying to find comfort in one another, doing their best to survive. Like we all are.”

  This can’t possibly work, Cathy thought. One thing is to win people over with a cure, another is to present the Pack as a commune of unfortunate, peace-loving hippies.

  “But, unlike you, they have no medicines, nor professional help from people as dedicated as Cathy, here…” Jeremy sighed the saddest of sighs, for the benefit of his captivated audience. “They have no help. And I, for one, want to try and fix that. Would you, brave people of Bately, be willing to help?”

  This time, the reaction was colder. Most of the locals knew far too well what the Pack were capable of, and had very little sympathy for them.

  Yet, the cheers Jeremy received, although scarce, were still far more than any of the Council members would ever had expected.

  “Okay, Jeremy,” said Cathy. “We get it. You want to help the sick. Which, by the way, is exactly what I do, every single day. But, leaving that aside, what is it you want? Because I’m pretty sure there is something you want, correct?”

  The old, bearded hippie chuckled. “It’s not something I want, my dear friend. It’s something I’m sure everyone, including the members of your esteemed Council want, too.”

  He waited, all eyes upon him.

  “I want safety, health and peace. That’s all. For everyone.”

  Cathy shook her head in frustration.

  “But,” continued Jeremy, “in order to achieve that, I need time. I shall start curing the sick in this town – it should take a couple of weeks – then move to this community I was talking about.”

  “It’s called the Pack!” called a voice, from the front seats. “The ’Wraith Pack. And they are thugs.” It was Moore. He was standing, red in the face. This hardly looked like the polite, gentle man she knew. “I’ve only been here for a handful of days, Healer, and I’ve already heard enough about them. They thieve. They loot. They murder. They have nothing to do with the peaceful Afflicted who live in Bately.”

  “Order, order please,” said Bill, as he gestured to Moore to sit.

  “But it’s true,” said Cathy. “Don’t you see?” she asked the Afflicted among the audience. “This man is trying to lump you together with that gang of bandits simply because it serves his purpose, whatever that is.”

  “Maybe it’s you who tried to separate us,” chimed in another voice. Cathy turned and saw a sick young woman, standing beside Luke. She had never seen her before. “Maybe all Afflicted belong together, and you don’t like that.”

  “Exactly!” said Jeremy, clapping his hands. “The Afflicted belong together, within society. With all of you. And once they are cured, there will be no us and them.”

&nb
sp; This time, the applause grew louder. This was entirely from the Afflicted crowd. The others watched with unease.

  “My fear,” reprised Jeremy, “is that some individuals want there to be an inferior class of citizens. There always have been people like that, unfortunately. Ms. Brand and Cathy here appear to belong to that sort.”

  “What?” cried Cathy, unsure whether she was more offended by the accusation, or by her being lumped in with Ms. Brand. “What the hell are you on abo–”

  “Jeremy,” said Paul coldly, “You’re upsetting a lot of people here.” It was true. The air was thick with fear and uncertainty. “Please come to your request.”

  “Absolutely. It is one, simple little thing. And I’m sure that you’ll all agree it is well worth it.”

  “Cut to the chase, sir,” said Bill, bluntly.

  “All I want is this: while I’m busy here, healing your sick, I want Bately to hand over half of all its medicinal stock to the Pack. So they can enjoy a little respite from their symptoms, before I cure them.”

  The room fell silent. Cathy couldn’t believe her ears.

  Jeremy smiled. “And I want it done today.”

  * * *

  No one spoke.

  Paul observed the room. It felt like he was sitting in front of a ticking time bomb. Rows and rows of ticking time bombs.

  The sick, the healthy, Jeremy, the Council. He almost saw the lines connecting and dividing all these people, like musical strings stretched to the limit. If one of those were to snap, he feared they all would. And the precarious equilibrium that held Bately together would suddenly find a cacophonous end.

  Jeremy had played them. Without providing a single detail of his supposed cure, he now had them in his trap. If they were to oppose his ridiculous request, the Afflicted would be denied the health Jeremy had promised. If they were to accept, the healthy, as well as the sick, would find themselves with their medicine stock halved, and no guarantee the cure could work.

  It was a mess.

  “May I say something?”

  It was Luke. He spoke hesitantly, politely. All eyes turned to him.

  “I have been living here for a while, now,” he began. His voice was filled with the innocent optimism Paul had often spotted in his flock (Claudio called it idiocy).

  “I’ve made many friends, among you.” Luke glanced towards him, then Cathy, then to all those sitting in that tense room. “It makes me sad to see you pitted against one another. But, please, please understand… if I and the other Afflicted in Bately were cured, things would be better. Not just for the sick, but for all of us, I mean.” He coughed, nervously. The neon lights shone on the wounds in his flesh, on his mutilated features. “I know that what Jeremy is asking may sound like a lot, but think about it–” he turned to the Council table, “Cathy, aren’t most of your medicines used on us, anyway?”

  Cathy nodded. It was true.

  “So, once we are cured – and I really believe Jeremy will do that – well…” he turned the palms of his disfigured hands upwards, “those medicines won’t even be needed, will they?”

  Paul sighed, almost exactly at the same time as Cathy did, beside him. They both knew this was a gross oversimplification.

  “Father,” he then said to Paul, “I am a Christian. You know that. I am as good a Christian as I can be. I feel that this, helping other Afflicted while curing our own, is the true Christian thing to do.” Luke looked down, suddenly embarrassed.

  “Luke,” began Paul, “I’m afraid it’s not that sim–”

  But Jeremy interrupted him. “I think it’s time for us to vote,” he said to the audience.

  “Vote?” cried Cathy. “But you haven’t told us about your supposed cure. We need the details.”

  Jeremy sighed. “Oh, the powers that be, so hard to please,” he said, sarcastically. “No point in going into detail if you vote against my offer, is there, Cathy?”

  “But–”

  Jeremy ignored her. “So, I ask the illustrious members of the Bately Council to express their will regarding my offer – I shall cure the Afflicted in your beautiful little town, if you hand over half of your medicine supplies to those in need. Simple as that.”

  Then he crossed his arms, and stared at them.

  “What now?” asked Bill Hughes. “I think we need to consult, first, don’t you agree?” the other members nodded, uneasily.

  “There are people suffering, Bill,” commented Jeremy. “I believe there is no time for that.” He turned to the audience. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Most of those seated kept quiet. A few shouted no, but the minority of Afflicted were much louder. Their resounding yes filled the hall.

  Bill shook his head, but said to his fellow Council members, “All right then… all those in favour of this proposal, raise their hand.”

  Silence.

  * * *

  Paul noticed Sean’s eyes were fixed on Cathy. He’d often detected the young man’s glances towards the pretty nurse. But this time, to Paul’s surprise, his eyes were filled with hate.

  Sean’s arm slowly rose, his frowning gaze still locked on her.

  “Sean…?” asked Frank. “Are you sure?”

  Sean nodded. Looked down. His vote was cast.

  It was the only vote in favour.

  The priest raised his eyes, expecting to see the Afflicted leap out of their seats, in fury. And they might have, but Jeremy spoke first.

  “Friends,” he began. His tone was funereal. “But for one brave young man, your Council has voted against my offer. But not only that. They,” he pointed a finger at the Council’s table, “have voted against you.”

  Paul tried to protest. So did Cathy, but their words were once again drowned by the cries of the Afflicted.

  “But please,” continued Jeremy, his voice loud, deep, imposing. “This is not the time for revenge. I now bid you farewell. There is no point in me staying in Bately any longer. I am not wanted. And, I believe, neither are you.”

  With that, Jeremy quietly made his way through the seats. Hands were extended, to shake his, or simply to touch him. Before leaving, he turned around, for a last look at the gathered crowd.

  He’s smiling, thought Paul. And that’s not the smile of a loser.

  In fact, it was the smile of someone who had just got exactly what he wanted.

  * * *

  “How could you?”

  Paul turned. It was Luke. His eyes were filled with tears.

  “Luke, I–”

  “How could you? We would have been cured… this,” he gestured down, towards his own retched body, “… it would have gone away. Don’t you understand?”

  Cathy lay a hand on his shoulder. He pulled away. “Luke,” she said softly, “there’s no knowing if this cure even exists.”

  Luke looked her in the eyes. “I thought you cared,” he said, simply.

  Paul sighed. “Listen Luke, you are far better off here, with Cathy’s medicines, with the love of this community, than you are believing that man. Trust me.”

  Luke chuckled sadly. Then, he dried a tear from his cheek, and stared at Paul.

  “For I will restore health unto thee, and I will heal thee of thy wounds, saith the Lord; because they called thee an Outcast. Jeremiah thirty, seventeen, Father,” he said. Then, he reached out, and held the hand of the girl with the ’Wraith Pack hairdo. When he spoke again, his voice was louder, for all to hear. “I’m leaving. And I think all the Afflicted should leave Bately… in fact, let’s forget that name. We’re are not Afflicted. We are ’wraiths.”

  Paul reached out, tried to keep Luke from leaving. But the girl hissed at him, wrapping an arm around Luke, as if to protect him.

  Then, the two walked off, following in Jeremy’s footsteps.

  Gradually, the Afflicted rose from their seats, and formed a quiet, resentful procession behind them.

  When they’d left, it was hard to tell if the silence that filled the room was one of relief, or of fear of things t
o come.

  Chapter 15

  Alice, Adrian, Mathew

  Alice, Adrian and Mathew sat in the grass of a small hill, in Bately Park.

  Stick with Mathew, Father Paul had said, before going off to some important meeting. If he tells you to follow him, do so. Adrian had not liked that. They knew how to take care of themselves. Most of all, he knew how to take care of Alice.

  He looked at her. She sat, crossed-legged, while listening to Mathew play his guitar. She was smiling, her eyes fixed on the older boy. Her shoulders swayed gently from side to side, following the rhythm.

  Adrian felt like there was something prickly inside his chest.

  “Do you want to try?” Mathew asked, handing the guitar over to Alice. She giggled. “But I don’t know how,” she said, taking the instrument. It looked too big, in her thin arms.

  “Oh, it’s easy,” Mathew said. “I can teach you, Lucy.”

  “My name’s Alice,” she said, a slight note of irritation in her voice.

  “Right, sorry. Yes, Alice. I know,” Mathew replied, apologetically.

  Adrian thought Mathew was strange. He laughed a lot (which really annoyed him him), and was very friendly, but Adrian had noticed how he’d sometimes go quiet, and look worried. The same way Alice sometimes looked, when thinking about her father, Maurice.

  “This is a C chord, you see?” Mathew said, guiding Alice’s fingers on the fretboard. They slipped along the strings, and Mathew had to keep fixing their position. “Relax,” he said. “If you tense up, it’ll be harder to do it right.”

  “Okay,” Alice said, her eyebrows close together, focussing.

  “Right, now do this with your other hand,” said Mathew, as he swept his fingers downward, strumming imaginary strings.

  She did. The sound was clunky, metallic. Alice laughed. “I’m rubbish at this!”