by Stan Mason
‘I think it’s brilliant how the villagers discovered it,’ I commended.
The system was quite simple in that it allowed the most complex operation to take place. A single tube of oxygen pressed hard into the infant’s face allowed him to breath spasmodically when it would appear that he was being suffocated. I had no idea how the development worked with such simplicity but clearly it was successful. Immediately I felt like burning the place down but, in the presence of Bridget, I controlled my temper and let the moment pass. However, I intended to destroy the building and everything inside it at the earliest opportunity when she wasn’t there. She had already buried her husband; to kill his clone in her presence would have been too much for her to bear.
Some time later that night, when she was asleep, I crept out of the house, armed with matches and some oily rags. I eventually found the small building and went inside to check that it was the right one. Approaching the coffin with the clone, I stared at it in wonder. How could the villagers be so far ahead of time in developing this system? It was extremely uncanny.
I went to the apparatus next to the coffin and pulled out the tube so that no oxygen could enter. I had no idea whether the clone of Richard McBain would continue to live on after that as there were holes in the sides of the coffin where air could filter through. It hardly mattered really because it was going to be cremated in a matter of minutes. I spread the oily rags at the base of the timbered walls and lit a match to set fire to them before leaving the place. Within a few minutes, the flames spread upwards, rapidly reaching the roof. When I analysed the effect of the fire, I wasn’t certain that the clone would be engulfed in the flames when the ceiling fell in so I managed to get inside again and struggled with the coffin moving it to one of the walls which was on fire. To my horror, as I did so, the glass panel slid off from the top and the clone rolled out onto the floor. For a moment I was pole-axed wondering what to do. Then, taking my courage in both hands, I gritted my teeth and lifted it up to carry it to one part of the wall that was burning brightly. I dropped it there like a hot brick and within a few seconds it began to burn It was the end of the second Richard McBain... the end of all cloning in the village.
Chapter Eighteen
It was becoming abundantly clear that justice was dispensed immediately against any wrongdoer in the village independent of any laws that controlled the rest of the country. This became obvious when some of the children found their conscience pricked and admitted to their parents what they had done to the pharmacy. They mentioned that it had been the work of Thomas Howard who had influenced them to destroy the building and that the same boy burned it down.
As the news spread far and wide, the villagers became incensed that their future had been seriously impaired by the mischievous boy, and they gathered together until almost two hundred of them formed a group to march onward to the Howard house. It was their earnest intention to wreak their vengeance against the malevolent lad. The act that they were to carry out had never been witnessed in the village at any time since its formation for peace and harmony had always reigned. However, on this occasion, the villagers were unable to control their fury at the incident which affected them all so severely.
When they arrived at the Howard residence, the leaders hammered on the front door and Thomas Howard’s father opened it to let them inside. He already knew of his son’s misdemeanour whereby he had led the group of children influencing them to destroy the pharmacy. In addition, he had been responsible personally for burning it down. Howard’s father willingly allowed the mob to enter the house and drag his son out into the open.
‘You were the one who caused the pharmacy to be burned down!’ accused one man angrily, holding the boy firmly by the arm. ‘Do you realise what you’ve done?’
Young Howard could be most obstinate when he wanted to and he faced the mob with an angry expression on his face. His only hope was that silence might create doubt and he would escape punishment but his tongue ran away with him. ‘Enough is enough! Enough is enough! Enough is enough!’ he repeated fearlessly.
‘He’s the one who did it!’ shouted one of the children to be accompanied by many other younger members of the community.
Thomas Howard was loath to give up his life so easily. ‘I did not do it alone. They were all in it with me! You adults refused to listen to our claims. We had to do something to make you understand!‘
‘You little rascal!’ yelled one of the villagers. ‘You’ve done for all of us!’
‘How many tablets do people normally keep in their homes?’ I asked one of the men nearest to me.
‘Only a few days worth. The pharmacy was always there when we needed more.’
I shuddered to think that within a few days they would all have run out of supply. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see three men digging a hole in which they shortly placed a large wooden cross. I had seen many films in the cinema and on television about the Roman empire to realise what was going to happen to the boy.
‘You’re right!’ shouted another villager. ‘Enough is enough! Say your prayers to the Lord if you have any!’
Without hesitation, the boy was dragged forward to the base of the cross.
‘What are you going to do?’ demanded the lad trembling with fear. ‘What’s going to happen? I didn’t mean it! I swear I didn’t mean it!’
‘You’re going to pay for what you did!’ returned someone from the back of the crowd. ‘You deliberately burned down that building and we’re all going to suffer of it!’
There was a general consensus voiced by the rest of the mob as they gave way to their feelings.
Without delay, two men brought long ladders which they placed against the side of the cross. They lifted the boy up, one of them holding the young man’s hand against the left-hand side. He produced a hammer and some nails from his belt and struck one of them into Howard’s wrist to affix it to the cross. The boy screamed at the top of his voice as pain surged through his body but the crowd was totally unsympathetic. The man passed the hammer and nails to his colleague on the other ladder who struck one of the nails into the boy’s other wrist. Both men then moved down their ladders. The second man crossed Howard’s legs over each other before driving a nail into his feet. They removed the ladders leaving the boy looking similar to the figure of Jesus Christ affixed to the cross. He was still screaming as the mob left and, not unexpectedly, by the next day his life would be over. Yet it wasn’t a natural death through exposure or as a result of the nails affixing him to the cross. Someone visited him at the dead of night to finish off the boy by stabbing him through the heart. Such was the anger of the people in the village. It was an ignominious ending to the glory that had never really been achieved by the leader of the children. Within a very short time, his reign was irrevocably over.
I stared at the body knowing that, although I was the law in the village, I would never be able to determine the identity of the culprit. There was no doubt that the boy had deserved to be severely punished but taking his life buy stabbing him with a knife was a step too far. Nonetheless, his actions had been heinous, affecting everyone I the village, and vengeance was savage for anyone who committed a serious crime. Howard had done his worst and he had paid the full penalty for his misdemeanour.
Chapter Nineteen
To say that pandemonium broke loose in the city jail in Newcastle that morning was an understatement. The Desk Sergeant and PC7 had been placed in a cell, while Lockett and Major were together in a separate cell and Brazier was alone in another one. Over six weeks had passed by since they were on remand and the effect of not having their tablets had begun to take a severe hold on all five men.
The city policeman in the reception area looked at the clock on the wall at exactly eight-thirty and he called out for the duty officer.
‘Time to take the prisoners breakfast, Lacey. The case is scheduled for ten o’clock
and I’ve arranged for a Black Maria to take them to the Court at nine-thirty.’
Lacey came swiftly to the city policeman. ‘I hear they’re coming before Lord Justice Holman,’ he stated firmly. ‘He’ll soon sort them out!’
‘Yes,’ came the reply. ‘I don’t know whether to laugh or cry about this one. You know how he hates policemen ever since that constable made him look a fool in Court. The problem with him is that whenever the jury finds anyone guilty he always gives them the full sentence. There’s no mercy with him. You’d better get them their breakfast. Time’s getting on!’
The duty officer collected a tray on which rested two plastic plates of egg and bacon, one of toast and two plastic mugs of tea. He left the reception area to go down to the first cell, singing a song from a popular musical as he carried the tray high above him like a seasoned waiter in an Italian restaurant.
‘Food glorious food, pineapples and custard...’
He tailed off in his rendered version of the song as he came to the first cell and looked inside. The tray and all its contents fell from his grasp to clatter on the stone floor as he dropped it in horror. His face took on a shocked expression as he stared at the Desk Sergeant and PC7 inside the cell. He hadn’t seen them for a few days and now he viewed them in a completely different light. They were still wearing their police uniforms, which was a ploy engendered by the Counsel who considered that the jury would look more favourably upon them if they could see that they were in the police force and had only been doing their duty. However it was the sight of them that shocked him. Instead of two forty-five year old men that had been arrested, the cell contained two extremely old people well over the age of one hundred. They looked so completely different whereby the hair of PC7 was white and very thin while the Desk Sergeant was suddenly completely bald. Their shiny faces had turned into a very wrinkled form and their posture was that of two old men with spinal difficulties. It was as though a magician had waved a magic wand and transformed two middle-aged people into very old men overnight.
The duty officer staggered over the remains of the breakfast on the stone floor as he went to the other two cells. In the first one, Lockett and Major had followed suit, turning into ancient people just like their colleagues in the first cell. However Lacey became even more concerned when he went to the last cell where Jonathan Brazier was incarcerated. The man lay inert on the floor appearing to be dead. He raced back to the front desk to appraise the city policeman of the strange situation but he failed to make his mark because the response was one of disbelief.
‘Have you been drinking?’ came the question.
‘You want to see what I’ve just witnessed,’ exclaimed the duty officer bleakly. ‘Come and see for yourself! They’re all over a hundred years old and on of them’s dead. Come and see!’
‘Dead? Is this some kind of a wind-up?’ The city policeman’s face turned into a frown as he moved around the desk to accompany the junior officer down to the cells.
He approached the first cell and stepped back two paces when he saw the state of the two men held inside.
‘I told you,’ declared the duty officer curtly.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ demanded the senior man in a similar state of shock. ‘How could this have happened?’
‘There’s going to have to be an enquiry... maybe a full investigation,’ uttered Lacey with a grim expression.
‘Worse than that,’ complained the city policeman. ‘These men are due to appear in Court at ten o’clock today and they’re coming up against Judge Holman. How can we explain this away? What are we going to tell him?’
‘They’ll have to appear in Court,’ retorted the duty officer solemnly. ‘We’ll have to take them there whatever state they’re in... except for the one who I think is dead. He led the senior officer to the other cells to look at the incarcerated men.
‘Better get the doctor to have a look at the last man,’ ordered the city policeman. ‘He looks to be over a hundred years old and you’re right... he seems to be dead. I’ll get in touch with the Public Prosecutor to see whether we can get the case adjourned. If they go to Court in this condition there’ll be hell to pay!’
However the Public Prosecutor failed to heed any concern. Nearly two months had passed since the arrest and the case book for Court actions was full. It had to take place now whatever the circumstances. Therefore, the Order stood and the men were to be taken to the Courthouse.
Just over an hour later, the four remaining suspects were taken from their cells and herded into a Black Maria which had been parked outside the rear of the police station. It was driven towards the central court where the old men were gently taken in to the lower waiting chamber. When the time came, they had to be helped slowly up the stairs to the Courtroom and after being placed in the dock, the jury and the spectators in the visitor’s gallery stared at them in disbelief as they waited for the Judge to appear.
‘Oyez and in presentment. This Court is now in session. All stand for Lord Justice Holman!’ commanded the court usher as the Judge entered the chamber.
He stared at the men in the dock as he sat down on his seat, banging his gavel as everyone muttered loudly at the sight of the accused. He looked down at the papers in front of him. ‘It states here that five men are accused,’ he spat angrily. ‘Why are there only four in the dock?’
The prosecuting counsel got to his feet to face the Judge. ‘I’m afraid the fifth man was found dead in his cell, M’lud.’ he declared unhappily, awaiting the full force of the Judge’s temper.
‘How did he die?’ He expected the counsel to tell him that the man had committed suicide.
‘It seems,’ came the strange reply, ‘that he died of old age.’
Holman stared at the prosecutor in amazement and then at the men in the dock over the top of his spectacles, noticing how old they were. ‘Is this some kind of convoluted action brought by the city police to humiliate this Court?’ he demanded critically with his temper rising. During his long career on the bench, he had experienced a long-running battle with the police force in the city and he detested their presence in his Court.
The city policeman stood up to defend the situation. ‘If I may approach the bench, your honour...’ he began before he was rudely interrupted by the Judge.
‘No you cannot!’ snapped Holman angrily. ‘Sit down! How is it that these very old men are here on a charge of murder? Have the city police gone completely mad?’
‘No, M’lud,’ explained the prosecutor getting to his feet. ‘Apparently they were young two months ago but since then they’ve aged very badly.’
The Judge snorted angrily at the completely ridiculous explanation. ‘Are you compose mentis, man!’ he shouted irately. ‘How can four young men become old in two months? And how did the other accused die of old age? How long was he held in his cell?’ He paused for a moment. This was the strangest case he had ever had to try in his whole career. ‘This is a mockery,’ he added. ‘I want to see all counsel in my chambers immediately!’
He rose from his seat and the court usher called out his command. ‘All standing! Rise for Lord Justice Holman!’
There were two defence counsels... one for the Desk Sergeant and PC7; the other for Lockett, Major and Brazier. Together with the prosecuting counsel, they met in the Judge’s chamber a few minutes later. The Judge was clearly hopping mad.
‘What on earth are you playing at?’ he snapped furiously at the prosecuting counsel. ‘Do you think we can seriously try a case of murder with four very old men in the dock. My God... they can hardly stand let alone wield a weapon to kill someone! The Court would be humiliated to hear a case against them. They must all be over a hundred years old. How come they conspired to murder anyone? And what with... their zimmer frames.’
‘We don’t understand it ourselves, Judge,’ came the reply. ‘I assure you they all loo
ked about forty-five when they were arrested.’
The Judge snorted angrily believing that he was being taken for a ride by the city police. ‘I’m going to adjourn this case for everyone to review the situation. Imagine what the Press would do if the case was heard in Court. The thought is terrifying!’
By the time the prosecution and the defence counsels returned to the Court the Desk Sergeant had collapsed and the city doctor informed the public prosecutor that he had died of a heart attack. The affair in the Court was destined to be the most unspectacular event ever. The three remaining villagers were returned to the city police station but PC7 had passed away by the time they arrived there. It was a debacle that would remain in the files in the Newcastle city police for a very long time. In fact, in the effluxion of time, people reading past cases would come across the file and believe that the serving officers of the day had lost their minds and had gone completely mad. And who could really blame them?
Chapter Twenty
The city police returned Locket and Major to Keppelberg. When they learned the news from the two aged men, the villagers were devastated. With the pharmacy now out of action and the supply of tablets no longer in existence, the villagers played out their last days in three stages. At first, there was the vain hope that they might be able to live on for many more years without the tablets because their bodies were so used to having taken them that their immune systems could cope sufficiently. Chaos began to take hold as some of them looted houses and shops searching for any tablets that may still be stored there, The second stage was segregation whereby the villagers stayed inside their houses not wishing to see or meet any other people. It was as though they were in a leper colony but had not yet been affected. Every villager examined themselves each day to note the wrinkles that started to appear on their faces and bodies, knowing full well that it was only a matter of time before they reached the correct age in their lives. The third stage was the last one, where they reached old age and died a natural death. The problem was that the last stage happened within two or three months. As time passed by, the homes of the villagers sheltered their dead bodies and no one knew who had died or who was still alive. There was no hope for anyone because once the effects of the tablets wore off, the extent of life became very limited.
