Lazar

by Lawrence Heath

“What’s happening to Jan’s icon?”

  Hal’s father stared over his son’s shoulder at the image on the screen. The icon was moving erratically up the map, its motion a series of sudden violent jolts.

  “It’s like the nightmare she told me about,” explained Hal, “she’s being dragged toward the sea.”

  “Can’t you do anything about it?” his father continued. “If there’s a one-to-one between this PC and what’s happening to Jan, can’t you intervene somehow – get rid of the town or move the coastline or something?”

  “I don’t know, let’s see … Don’t let go of the button,” Hal warned, “I’ll need both hands.” He moved the cursor in a circle and highlighted the buildings on the screen immediately next to the jerking icon. As soon as he had done so he pressed the delete key.

  The grip of the fingers and thumbs that had been bruising her wrists and elbows suddenly loosened. The angry faces turned and gaped in awe.

  Without a flash or thunderbolt, the walls and buildings all around them had vanished with a dreadful sudden silence. This was no ordinary storm. The mob had never witnessed anything like this before. This was more than just the elements. There was something in the air that night far greater than the wind and rain and lightning.

  Some stood and stared. Some ran away. They all forgot their captive for a moment. Now was her chance to get away.

  But she could not move. Her confusion was far greater even than that of her panic-stricken captors. Part of her knew, somehow, that the disappearance of the buildings was not supernatural at all. In fact, it was only to be expected. None of this was real in any case. It was no more than some bizarre computer game – a virtual world that could be switched off in an instant.

  But most of her was terrified.

  The fists that had been hitting her, the nails that had been biting into her flesh – they had been real enough. She hurt. She bled. But more than that, at her very core she did believe that this was the wrath of God. The storm, the sea, the destruction of the town – it was all her fault. She had meddled with dark forces that she had not understood.

  And now she was going to have to pay the price.

  No – I won’t, a defiant voice screamed out from deep within her. This storm is not the fault of anyone. No one’s to blame – there is no price to pay, no need for punishment.

  It was as though the storm-torn remnants of the mob had heard her thoughts and read her intention to escape. It rallied and turned upon her with even greater fervour than before and leapt toward her like a Cerberus in rags. She threw herself to one side, and crashed straight into a wall.

  The buildings had returned as silently and as suddenly as they had disappeared.

  “Damn, it hasn’t worked.” Hal stared disconsolately at his screen. “The virus has returned the map to how it was before – and by the look of the way the icon’s being knocked about, they’ve started dragging…”

  “If destroying the buildings didn’t work,” Hal’s Dad interrupted, “how about trying the opposite approach.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Put barriers in the way. Insert walls and buildings on the map and block their passage to the sea.”

  “I get you!” Hal acknowledged his father’s suggestion and immediately pulled up a menu of architectural features on the screen. Within a second he had dragged and dropped a brick wall across the virtual street.

  Once more the mob was stopped dead in its tracks. Once more some of its number ran away. But now, those that remained were even more incensed and convinced of the young woman’s wickedness and supernatural powers. A girl that could make buildings come and go at her command – she had to be a witch. There was no doubting it. She had to be punished for her sins.

  As if in response to this hardening of the mob’s resolve, the wall that had suddenly materialised flickered and then, just as suddenly, completely disappeared. This was taken by the mob to be a miracle and fuelled its self-righteous indignation to new heights of zeal. “God be praised. He wills it so,” it shouted to the heavens as it dragged its dazed and bleeding victim out of the street and through the square.

  “Damn, damn, damn!” Hal vented his frustration. “That’s not worked either. Look – they’ve still got hold of her.”

  The icon was moving swiftly up the screen toward the entrance to a street that was a straight line to the sea.

  “Come on, there must be something we can do,” exclaimed Hal’s father. “Isn’t there anything else you can put up in their way?”

  “What do you suggest?” Hal’s frustration spilled over into sarcasm. “A bay window, perhaps, or a fitted kitchen – or how about an en suite shower and toilet?”

  “Come on, Hal, there isn’t time to mess about.. Think logically. What else can we do with the map that would prevent Jan reaching the sea?”

  “I don’t know,” Hal shouted and kicked the wall beneath his desk. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. Whatever we do would only last a second. The ‘Margaret’ virus is in total control of the map on my computer – it’ll override anything we try and do.”

  “Don’t be so defeatist. There has to be something…”

  “Even if there is, we’re too late.”

  Hal pointed at the screen.

  His father looked over just in time to see the icon disappear off the top of the screen.

  “That’s it,” Hal sighed, “she’s off the map – it doesn’t reach the sea. It only seems to go as far as Jan did in those dreams she had.”

  “But it can’t just stop. It mustn’t, Hal. Scroll up, scroll up. There must be more, there has to be.”

  The map slid down. The screen was blank.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. We’ve lost her.”

  “But what about this one-to-one thing between Jan and her icon? That can’t have stopped.”

  “Why not?” Hal shrugged his shoulders, feeling hollow inside. “There’s no reason why it should have existed in the first place. And even if the link’s still there, this map’s not got the coordinates in which to place the icon.”

  “What if it’s the other way round?” Hal’s father was thinking quickly. “What if the coordinates haven’t got a map to place the icon on? Perhaps this part of the city has been washed away already. The link’s still there but there’s no map to link it to.

  “Isn’t there some other way of seeing what’s going on? What about that interface you told me you’d developed? The one between this CAD program and the virtual reality software.”

  “Yeah.” Hal’s despondency vanished in an instant. “I hadn’t thought…”

  Before he’d finished speaking, his father had grabbed the virtual reality helmet with his free hand.

  “Quick, take over,” he instructed, nodding toward the switch. Hal reached forward and slid his forefinger on to the button as his father tentatively eased his away.

  “Have you got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Immediately Hal answered the question his father switched on the helmet and thrust is down over his own head.

  “Yes! Yes, I can see something. My God – I must be looking through her eyes. What on earth…?”

  The street down to the sea had not so much come to an end as disintegrated. The wind was tearing away the thatch and ripping out the doors of what was left of the buildings. The sea was smashing down the walls. The road itself had been swallowed up. Each storm-driven wave bit ravenously into the soft earth upon which the city had been built. Where once the street had led down to a shallow harbour a boiling sea now raged. The quayside had been swept away. What little remained could just about be seen jutting irregularly from the angry sea, twenty metres out from the rapidly receding shoreline.

  The battling captive and her captors proceeded fitfully, moving forward with precarious haste along the edge of the shallow, crumbing seafront. As each wave crashed upon the shore they were in fear of either being swept away or having the ground ripped out from beneath their feet. So perilous was their situation tha
t the girl momentarily stopped struggling for fear of sending herself and all her persecutors reeling headlong into the sea. But then she saw where they were taking her.

  Just ahead of them, where the decimated shoreline met the river in full spate, a narrow sandbank protruded raggedly into the shredding sea. This strip of land had been slightly higher than its surroundings and was still holding out against the scouring elements. But not for much longer. Each voracious wave snatched away a hundred fistfuls of the rain-drenched, wind-swept soil. It would be less than half an hour before it lost its battle with the sea. And there, halfway along it, stood a wooden stake, stark and black against the slate grey, storm-lashed sky.

  This was where the mob would submit their prisoner to the judgement of the sea.

  Her captors opened out ahead and pushed the young girl forward from behind, still holding on to her arms hard and clutching at her hair. As they stepped aside she saw the stake immediately in front of her. Men stood to either side preparing lengths of rope to bind her to the drowning post.

  “No! No! I’m not a witch. You can’t do this to me.”

  As if galvanised by her own ear-splitting scream she began to twist and bite and kick with the ferociousness of a cornered beast. She clenched her fists and wrenched her arms and fought with every last remaining ounce of strength and mental energy. But they were too strong, too numerous. She slipped and stumbled to the ground. Within seconds they had pinned her down – her face pushed into the mud and sand, a foot upon her neck. Her spirit broke as rough hands grabbed her wrists and forced her arms behind her back.

  “She’s putting up one hell of fight.” Hal’s father was providing an agitated commentary. “Damn! I think they’ve knocked her down. I can’t see a thing. No, hold on … My God! What the hell is that?” He grabbed the helmet with both hands.

  “And that, and that …” he cried out in amazement, as he span around in fits and starts. “What in heaven’s name is going on?”

  Suddenly she was aware of a commotion. The fists and feet that pinned her down were removed within an instant. At first she was unable to take advantage of this sudden release – if anything she collapsed further into the mud, utterly exhausted. And then she heard the screams.

  The howls of terror and cries of disbelief galvanised her into action. She leapt to her feet immediately, eyes staring, pulse racing. She felt a breathless hollow where a heartbeat should have been. She span round. Behind her stood a skeleton, hollow-boned and hardly visible. It stared with eyeless sockets, it intoned through lipless jaws – “Hell-o, Jan-net, well-come to Wick-witch” – and every time it spoke another spectre joined it, rearing up out of sea or breaking through the soil like dragons’ teeth. They were all identical; their chant a dreadful unison.

  She stood and crossed herself. An atavistic dread had risen to a deafening roar and drowned out every single thought … but one. They don’t exist, they don’t exist! the thought called repeatedly, struggling to be heard above the maelstrom of emotions. Listen to me! Just get away. Ignore them, they’re not real. If you can make it back to dry land…

  She turned and ran.

  The skeletons turned with her and followed her as she pushed aside her captors and set off swiftly down the spit. The mob recoiled in horror from the young witch and her entourage. Some of them fell to their knees, praying fervently. Others turned and stumbled into the sea – the same sea in which, seconds earlier, they had meant to drown the girl who now struck them with mortal fear.

  Oblivious to this irony, their intended victim continued blindly along the fast-eroding seafront, her diabolic retinue dancing all around. She turned and headed up the street as scattered thatch and shattered walls were strewn in all directions. She dodged and dived and battled on, a single thought to guide her.

  I’ve got to reach the church. I have to make it to the cliff edge.

  “What cliff? Which church? The one near West Gate – All Saints? But that was by the dyke. There were no cliffs in Wickwich.”

  “She’s escaped!”

  Father and son each thrust a fist high into the air.

  The icon had coordinates again. They watched it move determinedly in a straight line down the screen. Hal scrolled the map to keep up with its progress. The red line, which marked the position of the present-day coastline, slid into view. The icon was approaching it at a steady pace – but not quite fast enough for Hal.

  “Come on, come on,” he shouted. “As soon as she reaches the cliff top I’ll take my finger off the switch and turn the computer off,” he told his father, without taking his eyes off the screen.

  “I’ll get the car out right away and go and pick her up.”

  In one swift move Hal’s father snatched the helmet from his head, clicked off the switch and hurried from the room.

  The circle of cadavers, which gibbered in a reel around the girl, convinced her persecutors more than ever that she was a witch – a sorceress who could summon up the denizens of hell. But it also gave her protection. Like a skeletal talisman, it kept the fearful inhabitants at bay.

  Until it disappeared.

  Immediately the cry went up from the far end of the street. “The fiends have gone – the witch is unprotected!” Those of her persecutors who had kept their nerve were once more in pursuit. Other townsfolk, outraged at the witch’s shameless flaunting of her powers, responded to their call. People were coming at her from every corner of the square. Before they reached her, she was halfway down the street toward West Gate.

  I can see it. It’s so close, so close. I’ve only got to reach the tower. Once there I’m at the cliff top.

  “What cliff?” She hesitated. She had lived in Wickwich all her life and never heard of any cliffs. And why All Saints? She had passed a dozen churches since fleeing from the drowning post. She could have taken sanctuary in any one of those.

  In that moment’s hesitation she lost what little advantage she had over her pursuers. They were almost on top of her before something deep within her compelled her to continue her vital dash toward the tower.

  The church loomed high ahead. As she ran alongside the graveyard wall the nearest person in the mob reached out and snatched her sleeve. She plucked her arm and twisted free, then sped onward with even greater urgency.

  The black monolith of the ruined tower rose up immediately before her.

  Hal watched the icon slide toward the tower. It could only be a matter of seconds before it crossed the line that marked the boundary between pursuit and safety. He concentrated hard upon coordinating his hand and eye – his finger on the on/off switch, the hairline on the screen.

  “Come on, come on. You’re almost there…”

  The flash of lightning stunned her and the thunder stung her ears. In that same instant the world about her disappeared.

  The electricity went out. Hal’s computer went down. His finger was still pushing on the switch.

  “You must be Hal.”

  The young doctor rose up calmly from one of the desks at the entrance to the Accident and Emergency unit. Hal stopped abruptly and turned toward her as the swing doors banged shut behind him.

  “My Mum’s just parking the car,” Hal explained as he got his breath back. “She’ll be here in a minute.”

  “Your father’s just gone down the corridor to phone Jan’s parents,” the doctor informed him and then smiled kindly. “I’ll find a chair for you while we wait for her and your father to arrive.”

  The doctor came out from behind the desk and began walking down the ward toward the furthest corner, which was closed off by a square of unattractive patterned curtains. Hal caught her up and limped alongside. The doctor turned toward him.

  “Before you go in to see her I ought to warn you that she’s been very badly injured.”

  Hal stopped and stared, his mouth half open as though trying to ask a question that he could not formulate.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve startled you.” The doctor placed her hand gently on his arm. “It’s a
lright. She’s not in danger, although she is extremely lucky to be alive. She slid down the cliff rather than fell off it, and because of all the heavy rain the cliff face was quite muddy and her landing very soft. As far as we can make out she hasn’t broken any bones – although I’m waiting for the x-rays to confirm that.”

  “So what’s wrong with her?” Hal enquired agitatedly.

  “I’m afraid she’s suffered some very heavy bruising and severe lacerations to her face. We’re hoping that it won’t require plastic surgery, but until the consultant’s seen her we cannot know for certain.”

  Hal rocked back slightly on his heels and turned his head away.

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor apologised quietly, almost whispering. “I had to let you know before you saw her. It’s important that you don’t look surprised in any way when I show you in. Jan has no idea just how extensive her injuries are just yet. We haven’t allowed her to have a mirror. I should also point out that she’s still suffering from concussion and is very confused as to where, and even who, she is.”

  The doctor resumed escorting Hal toward a row of plastic chairs next to the square of curtains. He lagged behind, not because of the pain in his ankle but because of the trepidation in his head.

  Just as they came up to the plastic seating the curtains parted slightly as a nurse came out and pulled them to behind him. He looked at Hal and then turned to the doctor and exchanged a glance. The two of them took a couple of steps up the ward before engaging in a whispered conversation. Hal looked on trying hard, but unsuccessfully, to overhear what they were saying.

  After a minute or two the doctor turned toward Hal.

  “I’m sorry,” she explained, “but apparently we’ve not dressed Jan’s wounds yet as the nurse has just been told that the consultant is on their way over. They will want to see the full extent of Jan’s injuries before we cover them in bandages.