by Paul A. Rice
Ken shrugged in confusion.
George clued him up, saying: ‘If you are on your knees, scratching around in the dust for a few grains of food, then the last thing you will be doing is striving to enhance your ability to advance, to grasp with both hands the wondrous opportunities that lie within reach.’ He laughed, and it wasn’t a happy sound.
Ken’s ears were pinned back now.
George continued. ‘At this moment in time, they are telling you that the world is warming and that it is all the fault of your people, the ordinary folk. That is exactly what they are saying!’ he scoffed, then pausing to stare at the two men sitting before him. After a moment of silence, he carried on. ‘But, in reality it is nothing more than a cynical ploy to ensure they can grab more power and instigate more rules – they are going to destroy you with their insanity!’ George rose to his feet and walked around the room for a while.
After a short time he turned around and looked at the two men. He was angry and his red face had now become more like a small, blue-eyed beacon on top of the vibrating buoy of his lightly-framed body. He literally quivered in anger as he let the words spew from his mouth.
‘They know that fossil fuel will destroy them, they know it has already caused so much agony, they know it is responsible for the majority of endless invasions and horrific wars – the rushed civilisation of ancient races that should have been left to develop in their own time. It was all down to their insatiable greed. They pursued their own destruction, never once stopping to consider the carnage they had left trailing in their wake!’ He stopped to gather his thoughts.
Ken knew what George had meant – some of the places he had been were like a Stone Age nightmare, one that had only been made worse by the intervention of civilisation. Yeah, he had been there and seen it, and he knew exactly what the old guy meant.
George continued over Ken’s unspoken thoughts. ‘The pollution caused by the burning of such fuels is harmful, yes, but nowhere near as bad as they make it out to be. That is simply another plot to ensure they maintain control, they manipulate the knowledge of the planet to suit their needs!’ He shook his head in disgust.
‘Rotting trees and vegetation alone generate more pollutants to rise into the earth’s atmosphere than the burning of fossil fuel ever does! And that is before you factor in other things like volcanoes or the vast carbon release from your beautiful oceans! This planet has been doing these things for millions of years, and yet they will have you believe that the puny habits of man will have an effect upon the immense forces of nature in one or two of your little centuries – pah!’ He spat his derision out in a furious breath. George was fuming.
‘They knew these things and they kept them hidden!’ he snapped, angrily.
With a furious shake of the head, he said, ‘Anyway, what I am saying is that this whole situation is not about whether the dangers of those old fuels are real or not. After all, it never has really been about fuel, no. This is about them, the Hyenas, and their quest for ultimate control – the Darkness has them!’
With barely a breath in between his sentences, George continued with his rabid tale. ‘Why tell anyone the truth, why bother when they were able to use the twisted information to make more money and gain more power? We told them how to cure it – we showed them how to satisfy their need for power. They knew how, we told them how!’ He raged. ‘They knew that, and they knew many other facts as well, facts that may have led to their own undoing should they have become public knowledge. They hid a lot, yes – a whole lot was hidden by them indeed! If they were so concerned by the effects of fossil fuel, then why-oh-why did they not snatch our hands off when we showed them such a wondrous alternative, why?’ He stopped his rant and stood, looking at them in silence.
Seeing that George’s attention was back, Ken leaned forward, and said, ‘We know that they’re doing all of this, but what can we do, it’s probably a big scam and a lot of people say that, but what the hell can we do?’
George grimaced, saying: ‘You don’t need to do anything because we have already done all the hard work, all they needed to do was to build the machines, build them and distribute them, that is all they had to do!’
Mike and Ken looked at each other and then back to George, who, upon seeing the light of madness...nearly missing the boat madness...gleaming in their eyes, replied. ‘I do understand, my boys,’ the old man said. ‘I truly do understand how difficult this must be for you, but as I have said before, this is happening, it is real and it won’t go away. We have to address it, and above all, we have to take action! This is the hard part, believe you me. Making all the pieces of the puzzle fit, that is the skill involved here. Once you have attained a solid level of understanding, then the rest of this will be rather easy!’
‘Yeah, ‘easy’ being another relative word, eh George, old boy?’ Ken kept his dark thoughts to himself for the time being. He looked at Mike and clenched his cheek muscles. Mike nodded, almost imperceptibly, in affirmation of his friend’s unspoken words.
Seeing the confused shaking of his newest recruits’ heads, their tutor rose to his feet, and looked at Ken with a glint of sympathy shining in his eyes. George’s next sentence was more of an order than a question. It was also in complete contrast to his recent, furious, tirade.
‘Anyway, look…’ he said, softly. ‘Please do not worry too much at the moment; everything will become a lot clearer in the very near future, there is much more to this tale than just the rapidly diminishing stocks of oil, of that you can rest assured!’ Then he said, ‘Well, I think we have just about covered enough for one day. You must both be hungry, and I would imagine that you also have rather a lot to catch up on…’ Turning towards the door, he hesitated and then turned back to face the two men. ‘Is there anything else?’ he asked.
The friends looked at each other.
Mike answered for both of them. ‘What are the chances of us getting a couple of cold beers?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows in a gesture of persuasion.
The old man said, ‘On their way as we speak, my boys! I think that your stomach will be up to the task now, Michael – how is it feeling, by the way?’
Mike patted his solid stomach with his right hand and laughed. ‘Good as gold, mate, it’s as good as gold! To be honest, I wouldn’t mind a cold one just to see if there any leaks left, you know?’ He winked wickedly and it was George who had to shake his head in disbelief this time.
The old man then repeated his assertion that food and refreshments were on the way. After seeing their nodded agreement, he smiled enchantingly, saying: ‘Have a good evening, gentlemen! We shall meet again tomorrow, I still have rather a lot to explain in order for you to understand the next phase. Enjoy yourselves, but do not try and figure out all the angles on this one, some things are beyond comprehension. Simply let them be and go with the flow, eh?’ With that, he turned on his heel, strode across the room and went out through the doorway.
It was a piece of advice that Ken intended to heed, because right about then, he felt as though his head had been in a microwave oven for about thirty seconds, on high. ‘Ping!’ His brain felt cooked.
16
The Tale of Mike
The two men stayed in the lounge for a few more hours, during which time they talked endlessly about their situation; a never-ending stream of questions and answers flowed between the two good friends whilst they ate and drank. It felt just fine to Ken, and was, as Mike had said: ‘Time to fill in a few of the gaps…’
When Ken had asked him what he was able to remember, Mike said that on the morning of the storm he’d tried to ring Ken several times, but was unable to get a signal on his mobile phone. So, after several more attempts he’d decided to go around to the bunker and join Ken there.
‘You know, Ken, just to make sure you didn’t screw up any of that fragile electronic shit with your gorilla hands!’ He laughed as two fingers from one of the accused hands appeared in a rigid reply. Continuing, he said, ‘As I drove alo
ng I saw a lot of people rushing around the base in a big hurry. Most of them were either heading for shelter or lashing things down, there was stuff blowing all over the bloody place, it was just crazy!’
Ken nodded in agreement, the memory of the storm still very fresh in his own mind. Mike said that he had seen people on the roofs with extra sandbags, piling them against the equipment in an attempt to stabilize their satellite communication dishes and other receivers, which were now starting to take a battering from the increasing force of the storm.
As he approached the SD building, Mike said that he had been unable to get past in his pickup because the road was blocked by two of the large Ford trucks, which the spooks were using. Both the big trucks had been reversed up to the front door of the building and there were several of the hard-eyed Afghan guards there, too.
They were standing in a cordon around the white pickups and all of them had been armed with rifles. It didn’t appear to be good – the Afghans were definitely acting very fidgety and giving the drivers in the traffic, which was now backing up along the dusty road, a hard time. This was highly unusual as the Afghan guys were always pretty low-profile and generally kept themselves to themselves whilst on the base.
‘But, there they were, pointing loaded weapons at people and mouthing abuse at us!’ Mike said, shaking his head. ‘They were acting like a bunch of pricks!’
He told Ken that he’d been on the verge of doing a U-turn and going back to the office, when a commotion had broken out right in front of him. Four Afghans and one big American had come running out of the SD building’s front door carrying two large containers between them. It was difficult to see exactly what had happened next as the dust was really starting to whirl everywhere. What Mike did see was the tall American turn back from the vehicle. Then, and whilst grinning like a madman, the giant drew his pistol.
Mike said, ‘It was one of those moments where time slows down and you’re just a passenger, like watching a movie, you know?’
Ken did know – he knew about that one for sure.
Mike had observed two men rush out of the open doorway and head straight for the grinning gunslinger. They were mouthing something and their faces were filled with an expression that spoke of sheer horror. Mike said that he had never seen anything quite so deliberate as what the tall man did next. Peering through the dust, he saw him wait until the last second and then casually, but extremely quickly – so the two reports rolled into one sound – he shot both of the onrushing men in the head.
Mike’s eyes widened with the recollection as he said, ‘He was so quick that I didn’t quite believe what I was seeing!’ His sharp-voiced description cut deep into the scene. ‘He practically blew their heads clean off,’ he said. ‘It just wasn’t necessary; there was no need to do that, the bastard!’
According to his memory, it was right about that time when the shooting had started in earnest. Without warning, or seeming to have received any orders, the Afghans opened up on everything. Mike told Ken there had been one of the men standing on the back of the second Ford truck, manning a machinegun. Mike didn’t think the gunner took his finger off the trigger. ‘He just ripped those rounds into us!’ he said, and then also told Ken of how he remembered the unreal sight of the muzzle flash roaring from the barrel of the man’s weapon. He was mesmerised by the twinkling acrobatics of the tumbling empty cases as they cascaded away from the shuddering weapon. The sight transfixed him, a dream.
He looked up, eyes focusing on the present. ‘There was lead flying everywhere! Then the Hajjis with the AKs joined in and people were going down all over the place.’ Mike grimaced, saying: ‘Everyone within fifty yards was whacked! It was like something straight out of the movies...And there I was – sitting like a dummy and watching whilst they wasted everything in sight!’
He paused, before saying: ‘Then the vehicle behind me took some hits, I heard the rounds smacking into it. The next thing I know is that it rams into the back of my wagon and shoves me into the truck in front. My engine stalled and...well, it was about then that they all decided to make me their focus of attention, like it was personal!’ Mike breathed heavily with the traumatic memory.
He whispered: ‘That ginger bastard was standing there, just laughing and firing off his whole magazine straight at me!’ Mike’s nostrils flared.
Ken saw the slight reddening in his stubbled cheeks. ‘Did he have a ponytail, did you notice or not, Mike?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, he did, halfway down his back like some bloody, red-necked fashion victim!’ Mike said, staring unbelievingly at Ken. Then he added: ‘How the hell did you know about that...you had the dream as well, didn’t you?’ Mike shook his head. ‘Don’t tell me that you had the dream too, the one where he’s running on the spot and gets that thing out of his pocket, and then he blows him...blows all of us to hell!’ His blue eyes looked deep into his friend’s face as he received the nodded affirmative. ‘We had the same dream, huh?’ he whispered.
Ken nodded again.
‘Jesus, this is crazy!’ Mike said, in horror.
After taking a moment to recover his composure, he then said that the weight of fire his pickup had been receiving was incredible and that he was amazed he hadn’t been hit. ‘There were bullets flying past my ears, past my nose...rounds everywhere. I decided to get the fuck out of that truck!’
Mike had dived from his seat, hit the floor of the cab and then crawled towards the passenger door, feeling the gear lever snap as he did so. He told Ken that he remembered the hammering ‘spang-spang’ noise of the incoming rounds hitting the engine block and other, solid metal parts on the truck. The sound was accompanied by similar thwacking noises and the sound of the truck’s safety glass breaking, its tiny pieces flying through the air and showering him with their shattered crystals. Mike now had a faraway glint in his eyes and Ken saw him jumping back into his previous, ghastly reality.
He told of how he’d managed to get out, crashing to the ground next to the truck in a plume of dust and broken glass, rolling and crawling, trying to get his bearings, his adrenaline pumping. ‘Shitting myself!’ was how he described it.
‘There were rounds winging off everything, I remember looking at the front tyres as I hit the deck, they were both flat and there was fuel pouring out underneath the middle of the wagon, you should have seen me move my arse then...I was out of there like a rattlesnake on nitro, crawling so fast that my knees and elbows were nearly on fire!’
He’d almost made it to the wide drainage ditch, which lay on the opposite side of the road to where the fire was pouring in from. It was a good position, well below ground level and kept his perforated pickup between him and the shooters. Then, just as Mike was inches from safety, the storm had hit him. He said that he’d smelt the terrible swirling sand, it had filled his nose and mouth with a horrible burnt taste. Mike wrinkled his nose at the memory, then said he’d remembered screaming, screaming really loudly.
Such was its power that the wind had almost lifted him to his feet. ‘I felt like one of those crazy bastards who go into a vertical wind tunnel and practice skydiving…’ he said.
Then the wind had sucked him completely off his feet, like a giant wild-eyed puppet, and left him there dangling helplessly in the dust. That was when he saw the two white pickups blurring past him, they seemed to be huge and were moving at a speed that didn’t seem possible.
They hurtled past him, through him, and he felt as though he had been miniaturised, or they had been swelled. They were like bloated, white, metal boats, like ships, such was their size compared to him. The dreadful, burnt electrical smell filled his mouth and nose as they rocketed past him. As he was thrown up onto his back and into the howling melee of wind and dust above, Mike had heard the firing again and this time it was a lot closer. So close that he’d felt the muzzle flash burn against the back of his legs and his lower back.
He looked at his friend with a desperate light in his eyes. ‘Then I took a hit, and I was hit really b
adly,’ he said. ‘It felt like I had been whacked by a lump hammer, it just knocked the wind right outta me – I couldn’t breathe!’
Silence descended over the friends, both of them locked in the scene.
Mike breathed out. ‘My legs went numb and I lay there in the air swirling around like a leaf,’ he said. ‘It was weird because I felt kinda...er...well, kind of calm. It was definitely weird, I looked down and saw pieces of my liver sticking to the front of my shirt, there were bits of white bone in there as well, it felt like my spine had been blown through my guts.’
Looking in amazement at Ken, he murmured, ‘I was in shit-state, but...but, I felt okay, almost as though I knew it wasn’t the end, there were things in my mind, memories of things, I felt like I had done this before, I was…’ He looked away, as if to gather his thoughts somewhat.
Then he said, ‘The last thing I remember was spinning around in the dust and trying to sit up, I really tried hard to sit up, and then the blood started pouring out of my mouth and nose. I think it was about that time when I must have flaked out, I guess.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders.
Ken shook his head and looked at his friend. ‘So that’s what you were on about with George, was it?’ he said. ‘Let’s have a look at the scar!’
Mike unzipped the front of his flight suit, it made a strange hissing noise as it opened. Seeing Ken’s surprised look, he said, ‘Ah, don’t ask, mate. I’ll tell you about it later, it’s another story all on its own, is this suit.’ He peeled the suit off his shoulders, the shimmering material hung down over his waist to the rear with the sagging arms dangling onto the floor, then he stripped off the white vest he had against his skin and tossed it onto the couch, before turning around so that Ken was able to see his back.
There was a thin scar running right across his lower back, it ran from hip to hip and had a slight reddish appearance, like all scars in the weeks after post-op. In addition, there was a scar running directly up the line of his spine. It ended about eight inches above the bigger scar and looked like a very thin, upside down T on his finely muscled back.
