Hunters: A Trilogy

by Paul A. Rice

  ‘Are you saying that there really is a good and evil battle going on behind the scenes after all, you know: God, the Devil, Angels and Demons, all the stuff like that?’ Ken asked. He had never believed in any form of religion, not since the market bomb anyway. Blood-covered cobbles, and several other things he had witnessed along the way since then, had taken care of that a long time ago. His head became filled with the scene again, he smelt it. With an effort, he managed to twist his mind away from those awfully pervading thoughts.

  Mike answered, saying: ‘I believe so, and something in my mind tells me that it is going on, but I can’t quite seem to make sense of it. That black stuff is all part of it, although I’m not sure exactly what part. George has never confirmed or denied it, either. It feels like a door in my head has been closed and I can’t seem to find the handle. There’s some kind of… of Darkness, I can feel it but I can’t quite seem to…’

  Jane cut in to the conversation. ‘But they have no qualms about using violence when they feel like it,’ she said. ‘Ken told me that George used him to… to kill Red – how can that be a good thing? I thought they were all super-advanced and totally beyond violence…’ She sounded as though she had begun to feel unsure about this, just needed to get things straight in her mind, perhaps.

  Mike smiled and said, ‘Yeah, they do use violence, but only very occasionally – don’t get me wrong, I’m not here to defend their corner. I know what they are capable of, but the only time I’ve seen them do bad things is when there was no other choice, and even then there was always a positive reason for their actions.’

  Their friend remained calm as he stared at them. The fire was still burning in his eyes and they found it difficult to disagree with him. Mike blinked, almost as though he was dragging himself back from a distant place.

  Concentrating back on his friends’ faces, he said, ‘George has given us this opportunity to make a difference, so, in a weird way, I guess that we’re quite privileged.’ He gave that little shrug of his broad shoulders once more.

  Ken asked: ‘Okay, so what are we are supposed to do then, what’s our part in all of this?’ He was starting to feel nauseous and his head felt fuzzy.

  Then Mike told them straight. Ken thought maybe it was to be some long, complicated tale, perhaps returning to the luxurious lounge with its red couch, maybe the train station, or going back in time or…

  He was wrong in most of his assumptions.

  Mike’s voice filled their heads. ‘They want us to prevent certain people here, in this parallel, from doing the terrible things that will affect the future. They know who is lined up to achieve things, good things, and they know those people, who, by their actions, are going to prevent the others from doing these good things!’

  ‘How do we prevent them from interfering with these people, Mikey?’ Ken asked. He didn’t expect the straightforward answer he was to receive.

  Without hesitation, Mike replied. ‘We either kill them or we do something to stop them. George will show us who and why, he’ll provide all the gear and all the information that we need.’ He paused briefly and then finished with: ‘All we have to do is to stop them, or prevent them from interfering with the chosen ones!’

  The silence between them was like fine crystal – almost see through, non-existent, but there nonetheless. It crackled as the remnants of Mike’s statement almost hummed with its unambiguous clarity. Ken felt the air thicken with tension.

  A small pocket of air, entrapped for decades by sap within the log, exploded in the fireplace. Jane jumped at the unexpected noise, it sounded as though it was much nearer than the previous muffled sounds of the pub’s warm but distant reality. Then, with a stomach-churning wobble, Ken found himself back in the real time, the noise of the bar rolled over him and he swayed in his seat, eyes struggling to refocus on his surroundings.

  He wasn’t alone in his confusion and discomfort.

  ‘I hope that’s not going to happen every time! God, that was really awful!’ Jane said. She sounded quite ill and Ken felt her sway slightly as he struggled to focus his own, blurred vision.

  Mike chuckled, saying: ‘You’ll get used to it, and to be honest, we don’t often use that particular method.’ He leant forward, finished his drink, and then placed the glass back on the table. Looking at his watch, he said, ‘So, there you have it, there is a lot more to go over, but in essence that’s what this is all about. You have to decide whether you want in, or not. Anyway, I reckon that we go back to the lodge before we discuss it any further. My machine will have scanned your place by now, so we should be able to talk openly without any worries.’

  He stood and walked over to the bar with his wallet in hand. Ken and Jane rose, taking their empty glasses. They said their goodbyes to Charlie, promised not to be strangers, and then the three of them headed for the door, stopping only to gather their coats from the rack on the way out. A slight breeze had picked up and the clouds were now busy rolling into the horizon where they gathered thickly above the distant hills. Their passing let the huge moon have things all its own way – the glow of its sheer, almost blue light cascaded over the countryside.

  The car park was bathed in an unearthly radiance.

  ‘Whoa, check out that big baby!’ Mike said, as he stood and gazed up at the gleaming sphere. It was so clear that the craters from ancient meteor-strikes were clearly discernible upon its face. ‘I’ll bet old George and his pals are up there somewhere, laughing their arses off at us whilst we deal with their latest big idea!’ He gave a sarcastic wave to the unseen old man and his friends, whom he imagined to be floating about in space high above them. ‘Hi there, George…’ he shouted, ‘…the food in this pub is excellent, you should come down and join us some time – old boy!’

  Ken laughed at the sound of Mike’s sarcasm and wrapped his arm around Jane’s waist – she returned the favour and placed her hand into the back pocket of his jeans. Arm-in-arm they walked towards the car. Jane looked back over her shoulder, ‘Come on, Mikey, you’ll crick your bloody neck, love!’ she said, motioning him over with her free hand.

  ‘Yeah, I’m coming,’ he replied. ‘But it’s times like this when you’d have to be pretty narrow-minded to believe that we’re the only ones out here in this universe. Just look at that moon!’ Mike shook his head and then jogged over to catch up with his friends.

  Ken grunted: ‘Yeah, well…it’s so lucky for us that we know different, isn’t it? Gee, we’re so bloody fortunate, aren’t we?’ His soft sarcasm cracked them all up and the trio burst into laughter as they clambered into the worn leather-interior of the old workhorse.

  9

  Learning Curves

  They drove back to the lodge in silence, each with their own thoughts tip-toeing around their respective minds. Jane handled the big vehicle with ease, she was a natural driver and it showed. The dim lights of the dashboard reflected off her face, high cheekbones glowing in the soft light as she pushed the Range Rover into the on-rushing bends. Sitting next to her, Ken felt quite normal. He hadn’t felt the same since he had awoken, and if he were to be honest, he’d begun to feel more alive, more invigorated – the feeling of the unknown filled him with that much-missed sense of adventure. What Mike had just told them, seemed to slot comfortably into place. Ken felt as though he had been born for this.

  ‘I must be fucking nuts!’ The thought made him chuckle. ‘What the bloody hell are we doing here? Stop the bus, I wanna get off!’ As if hearing his thoughts, the other two started laughing softly. Ken couldn’t restrain himself and soon their joint laughter rolled around the inside of the car. All of them secretly knew there were most likely not going to be many stops at which they were able to disembark from this particular bus, not for a while anyway.

  Once back inside the house, and having kicked off his boots, Mike made his way over to the laptop device and gently touched the screen on the strange machine. A single green bar flashed across it and a small icon appeared in the top left corner of the s
creen. After bending to read it for a while, he straightened and then reported on the results.

  ‘No bugs or cameras in this place,’ he said, ‘the only devices in the house are your wireless network hub and two others within a three mile radius. It reports that your landline has not been tampered with and that there are a total of five mobile telephones within the confines of the house.’ He touched the screen once and it darkened. Picking it up, Mike carried the machine into the sitting room where he placed it onto the coffee table, before returning to the kitchen again.

  ‘That little machine can tell us all that can it? That’s pretty smart!’ Jane said, reaching for the glass tumblers and pulling a cold bottle of Coke from the fridge. Passing them to Ken, she said, ‘Come on then, let’s get by the fire, have a couple of these and get back to the plot, I can’t wait!’ She showed the men the bottle of her best brandy – without protest they followed her into the sitting room. Mike sat in the cream couch whilst Jane and Ken sat on the rug facing him with their backs to the fire. ‘Ready when you are, ‘teach’…’ Jane said, light-heartedly.

  Looking down at them, Mike began. ‘Okay, well, here goes then. I’ll explain some of it, but,’ he said, activating the screen once more, ‘this will show you some of the other stuff.’ He swivelled the device to one side, so the screen was visible to all of them, and then continued. ‘The leaders, or Council, George’s bosses, if you like, cannot change the past – those who are dead will remain so. However, they can influence the future, particularly in regards to the important souls such as we’ve mentioned before.’ He paused and looked across to make sure they were with him. Seeing their nodded agreement, he said, ‘They can help those people, the ones who, given the opportunity, may make a big difference to our development as a race. With our help, their chances will be much improved…’ He caressed the machine and its glowing screen displayed a set of pictures.

  They watched the images flash across its liquid surface. It reminded Ken of the slide shows that he had seen before, these were the same but quicker and less detailed. ‘An outline, just enough to get the picture…’ he guessed, and that theory suited him fine because right now he felt as though his brain was starting to shrink once more. Pushing the sensation away, he turned and watched the show.

  The pictures were not in any particular order, they seemed to be just a stream of random scenes depicting various people. Some appeared to be scientists, or similar, their white-coated forms working happily in laboratories and research centres, the computers, data printouts and sterile workplaces indicating as much.

  Others seemed to be researchers, steam rising from their hooded faces as they gathered around holes dug into the surface of some frozen wasteland or another. Long, cylindrical ‘lollipops’ of ice lay stacked in neat piles as the machine next to them carried on boring onto the ice for yet more samples. Two warmly-clad people were feeding the lollipops into a large, silver device. As the ice was pulled into its circular mouth, there was a flashing of light within the case – this was accompanied by a thin tendril of flame from the other end. The flame was so pure in its combustion that it appeared to be almost see-through. A third person squatted upon the ice next to the fire-breathing machine, feverishly tapping away at their clumsily-held keypad. As each ignition took place, the group cheered – the man at the back couldn’t help himself and kept pumping the air with a clenched fist. They all appeared to be ecstatic.

  Then there were the lecturers, standing in their suits before on-looking audiences and pointing to diagrams and models, their eyes shining excitedly as they explained the various technicalities of a particular invention or idea. The seated crowd turned to each other with much nodding of heads and note-taking, the room seemingly filled with an electric atmosphere as the orator held them captivated within their verbal palms. There were doctors, surgeons, politicians and teachers, all were there happily engaged in their passion. They shared two things – firstly they were all smiling, obviously happy and excited with the love of their subjects. It shone from them with an almost visible aura.

  The second item of commonality, which they unknowingly shared, was displayed within the digital box flickering underneath each person as the screen showed them to Mike and his audience. As the subject appeared on the screen, the box below them was filled with a line of words, rather like the ‘ticker tape’ at the bottom of a news programme on the television. It was the same for all of them, and it wasn’t good, in any way. It showed their endings, their untimely deaths before they were ever to reach these wonderful stages of their lives.

  The middle-aged scientist turned and used his laser pointer to underline some important point to his gathered pupils. The technical drawings held them riveted, their heads looking from the screen to their books and then back again, three or four of them raised their hands.

  Questions and answers, he knew them all.

  ‘Breaking news’ Bad news…

  The words flashed eerily beneath him.

  ‘Ethan Martin Williams, future Professor. Deceased, aged twenty-one years. Cause: Heroin overdose.’

  A tall, brown-haired woman bounded girlishly down the spiral stairs leading from the observatory. Her blue shoes were flying down the steel steps as she spoke into her mobile telephone. Her fate flashed beneath in Mike’s little box.

  The warning was invisible to her, but there nonetheless.

  ‘Breaking news’ Bad news…

  ‘Mary-Ann Blake, future Astrophysicist. Deceased, aged nineteen years. Cause: Murdered whilst engaged in prostituting herself.’

  A handsome Asian stood upon the steps in front of some huge courthouse, the gathered throngs of press and TV reporters jostled for position as he spoke into their lenses. Flashlight bulbs fired their luminescent bursts, each one showing his smiling face in perfect clarity.

  ‘Breaking news’ Bad news…

  ‘Sher Agha Khan, future Lawyer. Deceased, aged fourteen years. Cause: Killed in a hit-and-run traffic accident. Perpetrators untraced.’

  Behind him, a waved banner shouted out the words, ‘Go Sher, GO! Rock the Hydr-O!’ The white sheet with the green writing reminded Ken of the ‘MJW’ scribbling he had seen on the church wall in Kandahar. The two women holding the banner jumped up and down as Sher smiled and waved at them.

  A short, overweight young man, with an awful pink jumper stretched over his podgy midriff, peered owlishly at the strange machine lying before him – the device looked like the cigarette case that Ken and Mike had seen in some other place, only bigger. There were several of them in various stages of construction, sitting upon the work surfaces in front of the man.

  ‘Breaking news’ Bad news…

  ‘Kristopher Stephan Merkel, future Hydro-Cell Engineer. Deceased, aged six years. Cause: Murdered by kidnappers, body never recovered. Perpetrators untraced.’

  The man looked up briefly, the workshop lights glinted off the surface of his rimless spectacles as his face contorted into a ruddy-cheeked smile. Turning back to the machine, he puffed his cheeks out and whistled whilst he worked. He certainly appeared to be happy with his lot.

  The list rolled on, always the same thing, the little screen below bringing the unknown, bad news for the particular person on display. Their lives seemingly never destined to see the place they had very obviously reached on the screen. People from every nation and culture were shown to them, countless beings hell-bent on their particular subject. All of them shared the ominous box that flickered below their briefly-illuminated moment in George’s spotlight.

  ‘Breaking news’ Bad news…

  ‘None of these people will live to see their fulfilment if we don’t take on this task,’ Mike’s voice broke the scene as he stopped the show. ‘This is but a small example of the type of thing we are talking about.’

  ‘How many people do we have to help?’ Ken’s question was in many ways a pre-emptive acceptance of the ‘Gift’ George had laid before them.

  Mike thought for a while before he spoke. Then, w
ith a wry shrug, he said, ‘Umm, well, it depends really, depends on who George decides is within our sector.’ Looking at them in surprise, he said, ‘We’re not the…’

  Jane finished the sentence for him. ‘Not the only ones involved…there are others doing this!’ Her voice mirrored the surprise Ken felt.

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you, Mike?’ he whispered. ‘You mean that this is already going on as we speak?’ He felt the enormity of the task roll over him again.

  Mike laughed, saying, ‘Well, yeah! You didn’t think we were gonna save the entire world on our own, did you?’ He shook his head and looked down in mock pity at his best friend.

  Ken looked back at him, he felt pretty stupid. ‘No, but, well…I mean…’ His voice tailed away and he gave a sheepish grin. Turning to Jane, he shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘It must be this hole in the back of my head!’ His humour helped to take some of the pressure off the moment.

  Mike looked at them and then reached over and topped his drink up with a little splash of Coke, ice clinking as he swirled it around with a rotating motion of his hand. ‘Does anyone else fancy a refill?’ he asked, raising the drink to his lips.

  They declined – Ken felt as though he was approaching his threshold anyway. Jane stretched out lazily, saying: ‘No thanks, sweetheart. I’m just about done for the night, any more and I’ll be nodding off!’

  Her statement was amazing, here they were, learning about something truly shocking, frightening really, and she was starting to think about some kip. Seeing the befuddled expression upon Jane’s face, Ken grinned at her and said, ‘I know, it’s weird, just bloody weird is what this is!’

  Mike spoke again. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘there are others involved in this, but no-one except the Council knows who they are, and we will never be privy to that information, either. I guess it’s for the best really. I mean, can you imagine it? You know, meeting up and asking how things were going in their sector…’