by Seth Rain
Freya folded her arms.
‘You sure about this?’ Noah asked. ‘Mathew’s not going to welcome you. Or me, for that matter.’
‘It’s the only way out of this,’ Isaiah said. ‘It’s a matter of time before Gabriel finds Scott again. Above all else, Mathew is a Watcher. He believes in the 144,000 and he believes in God’s will.’
‘I should have killed him,’ Noah said, shaking his head.
‘I shot him,’ Isaiah said. ‘Gabriel’s life is in His hands now.’
‘Shoot him in the head next time. See what He makes of that.’
‘Noah,’ Isaiah said, piety in his voice.
‘But the canals?’ Noah said. ‘Come on! I’d rather take my chances with Gabriel’s Watchers.’
‘The canals?’ Scott’s voice was unsure.
Isaiah walked further into the tunnel.
‘This way. Gabriel will find it difficult to get to us here.’
Scott helped Freya stand and they followed Isaiah. They walked through the tunnel and out the other side. Smog hung in the air, hazy across the black water. The drizzle made tiny circles on the still surface of the water, now and then broken further by fish rising to the surface then disappearing again. The canal had a scent of its own, a green scent, sour and rich, growth and decay happening simultaneously.
Isaiah led the way. ‘We need to get out of sight. Gabriel will have his Watchers searching for us.’
They crept along the towpath, hiding in the trees along the side of the canal when a boat passed by.
‘This is crazy,’ Noah said. ‘Gabriel will have got word out to the clans already.’
‘The clans along the canal have no sympathy with Gabriel,’ Isaiah said.
‘No,’ Noah said, ‘but they have a whole lot of sympathy for money. And Gabriel has a whole heap of that.’
‘We are Watchers,’ Isaiah said, checking his coat. ‘They are not going to do anything foolish.’
‘So why are we hiding in these trees?’ Noah said.
‘We need to keep Scott hidden.’
‘What will Mathew do?’ Scott asked.
Isaiah hesitated, stared at his feet. ‘He is the only one who can stop Gabriel from getting to you. That’s all that matters for now.’
‘What did Gabriel mean about time running out?’ Scott asked.
‘The Rapture,’ Noah said.
Scott raised an eyebrow.
‘You don’t believe He is coming?’ Freya asked.
Isaiah and Noah stopped, their eyes fixed on him too.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Of course not.’
‘Brilliant!’ Noah said, before walking further into the undergrowth. ‘Just great.’
‘Even after everything that’s happened?’ Freya asked.
Scott shook his head. ‘What has happened with the AI is our doing, not God’s.’
‘And why 144,000 people?’ she asked.
‘We don’t know that number is genuine.’
‘Of course it is.’
‘And all the Chosen are men,’ Scott said. ‘Do you think that’s His doing too?’
Freya’s face coloured. ‘I am not His judge. He knows what must be done. It is our duty to follow Him.’
‘Yours, maybe,’ Scott said, as he stepped out of the undergrowth onto the towpath. ‘I’m not doing this. I’m getting out of here. I’ll work out what’s happening myself.’
‘Scott,’ Isaiah said, reaching for him. ‘Wait.’
But Scott shrugged him off and kept walking. Ahead, a narrowboat was coming towards them.
Thirteen
They walked in single file without talking. The narrowboat, black with red markings in the early morning light, chugged towards them. When it reached them its engine stopped, and Scott registered how much noise it had been making. Two figures stood at the rear of the boat, one of them holding a long curved pole for steering. Water lapped against its hull and against the reeds and bank.
Isaiah raised a hand. ‘Hello.’
Noah muttered something.
The two figures on the boat didn’t move, their heads fixed on the four strange faces.
The narrowboat bumped against the bank. The smaller of the two men jumped off the boat and looped a rope through a rusted iron hoop embedded in the towpath.
‘You lost, friends?’ the other man asked, a cigarette hanging from his bottom lip.
‘Good morning,’ Isaiah said.
The man on the narrowboat was huge, peering back at them through the drizzle. He had a thick beard and dark eyes that reflected a light shining from somewhere inside the boat. He took the cigarette from his mouth and examined its glowing end. ‘Watchers aren’t welcome on these here canals.’
‘Forgive us,’ Isaiah said. ‘If there was another way, we would have taken it.’
Scott watched the smaller man clamber over the boat and disappear over the other side.
The tall man lifted his chin and blew smoke into the rain. ‘And who might you be avoiding, then?’ he asked.
‘Gabriel’s Watchers,’ Isaiah said.
Scott understood there and then that Isaiah could only be honest. He’d heard of many Watchers giving this impression – although misguided, their intentions were genuine.
The man paused. ‘That so?’
Freya and Noah shifted uneasily, and the man registered them.
‘You’ll want to be seeing Mathew, I s’pose?’
Isaiah appeared surprised. ‘What makes you think—’
‘Come on,’ the man said. ‘If you’re on the run from Gabriel, stands to reason…’
Isaiah coughed. ‘Yes. If possible.’
‘No,’ Scott said. ‘I’m not going with them.’
‘Scott,’ Freya whispered sternly. ‘It’s not safe. You must stay with us.’
He ignored her. ‘I can pay you,’ Scott said to the man on the narrowboat.
The bearded man took a long pull on his cigarette then threw the stub into the water. He gestured for them to board. ‘As long as someone’s paying me, we can sort out where we’re going later. Out here, in the open, we’re sitting ducks.’
Isaiah stiffened, ready to walk away.
‘Thank you,’ Scott said, stepping around Isaiah and onto the narrowboat. From inside the boat came the sound of crockery being stacked and the smell of food cooking.
Scott leaned over the side of the boat to take Freya’s hand. She nodded, pursed her lips, then stepped up beside him. As she did this, for the first time, he sensed that Freya trusted him, or at least acknowledged his need to make his own decisions – if that’s what they were.
Isaiah was last to board, his face stern, his head shaking.
The engine worked hard, spluttering water out of the back end; it was loud and they had to raise their voices to be heard over it.
‘This is good of you,’ Scott said. ‘Thank you.’
‘The name’s Gregory. I know these Watchers have a tidy sum behind them. But what about you? I’m expecting compensation for the detour.’
‘I’ll get off as soon as we’re far enough away. I have money.’
‘How do I know that?’
‘You have my word,’ Scott said.
Gregory sniffed loudly. ‘Your word, huh?’
Scott watched Isaiah and Noah make their way below.
Gregory gripped the tiller more firmly and peered ahead through the darkness.
‘So, you don’t fancy meeting Mathew?’ Gregory asked.
Scott checked there was no one around to hear him. ‘I need to disappear. All this … it has nothing to do with me.’
‘That so? Don’t think your friends see it that way.’
‘They’ve no idea. They’re believers.’
‘And you’re not?’
Scott shook his head. ‘What I don’t understand is how the AI made people more religious instead of sceptical.’
Gregory lit another cigarette then sat on a stool next to the tiller. ‘I can help you disappear,’ he said.
; ‘You can?’
‘For the right money.’ Gregory squinted as he put the cigarette to his lips and inhaled. ‘When we get to the Black Country, I’ll introduce you to someone.’
Scott nodded. ‘These people you’re talking about, are they reliable?’
‘You give them enough money and they’ll be whatever you want.’
‘How much exactly?’
Gregory lifted his face to the sky. ‘For safe passage? Four thousand.’
Scott took out his wallet and opened it. He reached inside and took out all he had. ‘There’s over three thousand,’ he said. ‘It’s all I have.’
Gregory smiled, showing teeth blackened with tobacco. ‘That’ll have to do then,’ he said, thrusting forward the hand not holding the tiller and taking the money.
Gregory slapped Scott on his back. ‘And I’ll throw in as much food and whisky as you can fill yourselves with.’ The other man appeared and then disappeared at the other end of the boat. Gregory pointed at him. ‘Stretch is a great cook.’
Scott nodded, then noticing a crate of whisky beside him, lay a hand on top of it.
‘Best stuff in the Black Country – hell, the whole country,’ Gregory said. ‘None of that doctored, enhanced stuff. This is genuine, old-fashioned whisky. You won’t find better.’
‘You’re a bootlegger?’
‘It was the best thing they could have done for business – prohibited genuine liquor. Overnight, this stuff became liquid gold.’
The rising sun began to warm the air, but the drizzle, the patter of rain against water, was constant. Up ahead was a low bridge. Across the brickwork, in huge red lettering, graffiti read The Black Country. Gregory’s face was pinched with concentration as he manoeuvred the boat. Scott watched in silence. Then, on the bridge, he saw more fresh graffiti:
22 April
He’s on His way.
Nausea welled in Scott’s stomach and tightened his throat. ‘What’s that?’
Gregory smirked. ‘Yesterday’s date. Someone’s having a bit of a joke, I reckon. Seen it in a few places.’
‘What? That date? That message?’ Scott asked. He made sure that same date tattooed on his hand was hidden. ‘Why?’
Gregory shrugged. ‘Who knows? Heard a few rumours, but nothing that makes any sense.’
Scott watched the date get closer as they approached the bridge.
‘What rumours?’
‘All sorts of nonsense. Why?’ Gregory glanced at Scott.
Scott cleared his throat. ‘I’ve seen it somewhere else, that’s all.’
‘Some of the clans – they think something will happen on that date.’
‘Why?’
‘Full of questions, aren’t you?’
‘Sorry,’ Scott said. ‘It’s just … it could be important.’
‘There’s some crazy folk who think that date will be the end of everything. The Second Coming.’
‘Why that date?’
‘Why not? There’s only three hundred and sixty-five to choose from. Had to choose one, I guess.’
Scott nodded slowly.
Gregory smiled. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I’m fine.’ Scott clenched his fists. ‘These people you said I should meet. They can help me disappear?’
‘Sure,’ Gregory said. ‘You can lose anything or anyone in the Black Country. Lie low for a while and whoever’s after you will give up trying.’
‘Even Gabriel?’
‘Gabriel? Well, he’s different. Depends how much he wants to find you, I s’pose.’ He shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘You’ll be fine, I reckon.’
Scott stared at the canal. The water shifted in lattices of ripples where the boat’s hull met the canal. He peered up at the sky. Something was missing.
‘Where are all the drones?’ he asked.
‘They shoot them down around here,’ Gregory said, looking along the top of the boat the way they were headed. ‘No time for them snooping around.’
The narrowboat, with a hush of shifting water, entered the tunnel. It was black inside, the only light coming from the exit at the other end. There was little room either side, and Scott had to bend forward to avoid hitting his head against the brick ceiling. The tunnel was cold and damp, with a smell that was as old as the bridge itself. It was like travelling back in time: each brick in the wall was part of history. The tunnel had seen thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of people pass through it. It went on and on, the exit at the other end seeming to move further away with each minute. Gregory took it slowly, both hands gripping the tiller.
‘You should go inside now,’ he said, pointing to the steps down into the boat. ‘We’re entering the Black Country.’
Scott took one last look at the inside of the tunnel, then headed below.
Fourteen
Freya stood when Scott walked down the steps.
Everything Paul had told her about Scott was evident in his slow movements, in his dark expression and his unwillingness to make eye contact. He’d given up. He took no interest in the future. Paul had told her what had happened to his wife, Rebecca. She already knew what had happened with the rogue Watcher, Dearil, and Scott’s friend, Craig, a year before. Since the dates had been released, such things had happened several times. It was inevitable, no matter how heart-breaking it was for those involved. Scott had taken it badly. Paul had told her that Scott no longer wanted to live, and now she could see it for herself. But the desire to live, Paul had said, was strong, even in people who had witnessed the things Scott had.
The smell of bacon frying wafted through the narrowboat, and Freya felt a hunger she’d not experienced for some time begin to gnaw at her stomach.
The others appeared nervous. Even Gregory’s demeanour changed as they approached the tunnel into the Black Country.
Scott sat on a bench next to the stairs. After a heavy sigh, Freya walked over and sat next to him. ‘What happened to Paul?’ she asked.
Scott covered his mouth and appeared to try and remember. ‘I’m not sure. It all happened so quickly.’
‘You didn’t do anything to stop it,’ she said.
‘How do you know?’
Freya looked away, towards the others who were sitting at the table ready to eat. ‘I was outside. I wanted to stop Gabriel but I couldn’t see – I couldn’t get a clear shot.’
‘Did you know what Isaiah was going to do?’
‘I hoped,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t sure. Not until he actually did it.’ There was a pause. ‘Are you glad he did?’
Scott frowned. ‘Of course.’
‘It’s just that Paul said…’
‘What? What did Paul say?’
‘It’s nothing.’
Isaiah called over to them. ‘Let’s eat.’
Freya stood.
‘Wait,’ Scott said.
She ignored him.
He caught her arm.
‘It’s nothing,’ she said.
Scott let go of her arm. ‘I’m not staying here,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t believe in any of it. Free will. God. The 144,000. None of it.’
‘This isn’t just about you, Scott. This is important. There could be others. We need to discover the truth.’
‘I’m not interested in finding out the truth.’
Freya wanted to shake him. He was there, but wasn’t there. He had a presence, one that she felt all the time, felt herself drawn to; she wanted to speak to him, hear him speak, and yet when she did, she was left frustrated.
‘Paul said you’d given up.’ She stared at him, unable to break eye contact.
Scott opened his mouth, then closed it again.
She waited for him to reply, but the longer she waited, the more distant he became.
‘Freya?’ Isaiah said. ‘Come and eat.’
‘I’m coming,’ she said, her eyes still fixed on Scott.
She took half a step away from him. ‘Don’t give up,’ she said. ‘
Please.’
‘We’ve met,’ Scott said, tilting his head. ‘Before all this. We’ve met, haven’t we? You were wearing a holo-mask.’
Freya swallowed. A year earlier, she’d warned him to stay away from Dearil, a rogue Watcher.
She nodded. ‘You ignored me. I told you to stay away from him.’
‘You must have known I couldn't. He killed my friend.’
‘And what?’ she snapped. ‘That’s why you don’t trust Watchers? Isaiah? Me?’
‘What was it you said?’ Scott closed his eyes. ‘It’s not the end of the world …’ He opened his eyes and stared at her. ‘Only humanity.’
She nodded. ‘I hope I’m wrong.’
Gregory’s voice boomed above them. He was laughing with whoever they needed to convince to gain access into the Black Country.
The narrowboat’s engine growled and they were moving again.
When she looked back at Scott, he’d walked away from her.
Fifteen
‘Scott,’ Rebecca called from downstairs. ‘Turn on the TV.’
‘What now?’ he asked, shuffling across the bed. He reached for the remote control and pressed the standby button.
‘Oh my God!’ Rebecca shouted.
‘What is it?’
The newsreader’s face was pale, his words spilling too quickly from his mouth. Scott read the banner that scrolled from right to left across the bottom of the screen.
Reports are coming in of a number of dates that have been released by the AI predicting when certain individuals will die.
‘What does it mean?’ Rebecca asked, appearing in the doorway.
‘It looks as though the AI has predicted the date that some people will die.’
‘How? How can it do that?’
Scott stared at the TV. ‘I didn’t know it could.’
“There have been reports of people across the globe receiving an email from the Department of Artificial Intelligence, the last four digits of which reveal the date of their death. These dates, we’re told, do not include the year. Please stay with us – we are still attempting to find out more about this story. People are being warned that this is no doubt a hoax and to not worry unduly.”
