OUTPOURING: Typhoon Yolanda Relief Anthology

by Dean Francis Alfar

  ‘Shit,’ he scrambled on all fours toward the corner where he had first encountered the patrol and again desperately threw himself around it.

  Chances were that the man was using a thermal scope.

  Without pause, he stood and started jogging as quietly as possible along the street, away from the soldiers, keeping close to the garden walls in case further cover became necessary.

  Somewhere close would be the patrol support vehicle, an armoured car with a full sensor suite and a satellite uplink to the central AI controller.

  ‘Duck behind the wall.’ The voice was a loud whisper, androgynous but commanding.

  Daniel obeyed without thinking, crouching behind yet another plastered wall painted a flaking grey.

  Seconds later the rumble of a biodiesel engine passed along the street, the vehicle moving too fast to be scanning thoroughly with heat sensors, even with AI assistance.

  Once it had passed he looked around again, seeking the source of the mysterious assistance.

  Shaking his head and forcing himself not to speak, he moved into the rear garden of the nearest house and began to make his way eastward across fences, through hedges and over walls.

  The UN had become a global governing force when it became clear that national governments were unable to deal with the rising problems within their nations. Contrary to the expectations of conspiracy theorists, it wasn’t an illuminati plot that brought about a centralised global government, but the sudden and drastic loss of key figures coupled with an almost complete breakdown of society.

  In modern society, where the population had become a slave to mass entertainment and had generally lost the ability to think for themselves, the changes had been abrupt and widespread, their acceptance almost guaranteed by cleverly scripted television.

  The edge of the small town happened abruptly, the gardens simply opening to unkempt fields strewn with overgrown weeds, the remnants of surviving crops and in places the spreading boughs of young trees.

  Daniel dropped into a crouch and fumbled in his backpack for a set of thermal binoculars, rare even when he had bought them on a whim so many years ago.

  His shoulders shrugged together and he winced at the unavoidable beep when the device powered on, then putting them to his eyes, he peered around the countryside.

  Nothing shaped like a man seemed to be moving, although a fox or maybe a small dog was sitting in the undergrowth a few hundred yards off, peering in the opposite direction.

  He felt the tension drain from him and his shoulders slumped as he turned the machine off and packed it safely away again.

  It wasn’t far now from the relative safety of home, a few miles across the empty countryside of a deserted England, skirting a lake and a town and arriving just in time for dawn.

  A susurration of air from above made him flinch, his brow drawn down and eyes squinting at the ghostly shape of a barn owl as it continued in its almost silent glide.

  He smiled, partly at the majesty of the beast and partly at his own surprise.

  The overgrown field proved easy going despite the foliage; the ground was hard from a lack of rain this summer, all the leaves had brown edges and the grass was brittle and dry.

  In past times a farmer had dug a deep drainage ditch around his field, invisible now due to the long brown grass. With arms windmilling, Daniel fell forward, his mouth open in a silent gasp of surprise.

  Grass and leaves hissed past his face until his boot caught in the undergrowth and he twisted to land upon his backpack with a muffled crunch.

  A spike of panic shot through him as he considered what may have broken and then momentum rolled him again and he fell further.

  The end of his descent was accompanied by the cracking clunk of his femur breaking over the rusted edge of an open car door which was partially buried in the debris and dry mud at the bottom of the trench.

  As his jaws clenched in agony, Daniel instinctively tried to curl into a ball, all muscles tensed and hands balled into white-knuckled fists, but the sudden swelling of pain as the broken bone grated stilled his fetal curl.

  His vision swam as a roaring blackness began to circle his consciousness like a terrible hurricane within his skull, he turned his head as bile rose in his throat and then the pain receded as the darkness seized him.

  #

  Saturday mornings were always peaceful, the rush of the working week was past and he budgeted his time to do any marking or preparation for his students during the week so that the weekend was his own.

  This morning he sat at his study window and watched the last morning sunlight sparkle upon the frost-covered world outside. A lukewarm, half-consumed and now largely forgotten cup of coffee placed upon the dusty, cluttered desk next to the screens of his computer.

  In the distance outside his window, a motorcycle roared to life, the sound overloud despite the double glazing. He suspected one of the local delinquents was venturing forth on an unlicensed track bike.

  A pretty blonde girl came into view leading a small, overly hairy dog dressed in a dog coat, which was far too large. The dog flinched close to her as the unlicensed bike roared past, the rider dressed in shabby stained clothes, a knitted blue hat and no protective gear.

  Daniel shook his head and the corners of his mouth curled sourly as the peace of his morning was shattered momentarily by one of the growing number of people who respected neither law, nor order.

  ‘Irritating, isn’t it?’ the voice was soft and offered little clue as to the sex of the speaker.

  Adrenaline propelled Daniel from his chair to slam against the wall next to the window, and the raised blinds rattled as he knocked into the ropes used to control them.

  A child stood in the door to his study watching him intently, dark hair falling loosely around a youthful face that betrayed nothing of the owner’s thoughts.

  Large dark eyes observed Daniel through long lashes, yet the child exhibited no overtly female mannerisms.

  ‘What the hell are you doing in here?’ Daniel squared his shoulders, the presence of a mere child instilling some courage into his shock and his jaw lifted as mild outrage blossomed within his chest.

  ‘I could ask you the same question.’ The reply was nonsensical and puzzling to Daniel, who shook his head as if to negate the obvious stupidity of the question.

  ‘It’s my house!’ his hands gestured slightly, palms opening slightly toward each other in dismissal and obvious ownership.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  The question hung in the air for a moment and Daniel was struck by the lack of expression shown by the child; facially and somatically, the intruder remained inertly passive.

  Something was wrong, he felt the skin on his back crawling with the sense of it and the hairs along his arms rose.

  Head tilted and one eye narrowed, a querulous tone in his voice betraying his unease, Daniel answered, ‘Yes, of course I’m sure.’

  The child nodded neutrally, ‘What’s the date?’

  ‘It’s, it’s…’ his mouth remained slightly open and he glanced to the left seeking the answer.

  Nothing.

  ‘What year is it?’ the voice was strangely calming.

  Daniel shook his head slightly, one hand twitching with the dismay that the lack of this simple knowledge brought.

  The child smiled, a mechanical motion with no corresponding emotion reflected within the calm eyes.

  ‘You see, you’re not really here either.’

  ‘Of course I’m here, this is my study in my house in…’ his voice faded slightly, his right leg suddenly ached and felt wet. He glanced down expecting to see spilled coffee but instead a dark stain of blood was visible on either side of his leg, spreading slowly toward the front and down the back of his thigh.

  Eyes wide with alarm, he glanced to the child and then back at his leg.

  ‘What the fuck…?’

  ‘I need you to remember what happened to you before we can talk properly, Daniel.’

&nb
sp; Daniel shook his head as some part of him clung to the notion that this place, even if it was simply an illusion, was far preferable to whatever reality he occupied.

  The child took a step closer, ‘Yes that’s better, remember where you are and who you are.’

  ‘No, no!’ his heart began hammering and nausea assailed him, he sat down suddenly causing the chair to emit a familiar creak.

  Peering out of his window brought it all back, the familiar vista replaced with the neglected and abandoned view he had last observed from this chair.

  The memories swept through the window, engulfed him and made him complete once again.

  The years of surviving the changed world, the difficulty of finding medicine and food, or of simply keeping warm in the winters, all returned in terrible detail.

  He remained a teacher, tried to ensure that the children born in today’s world were literate and numerate and yet his love of culture was adrift in the new world, and he had become a custodian of a past which his fellow man cursed and regretted.

  Daniel tore his empty gaze away from the window and turned to the child who now stood very close to him.

  There was a strange lack of presence to the child, coupled with a disturbing sense of purpose. Daniel’s brow furrowed slightly and he tried to push his chair away from the small figure.

  The child’s eyes flickered to the wall as Daniel’s chair thudded softly against the plaster. He had succeeded in putting a little over six inches between them.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ his eyes narrowed and he pulled himself upright in the chair, attempting to look as authoritative as possible whilst wearing flannel pyjamas.

  ‘You’re in trouble Daniel, you fell into a drainage ditch and hurt yourself, I know you remember.’ The voice was flat, emotionless and lacking any human inflection.

  He suddenly reminded Daniel of the manner in which children read aloud when they are completely disinterested in their reading material.

  ‘I remember, that’s not what I mean,’ he winced at the pain in his leg suddenly becoming more palpable.

  ‘You’re curious about why we are here?’

  ‘No, I’m pretty sure I’m here because I’m in shock. What I don’t understand is why I’ve imagined you.’

  ‘You needed me, so I came.’

  ‘How could I need this?’ Daniel gestured at the room around them and noticed that twilight was falling outside his window.

  ‘Oh, you don’t need this particularly,’ the child paused, then leaned forward intensely, ‘I needed this in order to speak to you properly.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he sounded weak and confused, even to himself.

  ‘Yes you do, if you think about it, Daniel.’

  Daniel leaned back, tilting his head slightly, one side of his face creasing in confusion.

  ‘I know what you are carrying and I knew you would be in trouble, so I came to help you.’

  ‘How is that possible?’ Daniel’s voice was a hoarse whisper, as stories of the unnamed evils reputed to haunt the deserted countryside rushed into his mind.

  Before anyone was sent out of the community, they were taught a few simple things about the depopulated world in which they lived; things that included basic survival whilst alone, understanding the technology used by the United Nation enforcement squads, and about the strangeness which had come into the world in the days before the fall.

  No one in the surviving communities had specifics, they only knew that solitary travellers reported strange voices and came across areas which were fenced and heavily patrolled by the UN forces. Sometimes these scavengers would meet another traveller on the road who seemed to know just a little too much about them.

  Occasionally, entire communities dropped off the grid, and those who made their living by the trade of information found that their contacts were mysteriously silent on the matter.

  Rumours blamed everything from aliens to the lack of a credible government, or the imposition of martial law by the UN enforcers, yet it was the whispers behind closed doors which caused irrational dread.

  Something intangible had happened to the world; something had awoken, or come visiting from another place and found a welcoming and defenseless realm.

  The child smiled at him and nodded, suddenly appearing more human in its manner.

  ‘I came to help you Daniel, just as I once came to help your biblical namesake when he slept amongst lions.’

  ‘Right.’ Daniel nodded disbelievingly, his left hand picking nervously at a seam on his trousers whilst his right hand resolutely stayed away from the spreading warm dampness on his thigh.

  ‘You called for me back in the village, and I came.’

  ‘I didn’t call for anyone.’

  ‘Yes you did, in your fatigue and desire to be away from here and get home. I have come to help you and right now I think you desperately need some help, Daniel.’

  He remembered falling and the sound of something in his backpack breaking, followed by the impact of his leg across the car door and the tearing of his flesh on a jagged rusty edge.

  He needed to wake up and assess the damage, needed a tourniquet on his leg.

  ‘I’ve got to wake up,’ he stated blankly.

  The child, who now seemed a lot more like a young boy than before, nodded encouragingly.

  Daniel stood abruptly from the chair, ‘I’ve got to wake up!’

  ‘Wake, then,’ suggested the child and Daniel awoke.

  #

  The ditch smelled of cool rich earth and rust and at first, Daniel found his position strangely relaxing. Then the fact that he was at the bottom of a ten-foot-deep drainage ditch struck him and his subsequent attempts to sit up sent waves of nauseating agony surging through him.

  It was still dark, but the stars had changed position, making it early morning now.

  ‘Fuck’, he whimpered through clenched teeth.

  Mastering the pain, he carefully pulled himself up onto his elbows as the nausea threatened to engulf him once again, the trembling of his muscles betraying the weakness he felt.

  His right leg lay at an awful angle across the mostly buried door of a car, and for a detached moment he mused that the ditch must once have been significantly deeper to have swallowed a car.

  Then he noticed the dark pool beneath his thigh.

  The door had rusted into a sharp jagged edge and cut deeply into his leg just above the knee, blood was seeping down the frame of the door and he could feel it drenching the seat of his trousers.

  Gingerly, he explored the area with his fingertips as a peculiar sense of euphoria began to spread through him.

  The wound was ragged, but he was fairly certain he had avoided severing the femoral artery. That meant that he would only bleed to death if he didn’t apply a tourniquet and dress the wound.

  Unbuckling his belt, he drew the worn leather from the trouser hoops and looped it around his thigh just below his groin before feeding the tongue back into the pressure buckle. Taking a deep breath, he pulled it tight.

  The cry that escaped his lips was wordless, a timeless expression of helpless agony.

  The roaring black hurricane returned to the edges of his mind but he fought it away, struggling to remain conscious.

  He couldn’t see if the flow of blood had stopped, but the belt was as tight as he could manage.

  Slowly and carefully, supporting his leg with both hands he lifted it from the rusted door and placed it upon the ground before involuntarily slouching back onto his backpack in exhaustion.

  His clothes were damp with sweat.

  ‘So brave,’ whispered the voice.

  Daniel peered around furiously, ‘You’re not real!’

  ‘Maybe,’ replied his unseen companion, ‘You had better hurry before you pass out again.’

  ‘Gnnn,’ Daniel replied as he sat up slowly and twisted the release clip on his pack harness.

  The pack made a solid thump, followed by a brittle jingling as it hit the gro
und and the noise filled Daniel with mild dread.

  Despite his predicament, it was his cherished binoculars which he checked for damage first, and finding them to be secure within their case, he heaved a shallow sigh of relief.

  The sense of relief was not only short-lived but replaced by an empty, frustrated sense of dismay when he opened his first-aid kit.

  The contents of the kit were damp and littered with fine shards of splintered glass from the broken bottle of antibiotics he had kept for emergencies such as this.

  ‘I’m so screwed,’ he slumped back against the cool dry wall of the ditch and considered his options.

  He had only one option; he had to get out of this ditch and keep going until he found some help.

  If he was lucky, that help would be another scavenger and not a bandit or the UN forces, as either of the latter would see him in a far worse situation.

  A blister pack of painkillers, which he had hoarded for months, remained undamaged; four morphine-derived relics of a lost era of medical care.

  He took two of them, washing them down with water from the battered metal flask normally resident at his hip.

  The urge to gulp all the liquid was strong.

  ‘Blood loss,’ the words were a quiet murmur and he glanced up, expecting to receive a response but hearing only the quiet noises of the night.

  Daniel wondered if he had been alone too long. He lay back and waited for the vague euphoria and slight drowsiness the painkillers would bring.

  Casting his gaze over the debris-filled ditch, he began plotting his next moves. To stay in this gully was a death sentence, but in order to stand any hope of climbing the sides, he would need a splint for his leg and a stick to help him walk.

  The moonlight down in the ditch wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the overgrowth, but he was sure that simply crawling through the ditch would reveal a windblown branch and as the pain receded slightly, he hooked one arm through his pack and dragged it along behind him in his search.