by Stuart Keane
It isn't what you think.
And what would that be?
PTSD.
A brief laugh emitted from his lips. He wiped his face.
Yeah, I don’t have that.
You don't? Most soldiers don't even realise that they have it. Not until it's too late.
Yeah, I don't. I haven't experienced any traumatic events since –
Since you saw that child, and his pregnant mother, blown apart a year ago?
Yes. Yes … exactly.
PTSD doesn't have an ETA. It can come on at any moment. Days, weeks, or years later. I'd say you're overdue. This could be yours.
I don't have PTSD…
Deny it all you want. But, you better hope you're right. For Nicky's sake.
Huh?
You're here to protect her. Nurse her back to health. Can you do that with conviction if you're not right in the head. If she's in danger.
Luke opened his eyes and stared out of the window, his vision wet with fresh tears. He flicked his weary gaze to the doorway and the hallway that led to his sister. His vulnerable sister. The soldier shook his head and returned his unflinching stare to the kitchen window. He took in the sprawling neighbourhood before him, the residents who went about their business, people who knew not of him, and noticed that the colour seemed to wash away, leaving a stretching row of cars and houses chalked in morose blacks and whites.
I don't have it.
You better hope you're right.
The house shook.
Luke stumbled backwards, his hands slipping away from their mooring. A cavernous boom resonated through the air and pierced the silence, popping Luke's ears. He opened his mouth and slapped the side of his head as he finally found his footing on the trembling tiles beneath. His ears gradually rung out and returned to normal.
Deep, ominous silence surrounded him. He blinked.
Had he imagined it?
The sudden cacophony that followed convinced him otherwise.
As sound returned to normality and struggled against the vacuum that had consumed it, muted screams and a hectic chorus of screeching car alarms shattered the silence. The rumbling of an unseen explosion tapered off to nothing, signalling the reason for the sudden mini earthquake. Luke recognised the sound as it ushered in stark memories of dangerous IEDs and brutal gunfights. His natural instinct kicked in.
"Luke!"
The sound of his sister's terrified voice spurred him into action. Luke bolted across the kitchen, clearing it in half a second, and was standing beside his sister within two. He looked at Nicky; she seemed fine.
"What the hell was that?" she asked.
Luke shook his head and said nothing as he stepped to the window, split the blinds and peered out. He saw a mill of people sprawling into the street, phones and cameras to their curious ears and eyes. He studied them, their facial reactions and movements, watched for any danger. He saw no threat, only mild confusion.
"What's near here?" he said, cryptically.
Nicky looked up, confused. "Huh?"
Luke patted the window frame with probing fingers, testing its strength. "Where do people flock to. To shop, to hang out, share a coffee? Where would you go on a Saturday with your buddies, normally."
"You're not making sense –"
"Just tell me, Nicky," Luke spat, his gaze now solely on his sister. "Please. I need to know what's nearby."
She frowned. "A town centre, an industrial estate, a cinema strip … why?"
"What's the closest?"
"The town."
"And the largest?"
"Erm … the industrial estate. Large warehouses, office buildings. Royal Mail. A twenty-four-hour McDonalds and three Subways."
Luke nodded and returned to the window. A large crowd were congregating on the asphalt, amazed and amused by something beyond Luke's cone of vision. One person turned his way, and ignored him as he became more interested in capturing the events outside on his mobile device.
Nicky shuffled in her seat, concerned by her brother's state. "What's going on, Luke?"
He said nothing.
"Luke?"
He turned to his sister and shrugged. "I … I don't know."
"I felt the house move. What –"
"Again, I don’t know."
Nicky mused, "It felt like an earthquake."
Luke hesitated and stared at his helpless sister, undecided, flicked a hesitant glance at her legs and remembered her surgeon's strict request to rest. She could walk, but it was advised against. And then he remembered that Nicky was mentally strong; she handled a person's worst nightmare on a daily basis, saw them at their lowest point. Nicky took no bullshit and was sincere in her convictions. She was naturally level headed, much like himself, and one of the strongest people he had the pleasure of knowing. She may be vulnerable now, but she wasn't weak, not in the slightest. She could handle the truth.
He breathed out. "It was an explosion, sis."
Nicky stared at her brother in dumbfounded silence.
He nodded. "Trust me, I know."
"So, what's going on? A bomb?"
"I already said, I don't know."
"Hazard a guess. Please?"
"I'm not sure. I feel like I've seen this before, somewhere."
"Seen what, Luke? Stop talking in fucking riddles."
Luke moved around the couch and took a seat beside his sister. Cupped her trembling hand in his. "I might be breaking the law by telling you. I believe that the details are … classified."
"Well … then that's your decision to make."
Luke chuckled. "I could lose my job. Or worse."
"So, your job is more important than me?"
"Not a chance."
"Well then … you think I'm going to tell people? Spread the word at work, brag about my awesome brother who tells me classified secrets? Even worse, I could share it with my book club. There's a load of budding writers in there. Maybe one of them could create some kind of a story out of it…"
"You go to a book club? My sister used to be so cool…"
"Fuck you," Nicky snorted. She couldn’t resist a smile.
Luke dipped his chin. "Very well. But don't panic, okay? You’re safe here, with me."
"Just get on with it, Rambo."
"Come with me if you want to live!"
Nicky chuckled. "Fuck sake ... wrong meat headed actor, dumbass."
"Okay, okay. You know the attacks on the news?"
Nicky nodded and pulled a cushion before her for comfort.
"I thought they were a one off. Normally, in this country, one attack normally happens and the country is immediately put on high alert. London, Manchester, the Lockerbie bombing, they are all examples of this. A second immediate attack is usually considered foolish, unnecessary. And then, July 7, 2005 happened. Four separate bombers targeted civilians on public transport, caused mass fatalities, and recorded the UK's worst terrorist incident in history. But people tend to forget the 70s, how the IRA dominated the headlines, and how they detonated simultaneous bombs in Manchester, Coventry, Liverpool, Bristol and Southampton."
Nicky watched on, mesmerised. Luke continued, "Multiple attacks are nothing new, they're just considered a risk in modern society. Technology and precaution isn't what it used to be. Back then, no one had the internet or mobile phones, no one could be tracked or detected in that fashion, and no one suspected that an abandoned bag on a train platform could contain an explosive device. Innocence was a godsend. Nowadays, those devices can be used against someone very easily…" He trailed off. Stared at the window once more.
"So?" she replied. Luke looked at Nicky and frowned. She shifted forward. "What’s your point?"
He breathed out. "Multiple attacks are rare. For someone to attempt them, no, succeed in carrying them out, they must have a severe message for the people it affects. They aren't dissuaded by the danger of risk or the threat of modern technology. Those people … they're the worst. They will do anything to send their message.
Anything."
Nicky gulped.
"And I've seen this before. Overseas. A terrorist sect, one we've never seen the likes of. They dismantle a society by taking down its primary necessity. Houses, landmarks, popular hangouts, anywhere that will gain the most publicity and make society take note. First, they break down your walls, cripple your bravado, announce their presence and place it firmly in your mind, but it's all a ploy, a distraction. A distraction from the bigger threat…"
"You're scaring me."
Luke's eyes widened. "Shit. Wait here. Don't … don't move."
Luke jumped up, took the stairs two at a time and entered his bedroom. He yanked the drawer open, tossed it on the bed, and retrieved his mobile phone. He thumbed it on and waited out the loading screen. A bead of hot perspiration rolled down his temple as the blue logo slowly curled into view.
"C'mon, you piece of shit."
With the interface ready, he tapped the small message icon and opened it. A moment later, the feed updated.
One new message.
Luke opened it and read the contents. He swallowed. "Fuck…"
It read: Oedema is live. Virus in circulation. Attacks were made to distract people. It's in the water. Thousands already exposed. Evacuation is futile.
And, the last part of the message. Luke read it again, to be sure.
Don't drink the water. For the love of God, don't drink the water.
SEVEN
Hannah Nicole Carleton Millar was a woman of simple means, but she had a strict five-year plan, a four-stage business strategy to create and develop a legitimate career, to enhance and enrich her routine life. Never one for the frivolous luxuries that so many deem important, Hannah survived in her contentment, a small personal bubble of solitude, with a good book, the odd binge on Netflix, and cheap coffee. She lived a life of lone sanctum, behind her four walls. Hannah had no need for friends or relationships; they cost money, wasted time, and distracted her from her goal.
Every spare penny she had went towards her five-year plan.
She had a goal, and she had two people to thank for it.
An only child, she witnessed her parents' financial struggle throughout their adult lives, the constant strain and twenty-four-hour battles of bringing up their daughter an exhausting feat, which, in turn, crippled their own dreams and lofty aspirations. New cars, designer clothes, a better house, a two-week vacation, or a fishing trip here and there. All fell to the wayside as they raised their daughter with no qualm or query, the dreams reduced to a handful of colourful images in beaten catalogues and out-of-date brochures that lined the coffee table.
They were parents, first and foremost. The way it should be.
As a result, Hannah wanted for nothing; and she didn’t care that she grew up on what some people considered the borderline of poverty. With two parents working all hours to supply food for the family table, and her doing her dutiful part in school, it united them. Sure, her friends had the latest toys and gadgets, and dressed in the latest, expensive fashion – well, as fashionable as a group of delinquent teenagers could be – but she had an actual relationship with her parents, a bond modern kids and many of her friends rarely experienced beyond their iPads and mobile phones, or their parents' suffering wallets.
Hannah learnt respect early, the result of a loving, non-material upbringing. She knew her friends argued and fought with their parents, sometimes daily, but she didn’t. It taught her the important things in life, matured her beyond her years, and distanced her from people who neglected to respect their elders, people who, in the years to come, would never learn of such gratitude and appreciation.
It kept her balanced, and she channelled this into her business strategy.
Yes, her five-year plan would eventually offer her the grand legal tussles of a courtroom, and the tense excitement and long hours of a solicitor's office. The plan was set. She just had to follow the path laid out to her by years of hard work and personal sacrifice, her parent's sacrifice, and she would return the favour in full. Hell, her parents could choose a brand-new home after three years, should the need take them, and she would foot the bill. She doubted they would accept the gift; after all, she was raised to appreciate the best things in life, and the best things were truly free.
But her parents would be rewarded for their honourable sacrifice. A new house was just the beginning. To follow would be a number of holidays, the car her mother always wanted, a new set of golf clubs for her father, a comfortable retirement.
Not a bad gift for the two people to put her on the right path.
Hannah flicked her mane of bright red hair over her right shoulder, and scratched her warm cheek. It slapped her back gently, the wind lofting the auburn curls on the breeze a little. The sun from the skylight was scorching her back, warming the pale skin beneath her tight black blouse. She shifted into the shade, sitting sideways to the window.
Yes, a solicitor.
In the years to come, when she was battling away in the courtrooms, taking on the evil and scum that society had to offer, she would look back on her summer-long stint as a babysitter, and remember it fondly.
Most of the time anyway.
Her gaze flicked to the five children sitting before her.
Four children.
One … two … three … four…
Shit.
Hannah groaned, jumped up from her chair, and glanced frantically around the shopping mall café. Her eyes searched through a bustling sea of moving people before finding the missing boy. Beyond the entrance of the food court, Cayden, a brown-haired boy of seven, with the cutest dimples and a smatter of light freckles, was standing in the entrance to HMV, picking up a DVD from a display shelf. He turned the item in his tiny hand. Even from this distance, Hannah noticed the red, circular 18 certificate on the cover, indicating the material was not fit for a curious, wandering seven-year-old.
She called to him. "Cayden?"
The boy didn’t budge. His eyes were glued to the inappropriate content of the DVD.
"Cayden!"
The boy stopped and turned around, the DVD still in his hand. For a moment, Hannah feared he would leave the store with it in hand and run across the concourse towards her, setting off the alarms in the process. Instead, he looked straight at Hannah and blinked.
"Put it down. Now," Hannah shouted. She slapped her hand in the air, gesturing to the baffled child, hoping he took the hint.
Cayden nodded and returned the DVD to its rightful place. He skulked back through the HMV entrance, crossed the walkway, ambled to his seat, and joined the other children. A variety of empty juice cartons sat on the table, surrounded by empty cheeseburger wrappers and multi-coloured crayons. The children were busy scribbling and colouring their place mats, which doubled as a child's entertainment centre. Dot-to-dots, colouring pictures, a game of odd one out and a series of simple mazes created an exciting world away from the mundane act of eating lunch.
Each child, apart from Cayden, was engrossed in their activity.
Hannah smiled.
"Hannah?" Mia, a thin girl with jet black hair and wide, adorable eyes, glanced up from her orange juice and beckoned to the woman. She released the straw from her mouth. Her piercing blue gaze captivated Hannah, and gained her full attention.
She turned to the child. "Yes, Mia?"
The small girl wrapped two hands around her plastic bottle. "When are we going? I'm bored."
Hannah stole a look at Mia's completed activity sheet. She'd coloured all the pictures in without breaking the lines, linked the dots perfectly, and navigated each of the mazes with one, steady, uninterrupted line. Five crayons sat in a neat row beside the paper. The girl continued to look at her, the innocent, imploring gaze making her dormant uterus skip a beat.
Mia might just be child prodigy in the making, she thought.
"We're heading off shortly, Mia. Not long now, okay?"
The girl nodded, and put the straw back in her mouth.
Hannah
glanced around at the other children, and the chaos they had constructed. Strewn food, half-eaten burgers, crumbled crayons, scrunched up activity centres. One child had ditched their shoes and placed them on the table before her. Another was eating his green crayon and wincing as the wax offended his palate. Hannah nodded, her decision made. All signs pointed to the abandonment of attention; these kids were done, ready for the next activity.
Hannah checked her watch. "Hey, kids. You guys ready to get going?"
At first, no one responded. Cayden simply stared at the table, breaking a crayon in his tiny hand. The red wax crumbled onto the surface, mixing into a puddle of spilt orange juice. Aria, a chubby blonde girl with braces, was drawing a swirl on her paper, ignoring the puzzles, its circumference growing as she scribed the coil wider and wider. Distin and Hayley, non-identical twins with dark hair, were playing slapsies with one another, their fingertips touching in the game's required stance. A sharp, fleshy smack rang out as Hannah diverted her gaze away. She heard Hayley yelp in pain.
Hannah breathed in. Just think, the courtroom will be much easier.
She studied the children as a group and stood up. She clapped her hands.
"Guys!"
This time, each child stared at her, their startled gazes turning and aiming upwards, inquisitively drawn to the sudden raised voice. As usual, all of the children bar Cayden looked at her, stoically. Distin trembled a little.
Hannah noticed Mia smiling, as the girl finally got her way.
She slipped her arms into her coat and addressed them. "You ready to go?"
A furore of words escaped their young lips, a series of exclamations and half-responses. Some were happy to leave, some weren't done with their mutilated burgers. After a little hesitance, the children all scrambled to their feet.
Hannah turned to them once more. "Don't forget your swimming bags. And Hayley, put your shoes back on."
