by Greg Dragon
Focus became sharp, vision cleared, and Edsel stared out at the world like a newborn — everything was fresh, clear, deeper and more complex than he had ever imagined. Telling tales of the way the world really was, of what was possible — the nature of things; of nothing. He caught glimpses of The Noise, and The Void, the only enduring non-thing there ever was. Where everything came from and everything returned to in the blink of a cosmic eye.
Edsel had begun to Awaken.
It wasn’t a sudden opening up of the vast potential one man had inside him, to play in The Noise and for all things to be known to him, to be able to alter his body chemistry and never age a day. No, it was just a tickle under the chin, a slight hint of what could happen if he ever did truly Awaken, like those at The Commorancy, like a man named Marcus Wolfe he had once sought out but given up on when he found happiness with Kathy.
Edsel stood slowly, his limbs screaming but somehow different. There was a tiny hint of control, a lessening of the pain if he focused and tried to soothe his ravaged body.
The Ink?
It would always remain, a reminder, a brand telling of the bad in men — him and others, and the man that was taught a valuable lesson by the cruelties of human beings.
Someday he might even understand what that lesson was.
Edsel wandered as if in a daze as he heard two men approaching. He went around to the back of the house, then returned a few seconds later to where he had been standing.
He stood in the sunshine and watched as two men walked up the driveway.
I am ice. I am patience. I am calm and I will watch them burn in hell for their crimes.
NEWS
“You know I could just shoot you right now, don’t you?” said Bishop, looking tired and harassed, Edsel was pleased to note.
“Go ahead then, what’s stopping you?”
Edsel registered the look of confusion on Bishop’s face; the man next to him just stood there impassively, a red statue.
He didn’t think I knew, but now he’s not so sure.
“Where’s the boy?”
I knew it! They want Aiden; the game has changed now. They know he’s Awoken and they want him.
“Gone. Away. I sent him back to the city. You’ll never find him.” Edsel hoped that the sweat trickling down his forehead wasn’t giving the game away.
“I don’t believe you, you haven’t had time. Where is he?” Bishop demanded.
“The kid’s smart, as I’m sure you know. He can drive pretty good for a youngster.” Edsel stared at Bishop, understanding what had changed the situation so drastically. He figured something was different as they were being chased in the car. Why didn’t they just shoot at them? Why just try to ram them off the road? He knew they didn’t want him, knew that Bishop just wanted him dead for his blasphemy of escaping and denying The Ink. So it had to be the boy. He was very young to be Awoken, that could be a real help to the church, and he was still immature and impressionable enough that he assumed they thought they could brainwash him into being one of them.
“Bet he’d be invaluable, right? A young boy, able to sense the presence of others, enter their minds. Wipe them out with just a thought, like the flip of a switch?”
Damn, too much information. Keep it together Edsel, just a little longer. You are ice.
Bishop looked shocked. “He can do that? He’s more powerful than we thought. I never even considered that he’d be able to make an Awoken stop moving like he did. Wonderful.”
Edsel noticed that Bishop had said too much as well. “We?”
“I have my orders,” was all Bishop offered. “Now, where is he?”
“I told you, he’s gone.”
“And I don’t believe you.”
“Whatever.”
Bishop and his silent sentry took a step forward, each probably knowing what the other was about to do, or talking silently through The Noise.
Did he sound casual? Relaxed? Like a tough guy? He hoped so, but doubted it. Edsel reached into his pocket, while Bishop trained the gun on him. He fumbled for the lighter there and said, “You mind if I smoke? It will be my last, right?”
“Right. Go ahead, be my guest.”
Edsel squatted down, fumbling in his pocket for a non-existent pack of rare cigarettes. He dropped the lighter. “Oops.”
“Hey, hang on, what are you up t—“
Edsel brushed aside the gravel, turned the valve and flicked the lighter.
Light first time, light first time. This better work.
He repeated it like a prayer as time slowed and his thumb scratched along the roller of the disposable lighter. It sparked into life and Edsel heard a satisfying whoosh before he even had the chance to look up at his handiwork. Edsel moved away from the tiny spout of flame coming toward him, nothing like the one that was right now shooting out at the two men.
Bishop’s goon was screaming, running around in a mad panic, swatting at his clothes as the burst of flame engulfed him.
Bishop was trying to dodge the flailing garden hose that was now spraying flame incredibly fiercely in random directions. Edsel had connected it up to the propane and left it lying on the gravel like it was there ready to water the pots lined up around the front of the house. He was surprised it had worked, even though in his mind it should have. He’d checked the gas bottle that ran the boiler and it was pretty full, so he’d simply connected the garden hose to the bottle, put a valve on it where he had decided to wait in full view, and turned on the gas.
He’d wrapped some tape around the hose just after the valve, then made a tiny hole in the hose — he had his marker so he knew where to direct the lighter. Edsel was no engineer but he assumed, and he really hoped he was right, that the non-return valve he’d hooked up would mean that when he lit the propane then the flame would have only one way to go and wouldn’t just explode the bottle, and maybe the house along with it. He was getting rather fond of the house.
It worked.
The second he flicked the lighter into life a fountain of flame shot out of the open end of the hose, spraying fire randomly, the hose dancing like a cobra.
Yes!
It had been risky, he’d had to time it just right. Staying calm and talking to the men until they were stood just in front of the innocuous hose had been tough — it felt like they could see right through his dubious and desperate plans.
Bishop’s companion was tearing off his clothes, screaming as the flames licked at his face, the skin on his bald head already bubbling under the heat. Bishop hadn’t fared half as bad, although the shock of the spouting flame had caught him off-guard and he got a nasty hit to his gun arm. The cloth was melted on his forearm and the gun clattered to the ground, forgotten in the panic as Bishop tried to douse the flame before it got worse.
Finish it, finish it, finish it. Now.
With the smell of burning flesh heavy in the air, Edsel ran at them. Already the flame was dying down, now nothing but a tiny flicker that stuttered and died before he even reached his tormentor. He grabbed the gun but it was scalding and he had to drop it immediately. The other man was on the floor now, moving slower and slower, moans subsiding as his life bled into The Void. The fire had done its work and he would be dead soon, throat burned out, lungs irreparably scorched.
Bishop was becoming aware of his situation now, and as Edsel lunged at him with his knife Bishop chopped down with his left arm and caught Edsel on the wrist, deflecting the strike down and away. Bishop kicked out and caught Edsel hard in the groin; as he doubled over Bishop ran, clutching his burned arm, toward the side of he house where he knew the cars would be parked.
Damn, the keys are still in the cars. Stupid.
Edsel hadn’t had time to think of everything, the plan he had come up with was full of flaws he knew, but at least it was a chance, and that was all that had counted at the time. He sprinted after Bishop, coughing and doubled over from the fierce kick. His groin screamed in agony, the force of the kick adding to the ever presen
t torture of The Ink. Sharp pains stabbed him as he moved, hard shards of scabs poking him that had been dislodged by the kick and now the strange crab-like running he had to do to keep moving.
Never gonna end. Never.
A car sprang to life before he reached the corner, and gravel kicked up as it roared right at him in reverse — it was the Suzuki that Edsel had parked behind the Seat. Edsel jumped out of the way, landing hard on the gravel, his ravaged body screaming for him to stop, to never move a muscle again. Was there no end to the pain one man could endure?
He scrambled to his feet, palms bleeding and ripped from the gravel that was now stuck to the wet skin. The car was reversing to the gate. Was Bishop leaving? Edsel assumed the man would fight, but then he remembered his arm, the skin bubbling like marbles under cellophane.
He probably can’t stand the pain. Well, welcome to my world buddy.
Edsel was about to run for the car he’d arrived in that morning, but then thought of Aiden. He couldn’t just leave the boy, not after everything that had happened. He’d be alone with this goon all crispy on the gravel, with Bob dead inside. He couldn’t decide — part of him wanted to look after Aiden, at least tell him that everything was going to be okay now, but was it? Was it really? Unless he stopped Bishop now then he’d be back in the city in ten minutes and ordering his Ward to rain down bloody hell on Edsel and Aiden. They’d lose, no doubt about it. If they came in force then they’d kill Edsel and they’d take Aiden and try to turn him into a red abomination like them.
It’s okay, go. Finish it. For us, for Bob, for Kathy.
“What? Where are you?” Edsel turned in a circle but couldn’t see Aiden anywhere.
I’m talking to you via The Noise. I’m thinking what I want to say. I can feel you, sense what happened. Hang on.
Aiden appeared from across the orchard, running fast. Edsel was confused; could he hear the boy’s thoughts like Aiden could sense his? This was different though, like a normal conversation.
It’s what happens to a lot of Awoken. They can talk via The Noise, especially when close like we are.
Wow. You mean you can hear me?
Um, a little. I missed some words, but I felt it when you sort of began to Awaken. It’s weird, isn’t it.
“Oh yeah, and it’s just getting weirder. Okay, this is it buddy, I’m going to end this. They won’t let us have any peace otherwise. Okay?”
“Okay.” Aiden nodded his approval, smiling weakly.
I’ll wait.
“And I will be back,” said Edsel resolutely, running for the car despite the pain, half of him hating himself for feeling the adrenaline rush of the chance to finish his revenge. He was going to let Bishop live, too sick of the killing, afraid of what it was doing to him. He’d been wrong, these people wouldn’t stop, not until they got what they wanted. It had been just him, now they wanted the boy too.
Well, they aren’t going to get him. Not now. Not ever.
Edsel pulled up next to Aiden. “Be on your guard, but I think they were on their own. Just lay low and I’ll be back, then it will be over.”
“Okay, please be careful. And good luck.”
Thanks.
“Hey, I’m getting the hang of this.”
Edsel spun the wheels, turned in the drive and followed after Bishop...
“That was quick,” said Aiden, two seconds later as Edsel reversed back up to him.
“Um, yeah. The gun?” hinted Edsel, pointing at it on the ground. “Careful, it’s hot. Here.” Edsel rooted in the glove compartment and passed a cloth out to Aiden. He picked the gun up with it and handed it to Edsel.
“Bye again,” said Edsel, sure his face now looked like it had The Ink too.
Some hero. Never forget the gun Edsel. Never.
AGAIN
I’m on a goddamn merry-go-round. This is getting ridiculous.
Edsel felt like he was living a perverted version of Groundhog Day — a movie he’d seen when he was young and TV still ruled. Back and forth, pain and anger, hope then despair. In the city, out the city, back again. Go to Bob’s. Leave Bob’s. Then back again and around and around in ever-decreasing circles that threatened to send him spiraling down into madness, just as he spiraled around the city and the surrounding countryside.
Was there no end to the madness?
This is it, the last time I ever set foot in this stinking place.
Edsel approached the city once more; he could see the Suzuki up ahead. He wondered if Bishop was screaming in pain. Hopefully the answer was yes.
He had to admit it, he felt absurd. Here he was, a slight hint of new car smell still lingering after all these years, an air freshener in the shape of a tree hanging from the rear-view mirror, and him — a man screaming to get out of his own ruined skin, every inch of his body apart from his head feeling like it would be better if he just clawed it off with his broken, dirty fingernails, chasing an Awoken man that was in charge of a handful of zealous acolytes that made up a tiny fraction of the most depressing religion he’d ever heard of, let alone been kidnapped by.
But even that wasn’t the worst of it. He was driving as fast as he dared down a wide road that headed into a city he’d just managed to escape from with his life and sanity hopefully still intact. All around were abandoned cars like see-through coffins, some with skeletal remains still inside. The streets were piled high with the trash of countless thousands of people before they too succumbed to the scourge that ripped around the globe, indiscriminately taking away the energy that allowed people and society to function.
How could I have lived here? Ignored all this?
Buses were blocking parts of the road. There were huge delivery vehicles abandoned by drivers that simply stopped and wandered off in a daze before coming-to in strange parts of the city. Mums taking kids to school; mums with babies in the back that died slowly after she succumbed to The Lethargy and sat there in a stupor, never hearing her child’s screams.
Pedestrians who wandered the streets in a waking nightmare, not knowing what to do, where to go, searching for somebody to talk to — he’d seen it all, and worse. That’s all it got: more of a nightmare. Now there was nobody — people didn’t venture out in the daylight, what few there were, not unless they really had to. Eventuals roamed the streets looking for Whole, killing or converting, following their directives. Any Whole with any sense were cowering behind closed doors, hoping that there was a chance their home wouldn’t be searched, or that they had enough food and water to last another day.
It had to end, something had to change. The Commorancy, if it really was real, that seemed to hold the answer. Helping people Awaken, hide them from The Eventuals, give them a chance. Maybe in time those lucky few would emerge and set the world to rights?
Edsel had his doubts.
No, all there was now was revenge. A newly sparked need for vengeance after finally thinking he’d done enough. He hadn’t, but he would.
The Suzuki slowed, there was no choice, and Edsel had to do the same as the road became if not impassable, then slow and dangerous. One wrong turn and you would be stuck, no way to move forward, and a puncture was a very real danger.
Bishop was crawling along at a snail’s pace now, weaving in and out of abandoned vehicles, dodging the trash that rose in mounds around vehicles like a snowdrift after a storm.
Edsel crept after him.
I’m coming for you Bishop.
A clear patch opened up before them. A large forty foot container had almost completely blocked the road so ahead of it was open. Already Bishop was speeding away by the time Edsel made it past. He raced after him, knowing he wouldn’t stand a chance if Bishop made it close enough to call for help through The Noise, or got back to the church where his Ward would now be beginning to congregate, witness to the vengeance that played out just a few hours ago.
Something ran out into the road far ahead and Bishop stupidly swerved to avoid it, but failed. Instead, he simply plowed right into it.
Edsel sped forward as Bishop got out and began to run. He unwrapped the gun and checked it wasn’t too hot — it was fine.
Should he shoot now? Wait until he was closer? What was best? What if he missed and Bishop got away?
Edsel put the gun back on the seat and floored the accelerator pedal. He watched as the speedometer climbed. He drove straight for Bishop.
Thunk. Thunk thunk.
The car bounced as the suspension tried to compensate for the rough road, no mere bump but a human being. Edsel slammed on the brakes and looked in the rear-view. Bishop was on the ground, blood smearing the asphalt where he’d been dragged a few feet after Edsel had run him over.
Edsel got out of the car, remembered the gun, then grabbed the keys from the ignition too.
I’m learning.
He walked toward the body of Bishop lying in the road, clothes in tatters, Ink showing between the rags, his right arm a huge mass of blisters that were almost black, oozing thick pus. His legs were mangled, splintered bone poking through his thigh and a shin. Bishop’s back was flayed, strips of skin peeled back revealing flesh free of Ink so far beneath what was once the surface.
But he was alive. Bishop was trying to drag himself away with his left arm, the only part of him not ruined. He was panting heavily and his chest rattled terribly, probably full of fluid.
Edsel walked slowly up to him, feeling a gentle breeze on his skin, tickling his scalp and cooling his body — a welcome relief from the hot afternoon sun. He prodded Bishop with his foot, then used it to turn him over so he was flat on his back. Bishop moaned loudly, his broken body protesting at being disturbed.
Bishop was smiling; a smile of the insane. A man who thought he was going to a better place.
