by Pete Lockett
Behind him he could hear the loud, but pathetic horn of the huntsman. Ahead he could see the distinct red trail of the other hound and ahead of that, the less fervent yellow trail of what he assumed was a fox. He tried to power himself forward with determination, faster and faster and catch up with the other dog. It felt sensational to be so strong and move at such speed so close to the ground. He was urgently aware that he had no desire to kill a fox though. He liked foxes, their big brushes, soft brown fur and fine chiselled looks. They represented elegance to him and as he got closer to the second hound he couldn’t help but attribute only negative features to it.
I feel like I’ve got Stalin as a mate and we’re out hunting together. It’s very strange and I wish I’d at least had a few hours to adjust. It’s a very confusing instant transition,” thought Ed, as the other hound tired slightly, pulling back the pace a tad. With the slight relaxation he began to take more note of the countryside around. It was very English, with flowing open fields dotted with trees and hedgerows. One thing that struck him more than anything was how everything had a coloured aura equating to its smell. Ed could see this around trees, bushes, mounds of earth and virtually everything. It was like having a clever smart phone app for smells, one that could be held up for a snapshot of the environment to reveal street names, famous buildings and directions. The only difference was that his displayed smells and trails of odour. It was overpowering and incredibly rich, like being in the barrel room of a fine vineyard.
Soon he had caught up with the other hound and was side by side. They galloped, raced, jumped and sped through the countryside following the scent of the fox. The strong yellow trail indicated they were catching up with the animal fast.
Ed was not happy with the fox hunting scenario at all. His bond with Sam sat heavily on his conscience. He recalled how his friend had eaten pate in preference to killing a chicken, advocating abstinence from slaughter whenever possible. It made the current predicament seem even more immoral. How could he overcome these new instincts and if so, how could he find a way to get the other hound off the scent to avoid killing the fox?
Behind him, the mounted hunter followed, eagerly blowing on his inadequate toy trumpet. The dogs ploughed on relentlessly in pursuit of the terrified victim who most certainly would have been in a state of intense panic.
Quickly, Ed shot off to the right, away from the prominent trail, hoping to lure them in the wrong direction and give the fox a little more time to escape. However, they had none of it. After pausing for thought and looking at Ed’s alternative route, the other dog simply turned tail and carried on in the right direction. The scent was so strong that it would be virtually impossible to deceive in this way so he changed his tack and veered back onto the original path, catching up with the second hound and rapidly running through possible scenarios.
I can’t let this happen. I’ve got to do something, thought the dog, sweating profusely and running out of energy to keep up. Even if I do stop it, they’ll just do it again anyway. I have to make a statement as well, a big statement.
They got to the top of a small grassy crest and looked down to see the exhausted fox taking refuge in a bush, the brush poking out of one end and the whiffling snout from the other. He was defeated, helpless and panting furiously. Both hounds slowed down from their full speed run into a gentle jog. Behind them the hunter and his horse slowed to a canter as they knew the game was up. He puffed on his trumpet for all he was worth, trying to prove to the world that against all the odds, he could still get a hard on.
Ed immediately accelerated from his jog into a full pace advance towards the fox.
“That’s my boy, you are eager today,” exclaimed the man from the horse as the fox cowered trembling in the bush.
Just at the last minute and just a few feet from the bush he turned and faced the oncoming assailants, growling angrily. They mistook this for eagerness and a desire to finish the job as a team, not knowing that the hound had switched sides.
“We’re coming, we’re coming,” shouted the man as they both got closer. Ed got louder and louder, barking ferociously for all he was worth.
The second hound accelerated as he closed in and was about to run past Ed to devour the fox. Ed however had other ideas and leapt out with his growling salivating mouth opened to its widest. He grabbed the hound around the neck, pushing him over sideways, tearing through fur and skin deep into tissue. Blood spurted from the dog as it fought with panic to regain its balance and fight back.
“What the hell are you doing?” yelled the man as he saw the exhausted fox run from the bush safely into the distance.
Ed bit deeper, tearing into the violent animal knowing that this was one fox hound that would not be repeating his ugly deeds.
“That’s my best hound, you stupid mutt,” exclaimed the hunter as he reached for his shotgun from the neat holster attached to the red leather saddle. He undid the popper stud and started to withdraw the weapon just as Ed withdrew his teeth from the limp and now lifeless hound. The man jumped down from the horse and came towards Ed, lifting the shotgun in his direction and pulling off a round. Ed ducked down and ran around to his right through the small clumps of grass before he could re-aim the gun. Then Ed pounced across and was upon the hunter in a flash, leaping up and onto the forearm, forcing him to drop the shot gun on the ground. He tore into his arm right down through the flesh and could feel his teeth grinding on the bone.
This is what the fox would have felt whilst you watched, laughed and blew your fucking trumpet, mother fucker,” thought Ed, as he began to gouge a deep hole into the guy’s arm, causing a waterfall of blood to squirt out in every direction. Nervously, the man fumbled with a holster of his other hip trying to free his pistol whilst the teeth dug deeper into the bone. Soon there was a loud bang and Ed felt a massive thud throughout his whole head. He saw the end of the steaming pistol and realised he’d been shot at point blank range by the thuggish pig. Smoothly he fell back in slow motion downwards, thudding into the ground dramatically. It was as if when he landed he went right through it and into the soil, like a diver into water. He was transported through a myriad of rainbow colours shining at him from every side, spectrums of light, kaleidoscopes, mirrored halls and bands of multi coloured effects.
Slow down, stay aware, I need to get paused this time. Focus, think of pausing, slow your thoughts down, remain aware. Thought Ed.
He desperately tried to cling to some sort of strand of consciousness, anything. He knew if he blacked out, he would lessen his chances of getting paused and meeting the Viking. He had plans and was anxious to try and make them a reality.
“Stay awake, stay awake,” he gasped, as he could see the bright light ahead of him once more.
“I am Ed Trew, I am Ed Trew and I am staying conscious. I am slowing down, stopping. I am not going to the next transience. I am Ed Trew, Ed Treeew…”
Ed soon phased out of consciousness into the now familiar blank and empty darkness.
Chapter 11
The Koan Dome
A dream state began to take hold with a myriad of textured colours and a distant harmonic drone like a thousand people running moist fingers around different sized wine glasses. Ed started to come around, gradually becoming aware of a jabbing pain in his side. Barely conscious, he began to realise he was being prodded with some sort of stick. He noticed an extreme gushing wind noise, a deafening and continuous powerful flow causing a breeze to leak up his trouser legs and across his body. He felt another jab in his side and looked round to realise he was being poked with the butt end of some sort of rifle.
Maybe I’m still alive as a bloody hound, thought Ed, as he was jolted again, falling down around a short curved incline to the bottom of what felt like a tunnel. The wind pushed him more fervently and soon he felt bits of cloth pulling at every part of his body. It jerked his limbs into contorted and pained extremities with his right leg bent up to his stomach and his knee at a right angle. His head was twisted aroun
d slightly to the left and he could see his arm and hand caught up in a weird texture of homemade netting.
Thank goodness I’m not that hound still, he mused, as he began to realise he was once again in the tunnels.
What was that rifle butt though? And what am I doing caught up in this makeshift net?
Ed could hear someone calling out to him.
“-9, =5 2>;=C9B5AL. / 2KABC?0N 2 4@C3>. / 1C4C C 20A, B> 8 157>?0A=K8 2 =5B 2@55=8. / Donald, 2K?CI5= 20H5 8
“Er???”
“Dag, bare rolig. Jeg er ven. Jeg vil have dem der og sikker i nogen tid. Jeg er donald, whats dit navn?”
“Erm,” uttered Ed as he felt a sharp jerk on the netting which closed violently in all around him, wrapping him up in a little ball like a captured orang-utan.
“Dag, bare rolig. Jeg er ven. Jeg vil have dem der og sikker i nogen tid. Jeg er donald, whats dit navn?”
“Hé, ne vous inquiétez pas. Je suis un ami. Je vous aurai de là dans aucun temps. Je suis Donald, quel est votre nom?”
“Arrghh!!” yelped Ed as he was yanked and tugged upwards.
“Nem, ne aggódj. Én vagyok barátja. Nekem te meg az ott és biztonságos rögtön. Én vagyok, Donald módosított név?”
“What the fuck!”
“Hey, don’t worry, I’m a friend. I’ll have you out of there and safe in no time. I’m Donald. What’s your name?”
“Thank Christ for that, you speak English. Don’t I look a bit English? Couldn’t you have tried that first?” yelped Ed as he was humped up the side of the curved tunnel and over a flat ledge. The wind noise immediately lessened to a hush and from where he had landed he could see back through into a side passageway. He was relieved to realise that he had landed back in the tunnel complex but at the same time, felt completely disoriented and confused by the transition that jolted his mind to its very core.
He heard a loud ‘clunk’ beside him and glanced round to see an old Enfield rifle settling on the dusty ground. The makeshift net was loosened and he started to free himself from the uncomfortable restraint. It fell around him on the floor as he scrambled unsteadily to his feet like a newly born deer.
“Oh, it’s a relief to be paused again,” breathed Ed as he turned round to be greeted by a British soldier from WW1.
“Who are you? Where are we? Is this Silicon Alley or Ancestors’ Cove by any chance? Have you seen Thomas?” asked Ed as he dusted himself down, happy to be reunited with his familiar jeans, jacket and wrist watch.
“This is not Silicon Alley or Ancestors’ Cove I’m afraid. The names ring a bell though. Maybe someone else has mentioned them at some point,” replied the private.
“Really? Can you remember who?” enquired the life hopper as he reached out his right hand towards the young man, revealing the big shiny-faced watch that adorned his wrist.
“I can’t remember. No one here called Thomas that I know of either,” replied the individual as he reached out and gently shook Ed’s hand before gathering up the strange net and tossing it to the side of the tunnel. Ed glanced over to see it land, and noticed a densely rich tapestry of leafless vines all over the tunnel walls. They stretched as far as the eye could see, illuminated from behind with the familiar recessed jets of light that he remembered from before.
“I don’t remember any vines,” commented Ed.
“This is the Koan Dome community, not Silicon Alley or Ancestors’ Cove. We’re one of the last ones before the white light sucks in the Transients. If I hadn’t pulled you out then you’d have just got stuck at the end on the floor. Luckily I knocked you off that ledge with the butt end of my rifle and then caught you in the net and dragged you up. Christ, it took me over an hour to get you off that bloody ledge.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Not a problem. We try and help out as much as possible when there are stragglers in the tunnel. Come, come and have a look. You can see the white light from here,” replied the soldier, beckoning Ed over towards the entrance to peer back down the tunnel. There it was, the brilliant white light, perfectly still and sharply delineated, no shimmer or movement. With unstoppable omnipotence and power, it sucked everything in the tunnel towards it. The noise was horrendous and forced the duo back from the opening quickly.
“I don’t really dig the noise too much, it reminds me of the war,” stated Donald.
Ed looked at the young man, observing his head to toe khaki uniform, coarsely made hobnail boots, tight spats, unattractive canvas-looking matching trousers and ill-fitting green jacket. Over his right shoulder hanging down was a small cloth-covered water bottle attached by light green webbing straps whilst on the other side some sort of canvas pouch hung down over his fading grey cloth waist belt. The traditional domed metal helmet hung behind him and span around knocking him in the side of the head as he bent down to pick up his rifle. His young, innocent face and short wispy blond hair didn’t fit at all with the harsh character of the uniform.
“Were you really in the First World War? You look so young; how could you ever have gone to war?” asked Ed, perplexed at the thought.
“I’ve heard some people down here call it the First World War, others the Great War. I can tell you, it was never known as the First World War to any of us at the time and it was certainly never fucking ‘great’. If you want to know anything about hell then I know all the fucking answers, and I was only nineteen when I died.”
Ed was momentarily lost for words. He walked over to the net, bent down and picked it up. It was tatty to say the least and appeared to be made out of old bits of cloth, probably clothes from Transients who had been and gone. He thought back to Thomas and his last departure from the tunnels and remembered how they were going to make nets to rescue stragglers in the tunnels. He lifted it to his nose, sniffed at the disgusting muskiness and then threw it back down where it had come from. He turned round and walked over to Donald.
“What now?” he asked.
“Let’s get inside - we’ve a long walk ahead of us.”
“A long walk? The last group lived near the entrance?”
“Not us. We have a six hour journey from here. It’s a total killer in these fucking boots, let me tell you that. What sort of a crappy idea is that, train an army to march for miles and then give them crappy boots that produce agonising blisters after two hundred yards? It’s better now after getting used to them for ninety years, but still not nice.”
The duo started to proceed into the vine covered tunnel. It stretched into the distance as far as the eye could see. Behind the complexity of thick bare vines, there was a generous spattering of lights casting eerie shadows onto the deep red, dusty floor. He looked down at his round faced wrist watch and twisted the dials so the date was 01/01 with both hands pointing up at ‘12’. This would give him a good idea of how much time he had to play with later on. The sand was softer than before and was scuffed and disturbed with the footsteps, just like he imagined it should be naturally. He looked over at the vines enquiringly.
“Don’t you have any Tumpleberries here?” he enquired.
“Timple what?”
“The last place had little flowers on the vines, although they only had one vine.”
“No. We don’t have any flowers on these vines, not to my knowledge anyway,” replied the young soldier as they continued walking for a while. The temperature was cool in the tunnels with very little breeze to disturb the silence around them. It reminded Ed of the first few hours after a late night snowfall in the city. There would be a quiet and peacefulness that could rarely be found in such a place. The sand soaked up virtually all the sound of their footsteps whilst the vines further deadened the acoustic. Ed also noticed how dulled his sense of smell and spatial awareness were in comparison to his outings as a cat and dog. It all seemed very flat, even unexciting.
Soon his thoughts had turned to his objectives and what he was hoping to achieve on this second visit to the mysterious ‘other world.’
“Have you heard o
f the Viking?” enquired Ed.
“A few murmurings. I’m not interested really. Do you want to meet him? I can set you up when we get back if you like? There are people that speak of him. I personally think it’s a bit of a myth,” replied Donald as they continued on their way.
“That's great. Please do introduce me to anyone who might know anything about him.”
“For sure.” replied Donald before they walked on for a few minutes in silence.
Ed glanced over again at the soldier’s uniform, the coarse and itchy looking material, thick leather belts and various devices and pouches for carrying things. His beautiful short cropped blond hair, smartly combed, glistened in the darts of light that shot out from behind the vines and across the tunnels. His fine young choir boy features were astoundingly youthful. Ed found it hard to imagine this youngster fighting on a brutal battlefield.
“Anyway, what regiment were you in?” enquired Ed, curiosity getting the better of him.
“Berkshires, Royal Berkshires. More like Berks if you ask me, sent off to die like letters being dumped out of a postman’s sack.”
“You were in the Berkshires? My grandfather was in that regiment. That’s quite some coincidence. Were you at the battle of Passchendaele?”
“I was in so many ass end battles. They didn’t have names for us though. Just another fucking nasty situation to endure. Over the top, advance, kill, die or return back to do it all again. It all became a blur. All that ‘bang’ ‘bang’ ‘bang’ ‘bang’ ‘bang’ ‘bang’ ‘bang’ fucking ‘bang’. My mind was blotting the whole thing out. I remember that name though, Passchendaele. I am sure I was in that area at some point. There weren’t exactly lots of road signs, just burnt tree stubs, stripped of life and hope, stranded there erect in a quagmire of mud, blood, bones, metal shards, rats and a stench that soaked right through your clothes, even penetrating the thick leather of your boots into your socks and all over your mouldering, blistered feet.”
