by Jeff Povey
‘So if I take a step . . . ?’
‘You can’t take a step into nothingness.’
I’m not smart enough to understand that but I’ll take the New-Moth’s word for it.
‘It’s not a world we live in, Rev, this place – it’s just a town. There’s nothing beyond it, otherwise don’t you think we’d all be out of here?’
‘How’s that possible?’
‘This – all of this – is all there is,’ he says calmly, matter-of-factly. He has clearly grown used to the horrible truth. ‘The shops, the restaurants, the lights, the electricity and the fuel and everything else we need to live reappear day after day. You’d think it’d be Nirvana, wouldn’t you?’
Before I can respond, car headlights sweep round a bend in the road and highlight us in silhouette. The New-Moth isn’t surprised by this.
‘Like clockwork,’ is all he says as the car eases to a stop about twenty metres from the nothingness. The car is small, a Fiat, and it’s similar to the one the Ape broke into in the Tesco car park in the empty world about a thousand years ago. Inside I can make out a large bulk behind the wheel. It’s Sad-Ape and he sits quietly revving the engine, a gentle murmur rather than the roar you’d expect. The driver’s window is smashed, just like it was smashed by the Ape in the empty world, and at least that’s a sign that somewhere deep inside this frightened, meek version of an Ape is a real Ape. He stares into the nothingness, but even the beams from the car’s headlights end abruptly as they hit the blackness and just disappear. Straight into nothing.
‘That’s death,’ New-Moth tells me. ‘That out there, that’s got to be what death is.’
The thought chills me but I’m now more interested in Sad-Ape and why he’s sitting in what is obviously a stolen car, quietly revving its engine.
‘He does this every night,’ New-Moth says.
‘What’s he going to do? Ram the blackness?’
‘He’s thinking about trying again.’
‘Again?’ I ask.
‘Escaping. Busting through the blackness. It’s how he lost his eye. He’s lucky he didn’t die, if you call that lucky.’ The New-Moth turns his gaze to Sad-Ape as he revs the engine again. He looks like a getaway driver with nowhere to get away to. ‘No one leaves, Reva. Not alive anyway. But worse, I think the blackness is getting closer. That nothing, it’s creeping towards us, I’ve been trying to measure it and I’m pretty sure that one day it’ll crawl all over this town and snuff it out.’
‘Why were the others so angry at him though?’
‘Because he didn’t make it,’ he says. ‘The Ape proved that there is no way out. And that’s pretty hard to take.’
I try to peer at the darkness that is really just nothing. Is New-Moth right about it eventually smothering this town? For now it’s the perfect world for my dad. He can live the same happy day over and over with his beloved wife and daughter. Not that we are his real wife and daughter. But I guess after twelve years of searching, when you find a world like this, unchanging, unescapable, then I can almost understand his unmitigated joy.
Sad-Ape revs the car engine, willing himself to try and smash his way out of town. It’s the first really positive sign I’ve seen in him. It means he’s still got a residue of Ape-ness in that he, too, likes to smash things.
SHOP TIL YOU DROP
Only GG would know a short cut from the train station to the shopping centre. He can barely walk and with every step he sucks in a grimace, but he sure knows his way to a sale.
‘We take this little turning, then we take another, then another, and then we should be able to smell the price tags. We’re that close,’ he says as we lumber through the night. The street lights cast long shadows that make the Ape especially resemble his alter ego Non-Ape. There is no longer any sound of battle coming from the tunnel. Someone has clearly won.
A huge car park weaves its way round the exterior of the forbiddingly huge shopping centre before it turns into a multi-storey. There are restaurants and a cinema at the far end of the car park, but I’m only interested in the giant doors that welcome us to the main shopping area.
‘You sure the Moth’s in here?’ GG asks.
‘Positive,’ I tell him, remembering Other-Johnson’s last transmission before Billie drove a talon deep into his heart. Thanks to Another-Billie’s healing powers, I know he’s not dead forever, but what my Billie did to him still chills me.
The Ape yanks open one of the tall doors to the shopping centre.
‘Promise me one thing,’ I tell GG as we edge inside. ‘Don’t ever leave me again.’
‘Never in a month of nevers.’
As we edge into the shopping centre and pass a small wooden cabin where lottery tickets are usually sold, I can feel GG’s eyes on me. I turn to him and he’s just quietly staring at me.
‘What?’ I whisper.
‘I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.’
The words ripple through me like a chill. ‘I thought the same,’ I tell him. ‘I didn’t want to believe it, but it kept jumping into my head.’
GG leans forward and I can see that for once he’s being serious. ‘I’m glad you came looking, knew you would, but I’m glad I was right.’
In that moment I know we will always be bonded; no matter what happens, GG and I will always be there for each other.
We find the escalator that rises relentlessly and silently towards the first floor of the shopping centre.
‘Be on your guard,’ I whisper to GG. ‘You never know.’
GG nods, but as we rise to the main floor and step off the escalator my shoulders start tingling like crazy.
The shops are identical to the ones in my home world – another carbon copy of the earth I know so well – apart from Black Moths covering every square centimetre of the shopping centre. They are inside shops – so many of them that they’re crushed up against the reinforced plate-glass windows – and outside on the concourse where they fill the entire area with their unforgiving ferociousness.
As soon as they’re aware of our presence, they turn as one and stare hungrily at us. The Ape has somehow found the one remaining unoccupied space and he stands, staring the Black Moths down. I expect him to utter his immortal catchphrase: ‘I got this.’ But for once he seems struck by the challenge ahead and he stares me straight in the eye, a flicker of concern visible.
‘Lot of Moths, but not our Moth,’ he tells me.
‘Eeny, meeny, miny, mo . . . ’ GG says quietly.
The Ape swivels his great chunk of head and scans the packed concourse. ‘He’s not here.’
The Black Moths tense and coil as one. They bare their metal teeth. They’re getting ready to attack.
‘It’s OK. Remember they aren’t real,’ I tell GG and the Ape.
‘Wait, what?’ GG asks.
‘They don’t exist. Billie imagined them into being,’ I explain, one eye on the Black Moths as they stretch their powerful limbs and reveal their talons.
‘I’d pretty much say they are definitely there,’ GG says.
‘Imagine they’re not.’
‘I so wish I could. They stink to high heaven.’ GG screws his nose up, but he has a point, the Black Moths do emit a strong animal odour. ‘Someone’s getting deodorant for Christmas.’
I’m not sure why the Black Moths do exist, especially now that Billie is dead-ish.
The Ape stops to listen for a moment. Yet again his remarkable hearing has alerted him to something. ‘OK,’ is all he says as he turns and heads for the down escalator.
‘Ape?’
‘We better go.’ Yet again his impeccable hearing has picked up something no one else has.
‘What is it?’ GG cups his bruised and bloodied ear with his good hand. ‘Can you give us a clue?’
The Ape starts down the escalator.
BOOM!
The noise is unmistakable.
It’s the fist of Non-Ape sinking into the very foundations of the shopping centre.
BOOM!
GG grabs my elbow and starts herding me back down the escalator. Never mind his pain he’s moving like an Olympic athlete now.
I take the metal escalator steps two at a time, not bothering to look back. I don’t really care if there are Black Moths leaping and charging after me. Not one of them is going to be fast enough to catch us.
BOOM!
Shop windows shatter.
BOOM!
The entire concourse rises like a concrete and marble wave and the escalator comes loose from its mooring, swinging free and sending me, the Ape and GG flying over the rubberised edge. I crash through the wooden roof of the small hut that is usually home to the lottery-ticket seller, landing on my back amongst a thousand lottery tickets. I hear a horrible thud, like a wet slap only magnified tenfold, as GG hits the shiny floor of the entrance lobby. And finally the Ape comes flying down on top of me, landing hard.
BOOM!
The large exit doors splinter and collapse as the entire shopping centre lists to one side. The strengthened glass roof cracks and huge chunks of broken glass start to rain down.
The Ape climbs off me and I see a massive shard of glass falling from the sky, arrowing straight for me. I roll to one side and it lands, shattering and throwing jagged splinters everywhere. I shield my head and face but the glass flies into my back and legs, jabbing and sticking into me. The Ape grabs me, forgetting his own injuries, lifting me clear off my feet as huge sheets of glass continue to rain down and then explode into a million deadly fragments that fly off at incredible speeds. Black Moths are falling from the teetering edge of the first-floor mezzanine as the centre rips apart. Those that aren’t killed by the fall are battered by the rainstorm of glass and sliced to ribbons.
BOOM!
‘Couldn’t he have waited till we were out of here?’ GG garbles as I grab him and try to hustle him out of harm’s way.
The Ape snatches a side of the wooden hut and with every sinew of strength he raises it above his head.
‘Get under!’
BOOM!
Glass continues to pour down and Black Moth limbs are sliced clean off as the entire structure of the building roars in futile protest. This place is coming down and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. I drag GG under the shelter of the Ape’s makeshift wooden umbrella. Glass crashes down on it, but even though his knees bow from the force the Ape bunches his muscles and stands tall again.
‘Go, go, go!’ I yell.
The Ape starts heading for the smashed exit. Walls are caving in upstairs on the concourse; shops are dying on their feet, collapsing like giant dominoes into one another and crushing the swarm of Black Moths. I pray that the Ape is right and that our Moth is not up there somewhere. He had a hotel fall on him before and that’s surely enough for anyone.
Another chunk of glass hits the Ape’s wooden shelter and drives right through it, stopping centimetres from GG’s cowering body.
‘I used to shop here all the time!’ he shrieks. ‘The bargains you could find.’
We crab our way under the Ape’s protection to what’s left of the exit. Glass lands and erupts close enough to send grenades of shards our way.
BOOM!
The tall exit doors no longer exist, but as we head outside I hear the shopping centre groan, a sound louder than anything I’ve ever heard before. It’s sliding the same way we are heading. The floor is erupting around us. Black Moths try and sprint and weave round and through us, but none of them make it as ceiling and glass and wall and concrete fall in a deluge of destruction and black blood. The Ape’s knees buckle again as something horribly heavy smacks on to our wooden protection, but on he ploughs, shaking the impact off. We are in a race to reach the exit before the entire shopping centre slides down on top of us.
BOOM!
I have no idea why the Non-Ape has decided to punch the shopping gallery to death. But knowing he’s alive means that surely Johnson is too.
We reach the exit and the Ape shoves me outside, then drags GG with him. He casts off his wooden shield and escapes a second before the entire shopping centre comes sliding after us, like a racing horse buckling at the knees and going over on its neck.
The Ape picks GG up and throws him into a fireman’s lift and keeps running. I stop to look back but all I can see is the enormous exterior starting to fall my way. I turn and run for all I’m worth.
BOOM!
The buckling shopping centre is tumbling fast towards us, throwing up dust and debris, before completely engulfing us.
DUCKING SCHOOL!!
The morning ritual went smoothly. They had their tea and toast and then drove me to school and parked illegally on the shale and tarmac so that I could get a peck on the cheek from my ‘mother’ and a nod from my increasingly disaffected father. I was so eager to get into school that I broke into a sprint, until I remembered that I’m meant to hate the place. I eased up and tried to walk with sloped shoulders, head bowed, until I saw New-Johnson and New-Billie kissing by the bike sheds. That made my stomach flip and it had no right to. They’re not the Johnson and Billie I know but I guess there’s a residue of something or other. I’ve become so wrapped up in my Great Escape plans that I haven’t thought about where I can actually go. What if there are even worse worlds than this one? As I mulled over my plans last night, I started to convince myself that perhaps these new versions of my friends could come with me and somehow take up my lost friends’ mantle. It’s a pretty hideous idea, but having copies of the people I’ve come to love is better than not having them at all. Just about. Or I could bring these new friends home and no one would be any the wiser. Apart from the Ape’s glass eye. Condemning New-Mum to a life of abject sadness will be hard to do but what choice do I really have? I truly don’t belong here.
The school bell rings and I head into school with a slow troop of the listless and lost – and then make straight for the rear exit. New-Mum is working early as usual and my dad claims to go to work every day so this is my chance to get into the flat.
I duck out of school and race back to our flat in record time, sprinting until my lungs burst and my mouth tastes of iron. I find the key under one of the plant pots outside the front door and let myself in. I should have a good three or four hours before New-Mum arrives home and I waste no time striding straight into their bedroom. If there’s an answer anywhere, it’s going to be there. I know Dad keeps old notebooks and battered briefcases in his wardrobe, and I also know that in the evil doppelganger world my Non-Mum found the formula rolled up and stuffed into the sleeve of one of Dad’s leather jackets. Why should it be any different in Suicide World?
The wardrobe is so old it still has a tiny ancient and ornate key in the lock. I swiftly turn it and the ancient oak door swings open with a dreadfully clichéd creak. On one side are New-Mum’s clothes, nothing too fancy or flash, or anything that would draw too much attention, and on the other side are my dad’s suits and – thank God – four leather jackets. I take the first one down and start patting the sleeves when I hear the front door to the flat open.
I almost gasp at the sound, but quickly clasp a hand over my mouth. I stand stock-still and listen to a familiar footfall. It’s my dad. And he’s coming down the hallway. Heading straight for his bedroom. I probably have five seconds to put the jacket back, close and lock the wardrobe and find a hiding place. Yeah, like that’s going to happen.
The footsteps stop outside the bedroom door. And I stop breathing. I can’t possibly explain being here. There is no story or tale that I can weave other than to tell the truth and then blow any chance I have of escape. The handle of the bedroom door slowly dips and I brace myself, quickly formulating a plan to hurl the leather jacket at him, and then run for my life. I won’t ever come back here I’ll hide out at New-Moth’s until he and I can think of another plan.
I’m ready for my dad.
I’m going to leather-jacket him and run like I’m in the Olympics. He’ll never catch me.
A
phone rings.
Not mine, thank God.
Dad’s mobile.
He lets go of the bedroom door handle and answers.
‘Hey, you.’ The tone of his voice makes me think that it must be New-Mum on the other end of the line. ‘Miss you too.’
The call has given me a bit of time and I turn as lightly as I can, trying to put the leather jacket back on its hanger. As I do, a rolled-up group of papers slide from it and land on the carpet.
The formula!
‘By the way, did you leave the key in the door?’ my dad asks New-Mum.
What sort of idiot am I? I was so eager to ransack the flat that I left my key in the front door.
But then I spot the magic, world-opening formula lying at my feet in a curled-up tube of answers.
‘You still have yours?’ There’s a quizzical tone to his voice. ‘So has someone used the one we hide under the plant pot.’
I’m ditching the leather jacket and Olympic sprint idea. I’ve got a better one. I gently hide the rolled-up pages of the formula under the bed and then step backwards into the wardrobe. Far better not to be found at all than have to leg it.
‘Definitely?’ my dad asks again. ‘OK . . . ’ He hesitates, ‘There’ll be some silly explanation.’
I sink into the clothes until I’m up against the back of the wardrobe. Because it’s so ancient, an heirloom from way back, the wardrobe has room and depth. I’m about to draw myself into as small a size as possible when I realise I need to pull the door shut.
The creaky door.
The door that can’t be left open because it’ll give me away and the same door that can’t be closed because that too will give me away.
‘Well, there’s no harm done, and no one seems to have broken in.’ My dad squeezes a jolly upbeat lilt into his voice. ‘It’s pretty warm out there and I wanted to grab a thinner jacket.’
Why can I never catch a break?
He can’t come in here and start rummaging around in the wardrobe. I mean, that’s just not fair. This world is laughing its sweet socks off at me. Everything I do and everywhere I go it is crying hysterically with laughter. I can’t escape through the lorry. I can’t get any further than the main road. I can’t even hide in a sodding wardrobe! Am I meant to just give in gracefully? Is that what it’s telling me?
