When it happened the first time, he’d tried to push her off, saying that it wasn’t right. She’d merely sat upright, her fingers found his throat. They tightened, choking the words out of him until he shut up. Her face had told him then that it wasn’t a negotiation. And now they were telling him the same thing. She wanted it then and she wanted it now. The anger that drove her stemmed from everything she wished she’d done when she’d left her family. She felt guilty that she didn’t stay, that she didn’t fight. She felt guilty that she didn’t punch the monsters then, so she would beat on Aaro’s chest instead. She was sorry that she didn’t claw at the beasts when they descended on her sister, so she raked her nails across Aaro’s back. She hated herself for not biting at them if nothing else while they mauled her parents, so she sank her teeth into Aaro’s shoulders.
This was another one of those times. She was sad and angry and she was going to take out all of her frustrations on him. But he didn’t mind. He knew how she felt and he did the same to some extent. Just to feel something. Anything at all.
He understood that. He understood it too well. He felt it coming off her like heat, exuding from her pores. Chemical pheromones that spoke to him in the deepest primal way.
His brow furrowed and he welled up a little himself, her tongue moving slowly over his, her back coiled and tense, knees locked around his ribs, her hands at his face.
She dragged him up to a seated position and pulled his jacket off hurriedly. Hastily.
He stopped her, taking her wrists.
He kissed her once, softly, on the lips and then brushed the hair from her wet cheeks as delicately as he could. He smiled at her the way he used to smile at Emilie and then did something he only seemed to do in those moments. ‘I love you,’ he whispered, barely audible, even to her, their noses touching.
She blushed a little turned away. After a second or two she stole a tentative glance, like always, to see if he was being genuine.
He was. He always was.
She blushed a little more.
And then she fell on him, all teeth and nails and tongue and hands.
That’s what happened, like it always did. He whispered and she pounced. They rolled and fumbled and he kicked off his jeans. She rolled onto her back and pulled him on top of her.
They went between sex and making love as the mood took them for more than an hour until they collapsed into one another, bodies intertwined. Their skin wet with sweat and tears. They breathed in unison, catching their fleeting breath in the hot, windowless room.
She needed to clear her head. Aaro smiled at the thought and turned to look at her.
The tears had gone now. She looked content. Happy even.
‘Is your head feeling clearer now?’ He brushed the hair from her temple with his coarse fingers.
She pulled her arms up and folded them under her chin, rolling onto her front. ‘Yeah, it is. And you know what, when you were down there,’ she dipped her eyes towards the sheets that clung to them. ‘I had time to think, and all I kept thinking was how much I’d love to have this every day.'
‘Sex?’ Aaro laughed, lacing his fingers under his head and turning onto his back.
‘Sex with you.’
‘We do have sex every day. This is the second time today in fact.’
She readjusted on her arms, pressing her cheek to her wrist, and met his gaze. ‘You know what I mean. To start building a life again. You know — me and you, and that dog you mentioned. I want that.’
Aaro puffed his chest out and inhaled. ‘Well, I was pretty amazing, wasn’t I.’
She slapped him playfully in the ribs. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. It’s mostly the dog that’s swinging it.’
He turned his head, grinning at her, sucking in heavy lungfuls of warm bedroom air ‘So you’ll do it?’
‘Yeah.’ She crawled towards him and laid her head on his chest, curling against him ‘Let’s do it.’
THIRTEEN
THE BEGINNING
2108 AD
It was like the first spattering of a hailstorm. A sporadic clicking as a handful of frozen pellets hurl themselves against the glass. And then it grows. The rattle broadens in intensity and plunges into a hurricane of applause.
That was how it was with the gunfire. A few lone shots. Some shouts of alarm. A woman’s scream. More gunfire. And then the heavens opened and the single shots were lost in a torrent.
Aaro stayed pinned against the chair, trying to block it out. A crunching of metal on metal and a sharp jolt wrenched him back to the road. The car behind wasn’t waiting and rammed him. His neck strained and he heard something click inside his head, a sharp pain shooting through the back of his eyes. But that could wait.
In the rearview, the driver behind was cursing and gesturing wildly. Aaro, with eyes fixed on the mirror, pushed his car into drive without thinking. All conscious thought had left him suddenly. His heart was filling his head, it’s thunderous throb blocking everything else out.
He jammed his foot to the floor and the wheels spun. His car snaked and then lurched forward, slingshotting him across the eight feet of space ahead. He didn’t even think about the car in front and smashed into its bumper. The kids in the backseat started wailing. Horns wailed. Engines revved. The carnage was immediate and total. In the mouth of bridge, walled in by thick metal barriers on each side, the line of cars descended into a free for all. Those unwilling to ram and be rammed tried to go around, squeezing against the barriers with a squeal of straining steel. Those in larger cars and trucks attempted to mount the central divider and cross on to the empty side of the roadway. Flaring engines and acrid clouds of exhaust fumes dominated the tarmac. The cold breeze did nothing to carry them away and the black fog hung around the cars, choking everyone. Before he knew it Aaro was being forced forward into the smoky mist, blind from all sides, deafened by the noises filtering through the haze. Panicking, he rolled down his window, jabbing manically for the button. He was hyperventilating and needed some fresh air, but got nothing but a lungful of diesel smoke. Turmoil was the only other thing that entered his car, as now, between the bursts of gunfire, the screams, the grinding of metal and the revving of frantic engines, came a bone-chilling noise. An unearthly warcry that cut through the din like a guillotine.
Aaro froze and for a second everything else seemed to as well. His mind cast back to a nature program he saw on TV where a pack of wolves ran down a bison. They would attack in packs and the alpha would howl to signify the kill. A claim of victory. And just as they had on the television, others joined in the chorus. That single low howl was joined by one and then another. Aaro scarcely breathed as he and everyone else listened. Somewhere on the other side of the curtain of fog, the voices of countless creatures crescendoed into a symphony of horror. A wolf’s howl seemed tame in comparison. This sounded like something from another world.
Aaro’s mind produced visions of them skulking, slithering out of the treeline and down on to the road, overturning cars like toys, smashing windows and pulling victims from their rolling coffins with their teeth and claws like fishing hooks, while the human paper soldiers rained down on them with measly bullets from their funny little guns. They are unphased. The bullets do nothing but irk them, give them their next target. They spread like a virus, using the vehicles for cover, advancing towards the guns and the bridge, multiplying into a toothy sea.
Another shunt came from behind and Aaro’s car turned and skidded sideways into the one in front, the collision system in his car now locking the wheels. The tires screeched and metal groaned. The cars ahead had nowhere to go but the cars behind kept pushing. A four-by-four three links back wedged itself against the block of cars and drove forwards. The diesel motor roared and all four tires spun on the tarmac as the driver floored it. Shouts of indignation echoed through the building smoke and Aaro’s car was jolted again as others tried to make their own moves.
Aaro cursed and threw it into reverse, tearing at the wheel to try and straighte
n out before he was pinned. More howls echoed from behind and the first wild spurt of gunfire battered the steel girders above the bridge. The image of a man, tackled by a monster flashed in Aaro’s mind as he watched the sparks dance on the metal cross-work, his finger pinned on trigger as he tried uselessly to defend himself, the sheer weight of the beast throwing him back, the burst of fire skewing wildly into the sky as his arms flailed.
Aaro couldn’t tell how close they were, but it was still too close. He swore, spitting flecks of saliva through gritted teeth, and fought against the crush of cars. They were still pushing from behind as he tried, and failed to right himself. His car had spun fully around now and the jeep, the cause of his turn, was now half up on the centre divider, one of its wheels over the crash barrier, the other stretching for purchase on the ground. The engine whined as the wheels spun in the air, the undercarriage grinding up onto and seesawing on the metal barrier. The look on the driver’s face, only a few feet from him was one of pale fury. His voice was silent behind the glass but his mouth formed profanity as he went from first to reverse and back again, looking for grip that wasn’t there. He was stranded
Aaro’s car died under his fingers, a warning that his motor was overheating flashing on the dash in front of him. Another car took the jeep’s place, squeezing under the wheels and forced itself onto the bridge, shoving him sideways as it ground past.
He watched helplessly as one side of his car became pinned against the outside barrier, the other blocked by the car trying to shoulder its way through. In a lane meant for one car, there were now three, wedged together, at odd angles, unmoving.
He watched as the jeep rocked heavily on its perch.
Still obscured by the smoke, a dark form emerged above the roofs of the cars on the road, clambering up onto the jeep. The back wheels bobbed near to the ground but still too far away to do any good as the monster came full on to the car. Its silhouette was just that in the thick grey air as it moved unhurriedly, like a phantom. Stuck in place, he watched through the windscreen as the driver stopped his attempt at driving and cowered in his seat, staring up at the roof, and the noise Aaro knew all too well. The noise that would be forever embedded in his memory. That heavy padding footfall and the scrape of hooked talons. The driver’s face drained to a ghostly grey as the creature’s salivating maw appeared in the sunroof glass. It was like some wretched silent movie. He could see it but not hear it. It scratched with its claws, looking for the edge, and then reared up, dropping its weight onto the glass. The driver flinched and Aaro did too. The beast did it again. And again. He waited for it to shatter, knowing that the thing would quickly wedge itself down into the cab and take the driver.
Aaro swallowed, his heart hammering in his ears.
The monster clattered into the window again. He wanted to look away but he couldn’t. His eyes stayed locked on the scene as another car lurched into the one at his side. It backed up and hurled itself forward again. Aaro’s car rocked against the barrier.
The other car came again and Aaro’s back wheel leapt up over the rail, hanging into the gap designed for pedestrians. He was locked in, barely aware, still watching the murderous scene unfold in front of him. Transfixed.
The car lurched again and the entire back end was forced into the gap. He felt his belt tighten around his neck as it took his weight, the nose angled down at more than thirty degrees. He held onto the wheel for dear life as he jostled around, seeing out of the corner of his eye as this new car force its way forward with total disregard for anything else. Beyond, the jeep driver still cowered, the integrity of his sunroof barely holding on, the only thing keep the monster’s jaws from his throat.
The driver slid down now into the footwell beneath his wheel, trying anything to get away from the beast, not daring to open the door and run. He was dead anyway, Aaro knew that. And he probably did too.
There was another great jolt and a grinding of metal as the barrier slid across Aaro’s undercarriage, his front wheels lifting. The car that was next to him now slid into the space where he was and this new car move into its old position, gaining no more than a few metres. Ahead the traffic was impenetrable. Those behind shoved forwards, and those at the front had already gotten out and run.
Aaro’s stomach folded over as his car ground into the outer handrail, the momentum carrying him over. He felt it buckle under his weight, the steel bending and buckling as it took his weight. In those last seconds, everything slowed. The man in the jeep curled into a ball as a shower of glass shards rained on to his seat. The front end of the beast plunged into the cabin. Its legs flailed behind it, sticking upright, its long tail lashing furiously as it scrambled through the jagged hole and into the interior. Blood splashed against the windows. The tail end of his own car sagged over the crushed rail, and he teetered for a moment. The scene in front like a snapshot.
And then he cried out. His attention had been locked on the jeep but now he was moving quickly, sliding off the bridge. He couldn’t see the road anymore. Only the steel girders above the bridge and the milky sky beyond.
The weight shifted and the back dropped, pulling the rest of the car with it. He was weightless, falling. Plunging towards the river below.
A moment of serenity seized the world.
And then he hit. The car stopped violently and he jerked backwards in the seat, his head rebounding off the headrest. The steering wheel exploded and his ears hurt. The airbag ballooned out, throwing his arms into his face. He gasped in shock, dazed and deafened, his ears ringing, and swore disgustingly as the cracked windows buckled and icy water surged into the car, filling it in seconds.
He fumbled desperately for his seatbelt buckle, but his fingers were already underwater and dead numb.
He was trapped, strapped in, the inertia reel seatbelt pinning him to the seat.
He took one last lungful of air before the foaming green water, muddied by the storm, engulfed his head and the car sank below the surface.
His ears ached as the car swirled into the depths of the river, the dim light from the surface fading quickly, replaced by never-ending blackness.
FOURTEEN
PLAYING GOD
2064 AD
Florian Gertlinger had been called many things in his life. “Freak’ by the other kids at elementary school because he’d rather read a book than watch cartoons. “Geek’ by the kids in secondary because he spent his lunchtimes in the library rather than on the playground. “Virgin” and “weirdo” on the weekends when he elected to study instead of attending inane parties, and trying to bed women too inebriated to know what, or who they were doing. “Cheater” and “brown noser” in college when he aced tests that others didn’t. “Nerd” and “pussy” by the cool kids when he graduated top of his class and then still didn’t attend the after-parties. And then, it all changed.
He was shunned and looked down upon and ridiculed and taunted for trying hard in his earlier years, and then after he graduated for the second time with a PhD under his belt, the names were no longer slanderous and coarse, they were the opposite. People called him a “shining example to kids these days”, a “truly hard working man”, a “genius”. People he was in school and college with emailed him and stopped him in the street and acted friendly and told him how amazing it was, what he’d achieved, and that their lives hadn’t worked out quite the way they wanted. They’d not got the grades needed to be an astronaut or whatever else their dream was. They’d knocked up that girl they slept with that one time at that one party where they were so drunk that they didn’t wear a condom. They’d been so messed up on drink and drugs that their friend had stumbled onto a train track and been obliterated by the overnight express freight — a thousand tons of steel and speed churning through Tommy’s body like it did a stiff breeze. ‘Poor Tommy,’ they’d say. ‘It rocked our worlds and ruined our lives.’
Gertlinger would offer his condolences and then pity them. They’d use words like “lucky” to describe his success but i
t was no more than hard work. He’d smile and tell them to take care and then he’d flip them off as they walked away. And then he’d light a cigarette.
It had been a long time since the name calling had stopped. But for many years it stuck with him. He tried to rise above it. That’s what his mother always said. Be the bigger man. Be the bigger man. Turn the other cheek. Keep your head above the water or you’ll be dragged down and drown. And he had stayed above the water. He’d surfed the waves of doubt and jealousy and come out the other side a lot better off for it. But now, from nowhere, the callous name-calling had returned. But now it wasn’t “geek” or “nerd”. It was worse.
Arrogant.
Heretic.
Monster.
Disgrace.
Evil.
A man with delusions of grandeur.
A man who saw fit to play God.
Pathetic.
These were the words that no longer rolled off his back the way they used to. When he was young, it was easy, but with age his back had grown weak. He felt very far away from everything right now. Surrounded. Enclosed. Trapped. And he was trapped. In a glass box.
No, not glass. Reinforced plexiglass. Three inches thick. Enough to stop a high powered rifle. That was the part that they made sure he knew, as if it was a reassurance and not something to be perturbed by. But, if that was the case then why was his chest being crushed by the steel-plated kevlar-lined vest hidden beneath his shirt and blazer? He adjusted it with a grimace and the velcro cut into his ribs. Someone wasn’t honestly going to try to shoot him, were they?
Angela Perrott fired him a look that someone might shoot a dog chewing its leg. Stop it. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands in front of him. On his left, Angela stood in a smart black pencil dress and heels. It was formal enough to make a good impression, but it still hugged her figure and showed off the best parts — which, to Gerlinger, were all of them. He had to stop himself from glancing at her cleavage every few seconds. She had her chest puffed out, either in confidence or… No, that was stupid. She wouldn’t be doing it for him. That was ludicrous. She was about two thirds his age and out of his league by at least three divisions. He straightened his mind, and his tie. They’d had a drink or two, sure — like that time after Tammy’s show. She’d been friendly, insisted on buying them. She’d laughed at his jokes and reassured him they were doing good work and she’d even laid her fingers on his arm across the table as she did so. But that was her job. To keep him on track. A real chance with her, though? No, it was preposterous. He smiled to himself at the thought. A fake smile to try to convince himself he wasn’t disappointed at the fact.
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