The Eighth Thought

By Gordon Riche

Ezra’s planet, according to the spook, was doomed. The spook gave him the chance to save it; or at least its population. Give up his selfish ways. Would he take the task offered? Walk north in fear of belligerence with a mentally-challenged brother he wanted away from and find the element that might save all?

Michelle Paris, working alongside an American, Mark Chambers – both headhunted by each of their governments – start out on an obsequious shared assignment they both didn’t need. But things soon turn unearthly. A confused, tangled journey into imaginative concept. Or is it imagination? All four must decide the difference between what they see as fantasy and what they see as realism, before it’s too late; before humanity has nowhere to go.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: Feb 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370467198

Gordon Riche

................................................A retired engineer who thought it a good time to satisfy a need to write. Not about engineering, anything but that with time on his hands. Born in Fulham, London. Gordon Riche moved south at a young age to ease the London population. He moved on to senior school and left without qualification. That was a big regret. Because without qualification, life becomes much more difficult.

Book preview

Chapter One

The Heinous Progeny

Planet Earth

For the first time Jon Violack felt the cold. He had seen some success come good over millions of years. But his achievements at first proved his judgement wrong, when the unforbidden creatures he created in his own image were deemed likened to his own race. That broke the rules. To make them different, he kept the same image, took away their intellect, then grew them into huge, fierce monsters. But the giant carnivores and herbivores who couldn’t adapt to Earth’s fascinating nature, inevitably became his mistake. They had to be destroyed. Begging for a second chance, his population, the Crudelis gave into his plea. This time however the mistakes made, were theirs. The human race he then evolved was also doomed. Man’s brilliance against man’s ignorance. The measure of human life ready to fall beyond, or fall back from the tipping point. Which way would the pendulum swing? Over or back? If back, safe, or not so safe to let mankind continue on its destructive course until finally the weight of Earth’s pollution would snap the bough born so delicate it could be made from bone china! But Jon Violack, the beast who maketh man, would whatever happen, go on.

Rohan Market, Beijing.

It wasn’t really spoken about amongst the traders why this perennial Chinese market place had lost some of its colour. The gradual decline. A downwards step-by-step progress from banter to near sombre, didn’t really click amongst the sellers. It was too gradual. The only people overjoyed about the loss of this cultural thread were the suppliers, whose profits were nicely up thanks to it.

Two girls working the watch stall. Hua and Cia, both friends since early spring last year when they claimed the job on this stall together, ribbed each over who they thought was the cause. They called him the guaiwu, the freak, or any other dub for their amusement. He was one of the Crudelis, disguised as one of the humans he’d created. If they’d known what this beast was about, at least if Hua had known, she would have been gone. Gone to anywhere but here.

Violack watched the girl. The one destined. His eyes were set on her for a long time; time in his world that could be shortened to a moment, or stretched to a lifetime. It was all the same to a creature that feared a death only by fate. Not by time or age.

‘Today.’ He thought. He would talk to her. Make friends. ‘That would be enough to gain her attention.’ She saw the man dawdle towards her. His body, like a stick, wore a clownish white suit. He had a pale face beneath a panama hat, sharp and bony and growing a wispy, grey beard that sat still on a long chin.

‘I’ll serve him,’ Cia said, watching him undress Hua with his eyes as he walked towards them. Cia indulged herself, thinking it best to deal with this creep her way. The market place hangout. It was the latest misnomer given to Violack, who switched his deep-set eyes from Hua to meet hers.

‘What can I get you sir?’ she said, with a false smile.

‘Nothing! I’m just looking at your stock. Is it legit?’ His question irritated.

‘All of our wares are.’ Her smile that wasn’t much of a smile, disappeared.

‘Why do you ask?’ she said.

‘Because this market is full of thieves, young lady, and you look the sort…’

‘I’d be very careful of what you accuse people of looking like, sir.’ There was a brief silence except for the market bustle in the background. Violack turned toward a heckler.

‘Who might you be, sir?’ he said. The man questioned was a westerner. Tall, handsome, with a shock of fair hair to suit a cheeky grin. A man not sure if his words had angered the beast. But what if they had? He certainly didn’t look as if he cared.

‘I beg your pardon if I read your quick manner wrong,’ said the westerner. ‘I’m here to take one of these young ladies to lunch.’ He looked straight at Hua, then back at Violack. There was no anger or nothing that could be misconstrued as that from the Crudelis. He could never feel it. The introduction of emotions to encourage life here on Earth was only a human affliction. His experiment. Amongst his own race, it was forbidden. They knew the repercussions of sentiment.

‘Pleased to meet you.’ He held out long, thin fingers. ‘My name is Jon Violack. I’m working with the local police. I was about to inform these young ladies to be aware of thieves operating in this market.’

‘Working with the police?’ He took the hand lightly and shook it once. ‘Like an undercover cop?’ said the westerner.

‘You could put it like that Mr…’

‘Dumeric. Charles Dumeric. I think both young ladies are very aware of such crimes in this market. It’s been a problem here for years.’

‘That’s right, Mr Dumeric. From time to time I like to nudge the memory bank. Some of those on this market tend to forget things quite easily, if you catch my drift? Anyway I won’t take up any more of your time. Enjoy your lunch.’ Violack had no idea she was seeing someone. How could he? Now it meant altering his plans slightly, but he must have this girl. It would have to be her.

Violack kept his vigil on the pair, but it soon became apparent the love affair wouldn’t be over soon. He had to act before Dumeric had his way with her. But it meant finding a weakness. Certain weaknesses he introduced into all humans because he could. Seeing her by day didn’t reveal it, but by night…

They rarely worked late the two girls but this was mid-June. The dragon boat festival was high in the calendar for tourism. This market, a stone’s throw from it, hid Violack amongst the souvenir hunters. Using the crowd as a shield, the dark of night to observe, he moved unseen between stalls. Still watching her, he pulled out a mobile phone then googled Charles Dumeric into its search engine. Almost immediately, a web site popped up.

Dumeric. Finance & banking. Written beneath that: Dumeric worldwide Arabian Stud.

‘A man of means by no means. Except by inheritance.’ thought Violack, still looking up at the crowd inching its way down the corridor of lit stalls. He hadn’t noticed the lanterns strung out on a long rope of wire supplying light to each of these small cubbyholes of wares. Why would he during the day? It didn’t matter to him that some were bright, while others flickered. What mattered was the way they swung. Gently, like little boxes of colour swaying back and forth in the breeze of night. That’s when he saw the weakness in Hua. The crowds became gradually less. Both girls were feeling tired after the long day and looking forward to packing the unsold away.

‘Light at the end of the tunnel, Hua. We go home soon.’

‘Yes, I’ll be glad of that.’

‘Glad so you can do it all again tomorrow?’ As Hua smiled, her mobile phone hummed.

‘Oh my God!’ She listened. ‘Yes, I’ll come now. Have you called an ambulance?’

‘What is it Hua?’ said Cia as she watched her friend’s face turn white.

‘My dad, he’s collapsed.’

‘Go straight to him, Hua. I’ll clear away.’

She ran, dodging in and out of the crowd. Her father was old. Since she was a child he’d never seemed well. There was always a sadness to go with that. She’d often ask him.

‘Why are you so sad today, daddy?’

‘It is the sadness of growing old, my lovely,’ he would reply. ‘You can smile for me if you like.’ Then they would both smile. While hers lasted long, his was soon gone.

Her house was thirty minutes away. ‘A lifetime!’ she thought. ‘My dad’s lifetime!’ The path in front, just about lit, was her route. ‘Stick to the paths with light,’ her friend warned. That went without saying. She would never stray from light’s salvation. Once away from the market’s prominence, her steps mixed with rapid eye movement, surveyed the darker pathway in front while ignoring the surrounds that came and went as she passed. Hua took a quick glance at her watch.

‘Please let him be all right,’ she thought. Her stride increased. The field to her left was a short cut that gave no light; the one she would never dare take.

‘But it would knock a good fifteen minutes off my journey.’

The dread of taking that option soon left her. . But it came back just as suddenly! She slowed.

‘Oh, piss on it!’

She took the short cut.

One foot on the grassy area, which at this time of year had three different appearances. During daylight, neatly cut grass with wide open spaces and folk enjoying their home made lunches. To the left, park benches overlooking a play area for children with mothers sitting. One eye on them, the other on a book or magazine. Then two hundred yards to the right, leafy trees with park benches sitting in front. To the rear of those benches, a small lake with drakes rippling the water as they swam. It was a beautiful picture of calm.

The second example: If the sky was robbed of its moon by cloud there was only darkness. Then there was the third manifestation. Like tonight. A clear dark sky with just about casual wispy clouds, forming across the moonlight. The play area so busy by day hardly seen now with just the odd twinkle of reflection coming from a child’s slide. It was the trees to the right that Hua had to make for that showed the most menace. The clouds’ weak puffs, with the moon behind lighting up just one side of the trees’ facade cast shadows beyond the lake that rippled. Her weakness, out of view, were those shadows; the ones Violack saw projected all around the market from the swaying lanterns. It was peaceful now, but it didn’t curtail the terror she felt in her stomach. Eyes like a terrified hawk, she tried to look everywhere at once.

‘Get to that path, follow it round. Over the field that backs onto home. Then safety,’ she whispered, breaking the silence. No more clanging and shouting from the market. Such familiarity would be so welcome now. Instead she was here, alone and frightened! A wet leaf fell making her turn. The lit path, fading fast in the distance, looked inviting enough for her to go back. Fear was beginning to take control of her thoughts with the forms beyond the trees starting to dance crazy bops across the lake.

‘I’d better go back.’ The thought entered her head as she continued her daunting march home.

‘But I can’t. What if Daddy...!’ She carried on. There was no borrowed light from the path now only the moon’s blush as she rounded the trees.

‘Be brave, not far.’

Not far if she was heading away from the most dissolute part. But she was heading quickly towards it. A sudden snap broke the silence again. A crunch, maybe a twig being crushed underfoot. It was too dark to see.

‘What was that?’ The sound was a camel collapsing with one straw too many. ‘Whose there?’ The words in her thoughts wouldn’t reach her mouth. She ran. Her queasiness turned to full sickness. More cloud covered the moon making the trees darken in blotches. Her head dropped down as swift pace became a sprint. Then another sound. This time the swish of a branch forcing her to turn. She saw no-one. Relief took some of the panic away but not her pace. She would have run around and away if she’d seen his rapid side step into her path sooner. But her rate of speed was too fast. The man in the white suit stood his ground with legs apart as the girl ran into him. His body, unmoved by the force, made her realise she was in terrible danger.

A leer from him as she backed off became a grin. ‘Running away from the shadows, my lovely?’

‘How can he call me that?’ she thought. ‘Only my father calls me that.’

‘Mr Violack,’ she said, petrified. ‘Please, I’m in a bit of a hurry, sir.’

‘In a hurry to meet Charles? Is that the hurry?’

‘Yes sir. If you let me pass, I…’

His grin became a malevolent scoff as she tried to avoid eye contact.

‘Surely he couldn’t see anything appealing in my dress?’ She considered. ‘Jeans. Baggy t-shirt and trainers. What does he want?’

‘You look startled dear.’

‘I’m not your dear,’ she thought, ‘or your fucking lovely!’ She yelled, attempting to go around him. A hand grabbed her slender waist. She could feel its strength grip her midriff.

‘Please don’t joke with me, sir. I have to go.’

‘I can wine and dine you tonight. I have friends in the catering trade that could make your taste buds purr.’

‘Humour him.’ For God’s sake, think of something.’

‘Maybe another time.’

‘Jon. Call me Jon.’

‘Yes, maybe another time, Jon.’

It wasn’t enough. He was playing a game with her. She knew it now. The one chance she had left was to break loose from his grip and run. ‘Maybe kick him.’ The thought quickly disappeared when her eyes met his. Cold, like a man dead with his eyes stuck open. ‘Someone help me! Out here? This time of night?’ There was no-one.

‘I think we could have some fun Hua, don’t you?’

‘OK, Jon.’ Again she tried to keep calm. ‘Take me somewhere nice. Then we can...’

The intensity of his power spun her round cutting off her words. Now she was facing away from him, feeling the full push of the bulge. She went to cry out but a hand reached her throat before the scream reached her mouth.

’If you could see the real me. Then I think you’d scream, my lovely.’ His tone was repetitious. Flat, without feeling as he dragged her into the black mass of trees, he controlled her resistance with ease.

‘You want me, my sweet, of course you do.’ He released his grip on her throat.

‘No please, Mr Violack. I mean yes but not here!’ He ignored her invite.

‘Tell me you want me.’

Whatever she said the bastard was going to rape her. ‘Give into him and let this be over,’ she thought. There was no other choice. But maybe…

‘My dad’s ill, please let me go to him!’

‘Your dad’s not ill. He sits at home dozing in his chair.’

‘What!’ The struggle stopped for a second while she took in his grin.’ ‘You fuckin...’ The words stuck to her throat. Now she was incensed. It was a ruse. The bastard feigned it so he… She hit, kicked. It was hopeless. His strength sapped hers easily into submission. With one hand back across her mouth to stop any more talk, the abuse happened. Almost in no time. Over in just seconds. ‘Christ is that it?’ The crime of rape was yes, but never the result from it. It was the start of something so terrifying it would change her and everyone’s lives forever. The monster. The guaiwu. He leaned down, his mouth inches from hers.

‘Will you say anything, bitch?’.’ He turned his head then spat. ‘Will you fucking say anything?’ he said again.

She smelled nothing but rot from his breath.

‘No. No, I won’t say anything.’

‘If you do, I’ll kill you, and your family.’ What terrified her most was the lack of anger. He showed nothing. It was just a dry matter of a fact look with words spoken in a matter of fact voice. But she knew he meant those words. Filthy, she lay amongst the hoary leaves with eyes barely able to look at the evil rapist taking long strides away.

‘Another time, Jon. There will be, I promise you that.’ She thought.

The bath water went quickly from hot to cold. She never took notice of it. ‘There’ll be no dancing tonight.’ Sadness. ‘What would I tell Charles?’ The contents of the pretty pink box tied up with a bow she was to share with him had been taken by that ghastly creature. Anger! ‘Taken by that thing.’ She wanted to kill. Scared, the beast although calm in his threat, would kill all her family. Because of it. Fear! The threat. She must keep her mouth shut.

‘Are you all right Hua?’ After the sadness, the anger, then the fear and now the lies.

‘Yes mother.’ The first lie she would ever remember telling. From now onwards they would only become easier. The bath towel, white, freshly laundered, smelled clean, pure. Like a small piece of salvation in this living hell. She took it to her bed… then cried into it.

The following morning after a fitful night, she trod the path she regretted straying from the night before. ‘Can I go to work? You must!’ She thought wishing she hadn’t, because there he stood. Brazen, on the outskirts of the market with his back turned.

‘No! How could he have the cheek? Walk straight past him Hua.’ She thought, hurrying with her head down.

‘He hasn’t seen me.’ She was wrong, or she was right. Without turning, he said…

‘You have a baby.’ It was the same casual voice.

‘You can fuck off!’ she replied.

‘I can help.’ He turned to see her gone.

Hua reached the stall, leaving him alone. A tiny piece of revenge. Cia was there, laying out the goods. It was too early for tourists. Nobody would buy a watch at this time. Maybe a replacement for a broken strap on their way to work, but never a watch. She looked behind. Only merchants getting ready for the onslaught, no sign of him!

‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘God Hua, I’ve been texting you. How’s your dad?’

She’d even forgotten him. The sham. The voice on the mobile. ‘Your father’s had a fall.’ It was her mother’s voice, but nevertheless a sham. When she got home last night, her parents had the same gentle manner they always had. In the hallway last night, the conversation gingerly shouted between the thin walls.

‘Did you try to phone me, mum?’ she called out.

‘No dear. You’re home early? Would you like some tea?’

‘No mother. Are you OK… Dad?’

‘Now that I’m woke my lovely, yes,’ he replied.

‘My lovely’ Her eyes watered.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m going for a bath.’ ‘He sits dozing in his chair.

Now more lies to Cia in the morning. ‘Yes, dad’s fine. They ran some tests. He’s OK. Listen Cia, I need to tell you something.’

‘Will you say anything, bitch?’ Those words. His words. ‘Shit!’ she thought.

‘You have a baby.’

‘I…I just need to pop to the chemist. It’s the rotten monthly!’

‘OK, Hua.’

‘You need anything, Cia?’

‘Only the reason why you’ve managed two periods in two weeks.’ Cia thought.

‘No, babes. See you in a tick?’

‘You have a baby.’ The morning after. He’s clever. The arsehole knows in one night he’s made his latest pregnant. Bastard!’ She wasn’t going to take any chances.

Dr Bill. He’ll make all your worries vanish. She then read the leaflet inside the box.

Can be taken until up to five days after the unprotected sex. She walked out from the chemist then dialled Dumeric’s number on her mobile.

‘Charles. I’m afraid I can’t go dancing tonight.’ There was a brief argument before she hung up, but she never heard it. Hua never noticed Violack either, leaning against the wall opposite the chemist. Through the tears she only saw people scurrying about the market. Until he made himself known. Arms above his head like some submissive thief surrendering after being cornered. ‘We have to talk,’ he said.

‘About the fun you had last night?’ she spat.

‘About the baby you’re carrying now,’ he replied. ‘I will help you with it.’

‘There is no baby, arsehole.’ She threw the empty Dr Bill box at him. ‘I’ve made sure of that!’

‘If you’ve taken the pill it doesn’t matter, the baby will still be born whatever you do.’

‘Please go away. Leave me alone.’

‘When I said I’ll help you, I meant it. Now listen!’ His eyes grew big. ‘There’ll be no apology for last night. You are chosen. That’s all. You will go away on the pretence of study. You always wanted to be a doctor. This will be your chance to become one. The only proviso, when the baby comes. A boy. It will be taken from you within seconds. When you lose the bump you can come home. I will pay the university, hospital and hotel bills. I will also see right with your mother and father. There would be no need for them to know anything. Once the baby comes, you will never seek to find him. Ever! The only contact with Dumeric will be by phone, if you’re still together that is. I will give you until tomorrow to decide. But believe me. You have no choice; the boy will be got from you whatever. It would be very wise for you to consider my offer now so your family will be safe in the future.’

****

‘Can I go out to play with the other children, mother?’

‘How do you know about the other children?’

‘I read about them in the books.’

‘The books are for learning child. Go back to your room and read. ‘Then when will I be allowed to go outside?’

‘When you stop asking ridiculous questions. Now go before my anger turns to rage.’

Chapter Two

The Time Interval

The Second Planet

The wooden door quacked like a dying duck, then shook like a loose hinged crate.

‘This is bloody silly this is.’ Groucho Marx without the fat cigar, peeked out the window, hopeful that whoever was thumping on the door would go away soon. Still pacing, even though the thud had stopped, he pleaded.

‘Why don’t they leave me alone? I’ve got work to do.’

Hands covered his ears. The strides stopped, then the voice spoke inside his head.

‘Don’t go with him Murphy, or the black wizard will come for you.’

‘I’m not bloody going anywhere,’ he said.

More banging. This time the thumps were dulled because his hands were pressed tight to his ears.

‘I have work to do.’ He muttered again, kneeling. After both, the noise in his head and the thumps stopped. The hush was welcome. Would he dare look?

‘No wait.’ But he did look. Out of the window, but saw nothing.

‘What do they want? And where’s Rolo?’ He wanted to scream out, reasoning that it could be he thumping the door. But really he knew better. Rolo came and went as he pleased. Why would he thump the door? The thuds start again. So does his pacing, with tears this time. He looked at the book on the shelf with its red and green cover for help.

‘Please go away!’ he cried to the thuds. ‘I must get these jobs done.’

Up and down with back bent forward, he continued the pace.

‘Don’t go with him Murphy. What would the black wizard say?’ The voice in his head again.

He made up his mind it was the wizard bashing on the door who wanted to eat him. His only answer? A cascade of tears surging down his face from the sobs of fear, hoping they would bring leniency from the man in the book. Who was not in the book now? But outside with a sharp knife ready to cut off his head.

****

Ezra was artful.

‘You have a brain with another half stolen from your twin,’ his mother often said. Both his parents were dead now. Both from the breathing illness that forced their wretched slow demise.

‘Torture.’ Ezra thought. ‘An evil torture.’

His lungs were strong. But this place wasn’t strong enough to keep him here. Not with this way of life. Of course you would have thought life would become easier for the few since the lessening of the population. It was for some. For others, it wasn’t. The planet to those who realised, was dying. Or seemed to be. There had been no rain for months. There was barely sunshine. More a cold lustre. A foggy miasma. A haze-covered sky, letting a stark amount of sun through giving no hope to crops or growth. Not anymore. That, and of course the lack of oxygen causing disease just before death.

There was a time Ezra tried to work the land. ‘Just about a farmer,’ his dad would call him. Then his forced laugh, angering his wife because the laugh would give wrong ideas to a son uninterested in the ‘proper way of life’. His mother’s words again. Hiding in the barn one day his father caught him. ‘Shirking work won’t do both of us any good, son,’ he said. ‘Your mother would be angry.’

The boy looked up. The bond he felt between his twin brother and father was still there. But lately, at least in the last few months, since he’d finished learning he’d felt different. Not wanting to be involved with the difficulties his brother carried any longer. He didn’t want the guilt of conscious either.

‘Why is Murphy like he is dad?’ The boy asked.

The man was taken aback by the sudden question. This was the first time this had ever been asked about Murphy’s difficulties. He and his wife understood why their son was backward. But never allowed for Ezra not to understand.

‘Not because you stole half his brain as your mother would have it, son,’ his dad said. ‘Nature has ways of throwing different challenges. No such thing as a perfect world. You love him, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘So does your mother and me, that’s all that matters. Shall we get back to work?’

The boy sat, still not moving. But instead stood staring at a pair of leather sleeve-like containers criss-crossed neatly on the workshop wall.

‘Will you teach me how to hunt?

‘Hunt? There’s a lot of learning for that in between chores, boy.’

His father thought the world of both his sons. If he had anything to give and that included time, he wouldn’t hesitate. Was it fair most of that time was spent on farming and looking after his retarded son? By now, as he reached adolescence, Ezra had every right to want more. To choose whatever path he needed to travel. He wasn’t interested in farming that was plain. ‘Maybe he could earn his keep by tracking animals.’ His father was influenced by his son’s interest. But not shocked.

‘If you’re serious boy, I’ll teach you.’

‘Now dad? Will you start to teach me now?’

His father smiled.

‘As I said, it’s a lot of learning. First you got to gain knowledge. How to clean the weapon you use to hunt?’ He pulled a drawer open just below the two sleeves. Inside were a pair of silver handguns wrapped in oily rags. Ezra’s dad took them out and held them up like proud, priceless ornaments. With barrels longer than Ezra had ever seen and the handles dressed in black grip, it gave the guns an extra menace.

‘Then you got to learn how to desleeve.’

The old man was almost wallowing in the fantastic memories of these two guns. His son could only watch as his father buckled one of the leather cases across his chest so it hung neatly down by his belly. Then he slid one of the guns inside. Finally, a quick pull to conceal it beneath his jacket.

‘Both weapon and sleeve were meant for each other,’ Ezra thought, amazed.

‘When you go hunting, son, you sometimes have to second guess your prey. Human or animal. Let’s stick to animal for now.’ His smile wasn’t returned by his rapt son.

‘Don’t think your prey don’t know what you’re carrying, and why your trespassing through his habitat. They know that those long poles are ruthless enemies. Animals ain’t so dumb as folk think.’

‘Is that why you keep ‘em sleeved?’

‘Yes. But not just that. You have to be quick to pull them out. Really quick or your dinner will be gone. Like this!’

The gun was out pointing straight at the boy’s eyes. He stepped back. He’s seen fast. His dead uncle Aldo used to be that. Spending hours watching him slick the gun from its holster down by this old barn when he came visiting. Again and again. Out of the holster, then back. Real fast. Aunt Peggy, his uncle’s wife, would power stride down to the barn some days, yelling for him to stop. Ezra, at the time, young. But not too young to remember, was in awe. Then his uncle died. Sudden. ‘Your uncle’s dead, son,’ his dad told him one day. ‘Me and Aunt Peggy bury him tomorrow.’ Aunt Peggy wasn’t around much longer after that. That’s all he remembered.

‘I was a natural hunter, son. Just like your uncle Aldo. That don’t mean to say you’ll be.’

‘How did uncle Aldo die, dad?’

‘He got wrong footed.’

‘Wrong footed? What’s that mean?’

‘It means losing your focus. Never forget to remember who your enemy is.’

He turned to his son looking hard at him, then whispered.

‘You practise cleaning and pulling them guns. When you’re as fast as me, I’ll teach you to shoot straight. Also remember. Strap the sleeves where it’s the most comfortable. Across your belly or your chest. May be further down by your hips. What you’re most at ease with. Got me?’

The boy was too spellbound to answer.

‘That don’t mean you stop all your other chores. OK?’

‘OK, dad.’ He still didn’t know how his uncle died. But he had a good idea.

His mother wasn’t so ardent about her husband’s deal. One son who could be so bright, without drive. In her book, unorthodox. While the other, a half-wit who would never need to make a choice.

‘We’ll give the boy some margin and see what comes of it.’ Her husband told her. ‘That’s all we can do.’

She gave up the losing battle with not a word. But he knew what her look meant.

His son grew into it. Not only was his aim perfect. He could yank both those pistols from their sleeves quicker than his dad could pull one. This set his trade. After that, mainly all his teenage life was spent hunting, rarely taking Murphy with him on trips. When he did, they stayed local. His father’s words about his uncle’s death never forgotten. But his life of hunting animal had to end one day.

‘I’m going to town to see what’s there, mum,’ he told her. His dad saw this day coming way before his boy.

‘You won’t take those guns, son. Town’s no place for them.’

His dad adamant, forced no complaint from Ezra, but his mother was angry. Angry because of her son’s dogged persistence would never be swayed.

‘Go away to town then boy, see what you can find,’ she told him, stern but plain. She often hid her heartache in that sternness. Ezra knew that. So did his father.

‘Please mum, not everyone wants to be a farmer. I need to see what’s out there.’

There was never much. He ended up playing cards for money. For what little value money had anymore in the old world of produce trade. Cash was the new thing, but it never hung good with people. Most preferred the old ways. Trading fuel, crops, or medicine to live. Everyone else’s contentment of hard work for food on the table, then rest afterwards would never fulfil the hunter’s dreams or ambition. There were different types of people on this planet. Ezra, the lazy. Or folk who scratched their living from the earth. It would be harsh to say Ezra was in between. He worked hard. Never lazy.

‘But there has to be more!’ The thought was always there with him. He was nowhere man, always waiting for something to give. Nothing did. Except the planet change. Through all this time wasted for want, all he could see now was dying. People struggling to get one more gasp of breath before giving way to the sickle-carrying reaper. When it all kicked off. When folk started to cough, only one thought came to his mind.

‘Mum and dad. Murphy! I must get back to ‘em!’

He got back to see both his mother and father lying on their death beds. His twin rocking back and forth in a chair placed aside of it, by the man commissioned to look after him. A man called Rolo. An old man who felt the disease begin to grow in his lungs but refused to give it welcome. ‘There’s no taking me yet, you bastard!’ He would often whisper. Normally after a phlegm- fuelled cough.

‘Take Murfs outside, Rolo.’ Ezra pointed to his brother with a finger that trembled so slightly it hardly moved. With tears, his minder obeyed, taking his brother’s hand.

‘Yes, sir. Come on, Murfs, we’ll go and sit on the porch for a while.’

Ezra watched his brother knowing the situation was to get worse.

‘Come close, son,’ his father beckoned. The crocked voice broke his thoughts of how he could be so callous towards his own brother. ‘Is your mother asleep?’ Ezra looked towards her. She was almost unrecognisable to the mother he’d known. Her face was grey and drawn and her breath rasped like a strangled rattler.

‘Yes, dad. She sleeps.’

‘It’s best she does, boy for as long as possible. Remember when we spoke ‘bout Murphy in the barn? We said we loved him. You remember that?’

‘Yes, dad.’ He knew where this was going. ‘Don’t ask me to look after him. Please!’ he begged.

‘I’ll not ask you,’ his father hissed. ‘I would rather you found this evil purge then destroy it. But your mother will ask. She will make you promise. Give her peace, son. Give her that much. She doesn’t understand you Ezra. I do. You are me, son, when I was your age. Before I met your mother, I wanted what you want.’

‘What happened? Did you find it?

‘Yes. She lies beside me and you are looking into my eyes. Murphy’s sitting on the porch. That’s what I wanted. But I didn’t always know that. Take this moment to think about what I’m saying.’

‘You want me to look after Murfs for mother’s sake?’

‘I want you to agree to your mother’s wishes. Then I want you to make sure he’s looked after. Do you understand the difference?’

He did. Fully. His dad was right. His mother did make him promise. ‘I’ll make sure Murphy’s safe whatever, mum.’ He then watched them both die. Whatever the cause it sucked the breath out of their bodies at exactly the same time. ‘I would rather you found this evil then destroy it.’ At this moment that’s all he wanted to do.

Ezra stared out at the vast flatlands weighing up the left over choices he had. There were two: Go back to town or stay here. Rolo walked back into the room. He was old. ‘Very.’ Ezra thought. ‘But he’s alive.’

‘Your parents were good people, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry they died so young.’

‘You don’t have to call me sir, Rolo.’

‘No, sir. Will you talk to your brother?’

Ezra thought back to the first time he’d set eyes on this man.

‘Done me share of farming,’ he said on his first visit. ‘Here to look after the boy now, sir.’

‘He was old then. Must be eight years since.’ Now all Ezra cared about. ‘Is this man fit enough to look after him now?’

‘Lungs OK?’ said Ezra to the old man.

‘Not bad, sir. Just a little bit tight sometimes. But that’s age.’

‘I’m sure it is. I’ll be going back to town after I bury my mother and father tomorrow. You OK to carry on looking after Murphy?’

‘Things are going to get worse in that town if I might say. The living is gonna get desperate. That’ll lead to violence.’

‘I know that.’ He pulled his coat apart revealing the two silver pistols holstered high onto his chest.

‘Those won’t gather you many friends,’ said Rolo, nodding towards the weapons.

‘There’s not many friends out there to gather,’ replied Ezra. ‘I’ll talk to Murphy now.’

His brother sat there rocking. He sucked on a swollen red thumb with his knees hunched up to his chin. Ezra could barely look at him. A twin brother with hardly a wit and no understanding of life. Was that a good thing? Or bad? In the state the world was in, he could never decide. But they were both loved. You could see that in his mother’s eyes. His father’s too, when he played games with them or washed the mud from their faces with spit on a hanky.

‘Tell me why they dead, Ez?’

His brother pulled no punches.

‘Cry today and tomorrow if you like Murfs. Then you must carry on and do as Rolo says. OK?’

‘That means you’re going away again don’t it?’ His reply came with tears. ‘Please don’t, Ez. Please stay here with me.’

Another guilt trip for Ezra. Just like when he told his parents he was leaving. ‘I’m going to town to see what’s there.’ He couldn’t use that as an excuse to appease Murphy, the same as he couldn’t stay here with him.

‘I’d rather crawl in the grave with mum and dad,’ he thought.

‘Sit up straight, and take that thumb out,’ he snapped. The words sent his twin off in a rage. He ran out straight into Rolo. Ezra could show no concern for his brother’s anger.

‘He too has lost his loved ones, sir,’ said Rolo, holding the boy tight.

‘But not you, Rolo. He ain’t lost you, has he? Murphy will be happy with you.’

Suddenly his twin let go of Rolo’s grip and ran into his bedroom.

‘This is bloody silly, this is. Murphy means potato,’ he said, slamming the door.

‘He’ll be OK, sir,’ the old man said, hiding his worry the best he could. His concerns weren’t so much about the boy, more on how the world was changing since the sun went, and how best to look after him. He’d never seen the like of this climate change. Of course there had been dry spells. But never this long, and not with the breathing illness to go with it. Ezra wondered how his brother had the innocence of a young child, while he shouldered the guilt of a convicted criminal. Of all the people in this world, why was his brother like he was?

‘I’ll need to somehow feed us both,’ said Rolo.

‘Food! Of course,’ thought Ezra. ‘No swopping of produce now. Every man for himself.’

‘There’s still vegetables with root, and a few animals to destroy Rolo, or aren’t you capable?’

This time would he regret his short temper? No way was he staying here to dig up half rotten food, then feed it to his brother. Rolo was his only hope of escape.

‘Fuck the guilt,’ he thought.

‘It was just your permission to take what would be needed, sir.’

‘I’m sorry I lost my temper Rolo, and I’m sorry you’ve had to spend most of your life breaking your back on fields similar to these,’ Ezra said, gesturing with his hand to the once green pastures that used to picture this room’s window.

‘And I’m sorry all that’s left is fucking dust. However, you are quite welcome to take anything from what is left of this land. It’s not much. But it’s all yours whatever happens. This family,’ a tear appeared in his eye, ‘owes you much Rolo.’ Ezra began to believe in his own misery.

‘And I to, owe your family.’ replied Rolo, ‘I give thanks for the happiness of this last nine years. But your brother. He will become more demanding as he gets older.’

There was a very long silence. ‘Murfs’ demands!’ Something he paid little attention to lately.

‘I can’t stay here,’ Ezra said.

‘I know that, sir,’ Rolo replied.

‘There’ll be times when I’ll be back. Can we consider you and Murphy on these visits?’

Rolo loved Murphy, and the way of life he had at this farm. Even this dramatic change to the planet and the death of his employers would never dampen that. Yet he was old. The cough was a little more often leaving Murphy alone with no-one. That’s what plagued his mind the most.

‘I can trust you to do that, sir?’

‘You have my word, Rolo.’

****

All he wanted to do was get to the alehouse. Then drink until the pain was gone. His arrival in this town from the walk left him tired. Then he saw it: A high backed truck. Far too early for the mortician to be driving the coffin dragger parked outside a grim-looking building. Much too early to collect rotting cadavers.

‘At least my parents were not thrown onto that ghoul harvester,’ he thought, passing by the converted wagon and smelling the reek of month-old death. It would be a good twelve hours since the last body was dropped into a mass grave from it. There really was nothing left but death, or the waiting for it.

‘How long have I got?’

To die in agony is what his thoughts were trying to reach. ‘Enough of this shit?’ He turned the tap of worry to off. To keep it shut, he thought about… ‘A large glass of malt.’

Ezra pushed the door to the age old drinking house open wide. ‘This place will never change,’ he thought.

‘Sorry about your mum and dad, Ezra.’

‘Yeah. So am I, Timber. Just fill a glass. No ice.’

The barman was used to Ezra’s mean manner that seemed to grow bigger each day. The place he served alcohol was deserted and besmirched. The smell of stale beer with meagre lighting did little to cover up this drinking hole’s unpleasantness. The ceiling’s coffee colour was more nicotine stain than chosen design. The dim candlelight aiding the bar’s wretched ambience, only helped hide the floor. Like the whole of this place, it smelled of rotting blowfly.

‘It’s a bit awkward to say this, Ezra.’

‘To say what?’

The world was changing. Fast! Money, not so long ago, the new fashion, was now gone; too useless. In effect, crops, along with medicine, alcohol and fuel were the only trade. If you had any of those four in big supply you were one of the safe unless you had the symptoms. Then you were one of the unsafe.

Medicines, especially those that eased those symptoms, were the big merchandise. Today’s equivalent of gold dust. But there was no cure for the incurable. The remediless disease left no hope for the afflicted. When your body was being robbed of its most vital supply, there couldn’t be. Only this linctus that give a less painful death, masked the hypoxemia leading to it.

‘You making trade from card games with those shiny shillings ain’t no use no more Ez,’ the barman continued.

He knew it was coming, but not when. In all this wealth of intellect he had, none was any use to aid the short life that he was left with.

‘Come of it, Timber. You’ve known me too long.’

‘That don’t count for trying to live. I’ve given you leeway. You know I have. I’ve got a wife back there coughing worse than me. I have to trade my alcohol for the linctus. That’s how it works now. To be honest, Ezra, when your kin died I didn’t think you’d be coming back.’

It wasn’t an answer he got. Just a look of anger.

‘But I can offer you summit, Ezra.’

‘And what’s that, your arse for target practice?’

‘Work for your board and whiskey. She can’t do nothing.’ He pointed to a dingy looking door at the rear of the bar.

‘The gravy’s not touching her anymore.’

He looked down not wanting to say his wife wasn’t long for this world, while pouring rusty liquid into a large tumbler. Ezra took the glass. A contorted face followed the swig he took from it.

‘You mean serve this crap, just so I can sleep on one of your lumpy, infested with fleas, beds.’

‘Your bed Ezra! Yes. Without drinking the bar content to crash out on it. And keeping the place clean. Perhaps the toilets. When it ain’t busy. I’ll make sure no one sees you doing it.’

‘It’s nice of you to try and hide my embarrassment, Timber.’

‘I can’t give you much time to think about it, Ezra. There are others looking for work.’

‘Time to think about it. Quality,’ thought Ezra. Just as he was about to tell the barman where to put his offer, a third figure entered the bar. He was stood at the doorway at first, with a hand above his eye in some kind of military salute. A small stocky man dressed in a too tight shabby suit and Stetson hat. He smiled at the barman and then across to Ezra.

‘That’s not you, the failed farmer, drinking at this time of the morn, surely?’ he said.

‘And you can fuck off, Filch,’ Ezra replied, necking the last of the whiskey before looking at the glass, then with wide eyes into Timber’s with expectation for him to refill it.

‘You don’t want to be telling me to fuck off when it’s me who’ll change your luck forever,’ said the man. ‘Or rather your fortune, with my guidance of course.’ He continued, through a mish-mash of beard and stubble.

‘For a small man you have quite some mouth early in the morning Filch.’

Timber was holding back on the replenish, dreading these two falling into another squabble of wasted time. And wasted alcohol.

‘You owe me money. And not those worthless coins of trade bulging your pocket, Ez.’

‘I owe you to see my mother and father die, Filch. You knew I’ll come back.’ He slammed coins onto the bar. Most fell to the floor. ‘That’s what I owe yer!’

‘’Fraid them shillings ain’t no good to me.’

‘That’s what we always play for.’

‘Well, some fucker moved the sticks since, mon ami.’

The man was right. The sticks had been moved. Not just by someone. By all who needed to survive.

‘I can go dig up some onions, Filch. Pay you with those.’

The man ignored the unwelcome retort and grabbed the whiskey bottle still held by the barman. ‘Here you are,’ he said, pouring liquid into Ezra’s empty glass.

‘Mine and your dealings still good Timber,’ he said still pouring the whiskey almost to the brim, but still looking at Ezra. The barman nodded a reluctant head at the no nonsense question.

‘That’s good.’

Whether it was luck or good judgement, the bottle stopped filling the glass just before it hit the top. Filch’s eyes were still unmoved. He said, ‘You hear that, Ez? My custom’s sound here. I have a good store of the linctus to trade with Timber here for his alcohol.’ He turned back to the barman.

‘Don’t I, Timber?’

The head nodded again, but less reluctantly this time. Ezra, careful not to spill, took another mouthful of the burning juice. But no contorted face this time. Just a wipe of his mouth with the sleeve, exposing a brief illustration of gun hilt. ‘You own the fucking bar, Filch! That’s why!’ He gestured with his head at a table in the corner.

‘And you didn’t say nothing ‘bout no linctus four days ago when we were playing three card at that table.’

Filch changed from holier-than-thou to angry.

‘I fucking told you. Times have changed and you know it. So stop the bollocks and listen to my offer.’ Ezra wasn’t upset by the man’s sudden outburst or his proposal. His mother and father were dead. The planet was dying. His brother was brainless. And all he wanted was drunken oblivion.

‘I’ll tell you both what you can do with your shit offers.’

He picked up his half empty glass and threw it at the different coloured bottles displayed on the shelf behind the bar, smashing at least two. The force shattered the tumbler into shards of mixed glass and spirit, causing both Timber and Filch to duck down. He then turned to walk. The door was no attraction. Where would he go? Then the olive branch came.

‘Go through that exit and your brother and the old man may not be long for this world.’

Ezra stopped short and thought for a second before turning. ‘It didn’t take long for this contented planet to change into greedy nastiness.’ A man having to live with a gun by his side.

‘Not so long ago people would show selflessness and respect without thought.’ That was long gone.

He turned back.

‘Surely, you’re not threatening my family, Filch?’

‘What’s left of them. No, I’m here to save them, and you?’

‘Whatever this dude is trying to say, I still got a fancy the half pint is goading me into ending his life,’ thought Ezra with one hand unbuttoning his jacket.

‘OK Filch, let’s hear it.’ He was walking back towards the bar now, his coat tails swinging. The barman wide-eyed and staring at the guns now fully displayed, turned a whiter shade of pale.

‘Slow down there just a second.’ Filch held his hands as high as he could. ‘There’s some big turn coming in for a game tonight. All I want you to do is watch my back. You don’t normally carry arms, son. So let’s put those to good use.’ He pointed to the two long barrels now fully exposed across Ezra’s chest.

Ezra in the meantime realised this was what his father was trying to warn him about: Filling the gap between contentment and greed. Now it meant something else.

‘Anyone I need to know? Or is this just a cover up from your big-mouthed threat?’ said Ezra.

‘Look there’s no catch if that’s what you mean Ez? The man carries fuel for bargaining chips. He needs linctus and I need fuel. All your debts written off with free board and whiskey for however long.’

‘Why’d you need the bodyguard? Shooting people dead after card games never been a problem to yer?’

‘I’ve known this man a long time. Before the change he wouldn’t crush a butterfly. Now a different man. Angry. Fierce. At war with the world cos of its demise. So things might turn a bit heavy. Besides he’s got a minder.’ Then came a brief shrug of his shoulders.

Ezra looked at Timber who instinctively grabbed another glass and filled it.

‘If this is some kind of ruse, Filch.’

The short man put his hands up again.

‘No shit, Ez, promise. Only don’t drink too much of that by tonight,’ he said pointing to another whiskey glass gripped in Ezra’s hand. ‘You’re gonna need to be steady.’

By mid-morning he’d done the rest of the bottle and slept it off. Ezra doing what he meant to do after all. Putting a bullet into that irritating Filch and throwing his body into that stinking lorry, something else he wanted to do especially after the threat to his brother. But the offer of peace and quiet with a bed to sleep it off, tilted the situation to his favour.

****

‘Just get those barrels on the wagon boy, then pour some of that ethanol on the caps. Not too much. Don’t wanna waste it.’

‘What we gonna do, pa?’

‘What we gonna do, son? Get some of that miracle cure for your mother. That’s what we gonna do, boy.’

Jed and his boy Carlo were once the pride of farming in this sector. But his last reap of corn turned to dust overnight. His wife, Queenie screamed terrified when her husband danced up the path yelling obscenities at no-one. Carlo was left crying in the field like some kid smacked with a leather hide. Corn husks. Not yellow with green stems. But grey and useless, were left to crumble through the boy’s hands.

‘Learn to shoot, son.’

‘Why, pa?’

‘World’s after changing.’

After four weeks of being drunk twenty-four hours a day, Jed went into his barn and started cutting and welding. The boy scratched his head watching his dad fill five barrels with water, then welding a round plate to seal the water in. That made the barrels a good three inches shorter. Cutting three tops from three more barrels, he welded them on to the trio of drums. That made the drums uniform.

‘File and paint the weld marks, boy. Fill the small space inside with ethanol and put them on the wagon. Make sure you stand the welded ones in front of the others.’

Only after he’d filled the drums did the boy cotton on to what his dad was up to.

Jed made plenty of trade from his farming mainly turning corn husks into ethanol. There was no need for medicine then of course, only crops which was easy trade with clothes and alcohol. Then Jed made his big mistake. Swopping produce for currency. Times were changing. Cash was the fashion. The big noises from the industrial city were preaching on about money being the ideal end to backbreaking work. Work for it. Have it. Spend it. What was left over was yours. Jed. Like many, he thought about it. Seeing the potential to make life easier he invested his crop into it. Then, bang! Queenie started coughing. He cursed his luck as well as the pot of cash that was more useless than his fields of dead earth.

‘We have been the victims of the cruellest crimes by nature,’ he told his beloved wife.

‘There are men alive today who are not worthy to breathe the air that’s left.’ His words were the sign for her to start coughing again. Just like someone who would have a slight tickle in the back of the throat at first. Then gasping for air like a holed bellows. Spittle like white bubbling foam ran down her chin as the need for oxygen overcame the shame of saliva dribbling down onto her apron.

‘Jesus, Queenie! Go in the fucking bathroom if you want to do that. Boy, get ready. We