Blue Light

By Chris Hewitt

Sixteen-year-old Aaron, a thief in an era of advanced technology developed from the collapse of space travel, finds himself the survivor of a robbery gone wrong

Facing years in a prison he’ll never survive; his fate appears sealed until a doctor, backed by a mysterious facility, offers him a way out

Aaron journeys back through time to a fading town whose restless youth desperately crave escape. A girl believed runaway, the catalyst for events fifty years later, must be found

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Hewitt
• Release date: Jul 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005998158

Book preview

Blue Light

Chris Hewitt

Chris Hewitt lives in Manchester, England and is the creator and writer of a spoof blog, which has featured in the national press and has over one million readers

He is also the author of the self-published Curly Trilogy books for younger readers

Blue Light is his first young adult novel

For younger readers:

Saving Christmas

The Book of Doom

Paws

Blue Light

Copyright 2020 Chris Hewitt

Smashwords Edition

First published 2020

Chris Hewitt has asserted his right under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

Cover designed by Chris Hewitt

Copyright 2020 Chris Hewitt

Cover photo by Ammr Eltilib at www.unsplash.com

Dedicated to the staff of Tameside Hospital and all NHS workers

Special thanks to Nikki Leigh who offered her thoughts and criticisms on various drafts of this book

Contents

CHAPTER ONE 2019

CHAPTER TWO 2019

CHAPTER ONE 2069

CHAPTER THREE 2019

CHAPTER FOUR 2019

CHAPTER TWO 2069

CHAPTER FIVE 2019

CHAPTER SIX 2019

CHAPTER THREE 2069

CHAPTER SEVEN 2019

CHAPTER EIGHT 2019

CHAPTER FOUR 2069

CHAPTER NINE 2019

CHAPTER TEN 2019

CHAPTER FIVE 2069

CHAPTER ELEVEN 2019

CHAPTER TWELVE 2019

CHAPTER SIX 2069

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 2019

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 2019

CHAPTER SEVEN 2069

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 2019

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 2019

CHAPTER EIGHT 2069

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 2019

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 2019

CHAPTER NINE 2069

CHAPTER NINETEEN 2019

CHAPTER TEN 2069

Chapter One

2019

Blinding blue light.

And then trees.

Blurred ink-black trunks reached towards the night sky, their branches blocking the clouds. Rain fell, hampered by leaves, and slowed to cascading trickles, tuneless thumps on the soil. Aaron lay on the sodden earth and shielded his eyes. He inhaled and coughed, the air coarse in his throat, leaving a bitter, dirty taste in his mouth.

Remember to breathe, deep breaths will keep you calm. Your body will come around.

Sitting caused the rain to forge a path beneath the paper-thin metallic material of his suit and he brought his knees to support his elbows, resting his head in his hands. Bright green numbers of a digital display woven into his left sleeve stung his eyes. When he closed them, 01:00 floated across his eyelids in a haze. He tried to ignore his heart beating at his chest, vibrating through his body, and focused on his training, but no amount of pills or rehearsals prepared him.

Just remember not to panic.

Nausea took over, and he vomited. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and noticed the heat from the metallic material wearing off, his muscles tightening as the cold crept in. Using a tree trunk for support, he wrapped his arms around the knurled bark and hauled himself up.

He stumbled and rocked with every careful step, cold hands outstretched for guidance. Each stone and root underfoot pushed through his flimsy soles. The rain worsened as he broke through the tree line leading to a gravel path surrounding a small lawn.

At the opposite side, more trees shook in the downpour. Behind them he saw the wall and tried to focus through the darkness at the intricate, graffiti strewn brickwork. Eight feet tall and at least twenty feet long. The last time he’d seen it, only a fraction of it remained.

He turned right and followed a stone path, trying not to slip. His head pulsed, throbs of pain in synch with his heartbeat. A ship appeared before him; its lively colours muted, the dark damp sand its sea. Aaron rounded the child’s climbing frame and passed under a swing set to rest on a thick plastic picnic bench.

He ran his muddied hands over his head, massaging his soaked short curls. The rainwater that flowed down his face he rubbed to freshen himself, felt the slight scar under his left eye and his flat nose, broken years ago in a fight he’d lost.

Thoughts swirled in his confusion. What if the police arrested him in the park? A suspicious black teenager dressed in clothing yet to be manufactured. How would he explain himself? He wouldn’t be in the system, either. He’d no family or contacts in this time. As yet, no one to rely on. What was it Dr Green had said about dying in a police cell?

From somewhere a car engine growled through the dark, an uncomfortable noise, soon to be obsolete. Acoustically it was impossible to pinpoint until headlights crept along the narrow road towards him. A red car, compact and hard edged, pulled into view and rounded on him. The high beamed lights hit his eyes and his head exploded in pain. He screamed out, his throat like broken glass and slid off the bench catching an overflowing litter bin as he fell.

As the rain beat the vehicle, the driver parked, but watched silhouetted through the wipers metronomic swipes, drier and warmer than where Aaron lay amongst sweet wrappers and drinks cans. They’d said someone would be there, so it had to be them. But the teenager wasn’t taking any chances in his current state.

He tried to rise off the wet grass as the driver’s door opened, closed hurriedly behind them. Aaron couldn’t fight, but maybe rely on his weight if he had to. But his thick, muscled body refused, he was too dizzy and tired, and he slumped onto his backside, knees to his chest. An act of weakness and surrender.

Hello?

A woman’s voice, loud enough the rain didn’t drown it out.

Aaron? Speak if you can hear me.

Surrounded by a tight hood, her pale face seemed mask-like. The hiking clothing disguised her shape, oversized coat and trousers and chunky leather boots. Nervous about approaching, she stepped around the metal posts separating the play area from the carpark and waited.

Aaron are you okay? she shouted.

Sickness made his mouth salivate and he spat out, unable to answer.

Are you okay? she repeated.

The pain grew unbearable, and he shook his head, hands clamped to it like it might split in two. He wanted his life to end, prayed it would. But he was here, now. So many people dedicated to a singular cause made it a success. He needed to ride it out. He had a job to do.

The small woman knelt by his side, her coat’s water repellency reducing the rain to tiny orbs. He recoiled at her first touch but relented as she rubbed his back to encourage heat into his quivering body. She smiled, though she looked tired, her wrinkles more pronounced and surrounded by stray lengths of wet, grey hair escaped from under her hood.

It’s okay, she said, no fear in her voice, just concern for his wellbeing. My name’s Mary, I’m here to help.

Chapter Two

2019

He stirred, his eyes slow to adjust to his surroundings, and for a sickening second, he thought he was back home, before Green stepped into his hospital room with a plan. With weak grip, he raised the dirt-smudged duvet. His suit was missing, stripped from his body by Mary. A vague recollection of her struggling to manoeuvre him from the car to her house.

On the nightstand by a shade-less lamp, an analogue clock said ten o’clock. Daylight highlighted the frayed curtains and peeling wallpaper, exposing black damp in the corners of the room. A mountain of clothes buried a chair by the bed, spilled onto the floorboards. Plain hooded tops, t-shirts and jackets, in either navy or black and second-hand trainers lay underneath three pairs of jeans.

He sat up, feet touching the dusty floor. Rubbing his dirty hands on his muscular thighs, he examined his wardrobe. Everything seemed to be his size, considering his transformed physique, unrecognisable to the wiry teenager the police scraped off the quayside three months earlier. His jaw line was sharper, his chin rigid; the sun had darkened his brown skin, his copper tinged complexion lost for now.

At the foot of the bed was a towel, and he covered himself. The bedroom led to a narrow landing, and he tiptoed to the bathroom around boxes cluttering the walkway, taken from her spare room to make space.

Once the shower ran hot enough, he soaked himself, dirty water swirling around his feet. He massaged shampoo into his curls, scrubbing his body, the scars and lumps from a life left behind. When he swallowed a mouthful of water, the aftertaste of metals and chemicals left a gritty residue on his teeth; worldwide water purification still decades away.

He dressed in a black t-shirt, tight around his build and dragged on slim fitting jeans, his legs both claustrophobic yet moveable in the material. He peered from the curtains, greeted by an overcast morning in a quiet street. Identical terraced houses stared back, differed from their neighbours by front door colour. Aaron tried the window and found it locked, giving the area nearby a once over for the key; muscle memory of a thief.

The stairs ran to a dining room with a table set for two, scents of sausages and bacon drifted, filling the house and twisting his stomach in knots. Mats, knives and folks faced each other; next to one a paper cup of pills laid beside a glass of orange juice.

Along one wall, waist high cabinets cluttered with junk; statues, newspapers and books. Aaron ran a finger along the worn spines; the newspapers local: Demolition Of Hibbert’s Factory Begins one headline.

Connected through an arch was the living room; chunky white sofas bunched around a free standing TV. The teenager gave it a shake, the flimsy plastic casing rocked on its stand, wires and cables hung from its back.

He heard Mary in the kitchen mutter to herself, hurrying. She backed out, emerging with two plates in her hands, struggling with the weight difference of the fried breakfasts. Aaron reached and stopped the door bouncing back on her and she smiled but paused