Be gone, fell beast
Hiccup & Eleanor - Part 1 - Chapter 8
This is Hiccup & Eleanor, book two of The White Age, which I will be releasing as a serial - with one chapter per week - over the coming months. You can also preorder the book here or catch up on Substack here.
Book one, Absolution, is available for purchase on Amazon, or you can catch up here.
i)
“Roken, what’s the plan?” It was his mother’s voice; patronising and judgemental.
“I will find him, and I will make it all okay.”
“You’ve disappointed your father.”
“I watched him die.”
“And you made him a promise. What would Elise say?”
Roken had nothing to say. He felt himself drifting, alone and bruised, into the madness of this place, the madness of death.
“She’d say you’ve let her down too.”
“I tried.”
“You failed. Again.”
“I tried.”
“Not hard enough.”
ii)
Hampshire, England
28th September 2074
“Enough?” Florence leaned over Roken’s shrivelled form, feeding him with a cup of water she clutched between both hands. He nodded in confirmation. Enough. “Are you up to eating yet?” She asked softly. Roken shook his head once and slumped back gently into his seat. He had tried some soup yesterday, but a single mouthful had made his stomach dance with confusion and pain. Too soon. The wooden bench was cold on his naked back, and he shivered, aggravating his wound. “This should only last a day longer. But you need to eat to get your strength back up before we let you leave.”
Leave. It seemed an impossibility. Somehow, he was supposed to get up and summon the energy to pick up a long-cold trail. If there is any trail left at all. His stomach sank and gurgled with the disappointment and hunger. He'd let everyone down again. Zero was smart, smarter than any soldier Roken had ever met, and he knew that he would have covered his tracks; zigzagged his way through the land to dull the scent; dropped clues that led nowhere. But I have the advantage of knowing where you’re going, Z. I have that over you at least. The rumbling of pain through his torso was perpetual and he groaned in acknowledgement of his helplessness. These people don’t understand. If they did, they would help me. They would make sure that I was out of here. Stopping Zero, stopping The Doctor, stopping this from becoming the end.
Closing his eyes made everything hurt less and he drifted quietly towards sleep. Florence came and went but left him in peace. He dreamt lightly of Elise, his mother, Ric, Florence.
I must rest; I must get out of here and do all I can.
iii)
A couple of hours must have passed, with him slipping in and out of consciousness, before he opened his eyes to find Gerard sat opposite him in a foldout metal chair. His face was a picture of disdain, battered by years of fear and sadness and hardened by a tireless war.
“Roken. How do you feel?” His voice was softer than his expression; paternal and caring.
“Like hell.” He eased his legs off the bench and his body into a sitting position. The wound on his side was stiff and felt as though a blade was still stuck between his ribs, but the pain had eased. The cleaning and the medicine were helping. Progress, Roken thought, almost managing a laugh as he faced Gerard. “How do I look?”
“Worse.” A glimmer of a smile flashed across the old man’s face. Roken felt his muscles relax, but only slightly; he could tell this man was not one to be taken lightly. His eyes were like lasers that locked onto their target, offering no escape. I am under this man’s spell, and there is nothing I can do about it. Yet. The men sat in silence, staring at one another. Roken could feel the thud of his heart in his wound as its rate quickened, his empty stomach rolled over another crest of nausea. “Can we speak, candidly, Roken? Or is it James?” He levelled a glare at Roken, who shuffled in his seat uncomfortably. Gerard lifted his walking stick and tapped it heavily on the tiled floor twice, a show of frustration, of contemplation. He’s wondering whether it is worth keeping me alive, Roken could feel his mouth getting dry. He glanced around; at the window, at the door, at the ceiling, suddenly claustrophobic.
“I’m sorry.” The words stuttered out of his mouth as they scraped over his dry tongue, against his crusting lips. He hated apologising, but something about Gerard necessitated it: apologising was an obligation to anyone who had wronged him. Roken could feel a formidable power emanating from this man. His diminutive frame was not of any competition to his own strength and power, but he did not doubt that there were other eyes on his every move. Roken recalled seeing the other soldiers when he entered the building. Where the hell is this place? Who are these people? He had so many questions, but knew that lying to Gerard was a set-back, one that would not be forgiven quickly. He thought of Florence with her semi-automatic rifle she had held up to him the first time he met her. Her voice as cold as ice. Her eyes a piercing, beautiful blue. His stomach lurched again. “I panicked. It’s Roken. I am from Iceland, and I fight for the UNA.”
“Your apology means a lot.” Gerard breathed in and exhaled deeply. “I used to be like you; driven, aggressive, arrogant. You have to realise that you are not the first man to think that the world belongs to them, that they can do whatever they please. It is men like us who have ruined this world.”
“I don’t disagree. But I’m not all bad. I am trying to do some good.”
“Tell me, Roken.” Gerard rolled the ‘R’ in his name, and Roken placed his accent as German. Ex-UNA? He wondered, probably not. “How many people have you killed in your lifetime?” He lowered his gaze at Roken; his eyes had barely left those of the man opposite him.
“I’m not sure.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I have lost count.”
“Don’t lie to me again, Roken.” The voice was unforgiving and made Roken shiver. Don’t underestimate this man.
“Six hundred and thirty-six.” Roken wasn’t lying. He kept count of every kill he had ever made, and would never forget any of them. It was 633 until I stumbled into those drifters. She was so young. They’re all so fucking young.
“I’m impressed.” Gerard smiled, softly. The words were grating and Roken balked at the suggestion that there was something of which he should be proud. He’s goading me, he thought.
“At the number, or the fact I kept count?” Roken managed a smile; I’ll play along, if it gets me out of here.
The smile dropped away from Gerard’s face. “The fact you have killed so many is nothing to be proud of. The fact you have the honour of remembering each kill, that is something which deserves praise. I will not say if I have killed more or less than you, but I will say that I remember each and every kill I have had to make. They become etched into the inside of my skull, and I can never erase them. We live in a time of war and death, and we have to survive, and to protect. The least we can do is remember. It gives the flippancy of life at least some meaning. Though I doubt it keeps you up at night any more…”
Roken shook his head. What does that say about me?
“Tell me why you are here and what you are planning on doing if we let you go. Tell me who your people are and what their active operations are in this country. Florence has told me some, but no doubt some of it was lies. No doubt you are connected to some form of external communications. They won’t be working very well here, if at all, so please be honest.” Gerard leant back and eyed Roken signalling that it was his cue to speak. They have a means of interrupting comms. No wonder Elise hasn’t come through again. They will think I’m dead, or worse. Shit. I need to get this man on side so I can leave.
“I understand that I am in your home, and I owe you for the help you given me, for the help Florence has given me. But why are you so interested? You seem safe here. Why do you need to know about the war?” Each syllable sent a jolt of awareness through his torn skin and made his head throb. The concussion seemed a distant, arbitrary inconvenience, but it explained the headache.
“I haven’t been safe for twenty years, Roken.” Gerard was stirred and sat up, his face twitched, and his composure wavered briefly. “My family has never been safe, and never will be. I have done all I can to create something close to normality, to a haven, but this world is volatile. I need to know what is going on out there,” he pointed a slightly quivering finger back over his shoulder, “otherwise, I am powerless. Just as you would be. So please, tell me all you can.”
Roken sighed and leant forward. “Myself and one other were sent to London to recover an asset. The mission went south, and our helicopter was shot down by some drifters. My colleague has since gone AWOL, and I have tracked him to here. I need to find and ex-filtrate him.”
“That’s a lot of work for one AWOL unit. He must be important,” Gerard chewed his lip, “or dangerous.”
“Both.”
“And it’s just you? Just your job to get him under control?”
“Yes.” Roken sucked his teeth and stared at the floor while he tried to force his tired mind to calculate if he had said too much. I don’t know if I can trust this man.
“So, you must be equally dangerous. Or you have been sent for some other reason?”
“He’s almost a brother to me.” Roken’s eyes darted to the cross on the wall and he felt a concern growing in his chest. This man could be with The Faith. They can’t find out about Zero. “You’re believers.”
Gerard laughed and tapped his stick on the floor in tandem with his rising and falling shoulders. “I wondered how long it would be before that question came.” His smile faded and he leaned forward, over the top of his walking stick, “we’re not with The Faith, if that’s what you’re asking. We’re believers, but we keep ourselves to ourselves. We have to, obviously.” Roken nodded. “Does that upset you?”
“I disagree with you. But if you’re not Faith then I have no issue.”
“Plus, you’re in my house. So, what good would it do you to be upset?” Gerard’s smile had disappeared, and his tone had returned to its frigid drone. Roken narrowed his eyes and nodded once, as he felt the pain of his muscles tightening; as they did before battle.
Six hundred and thirty-four.
Six hundred and thirty-five.
Six hundred and thirty-six.
How many are you up to, Gerard?
A silence filled the room and seemed to insulate Roken’s discomfort.
“Where is this friend heading?” Gerard broke the silence with his crisp, rolling accent.
“I don’t know.”
“But you tracked him this far, you must have some idea.” The blue eyes bore into Roken, and he looked up the ceiling, a feeling of defeat easing over him. I haven’t got the energy for this.
“The airfield. He’s going to try and fly out of here.” This caught Gerard off guard and his eyes opened wide.
“That’s crazy.” Gerard was frowning at Roken, doubting what he had said, “he’ll be killed.” No, he won’t.
“I need to stop him.”
“How long do you think you have?”
“I imagine he will get there in the next two days. He’s not too far ahead of me. Or, at least, he wasn’t before this happened.” Roken pointed at his side.
“You need to eat. Build up some strength and then leave in the morning.” Gerard seemed to have been stung by what Roken had said, as though the idea of death was too much to bear, and he stared contemplatively out of the window. The mention of food made Roken’s stomach flip again, but he nodded, nonetheless. Gerard rose from his seat and exited the room, the tapping of his cane echoing down the corridor as he went.
Roken felt relief at having got somewhere with his would-be captors. Leaving the following morning was late, but it might just be enough.
It might just be enough.
iv)
Later that morning, Roken lay on his back, staring out into the bright garden, watching the trees sway in the breeze and the clouds roll through the sky in their tireless tedium. He was snapped from his reverie by footsteps on the wooden floor and turned to face their owner. Todd stood before him with a bowl in his open hands. His eyes were wide and shimmering in the slanting sunlight and mousy, brown hair tightly framed his face. His expression was blank as his eyes ran over Roken’s naked torso; down to his wound and back up to his face. This boy is off, Roken thought, there is something about him that is not quite right. Each movement seemed to be an accumulation of a thousand tiny, unnoticed movements. Like a fly. Like he is ahead of time.
Todd thrust his hands slightly forward, making the spoon in the bowl slide along the edge of the china. This is for you, his gesture said and Roken sat up and opened his hands in acceptance. A pile of scrambled eggs sat beside a fried potato and his stomach growled with hunger and nausea. Eggs. Perfect, Roken thought, grimacing.
“Thank you, Todd.” Roken said as he let the eggs slop off the spoon and back into the bowl with a splat. Todd’s expression was blank and his silence unflinching. Without speaking he turned and walked out of the room. Each step like a vibration; like he was hovering over the ground. Strange boy, Roken thought, growing up in the middle of a war will do that to you.
Here goes nothing. Roken took a breath and eased a spoonful of food into his mouth.
v)
“Come, Roken.” Gerard strolled into the room with the signature tapping of his cane on the wooden floor. The eggs had sated Roken, once he had managed to gulp down the urge to vomit, and he could feel his energy levels rising. Still, the thought of leaving the house in the morning filled him with dread, but he knew that there was no other option now. “The fresh air will do you some good.” Gerard eased open the glass door beside Roken and limped out into the garden. The cool air rushed in and lapped at Roken’s face. He breathed it in, lusting for it, and then shivered as his naked torso balked at the drop in temperature. Glancing around, he found a blanket at the foot of the bench, which he threw over his shoulders. His head rolled with the lightness of his exertion as he climbed to his feet, and he had to place a hand on the wall to steady himself. Easy, Roken. Easy.
The garden was a secluded, beautiful departure from the confines of the house and Roken’s senses were enlivened by the change of scenery: each whisper of leaf in the wind; each vibrance of colourful flower; each tasted scent of pollinated air, made him elate. The robust beauty, in a tumultuous, ruinous hell-scape, was profound. Every inch that he sensed before him seemed new and, at the same time, infinite. It were as though he had experienced all of this before; it was a fragment of meaning jutting from a world which seemed to have none.
“It’s hard to keep things alive here, and the plants are no different.” Gerard smiled at Roken as he led him out across the garden, towards a flowerbed that was a burst of wild, chaotic colour. “Though weeds seem to manage okay, and trees are naturally hardy, but the flowers, they find it more difficult. They need life in the Earth to survive.” He grasped a red rose by its stem and angled the petals to his face, as though he were talking to it and not Roken. “It seems they need hope, like humans do, they need some light at the end of the tunnel, some rich, potential promise in the future on which to base their endeavours. We are no different. Without a helping hand, they will die.” He turned and squinted at Roken’s face as the sun smuggled its rays through a gap in the growing cloud. The air was growing heavy and suggested a brewing storm. “Do you have anything to keep you going? To maintain your focus and drive you forward?”
“I think so.” Roken imagined Elise and all that he would do to have her beside him now.
“Good.” Gerard let go of the rose and it bounced on the end of its stem, “I worry for those without faith, who have been denied the possibility of faith. What is there left to believe in?” Roken didn’t know what to say and Gerard continued on his walk, seemingly uncaring. “You have indulged my questions and, I feel, though I may be an old fool, that you have been very honest with me. For that I am grateful. Honesty is not something to underestimate in this poisonous White Age.” The words were spat and Roken could feel Gerard’s anger. “Please, ask me some of the questions that I can see whirring behind your eyes.”
“How long have you been here?”
“I worked for the British Secret Service, an Adviser of European and Sub-European Relations. A job as silly and as unwieldy as its title.” Gerard let out a chuckle and shuffled his feet further along the concrete path beside the flowerbed. Roken couldn’t take his eyes from the explosion of colour that lay before him. It was beauty he had not seen in nature for years. “I was born in Germany, but I loved this country when I came here. When the war was imminent, I walked out of the Secret Service. They wanted me to stay and oversee the evacuations; monitor the behaviour of the few countries that were willing to help us, whether through obligation, or promise of financial reward. But I could not abide the abandonment of our soil. We should have stayed and fought. We should have acted sooner and stopped the nuclear menace before it was too late. We have ample opportunity as I am sure you are aware.” Gerard flashed a glance at Roken and continued his slow walk, his cane tapping, with a metronomic repetition, on the concrete. Roken nodded; he knew.
“So, I left. They could have found me if they really wanted, but they were distracted by the abandonment of all that we had fought for. I was unconcerned by the bombs; if they killed me then so be it: it would have been God’s plan for me. But he spared me, because I had a more important role to play. I came here and set up a new base.” He turned and pointed at his house with his free hand, “I have the means to protect myself, and my family, and to sustain us for many years. I had the opportunity to help others, too. Which is not something to be taken lightly.”
“There were other survivors that came here?”
“We created this as a base and then, after the nuke went off, we went in search of survivors.”
“But, the radiation…”
“It’s a problem, yes. But we limit our time out there and we ensure we have an adequate rest here.” He gestured behind him, to the tall line of neatly groomed, pine trees and Roken’s eyes scanned them. What is he talking about? He thought, before he noticed the sheet of dull grey that climbed up, almost invisible, behind them. Lead. No wonder I’m feeling better here. Gerard smiled at Roken, as if reading his mind, before nodding once and continuing on his circuit of the garden.
“How many have you saved?”
“We found many who were in need to help, but we had to leave them to die elsewhere; our medical capacity was limited, and we would simply be transporting the dead out of London, to burn them here.” Gerard shook his head with a weight of sadness. “That helps nobody. So, we rescued only those that had a chance. Most stayed, but some…” Gerard trailed off as he stared at the ground before him.
“What about the drifters? How are you safe here?” The thought of the fight made Roken’s chest throb. Six hundred and thirty-six.
“They come every now and again. We have to be careful. They are well equipped and largely insane. They will fight for anything, as they have nothing. No cause, no purpose, no future. Death and chaos are all that they know. We are well armed, and we are safe here, though I have lost many men and women to their assaults.”
“Fucking Americans.” Said Roken, under his breath, and Gerard caught him with a cold glare.
“Don’t be so quick to judge, Roken.” His voice was stern and commanding. “They came here to help, to overrun the evil that was here. They were abandoned by their paranoid and cracking country. They did what they thought was right. Just as your people do what they think is right. I am sure many have died at the hands of your people, whether intentionally or not.” Gerard returned to staring at the ground, his breathing deep and measured. Roken had never considered it like that, only judged them for the seismic mistake they had made. He’s right: we all make mistakes.
“And Florence?” The mention of her name snapped Gerard from his reverie and put a smile on his face.
“She came to England when she was with child, fleeing America, before the bombs were dropped. She had no other choice; she had to get away from a monster: Todd’s father. When the time came to evacuate, as an illegal immigrant, she had no means of getting off this island. So, she stayed and lived rough. Until I found her.” Gerard could see the paternal bond that Gerard had developed with Florence, and this explained her allegiance to him; her respect and thanks for what he had done for her and Todd.
“She’s very strong.”
“Oh, she is the strongest person I know, Roken.” Gerard shook his head and chuckled. “She will rule the world one day, if she’s not careful.” Roken’s body seemed to jolt with weakness as his pain and his nausea grasped him again; he had almost forgotten the state he was in. He grabbed hold of Gerard’s arm to stop himself falling and Gerard grasped him firmly by the wrist. “Easy now, Roken.” He guided him to a decrepit, old bench and eased him down to a seated position. “Rest. I’ve been rambling on like an old fool and have marched you perhaps too far. Take a breath.”
“Thank you.” The world began to regain its solid form and Roken’s eyes were able to focus on the grass, the gently swaying trees, the red roses that pouted at the sun. He gulped down the nausea and breathed deeply through his nose. You must feel better. There are no two ways about it, Roken. “Tell me, Gerard. Why are you helping me?”
Gerard sat on the bench beside him and tapped his cane twice on the concrete, sending a pair of satisfying clinks into the humid, stormy air. He looked up at the sky and Roken followed his gaze. An enormous mass of red-black cloud was buffering itself into the atmosphere; hanging so low it seemed it could be touched. “I am a man of God, as I have said. I help people. I have helped many. You are a soldier, and your people fight my people. But I choose not to pick sides. There is good and there is evil, they are the only sides that matter, and my gut tells me that you are good. Whether you believe that or not.”
“I like to think so.”
“That’s a start.” Gerard smiled at the ground and tapped his cane once, “I am not going to lie to you, when Florence brought you here, and I found out you were with the UNA, I was going to put a bullet in the back of your head.” He turned to face Roken, “She convinced me not to, and for that I am glad. Even us men of God have our moments of weakness.” A smile formed on his face, slowly at first, and then his face creased with the humour, tears running from his eyes. Roken began to laugh, and his ribs yelped with each pant. The two men sat on the bench laughing as the wind swirled overhead, broiling into the dense cloud of an inclement storm.
vi)
The rain attacked the windows and the roof of the conservatory in a constant, violent barrage and the thunder seemed to make the structure’s foundations fizz. The candles on the dinner table guttered as every clap sounded, loud and gross, overhead and the bright flashes of lightning detracted from their yellow glow. Roken sat at the head of the table, with Gerard at the opposite end, and between them sat Florence and Todd. The other residents of the house, that Roken had seen, were eating elsewhere: he could hear the clamour of loud voices and laughter emanating from down the hall. He had only seen a handful of them at any one time, men, women and children, but he guessed there to be at least ten of them.
The food was steamed vegetables (potatoes, carrots and swede) with boiled eggs. It was simple, but Roken could feel his hunger returning and salivated as it was placed before him. I’m certainly getting better if this food is able to stir my hunger. He had seen the vegetable patch in the garden, and the chicken coop tucked to the side of the pine trees and could not help but admire the quality of the little haven Gerard had built. It’s no surprise he wants this to remain secret.
Roken wore an over-sized black shirt and blue jeans he had been given by a silent Todd. He had his knife and fork in hand and was about to spear a potato, when Gerard cleared his throat. “Thank you, God, for this food,” Roken glanced around and saw everybody had their eyes closed and their hands clasped in front of their faces. He placed his cutlery down, softly, and mimicked their action, “that you have provided us the means to grow. Thank you for providing us the means to protect ourselves from the evil which lurks without. And thank you for allowing us to share this food with friends, both new and old.” Gerard opened his eyes and smiled a cold smile at Roken. The words were both descriptive and instructive: don’t make me regret my decision to not kill you, they said.
“Amen” Florence and Todd joined Gerard in unison and then flashed a glance and a half-smile towards Roken’s silence, as they collected their cutlery and began to eat. The food was as delicious as it had smelt and Roken barely paused for breath as he ate. Todd cleared the plates once they were done, and Gerard poured out a small glass of Scotch for each of them from a dusty, unlabelled bottle. Florence flashed him a glance of disapproval as a glass was handed to Todd, but Gerard simply shrugged.
“Roken, I am glad for your presence here.” He raised his glass out in front of him, though his face didn’t even suggest a smile, “I wish you well in your endeavours, when you leave in the morning. How do you say ‘cheers’ in Icelandic?”
“Skál." Roken said, raising his glass.
“Skál!" The three others repeated as they collided glasses over the middle of the table. The whisky tasted dusty and sweet and made Roken’s throat burn. He coughed as the alcohol fumes filled his lungs and Gerard chuckled at him down the table.
“This is our last supper, Roken. Do you feel ready to leave us?”
“I feel better.” He said, though his trepidation at leaving this safe place would not go away. It’s hell out there. “I need to go.”
“We wish you luck. And hope to never see you again.” Gerard chuckled and his face seemed to be brightening from the alcohol. A flash of lightning made him look like a ghost, for a heartbeat.
“Thank you. For everything.” Roken’s eyes moved from Gerard to Florence, and she smiled back softly, the scar on her chin creasing and her eyes glittering in the candlelight.
“You are welcome.” Her voice was tired and shallow, tainted with sadness that made Roken’s heart sink. How can I leave this woman? The woman that saved me. She is an angel.
“We are doing God’s work where it is necessary.” Gerard’s voice was like sandpaper, and it brought Roken back into the moment, a feeling of foolishness at his childish feelings. Grow up, Roken. “There is no need to thank us. I have a gift for you, Roken.” Gerard nodded at Todd who leapt to his feet and darted from the room, returning moments later with a small, rectangular object wrapped in a cloth.
“There is no need-”
“-there is every need, Roken. Open it.” Gerard said in a flat, stoic tone. Roken peeled the cloth away from the object and revealed an old, leather bible. Its dusty, flaking cover filled his nostrils with the scent of a history, long buried. It felt perverse in his hands. A symbol of evil and oppression and hate and death. He remembered the shrine that he had fallen asleep beside and how all of the objects had been piled by those of faith. In vain. They are all certainly dead. What good is faith? What good is this book?
“I can’t accept thi-”
“-you can, and you will.” Gerard’s brow was set and his eyes unblinking as he demanded Roken do as he was told. I am in this man’s house. I must play by his rules. I cannot offend him. He forced a smile. “Thank you.”
“This was a gift to me from an old friend, when I was studying in Sweden, and it has served me well ever since. Plus, you seem like you need something to believe in, master Roken. Perhaps this will help.” Roken chuckled and smiled warmly as Gerard did the same. I like this man. He is a born fighter, and he commands well-earned respect.
“I will look after this.”
“You will read it. It is too old to need looking after. It needs to be utilised for what it was intended.”
“Okay. I will.”
“Good.”
“You have done well to build this little home. You should be proud. I suppose it’s rare that people choose to leave.” Roken smiled and took a sip from his drink but the others around the table lost their smiles. He had reminded them of something that was a source of pain, and he felt guilt and shame rise in his gut. These people have been so good to you, why would you ruin it? Todd distractedly moved a spoon around on the table in front of him as he stared at it in his perpetual silence. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”
“-don’t worry.” Gerard cut him off, “you’re right, nobody leaves here readily. This is a safe place.”
“Unless you are mad with power and greed.”
“Florence. Don’t.” Gerard’s voice was like a fist slammed on the table and it sent the room into silence. Florence’s outburst had stunned Roken, and he wondered if it was aimed at him, but something told him there was somebody else that had come here and left. Whatever had happened had enraged Florence and all he wanted to do was dispel the gloom that he had brought on his hosts.
“Forget I said anything.”
“Somebody left us, in search of something bigger. The calling of The Faith was too great for her.” Gerard’s voice was cold and sad, and Florence stared at the white tablecloth with a simmering rage. Roken absorbed the words in a state of shock. He rescued somebody, and then they left him to go across to those that represented all that Gerard hated. No wonder they’re annoyed.
“After everything that you did for her. That bitch ran to join those crazies. To fight for that pure evil. After everything.”
“Florence.” Gerard sighed and placed his hand on the woman’s beside him in an attempt to placate her.
“I’m sorry, Gerard. But you helped her, you brought her child into this world. And she just left us.”
“God has her now. May he grant her the strength to see the error of her ways.” Florence stood and squeezed her brow as he spoke.
“I need my bed. I’m sorry. Good night.” She said and was gone before anybody could say another word. Moments later, Todd pushed back his chair and followed her from the room in silence.
A distant rumble of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning, seemed to rouse Gerard from his silence: he took a deep breath and pushed himself back from the table. “I must also retire, Roken.” He limped around the table with his tapping cane and paused to offer Roken his hand. “Read the book. Don’t doubt your power. Good night.”
“Good night.” Roken was left in silence and gulped down the last drops of his whisky. He was transfixed by what had been said and what parts of the story were missing. There was so much pain and hurt in this place, in this place where there was supposed to be no life, and yet it existed in raucous, flagrant abandon. With life, comes pain. He rose, collecting his Bible from the table, and moved to the bench. With a sigh, he eased his aching body down onto the hard wood; the painkillers and alcohol had done their bit to numb the injury, and he soon found comfort.
He began to gently snore as the blood-storm crept away over the bristling trees and the moon was revealed in all of its bloated, glowing glory.
vii)
29th September 2074
The conservatory was cold in the thin morning sunlight and Roken was glad to feel it against his skin, shivering and feeling his muscles twitch with the awareness of their surroundings. He rose and wiped the sleep from his eyes. His rifle sat against the dining room table, with his backpack propped alongside it. The sight of them made him smile. Just like Christmas, he thought, though the memory of his frowning mother quickly tempered his mood.
Roken rose and showered, taking great care to clean the stitched wound at his side. It has to last me a few days, hopefully. I can’t let this get infected. He threw on his black cargo trousers, the black t-shirt Todd had given him, and his grey-brown camouflage jacket (despite the bloodied rip on his left-side). Taking a seat on the bench, he took a moment to check his rifle and load in a fresh magazine. I hope I won’t be needing this. He packed the rest of his supplies, including some morphine and bandages that Florence had given him, and tucked the Bible into his bag. I hope this brings me some luck, Gerard. But I won’t hold my breath.
Roken nearly reached for his pistol when Todd appeared before him. This boy is odd; how did I not hear him come in? Todd remained silent as his eyes darted from Roken’s bag, to his rifle, to his face, and then back again. After a few seconds, Roken realised he was there to escort him out. Okay, I’m going. He gathered his things and headed for the front door, hoping to see Florence waiting for him. The empty hallway greeted him, and his heart sank. What a way to say goodbye. Thanks guys.
With his hand outstretched, he turned to face Todd, who just stared at it for a few seconds. He then clasped it in his own and shook it once, nodding his head in unison. Roken wondered if he could feel something, like an electricity, from the boy, but he shook away the thought. He’s just weird, and I’m paranoid. That’s all.
“Goodbye, Todd.” Roken didn’t wait for a response that he knew was never coming, turned and left the house.
The door clicked shut behind him and he had to take a deep breath to push aside the looming dread. The loneliness that had been kept at bay by this family, and the importance of the mission which lay before him, now came surging into focus.
Come on, Roken. You can do this. Just find Zero and get the hell off this island.