Part One is Here

Bayleigh – Thursday: Plague Day

It happened right outside. Of all the things she remembered from that day and all the dark ones that followed, the moment that it happened was stuck foremost in her memory. But seeing it happen to Layla was what woke her, for years afterward, from nightmares that remained when she opened her eyes.

Thursday morning and the early lunch time rush was in full swing. They were both worked off their feet, the easy back and forth of their morning conversation entirely absent. They’d been talking about dreams. Not the sleeping kind, but the things you looked forward to. She hadn’t talked about them to anyone, not for longer than she could remember.

It still felt like a betrayal of dad to even think about them, but she couldn’t help it. Every morning she woke up and set off for his room only to stop when she reached the landing and the open door. The room was empty, the bed no longer bearing bars and the corners bare of their rubber strips. And every morning she’d cry for a bit and go to breakfast with the biggest sense of confusion and a smile on her face.

But times like this were nice. This was why she’d opened the shop, for the easy banter over the counter and the methodical, caring making. Every sandwich was a miniature creation, put together with love and thought and every smile she received was payment that made it all worth while. She shook her head, handing over a mozzarella and tomato.

She thought too much. She always had. She needed to just enjoy herself, to relax and be in the moment. Layla nudged her in the back and nodded at the front door. Ali stood there, his flour-coated clothes absent. He strolled in, round the queue and to the end of the counter.

‘Morning.’

‘Hey, Ali.’ Layla’s bright, innuendo-ripe tones filled the shop and made Bayleigh wince.

‘Hi.’ She managed, blushing into a ploughmans with extra mayo. Ali gave her a grin and folded his arms, watching the coming and going like a local at a pub. He’d become a local now, appearing every day once his deliveries were done to chat and make his interest in her plain.

She loved it.

She handed over the ploughmans and glanced up. The queue was still out the door and she ran her eyes over the fresh stuff. They should have enough, but it always got close. It was the only way to turn a profit. She caught something out the corner of her eye and paused.

Two enormous trucks pulled up on the other side of the street, painted a uniform shade of slate grey and military-looking. They had stopped on the double yellows and were already causing chaos behind them. The back door of the rear one opened and a number of soldiers jumped out. She thought they were soldiers. They wore uniforms in the same dull colour of the trucks, but they had gas masks on and huge helmets covered in netting.

They were part-Vietnam war, part-Star Wars and they made her shiver. Goosebumps ran up and down her arms and her stomach turned over. Other people in the shop had noticed them as well and the entire queue turned to watch. She blinked and returned to her customer but his back was to her, staring with the rest.

She put her knife down and joined them, walking down the counter to peer out through the front window. Layla joined her.

‘What are they? Creep me out.’

‘Yeah, me too.’ Without knowing why, she slipped her hand into Layla’s. More soldiers poured from the other truck until twenty of them stood in a circle. Another truck pulled up, smaller and bearing a cylinder the size of a washing machine. The soldiers surrounded it, facing outward. They carried guns and it was that, more than anything, that made her take a step back away from the window.

A man dressed in white, with a shaved head and sunglasses above his gas mask, stepped from the smaller truck. He strode around to the side of it and pressed buttons set into the cylinder. The hissing sound was audible inside the shop and she watched as thick dark smoke jetted up into the London sky. The man turned away from the truck, putting his hands behind his back as he joined the ranks of soldiers.

Bayleigh’s mouth filled with bile. She didn’t understand what she was watching, but still her stomach rebelled and her instinct screamed at her to run. Layla gripped her arm so hard she pulled it away, hissing.

‘Sorry, Bay, what are they doing?’

‘I don’t know. I think we should leave.’

‘Where we going?’

Bayleigh turned away from the window. ‘Don’t know, just away.’ She froze as the first scream reached her. She turned back to the window, not wanting to but unable to resist. A man had fallen over and lay face down on the ground before the soldiers. His body was tense, his arms holding him up as though he’d got rigour-mortis. But he wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead.

She realised she’d picked up the knife again and dropped it. The clang as it bounced off the counter was loud in the shop and everyone jumped and turned. Then chaos erupted. Customers streamed into the street, shouting and shoving and in moments the place was empty save the two of them and Ali.

His face was pale, his usual confident grin very much absent. Bayleigh couldn’t take her eyes off the street. More people were dropping now. Some ran and just looked like they tripped. Others were standing and didn’t fall over immediately, just wobbled until someone else caught them. Then they went down like broken statues.

Every person who fell was rigid, hands curled up like claws and arms crooked as though they were pretending to be velociraptors. She saw one of her regulars approach the truck and start speaking to the man with his hands behind his back. One of the soldiers stepped out of line and smashed the butt of his gun into her customer’s face.

He dropped to one knee and she watched dumbfounded as blood streamed from his mouth onto the floor. It was almost scarier than the smoke billowing up; the casual violence with no cause and no comeback was so abrupt. What followed was just as shocking. The soldier drove his boot into the man’s throat and he fell to the floor, gripping his shattered windpipe as his life fled.

Bayleigh clapped a hand over her mouth. Finally, she was galvanised into action and headed out the back followed closely by the other two. The back door opened onto a dark alleyway empty of people. They ran out and headed to the end. The street was in pandemonium; tourists, office workers, students and everyone else running in all directions. She stopped short at the exit of the alley.

A Chinese man raced past, camera jiggling about in one hand. He stopped as he drew level with her and put his free hand to his throat. He coughed, once, and hit the pavement face down. She saw his hands curl, as though he got angry as he lay there. She knelt beside him and put her hand on his shoulder

She pulled it away, gasping at the heat. He was burning up and she took a step away, blowing on her hand. Ali came to stand beside her and nudged the body with his foot. It was stiff, moving as though he’d pushed a piece of wood. She looked up at him, but the sight of his pale face and flushed cheeks was too unnerving and she looked quickly away.

As her gaze wandered back across the street, she heard Ali cough. Her hands grabbed his as they turned to stare at one another. He coughed again and doubled over and she screamed as he dragged her to the floor. His hands curled within hers, the nails digging into her palms. Her knees struck the concrete and the scream cut off abruptly.

Then Ali fell face first to the concrete, hard and unyielding.

You may have noticed a new picture on this blog post. This is the current idea for the book cover when 13 Roses is released. What do you think? Do you like it? Would you change anything? Any comments would be greatly appreciated. Thanks 🙂

Next Installment Thursday 21st August

Part One is Here

David – Thursday: Plague Day

Something was different. He could hear something. He rolled over, scratching at the side of his head. He scratched a lot these days, which probably came from not showering for a few weeks. He’d scratched his scalp raw and his fingers came away with blood and hair under the nails. It should probably hurt, but he felt nothing.

There it was again. A shuffling skritch skritch.

Sound.

It ran through him like he’d been dropped into an ice-cold bath and every hair on his body stood on end. Sound meant he wasn’t alone. Or it meant the wind was blowing. It wouldn’t be the first time since he came here he’d thought he heard someone.

But something was different. He could smell it, a scent new to his desolate corner of the city.

David pushed himself up from his bed of concrete and slouched out from under the bridge. The Thames was sluggish this morning, moving like children on the way to school. He stopped to stare at it, keeping his eyes from the empty streets and empty buildings that surrounded him.

As he had done every morning, he tried to remember. He remembered finding a rose on his bedside table. He remembered looking down at Amber and shaking his head, then sneaking from the house and off to work. He met up with Steph at lunch and they banged like bunny rabbits. She loved the rose. Apparently one red rose was romantic, where twelve were cheesy and thoughtless. Eleven days of complete isolation still hadn’t given him the answer to why that was, but it didn’t matter, he’d got it right.

After that, he remembered nothing. He’d left her flat and the world had gone, or at least, the world that included other people. He’d rushed back to hers but she was gone along with everyone else.

He tried to kill himself in the first few days. He’d stood on the railing of the millennium bridge and readied himself to jump. But he couldn’t. He’d headed into Boots and filled his hand with painkillers and all sorts from the pharmacy. But he couldn’t put them in his mouth.

After the first few attempts he’d given up. Things… slipped. His mind didn’t work like it used to and he struggled to remember anything. His name was Dave, not David. He worked making greetings cards for… the company name was gone. Along with his mother’s face and his first girlfriend. Holes appearing like loose threads on his favourite t-shirt.

Sleeping outside had just happened. The trains weren’t running and he couldn’t sleep in a deserted building anyway. He felt less alone outside, for all the sense that made. He wondered how long it would be before he went mad.

Now though, he wondered what the sound was and where it was coming from. Because he’d just heard it again and it wasn’t the wind. He turned from the Thames and the world clicked back into focus. It was like being at the opticians when he was trying out different lenses. ‘Now, is it better with this, or with this.’ The optician had just slipped a different lense in and placed a layer over the world, a layer with people.

He screamed, the sound thin and unrecognisable to his desperately starved ears. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the looks he got from people passing by.

He wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t alone.

He stopped the loop by biting his tongue. He bit a little too hard and blood filled his mouth. He wasn’t alone. His filthy hands clutched the jacket of a woman rushing past. From the way she stared, he looked even worse than he felt, but she had seen him. And he could see her. He smiled, tears streaming clean tracks through the filth caked on his cheeks.

He got to his feet and stumbled away down Embankment. He got more looks and people stepped from his path. As well they should. He’d seen hell and returned. He was grinning like a madman by the time he reached the quay. He would take a ride on the ferry and drink in the city.

He had a hand on the gate when he stopped. What if they all went away? What if he was out there on the water and they all went away again? He’d be stranded. He turned away from the gate, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets.

What if they all went away?

What if they all went away?

What if they all went away?

What if they all went away?

Enough. He thumped his head with the palm of his hand and found a bench. He sat, pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. The sounds washed over him and he struggled to breath. It was like the sea, soft but relentless. He needed peace and quiet and instead the noise came from everywhere, beating and beating at him.

He put his hands over his ears and moaned in his chest. Then another sound, one far louder than the murmuring of humanity cut through. Sirens. And not just one, but many. He joined the flock in turning this way and that in an attempt to be less ignorant.

Blue flashing lights appeared over by… what was the name of the bridge? He’d known them all, not so long ago. They drew closer, powering down the side of the river until they reached him. The noise was terrible, piercing his soul as they stuck and stabbed at him.

They flashed past one at a time and he counted them. He stumbled when he reached seven. Was it nine next? It felt wrong but he couldn’t remember what it was supposed to be. He did remember that nine or more police cars all heading for the same event was a pretty big deal though. He watched them down to the Houses of Parliament until the lights faded from sight.

A few minutes later, ambulances followed the path made by the police and there were just as many. He was half tempted to follow them. He wasn’t the only one. Here and there people wearing frowns that only half-masked their curiosity were heading in that direction with that half-run, half-walk that was supposed to look both dignified and sporty and failed at both.

With a shrug, he returned to his bench and stared out over the river. He knew what he could do. He dug through his pockets. He’d forgotten he got this a few days ago, but deep in one of his jacket pockets he found headphones wrapped around an ipod. Slipping them into his ears, he thumbed the play button and the scream of Thursday singing Rapture drowned out the incessant battering of the rest of the world.

Next Installment Monday 18th August

Part One is Here

Alex – 9 Days To Plague Day

Something was different. He knew the contents of this white board like nothing else. He knew every stroke of the pen, every figure and symbol. But something had changed since yesterday and it took him a few seconds to spot it. A difference in one of the equations. Stranger still, was that it looked like his handwriting.

He grabbed his notebook and scribbled down the new formula, trying to figure out why it would work. Had he done this before it all happened and just forgotten it? It wouldn’t be surprising. He could have cracked the cure for cancer and what happened on Saturday would have knocked it straight out his brain.

He was struggling to fit the events of the weekend into his mind and his world. He was having a child. They were having a child. In a way, that was easier to handle than the faded images he had of a future world. It had felt so real, yet now the pictures were like smoke, flitting away when he reached for them. They had been true though, he knew that.

He checked his watch. He had a lecture this morning and despite the strong urge, he wouldn’t skip it. This stuff wasn’t going anywhere and there was a large part of him that longed to junk it and toss it in the bin. He dumped the notepad back on the desk and headed for the door, smiling wryly.

He could never give up on it. He was the youngest student to be awarded a research grant in fifteen years. He was doing something no one else in the world was doing. This was his future. He just had to change it a little, move from creating a weapon to creating the cure for other weapons. He woke up thinking about it, which made a pleasant change from thinking about babies.

Chemical warfare was prevalent across the world. It was what had drawn him to it in the first place. Make the one ring to rule them all. But now he knew where that led, he could change the formula and create immunity. The shift wasn’t that great. His disease was based around changing the levels of chemicals within the brain. It would create the ultimate fight or flight response so the reptile brain took over. It would have to carry immune-suppressants to remove the body’s natural fight back.

This new formula would focus on the physical alone… he stopped, one hand pushing the door closed. Who was he kidding? This was entirely different. The only part of two years research he would be using was the basic chemistry of turning the solution into gas. Everything would change. He would be starting again.

The door clicked shut and he shrugged. If he had to start again, maybe he could finish this one first anyway. Whatever happened, when his son came along he would stop him doing anything stupid with it. He’d thought about that a lot last night. Perhaps just seeing his baby, a new person brought into the world, would stop him.

He drifted to class and made notes that would make no sense when he looked back at them. He’d only look back at them once and by then, they would have ceased to matter.

The formula changed again the following night and the figures he programmed into the machine were quite different from what he’d been working on before Saturday. He understood the changes, though he still doubted where they came from. They had to be him. There was no one else who understood what he was doing.

He realised when he stepped in to the lab on Tuesday that sometime between yesterday and today, he’d made his mind up. He would make it, he knew he could crack it. He would make it and put it somewhere no one could find it. But he had to finish it.

He watched as a series of chemicals were combined into a test tube that hung from a machine the uni had given him quite a considerable amount of money to buy. In some small way, finishing his project was the least he could do for the faith they had put in him.

He lifted the test tube gently and placed it in the centrifuge. He pressed the button and stepped away to look at the formula where he’d scribbled it down. It was right. He knew that without even testing it. His hand shook as he thought what that meant. He’d given himself five years at the least, though he’d told the uni four at most. But he’d cracked it in under two. He was a genius. He grinned as the shaking slowed.

Alex sat in his chair, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. New Scientist was the first place to g— No. He couldn’t tell anyone. He knew where this would lead if it got out into the world. This was the greatest secret he would ever hold. But the University would be pissed if he turned around and said they’d wasted their money. That was fine, he would just have to make the immunity gas as well.

He turned to a fresh page in his notebook and began to write, lulled by the gentle whirring of the centrifuge.

Next Installment Thursday 14th August

Part One is Here

Act Two:

Luke – 10 Days to Plague Day

The ground was hard and cold. He shifted, rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. Between the trees he could see the stars and they terrified him. He closed his eyes again and waited. He opened them and the stars were still there. Muttering under his breath he rose to his feet and looked around.

The forest was open, thin naked trunks denuded of branches until far above his head where a scrappy sort of fern sprouted and reached toward the sky. In every direction he saw only more trees and bracken and ferns and not one damn house or coffee shop. He was human, he was finally here, and he was in the middle of a bloody forest. This was just like the father, typical of his warped sense of humour.

Luke spat and set off, stomping over the thick bed of pine needles and broken branches. It took an hour for him to arrive at a road and another half hour to reach a pub. He had money in his pocket. The bastard had given him that much at least and the pub was open, so he bought a pint and settled himself by the fire.

The flames did a little to burn away the horrible cold inside. He’d never been cold, not properly. Now it was all he could feel. That and anger. He stared down into the beer, wondering how he had spent so long wanting to taste it. There was nothing particularly wrong with it, but it was far from the glorious experience he’d expected.

That was a fairly good way to describe the entire human experience to date. The pub was what he thought would be called a ‘local’s place’, which meant it was too far off the beaten track for anyone else to ever come in. The locals were three fat men at the bar bitching about something on the TV.

Luke watched it for a minute and was shocked to see something on there about the tube explosion. The father had sent him here only the next day. He’d expected to be at least some time in the future. He thought back to the rest of the speech.

‘Luke will become human. And gifted with such an amazing ability, he will be able to make the changes necessary to save the world from any such fate that may befall it.’

On reflection, that was a load of woolly twaddle that meant next to nothing. He’d thought it meant going into the future to stop Alex’s son, Jason, but it could mean anything. Maybe he was supposed to spend the next thirty years drinking beer and getting laid. The thought put a smile on his face and the sudden silence in the pub brought him back to himself.

The three men at the bar were staring at him. It was in looking back at their round, red faces that he realised what had changed. In three hundred years of being back in the Flights, he had found within himself the compassion and empathy that he had been created with. The fires of hell had burned it all away, but the Father had helped him rediscover it. Somehow, in becoming mortal, that same compassion and caring had vanished. He was as he had been, back when he ruled the underworld.

‘Can I help you?’

The nearest one, named Beardy for his lack of facial hair in contrast to his thoroughly-hirsute companions, grunted and leaned forward, gesticulating with his pint glass.

‘We were just wondering what you found so funny about them bloody arab terrorists.’

Luke sat back in the chair and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, there’s a few things there. First, the explosion wasn’t cause by a terrorist attack, arab or otherwise. It was caused by the tube carrying a container on board that really shouldn’t have been on a tube train. Secondly, I think you’ll find the word arab relates to people from Saudi Arabia and if you chose to investigate further, you’d find that every country in the world has supplied us with terrorists.’

He took a deep breath followed by a sip of beer. ‘However, with regards to what I found funny, it was simply the presence of three fat unkempt fools such as yourselves trying to debate something as complex as world politics.’

Beardy’s brow creased as he tried to decipher what had just been said to him. One of his friends was clearly a bit sharper as he leaped from his stool and came toward Luke, fists clenched.

‘Think you’re clever, don’t you? Think because we ain’t up in the city we got no brains.’

‘Well, your lack of grammar and inability to use full sentences does seem to support my hypothesis. But to be honest, I am clever.’

He smiled his brightest smile, set his pint down above the fire and stood. The man stopped before him, flattened lips visible through his beard.

‘Don’t think coming in our bar and calling us stupid is very clever.’

He raised a hand and took another step forward. Luke closed the gap and muttered under his breath.

The man stopped, eyes widening. Then he screamed. It was a sound that brought back so many wonderful memories it took Luke a minute to realise he was supposed to be doing something.

The man cowered, hands help up against some invisible foe. As always, it would be his worst fear, so in all likelihood he was facing dancing razor blades, or maybe a hot shower. Either way, he was entirely unprepared for Luke’s fist crashing into his face.

Luke winced. His strength was somewhat diminished by his recent switch to the mortal realm. Still. The man’s knees buckled along with his nose and he dropped senseless to the floor, streaming blood. The other two men were still on their stalls, joined in their staring by the barkeeper.

Luke folded his arms and tapped his foot. Beardy summoned up the courage and climbed off his stall. He picked it up and swung it experimentally before him. Luke muttered again and the huge man dropped the stool. He followed this masterstroke of fighting prowess by bursting into tears. They were followed by him linking his arms together as though he held a baby and rocking gently back and forth.

Everyone in the bar, Luke included, was transfixed. He raised his vibration a little and saw, around Beardy’s head, a number of tiny faces, all shouting and screaming at him. The baby cradled in his arms was him and he was the father he’d never had. It was beautifully sad and more than a little pathetic.

Luke retrieved the barstool and swung it full strength into Beardy’s tear-stained face. It shattered into more parts than he’d have thought possible. Okay, his strength wasn’t that weakened. Beardy spun most of the way round until he collided against the bar. He fell sideways into his friend and took them both to the floor.

Luke took a sip of his pint and smiled. The father had sent him here to save the human race, and he would, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun.

The last man shoved his friend’s body off him and staggered to his feet. He backed away, hands held out. ‘Hey man, that’s enough, we didn’t mean nothing by it.’

‘You didn’t mean anything at all. You didn’t say anything. I, on the other hand, meant plenty by it. Tell me… Richard, what’s your greatest fear?’

Richard shook his head and ran for the door. He was most of the way there when swarms of wasps attacked him and dragged him to the floor. This one’s mind was strong, his imagination full, and tiny red dots appeared all over him. Venom that existed only in his mind surged through his blood stream, enough to drive him face down and tear a blood-curdling howl from deep within.

Luke chuckled and sat back down in his seat, reaching for his drink.

Next Installment Monday 11th August

Part One is Here

Interlude – The Flower Seller/Luke

Luke screamed and howled and thumped his hands on the desk as though it would make any difference to what had just happened. What was she thinking? He’d done it so beautifully and made it so easy for her. It had even been poetic, the doors opening and closing again, tempting her, then throwing her back.

But instead of walking free, she was dead in the tube tunnel and he was three-four down with the Father arriving tonight. It couldn’t have been engineered better if the entire thing had been planned. He shoved his desk hard enough to slam it against the dry stone wall of his chamber and rose.

It had been planned. It had to have been. He was the best, not just at this, but at anything he put his mind to. He’d been hitting eighty or ninety percent for the last few centuries and now this happened. Even the subjects he’d got right had ended badly. This was planned from beginning to end, so who’d planned it?

The Father? Could be, but why bother? He could do what he wanted without following some pointless charade. Who else could it be? He bore a wry smile as he turned and gazed out over the stars. Who couldn’t it have been? He liked to think it was unlikely to be Az or Seph, but there were no guarantees. He needed to know, though.

He threw himself from the edge and flew out into space. He fell from his chamber, leaving behind the rough stone edge and diving down through the darkness. There were thousands of them, stone huts and wooden houses and shells the size of trucks and all manner of living quarters, floating in space with open backs, and in every one someone like him, or someone like Az, was hard at work.

He caught the thermals and rose, huge wings flapping slowly as they carried him up to a chamber near the top of the Flights. He landed on the edge and held himself there with long wing beats. Seph leaned on the desk, staring fixedly through his window at something only he could see.

Luke knelt down and steadied himself, waiting. He peered over Seph’s shoulder and narrowed his eyes. Sometimes he could see another’s subject, if he tuned in properly. It should be easier with someone he knew.

A picture formed in the space of a desert and a man taking long, lurching steps through the sand. In the seconds that he watched, the man stopped and toppled forward. He raised his head once and dropped it again. Seph leaned back into his chair, hissing through his teeth and thumping the desk.

‘That didn’t look successful.’

Seph jumped and spun round, then raised his hands. ‘Luke, come on in, don’t hang around on the edge. How are you feeling?’

Seph rubbed his head as he asked and Luke smiled. ‘Better. And worse. You?’

‘The same. I felt shocking this morning, utterly shocking. Then I lost the headache but now I’ve lost my bloody subject. By the way, how come you saw it?’

Luke shrugged. ‘You just have to concentrate. Where does that leave you?’

‘Five-two. Not my best but thoroughly satisfactory.’ Luke nodded, trying and failing to look enthusiastic. Seph’s face fell and Luke sighed in relief. He hadn’t planned it. His look of dismay as he realised why Luke was here said it all.

‘You didn’t make it.’

It wasn’t a question but Luke answered anyway. ‘I lost her. I did it all right and she didn’t get on the train, then she ran into the sodding tunnel to rescue someone. She was bloody disabled, what was she thinking?’

Seph’s face dropped even further. ‘Shit, sorry. That’s bad timing.’

‘You think?’ Luke put his wings away and slumped into the other chair, leaning back until the front two legs came off the floor. ‘I’ve been set up. This is all deliberate.’

Seph looked shocked for all of two seconds before he nodded. ‘That’s entirely possible, but who did it?’

‘Take your pick.’ Luke waved a hand toward the thousands of chambers hanging below them. ‘Most of them have a reason, if they want one.’

Seph nodded. ‘I hate to say this, but I’m not sure it matters overmuch. And I’m not sure we’ll have time to find out who. The Father will be here in…’ he checked his watch, ‘a couple of hours. You might do better putting your affairs in order.’

‘Affairs? What affairs? I don’t have any affairs. He’s allowed me precisely nothing in the entire time I’ve been here.’

‘Maybe you should say goodbye to Sara then.’ The smile on his face meant he knew what had happened last night.

‘How the hell did you find out about that?’

Seph grinned and tapped the side of his nose. ‘A gentleman never gives away his sources.’

‘Yeah, well, thanks for the pep talk. If I’m gone by tomorrow, I want you to find out who was behind this.’

‘Haven’t you considered that it might just be the Father? He would be quite happy to have an excuse to be rid of you.’

‘Why would he go through all this though? Why not just banish me?’

‘You have supporters. Not many, I’ll admit, but there are a few rather powerful beings who think you’ve more than paid your dues. Screwing you over now without just cause would not sit well with them.’

Luke wrinkled his nose. ‘The Father does what he wants and bollocks to anyone who argues.’

‘Maybe, maybe. I’m not so sure.’

Luke shifted in his chair. ‘Gotta go.’

‘Hey, make sure you say goodbye.’

‘I’m so glad you’re already that sure I’m being sent away.’

Seph shrugged and smiled sympathetically. It was the last thing Luke saw as he threw himself out into space. From up here the Dome looked tiny, a spot surrounded by the specks of the chambers. Perhaps if he went straight down there, he’d have time to visit Sara before the Father arrived.

He shook his head and leaned into the updraft, heading across the vast space toward another of the chambers. This was considerably lower than his own and took a few minutes to get to. He landed on the edge and wandered in. The demon chambers were quite different from theirs and he felt his usual pang of jealousy as he wandered into Az’s home.

Where his chamber was wide open, Az’s ended in a small opening. He paced down the narrow tunnel that lay beyond it, running his fingers along the cold stones. It felt like home. Beyond it lay a room, similar in size to his own. A fire burned at one end, huddled within a sunken pit. The window was on one wall and was dark.

Az lounged on his bed, book open before him.

‘Didn’t know you could read.’

‘Don’t remember inviting you in. How’d it go?’

Luke shook his head and sat in the big swivel chair before the window. It was black plastic and leather and completely out of place. And very comfortable. Az shook his head, pursing his lips. ‘Sorry man, that sucks. What now?’

‘Well, that’s what I’m trying to decide. Someone set me up—’

‘You sure?’

‘It wouldn’t have happened otherwise. And look when it’s happened. What are the chances?’

‘Fair enough. So who was it?’

‘That’s what I want to know. Seph thinks I haven’t got time, thinks I should spend my few remaining hours with Sara.’

‘That’s an excellent idea. Good work there, by the way, very smooth.’ Az raised an eyebrow, broad grin splitting his blood-red features. ‘Gotta say, it would seriously bum me out not knowing who stitched me up.’

‘Right, exactly. So where do I start?’

Az smiled again. ‘With your friends.’

Their eyes met and Luke folded his arms, keeping his face impassive. Finally Az looked at the floor then back up at him. ‘Fine, it was me. I’ve been jealous of your gorgeous hair for so long, my anger got the better of me. Can you forgive me?’

Luke watched him for a moment longer before letting out a long breath. ‘Hey, can you blame me?’

‘Not at all. I’m a demon, it’s what I’m supposed to do. But seriously, me and Seph… well actually, I wouldn’t trust Seph one little bit, dodgy bastard.’

He grinned and Luke let his arms drop to the chair where his fingers drummed on the plastic rests. Az raised his chin. ‘Who’ve you pissed off recently?’

‘The question is, who have I pissed off who knew the Father was coming to visit?’

Az sat forward, eyes widening. ‘Yeah, bloody hell, that’s right. That narrows it down a bit.’ He sat back, frowning. ‘Unfortunately, it narrows it down to big players, people I don’t wanna be anywhere near.’

‘And I do?’

‘C’mon Luke, don’t go all coy on me. You’ve got the moves for anyone in the Dome.’

Luke shrugged, examining his nails. ‘I can’t get anyone riled up though, not now. If there’s any chance he’s gonna let me off—’

He was stopped by Az snorting loudly and bursting out laughing. ‘He’s got your number, Luke, don’t even hope otherwise. This is the perfect opportunity.’

Luke ran through the list in his head. There were the Three, but they rarely got involved in anything and the one time he met them, he’d got the feeling they were more on his side than the Father’s. There were a couple of high level demons who still hated him for taking over back home. Bast wouldn’t be averse to taking a swipe, but she’d want him to know it was her.

The truth was, there were too many, even with the knowledge of the Father’s movements thrown in the mix. And the big man wasn’t particularly secret about what he was doing either. Luke stood, kissing his teeth as he stumped to the fire and held his hands out. He didn’t have a bloody clue where to start.

The silence deepened and they both jumped when the bell sounded. ‘Shit, dammit.’

‘Time’s up, man, let’s get down there and get good seats.’

Az bounded past him, scooping up his axe as he went and throwing it over his shoulder. The strap slapped against his skin as it snapped taut.

‘Do you need that?’

Az smiled. ‘You never know. But it’s a ceremonial thing. It’s more for the other demons than you lot.’

Luke followed him out and they jumped one by one into the darkness. Luke’s wings split apart and he slowed his descent. By contrast, Az plummeted, hurtling toward the Dome. His voice drifted up.

‘Hurry up, you’re gonna miss the best seats.’

Luke looked around and realised what he was talking about. The darkness was filled with beings, winged and not, some with skin as pale as snow and others darker than the night sky. The giants were floating down in their shells, disks larger than his entire chamber, while the faeries floated like fireflies, tiny spots of light that flickered and spun.

Luke’s own kind filled the space above, smooth skin and white feathers blocking out the darkness that hung above the Flights. Down here, the demons were responding with as much alacrity, red and mottled brown skin making a carpet into which he flew.

The chambers were emptying and it was a sight he’d not seen since before the Father’s previous visit. It felt different now though. This time it felt like the first time, when he’d been cast down. Back then, the Flights had been emptying for a very different reason. Now all bowed before the Father, all just as fearful as he was. Well, perhaps not quite as fearful.

He pulled in his wings and put his head down and soared until his face was pulled this way and that by the wind. He cut through the shield of falling demons and reached one of the entrances to the Dome before the rush. Az waited, leaning nonchalantly against the door frame. Luke raised an eyebrow at him and they dashed through to the grand hall.

Good seats meant those near the back and they joined the rapidly-filling back row. His hands were thumping on his legs, feet tapping on the floor and Az put his hand on his shoulder.

‘Relax man, you gotta relax. What will be, will be, you’re driving me crazy.’

‘Easy for you to say.’

‘Well, actually, it is. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.’

Luke sniffed and rested his elbows on his legs, cupping his chin between his hands. The room filled up. Seph came in halfway through and waded through the crowds to take the seat Az had saved beside him. The chatter that had filled the bar the previous night was ten times louder in here.

It was remarkable really. They spent their days among men, the mere mortals of whom they spoke with such longing and contempt. They were hyper-aware, every one of them, of the foibles and failings of their subjects. Yet put a bunch of them in a room and give them something to gossip about and still they acted just like humans.

Luke sat back, breath getting short. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t just sit here and wait to get shafted. Then another bell sounded and he knew it was too late.

The hall hushed, people scurrying to their seats as the lights dimmed. The lectern at the front was illuminated in a spotlight and the Father walked out. He wore, as he always did, a loincloth that barely covered his privates. His sunburned skin was covered in whirling tattoos and bore the marks of many bites. He carried his staff, a piece of wood that made a sharp retort with every step he made.

He stood behind the lectern and cast his gaze out. Luke knew he was looking for him and wasn’t surprised in the least when their eyes met. Then the Father nodded and smiled and rocked back on his heels.

‘My people. It is with great pleasure that I come here today not with warnings or checks. I don’t come to deal with those among you who have failed in your work. My trip here is one of joy. I come today with the news that one among you has been chosen to do something quite remarkable.’

Luke exchanged a glance with Az, who raised an eyebrow and looked doubtful.

‘He is known to many of you as the great betrayer. That was true, many years ago. But for many the last millenia and beyond, he has served us faithfully and well. It is this change in him, this remarkable willingness to change and become a better person, that has led me to this momentous decision.’

Luke put his head in his hands. The question was, what ‘honour’ was it? If it was really an honour, he’d eat everything he wore, pants and all.

‘Luke, please, come down here.’

Every face turned to stare as he stood and took the walk of death to the gallows. Half way down he glanced to the side and saw Sara. She gave him a smile, but it was weak and carried none of the warmth of last night. His mind started up. Was she involved in this?

He reached the lectern and the Father opened his arms, welcoming him up to stand beside him. He spoke in muttered tones. ‘Hey Luci, long time. Are you ready for this?’

‘What are you going to do to me, you bastard?’

‘Nothing you don’t deserve. Remember, it’s a great honour.’

‘Why did you go through all the bullshit last week if you were gonna make it a big honour?’

The Father cleared his throat and spoke to the hall. ‘Luke’s efforts in his work have been, of late, a little underwhelming. This week in particular he failed to meet his target. This was the final piece in the puzzle for me in deciding who should be given the most important task that now lies before him.’

So it was a task now. Not an honour anymore, oh no. Now he had to do stuff. The Father’s face turned serious.

‘The world is in trouble. Not long from now, a man called Jason will infect it with a disease so virulent and so terrible that ninety percent of the population will be wiped out in a matter of days. I am forbidden to become involved directly in the matters of men and you can only work in certain ways, those prescribed by the ancients. Only one who is human himself can change the world.’

The Father turned to Luke and slapped him on the arm. ‘Luke will become human.’

All the eyes that stared at him ceased to matter as those four words carved their way into his soul.

End of Part One. Part Two will begin on Thursday 7th August

Part One is Here

Sunday – Taylor Part Two

The busker blinked his tears away and stared at the mouthpiece of his saxophone, as if only just realising he’d stopped playing. He bent slowly at the knees, picked up the rose, tucked it behind his ear and resumed his meandering, tunefully-challenged stylings.

Taylor listened for a moment before turning away and limping toward the tube. She heard the rush of wind and picked up her pace. She arrived on the platform just as the doors hissed shut and she thumped it with her hand. The train jerked forward and then stopped. The doors half-opened and she stepped forward only for them to close again.

With a glare at the mirrors at the end of the platform, she sat on the bench and watched the tube hustle into the tunnel. The screeching of the wheels on the track made her head ache all over again and she moaned. What the hell was she doing? She should be at home by now, lying in bed, or maybe watching crap daytime T—

BOOOOOMMM!

It sounded like an effect from a disaster movie, like the Transformers had just blown something up. She was half out of her seat when a wave of heat and smoke exploded from the tunnel and swept over her. With it came screaming, high-pitched and desperate.

She flew back onto the seat, bounced off it and hit the floor. The roses flew from her hand, the plastic splitting open so they scattered across the platform. Her hips were complaining with a dull ache she hadn’t felt in a long time. There were screams from the platform, people shouting ‘bomb’ and ‘help’ and other useful things.

She pushed herself to her hands and knees, trying to see through the smoke. A train came in on the other platform and the wind whisked the wind about, pulling at her clothes as her vision grew suddenly better. She crawled to the edge of the platform and stared down into the tunnel.

There were flames and more smoke, but the only light came from the fire and it painted a scene of utter destruction. It had to be a bomb. It didn’t matter. She turned herself around and slid off the platform until her feet touched the floor. She had to be careful not to touch one of the rails. Which one was it? She would avoid all three, that was the best option.

The smoke was thick in here and she pulled her t-shirt up over her mouth. Her eyes watered and she blinked it away. There were voices ahead, people crying and screaming. She put her hand on something hot and yanked it back, howling as her skin was seared.

She scrubbed her eyes, trying to see through the gloom. The bomb had been at this end of the train; it was destroyed, ripped apart. She saw something white peeking through the smoke and her gorge rose up. She slewed to the side and threw up as she recognised bone poking free from the charred flesh.

She had to help someone, but what the hell was she supposed to do? She pulled her jacket sleeves down over her hands and tried to pull wreckage out of the way. The second piece of metal she hauled on was still attached and accompanied by a creaking sound that made her jump back.

Too late she looked up and saw the ton of tube train roof as it came down. It caught her on the head and drove her to her knees, then slammed into her back. Her last thought, as her face was driven into the sharp edges of the tube, was of the busker and the rose she’d stopped to give to him.

Next Installment Monday 4th August