New Reality 2: Justice

by Michael Robertson

  Suddenly the air rushed from her lungs and she started crying. "Frankie!"

  She was met with a dead stare.

  A few short weeks had left him looking like he'd done a stretch in a prisoner of war camp. His once warm eyes were cracked like old terra cotta. A patchy beard clung to his pallid and sunken cheeks.

  Marie looked up and down the hallway. No one had seen them. She then pulled Frankie into the flat. He followed her lead without resistance. What had they done to him?

  She guided Frankie to the one item of furniture in the living room: a large cushion brought over by Gina one night

  Once Frankie had sat down, he shivered. His eyes were unfocused and his lips were cracked. Marie dropped down in front of him and rubbed his shoulders. "I'm going to get you our duvet. You look cold."

  Frankie searched her face as if he didn't recognise her. Maybe he didn't. How would she bring him back?

  It wouldn't do to cry in front of him, so Marie wiped her tears away and went to the bedroom to fetch the duvet.

  When she returned, Frankie was coughing hard. It was a wet cough of lungs filled with mucus and had a death rattle to it.

  After wrapping the duvet around him, she dropped to the floor and sat cross-legged in front of him.

  Words seemed beyond Frankie, so Marie held his ice-cold hands, watched his haggard face, and waited.

  ***

  After about an hour of staring through her, Frankie finally focused his attention on Marie.

  Her voice cracked. "Hi."

  Something inside of Frankie had switched on. His gaze had softened as he looked around the room like he was seeing it for the first time. "Where are we?"

  Tears choked her words. She swallowed the painful lump. "We're on the estate, Frankie. I did everything I could but after you were taken away, I couldn't hold onto our flat."

  With his mouth hanging open, Frankie continued to look around the room.

  Rubbing his still cold hands, Marie then stood up. "You look knackered. I think we need to put you to bed."

  Although he nodded, Frankie remained where he was. Marie held her hand out, and when Frankie finally took it, she pulled him to his feet and led him to the bedroom. What had the experience done to him? Was it irreparable?

  ***

  Marie didn't know how much time had passed, but for the duration, all Frankie did was thrash and groan.

  Then he sat up straight, his brow sweating. Frowning at Marie, he said, "How's the baby?"

  It took a second for his rolling eyes to resettle, and once they had, Marie pushed a smile through the grief. "The baby's fine. Everything's great."

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Marie was perched on the cushion next to the bed as she watched Frankie. Aches gripped her hips from sitting cross-legged. The soup she'd made him earlier was now cold; the poor man was struggling to find his words, let alone his appetite. Did he even know the food was there? She'd told him at least ten times, but he hadn't acknowledged her. At what point should she try and force it upon him? Would he ask for it when he needed it?

  Tossing and turning, sweating and shivering, the only sounds Frankie made were unintelligible groans. When Marie touched his clammy forehead, she flinched. He was burning up.

  "Come on, Frankie," she said as she tugged on the duvet. He wouldn't give it up and she couldn't blame him. Despite his temperature, he was shivering like it was the middle of winter. It was so hot in the flat Marie was sitting in her bra and shorts.

  A loud knock sounded against the front door. Although Marie looked in the general direction of it, she remained seated. Frankie seemed oblivious to anything outside of his own private hell.

  After a few more seconds, Marie stood up and walked to the front door, picking the gun up en route. "Who is it?"

  "It's me."

  At least she was learning. Marie let Gina in.

  The petite woman entered, pulled her hood back and shook her long blonde hair free.

  "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't come over in case I'm being watched," Marie said.

  "I had a bad feeling. You look like shit; are you okay?"

  Marie teared up and led Gina to the bedroom.

  The second they entered the room, Gina gasped and covered her mouth. "Oh my God." When Marie looked at her, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Marie. I didn't mean to react like that. You don't need to hear that do you?"

  After a deep inhalation, Marie let it out slowly. "There's no reason to be sorry. It ain't pretty."

  "You need to get him to a doctor."

  "Look at him, Gina, how can I move him in this state?"

  A scratch of her face and Gina studied him for a few more seconds. "I know someone. He's very discreet. I have the money to pay him to come here." She stepped close to Marie and held her hands, her palms warm like Frankie's used to be. "I'll be back as soon as possible."

  Before Marie had had a chance to respond, Gina had pulled her hood up and left the room. Instead of seeing her friend out, Marie stood over Frankie as he continued to writhe and moan.

  ***

  It was hard to give the doctor the space he needed to work, but Marie stepped back and watched him examine the man she loved.

  After what felt like hours, the doctor stood up straight and rubbed his forehead. "It's not good."

  "I can see that," Marie said.

  "He needs plenty of rest and someone by his side the entire time. You also need to get him taking on more fluids."

  "What do you think caused it?"

  "It looks like an infection."

  "Could it have been brought on by being in an unsanitary environment?"

  "Yes." The doctor looked around the room. "I'd say that is almost certainly why he's ill; that and a terrible diet. Although, it would have to be worse than this place. It's really in his system. Where has he been?"

  That fucking warehouse! Marie looked at Gina before returning her attention to the doctor. The less people who knew, the better. "Will he live?"

  The doctor placed a gentle hand on Marie's shoulder and his words tore her stomach out. "Just make sure he gets plenty of rest, yeah?"

  ***

  After a few hours, Frankie spoke. "It isn't because I don't love you, you know."

  Marie snapped to attention. "Huh?"

  Through laboured breaths, Frankie said, "The reason I've always been a bit physically withdrawn. It's not because I don't love you, because I do."

  Although Gina and the Doctor were in the other room, Marie didn't call to them. "Don't worry about it now. Just concentrate on resting up."

  Frankie's eyes rolled before refocusing on her. "I have something to tell you."

  It was hard to hear his weak voice so Marie leaned in close.

  "I've always been cold because of my childhood."

  "Please, don't put yourself through this now. Honestly, it's fine."

  "My dad was an arsehole. Nasty piece of work." After a pause to catch his breath, Frankie continued. "He, more than anything, is the reason I wanted off the estate. I couldn't live with him a moment longer. He used to drink a lot, and when he came back from the pub, he and some of his mates would often come into my room."

  A piece of the puzzle was finally slotting into place. But did she need to know it now?

  "It's why I can't work in an office. Being surrounded by men who want to control and dominate me takes me back to that time when I'd lie in bed in the dark and get smothered in alcohol fumes and hot breath."

  Tears ran down her face as she rubbed his arm. "Please don't do this to yourself, Frankie. Not now. However you've been is fine. It's okay. We can work it out, but just not now."

  "I wish I'd taken my mother with me. She wasn't a horrible person; she was just scared and living under his control. If he wasn't going for me, then it was her. He used to pimp her out for beer money. He catered for all of his friends' sexual needs and desires."

  Marie's heavy frown crushed her forehead as she listened to his weak voice.

&nb
sp; The warm brown of Frankie's eyes returned for the briefest second. A single tear slid down his left temple. "I should have told you sooner. I'm so sorry I didn't."

  Then he faded again, his eyes glazing and his breathing growing shallow.

  ***

  The commotion in the room woke Marie up. When she came to, she saw Gina and the doctor standing by Frankie's side. The doctor was performing CPR.

  With her pulse galloping, she ran a hand through her hair and scanned her lover's febrile form. "What's happening?"

  The doctor hunched over and breathed into Frankie's mouth before pushing hard against his chest and counting.

  Marie tried to step forwards, but Gina placed a restraining palm on her. "Let him work."

  "But I want to be with Frankie. I want—"

  At that moment, the doctor looked up, his long face solemn. Instead of going in for another round of chest compressions, he pinched the brow of his nose, closed his eyes, and sighed.

  Marie's bottom lip trembled. "No. No, please, there must be something you can do?"

  The doctor didn't respond. He didn't need to.

  A shake ran through her legs before they completely gave way beneath her.

  It took all of her strength to crawl over to Frankie's side. No one stopped her this time. Marie's head spun and her vision blurred as she pulled herself onto the mattress beside him and slid into the curl of his cold body. The smell of stale sweat came from his skin.

  Racked by heavy sobs, she hugged the corpse of her lover while Gina and the doctor stood silently by.

  Then she felt it.

  Gentle at first, it felt like no more than indigestion. Then it came again; and again. With a hand on her belly, Marie bit her bottom lip and waited. It was small, but it was there. The slightest movement; the tiniest nudge… Their baby was still alive.

  End.

  ***

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  CHAPTER ONE

  About The Author

  Michael Robertson has been a writer for many years and has had poetry and short stories published, most notably with HarperCollins. He first discovered his desire to write as a skinny weed-smoking seventeen-year-old badman who thought he could spit bars over drum and bass. Fortunately, that venture never left his best mate’s bedroom and only a few people had to endure his musical embarrassment. He hasn’t so much as looked at a microphone since. What the experience taught him was that he liked to write. So that’s what he did.

  After sending poetry to countless publications and receiving MANY rejection letters, he uttered the words, “That’s it, I give up.” The very next day, his first acceptance letter arrived in the post. He saw it as a sign that he would find his way in the world as a writer.

  Over a decade and a half later, he now has a young family to inspire him and has decided to follow his joy with every ounce of his being. With the support of his amazing partner, Amy, he’s managed to find the time to take the first step of what promises to be an incredible journey. Love, hope, and the need to eat get him out of bed every morning to spend a precious few hours pursuing his purpose.

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  DEAD ISLAND: Operation Zulu

  Ten years after the world was nearly brought to its knees by a zombie Armageddon, there is a race for the antidote! On a remote Caribbean island, surrounded by a horde of hungry living dead, a team of American and Australian commandos must rescue the Antidotes' scientist. Filled with zombies, guns, Russian bad guys, shady government types, serial killers and elevator muzak. Dead Island is an action packed blood soaked horror adventure.

  Allen Gamboa

  INVASION OF THE DEAD SERIES

  On the east coast of Australia, five friends returning from a month-long camping trip slowly discover that a virus has swept through much of the country. What greets them in a gradual revelation is an enemy beyond compare. Armed with dwindling ammunition, the friends must overcome their disagreements, utilize their individual skills, and face unimaginable horrors as they battle to reach their hometown and make sense of life in the new world.

  Owen Baillie

  SIXTH CYCLE

  Nuclear war has destroyed human civilization.

  Captain Jake Phillips wakes into a dangerous new world, where he finds the remaining fragments of the population living in a series of strongholds, connected across the country. Uneasy alliances have maintained their safety, but things are about to change. -- Discovery leads to danger. -- Skye Reed, a tracker from the Omega stronghold, uncovers a threat that could spell the end for their fragile society. With friends and enemies revealing truths about the past, she will need to decide who to trust. -- Sixth Cycle is a gritty post-apocalyptic story of survival and adventure.

  Darren Wearmouth ~ Carl Sinclair

  SPLINTER

  For close to a thousand years they waited, waited for the old knowledge to fade away into the mists of myth. They waited for a re-birth of the time of legend for the time when demons ruled and man was the fodder upon which they fed. They waited for the time when the old gods die and something new was anxious to take their place. A young couple was all that stood between humanity and annihilation. Ill equipped and shocked by the horrors thrust upon them they would fight in the only way they knew how, tooth and nail. Would they be enough to prevent the creation of the feasting hordes? Were they alone able to stand against evil banished from hell? Would the horsemen ride when humanity failed? The earth would rue the day a splinter group set up shop in Cold Spring.

  H. J. Harry

  WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT SERIES

  The world is at war with the Primal Virus. Military forces across the globe have been recalled to defend the homelands as the virus spreads and decimates populations. Out on patrol and assigned to a remote base in Afghanistan, Staff Sergeant Brad Thompson’s unit was abandoned and left behind, alone and without contact. They survived and have built a refuge, but now they are forgotten. No contact with their families or commands. Brad makes a tough decision to leave the safety of his compound to try and make contact with the States, desperate to find rescue for his men. What he finds is worse than he could have ever predicted.

  W. J. Lundy

  Crash - Available now:

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