PULSE
By Matthew Wade
Contents
Part One - Teenagers
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Part Two – Greed and Confidence
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty one
Twenty two
Twenty three
Twenty four
Twenty five
Twenty six
Twenty seven
Twenty eight
Twenty nine
Thirty
Thirty one
Thirty two
Part Three – With friends like these...
Thirty three
Thirty four
Thirty five
Thirty six
Thirty seven
Thirty eight
Thirty nine
Forty
Forty one
Forty two
Forty three
Forty four
Forty five
Forty six
Forty seven
Forty eight
Part Four – The Ballad of Robert Finlay
Forty nine
Fifty
Fifty one
Fifty two
Fifty three
Fifty four
Fifty five
Part One - Teenagers
“Now everyone dreams of a love lasting and true,
But you and I know what this world can do,
So let’s make our steps clear that the other may see,
And I'll wait for you,
Should I fall behind,
Wait for me.”
~ Bruce Springsteen
One
Fishing. There’s a lot more skill to it than people realise. Of course it depends on what kind of fishing you are doing.
Fly fishing, for example, is a hell of a lot different to Angling. And even then you have Droplining, Jigging and Trotlining. It all depends on what type of fish you want to catch - and what type of water you are in.
You see Fly fishing is more for a lake, where the water is wide and calm, and you have to reach a long way into the lake to catch the biggest fish.
Trotlining is more for a fast flowing river. Preferably the ones you need to stand in with long plastic waders up to your armpits, and have a keen sense of balance. Many a man has lost his footing and been carried downstream by the rapids. Have to be a good swimmer to be a trotliner, let me tell you.
Dom Sterling used to be a fly fisher, but these days his legs went so good at standing him up for hours on end, so he preferred to sit. That meant he was now a good ol’ angler. He bought himself a nice comfortable outdoor lazy chair. Not a deck chair, but the kind campers use. Made of thick green fabric with lots of padding. Padding was important to ol’ Dom. Although his wife said that he had all the natural padding he needed to sit on, he still insisted on having extra cushions to ease himself into. Old bones need a soft seat.
Next to him were his little radio (not the new digital kind, though – the old fashioned kind that had a dial that crackled and whistled when you twisted the knob whilst you found a station), a box with all of his hooks and bait and another box with his lunch in it (two rounds of cheese sandwiches, an apple and a Bakewell tart). Everything was put in there by his loving wife, apart from the tart, which Dom snuck in when she wasn’t looking (Got to cut down she would say).
The last thing that was next to him was good ‘ol Stan.
Stan was Dom’s ever faithful Golden Retriever. Stan was getting on in years as much as Dom was. He (Stan, that is) had a slightly gammy hind leg, and like his owner, was putting on some weight. Stan wasn’t a fan of Bakewell Tarts, so he was snacking on doggy treats. Gravy bones, to be exact.
“Look at the stars, Stan. Aren’t they beautiful tonight?” said Dom, looking heavenwards. Stan lifted an ear, raised a quizzical eye, and then went back to his snack. “Nah, you don’t get it. Never will, I ‘spose.”
The only sounds were the occasional rippling in the water coming from the fishing line, and Dom’s radio, which was playing old blue collar rock and country hits. Bob Seger was telling some girl about tonight, and how no one needs tomorrow.
Dom pulled a flask from one of the pouches in his green chair, and poured some coffee (loaded with a little “Extra.” as Dom would say – another thing his wife didn’t know about) into the upturned lid – come – cup, and took a large slurp.
“Ya se Stan, fishing is like watchin’ stars. You have to be patient. All those stars up there have been burning bright for longer than you or I have been around. Longer than any folks have been around. Some of them, stars that is, are long gone already, yessir. You see the light takes a long, long time to get to us. So by the time we see it, it may have already burned itself out. So anyway, if you look up at the sky, you look at the beauty of it, you see how it is all laid out. You see how the ancient people of this world worshiped them how some modern folks still do. Whatcha call it now? Astrology I think. Load of ass wipe if you ask me. Anyhoo, the thing is, is that if you wait long enough, the rewards are there. Right in front of you. And that’s why it is just like fishing. All this natural beauty, all this lake and wilderness. All there waiting to be looked upon. Been waiting for us to come along for generations. But the patient man must wait to be truly rewarded. Although….” He lent forward and jiggled his fishing rod. “I do seem to wait longer and longer these days.”
Stan creaked his way to his feet and looked up at the sky. “That’s it boy, you take it all in. Jus’ take it all in.”
A shooting star trailed an arc across the heavens above them. “There! Did you see that? What did I tell you? The patient man gets his reward.” Dom leaned forward and made the fishing line dance in the water once more.
Stan whimpered and cocked his head to one side. Dom stopped jiggling and looked down at this faithful old friend. Stan barked once at the sky. “Barking at the moon, eh boy? First step to insanity old friend.” Dom chuckled to himself and looked up at the sky. Another shooting star began its journey across the blanket of stars above them.
“Ah, you see – we are being rewarded tonight.” The shooting star appeared to slow its path as it moved across their field of view.
“Huh. Not seen that before.” The star then arced in the sky and made its way back the way it came.
“Very unusual, very, very unusual.” Stan began barking furiously.
At Dom’s feet, Bob Seger stopped playing with the Silver Bullet band, and started playing static, as the radio he was coming from lost its signal, and started emitting a hiss.
“What is it, boy? What’s wrong? You smell something you don’t like up there?”
The shooting star was now weaving left and right above them. It had stopped moving across the sky and looked more like it was coming straight for them.
“What in the damn blazes is going on? Where’s my cell-u-lar phone? I need to call someone about this. The C-I-A or NASA or something.”
The old fashioned turn dial radio at Dom’s feet was now whistling, crackling and whining louder than ever. Dom had only ever heard that come from it once in a very bad electrical storm. He bent down to turn it off, but before he could reach it, smoke started coming out of the speaker. An acrid, white smoke that was heavier than air, so it poured out like liquid soup onto the ground.
Stan was now backing away from the radio. The unit suddenly shook, and the
n exploded in a flash of flames, sending pieces of it cart wheeling off into the lake.
“Holy Lord Jeezus Christ! What in the hell is going on here?”
Dom looked up at the sky, just to see the star dipping down behind the trees on the horizon. It didn’t quite vanish from sight, however. Instead it held its position in the air, but seemed to grow larger. Not larger, though but closer.
“I don’t like this, Stanley, not one little bit. Where the hell is my goddamn phone?!”
The trees at the other end of the lake made a splintering sound, and the tops shook as though there was an earthquake. Just as the front few trees burst from their hundred year old roots and crashed into the stillness of the lake, something bright came bursting from the woodlands as if were falling, or crashing.
Dom and Stan stood there dumbfounded as it roared toward them at speed. The light slammed into the man and his dog, obliterating them in an instant. It then smashed into the ground where the late Dom Sterling and Stanley the dog once stood. It dug itself a trench deep enough that you would not see it unless you were standing directly overhead.
The dirt and dust cloud settled down to reveal not much left. There was a crater thirty feet wide and about the same deep, and the tip end of a fishing rod lay by the water’s edge.
The rod jerked and jumped and slid its way towards the water.
The fish had finally bitten.
Two
“Good evening Delta flight one-niner-five-two this is San Diego tower, you are clear for take-off. Please proceed in a southerly direction and await further instructions.”
The skies above San Diego were mild and clear; quite typical for this early time of year. There was a gentle breeze coming off of the coast that served to keep its residence cool, and it was coming into the springtime tourist season.
Soon people would flock from all over the globe to soak up the California sun, drink its coffee and try to buy a piece of its lifestyle. The truth is that the lifestyle people buy into is the lifestyle they think that San Diego offers – The lifestyle they see in movies and on TV. Sometimes people will fall in love with an idea first, and discover the reality is oh so different.
“Good evening British Airways flight bravo-alpha-six-five-eight-two. Please begin your final approach into SAN, approaching from the north. Please be advised there is a five knot cross wind to the east.”
The air traffic was controlled by San Diego Tower at the San Diego International airport, and the supervisor on duty that evening was Paul Harrison. He had a team of fifteen people working underneath him, who all looked up to him as a sort of mentor and father figure. He supervised the tower all through the terror attacks on American soil that has been experienced in recent years and kept his cool when everyone else around him panicked and lost control. He was able to take charge of the many threats that have been made on the airport since – both the publicly known ones and the ones only him, his team and a select few members of the police knew about. But Paul loved his job.
“Estelle! Can you get my coffee now? I’m due on my break in five!”
“Good evening American airlines….”
Paul had been working for two hours and fifty five minutes. Normally after the first five minutes he is asking around for coffee. After Twenty minutes he could easily have polished of three cups.
Paul had a self-confessed coffee problem. “The problem is I can never make it fast enough!” he would say. But truth be told, he hasn’t gone a day in forty two years when he hasn’t drunk coffee. His excuse is always that he functions better on it. The reality is that he was so addicted to caffeine, if he were to suddenly stop, he would suffer the same cold turkey effects that a mid-level junkie would.
His doctor has told him he must start weaning off or start experiencing heart complications. So for that reason he is now taking what he has called half and half. Not the type of milk / cream combination that you find people putting in their drinks, but half normal coffee and half decaf.
It was his doctors’ idea to do this, with a view to slowly increase the ratio of decaf to normal coffee, until the point where his has kicked the drug.
Estelle came over to him with his special brew, and placed it on the small table next to his monitor.
Paul was sitting in front of several screens. The main central one was a green radar, with every aircraft marked as a dot with their flight call sign written next to it.
The second screen showed a list of every scheduled flight in and out of San Diego International Airport. The final screen was a chat window, which controlled the radio headset he was wearing, and links to the other controller’s’ comms. This was a feature that only Paul had access to, as he was the supervisor on that evening, and sometimes he needed to listen in and check that all of the other controllers were doing their job properly.
“Thanks – you’re a life saver.” said Paul.
“Nearly time for me to take over.” She said, looking at her watch. “You want me to log in now?”
Paul started to take off his headset and simultaneously rise from his chair when something caught his eye. A green dot appeared on his radar screen. That in itself was not unusual – there were lots of green dots on the radar all the time. This was different as it did not have a call sign attached.
Paul sat back down on his chair, and readjusted his headset. “Unidentified aircraft, this is San Diego Tower, please make yourself known.”
No response.
“I repeat, unidentified aircraft, please make yourself known. You are entering restricted airspace with heavy traffic.”
The dot moved quickly across the screen, it had started over Pacific Ocean, and now was headed north over the city.
The dot was moving very fast. So fast it looked like a mistake on the screen. At first, Paul adjusted a few settings on his computer, and then he adjusted the zoom ratio of his radar.
He tried one more time to contact the blip to no avail. By now other members of his team were noticing the anomaly and we also trying to hail the ghost rider on all radio channels they had.
The dot was about to cross one of the major landing lanes assigned to aircraft approaching the airport, and at a height that would cause a major incident.
“All aircraft on approach – put them in high holding patterns.” He ordered his staff. “Let’s take no chances with this.”
“Yes sir.” Came the response in unison.
“Contact the Naval base, we may need their assistance with this.”
“Yes, sir.” said Estelle, reaching for the phone next to Paul.
She held the handset to her ear, and pushed one of the speed dial buttons on the base unit.
“This is S-A-N tower, we are tracking an unidentified craft entering our airspace, can you assist?”
There was a pause on the phone while she listened. Paul continued to try and make contact with the dot.
“What the….”
She glanced at Paul who was leaning into his screen, looking puzzled.
“Hold on please, just confirming co-ordinates.”
“It’s gone.”
“What do you mean gone? It was headed north; you need to switch to a wider view.”
“I have – it just vanished.”
“Please be advised that we are no longer tracking object. Possible downed north of San Diego city. Please advise.” She listened for a moment, and put the phone down.
Paul looked up at her. “Well?”
“They said they couldn’t see anything. If we see it again we should call them back.”
“Call them back? That’s it? No investigation? No more questions?”
“No sir. Just call back later and then hung up.”
“You know they have to inform us if anything could interfere with airport operations.”
“I know sir. Sounds odd. Very odd.”
“Ok team – re-commence approach patterns for all landing aircraft. Inform the stacking group to begin their preparations.”
“I don�
��t like this.” said Estelle. “Do you think it was a glitch?”
Paul looked back at the radar screen, just as three fast moving dots left one of the Naval aircraft carriers and headed north out of San Diego naval Base, flying in a diamond formation.
“No Estelle, I don’t.”
The diamond formation raced north over the city limits and slowed as they got over higher ground. They watched as the planes made a systematic sweep back and forth over the countryside, then turn and carry on up the coastline.
Paul drank his coffee.
Three
The sound was becoming annoying.
Click, clock.
Maggie had been listening to it for almost half an hour now.
Click, clock.
She lay in bed listening to the repetitive sound instead of doing her English homework, which was due tomorrow. She was supposed to be writing a short story about “something familiar to her” or “a significant event in her life.” But the only significant event in her life she could think of was her mother dying of breast cancer six years ago, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to share that experience with her classmates.
Click, clock. Click clock.
“Write what you know.” Mr Osborne often says. Great advice if you actually know anything, but Maggie Finlay didn’t really know much about anything. Apart from the loss of a parent. And the noise from an annoying video game.
Click, clock.
She thought for a minute, and started flicking through the TV guide for inspiration. Tonight was “Dancing with the stars” and a repeat of “24.” and the family movie “Ratatouille.” Crap. Can’t steal anything from there. She thought long and hard for a moment. How about something like “I woke up one morning with magic powers.” God. Sounds like something my stupid brother would write. No it has to be something a little girl would like. How about fairies? Yes, that might work. “I woke up one morning and I was a fairy.” She could then set about casting spells to make all of the boys in the class worship her as a goddess. But not the ugly ones of course. That Stuart Gibson kid was fuck ugly. Wouldn’t want him all over her. Sweaty fat kid who keeps staring at the girls’ legs in class. Creepy. She shuddered at the thought. Blake Simpson on the other hand. Hmmmm. He could do what he wants with me. She bit her bottom lip and slid slightly down the headboard of her bed and closed her eyes.
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