Pulse

by Wade, Matthew

  “Hey – I can’t help it!”

  “Babe I don’t wanna cook. Can’t we just order pizza?”

  “OK, that’s probably easier anyway.”

  They climbed off the bed and walked down stairs to the kitchen. Blake grabbed his phone and put it in his back pocket.

  The house was decorated in a very minimalist way. There were no pictures on the walls and no flowers or decorations anywhere on the window sills. The kitchen itself was very simple. The cabinets were a light wood with black work surfaces, and the cupboards has a few basics; Pasta, rice and cans of beans. Any food that was required was often bought on the way home or ordered over the phone. Not many meals were cooked in this kitchen.

  Blake went over to the phone on the wall and reached for the pizza delivery menu on the peg board next to it.

  “OK, we have meat feast, Hawaiian or Sicilian. The rest I wouldn’t bother with personally. Tried them all and those are the edible ones.”

  Blake’s phone started ringing. He picked it up and put it to his ear. “Oh hey – How’s it going? What? Yeah she’s here, hang on, I’ll pass you over.” he handed his phone to Maggie “It’s Tina.”

  Maggie looked puzzled and put the phone to her ear “Hi babe whatsup? I know I just wanted a bit of quiet – me and Blake are having a night in…Oh… What?! Oh for Christ’s sake! Can’t he just go home? No. Yes. He’s not! Oh for God’s sake! OK OK I’ll deal with it. OK. OK thanks hun. Yeah see you tomorrow.” She hung up the phone. Blake had walked to the hallway. “Blake? Where are you? That was Tina – she said that Bobby had called and that he was panicking about something. said he was trying to find me. Don’t know where he is.”

  “We do now” said Blake. “He’s coming up the driveway.”

  Thirty four

  Bobby looked a mess. He had taken two busses and a long walk to get over to Blake’s house and he looked like he had been up for days. His hair was dishevelled and his clothes were filthy. He was sweating and shaking and looked like all of the colour had long since left his face.

  As soon as Maggie saw him she put her hand up to her mouth in horror “Jesus Christ Bobby what the hell happened to you!”

  Up until this point Bobby had kept himself composed. He had avoided the sideways looks from people on the street and focused on finding his sister. He knew the police would be looking for him at home, so he sought refuge where he thought he would be safe.

  As soon as he saw Maggie, however, the stress of the night’s events came out and he burst into tears. “Oh shit, oh shit I’m in trouble Mags. I’m in so much trouble!”

  “It’s OK, come on Bobs, I’m sure it’s OK.” She caught Blake out of the corner of her eye and threw him an I’m sorry look.

  “Hey Bobby – Me and Maggie were just about to order pizza and watch a movie. Why don’t you join us?” Maggie mouthed thank you at him and they all walked through to the kitchen.

  “Something has been happening to me.” Bobby began. “Blake – have you got something electrical that you don’t want anymore? I need to show you both something.”

  Thirty five

  After nearly two hours and a smouldering heap of spent gadgets in the middle of the kitchen table, Maggie and Blake were stunned. It had followed a similar pattern to Stuart’s reaction several months ago. At first they refused to believe that it was Bobby that was causing these things to blow. They thought that it was some king of trick, but after they had gone through three old phones, a toaster, no less than eight lamps and several old toys that Blake had gotten out of the loft, they began with the questions.

  How did you discover you could do this? How long has it been going on for? How big a thing can you blow? How small? Have you tried making money out of this? Who else knows? And so on.

  After the demo session was over and he had satisfied their questioning, he started to tell them what had been happening these past few months. He started with the night at the lake and how he had been knocked out by a light and woken up in hospital.

  He confessed that it was him that caused Gavin’s phone to explode in school. He told them of him showing Stuart and them trying out items just as they had done just then in Blake’s kitchen.

  He talked of how they stole games from a record shop and how they tried to turn over the Apple store. Bobby explained the carnage and how he almost killed a man with a falling flat screen TV.

  “But then it turned really bad.” He started to fight back tears. “We got carried away.”

  “Oh, Bobby, what have you done?” Maggie had changed from looking at him in wonderment to grave concern for her twin brother.

  He started to explain the plan he and Stuart had developed to steal from a bank. He walked them through the cash machine and the inside of the bank raining money.

  “Wow – I would have loved to have seen that.” Exclaimed Blake.

  Maggie looked over at him, which shut Blake up.

  “But we got caught” said Bobby. “The Police showed up as we were trying to break the glass. They took us to the station and questioned us.”

  Realisation dawned on Blake’s face “Oh shit! Bobby was that you? The fire at the police station? The data being wiped? It’s all over the news. Oh Jesus tell me it wasn’t!”

  Maggie’s eyes darted between her brother and Blake. “Do you mean the thing that’s been all over the news?”

  Bobby burst into tears again. “OK, OK, shhhh, shhhh, it’s OK Bobs, we can try and sort it out.”

  “Maggie what do I do? They are going to find me and lock me away for good. They said if I cooperate and help them they wouldn’t press charges. But I know that means I would have to work for them. God knows what they would get me to do.”

  He paused for a moment. The silence hung heavy in the air. “I don’t want this anymore. I want to go back to the way I was before.”

  Blake stood and pulled out his phone.

  “Who are you calling?” asked Maggie.

  “My father. He will know what to do.”

  “Thanks Blake.” Said Bobby. “I’m glad you are on our side.”

  With that Bobby stood and yawned. “You mind if I crash here for the night?”

  “Not if you don’t mind the sofa?”

  “Not at all, thanks. Night guys.”

  “Night Bobs. It will all be okay in the morning. Sleep well.”

  Bobby laid down and was asleep in moments.

  Thirty six

  The water was moving with an ebb and flow that felt familiar. Very little light penetrated the depths of the ocean floor, but the sounds created a visual canvas.

  A fish yet unseen by man darts left and right, upwards and downwards across the field of vision.

  Walls of rock and coral surrounding them.

  A small opening in the cave above that led to the rest of the ocean above, but they live and sleep in their own world, undisturbed for centuries.

  Another fish moves and creates its own wake that they could feel amongst the ripples of all the other life.

  A high pitched pinging sound in the distance shatters the tranquillity. The electronic sound made by ships scanning the sea bed. Except this wasn’t a ship, it was closer, deeper.

  The sound of the vessel is getting closer, and descending towards them. Suddenly it stops, a rattling sound emits from its belly. Something heavy coming towards them. It strikes the top of the cave with explosive force, sending rock and dust flying around them.

  The whole environment is pulling upwards. The roof of the cave has broken, and the pressure change is causing the water to rush out, firing them up and out.

  The expulsion was immediate. The force sent everything upwards. As they forced their way through the currents, they could see the smooth metallic shape of the submarine as they raced up.

  Then the surface came into view. Smashing out of the water into the daylight, the air felt very dry and alien.

  Must find water.

  Bobby’s eyes twitched.

  Thirty seven

&n
bsp; John Winter was sitting alone in his apartment. He was sitting in his armchair with his feet up on an old brown leather stool. He had a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other.

  The plasma screen on his wall was playing a documentary about animals in the dessert and how they coped with the extreme conditions. It was showing a Shovel Snouted Lizard hopping from foot to foot, in an effort to keep its extremities cool.

  It reminded him of his days in Afghanistan and how he used to try to come up with ways of keeping his platoon cool during long missions in the acrid conditions of Jalalabad and Kabul. They used more sophisticated equipment than the simple Lizard, but in the end it still came down to finding shade and trying to use as little energy as possible.

  The program was coming to an end, and the screen was showing a phone number and a website indicating that the viewer, should they be interested, should get in touch to find out more about wildlife conservation and sponsoring animals in the remote plains of Africa and the Middle East.

  John scoffed at the screen and jabbed at the remote. He skipped through several channels, pausing every so often to see if there was anything of interest, but after a few minutes of aimless channel surfing, he got up from his chair and went to get another beer.

  Winters’ apartment was impressive in its space, and its simplicity. It comprised of one large living area with an l-shaped corner sofa in the middle of the room, a kitchen and food service area at the far end, and a large glass desk at the opposite end facing an enormous picture window.

  The apartment offered panoramic views of the Pacific Ocean from three stories high, and John would often sit at his desk and stare out to sea, watching the ebb and flow of the ever changing waters as he contemplated his life, and where it had taken him.

  He had been in the military for over twenty years when he was called into the Middle East. He was considering retirement at that point but they made him an offer that was too good to be true. And besides, he rather enjoyed the work.

  He was posted out as head of a special clean-up task force. Winter and his men were sent in after the main military operations had done the most of their damage, and would root out the straggling insurgents and discreetly put an end to their efforts. And their lives.

  It was meant to be quiet and covert, which suited Winter to the ground. He didn’t much like other people, and preferred it when he was given instructions to be as secretive as possible. Often he wouldn’t be in army fatigues, and instead would be posing as a civilian and, with the help of makeup and a voice and language coach, pass off as a local.

  Often the targets didn’t know what had hit them until it was too late. Sometimes he would go in quite literally with all guns blazing. But more often than not, he preferred stealth.

  Winter loved the use of a knife. He loved its simplicity and its efficiency. He loved how it didn’t require any ammunition, any heavy maintenance, and how it would never run out or jam when you needed it most. But most of all it was quiet. He could go in and out and make several kills without making any unnecessary noise, or rouse any nearby people. Sometimes it would be hours before his victims were found, and by then he and his men would be long gone.

  In some cases, which John enjoyed the most, he would work alone. He would spend days living in foreign towns, staking out the targets, watching their movements and habits, before he would make his move. He always preferred the cover of night, and would pride himself in his ability to be able to gain access to any building, any compound and give even the most seasoned security the slip. He loved to watch through binoculars as the guards would discover the bodies the next morning, and spend the next few hours trying to work out how he had gotten past them.

  His phone began vibrating across the glass table. It was a withheld number, but Winter only gave this number to a select few people, so he had a good guess as to who would be calling.

  “Simpson? Winter. Yes, I am. What’s the deal? Are you making fun out of me? Yes, yes I saw the news. Really? Really? Now that is interesting. Dead or alive? Oh, OK. Yes, yes of course I’ll be discreet. OK send it through.”

  He hung up the phone and smirked to himself. The Homeland Special Investigations Command Centre (HSICC) was one of his favourite organisations. They had access to the government, to the feds, but were allowed off their leash to operate as they pleased. As long as it could be wrapped up as “national security” then they could do what they liked. And they paid very well too. And they wanted him to work alone. Perfect.

  As he stood watching the ocean, his laptop beeped to indicate a new email. When he double clicked it to open the first attachment, it was a photograph of a teenager in an emo band t-shirt.

  Along with it were files about background radiation, electrical interference and other scientific theories and phenomena.

  He read these for a while and then read the rest of the email.

  At the bottom was a video link to YouTube. John clicked on the link. The web browser on his computer opened and the video started to load.

  Winter sat and watched as the clip started. He glanced at the clock and saw that it lasted two minutes and fifty five seconds.

  A bunch of drunk kids appeared on screen. John maximised the player. It had obviously been recorded on a phone, due to the shaking of the image, and the low light grainy quality of the picture.

  He guessed that the footage had been recorded by a male, as young girls were dancing up close to him, giving him the eye.

  One of the men in the group came up to the camera and gazed at the screen for a few seconds, eyes bleary red and un-focussing, clearly on the point of falling over through drink, and slurred something incomprehensible before holding his beer in the air and shouting “Yeah! Woo!”

  Winter sighed at the screen. Is this what I have to sit through? He thought. There better be a point to all of this.

  The camera then focused on a group of girls dancing next to him. The image tilted down towards their legs, and then back up their bodies, stopping at the chest level.

  One of the bleary eyed girls noticed him doing it and walked over to the screen, teetering to the left as she walked, just about keeping her balance.

  She let her beer fall to the ground and grabbed the bottom of her crop top. She yanked it up to her neck, allowing her large breasts to spring down from underneath. She shook her shoulders to make them swing back and forth, bouncing off of each other as she did it.

  John allowed himself an inward chuckle as the boys next to her stood and gawped. Teenage boys. He thought. Full of confidence until a girl comes along and flashes you and you become riveted to the spot. Don’t worry lads; she’ll be in a strip joint in a couple of years. And not as a punter either. You can go see them all you want.

  The partying was momentarily halted by a commotion further across the lake.

  The camera swung around the see an overweight kid running down the bank. He was obviously in distress, and was trying to get the attention of the group, but he was so out of breath all he could manage was “Heeaaayllllp!” This seemed to trigger laughter and abuse from the other party goers. This kid was obviously an outcast, and probably bullied a lot.

  The screen fizzled and flickered, and came back into focus. The clip had eight seconds remaining, which was filled with beer cans being thrown at the poor fat boy. The clip ended.

  John played it again, and scrolled through to the end. He replayed the section that crackled, and leaned in closer to the screen. Electrical interference? Almost like when you put your microwave on, and the kitchen TV starts to fuzz over.

  But there was something else. He turned the volume all the way up on his computer and relayed that section. In the background, behind the cheering and taunting teenagers, there was an electronic noise. No, not purely electronic, more of a throb, some kind of hum or static, with a low undertone. It was hard to make it out through his computer speakers.

  He selected the video and started to download it to his hard drive. Whilst it was copying, he opened up a
sound editing software he kept on his machine.

  As soon as the file was downloaded, he imported it into the sound editor and blew it up to full screen. He scrolled to just before the interference, and highlighted it. He dragged the section of sound into another folder he labelled “static.” Now to amplify the background. His screen showed him all of the isolated frequencies in the sound clip. There were seventeen. He started playing them back one by one.

  “Look at him man, he’s such a fat fuck! Look at him wobble – that shit’s retarded!”

  No. Next.

  “Haha! Fuck man!”

  No.

  “I’d love to grab those titties man and….”

  Sigh. No.

  “Heeaaayllllp!”

  No again.

  “Whuuuummm.”

  Shit. What was that? He played it again.

  “Whuuuummm.”

  He brought up the wave form on screen and looked at it. He then opened up the other attachment on his email. It was a series of graphs and charts talking about something called “Hawking radiation.” One of the graphs was a waveform of residue picked up from a botched bank raid. He paused for a minute and wondered.

  He copied the file and dragged it into his sound software. He told his computer to play the image of the graph as a sound.

  “Not a recognized audio file type” came up on his screen. Damn. That was rather optimistic. How about the other way around?

  He highlighted his “Static” folder and told it to Interpret sound clip as data. The computer showed an hour glass as it processed the information. When it had finished, and image appeared on the screen. He put the image on the left hand side, and sent the image of the Hawing radiation to the right.

  “Well I’ll be….” He said. “Looks like there is definitely something in the air here.”

  He then brought up the picture of the teenager in the emo shirt. “And you are not at the party young man, are you?” He looked down at the name under the photograph.