The Cull

by Jon Jacks

  ‘And about how many million miles of wire?’ I add, trying not to sound too downhearted.

  *

  Chapter 24

  I wouldn’t have been able to get any of the other kids to help me, but somehow Pat and Jolie between them have managed to round up kids from just about every class to collect and setup the speakers.

  Word’s getting around that it’s going to be the music event to end all music events. Music playing everywhere, unavoidable. A massive street party.

  Pat’s got all the wires he needs from some dump yard.

  It’s amazing how many people have spare speakers knocking around their homes, from old computers to even older HiFi players that have been shoved in the garage.

  The school itself has large, powerful speakers in the hall and the music department that Pat sets up in readiness to be hooked into the system when we need them.

  Boosters, amplifiers, and all sorts of decks come from all those kids who have formed bands only to lose interest when they realised they were never going to get beyond bookings at weddings and dodgy clubs.

  Wiring is being spliced, taped, rolled out and connected via the amplifiers and boosters to Jolie’s computer (Pat and his family are living in a hotel for the moment).

  Jolie’s dad seems strangely indifferent to all the comings and goings in his house, like he’s got more important things on his mind. Her mum’s not around, ‘away for a few months receiving treatment,’ Jolie explains.

  I don’t like to ask what Jolie’s mum is suffering from. Jolie doesn’t appear to want to go into details, although when she explained why her mum wasn’t around she sounded bright and hopeful rather than down.

  She enthusiastically throws herself into organising the setting up of the speakers. She’s even persuaded a few of the kids to meet me and say hello without shying away as if my touch, even my glance, is deadly.

  Altogether, but not counting myself and Pat, we’ve got one-hundred and fifty-three kids helping us.

  I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad sign.

  *

  It starts to rain.

  I mean really rain.

  Like the whole of the country has somehow been transported to an equatorial area regularly suffering tropical storms.

  It pounds down on the ground. It bounces off roofs.

  Running through it, you get drenched in seconds. It even soaks through your coat.

  ‘It’ll pass,’ Pat assures everyone. ‘Move the speakers to more sheltered spots. Cover the wires and any electrical points in polythene, plastic bags, anything waterproof you can get your hands on.’

  The rain doesn’t pass.

  It gets heavier.

  Cars have their full beams on in an attempt to see where they’re going through the murky downpour.

  It’s hard to see where the road ends, where even the houses let alone the kerb starts.

  The rain blends everything into an indistinct grey mass.

  ‘How can we have a party in this?’ the kids wail.

  Their enthusiasm’s waning.

  They’re soaked, mud-splattered, weary.

  ‘It’s like even the weather’s against us,’ Pat moans.

  I glance up at the dark storm clouds from beneath my dripping hood. Every now and again there’s a bright flash of lightning, a thunderous boom, like the far off guns of a battle that’s gradually drawing closer.

  ‘I’ve never known weather like this.’

  ‘Didn’t Gariel say something about weather being controlled by frequencies?’

  Even though Jolie’s hooded coat is soaking wet, she’s still smiling, still bright-eyed.

  Pat anxiously looks my way.

  ‘You don’t think…?’

  I nod.

  ‘I think.’

  *

  Chapter 25

  Putting such a large system of speakers together was never going to be easy.

  In the violently pouring rain, it’s even more difficult.

  The raindrops batter against your hood deafeningly.

  You slip, you slide, the wet ground like an ice rink. And that can be very painful if you’re carrying a heavy speaker at the time.

  Keeping all the electrics dry as you’re installing them is only made possible by huddling in groups beneath interlocking shells of large umbrellas.

  All the kids have now been told the truth.

  It was the only way we could keep them working in this weather.

  There isn’t going to be a party.

  There isn’t going to be a musical event that’ll just blow the school away.

  We’re actually trying to prevent the school being blown away.

  The most amazing thing of all this is that the kids actually believed us.

  Or, rather, they believed Jolie.

  Those innocent doe eyes of hers make her very persuasive, very convincing.

  I suppose what she’s telling them finally explains all the bad luck the school seems to have been experiencing lately.

  Suddenly, all those deaths the school’s suffered cannot only be explained but given a cause.

  Now when the kids look at me, they’re not quite so terrified anymore.

  Some of them, when they pass me, they even stare at me with what I think might be admiration.

  I’m not exactly sure what Jolie’s telling them.

  But if I did know what it was, I’d go around telling everybody.

  *

  Now when the thunder roars, the ground itself seems to be shuddering.

  Trees crack loudly, like they’re being torn apart by their roots.

  There have already been a few minor landslides across the hills surrounding the town.

  The ground has been turned into a viscous sludge. When the wind whips through their branches, it uproots trees that no longer have a firm hold on the soil.

  On any reasonably steep slope, this leads to a steady movement that gradually builds. Soon it begins to pick up anything in its way, adding to its own mass and power along the way.

  A small storehouse on the edge of town has already been crushed and buried under one of these avalanches.

  Shattered boulders lie amongst the sludge, as if the very rock itself has been ripped away in the onrush of debris down the hillside.

  ‘You know, all this reminds me of our house; when it disappeared down that sinkhole.’

  At first, I think Pat means that the wreckage of the shattered storehouse amongst the rocks and mud brings back painful memories for him. But far from looking sorrowful, he’s deep in thought.

  ‘You mean…you’re wondering if it was such a natural event after all? Wondering if Gariel caused it?’

  He turns to me, nods.

  ‘If he did, it means he’s controlling more than the weather.’

  ‘Would that be possible?’ I say. ‘You’re saying you think he’s making the rocks themselves shatter? It’s not the landslides tearing up the rocks; it’s the cracking of the rock causing the landslides?’

  He nods again.

  ‘Can’t you hear it?’

  He tips his head slightly, like he’s straining to hear a particular sound amongst all the howling and battering of the rain.

  ‘I can’t hear anything,’ I admit, ‘unless you just mean the sound of the storm.’

  ‘No, not the storm.’ He shakes his head, frowns anxiously. ‘There’s a humming tone behind it all.’

  ‘The MI tone?’

  He shakes his head again.

  ‘No, this is more discordant, edgier.’

  ‘Discordant? But wasn’t that supposed to be our weapon against him?’

  ‘I could be imagining it.’

  He takes out his mobile, pushes a few buttons.

  ‘This has got a mic app,’ he says, bringing up on the screen a moving graph of the frequencies the inbuilt microphone is picking up.

  It’s a jumble of violently waving lines. He pushes a few more buttons.

  ‘I just need to remove the sounds
of the storm it’s picking up, get it to focus on constant tones – yes, there it is, see?’

  Now there’s just the one line, registering a regular tone.

  ‘That shouldn’t be there,’ he says.

  He glances up at the surrounding hills.

  ‘Gariel’s causing all this all right; and he’s controlling the very ground we’re standing on.’

  *

  Chapter 26

  Undulating like languorously exercised muscles, the storm clouds rolling above us are so dark it could be late evening for all the little light we have.

  We’re heading up into the hills. Up to where the small river that runs through the town splits off as an offshoot from the larger river Ner.

  The Ner continues down another, more or less uninhabited valley, a much gentler slope to the more precipitous route our own river Afon takes before it flattens out and passes through town.

  That means a tiring walk for us. Although the Afon valley is the easiest way from town up into the hills, it’s still steep enough to require a winding road.

  ‘Do you know what most rivers are called?’ Pat asks the handful of kids who have come with us, trying to take their minds off their aching, soaked feet.

  They shake their heads.

  ‘Don’t know,’ one of them says. ‘What?’

  ‘River,’ Pat answers, ‘or water. Like the Afon; it’s just a word from an older language meaning river.’

  ‘So this is the River River?’ another one of the kids asks.

  ‘That’s right; as is the Humber, Mississippi, Connecticut, Tyne, and quite a few others.’

  When we get to where the Afon breaks away from the Ner, even through the distorting heavy rain we can tell it’s a hive of activity. Council workers and engineers are inspecting the banks as if, like us, they fear that they might be ready to break.

  They’re obviously not going to go letting a bunch of kids just stride up to see what’s going on. I draw close to the nearest worker, shouting at him over the thunderous noise of the overflowing rivers and the pounding rain.

  ‘Is it safe? Will it hold?’

  He nods, smiles reassuringly.

  ‘We’re just shoring up the mud banks to be on the safe side. Everything’s fine.’

  I glance behind, back towards the town nestled in the valley below us. Veiled in the thick greyness of the rain, it already looks like it’s been drowned in a deluge of murky water.

  ‘Don’t you think you should evacuate the town just in case?’ I cry out to the man.

  He shakes his head.

  ‘We’ve had engineers and geologists checking everything out there. Worse scenario is, the soil banks give way. It’d be a bit more water than we’re used to, sure, but won’t be a catastrophe. Safe as houses, love, safe as houses.’

  ‘But what if the banks completely break? The whole River Ner will come flooding down the valley, won’t it?’

  He shakes his head, smiles like he reckons he’s dealing with an idiot.

  ‘No way that’s gonna happen. Underneath the upper soil bank, it’s solid rock. Been there for centuries. Be there for centuries more too!’

  Pat’s alongside me. He’s been listening too.

  We swap anxious glances.

  The engineers aren’t taking into account a guy who can crack rock.

  If we’re right, Gariel is building his frequency up until he’s ready to shatter it.

  And once this river bank goes, it’s not just the whole school that’s gonna disappear off the map.

  It’s the entire town.

  *

  Chapter 27

  We move away from the work party, partially heading back down the hill so that we’re out of their sight.

  ‘We haven’t got any choice,’ I say to Pat and Jolie. ‘We’re going to have to call him; I’m going to have to talk to Gariel to see if there’s anything I can do to persuade him to call all this off.’

  ‘But the discordant tones!’ Pat protests. ‘We haven’t tried them yet!’

  ‘These are the discordant tones Gariel seems perfectly capable of using to his own advantage, right?’

  ‘But there are others than the one he’s using,’ Jolie says. ‘We just have to try a few–’

  ‘By which time the whole town might have ended up under water. We don’t know how long it will take to find a tone that causes him trouble. We don’t even know if there is one. We settled on this idea because it was the only one we had. And that was before we realised he could use discordant tones himself, in his case to destroy things.’

  ‘Okay, try talking to him then,’ Pat agrees. ‘But what can you offer him? This book we still haven’t found?’

  I turn to Jolie.

  ‘Call him please Jolie.’

  Jolie begins to hum, letting her humming build until it’s a deeply relaxing tone.

  Even in the pouring rain, everyone suddenly seems at ease, peaceful.

  Resigned.

  I’ve let the kids stay to see Gariel.

  They might as well. They deserve it; they’ve worked hard.

  They’ve trusted us.

  Now they can see that we were telling the truth.

  As one, they gasp in awe as the light before us begins to shimmer, brighten.

  Like a burst of light in a darkened room, Gariel suddenly appears before us.

  Some of the kids fall on their knees, even though the floor’s soaked, muddy. Others gape, their mouths hanging open.

  Is it any wonder those people with the dying children wanted to believe he was an angel?

  Gariel doesn’t seem to mind the presence of the others. Perhaps he’s no longer interested in keeping his identity secret.

  ‘Jasmine? Why did you call me?’

  ‘I want you to spare the town. Whatever it is you want me to do, I’ll do it.’

  He seems amused.

  ‘It’s not quite as simple as that though, is it?’

  ‘What do you mean? This book; just tell me what it is, and I’ll give it to you. Even if I have to spend the next ten years writing it.’

  ‘But as I explained earlier, you have already granted us the Book.’

  ‘Then what more do you want?’

  ‘The Perfection. The Book alone will not create The Perfection. You must create the grounding for the beliefs to flourish and spread.’

  ‘I’ll do it; I’ll make sure the book or whatever it is spreads, flourishes.’

  ‘Whatever it is? You see? You still do not understand; you cannot accomplish when you do not understand.’

  ‘Then tell me! Tell me what it is, and I’ll do it!’

  ‘I cannot tell you. It has to come from within you to be genuine, to be The Perfection.’

  ‘But this is crazy!’ I wail in frustration. ‘You’re tying me in knots here! You’re going to wipe out a whole town just to make me realise…what? I don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to realise! Chances are, you’ll kill everyone and I still won’t give you what you want! Why are you making me responsible for the death of a whole town?’

  ‘Because you are responsible for the saving of billions.’

  ‘What gives you the right to do this?’ I scream furiously.

  He remains calm.

  ‘Ultimately, when all things are balanced, the saved against the dead, I do no wrong.’

  ‘And who determines that? Who determines that, “on balance”, everything’s fine?’

  ‘God has spoken through The Perfection. We are the Truth. We are the Word.’

  ‘I could kill myself.’

  I say it out of desperation. Pat and Jolie and the kids are all shocked. But they don’t interrupt, obviously hoping I know what I’m doing.

  I don’t.

  I’m hoping something important dawns on me pretty quickly, so I can begin to resolve this dilemma.

  ‘If I kill myself, there’s no Perfection. Your mission fails.’

  ‘You would kill yourself to save a town?’

  I nod. />
  Do I really mean it?

  Probably not; I can’t see that it’s easy, killing yourself.

  ‘Yet you admonish me,’ he continues, ‘for killing a town for the sake of the billions you are destined to save.’

  ‘There’s a massive difference!’ I insist.

  ‘To save the town, you would kill me if you could?’

  I nod again, this time more surely.

  ‘You would kill me for the sake of what you believe is right?’

  ‘I would kill you to save an entire town.’

  He shrugs, like the difference is debatable, minor.

  ‘I don’t believe you could kill yourself,’ he says. ‘Or persuade any of your followers to do it for you.’

  He looks over towards the others questioningly. You can see from their wary faces that he’s right: even to save the town, to save their own families, it would be almost impossible to persuade them to cast me into the river, or push me off a cliff.

  ‘Besides,’ he adds with a wry smile, ‘as I have said, we have accounted for the fact that there will be failures in some worlds. And who knows? Perhaps your very sacrifice would persuade your followers to complete the grounding of the Perfection.’

  He looks over them once again, smiling benevolently, knowingly.

  They’re all still awed by his presence. Even Pat.

  It’s hard not to be impressed by someone so certain of the righteousness of their cause.

  ‘My mission is almost completed here,’ Gariel says with a satisfied sigh. ‘It requires just one more small piece to begin the finalisation of the whole. Just one more discovery for you to make, so that you may realise that which you already know. I am so close; I cannot give up now!’

  His body quivers, the light rippling like it’s alive.

  Then he’s gone.

  *

  The earth itself rumbles ominously, like a waking dragon.

  The ground beneath our feet shakes. There isn’t one of us who isn’t suddenly unsteady on their feet.

  We all swap anxious, frightened glances.

  Over the hills, a lightning flash briefly illuminates the peaks.

  The crack of burning air and the menacingly rumbling thunder makes us jump. We instinctively yet foolishly duck.

  The rain becomes an even more aggressive downpour, striking us, pummelling the ground, like each drop is a steel ball bearing.