S.O.S

by Will James

“I want facts,” The Colonel snapped, “not excuses.”

  Zack watched them as they walked round a corner and out of sight. He let out a sigh and standing, he patted his legs and arms. To all intents and purposes he was still in the physical world or half in the physical world anyway. He didn’t know what had happened but he could still see the image of Molly in his mind and he was sure that was what had saved his energy from being annihilated; clinging on to her image. Whatever it was that had threatened to overwhelm him was one hell of a force and even though he was no scientist, Zack recognised the words ‘dark matter’ from what Dev had been talking about. Something here was linked to everything that was going on back at home. He didn’t know what it was, but he intended to find out. Still aware of the sound of the party some way up ahead, Zack took a deep breath and hurried on after them.

  He didn’t catch them up, but he knew where they had gone as he approached a door guarded by two soldiers. This had to be it – the glass banked lab. Knowing that he couldn’t risk an energy loss by trying to pass through the door, he stood and waited for someone to come out and leave a gap for him to slip in. He didn’t have to wait for too long.

  A young woman in a white coat came out of the lab carrying a long tube-shaped case. She spoke to one of the soldiers who nodded and while she did so, Zack darted behind her and passed into the room. The woman he noticed was escorted away by the soldier. Whatever it was she was carrying was obviously highly valuable.

  He stopped just inside the door. Although he could see some of this through the thick glass wall of the lab, inside he saw everything in detail and was amazed by what he saw. Banks upon banks of computers were manned by technicians working feverishly, bent over monitors flashing a dizzying array of statistics unreadable to Zack. Interspersed between the men in white coats there were others in uniform. Whatever was going on here concerned the army.

  Zack sidestepped a hurried looking man with his nose buried in paperwork and saw the group of men he had followed gathered at the base of a metal staircase leading down. He moved across to them and waited.

  “We’re ready,” Dr Stamn told the Colonel. “It has been set up.”

  “And you have enough dark matter for this second trial?”

  Dr Stamn hesitated. He wanted to tell the truth – to let the Colonel know that they were faltering, that the project was not proving as easy as they had originally predicted, but he didn’t dare. He knew the penalty for failure.

  “We think we have enough. Although we...”

  The Colonel raised his hand to silence Stamn. “Lead the way Dr Stamn,” he said, “let’s not waste any more time on explanations.”

  The men began to descend. Zack followed them. They walked into another lab, one long wall of which looked like some kind of steel reinforced concrete. It had one long, thin eye level slit cut into it, fitted with a reconstructed glass-like material, six inches thick which allowed a small view into the bunker beyond the wall. The men crossed to it with Zack behind them. Dr Stamn moved away and across to a computer screen.

  Stamn said, “Colonel, this may not be the sort of explosion that we know we are capable of...” His voice was shaking slightly. “We have had complications, collecting the matter has become problematic, it seems that this light has some kind of impact on it and...”

  There was a terrible pause as the Colonel seemed to consider what move to make next, but Zack didn’t wait to find out. He ran across the room and up the stairs. Someone was leaving the lab; he made a leap for it and just squeezed through the gap in the door. Then he was out in the corridor and running, as fast as he could back in the direction he’d come.

  *

  London

  The three muggers sat on chairs in what felt like a freezer, hands tied behind their backs, unable to control the things they were saying. One of them talked nonstop, about the light, about how it had felt like some kind of God thing, some kind of light from heaven – all the stuff he’d thought about for days afterwards but didn’t have the nerve to voice, wouldn’t dare voice in front of his mates and now, here he was, unable to move, his muscles almost paralysed, just spouting it all out in a stream of verbal.

  His mates sat and stared at him, their faces bewildered masks of derision. One of the others also talked uncontrollably, but his stream was vicious, uncaring. He reckoned the priest had it coming to him and that the light was some kind of freak lightning in a storm that passed in minutes. It happened, he had looked it up on Google, and he didn’t care about stuff like God or lights from heaven - that was all rubbish. Life was rubbish and people deserved what they got. The priest deserved his treatment, he deserved to die and he got off lightly.

  The assassin heard none of this; he was long gone. He was now on the right trail and he had a priest to see. He was getting closer to the light and it wouldn’t be long before he made the links and found it. It wouldn’t be long before he could destroy it.

  *

  A remote area of North Korea

  Zack kept running, around corners and along corridors. He had been on the streets for the past year and it had hardened him. He knew his way around and his sense of direction had been honed to perfection. The place was a maze, but he wasn’t defeated.

  Before long he found himself at the entrance to the bunker and in a lift on the way up to ground level. That was all fine and good, he thought, as he exited and slipped past the security guards, but he had no idea how he was going to get back to the capital and the airport. He stood in the blazing sun staring at the humps of sand covered bunkers and the wasteland around them and wondered what he was going to do. God knows where he was. He took the phone out of his pocket and checked it. It still had the time, but apart from that it was useless. He put it back again and sat down on the ground.

  So whatever dark matter was, the Koreans had found a way of harnessing it and using it; ‘explosion’ the scientist had said. Zack thought back to the long wall with the viewing panel in it. God only knew what was going on behind that panel but whatever it was somehow he knew it threatened everything.

  He stood and made his way across to what looked like a car compound near the gated exit to the area. A few soldiers from the DPR of Korea stood around smoking, one was working on the engine of a jeep. The heat sat on top of the concrete in a hazy film and there was no shade, but Zack didn’t register the temperature. He listened as the men chatted and then he moved inside the jeep and sat under the cover at the back of it. He lay down in the stifling shade and closed his eyes. He didn’t sleep, but this was as close as he would get to it. He had no idea how he was going to get away from the place, but sitting in a jeep seemed like the best option for the moment.

  *

  London

  Jenny sat in the garden on a deck chair and stared at the shed. Sophie looked at her mum out of the kitchen window and wondered if she should take her a rug. It was freezing outside, but she seemed to be perfectly happy. She was talking away and laughing every now and then. Sophie went to the coat rack and took her anorak down, pulling it on. She found a rug folded over the sofa in the lounge and picked it up. Opening the back door, she walked along the side passage and into the back garden.

  “Mummy?”

  Jenny didn’t seem to hear her; she was laughing and Sophie felt alarmed because she couldn’t see what her mum was laughing at.

  “Mummy?!” She called, louder this time.

  Jenny turned and looked at Sophie. Her eyes seemed almost glazed over and she didn’t seem to register her daughter at first, but as Sophie stepped forward with the rug, Jenny smiled at her and said; “You are a sweetheart Sophie, thank you. I was getting a bit cold.”

  Sophie handed over the blanket. “When are you coming in Mummy? It’s freezing out here.”

  Jenny stood and came across to Sophie. She bent and gave her a hug. “I won’t be long sweetheart, just another half an hour or so.” She glanced over her shoulder and smiled, and Sophie followed her gaze, but she couldn’t see what her mother was lo
oking at. She turned back to her mum.

  “I’m hungry,” she said, “when’s tea?”

  “Soon,” Jenny replied, “as soon as I’m done out here.” She straightened and rubbed her hands together, pulling her coat a little tighter round her. “Go on in Sophie and don’t get cold now. Go on, I’ll be in soon...”

  Sophie frowned and turned back towards the house. As she went she thought she heard her mother say, ‘of course she misses you – we all do...’ But she couldn’t be sure.

  *

  A remote area of North Korea

  Zack didn’t notice the change in temperature, but he registered the movement and the darkness. He didn’t know where he was when he opened his eyes and he didn’t know what had happened. He thought that he was still in the jeep, but it didn’t feel like the motion of a motor vehicle. He tried to adjust his eyes to the complete darkness but it didn’t seem to be working. He could see nothing – absolutely nothing. He sat forward and listened for any sounds, but there was only the remote churning of an engine somewhere - not close. He wondered what had happened and where the hell he was. He wondered what he was going to do and then he realised that he didn’t really care. He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. He didn’t really care about anything – except Molly.

  CHAPTER 17 - London

  Molly listened at the door, holding her breath as she tried to take in the conversation that was happening within. Her mother’s voice floated through the keyhole, not really audible, accompanied by the clipped tones of the woman from CAMHS, a sound that Molly had come to loathe. Pressing her ear against the plywood door, she caught just the end of the sentence.

  “...If you really think its important then of course you can see the records, but Molly doesn’t know so I can’t see how it might have affected her in the way that you say...”

  Intrigued, she pressed her ear closer to the door, but instead of answering conversation, she heard footsteps striding towards her. Quick as a flash she bounded into the kitchen, opened the fridge and busied herself with finding some juice. She heard footsteps pass the door and go up the stairs; then she heard the creak of the floor in her mother’s room.

  That had been close, she thought as she peered into the fridge, keeping up the pretence that she had come down for a drink - so she keeps her files and documents in her room. The footsteps returned and the door to the lounge closed once again on the quiet mutterings between the women. Molly didn’t want to take the risk of keeping her vigil by the keyhole – she wouldn’t be able to get away with it twice so she took herself back up stairs.

  In her room she sat down on the bed. What was her mum hiding? What was it that Molly didn’t know about that could have affected her? Molly put her hands over her ears to try and shut out the voices so that she could think straight. Was there some kind of history in her family? Out loud she said;

  “Will you all shut up for a minute?! I’m trying to think!” She heard a moment of silence and the echo of her voice and suddenly she wondered if there was mental illness in the family. Perhaps that’s what her mother was hiding? Was there a record somewhere of someone who had problems? Molly shook her head and lay down listening to the dull murmur of voices in the room. Whatever her mum was hiding from her, Molly knew at that instant that she had no choice but to find out what it was.

  Molly waited. When the house was quiet and she was sure that her mother was downstairs watching the telly, she switched off her laptop and went to the door of her bedroom, creaking it open to listen for sounds below. The telly was blaring and the chances were that her mother had fallen asleep on the sofa; she often did. Creeping downstairs, she peered in through a crack in the door and sure enough, her mother lay on the couch, head back, her mouth slightly open, gently snoring. It was safe. She took herself silently back upstairs.

  The light from her room spilled its eerie glow onto the landing, causing shadows to twist and jump on the walls. The stillness was creepy and the combination of the light and the shadows made the hairs on Molly’s neck stand up. She shook her head to clear it. This is ridiculous - don’t be so stupid she berated herself, it’s only the dark, but she couldn’t get the voices and the peculiar murmur of the television downstairs out of her head. She moved towards her mother’s bedroom, silently and stealthily and opened the door.

  Her last step though squeaked underfoot, and instantly Molly froze, petrified that the small noise would betray her. Her heart raced and she held her breath, hoping that her mum hadn’t heard. Seconds passed and there was no sign of movement from downstairs so she opened the door and went into her mother’s room.

  She stopped and took a good look round. The room was chaotic; evidently messiness was a trait that ran in the family. She tried to think like her mother, which was hard, seeing as they hadn’t properly spoken for several months. Where would she put valuable documents, she thought, what would be a good hiding place? Molly started with the bedside cabinet and slid the drawer open; nothing in there except pills and hand cream. She moved across to the wardrobe, driven on by curiosity.

  She opened the door and rifled through the clothes, the built in drawers and then she bent to look at the back. It was dark and dusty and a jumble of shoes littered the wardrobe floor, but stretching her hand out to feel all along the back wall, Molly suddenly struck something. She reached in and pulled it out. A box file. Carefully she sat it on her lap and opened it. Papers; important papers were haphazardly stacked. She began to flick through them, pages and pages of things that were mundane and didn’t interest her – road tax and insurance papers, some sort of mortgage papers, deed to the house, phone contracts. Nothing more interesting than that.

  She glanced round as a nineteen forties clock that her grandmother had left her mother chimed and she froze. Time was running out. What on earth was she doing? What was she looking for? She closed the file, replaced it exactly where she found it and stood up. This was hopeless and she didn’t have time to rifle through the whole room. She glanced at the clock again, thinking that she night just have fifteen minutes before her mum woke and came up to bed. It was then that she spotted it. The clock had been moved and the dust underneath it had been unsettled. Quickly she went to the clock and lifted it up. There was an envelope taped to the back of it. Molly peeled off the envelope and opened it. She knew exactly what it was when she saw it and she stopped dead, the breath trapped in her chest.

  As her trembling fingers turned the pages in her hand, Molly struggled to cope with what she was reading. She had a brother; a twin brother. She felt sick. Molly didn’t want to believe it and yet she held the adoption papers. They had been separated. Her mother had put him – Michael - up for adoption and kept her – Molly. The adoption papers told her everything. As she turned the next page a photo dropped out of the file, old and faded with time. A young boy’s face stared up at her, an angelic face, sweet and innocent. She held it and felt betrayed; all this time, all these years and she knew nothing. It had been kept a secret; her brother. Taking the envelope, Molly replaced the clock. She tucked it into the pocket of her jeans and went back to her room to pack.

  Whoever he was and wherever he was, Molly knew that she had to find him.

  *

  “Father Tom?” The voice that came from behind was smooth and friendly and Tom turned to see who it was. He thought, from the voice that he must know him, but the man in front of him he didn’t recognise and he never forgot a face.

  “Yes? How may I help you?” It was rare to get new visitors to the parish; God wasn’t very popular these days.

  “Hi, I’m Bill,” The man held out his hand. His manner was easy and open and Father Tom shook his hand. He looked at him. He looked young, with his large framed glasses and slicked back hair. He had a nice, symmetrical face that may have been handsome if it wasn’t for the eyes. Tom stared at the eyes and they stared back; there was nothing behind them.

  “I’m from the Morning News,” the young man went on, “and I know it’s late, but I was
wondering if I could ask you a few questions?” He had a press pass round his neck on a lanyard and Father Tom frowned then; there was only one thing that this could be about.

  “Oh,” he said, rather disappointedly.

  The young man noticed the note in his voice, and tried to placate him. “I realise that it’s not very pleasant to bring up what happened here, but I wanted to take another angle on the story, something more personal,” he said. “I will only take a few minutes of your time.” The young man smiled. “I’d be very grateful. I’m just starting out and I’m looking for unusual stories.”

  Tom was taken in by the man’s earnestness; there seemed something genuine about him. “OK then,” he said, “how about we go in here.” Father Tom waved the man through to join him in a small room off the main church. “We use this room for our liturgy group on a Sunday.” Tom smiled and shrugged. “As you can see, we’re not very well attended.”

  The young man nodded and smiled. Again Tom noticed that the smile seemed odd; it was all mouth and no eyes. The two men settled down in the small room to chat.

  The interview was polite, with the young man’s main focus on the nature of the light that Tom had seen; not particularly unusual given the fantastical nature of the saga. Father Tom tried to answer the probing questions as best as he could, but inevitably the man looked frustrated when he couldn’t come up with a reply to some of his questions. The questions began to peter out and the interview was pretty much over when the young man asked if he could use the bathroom. Tom stood and showed him the right door, across the other side of the entrance to the church. He went back to his chair and waited. He had never been interviewed by the press before so he had nothing to gauge this experience against, but if he was honest, it felt peculiar. The questions had been intense and the young man had seemed irritated.

  The assassin paused inside the bathroom door, appraising what he was about to do with a calculating mind. He removed his glasses, pocketing them as he prepared to enter the state of calm that was necessary for this work. The priest had not been as helpful as he had hoped, and now he would have to use other methods in order prise the information from him that he so needed. It was regrettable, but necessary he thought. The old man seemed pleasant enough, peaceful and reasonable, unlike so many of his fellows, but that was irrelevant. There was a job to be done. Turning, the assassin walked slowly towards the door, pausing for one last moment before unlocking it.