The Collector Book One: Mana Leak

by Daniel I. Russell

  “Clarkson looked at it and smiled. There was a collection of small, interlocking circles in blue on the paper. He thought that this was the real design, and the rest of the presentation had been some kind of sales ploy to unveil it. Henreid and Pires also gushed over it. They offered me the contract there and then.”

  Anne frowned.

  “Well, what was it? You couldn’t have one of the most famous logos in history in your briefcase and not know…”

  “Oh, I did. See, earlier that day, I was making some late notes for the presentation. My pen wasn’t working well, so I pulled out a piece of paper and-”

  Joe made some brisk circular motions with an imaginary pen.

  “And they thought it was a design?”

  “Yeah,” said Joe. “More fool them.”

  Anne laughed. “Millions of kids are showing off that logo, and it was only your attempt to get your pen working?”

  Joe smiled too.

  “The board saw the rings as a symbol of unity and a nod towards the Olympics, yet my squiggle was beyond them.”

  “So why are you so bothered? You must have made some money from all this?”

  “I’m quite comfortable, yes. But it’s all a lie. My own work was looked upon as a joke. I have to pretend that the New World Design you know today was my brilliant idea, not a result of a faulty ballpoint.”

  Anne peeked outside.

  A Prowler had broken rank, and a group nearby pounced on the individual, snipping off its legs and shearing the body apart in a black geyser.

  “One less to worry about,” she said.

  “They really are restless now,” Joe said, also staring out. “They’ve been waiting out there for over an hour.”

  “Maybe they’re just standing guard,” she suggested. “Making sure that we don’t try and make a run for it.”

  A heavy thump shook the wall, and they both glanced up.

  “That sounded like it came from the kitchen,” said Joe.

  “But Frank’s still in there.”

  Anne leapt from the armchair and ran to the doorway.

  “Frank?” she called. “You okay in there?”

  Her hands shot to her mouth.

  “Anne?” Joe cried. “What’s the matter?”

  The end of the hall glowed with a powerful, blue light that beamed out from the kitchen.

  “Has Frank replied?” asked Joe, now at her side.

  “No. What do we do?”

  Joe squeezed her shoulder.

  “We’re going to have to go in there,” he said, the deep ocean blue of the light dancing in his eyes.

  8.

  Jake gasped, watching the Prowler get torn to pieces by its own comrades. Since Frank had finished boarding up the window with the bedroom door, Jake was transfixed by the vast army gathered in the street. There was a narrow gap between the window sill and bottom edge of the horizontal door. Here he crouched, knees leaning against the wall.

  Fear formed a weight at the pit of his stomach, like he’d swallowed a ball of lead.

  But bring them on, he thought.

  If he stood guard while they fucked around downstairs, fine by him. He stayed vigilant for the threat of another machine.

  The man with the red hair had showed them a few of his tricks: the things outside, the creature that came through the window and the Megathon. Who was to say he didn’t have more? More Megathons, or the destroyed remains in the garage could spring back to life. Who knew what could happen anymore?

  The Prowlers were disturbing, but the thought of another Megathon horrified him.

  If another one does come, he thought, it’ll march straight through the wall. Our shitty defences won’t stand a chance.

  And then the grinding will begin…

  He mentally shook himself away from this path. Thoughts of the Megathon preceded thoughts of Adam, and with that came the loss, the suffering and torment.

  Jake felt sick with grief. He understood how people could lose a limb, but still be able to feel it after its severing. The connection Adam and he shared as brothers, and twin brothers at that, still existed. He realised the temporary nature of this feeling. The real mourning would come later.

  His mother lay on a mattress beside him, blankets wrapped around her body. The clothes Anne selected for her were too small. The T-shirt stretched tight as she inhaled; her breasts pushed into two large, flattened mounds. She mumbled something inaudible and shook her head before sinking back into deeper and apparently calmer waters of sleep. Jake guessed what she dreamt about.

  At least she’s clean now, he thought.

  Jake had managed a quick wash in the sink as his mother showered. Some of the dried blood clung tenaciously to his long, black hair, but apart from that, he’d scrubbed most of it out. His clothes were sodden and became stiff as cardboard when they dried. Undressing removed most of the mess, and he felt a lot more comfortable in the clothes Anne had found for him. The grey tracksuit pants and a T-shirt with Homer Simpson on the front were far from perfect size-wise, but they felt good on his skin and smelled of fresh laundry.

  Jenny murmured something in her sleep again and rolled onto her side.

  He looked down at her.

  “You’re worried about your mother, aren’t you?” said Eleanor. She sat at the foot of the children’s bed, her hands crossed in her lap.

  Jake returned his attention to the gap above the window sill. He didn’t want to speak to her, finding it too awkward, too surreal in such close quarters.

  If we hadn’t broken into her house all those months ago, he thought, I might be able to look her in the fucking eye.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, young man,” said Eleanor.

  “I’m not,” he said, his back to her, “and don’t call me young man, old woman.”

  Eleanor chuckled quietly.

  “Don’t laugh at me,” he said, voice seething. “No one laughs at me.”

  Her laughter immediately subsided, but a small smile remained.

  “You know Jake, there’s no need for this kind of attitude anymore. Your mum needs you more than ever. She needs you, not this angry young man you’ve become.”

  He ignored her.

  “The young burn the brightest,” she said. “Don’t waste it.”

  Jake squeezed the window sill, his knuckles white. He wanted to be out there, finding the man in the bowler, making him pay. Receiving a lecture from the old biddy wasn’t part of the plan. His breath steamed on the cold glass as he blew out in an irritated hiss.

  Eleanor eased herself from the bed, careful not to wake the children. Both had slept silently since being laid down in the small room. She crept to the landing and paused in the doorway. Her head was cocked as she listened.

  “No, can’t hear a thing,” she said a moment later. “They must have finished knocking up the boards and things downstairs. How are things outside?”

  Jake grunted and shrugged his shoulders.

  “I see,” said Eleanor, returning to her perch at the end of the bed. “I’ll take that as a good thing.”

  Jake turned away from the window and let his back slide down the wall, until he sat on the floor next to his sleeping mother. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

  “I know you don’t think much of me,” said Eleanor. “I know you thought of me as the witch across the street, in fact. But we’re all trapped here, all in the same boat. The only way we can get through this is to put our differences aside and get on with it. If Frank and Joseph can do it, surely we can too? Let’s forget about the past. If there’s anything I can do…”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Jake muttered. “This is all my fault.”

  “All this? I don’t think so, Jake. I’m not sure how we’re involved, but he wants us all.”

  “Adam,” he whined, sounding like a child. “Adam was my fault. It was my idea to torment the man. It was me that riled him, shooting off my stupid mouth as usual.”

  “Who?”

  “Him!
The man. He killed Adam with his machine because I pissed him off!”

  Eleanor held a bony finger to her lips.

  “Ssssh,” she whispered, “don’t wake the children.”

  He nodded.

  “All this would probably have happened anyway,” she continued. “He wants the thing he calls mana and will not rest until he gets it. We don’t know what he is. We don’t know where he’s from. We can’t think rationally about this and try to point the finger of blame, even at ourselves.”

  Jake hung his head.

  “Look at the positives. You got your mother out, alive and unharmed. You both got here, where it’s relatively safe.”

  “These…these feelings,” Jake said, “they won’t go away.”

  “And they’ll be there a good while. It takes time to get over such things. Looking after your mother and doing right for your brother’s memory is what matters now, not placing the blame.”

  The sound of rapid footfalls drifted upstairs from the hall, followed by a loud gasp: probably from Anne.

  Jake lifted his head and met Eleanor’s eyes.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, but something’s definitely spooked them down there.”

  Eleanor looked at the sleeping figures of Jenny and the children. “Let’s wake them up,” she said quickly, already leaning over to the kids.

  Jake grabbed his mother’s shoulder and shook it.

  “Mum! Come on, you need to wake up.”

  Her eyes fluttered briefly then closed again.

  “Mum!” he shouted, no longer staying quiet for the children.

  Jenny groaned and opened her eyes wider.

  “Get up.” he ordered. “Now!”

  “Come on, young one,” said Eleanor, lifting Bronwyn from the bed with some effort. The girl wrapped her arms around her neck. Charlie slid from the bed and stood at the side, his eyes still half open. To Jake, it looked like he’d been hypnotised.

  “Mum. Something’s going on. We need to move. The kids are already up…”

  Jenny moaned and started to sit up.

  Eleanor led the children to the doorway, and stopped dead.

  “My God…”

  “What is it?” cried Jake. He tried to tug his swaying mother to her feet. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s blue,” she said, turning back to face him. “It’s all blue down there.”

  9.

  Joe shielded his eyes against the harsh blue glare that blazed out of the kitchen. Light shimmered off the walls, as if reflecting from the surface of a turbulent ice cold pool. His breath billowed in front of his face; the temperature in the house had plummeted to the point of freezing. He pressed a hand against the wall in a bid to feel his way towards the kitchen. The cold bit into his skin and irritated his cuts.

  “Anne,” he cried over his shoulder. “Are you okay back there?”

  After no reply, he glanced back.

  Anne stood at the bottom of the stairs, sweeping Bronwyn into her arms. Joe’s grandmother passed the girl over and said something to Charlie. The boy still looked shell-shocked, but a little more receptive than earlier. At the rear and still descending the stairs, Jake loitered with his mother.

  The gang’s all here…

  Eleanor walked down the hall towards Joe, also holding up a hand to protect her eyes.

  “Joseph,” she said, gripping his shoulder in her frail hold. “What’s happening in there?”

  “I…I don’t know, b-but it’s f-f-freezing!”

  “We should all go upstairs,” she said, “there’s nothing up there.”

  “Frank’s inside the kitchen. We can’t leave him.”

  “Then we’ll be right behind you. Right?”

  She looked back at Anne, who despite clutching her children tightly and shaking like a leaf, nodded her agreement.

  “Don’t c-come in until I give the word,” Joe added. “No p-p-point p-putting all of us in danger.”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his upper arms. Ice had formed on his eyelashes. He blinked it away.

  With a hand over his eyes once more, he staggered into the kitchen.

  10.

  Joe stopped dead as he stepped across the threshold and gaped at the sight before him. Flames engulfed the floor, walls and cupboards.

  The fire was the most beautiful blue; shades, deep like the twilight sky and light as a tropical lagoon, flowed over each other as if liquid, climbing the peak of the flames. The silent fire filled the room with a vacuum-like silence. Frank lay shivering against the wall near the doorway, icicles gathering at his eyes and lips.

  Joe again rubbed his arms.

  “Joseph,” his grandmother called from the hall. “What’s going on?”

  “F-F-Fire,” he managed, staring into the rising blue embers.

  “Fire?” Anne cried out.

  Joe blinked out more ice from his eyes. He realised there was no danger of the house burning down as the blue fire failed to burn at all. He saw the designs of the linoleum and wallpaper through the flames, untouched without a hint of black, nor was the air thick with choking smoke. The pans of boiling water on the stove had frozen into white blocks of ice.

  “Frank?” he whispered, as if he was afraid the fire might hear him and decided to move from the corner. “Are you okay?”

  “Y-Yes,” the teacher replied, his eyes not straying from the flames. “What the hell is g-g-going on?”

  “I don’t know, but we have to g-get you out of here or you’ll freeze to death.”

  Joe turned as Anne burst into the room.

  “Why are you taking so long? If there’s a fire we should-” Her mouth fell open, and the glowing fountain of blue flames shimmered in her eyes.

  She clutched the children, Bronwyn in her arms and Charlie holding onto the edge of her T-shirt. They also stared in complete awe.

  A hand closed over Joe’s, and his heart leapt before he saw his grandmother. The blue light emphasised the wrinkles on her face, making her appear even older. The flames danced in her ancient, brown eyes.

  “Do you know w-what this is?” he asked her.

  “I have a good idea,” she replied.

  Jenny and Jake, seeming nervous of being alone out in the hallway, had also crept into the kitchen and stood transfixed.

  Joe squinted against the light and held out his hand to Frank.

  “You need to get up,” he said. “Just in c-case we have to move q-quickly.”

  As the words passed his lips, the fire swept towards them. It licked across the floor, like glowing waves of flickering water.

  Some of the group started to back away to the door. Joe prepared to drag Frank out if he had to.

  “Wait,” said Eleanor, standing her ground.

  The fire gathered at the centre of the room. Joe felt the chill emanating from its surface. It formed a rough circle on the kitchen floor, still not burning the linoleum trapped within. The wall of flame began to collapse, folding in on itself.

  “W-what’s it doing?” whispered Joe.

  They all watched, mesmerized.

  The flowing mass of sapphire developed a more defined shape, the blue draining away as the flames seemed to solidify. Arms emerged from either side of the bulging fire, and a head popped out on top. The flames withdrew, revealing a kind face with warm, brown eyes. The figure smiled, and despite the lower part of its body still remaining in the fire, it reached out.

  “No…” said Joe. “It c-can’t be!”

  “Arthur?” gasped Eleanor.

  Her dead husband nodded, then winced, clutching his outstretched hand to his chest. The skin of his face sagged, as though the contents beneath the skin had been sucked out.

  “Arthur,” Eleanor screamed. “Wait!”

  The fire swept up, consuming the frail figure of Arthur McGuire; the blaze stripping away the features and leaving a roughly human shape.

  Eleanor wailed.

  “Look,” said Anne as Joe placed a c
onsoling arm around his grandmother’s back.

  Joe peered up.

  A tall, wiry man with small spectacles resting on his nose stood in the circle of fire.

  “Harold?”

  The group turned towards Jenny, who stared at the figure.

  “It can’t be…”

  The ghostly figure of Harold Dean smiled, the side of his mouth rising, before the flames rose and claimed him too.

  The bright eyes of Katie opened in the fire, and she stepped up, the blue light reflecting off her bald head.

  Anne wailed and held out her hand. Frank stared from the kitchen floor, silent and tight lipped.

  Faster and faster, the flames distorted and reformed. Katie seemed to inflate and shrink down to a hunched shape. Four legs and a snout appeared, and a Siberian terrier nervously looked around.

  A still weeping Anne kept a firm grip on her children. They attempted to run into the fire to save Betsy.

  “But Mummy,” Bronwyn cried. “Betsy!”

  Anne shook her head through her tears.

  The vision of Betsy vanished and a lean figure in a tracksuit stood in the circle, pumping a closed fist against his chest.

  “Adam?” said Jake.

  His brother smirked. He raised his fist and extended his middle finger. Laughing in silence, he waved it at his brother.

  Jake gawped in shock.

  Adam winked, swept into flowing blue fire.

  Tears flowed down Jenny’s face, freezing half way down her cheeks.

  The flames reached up to the ceiling and immediately shrank back. They flickered on the floor, ever receding.

  “It’s…going,” Eleanor said.

  A few solitary flames glowed, like blue gas lights in a small ring on the floor, before they too winked out.

  11.

  The Collector leaned against a lamp post, the shadow cast by the rim of the bowler covering his eyes. He swept his hair from his shoulders, letting it hang down his back.

  Down the street, the Harper house sat in darkness. The boarded up windows blocked the view inside, but also restricted the occupants’ field of vision. Confident, The Collector believed that even standing in the middle of Penny Crescent, they had no idea of his whereabouts.