The Society's Demon

by Matthew Lloyd

  Hans was a Boer, descended from white farmers, with sharp blue eyes that cut you just to look at them, and a thin almost lipless mouth that never smiled. As Jonas watched him that day, this mouth had formed a rare smile. He was pleased with the girl, unfortunately for her. As his men hustled her through the gate like a stray cow, he had pulled out his phone. Laughing, he had called someone and boasted in Afrikaans about his latest procurement. The holographic image hovering above his phone laughed with him as if they were laughing at a joke, and not someone’s sister, or daughter.

  That was when Jonas had vowed to take it from him. Aside from killing him, or burning his house down, which would have been nearly impossible given the security, it was the only way he could think of to hurt him. Contacts; and lots of them, his entire retinue of criminal friends and followers, would be stored in that phone, and a man like Hans probably wouldn’t think to keep a backup. He was too confident nothing could touch him, and that would be his downfall. If Jonas succeeded in stealing the phone today, he knew someone who would pay well for it. But if he was caught, he would end up floating in the river, his own throat slit and his mouth full of flies.

  Somewhere in that huge yard, beyond the barbed wire-topped wall, half-starved dogs lay in wait for anyone foolish enough to attempt to steal Hans’ precious scrap metal. He kept them that way because it meant they were even more savage and bloodthirsty than usual. Jonas had heard the stories, always told after dark and always whispered, from wide-eyed faces to open-mouthed youngsters. If a person scaled those twelve-foot walls and made it past the barbed wire, cameras and armed guards, they would likely end up dog food unless Hans saved them. As there wasn’t a single person alive who had faced the dogs and lived, that fact only created more macabre material for the legends surrounding them. The other kids were terrified of Hans. Not Jonas, he didn’t scare easy. When it came to those dogs, he wasn’t so sure.

  Upon reaching the edge of the grass, he parted the stalks and peered at the main gate. It was half an hour from sunset, and the light was weak, just enough to provide him with the cover he needed, but not so much that Hans would be too scared to leave his yard. Jonas had planned this the night before, going over the possible ways in which it could be done. There were so many variables, so much that could go wrong, and so he hadn’t fallen asleep until it was almost sunrise. But when he awoke, he knew exactly what to do.

  Pulling the torn strip of t-shirt from his pocket, he placed his stones within easy reach, and then wrapped the strip around his face and masking his identity. He hefted the biggest of the stones in his right hand and stood. Looking up at the roof jutting over the wall, he studied the design. He had seen plenty of big houses during his sojourns to the more affluent areas, to steal from those better off than he. Knowing the design of the houses he was stealing from was essential to his success and safety.

  He stretched, took a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly and calmly. Just as the breath came to its end, with his body relaxed and loose, he raised his arm and easily threw the stone over the wall. He didn’t throw it hard. It was big enough that if it hit the target, it would do exactly as he desired. He dropped his arm just as a muted explosion of glass filled the yard, followed by a tinny and satisfying pitter-patter as it rained down on the concrete below. Perfect. Now, it was time to wait. Hell was about to be unleashed. Jonas lowered himself into the grass once more and shuffled backwards out of sight, leaving just enough of a gap for him to see the gate.

  His body tensed as a harsh shout ripped the air moments later. He knew what was coming. Within seconds, the dogs were barking, a rumbling cacophony of blood-hungry voices that made the hair on Jonas’ neck go rigid. Even worse than the barking was the constant jangling of their chains as they fought to escape, the sharp snapping noise that signaled they were leaping forward, trying to tear them from the wall.

  The gate, one of those on wheels, was suddenly pulled to the side with a metallic squeal. Hans’ two Lieutenants stood there looking out on the grassland that fronted the scrap yard. For once, they actually removed their sunglasses, and he was able to see the whites of their eyes, gleaming like opals in the waning sunlight as they searched the landscape for the culprit. Hans had yet to appear, but Jonas was sure he would soon come running. He was maddeningly possessive when it came to his property. Despite the adrenaline now pumping through his veins, driven by a heart that thumped like a jackhammer in his chest, Jonas smiled. If Hans was pissed now, by nightfall he’d be on the verge of a heart attack. Jonas hoped he didn’t take it out on the girls, but knowing how short his temper was, he knew that was a good possibility. The thought quickly leached at the satisfaction he felt, until it was gone completely, and replaced with anger. One day, Jonas would come back for them, when he had made himself so strong, so powerful, that even Hans and the entire Sohalo criminal community couldn’t stop him.

  Hans announced his appearance with a strangled spewing of vowels, his severe Afrikaans accent making him sound permanently enraged. He screamed at his Lieutenants, who looked like they wanted to dig a hole beneath their feet and climb inside.

  “What’re you standing there for, you useless lumps of turd,” he yelled as he appeared in the opening, his arms gesticulating manically. “Get out there and find the bastards that did this!”

  Both men were built like tanks and could have crushed Hans with one hand but they were clearly terrified of him. “Right away, sir,” one of them said, motioning to the other one before heading off. From this point on, every second was vital. There was now only about fifteen minutes or so remaining before darkness fell, and Hans retreated to his house. Not only did Jonas have to avoid the guards who were walking right towards him, their handguns, like toys in their huge paws, pointed at the ground, he also had to initiate phases two and three of his plan.

  The two guards split up, one heading left, the other right. Jonas would have to be as still as the stalks of grass around him if he was to remain undetected. Hans glared at the grassland in front of his scrap yard, his angry gaze sweeping left and right, as he screamed obscenities.

  “You little shit,” he roared, spittle flying from his mouth in long white streamers like the shaving foam Jonas had once stolen from a house in Soweto. Hans had always looked like that, like a man who had just crawled out of a desert, the corners of his mouth clogged with thick mucus, and his eyes wild. “When I get my hands on you I’m going to feed you to my mutts, and then I’m going to take what’s left of you and hang it on this gate, teach you a lesson about breaking my windows…” He stopped for a moment, taking a long breath, one hand perched on his round hip. It had always puzzled Jonas, that inconsistency. How a man so unfit, with a stomach bloated by greed, who looked as if he might fall face down in the dirt at any moment, was so powerful. Already his pale cheeks were turning red with exertion, and his stomach rose and fell with each gasp. It was pleasing to see him suffering like that. His ill-gained money and notoriety couldn’t save him from himself.

  Jonas blocked out the chaos taking over the world around him. He had to remain calm. The guards were now wading through the grass either side of him, drawing closer and closer. He could hear them breathing, and feel the vibrations in the ground as grass stems snapped under their heavy footsteps. The dogs barking continued, on and on, occasionally stopping to growl and shriek as if they were so eager to be released it was making them cry with frustration. And Hans, when he wasn’t catching his breath, was shouting and cursing, sometimes at the grassland, sometimes at Sohalo down the dirt track to the right, and sometimes at the railway tracks running past his scrap yard on the left.

  Just ten minutes left, now, and still Hans hadn’t taken out his phone. Jonas might need to adjust his plan to manipulate the situation to his advantage. Closing his eyes, he took a long breath, held it in, and then slowly released it. He repeated this several times, breathing out all the panic, releasing the tension like water from a tap. When he was ready, he slowly
rose into a crouch. He took one of the stones and lifted it to waist height, his hand curled inwards toward his wrist like the claw of a dying bird. The thrashing sounds were close now, as the two guards converged on his position from either side. If he didn’t throw the stone immediately, they would find him, and he’d be dog food. The throw had to be perfect. It also had to be underarm, or they would see his raised arm and pinpoint his location. Luckily, this was a throw he had practiced many times before. Stones were Jonas’ secret weapon when it came to stealing, along with his ability to piece together future events using logic. If he needed to create a distraction, to draw someone’s attention for a split second, the sudden crack of a stone on a corrugated iron rooftop worked perfectly. In extreme cases, those times when he was cornered, a stone to the temple put his pursuers to sleep. Jonas rarely missed. The Bruisers could attest to that.

  Curling his arm back until his hand was under his armpit, Jonas sighted his target, then with the smoothness of a striking snake, he flicked out his wrist, opened his hand, and let go of the stone. His hand unfurled itself, and the fingers straightened, pointing in the direction of the target. The stone traveled so fast that it was almost too quick for the naked eye to see. His aim was as true as always, and the effect was instant. With a single loud crack, the stone struck the rooftop. Jonas watched Hans carefully, waiting for his next move. Hans spun on his heels and craned his neck to look up. As he did so, the stone began its clattering descent to the ground below. It sounded almost like an automatic rifle, Jonas had heard plenty of those in his short life.

  “Get in there, and see what the hell is going on,” Hans’ shouted at his Lieutenants. To Han’s, it must have sounded like someone was on his roof, knocking the shingles off as they moved.

  “What the hell is this?” Hans said, turning from his house to look again at the world outside his little empire. Jonas was relieved to hear the two lieutenants thrashing their way back through the grassland. This was almost a textbook theft. Jonas wasn’t like the Bruisers. They swept in with their clubs, and blades, spitting threats of death at their victims, with as much finesse as a hippo in a watering hole. Jonas, on the other hand, simply needed to know his victims. Having studied him for months, he was certain that Hans’ next move would be to call his backup at the police station. Then when they didn’t move as quickly as he liked, he would rage at them down the phone, giving Jonas his chance.

  Soon it would be dark, this was the window of time in which success or failure would become apparent. Above, the sun had already dropped out of sight, and the sky was turning dark blue. In the marshland behind him, just before the rubbish-filled river, the toads were already beginning to sing their evening song, and soon the insects would join them, in a chorus of clicking and croaking.

  The guards hurried through the gates and disappeared. Hans retreated to the gate opening but he couldn’t stand still for more than a second. This kind of thing didn’t happen to him. Ever since the murders of those who had protested against him years earlier his empire had stood untouched by those outside of its walls.

  Everything Jonas had seen of Hans suggested he was so set in his ways that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t behave in any other way than he was programmed to. At first, he’d be furious, but then later would come the fear, when he realized there was an unseen force outside his walls out to get him.

  In the dim light, Jonas moved through the grass until there was only a single layer of stalks standing before him, a thin screen separating him from his greatest challenge. There he waited, ready to spring into action the moment Hans began his usual routine. Just minutes left now. Soon the guards would be back, but Hans’ house was large enough to keep them busy for a little longer. Jonas eyed the back of Hans’ skull where the sun burned the skin through the thinning blonde strands. One well-placed stone would crack it open like an egg filled with gray goo, and end his reign in Sohalo.

  “Come on, Hans. Don’t let me down…”

  As if responding to Jonas’ request, Hans reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. With a savage shout and a gesture, he shut the dogs up. With the animals now silent except for the occasional whine, he turned back to the grassland. He looked at his phone and then made a call. His eyes roaming the area like two gray laser beams, sweeping from left to right. Someone answered.

  “You need to send someone over here right away,” he told the person, speaking to him or her like an angry father scolding his son.

  “Of course, it’s me you bleeding idiot!” Hans was staring at the phone screen as if he wanted to attack it. “Someone is down here playing games with me,” he snarled, glaring at the grassland again. “You need to get down here now and do something.”

  Jonas picked up two stones, one in each hand.

  “They’re breaking my bleeding windows man…” He paused and turned to look back at his house. “I think there’s someone in my house.” He began to pace backwards and forwards, walking inside the gates, then back out again as he barked at the phone. “If you don’t get your arses down here right now, you’re going to find yourself cleaning up someone’s corpse, do you hear me?” The next moment he turned and began to head back toward the gate, Jonas leapt up and sprinted at him, gliding across the ground on the soles of his bare feet. Hans himself provided the screen to the sound of Jonas’ footfalls on the dry earth with his raucous voice, but Jonas only needed two seconds of cover at most.

  Though Hans might see him, Jonas’ disguise would keep his identity safe. All that mattered now was the phone. Again, the timing was crucial. But Jonas had practiced this run up dozens of times too, just as he’d practiced the escape, timing each section of it with a watch he kept safe in his pocket. It would take him about six average strides to cover the ground to reach Hans. On the third stride, he threw one stone at the rooftop to the right. Hans’ head jerked in that direction, the phone hovered by his ear. On the fifth stride, he slowed his run and threw the second stone to the left toward the great pile of scrap sitting in the yard. Then everything happened at once, as quickly as the beat of a heart. Hans’ turned in the other direction, his hand dropping further as he moved reflexively toward the new noise. The dogs started to bark again. Hans cursed loudly. Jonas was at the end of his sixth stride, in one movement he reached out, plucked the phone from Hans’ grip, swiveled, and kicked off, running toward Sohalo. Before Hans had even begun to emerge from his yard, shouting like a crazy man, Jonas was halfway to the shantytown. As Jonas ran, he felt a sense of victory, not for himself, but for Sohalo. It was just a phone. It could be replaced. But for once, the tide was turning, if only for a brief moment. The darkness was almost complete now, turning everything but the lightest colors black in front of him, and Jonas soon merged with Sohalo, fading into nothingness.

  Chapter Two

  A Favor

  At first, Abraham was standing on a mountaintop; his booted feet planted either side of the summit. The world he saw around him was like an unfinished painting. He was the artist, his palette one of unlimited colors and shades. And his paintbrush wasn’t a brush at all, but his very own mind. There were no limits to what it could conjure, only now the images it created were so much more than mere visions. This was nothing like the continuously shifting pictures his mind sought to stabilize during his visualizations, as he attempted to imagine the likely result of a project or experiment. This mountain scene was not the disjointed, blurry landscape he went to sometimes when he needed to find peace during his meditations. There was no struggle to maintain its clarity, no momentary lapses of concentration that stole it away like a painting torn from a wall. This was as clear and pure an image as the real thing.

  Abraham had always wanted to climb a mountain. There was something magical about being alone on a peak, above everything and nothing between him and space, not even the clouds. He was too old now to seek out that dream. While in his mind, the yearning to reach those lonely heights was as strong as it was w
hen the desire had first emerged, as an eighteen-year-old obsessed with Edmund Hillary, in his body there was only weariness. Science had allowed him the opportunity to work with the greatest minds on the planet. It had also given him the chance to better the future for the generations that would follow him. However, it also meant he had no wife and no children. Once, when he had been a promising young student with farfetched ideas spilling from his mind, there had been love. But that love had lost to science. That love had died on a funeral pyre made of scientific research. Abraham had given the best he had to offer, to a career spent peeling back the infinite layers of scientific exploration. He had sacrificed the more human elements of life; like the love of a wife and kids, but perched now, as he was, on this mountain, one fashioned from within the folds of his mind, his choice was justified. Because future generations would profit greatly from his and Piero’s work. Inventions such as this, and ANI, would speed humanity’s journey to the next stage of evolution, whatever that was.