IMPACT_A Post-Apocalyptic Tale_The Complete Series

by Matthew Eliot

  There was no need to elaborate further. Don was somewhere in Atlantis. They didn’t want to bump into him, unarmed.

  “Yes. Sure. We will.”

  A lonely, crazy howl broke out, somewhere far within the base. Don.

  Their blood turned cold.

  “Fucking hell,” said Walscombe.

  Silence. The howl was followed by a burst of haunting, insane laughter.

  Chapter 4

  The Healer

  Adrian had never seen so many meteorwraiths.

  They were gathered in the square in front of the castle. About a hundred of them, men and women, all crying out, fists raised. His eyes lingered on the swollen lumps on their bodies, the patchy hair, the missing fingers and ears.

  As soon as he spotted them, he squeezed Paul’s hand tight (Alice was walking close by, holding Cathy’s hand). “Father Paul, is this safe…?”

  The priest looked at him. He was concerned, but not afraid. Adrian couldn’t understand it. They were walking straight towards a large pack of ’wraiths.

  “Adrian, we call them Afflicted… sick, yes, but not harmful, nor dangerous. They live in Bately, with us.”

  The child turned back towards them. It was true – they were horrific to look at, but they weren’t killing or looting or threatening, like the ones he’d met so far. But they did seem worked up about something. They all faced the same direction, looking at something he couldn’t quite see, from where they were standing.

  He felt another hand slip into his. It was Alice. She smiled at him, a little nervously. Cathy stood on the other side, raising herself on her toes, to try and look past the crowd, find out what all the fuss was about.

  Adrian could feel tension in the air. It was like the pressure he felt when aboard a plane. He didn’t like it.

  “If something happens,” he whispered to Alice, “we run, okay?”

  She nodded, her eyebrows twisted in a frown.

  The noise from the throng died down, as someone began to speak.

  * * *

  “It’s him… that old hippie guy,” Cathy said.

  Paul saw him, too. The man was standing on the steps that led to the castle gates, facing the crowd. He wore the same colourful clothes as when they met him, walking up the beach near the Outpost, the day before. Paul recalled that surreal scene – the solitary figure making his way towards them, the Channel waters raging behind him.

  I’m Jeremy, although few people call me that.

  “Jeremy,” said Paul, almost to himself. “Yes, that’s him.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  The old man was extending his palms towards the impromptu gathering. He did it theatrically, with a gentle smile. The noise faded into a low chatter.

  “Friends… each and every one of you know the hardships of the Affliction. Not just the unbearable physical pain, the body’s decay, the shortened life span. No–”

  He spoke with long pauses, resting his piercing gaze upon his audience, dispensing warm, compassionate smiles on them all.

  “It’s more than that,” he continued. “Isn’t it?”

  A few heads bobbed up and down, in agreement.

  “It’s the scorn, the hatred with which society has cast you aside. Sometimes, it’s in the open, but often, it’s more subtle… a creeping feeling of being unwanted… an unwelcome guest. You all know the quick glances of people who immediately look away, if they catch your eye. You know the feeling of being ignored, like a hindrance others put up with, but they would rather not–”

  More nods.

  “The Afflicted are called monsters, zombies, meteorwraiths… they are forced to escape, cast out of what remains of our cities, our towns. Not just here, in England, but all across what-was-Europe. I have seen it with my own eyes…”

  “Look,” Cathy whispered, as she tipped her forehead towards the outer corners of the square. Here, Paul saw some of the other inhabitants of Bately, the healthy ones. They were huddled in small groups of five or six, and gazed uncomfortably towards the gathering of Afflicted. Some bore hostile expressions on their faces, while others looked concerned. They muttered amongst themselves, under their breaths. Paul spotted a mother who was quickly ushering her children away, with a worried frown.

  “Luckily,” continued Jeremy, “Bately has been warm and welcoming, to you.” The old man swiped an arm in the direction of the small crowds on the sides. Right now, thought Paul, none of them looked very warm or welcoming.

  “Here, amongst these good people, you have found a safe haven, a place to call home.” The two groups exchanged glances. Few of them were friendly, most of them indifferent. “Whether you were here to begin with, or whether you got here from afar, the people of Bately have provided you with shelter, food and–” There was a brief pause, before he finished the sentence, “–medicines.”

  “Not enough of them!” cried a voice. Another quickly followed: “They keep most of ’em for themselves!” Others muttered their agreement.

  “What’s he trying to do?” asked Paul.

  Cathy shook her head. She was biting her lip. As the town nurse, she knew how tricky the topic of medicines was. It almost always led to animated discussions. Sometimes, to worse than that.

  The speaker purposefully ignored the negative comments. He kept smiling, and continued. “When the meteorites struck, nine months ago, we couldn’t imagine the destruction they’d bring upon the Earth. Entire cultures, countries and peoples wiped off the planet, forever. And then… then came the disease.” He nodded gravely. “We know the story, don’t we? Some were immune, but most died within hours, or weeks at most, of contracting the Affliction, this mysterious sickness that travelled across space, clinging to the rocks.” He was walking up and down, along the steps. Paul looked around. Everyone was silent, now, all eyes focused on that odd, elderly man.

  He just oozes charisma, thought Paul. It was strange, because he didn’t look magnetic. Just weird, really. Although there was something about him that undoubtedly caught your attention.

  “Then, of course, there’s you,” he said, now stopping, and delivering that warm smile once again. “Those strong enough to contract the illness and survive. To put up with this powerful plague. You aren’t afflicted, friends… you’re not a burden… You. Are. Heroes.”

  The crowd cheered loudly, enraptured by the speech. Again, fists were raised in the air. The other spectators, the healthy ones, took a step back.

  Catherine knelt down, beside Alice and Adrian. “Children, you go and stand in the back, next to Claudio, okay?”

  The old priest had been observing the scene from a distance.

  “Will you be all right here?” asked Alice. “Is it… safe?”

  Cathy ran a hand through the little girl’s hair. “Of course we will. It’s just a bit noisy. You go, we’ll be right with you.”

  “We won’t be long,” said Paul. He tried to sound reassuring, but the truth was he was afraid the situation might escalate. Jeremy was apparently praising the situation in Bately, but what he was really doing was stirring up tension. Was this intentional? Hard to tell.

  They watched as the children made their way past the bystanders, pushing through the crowd, until they reached Claudio.

  “Yesterday,” he reprised. “I met one of you… a brave young lad who has been living here in Bately. And… well, I think I might just let him tell you.”

  The old man extended a hand, inviting someone from the front row to join him on the castle steps.

  “Gosh,” said Cathy. “It’s Luke.”

  Luke’s gangly figure stepped up, next to Jeremy.

  “Err… hello everyone,” he said, waving a hand in the air. The crowd of Afflicted replied warmly. So did some among the others. Despite the tensions between the healthy and the sick (especially those who came from abroad), Luke was friendly with almost everyone in town.

  Jeremy lay a comforting hand on the young man’s back. “Luke, why don’t you share the good news with your frien
ds?”

  Luke nodded. It looked like he could hardly conceal his excitement.

  “Y–yes, sure.” Luke turned towards the crowd. “Well… the thing is, Jeremy here… he–”

  “Go on boy, just tell them,” Jeremy said, almost laughing.

  “Okay…” Luke breathed in. When he spoke again, his voice was stronger, more confident. “I have some wonderful news, for all of you.” A beat went by, as Luke tried to find the words.

  “Oh no,” whispered Paul.

  “What is it?” asked Cathy.

  “I’m afraid I know what he’s about to announce.”

  Luke continued, “Finally, my friends, all this suffering is over. Jeremy,” he turned towards the old man. “Jeremy has come here to cure us… he has a cure.”

  A sudden silence fell upon the square.

  Luke couldn’t help himself. He started crying, and Jeremy wrapped an arm around him, leading the sick man’s forehead to his own chest. “Yes,” said Jeremy. “Yes. You heard him. It’s true. I can cure you. Cure you all.”

  The crowd exploded.

  * * *

  Adrian couldn’t make out what was being said. One of the ’wraiths, a young man with dirty, baggy clothes and a face that looked like something out of a horror film, was now standing next to the old man.

  When he spoke, he had a gentle voice that surprised him. It was strange to stand there, next to all these ’wraiths, without being attacked.

  But he couldn’t relax. He was aware of the tense atmosphere around them, and was afraid for Alice. For a second, he recalled the day when she had saved his life, slitting the throat of a ’wraith who had followed them inside a cave. Less than a week ago. He remembered how she had stood there, shivering and crying against his shoulder, in the dark, the dead body lying at their feet. No little girl should have to do things like that, to survive.

  No. Although these ’wraiths looked peaceful enough, he could not trust them.

  Suddenly, the old man on the steps said something, and immediately the crowd began shouting. This time, it was really loud. There was pushing and shoving, as everyone seemed to want to reach out and touch him.

  A group of ’wraiths ran into them, from behind. Father Claudio was thrust aside, as they pushed past them, heading for the steps. It was chaos.

  Adrian quickly grabbed Alice’s hand. “Come with me,” he said, as he pulled her away from there.

  “But, the priest… Claudio,” she said.

  Adrian shot a glance at the elderly man, who was trying to get to his feet. He looked okay. Adrian felt bad about leaving him there, but he wanted to take Alice away, far from this noisy throng of ’wraiths.

  “He’ll be all right. Come.”

  They ran, and entered a small residential street. A row of houses stood on either side. Some were boarded up and falling apart, while others looked inhabited.

  “It must have been nice, here before the meteorites,” said Alice, as she ran beside him.

  “It was,” he said.

  “Do you know this place?”

  Adrian nodded, without slowing down.

  “Where are we going, Ady?”

  He turned to her and smiled.

  “To Aunt Hellen’s house.”

  * * *

  Paul was lying on the ground. He felt the stomping of feet all around him.

  People were yelling and crying out. They sounded happy, but it was a desperate sort of happiness.

  Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed him, and lifted him up. It was Edward Moore. He had appeared from nowhere. His son, Mathew, stood close by, arms wide, trying to divert the flow of people.

  “All okay?” asked Moore, as Paul patted himself down.

  “Yes, yes, thank you. Is Cathy–”

  “Here I am,” she said. She looked shaken, but unharmed.

  “We were heading towards the church,” said Moore, speaking loudly above the commotion. “We heard the cheering, and came to see what was up.”

  “Look,” said Cathy, pointing beyond the crowd. “It’s the Guard.”

  A group of about ten members of Bately’s own defence force, known as the Guard, was headed towards the chaotic gathering, their expressions severe. Among them, Paul noticed Lieutenant Neeson, who had accompanied them on their eventful trip to Ashford. They were carrying batons.

  “That old clown better calm things down, before this turns ugly,” said Moore, frowning.

  As if on cue, Jeremy spoke again, hands in the air. The thundering power of his voice surprised them.

  “PLEASE EVERYONE! PLEASE CALM DOWN!”

  They did. Whether because of the approaching Guard, or because of Jeremy’s commanding personality, the crowd settled.

  “Friends,” the old man continued, “let’s show your town Guard that this gathering is a joyful one, and that no one, anywhere, has anything to fear from the Afflicted.”

  Despite the rising tension, the audience obeyed. Paul looked over at the young Guard members. They were nervous. As far as Paul could recall, they’d never had to quell disorders, in town. Not one involving such a large gathering, anyway. There had been the incursions by scavengers, by packs of savage ’wraiths, of course, and the Guard had acted bravely and efficiently, in those occasions. But this was different. These weren’t outsiders – although many still considered the sick foreigners as such. He was reassured by Neeson’s presence. The steadfast soldier was quite capable of controlling the younger Guard members’ nerves.

  Paul’s gaze returned towards the makeshift stage. Jeremy was staring straight at him.

  “I see some of your esteemed Council members have joined us,” he said, pointing towards him and Cathy. Heads turned, and Paul could almost feel his body shrink, lose a couple of inches, under their glances.

  “Please,” continued Jeremy, affably. “Join us up here.” Beside him, Luke nodded happily, egging them on.

  Paul and Cathy exchanged a look. Everyone was silent.

  “We can’t just stand here,” Cathy said, grabbing his elbow. “Come on.”

  The crowd parted, as they made their way towards the steps. Pairs of yellowish, bulging eyes followed them, as the two Council members ventured forth. Paul’s steps were awkward, hesitant. Cathy noticed this.

  She quickly turned towards him, and whispered, “We’re the authority here, not him. Let’s go.”

  He nodded, although it didn’t feel like that. At all.

  “Welcome, welcome,” said Jeremy warmly, when they reached the head of the crowd.

  Cathy forced a smile. The irritation on her face was plain.

  He’s welcoming us, in our own town, thought Paul, as he too attempted a smile.

  Cathy considered Jeremy, her eyes cold. “May I ask you a question?” she said to him.

  The old hippie nodded. “Of course, of course, but please do speak up, so all of our friends can hear you,” he said.

  He’s pandering to them, making it look like he cares about them, while Cathy won’t even bother speaking up, thought Paul.

  “Yes – okay,” she said, her irritation growing. “I just want to know – are you a doctor? A man of medicine?”

  Cathy was standing with her arms crossed against her chest, lips pursed. Her nostrils quivered.

  Jeremy made a big show of raising his eyebrows, in surprise. “Well, I–”

  “Are you, or aren’t you?” she insisted.

  Antagonising him might not be the best tactic, thought Paul, noticing the looks on the crowd’s faces. As far as he could see, they were all siding with Jeremy.

  “Madam,” he replied coolly. “Before I answer, may I ask you the same question?”

  “Of course you can,” Cathy said confidently. “I am a trained health professional. A nurse. With a degree. And, at the moment, I’m the only one on these steps, as far as I can tell, who knows anything about medicine.”

  “I understand,” replied Jeremy, now suddenly thoughtful. He brought a hand to his long, grey beard, and fixed his gaze on the young nurs
e, who held it sternly.

  “And,” he said slowly. “Would you say your… ‘medicine’ has cured these people of their suffering?”

  Cathy was lost for words. She hesitated, groping for the right thing to say. “No, but–”

  “She ain’t cured my suffering,” called a sarcastic voice in the crowd. Others chuckled, shaking their heads.

  Luke stepped forward. He looked hurt by the way people were treating Cathy. He tried to talk above the chattering crowd. “Wait, please… Cathy has always done her best to help us. Always, and–”

  Jeremy patted the air in front of him. “Luke, it’s okay, let this woman speak for herself.”

  Luke muttered something, but ended up stepping back again..

  “That’s not how medicine works,” she began, but Jeremy interrupted her.

  “No,” he said, “the thing is that medicine, your medicine, simply doesn’t work.”

  Clapping, cheers.

  “But we need time to experiment, to–”

  “These people have no time, my young lady,” said Jeremy sympathetically.

  Cathy bit her lip. She thought this man was a con, but was struggling to convince their audience, to get them to see it her way.

  “In any case,” reprised Jeremy, “I’m not here to cause upheaval… I suggest we do the following – when is the Council’s next meeting?”

  She had to think about it for a second. “Tomorrow.”

  “Great. Maybe we could sit down with a nice cup of tea, and discuss my offer to cure the Afflicted in Bately.”

  Before Cathy could reply, Paul stepped in, and said, in a conciliatory manner, “I think that would be best, yes. A private talk to settle things, I–”

  Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “Private?” he asked, surprised. “Surely this should be a public meeting, shouldn’t it, Father? Everyone has the right to hear about this, don’t they?”

  Paul hesitated. Moore, standing amidst the crowd next to his son Mathew, caught his eye. He slowly, deliberately shook his head at Paul. Don’t let him get away with this.

  “Well, yes, but–”

  “Excellent, we have an agreement then,” Jeremy said, as if the matter were settled. “We are all entitled to discuss this–”