IMPACT_A Post-Apocalyptic Tale_The Complete Series

by Matthew Eliot

  “No kidding,” said Cathy. “I’m afraid of what stunt that old man might pull on us.”

  “Perhaps you should try and meet with the other Council members, tonight. You know, talk things through. Prepare,” said Moore.

  “Hmm,” Paul shook his head. “I doubt the news of a secret, night-time meeting of the Council would go down well, with Bately’s Afflicted.”

  “True,” said Cathy. “Jeremy would jump at the chance of accusing us of conspiring against them.” She sighed, and rubbed her eyes with her hands. “Who is this guy, anyway?” she asked, exasperated. “What does he want?”

  “Hard to tell,” said Paul. And it was. Jeremy’s true intentions, whatever they were, were hidden beneath layers of charisma, rhetoric and odd charm.

  “I wonder if… who knows? Maybe he does mean well,” Cathy said, looking at the two men. “Maybe, he does have a cure for the Affliction, after all, and he just wants to help.”

  “Possibly,” said Paul, “but why undermine the Council, the way he did today? Why stir up all that commotion?”

  “I know… but maybe–”

  “No.”

  Moore’s tone was harsh. Paul’s eyes shot up, towards him, and noticed Cathy, too, was surprised. This didn’t sound like him.

  “Whatever happens,” Moore continued, “we must undermine this man.” He didn’t look at them, his gaze absently fixed on the breadcrumbs dotting the cloth.

  A few seconds went by, and no one spoke. Paul observed Cathy, and sensed she was hurt by Moore’s brusque interruption.

  “Oh,” said Moore finally, as if torn away from a day dream. His tone was softer, now. “I’m sorry. I… what I mean is, I think we all agree there’s something off about him, right?” The others nodded. “And I’m ready to bet he’s not going to give up his ’cure’ for free…”

  “I agree,” said Paul. “I seriously doubt Jeremy is here to cure our Afflicted. There’s more to this man than we can fathom.”

  “Okay,” said Cathy. “Well… we’ll soon find out, right? I just hope the other members don’t antagonise the sick… and the fact most of them are foreigners won’t help. Ms. Brand can’t wait to go on one of her tirades against them. We have enough on our hands as it is.”

  They sighed.

  Moore cleared his voice. “It’s getting on a bit. Perhaps I should–” he hesitated, before adding, “Do you want me to walk you home, Cathy?”

  She looked up, surprised. Happily surprised, Paul couldn’t help but observe. “Oh – yes, sure. Thank you.”

  They all stood.

  “Yes, I better get the kids to bed,” said Paul.

  “Why,” said Cathy, “aren’t you quickly settling into your new role as a father, Father.”

  They laughed. “I suppose I am,” Paul said, without quite knowing what to add.

  “Okay, well, we better get some rest. We all have a big day ahead,” said Moore, as they left the room.

  They reached the church entrance, and Paul opened the old wooden doors for them. After they departed, he stood there for a while, observing their black silhouettes disappear into the night.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the impression that Moore knew more about Jeremy than he had led them to believe.

  * * *

  Later, in his bed, the children whispering quietly next door, Paul realised he felt exhausted.

  There was so much to consider, and to do. Angus and his poor child. Alice, Adrian and the shock they’d lived, that morning. Jeremy, and the Afflicted. And Cathy…

  He breathed deeply, shuffling his head against the soft pillow, in search of warmth and comfort. Comfort perhaps only another body could provide.

  In the instants before sleep claimed his consciousness, his thoughts veered towards his skin condition.

  Psoriasis.

  Dry skin. Skin falling off me. Like shedding skin. Like something not quite alive. Like something close to death. Like changing, being reborn. Dying and being reborn.

  And if I am to be reborn, what will I become?

  And what will I have lost?

  * * *

  The cold was bitter, but she didn’t mind. Not tonight.

  The feeling of walking beside a man, a handsome man, one she was attracted to, was something she had almost forgotten. She enjoyed that old, familiar sharpening of the senses: how she happened to notice when, for a few fleeting moments, their footfalls would rhyme, or how aware she was of the brief pressure of his arm on hers, when their uneven walking against the wind drew them close.

  Stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself.

  Perhaps she was. But it was nice.

  “Cathy,” began Moore.

  “Yes?”

  “My tone, earlier… I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, really, don’t–”

  “No, really, I shouldn’t have interrupted you like that and… oh my god,” he shook his head, laughing. “I did it again. I interrupted you.”

  She smiled. “Yup. You’re a very rude bloke, Edward.”

  They kept walking, oblivious to the fact a CCTV camera was watching them. They were close to her house, now.

  “But seriously… the thing is, you know, this place,” he looked around, and Bately suddenly looked something like a comfortable winter town, she thought, rather than a post-apocalyptic relic. “Mathew and I, we could be happy here. You, the Council, the people here, have done so much to make this place safe.” He looked at her, as they reached her door. “I don’t want anyone ruining that.”

  Cathy nodded. Then, they were quiet.

  He has to get home, to his son. Nothing is going to happen. I won’t make it happen. Won’t allow it to. It would be crazy. Most of all, I’m not going to kiss–

  And then, as if it were the most simple, the rightest, thing in the world, she leaned forwards, and kissed him on the lips.

  It is simple, she told herself, as she felt his warm lips pressed against hers.

  It is right.

  Chapter 12

  Someone Knocks

  Footsteps in the night.

  They echoed softly through Bately’s damp, heavy air. They were light, optimistic, happy. The footsteps of a winner, you could say.

  And indeed, Jeremy did feel like a winner. Things were working out well. Bately’s ’wraiths had welcomed him, supported him. Most of all, they had believed him.

  It wasn’t always as easy as that.

  Also, the Council members he had met so far didn’t seem likely to pose any real threat. Not the priest, anyway, he thought. The woman… the nurse… she might prove a little harder to deal with. And the others, he had very little information about them.

  Still, he felt optimistic. Yes, tonight he felt good.

  But, as significant as the whole issue of the cure was, he had far more important business to deal with, at the moment.

  Perhaps this, too, would prove to be easy. He hoped so.

  I’ll ask him nicely, Jeremy told himself, picturing the conversation he’d soon be having. And if he makes things difficult… well, I’ll just have to make him hurt.

  He looked up, towards the cloudy, post-impact sky. He smiled. How much he preferred the chaotic, powerful, unpredictable display of these gigantic otherworldly clouds to the plain, boring skies of the past.

  Yes, this was far more suited to the things to come.

  * * *

  “Feel like a…” No.

  “Hey, Cathy, how about…” No.

  “You know, Cathy, I have often though about you…”

  Hell no.

  Sean sat in an armchair, eyes closed. This was difficult. His mind was made: he’d ask Cathy out on a date. Okay. But the how of it was still quite vague. What words to use? What to wear? What attitude should he adopt?

  Reality had still to catch up with his resolve, his mind’s reasoning with his body’s desires.

  Being irrational made him uneasy. He didn’t get what all the fuss was about, when it came to love. This wasn’t pleasant. There was noth
ing enjoyable about the anticipation, about the doubt he felt. He just wanted this to happen, be over with. To have the right words, clothes, style. Be with her, right away. Only then, would he enjoy the irrationality of love. There was no purpose in being subjected to it now, was there?

  This is where an algorithm would come in handy, he thought. An algorithm for love.

  Okay, this was ridiculous.

  An algorithm for LOVE?

  Sean pretended to throw up, for his own amusement. He slapped his cheeks into clarity, and took a deep breath. Instinctively, he reached out for the computer, and awoke it from its freeze state.

  Perhaps, a little bit of bash scripting would help him focus.

  Someone knocked at the door.

  * * *

  It took him a few seconds to recognise the old man’s face. He’d only caught a glimpse of it, on the blurry CCTV feed.

  He stood there, threads of mist floating around him. Smiling.

  “G–good evening?” said Sean, unable to not make it sound like a question. Who are you, what do you want?

  The man stared at him, wide-eyed, his gaze fixed. It was like Sean’s existence was in doubt, like he was half-invisible, and the man was trying to convince himself he was actually there.

  “RedPill?”

  Sean felt a chill. An old man, on his doorstep, addressing him by his hacker name. Adults who turned up at your house unannounced, and knew about your online persona weren’t, generally speaking, there to make friends.

  No. Usually, they were there to arrest you.

  But still, this old man, with his tie-dye sweater (Sean hadn’t even known they existed), clear blue eyes, and long greasy braids… what could he want from him?

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re RedPill. The elite hacker.” It was a straight-forward statement. There was no doubt in his voice, no hint of a question. At the same time, there was no threat, either. Or not that I’m aware of, thought Sean.

  Suddenly, he was brought back to the horrifying stories of his fellow online activists: the disappearances, the jail sentences and, in some cases, the torture.

  But that was before, wasn’t it? Before the meteorit–

  The old man suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand.

  “It’s an honour, young man. A real honour.”

  Sean just stared at him, quizzically.

  “Come on,” the man said, stepping inside, “we have so much to speak about, my young, bright, friend.”

  * * *

  Sean had no tea, but Jeremy didn’t mind. “I only drink water,” he told him. Sean observed as this elderly weirdo sat, perfectly at ease, in his sofa, surrounded by Ramones, FatBoySlim and DEFCON posters. He sipped on the glass of water as if it were some fine wine: eyes closed, and smacking his lips after each taste.

  Sean studied him quietly, sitting at his desk.

  “Well, well, well,” Jeremy said at last. “Glad to see you have good taste in music.” He gestured towards the posters, and his vinyl collection. “You know, I met Joey Ramone, once. In New York. Great fellow.”

  “Wow,” mumbled Sean, unconvinced.

  “Anyway, you’re not likely to be interested in my stories about musicians from the bygone world… and we have more pressing things to discuss.” Jeremy leaned forwards, and placed the empty glass on a carpet below him. When he leaned back, his smile was gone. His expression wasn’t hostile, noticed Sean. Rather, it was dead-serious. The old man rolled up his thick sleeves. Ready for business.

  “May I call you Sean?”

  Sean nodded, not sure whether that was an actual question or not. Until a few seconds ago, he was convinced he could have easily taken this man, had it come to a physical confrontation. But now, observing the thick muscles that shifted beneath his wrinkled skin, he wasn’t quite sure about it. Crazy hippie bloke who walks around in the dark, knows about my internet activity, acts like he’s a fan of it, and has effing big biceps. What the hell is going on?

  “Do you know why I’m here, Sean? Here in Bately, I mean?” Jeremy leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. He joined his index fingers and placed his chin upon them.

  “Well, umm,” Sean found it hard to look him in the eyes. “You were there, in Castle Square, rallying the Afflicted. So, something do to with them I supp–”

  “There’s that, yes,” he nodded, thoughtfully. “Of course. But there’s another reason. A more important reason.” Jeremy stood. It was a slow, gracious motion, and Sean wondered if this odd man had perhaps once been a dancer, of some sort. Then, he stiffened, as Jeremy got closer, and rested both hands upon his shoulders.

  “That reason is you, RedPill.” Jeremy breathed in, deeply. “Oh,” he said, “there’s so much energy in here, boy. In you. I can almost taste it.”

  Right. This is freaking me out now, Sean thought. But he was incapable of moving.

  “You know,” Jeremy said softly, almost in a whisper, “we’ve been keeping an eye on you. Admiring your talent. Studying you. And not like some pig in a suit would do, in one of those steel government buildings…” Jeremy finally took his hands off him, and walked around his room, taking it in, as if he were wandering through a grand temple. “No, Sean. We studied you with admiration. With awe.” He turned towards him again. His smile had returned. “Do you understand?”

  “Who’s we?” Sean asked, surprising himself. He hadn’t really meant to say it out loud.

  Jeremy chuckled. “All in good time, my friend. I promise. But now, let me tell you one thing… two, actually. First: the world has changed. You know that. What you might not know is that it will change again. Soon.”

  “What– ?”

  Jeremy raised a finger. “Wait. Let me finish, boy. This change…” his fingers fluttered in the air, as if caressing it. “… it’s beautiful, Sean. It will be. The greatest thing since the rocks. Greater than them. And we need people like you, to make it come about.”

  Sean felt uncomfortable. He shuffled around in his seat, uncertain whether to get up and kick this old man out of his home or not. There was something in his voice, something enchanting. Something that made him want to listen.

  “You will be an agent of that change, Sean. One of the cardinal ones.”

  Jeremy studied Sean’s expression. Again, he laughed quietly. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me, now, Sean. You will.”

  Suddenly, the solemn tone in his voice was gone. Jeremy dropped himself down in the sofa again, and said, “Okay, so, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty, shall we?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I will ask two things of you. One this evening, and the other when the time is right. My hope is that you’ll agree to both of them. Personally, I trust you will.”

  Jeremy grinned. He noticed a half-eaten sandwich abandoned on a plate close to the sofa, some midnight snack Sean had munched on the night before, and snatched it up. He took a big bite, then continued, chewing through his words, “If you don’t… well, I suppose that’ll mean we were all mistaken. Figured you out wrong. And that would hurt me, I must admit.” Jeremy shook his head, sadly. Then gobbled up the last bit of bread.

  “What is it you want from me?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said you wanted something from me,” Sean said, irritated by the old man’s way of drifting between moods and tones. One minute, he was all inspired speech and high concepts; the next, he was scrounging off of him like the tramp he looked and smelt like. “One tonight, and the other–”

  “Oh yes, of course, of course. Sorry, boy. My age, you see… my mind wanders… anyway,” he said, pointing a finger towards one of Sean’s monitors, on the desk behind him. “Those.”

  “My monitors?”

  “Not quite. The CCTV camera feeds.”

  How the heck does he know about that? Sean asked himself. Again, he was getting anxious. This old freak knew too much about him. Far too much.

  “What about them?” Sean asked, trying to fake indifference.

  “Wel
l, here is my request. At some point, in the next few days… might be one, might be a week… I’ll ask you to tinker with that feed. Mess around with it, a little. Just enough to confuse your little soldier men, here in Bately.” Jeremy spoke with a genuinely casual tone. Like he was asking for a lift into town.

  “What?”

  “Yup. You can do that, right…? Of course you can, Sean.”

  “’Right,” Sean said, suddenly standing. “That’s it. Thanks for popping by. Please get out, now.”

  “Oh Sean,” began Jeremy, with a mock-offended expression on his face. “Come on now, calm down will y–”

  “I’d really like you to go, please.”

  “Look,” said Jeremy, who apparently had no intention of leaving the sofa, “I know this sounds bad, but in the grand scheme of things…”

  “Please don’t make me ask you again.”

  Then, for the first time that evening, Jeremy said something that rang true to him.

  “You were meant for more than this, weren’t you?”

  Sean was halfway towards the sofa, with a vague intention of trying to drag the man out. But he stopped.

  “Oh come on, you know what I mean. You must know. Here you are, you for Christ’s sake, in Bately… setting up little surveillance systems… sitting through Council meetings… being a substitute for the gossip magazines of old, for the locals…”

  And it was true. That was how he felt, sometimes. Since the rocks, since the collapse of the web (most of it, anyway), his life was limited to these small, menial tasks. All for the good of a town that had barely cared to recognise his existence, before the impact.

  He missed the excitement of the past, the daring infiltration into mega corporations’ servers, in the company of friends he had never met face to face, and had now vanished. He felt there had been a calling, a destiny, one that he was unable to answer, and rise up to, now.

  And maybe – who knew? – Jeremy was here to offer him a way out.

  The bearded man sniggered.

  “What a waste. What an awful waste.”

  Sean closed his eyes. For a second, he felt drawn in by the story the man was telling him. He knew this feeling. He’d experienced it before, when finding a secret government server. The tempting thrill of peeking inside it, like a mysterious black box, filled to the brim with unexplored wonders.