IMPACT_A Post-Apocalyptic Tale_The Complete Series

by Matthew Eliot

  Suddenly, Sean remembered.

  Checkmate? This is the Checkmate?

  This hacker was famous, especially in the East. Talented, sharp, witty. All traits he found very hard to associate with the nervous wreck before him.

  “Checkmate,” Sean said. “Sure. Great to meet you, man.” Although it wasn’t. This kid’s creepy stares, his twitches and mumbling made him uneasy. To his relief, Jeremy interrupted the awkward conversation. “Save it for the flight, boys. You’ll have a lot of time to talk.”

  A man appeared by Jeremy’s side. “We’re almost ready to go, sir. I suggest you board the plane.” Sean noticed he was wearing a neat, black uniform. A quick look around him revealed that they all were.

  What sort of soldiers are these?

  Jeremy nodded. “Let’s go.”

  They walked along the side of the plane, Sean admiring its design. It was some sort of private jet, a big one. They reached the air stairs, and Jeremy stood aside. “After you boys. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  And at that moment, Sean realised the instant he raised his foot off the ground and entered that plane, he’d be leaving the soil, the country, he’d never left before in his entire life. His wanderings had always been digital, virtual travels through servers and routers, but hardly ever physical. Not abroad, anyway. He was about to leave Britain for the first time in his life. But it wasn’t just that. He was setting off on an unknown journey, without even having asked where to. There had been no indication of what was expected of him, how long they’d be away, when they’d return.

  With one foot on those metal stairs and the other still on the ground, he turned to Jeremy and asked, “Where are we going?”

  Jeremy flashed his devilish smile. “Across the ocean, my young friend.” And before Sean could say anything else, he nudged him forward. His foot lost contact with the ground he’d grown up on, the only one he’d ever known. A sudden void, an absence of pressure, quickly replaced by the cold metal support of the treads.

  He took a deep breath. There was no going back now.

  * * *

  “Wow.”

  Sean stepped into a luxury leather dream.

  He’d only been on a plane a handful of times. Regular passenger planes, on his bi-annual trips to Scotland, to see his relatives up there. He dreaded the tight seats, the cramped spaces. This was nothing like that. Nothing at all.

  To his left, were large, comfortable cream-coloured armchairs, warm blankets draped upon them. Opposite the armchairs to his right, two large sofas (Sofas on a plane!) covered with soft, intricately decorated cushions. Amazingly, towards the tail of the plane a door opened onto what appeared to be a bedroom. A posh, comfy, amazing bedroom. (Okay, forget the sofas – there’s a freakin’ bed!) The chalky morning light flooded in through two rows of oval windows (Sean counted fourteen of them, seven on each side). He inched forward, his steps muffled by the expensive-looking carpet that covered the floor. It was almost too much to take in.

  “Wow.”

  It was Alec, who’d just stepped inside. The idea he’d used the same childish expression too, made Sean feel stupid. But there was no other way to describe it, really.

  Sean took a seat in one of the armchairs, immediately regretting not having chosen a single one. An instant later, Alec was sitting by his side, leaning past him to peer out the window.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Alec said.

  “Yup,” Sean said frostily. Maybe Checkmate would catch his drift and shut up. He didn’t.

  “Gulfstream G550,” the lanky boy said. “Excellent choice.” Sean nodded indifferently, and looked outside, trying to ignore him.

  “Personally,” Alec continued, “I’d rather have gone with a B747, or an A340. Maybe an A380. Something with four engines.” Sean looked at him, trying hard to somehow convey his absolute lack of interest in what Alec was saying. But Alec interpreted it as confusion.

  “Oh, I’m a bit of a flight buff. Yeah. Anyway,” he continued, “four engines for redundancy, you know. That would have been my first choice.”

  Sean didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean, redundancy?”

  Alec smiled, obviously happy to have piqued his interest. “Oh well, you see, I’m pretty sure the clouds up there,” he pointed upwards with a long, bony finger, “are filled with dust and dirt, hanging in there from the impact. And, with the very real risk of particulate ingestion, the engines could be–”

  “But we’re flying over the clouds, aren’t we?” Sean said, embarrassed by the fearful tone with which he’d blurted those words out.

  Alec nodded, with a creepy smile. “Ah – but you see, I bet no one knows for sure exactly how tall the clouds are, at this point. Especially without any reliable meteorological data.”

  Sean nodded slowly.

  “Also, say we end up in a cumulonimbus, maybe end up in a hailstorm. Picture hailstones as big as golf balls, battering the plane… well, then we’re really fu–” Alec hesitated. “You’re pale. All okay?”

  Sean cleared his throat. Deepened his voice, trying to sound like a man. “Yeah. Sure. I’m fine, why?”

  That fixed gaze again. Alec surveyed his face, and suddenly it seemed to dawn upon him that he was scaring the shit out of Sean. “Anyway,” he added hastily, “as I said – great choice, this Gulfstream. Fifty-one thousand feet ceiling, excellent range. Probably relatively easy to come by, here in the UK. Not many of these in old Romania, where I come from.” He chuckled nervously, the guilt from having unsettled Sean clearly visible on his face.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, Sean making a show of idly admiring the grand interiors of the jet. Trying to look relaxed. But his mind was reeling. He knew nothing about planes, or flying, or the physics behind it. Alec here might have perhaps been able to fill in a few gaps, but he wasn’t keen on getting another earful of terror from this geek.

  Outside, Jeremy and the men were still talking. Sean tried to interpret the tone of those muffled words, detect if maybe there was fear in them. If they too were concerned about this flight. But all he could hear were the bland, detached articulations of people discussing practical matters. Brief questions, yes-or-no answers. Nothing more.

  Then, there were footsteps on the air stairs, and two burly uniformed men walked in. To Sean’s surprise, they were carrying large automatic weapons. They ignored the two boys as they walked past, and sat in the far back of the jet.

  “Cool,” said Alec, eyeing the weapons.

  Idiot, thought Sean.

  Others climbed on – two pilots, and three or four men who were carrying luggage and other items for the flight. The pilots took their places inside the cockpit. Alec leaned into the aisle, stretching his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of what they were doing. Here comes another terrifying infodump, thought Sean. Luckily, the men closed the doors, blocking the view. Alec slumped back in his seat with a disappointed sigh.

  At last, Jeremy appeared. He exchanged a few quick recommendations with someone outside. There were handshakes, and words of encouragement. Whatever this mission was about, it was clearly very important.

  Finally, the hatch was closed, and the old hippy walked over to them. “All alright, here?”

  They nodded. When looking at Jeremy, Alec seemed to have the same dreamy-eyed expression he had when talking to Sean.

  “I have a couple of things to discuss with our brothers, there in the back,” said Jeremy. “I’ll be back soon. You get comfortable. And get to know each other. You’ll be working together, from now on.”

  Jeremy walked on. Alec turned around, and smiled at Sean. It’s gonna be great, that smile said.

  Sean’s heart sank.

  Come on man! You’re in a luxury jet, for fuck’s sake. Sit back, enjoy it.

  Yes. That voice was right. Whatever was going to happen, this was an awesome plane, and he’d be travelling in luxury the likes of which he’d never known. And Alec, heck, maybe he should give him a chance. His online reputation
was astounding, after all. There had to be something special about him.

  He leaned back, focussed on the mechanical sounds coming from the unknown recesses of the aircraft.

  “About the weather,” he said to Alec, “I’m sure we’ll be fine. Even without ground control, if there are any dangerous weather systems out there, I’m sure the pilots can get the data from other planes.”

  The obvious truth struck him even before Alec began to reply.

  “Redpill,” Alec said, “there are no planes out there… I seriously doubt there have been any flights at all, since the impact.”

  Sean considered his words. This was the only plane to brave the skies.

  He, Alec, Jeremy, two pilots, two armed soldiers.

  Just seven people, in the whole world, floating up there. The thought gave him the shivers.

  “Seatbelts, please,” came the pilot’s voice over the PA.

  As he hurried to get it on as fast as he could, Sean turned to Alec again. “Checkmate. Okay. Tell me – this is going to be dangerous, isn’t it?”

  “Dangerous?” Something in the way Alec’s eyebrows shot up in surprise made him feel like the idiot. “Sean, this is practically insane.”

  Chapter 6

  The Black Box

  The thicket was damp with the morning mist.

  Luke was crouching behind a thorny shrub, his chest quivering with remorse. In front of him, Bately lay torn and ravaged, the rotting husk of its former self.

  This was all his fault.

  He’d believed Jeremy, fell for his promise of a cure. He’d helped him lure the Afflicted out of town, leading them to the Pack. And to war.

  The soldiers in black had cleared the square. When early morning came, its sullen light revealed an empty space where the bodies had been.

  Ana, he thought. I have to get back to the Pack.

  Luke turned to leave. He felt like a coward, a traitor. But all he longed to do now was lie in Ana’s arms and forget. Forget everything.

  Someone shouted. He dropped to the ground, fearing they had spotted him. There had been men out on patrol all night, and he’d only just made it past them. From what he could make out, they were hunting down ’wraiths who had survived the explosions.

  The call had come from town. He peered through a tangle of thorns, and saw a group of about fifteen men pulling a gigantic black crate. Luke noticed someone had traced those three eerie circles on the side of the huge box.

  Thick ropes were laced around it, and despite the wheels fitted beneath the crate, they were having a hard time dragging it along. Someone was shouting orders, inciting the men. They were heading towards the castle, but it was slow work, with lots of panting and groaning.

  “This is an honour, brothers!” the one barking orders called out. “Put in the effort!”

  What’s inside it? Luke wondered. He felt compelled to stay there, find out what it was they were dragging up Castle Street. But it was too dangerous. He had to get back to the Pack. Tell them about what had happened.

  Except, he couldn’t get himself to look away.

  He dared to crawl forward, behind another bush. He was more exposed, here, but he had a better view of the square.

  The man they had called the Warden was standing in front of the castle gates. He watched as his men struggled, his face inscrutable.

  “Okay, open it up!” someone shouted, as they reached the bottom of the stone stairs.

  Two men, one on either side of the crate, shoved crowbars behind its thick front panel, and began to loosen it. Wood creaked and splintered under the pressure.

  From his viewpoint, Luke could only see the rear side of the box. For a second, he considered changing position, venturing into the rocky scree, but he’d be sitting in plain sight.

  The crate’s front panel fell forward, crashing onto the ground. More uniformed men were appearing in the square, all drawn by the magnetic pull of that strange box. Luke watched as they gathered at the foot of the stairs, and peered inside.

  To his surprise, he saw a few of them burst into tears. Strong, ruthless men crying like children. Others stood in wonder, awe painted across their faces.

  He had to leave.

  There were still lots of them patrolling the outskirts of town. If he left now, while they were distracted, he might just make it out of there alive.

  He shook his head and looked away. Evil men worshipped evil things, and Luke had to resist the lure of whatever monstrosity was concealed inside the box.

  He crept up the small hill, focussing on the road to the north, towards the Pack and the comfort of Ana’s embrace.

  Then he saw the child lying motionless on the ground, and froze.

  * * *

  He didn’t recognise him, at first.

  The boy was a few yards from him, lying behind a rock. His face was buried in the dirt, arms wrapped around his head.

  Luke couldn’t move. Here was yet another innocent life lost because of his foolishness. The life of a child. He fell to his knees. No, he did not deserve to return to the Pack. He’d go to Bately and march towards the soldiers in black. They’d kill him. He’d beg them to kill him. He had no right to live, not any more. Ana would cry, he thought, Ana would cry and miss him, and fail to see what a disaster his choices had been.

  Luke could almost hear her now – crying, despite her aversion to tears. Yes, he could hear her sobs, quiet and tormented and–

  The boy’s shoulders moved. They shifted beneath his jacket. A brief, trembling motion. Luke fixed his eyes in that exact same spot, praying it had actually happened, that he had not dreamt it.

  It came again, and Luke realised the crying he had heard was real. Those tears did not belong to Ana, but to this boy.

  Luke saw him lift his head, red face covered in mud and anguish. The boy buried his forehead in his hands, clenched fingers disappearing in his thick hair, tearing whole locks out of it.

  Dimwit. That was his name. The boy who had tried to set fire to the church. The one he had punched and scared away.

  “Boy,” Luke called out. “Are you–”

  Dimwit’s watery eyes darted towards him, and filled with terror. Immediately, the boy scrambled to get up, feet skidding in the mud.

  “No, no! Wait!” Luke called out. But it was too late. Dimwit flung himself forward, fleeing him.

  Luke ran, tried to catch up. They were in the open now, crawling clumsily along the scree. Anyone could have seen them. His heart was thumping inside his chest, the relief of seeing the boy alive quickly drowned by the fear they’d spot them.

  Dimwit made his way up the hill, clinging and scraping with his hands, throwing terrified glances over his shoulder.

  “Please, I just–” But a gasp swallowed Luke’s words.

  Two men, armed, had appeared at the crest of the slope. They peered towards the castle, observing the crate and their comrades gathered in front of it. Only the slight inclination of the hill still concealed Dimwit from their eyes. And them from his. He was running straight towards them.

  Luke dashed forward, the pain from the sudden effort tearing through his sick body. Before the impact, he had been strong and healthy, but the Affliction had wiped all that away. He prayed that his skinny legs could carry him fast enough to save this child.

  Then, with a silent scream bursting in his chest, he dived forwards.

  Luke landed on Dimwit’s back. They fell to the ground, landing hard on the dirt and stones.

  “No,” said Dimwit desperately, trying to wriggle out of his hold. “Don’t hurt me, don’t–”

  Luke was lying on top of him, both face-down. He pressed a hand against the boy’s mouth, pushing hard.

  “They’re here,” Luke whispered. “Above us.”

  At first, Dimwit didn’t understand. He twisted his neck, trying to look Luke in the eyes. Then, he glanced up, spotted the close-cropped hair of the men’s heads. He stared at them, frozen, terrified.

  “Be quiet now,” Luke whispered as ca
lmly as he could. “They’ll go away. But we have to be quiet.” Dimwit nodded, as he slowly removed his hand from the boy’s face.

  One of the men spoke. His voice was so close, it felt like he was talking to the two of them.

  “It’s here,” he said. An arm appeared above the edge of the slope. Pointing towards Bately.

  “They brought it in,” commented the other.

  “Yes. Can’t wait to get down there and see it.”

  The two soldiers stood quietly for a moment. A cigarette was lit. Luke could taste the tobacco in the air. He closed his eyes, squeezed tight. Wished he could somehow comfort the frightened boy who lay shivering beneath him.

  Something landed on his face. Something light and hot. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bit of grey ash from the man’s cigarette resting on his cheek, trembling in the breeze. A red spark in its centre slowly faded out, and it stopped burning.

  He lay there with Dimwit for what felt like an eternity.

  When he finally dared to look up, the men were gone.

  * * *

  “I thought you were gonna kill me.”

  Dimwit stared at him, narrow-eyed. Still not sure whether he could trust Luke.

  “Kill me or rape me, that is,” the boy added, with a humourless chuckle.

  They were hiding in a copse, just outside town.

  “No, no,” Luke said, staring him in the eyes. “I’d never hurt–”

  “You’d punch me in the fucking face though. Because you did. In front of that church.” Dimwit snapped a branch he had been playing with. He studied the splinters for a second, then threw it to the ground.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Luke said with a sigh. “I don’t know what happened… I… I’m sorry. I really am.”

  Dimwit considered this for a moment. Changed the subject. “So what are we gonna do now? I think we should get back to the Pack as soon as we can. We’ll be safe, there.”

  Luke doubted it. At least half of the members of the Pack, and practically all of its men, lay dead in some pit in Bately’s fields. Gathered and tossed inside it by the soldiers. But, safety or not, he had to get back to Ana. Get there before these men did, anyway.