The Shift of Numbers

by Warrington, David

  “So?” Bill was still puzzled

  “Do you not watch the news?”

  “Nope. It’s always bad…” Bill turned to the workers. “Come on, lads.”

  “WAIT! We lost everything. Is there nothing you can do about it?”

  “GORDON!” shouted Bill. Gordon walked over to the 2 men. “What’s this gent talking about - Shure Stock and losing money? You know how I am with that type of thing.”

  “It’s been on the news. All the investors lost their money. Did you use Shure Stock to invest?” asked Gordon to Pete. All the while, Bill was scratching his head.

  “Yes, we invested in this farm and lost all our money and home,” said Pete, Saying it out loud made it seem more real. He sighed.

  “The farm has nothing to do with the investors. The stock can be bought by anyone. There’s nothing Bill can do about it, I’m sure…sorry,” said Gordon feeling pity for the sad-looking man. The 3 of them stood in silence for a couple of seconds until the cogs in Bill’s brain understood the situation from his practical point of view.

  “Do you have a job?” asked Bill.

  A tear ran down Pete’s cheek as he looked at the only man who had offered him any hope for a while. “I’m not sure that it will help much. All is lost I think,” Pete said, sadly, but in no small way grateful.

  “Come on, squire. Let me buy you a drink and we can talk it over. Good honest work can’t hurt, can it? My advert’s on the television later as well. Let’s go.” Bill pronounced television, tele-vis-ee-on, like it was a new invention. He put his arm around Pete roughly and marched him to the pub.

  *

  “Richard, RICHARD! Look at me…” said Tim for the 10th time in the interview, “…do you even remember working for Shure Stock?”

  “I thought I could see it all, but I can’t, I can’t see anything.” Richard’s head slumped again, his voice deflated.

  “You were a stockbroker. Do you remember that?” asked Tim gently.

  “Do you know where my glasses are?” replied Richard almost in tears.

  “I don’t know where they are, Richard. Do you have any idea where you are?”

  “I’m not at home, am I?” he answered slowly with a puzzled look on his face. “What happened to the green animals and the nice man?”

  *

  Pete, unused to drinking anything but tea for the last 30 years, had found the experience of Topshire’s local bitter a real eye opener. In the pub, the excitement of Bill’s television debut was growing. Bill kept checking the TV on the wall to see if it was still working. It was. In the enthusiasm, no-one noticed that Pete had disappeared. He found himself in a grubby-looking toilet, then outside in the darkness of the car park. Before long, and as if observing himself from some third person perspective, he noticed his body was walking unsteadily back towards the farm.

  *

  Richard’s fiancée walked back up to the desk in the MSD building. She decided to use guile, as waiting around seemed a waste of time. She figured they may not even let her see Richard.

  “Hello, I have a meeting with Tim from investigations,” she told the man behind the desk in her most confident tone.

  “Tim Cordero?”

  “That’s him, yes,” she said, looking the man directly in the eye.

  “Wait one moment.” The man dialled a number on the phone next to him, then replaced the handset.

  “He’s busy at the moment. You will have to wait.”

  “I know he is busy. He’s interrogating a suspect in the Shure Stock case. I have the information he asked for.”

  “I see,” said the man, less sure of himself.

  “I can wait if you want. I’m just not sure how happy Tim will be about it.”

  “Okay, I’ll buzz you through.”

  “What’s Tim’s new office number?”

  “16, floor 3.”

  “Thank you.”

  *

  “We are not getting anywhere,” Tim sighed. “Let’s leave him to rest for a bit, at least till the drugs start to wear off.” He gazed over the table at Richard, his head slumped forwards into his chest. Another high-pitched snigger came from Carl’s direction and then he exploded.

  Before Tim could react, the chair Carl was sitting on slammed noisily into the wall behind them as he stood up rapidly, his left hand grabbing a fist full of Richard’s hair and pulling him upright. In the same fluid motion, his right hand slapped Richard fearsomely across the face.

  “TELL US WHAT WE NEED, YOU MAGGOT,” shouted the red face of Carl, covering the prisoner’s terrified face in spit. Now Tim reacted, jumping out of his chair and grabbing Carl’s right wrist and twisting it around in a kung fu style move until he had let go of Richard’s hair and a look of pain appeared on his face. Tim twisted some more and pushed him roughly to the floor, standing over him as if daring Carl to get up.

  “WHAT the hell do you think you’re doing?” stated Tim slowly and loudly, full of suppressed anger. Carl chuckled quietly to himself holding his wrist, but didn’t reply.

  “Right. That’s the end of the interview. We will take him back to his cell, then we’re going to speak to the Director…Get up, you idiot.”

  Carl got up, all the while staring at Tim, the violence and malice palpable in the recycled air. He walked out of the interrogation room and slowly into the corridor. Tim helped the terrified-looking Richard up from under the table where he had begun to sob and babble incoherently.

  “Come on. It’s all over now, Dicky. Follow me,” said Tim reassuringly as he led his prisoner into the corridor.

  *

  Pete had made his way as far as the driveway to the farm; somewhere on his drunken journey he had found a pickaxe that was now slung over his shoulder in a business-like fashion. He had no idea what he was going to do with it until he reached a big grey box. He could just about make out some big yellow words: ‘DANGER OF ELECTRICAL DEATH’. Something clicked in his mind and he started swinging at the box with all his might. After a few clumsy strokes, the tip of the pickaxe pierced the box accompanied by a loud bang and a flash. If Pete hadn’t been thrown 10 feet into the air and knocked unconscious he would have seen all the lights in the valley to his right blink off, like a blanket had been thrown over the city.

  *

  In the pub an excited and slightly drunken crowd were surrounding the television set awaiting the big advert. Then it happened. Bill’s rosy, weathered cheeks and bushy grey sideboards filled the screen. The camera zoomed out quickly to see Bill holding a bucketful of carrots. Then the power went. A loud ‘BOO’ went around the darkened pub followed by stifled laughter. Bill’s voice could be heard above the noise saying, “Would you adam-and-eve it? Just my bloody luck.”

  “You looked beautiful, Bill!” and “They do say the camera adds 10 pounds,” were some of the slightly slurred responses.

  *

  The next 30 seconds happened far too quickly for Tim. He and Carl were standing behind Richard walking down the corridor when the light above them exploded plunging them into darkness and showering them with glass. The emergency lights, attempting to come on for the first time in years, flickered on and off creating a strobe-like effect. Short-lived still images filled Tim’s eyes. The first may have saved his life. It was of Richard wielding a heavy-looking ornamental vase above his petrified face. It was aimed directly at Tim’s head. He ducked instinctively as the darkness engulfed him again. He sensed a rush of air close to his ear as the vase flew past him, then a flash of light accompanied by a deafening roar followed a second later by a high-pitched scream. As Tim stood up quickly, ears ringing, the strobe painted a picture of Carl, his gun pointed at the floor, the smoke surrounding his feet almost obscuring the blood splatter.

  Tim looked down the corridor to see Richard with his hands aloft, his surrender frozen in the flashing lights. As he looked to his right, a frenzied roar from Carl’s direction filled Tim’s ears and he saw, as a series of still pictures, Carl raising his gun and pointing it
in Richard’s direction. This time he didn’t need any time to react or even to think about his actions. On autopilot he had drawn his own gun and had watched himself slam the handle against Carl’s head. As he connected, the emergency lights stayed on, bathing the corridor in a dreary, tired, red light. Glancing quickly down the corridor, he saw Richard running, scared for his life, towards the fire escape. Instinctively, he raised his gun.

  “NOOOO, don’t shoot him,” came a shrill voice from down the corridor behind Tim. He turned quickly to see Richard’s fiancée running towards him waving her arms franticly. By the time he had turned back, the fire escape door was shutting and the emergency lights had failed again.

  *

  Joan had had an exhausting day. A busy shift at work, coupled with constantly thinking about the doom about to engulf her and Pete’s life, had left her feeling numb. As she shambled down the long corridor out of the factory past the delivery bay, 1 of the guards she had known for a long time stopped her

  “You all right, Joanie? Look like you could do with a drink.”

  “Oh, I think you’re right. But you know me and my Pete don’t touch the stuff,” she said tiredly.

  “Well, I’ll probably see you tomorrow, my dear. Just get this load signed forand I’m off home myself.” He motioned to a pile of small canvas bags on a trolley behind him and handed over a clipboard through a metal drawer to another man who was stood behind a small bullet-proof window in the wall. The face behind the glass nodded and slid the clipboard back to the guard who turned and walked away. Almost as an afterthought, he turned his head to say goodbye to Joan. Then the power went.

  In total darkness, Joan stumbled and heard the guard trip and fall, swearing loudly. Trying to grab something that wasn’t there, Joan screamed and fell. To her surprise, she landed on something that wasn’t as hard as the concrete floor. She felt around and discovered she was on the trolley. Without thinking, she put 1 of the canvas bags into her handbag. The noise of the zip was covered by the swearing of the guard. Joan crawled away from the trolley as quickly as she could, all her other senses heightened by the adrenaline flowing quickly through her, pumped by her ever-increasing heart rate. Pangs of guilt and hopelessness quickly followed, and a certainty that she would be caught and sent to a cold prison cell.

  Before she could think any more, an ear-splitting siren went off along with some more light. She lay on the floor and closed her eyes wishing the world away, playing at being unconscious.

  After 5 minutes, an eternity to Joan, all the workers from the factory started making their way outside. Someone gently shook her until she opened her eyes and led her outside by the hand. She noticed that a large portion of the workers had angry shocked faces and a couple had fresh bloodstains on their clothes.

  7

  “A few honest men are better than numbers.”

  Oliver Cromwell

  The blackness of the moonless night came as no surprise to the Scientist. He had come equipped with night vision goggles. Being army issue they let none of the green light he could see leak out into the cold windy night. But he had never worn them before and he found them uncomfortable and difficult to use.

  He had made his way up the dirt road as quietly as possible and now found himself facing Bill’s barn door. The battered wood and corrugated iron reflected the alien shades of green light differently. Trails of a luminescent world passed over his tired eyes. The sun would be up in 2 hours. “Do it and do it now,” he told himself. “Then you can retreat and watch as vengeance whispers into his ear.”

  He opened the door as softly as possible, crouching down to enter, watching the floor for any objects that could make a noise and give away his position to his prey. There were none. Closing the door behind him, he quickly saw what he was looking for. It was parked almost directly in front of him. He removed the goggles and turned on a dull red flashlight to illuminate the tractor. He quickly and decisively placed a small magnetic device under the fuel tank. Replacing the goggles, he made his way outside.

  A roar went up from somewhere behind as flashes of light moved hurriedly past him, disappearing into the distance quicker than his eyes could move. Leaping behind the barn, he felt an instant sharpness in his leg. He remembered news footage of soldiers at war filmed with night-vision cameras.

  “Gets away from my schickens, Mr Fox…” slurred a loud voice into the night.

  “BILL STOP THAT!” The high-pitched shouting contrasted with the deep report of the shotgun as Bill let fly 2 more blasts.

  “I’ll haves him. The cheeky little bleeder. Eat my schicks, will ya?”

  “BILL, stop that. You don’t even own any chickens.”

  “Carrotsh then…whoopsh.”

  “Oh GOD, get up will you. If you don’t get up this instant you’re sleeping out here… Fine. Suit yourself.” A sound of a door slamming was the last noise the Scientist heard. After a while, the lights went out and he limped his way up the hill behind Bill’s house to wait for dawn.

  The sun had arced its way over the horizon, filling the valley with soft light as he blinked through binoculars at 2 dozen men walking up the driveway. He stayed focused on them until they reached the main gate of the farm, shifting uncomfortably on a blood-stained leg. Earlier, he had roughly bandaged it with bits of shirt. Not long now. The men congregating around the gate appeared to be chatting excitedly. Then movement. Bill came into view from behind the barn and walked unsteadily down to the gate. As he approached, loud raucous laughter seemed to get caught by some unknown breeze and lifted up the hill into the Scientist’s ears. They won’t be laughing for long.

  Bill motioned with his arm and the men followed him up to the barn. Some of them split into groups and started walking in different directions. About 5 of them remained with Bill as he opened the barn door. Half a minute later, he returned on his tractor.

  Pain shot through the Scientist as he moved position. He was wet and cold. He picked up a small black box with numb fingers and, closing his eyes, he flicked the switch. For you sweet brother…

  Nothing

  Flick, Flick

  Nothing

  He let out a low throaty roar

  In slow motion, Bill climbed down from the tractor, all the while arguing with 1 of his workers about the advantages of a fried breakfast in combating a hangover. His boots crunched on the gravel driveway as he walked in a semi-linear fashion towards sobriety and a lawsuit with the manufacturers of his soon to be obliterated tractor.

  BOOM

  *

  Tim knocked on the door to the Director’s office with a feeling of dejà vu. While at junior school, he had thrown a snowball with such force that it had missed its intended target and struck a dinner lady on the side of the head. He had had to go and see the headmaster.

  The door was pulled swiftly open by the Director’s assistant who silently motioned him inside and to be seated. In front of him, behind the gigantic desk, gazing out of the window, stood the Director. Drawing his eyes upwards over the pink satin ruffles on the back of her dress to the back of her head, he could just make out that she was shaking her head. Seconds passed, then a minute. Even though he knew it was a mind game, Tim still began to feel uncomfortable.

  “So…” she said finally without turning. Tim waited. “What actually happened yesterday?” She turned to look him full in the face, her eyes trying to burn right through to the back of his skull to coax out the truth.

  “A full account of the details, ma’am?”

  “YES!” Her small fist hit the desk.

  “At approximately 4.15 yesterday we picked up the sus…”

  “I really don’t care. Tell me about what happened in the corridor.”

  “With Carl?”

  “Yes, with Carl, you idiot.”

  “I had suspended the interview with Richa… subject 6741, due to Carl’s behaviour. He lost it and…”

  “Again, I really can’t see how this is answering my question.”

  “It has
some bearing on what happened afterwards.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “He lost control in the interview and hit the subject. I suspended the interview and began walking, along with Carl and the subject, back to the cells.”

  “Why was the interrogation not carried out in the cells?” she interjected with malice.

  “As you were aware, Richard was only just released from hospital and under the influence of a cocktail of drugs. I thought the interview would go more smoothly in my office.” Tim looked the Director in the eye as she mulled this over, trying to find fault.

  “Very well. Go on,” she said at last.

  “As the 3 of us walked down the corridor, just outside my office, the lights went out. Richard, and I’m only assuming this, was terrified. He picked up the statue of the commander and chucked it at me. It missed.” Tim breathed deeply. “I didn’t see it but can only assume that Carl then shot himself in the foot. You may want to get forensics to match the bullet in his foot to his gun.”

  “No need. We know he shot himself. Carry on. The next bit’s going to get interesting, I think.” She smirked.

  “Richard, upon hearing the gunshot, seemed to regain some sanity and put his hands in the air to surrender. Carl, in what I can only describe as an intense rage, went to aim his weapon at Richard. In order to prevent loss of life in an illegal shooting I incapacitated Carl.” Tim said the last 2 words quickly as the Director mulled them over for a couple of minutes.

  “That’s a very good story and put together nicely in all the right places. Well done.”

  “It’s what happened,” Tim said, defensively.

  “I’m unclear on a couple of things. Please enlighten me. Number 1: how did subject 6741 then escape the building?”

  “The lights went out again, only this time for longer.”