The Shift of Numbers

by Warrington, David

  *

  Encircled by empty bottles, Gordon sat at his desk in the familiar surroundings of the production hut. He’d spent the last 2 days alone as everyone but Bill had gone out of his or her way to avoid him, treating him with caution and disdain. To fill up his time Gordon had been watching the diary room tapes, drunkenly commenting on the various opinions. He had managed to watch up to day 21 when he heard noises outside followed by a sheepish knock on the door. Opening the door he was surprised to see everyone in the community standing outside.

  Deborah stepped forward. “Hello Gordon,” she said, her voice a mixture of fear and sadness.

  “What’s up?” asked Gordon, trying not to slur his words.

  “Have you seen what’s going on?”

  “No.”

  “There are soldiers outside. It’s real, isn’t it?”

  The group stared at Gordon as he looked around their faces.

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea things would turn out like this.” He spoke slowly and apologetically.

  “What do you think we should do?” asked Ben, clearly terrified.

  “Can any of you sail a boat?”

  A series of confused no’s rippled around the group.

  “I can,” offered Bill.

  “Good,” said Gordon. “There’s a small sailboat moored behind the island, down at the beach. It should be just big enough for you to escape with the children.” Several of the group, mainly the parents, looked on sadly, the gravity of the situation clear on each and every face.

  “Can’t we surrender?” asked someone at the back.

  “Haven’t you seen the news?” Ben replied. “They’re not going to be taking prisoners.”

  “He’s right,” someone else offered. “We need to get the children to safety.”

  “Right, follow me,” Ben said, decisively. “The sun’s going to be going down soon. We’ll need to find some dark clothes for the children and Bill. I think we should plan some sort of diversion to give them the best chance of getting out of here.” The group followed Ben as he made his way back to the main house. Gordon motioned to Bill before he left.

  “What’s up, lad?” Bill said kindly, as they walked into the hut. Gordon sat down, picked up a note from the desk and placed it in an envelope. With a brief smile he licked the sticky bit and sealed it. He held it up to the light, gazing at it wistfully for a moment.

  “She’ll live forever,” he muttered quietly.

  “What?” asked Bill.

  “Nothing.” Gordon handed the envelope to Bill. “If you make it out, could you deliver this letter?”

  They held each other’s gaze for a moment before shaking hands and going their separate ways.

  *

  After Bill had left, Gordon turned back to the glowing screen. Sophia and Isabella were talking to the camera. He just caught Sophia saying, ‘Shhh, outside’ before the screen flickered and Isabella was sat on her own, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. Gordon smiled as she said ‘Oh my god!’ as it seemed she started every sentence that way. He had to rewind the next sentence several times before its full meaning seeped into his consciousness. ‘Do I have some gossip for you lot? Sophia has a fiancé!’

  Gordon drank deeply from his bottle before he began muttering at the TV set, his voice growing in volume and anger. After several minutes, he fell silent, gazing blankly at the paused image. The sound started like the tail end of an echo, growing louder with each passing moment. Finally, with a blast of warm fishy air, the noise made sense.

  “Kill her.”

  *

  Tim and Sir had spent the journey to the compound in silence. All their efforts to avert these events had come to nought. They were only there at the behest of the Commander. ‘To get my money back,’ were his orders with the ominous stipulation of, ‘leave the rest of it to the professionals, or you may get hurt…’ Tim was convinced that the Commander had been aware of their efforts in the past few weeks to stop him bringing the computer system online and figured bringing them along was some sort of perverse loyalty test. Either that or they were going to become statistics in the war on terror. As Tim imagined the news of his death being read out by Pelexia Brown, it seemed more real. She would call him the ‘glorious dead’, a man who had devoted his time on earth to seeking out injustices, cut down in the prime of his life by people who only wanted to spread terror, people who conspired in the dark corners of human existence to wreak destruction, who caused the death of innocent consumers everywhere, whose only manifesto was to destroy order and create chaos. Images of the masses filled his mind, people hiding behind bolted doors, eating up the pictures of war brought to them by their televisions, machines that fed a hungry, growing fear with mouthfuls of indignation, wrapped in the warm comfortable pretence that they were on the right side. They would picture him kicking down a door and crossing the divide from their world to the place where evil exists, his gun drawn, ready and willing to do his noble duty, but they were too strong, too wicked for him. He was killed, they would say, but they would not say how. It would be too unpalatable for decent folk to contemplate. So they would reach into their own darkness and find their own answers and whisper about it together on dark evenings when they felt most safe.

  The circular compound was flanked on each side by 2 fair-sized hills, both thickly covered in vibrant trees and dense undergrowth. The road and surrounding grassland leading up to the sturdy wooden fence looked down into the ring of houses. Tim could see a swimming pool and several well looked-after fields with straight rows of green leaves. Other areas were cordoned off with neat fencing. Shielding his eyes from the low sun, he could just make out several animals feeding on the deep green grass. Beyond the hills, the ocean beat against outcrops of iron-coloured rock, spraying a salty mist onto the land. The only area accessible to the sea lay directly behind the compound, a sun-bleached strip of white sand linked by a well-worn path. He imagined, under different circumstance, that this would be an ideal place for a holiday.

  They leaned up against the side of their car, parked some distance behind the armoured trucks that had encircled the enclosure on 1 side, spread out in-between the 2 hills. Tim turned his attention to the soldiers who were milling around behind the safety of thick steel, checking and double-checking their weapons with a kind of grim seriousness. Others intently watched the compound for movement, either through binoculars or riflescopes.

  “Is this really going to happen?” asked Tim, mostly to himself.

  “What would you have us do?” Sir said amiably.

  “I don’t know…”

  “There is nothing we can do,” he said, with an air of finality.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Was it your idea? With the money and everything?”

  “Yes. I suppose it was.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?

  “Why invent it?”

  A wry smile touched Sir’s face and he shrugged. “It was my job.”

  “That’s your excuse?” Anger began to trickle into Tim’s voice as he turned to face the nameless man.

  “Do you think me evil? Do you think I looked at my system in its conception and saw its future, then carried on regardless?”

  “Well, if it was your job…” Tim added sarcastically through clenched teeth.

  “Listen, and listen carefully. Who do you think you are? Are you so much better? More moral? Look at where you’re standing. You’re about to watch the slaughter of women and children and the gun is in your hand. Who’s your judge? I can tell you for definite - it’s certainly not me.” They stood in silence, leaning back up against the car.

  “Are you 2 ready to watch history?” They both looked up quickly to see the Commander-in-Chief clad in a bullet-proof vest ever so slightly too tight for him. It gave the impression of a turtle trapped in a shell 2 sizes too small and whose limbs struggled to operate effectively. Through the gaps in the armoured crust, you could make
out a tailored uniform covered in shiny medals. Tim and Sir simply nodded vaguely in his direction, hoping it was enough for him not to notice. He pulled out a hip flask and offered it to Sir. He accepted.

  “We go in 15 minutes,” he said, excitement bubbling under the surface of his voice, threatening to escape at any moment with a loud pop.

  “Sir, we have no idea who’s in there. There could be women and children,” Tim reasoned, trying to keep his voice level and emotionless.

  “Nonsense. They’re terrorists. Don’t you watch the news?” A broad smile broke across his face as he took back the hip flask and took a nip. He put it back into his pocket - not offering it to Tim – and waddled away whistling, his arms poking out from his body.

  “If I’d have known what would become of my work, I would have become a milkman…” Sir offered under his breath.

  Tim’s mind raced, “WAIT, Commander. Please, wait,” he shouted. The outreached arms turned 180 degrees.

  “What?” he said with an annoyance that suggested a wrong response might land the inquirer in pain beyond their imagining.

  “But… What about the cameras? Can we get in contact with them, see if they might want to sur…” Tim’s mouth stopped working as his boss stood heavily on his foot and finished his sentence.

  “He does raise a point, Commander, what with the news crew on site. Might not look too good…”

  “Okay, then.” He mulled over something in his mind. “I can see your point. We will attack when it gets dark.” The Commander waved a lazy salute, took a swig from the hip flask, turned on his heel and marched off in the direction of a group of soldiers. Sir let out a snort that Tim took to be a laugh.

  “What’s funny?” he asked, annoyed.

  “We have just convinced the Commander into attacking a group of defenceless people in the dark, away from the cameras and when he is most likely to get away with it. It’s not funny at all. We just keep making things worse is all…”

  *

  DAY 32

  Sunny – 17:26

  I’m either going to die or be part of the greatest television show ever made! I’ve written you a letter explaining… Don’t know why I’m in here, no-one is ever going to watch this…

  Poppy and Tom – 17:39

  Bill is taking us on a boat.

  He’s funny.

  We can do fishing.

  Fish are smelly.

  You’re smelly.

  You’re smellier.

  Come on, Poppy. Let’s go.

  Hold hands.

  *

  Gordon stumbled out of the production hut towards the main house, his legs heavy and numb. He briefly stopped in the kitchen to pick up a knife before climbing the stairs in search of her. She was on the 2nd floor in a corridor, silently watching the soldiers outside through a window. Sunny and Isabella stood next to her, each holding 1 of her hands. They all turned as Gordon reached the top of the stairs, looking at him with sad eyes. Gordon stopped walking and pushed the knife up his sleeve. Isabella whispered something to Sunny and 1 after another they hugged Sophia, kissed her cheek and departed down the corridor in the opposite direction, disappearing into the evening gloom.

  *

  From the hilltop, Richard and the Scientist watched with interest as the soldiers - little blurry plastic figures - arranged themselves, manoeuvring into position, waiting for the giant hand of their general to push them onwards towards the dying embers of the evening sun. Even from this distance, Richard could feel their sense of anticipation, as if a cold sweaty fear were collecting in misty vapours, rising up through the valley to collect in clouds around the peak of the hill. The Scientist adjusted his binoculars, spotting a glimpse of movement in 1 of the fields. He focused in on a small dark shadow shuffling along a furrow, hidden from the soldiers’ view by lines of thick green foliage on either side. Then, came another, and another - an awkward line of small creatures creeping towards an unknown goal. He shifted his view along the snaking line until he saw its head. He resisted an urge to punch the air and shout ‘Yes!’ Instead, he controlled his breathing and spoke in a whisper.

  “That field at the back. He’s there.”

  “Where?” Richard replied, the tip of his rifle waving around uncertainly.

  “There. About 50 metres behind the far building,” he hissed back urgently.

  “I can’t see him.”

  “You see the far building?” Frustration crept into his voice.

  “Yes.” The magnified side of a building, briefly blurred by motion, moved into the crosshairs. A wave of nausea passed through Richard’s body. He blinked rapidly forcing the feeling back down inside himself.

  “He’s behind, near the edge of the field now.” He forced his eye wider. A window filled the scope along with 2 people - a young man and a lady, locked together in embrace. His hand rested lightly on her cheek obscuring her from view. Her blonde hair trickled over her shoulders.

  “Can you see him? Shoot him. Shoot him!” The Scientist’s voice had built to a crescendo, thick with excitement and he had stood up, oblivious to the risk of being seen. Then, Richard’s stomach tensed and knotted into a tight ball. Something disappeared from inside his chest as he tried to gasp a breath.

  “Kill him, you idiot… KILL HIM!”

  *

  As soon as Gordon had seen her, he felt stupid for holding the knife. He felt instantly sober as if a shower of cold water had rushed over and through him, washing all his old feelings away and replacing them with nothing but warmth for her and a cringing stupidity for himself. They didn’t speak. There was no point. They just stood together gazing out of the window. He didn’t realise anything in that moment and he was sure he should. He just turned to face her, drawing his finger down her cheek, trying to look deep inside her, through her eyes, those lying eyes. All he saw was a mirror for his own and it reminded him that the only reason she was here was because of him. As she moved towards him, lightly kissing him, he forgot everything.

  *

  He rose to his feet, dropping the rifle, blinking and gulping in uneven breaths. The Scientist came at him, shouting obscenities, his face contorted with rage. He struck out at Richard with open fists, futilely slapping at his face. Then he felt pain, nails clawing at his face and neck. Reaching out both hands to fend off the invasive digits, he grasped at the air finding something solid to hold. With pause, Richard let out a roar and bit down on the Scientist’s outreached finger, letting go when the shouting changed in pitch to a long drawn-out scream. Richard dropped to his knees, frantically searching the undergrowth around him until he found what he was looking for. Jumping up, he forced himself down the hill as fast as his legs could carry him. He dodged between trees picking up speed quickly as his legs struggled to keep up with the growing velocity of his body and flailing arms. Tears streamed down his face, down to his contorted mouth which was fixed open, rhythmically expelling loud throaty noises.

  *

  Tim and his unapologetic boss had stood in uncomfortable silence now for what seemed like hours, like they were innocuously attempting to delay the onset of night and the horror that would ensue. Even the news chopper had been ordered back some distance and was now barely audible. Tim knew that their zoom lenses would capture all the necessary propaganda required with minimum effort.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked Tim in a voice barely above a whisper.

  Tim concentrated for a moment. “No.” Then, they remained silent.

  “You must have heard that.”

  Tim had this time, a tiny indistinct voice, twisted and distorted by the wind. Some of the soldiers looked towards the hill.

  “What was it?” Tim whispered.

  “Ssssh a minute.” Everyone fell silent, including all the soldiers. The near-absolute silence was followed several seconds later by a very faint voice.

  “Did that say – ‘Shoot him’?” Tim asked quietly to no response, the tension growing slowly inside him. The following moment of quiet was br
oken with what Tim thought was a distinct ‘Kill it’ or, possibly, ‘him’. He looked at Sir who shared his puzzled look. All eyes were now fixed on the hill where several of the closest soldiers were now pointing their rifles. They all heard the next bit: some muffled shouts followed by a high-pitched, eye-watering scream.

  Then came the turn of some sort of beast. He listened to a series of low guttural roars, dripping with rage and cruelty crashing down through the wood with the cracking of branches. He felt its breathy bubbling hatred, growing in volume in short rumbling blasts of intent as it approached them. The ambiguity of the accompanying screaming forced Tim’s mind to imagine something repulsive. The hairs on his neck rose as he instinctively reached for his gun. Every eye was now fixed unblinkingly on the growing swell of noise coming from the join between the thick woodland and soft grass they were stood on. Some of the soldiers instinctively began taking steps backwards.

  Then it emerged, lurching swiftly out of the trees, quickly covering the open ground between the wood and the compound. Stuck to its thick body were bushes, branches and parts of trees, as if the forest had given birth. The astonished soldiers might have opened fire had it not been moving in the opposite direction away from their position. Seconds after it appeared, it fell, tangled up in itself. Tim suddenly realised that it looked a lot like a man dressed in a full camouflage suit.