The Prometheus Effect

by Jonathan Davison

  “Perhaps Deacon's pissed off too many people.” Sarah said, cynically directing her anger towards the Prime Minister who had not had an easy run of it of late.

  “It's the damn Chinese. The whole red sky thing is a calling card.” Joshua remarked in jest although others may have read more than a little in to it.

  “We need to get to a damn TV station or even a local radio, find out what the fuck is going on.” Sarah said forcefully. She was right in a sense, it would at least answer the question of why they could not broadcast.

  “I'll go.” Joshua said putting himself forward.

  “You'll need a car.” Sarah wisely noted Joshua's lack of transport. Throwing him a bunch of keys, it was quickly agreed that Joshua would tackle the local commercial radio station, 'Thames Talk' which had their offices in Camden.

  “It may be that they are broadcasting but the signal is being lost, I expect they are also in the dark the same as us!” Joshua said as he made his way to the car park.

  “Josh?” Sarah called out halting him in his tracks.

  “Be careful.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Niemechek Residence, Orlando, Florida

  November 14th 2020

  Roger Coffey sat nervously upon the long upholstered sofa clutching a large glass of red wine. Jill sat at the other end of the sofa, her glass long since emptied. It was late. They had talked long into the small hours of the morning, remembering Paul, discussing their collective experiences with him throughout the past ten years. Roger looked at Jill and remembered the way she looked when he had first met her when they were both still in the Air Force. They were sweethearts then but people change. Roger never begrudged Paul, they were a perfect couple and Paul was always contented to have Roger around despite their well known history.

  Jill's living room was large and plush. The sofa's matched the wallpaper, the wooden furniture was all the same shade of deep red brown mahogany and several up-lighters gave the room a comfortable feel that was homely and warm. Jill was in her early forties and had given up work when Paul went to NASA. She did not want for much, her children got the best of her attention and she was an active and proud parent to two girls, nine and eleven.

  Roger had not planned on staying so late. It was only meant to be a fleeting visit. He wanted to know that Jill was coping with the horrendous events of the past week. He did not even mentioned his accident at first. He was too concerned for Jill, plus in his mind he needed to know what might have driven Paul to take his own life.

  Feeling a little vindicated to know that Paul had no hidden depression or worries, Jill revealed that Paul had in fact just bought the family tickets to Disneyland the previous day and had been discussing taking leave in the summer. Roger had been suspicious from the start when he was delivered the Director's verdict on Paul's state of mind. Roger did not even want to consider an alternative to his boss' verdict, to do so would open a whole can of worms.

  “Did I mention that I crashed the car on the way over?” Roger asked, despite knowing that he had not talked about it previously.

  “Oh my God, you're OK though? What happened?” Jill's eyes were glazed and her speech slightly slurred. Her accent was unusual, her English heritage was tinged with the American twang, a product of emigration earlier in her life. Roger did not know if this was the most appropriate time to be raising his suspicions.

  “Brakes failed.” He replied succinctly.

  “God, that must have been terrifying. Were you going fast at the time?”

  “Yeah, well enough to give me a scare.” Coffey was modest sort.

  “But your car, it's beautiful, how did that happen?” Jill was putting a brave face on her recent grief by taking great interest in others.

  “Well, to be honest I don't know. It looks like the brake line had a major leak and I lost a lot of fluid whilst parked up at Kennedy.”

  “Jesus, you were lucky then? Sounds a bit suspicious, you haven’t been annoying anyone have you?” Jill laughed but Rogers face brought her to a curious silence.

  “What? You don't think...”

  “I don't know. I have a suspicion, no, a feeling that something isn't right at work. The mission was hell. Nothing I want to talk about but...” Roger tailed off, he was thinking that he had better quit whilst he was ahead.

  “Oh no, Roger. I know that face, I know you too well. You're not the one for exaggeration. Are you in trouble?” Jill was clearly concerned and she placed her hand upon his. He took her cold, bony fingers and warmed them in his hot palm.

  “You know, I just can't believe Paul would have gone without some kind of message, some kind of firm reason for giving up. You know him, it's totally out of character.”

  Jill nodded and pursed her lips. She swept back the long straight, mousey coloured hair from her face and stared into the distance.

  “You know I never considered that it could have been anything else. Why would anyone want to hurt Pauly?”

  Roger was still remembering Janus' words in the lounge, the sinister warning and the consequences of disobeying the directive of silence.

  “Jill. I believe there may be some kind of conspiracy. I think Paul may have been involved somehow.”

  Jill's face dropped and her mouth gaped open.

  “You know Paul has never broke the law in his entire life, there's no reason why anyone would want to hurt him.” Jill said defensively.

  “No, I know that. That's exactly the reason why I think that someone wanted to keep him quiet. Paul was the most straight up guy I ever met.”

  There was a quiet moment of reflection as they both thought hard about the theory.

  “And you think that your car was tampered with?” She asked playing devil's advocate.

  “I think it's a major possibility.”

  Jill reeled at the thought of losing Roger as well.

  “Oh my God.” She uttered slowly, whispering.

  “So what's the connection?” Jill asked wisely, if there was a conspiracy then there would be a common theme. Roger must know something that could be dangerous to someone in a position of power.

  “I have a vague idea. Nothing I want to talk about though. I don't want to put you in any danger.”

  “What Roger, tell me. Something to do with work?” Jill was insistent.

  “Let's just say it maybe something to do with the recent mission. I don't know what Paul signed up for but it was obviously something he didn’t agree with. Look...we should not talk about this anymore, at least until I figure out something more tangible. Just to be safe, give me a call every day, check no one is following you, keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

  “My God, do you realise what you're saying? If they have tried to kill you then they may try again!”

  “Maybe, but at least I’ll know that it's coming this time. I'll be careful.”

  Jill squeezed Roger's hand tightly. She could not bear losing him as well.

  “I should go. Christ it's almost time to get up! It's like, nearly 5AM. I'd better go before your neighbours get up or there will be rumours.”

  “Yeah, you're telling me. Next door would have a heart attack seeing you leave this late only a few days after...”

  “I know.”

  Roger collected his soft leather jacket and went to leave. Jill stopped him and clung to him tightly.

  “Please be careful. Let me know if you find out anything.” Roger nodded and walked slowly to the front door.

  “Call me.” He reiterated as he opened the white panelled portal. As he did so, he looked back at Jill only to see her face, pale and in shock. Realising something was very wrong, Roger poked his head outside and realised the magnitude of the cause behind Jill's disbelief.

  “My God.” Roger muttered as he looked upon the dark, red dawn that greeted the American population.

  “What the hell is wrong with the sky?” Jill whined as the surreal image brought about a highly emotional response.

  Roger could not speak. His ast
onishment lasted only a few seconds and then his scientific mind began to go to work. He walked out on to the lawn which had become overgrown in Paul's absence and looked up to the heavens. It was only then he realised how very quiet the world had become.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Thames Talk Commercial Radio Station

  Camden, London

  November 14th 2020

  Joshua revelled in the desolation of the streets as he drove with some haste to the radio station. Annoyingly, he was still stopped periodically by red lights despite there being few other vehicles on the road and even fewer pedestrians. He was tempted to jump them but despite the lack of normality, he was not about to flagrantly transgress the laws of the land just because something out of the ordinary had transpired.

  Unsurprisingly, his sat-nav system had also suffered in the red dawn, it complained incessantly as it searched for its GPS location but with no success. Where had the satellites gone? Finding the small commercial station in the heart of Camden was not easy. Eventually he stopped a passing pedestrian who wandered shell shocked along the street with seemingly no awareness of the bulletins message. The young man pointed vaguely in the direction that Joshua had just arrived from and the reporter tutted and swung the car round with a little excessive throttle causing the tyres to squeal.

  A small sign designated the location Joshua desired and he quickly got out of the car, not even bothering to lock it up or check the door was firmly shut. Peering inside the reception, he could see movement from within and he clattered the door and pressed the intercom impatiently. A moment passed where Joshua stood restlessly on the spot moving his weight from one foot to the other, flicking his tongue around his teeth as he realised that he had not brushed that morning.

  “Can I help?” The door was opened ajar but no further and a small feminine voice emanated from within.

  “Yes, Hi! I work for The Messenger on Fleet Street, is there someone I can speak to there?”

  The timid personality behind the door seemed hesitant.

  “I'm not writing a story, just trying to work out what's going on. There's going to be anarchy on the streets at this rate. We need to get some collective information flowing, people are scared.”

  The door opened a little further.

  “There's not a lot to tell. We have been broadcasting but our signals not going out. If I was you, I’d go home and wait for the TV to say something.”

  The diminutive figure could now be seen as an oriental girl in her twenties, smartly dressed and quite clearly distressed.

  “But they aren't saying anything are they? What do your technical guys say?”

  The door was rudely shut as Joshua's question was abruptly cut short. The reporter spun around and exhaled in annoyance. He reached into his pocket for his mobile instinctively only to recall that it was useless at this time. Getting back into the car, a new Ford hatchback, he set off back to Fleet Street with his limited intelligence gathered. At least he had discovered that the radio stations were not dormant and they were at least attempting to broadcast. This seemed to suggest that the airwaves were either being jammed or interfered with somehow. He wondered if any of his colleagues had gotten anywhere near a government spokesman yet. He imagined that Whitehall and surrounding areas would be inundated with nervous and inquisitive media.

  Joshua drove on a few blocks and began to see sight that he feared the most, he guessed that it was inevitable but it did not make it any more palatable. Groups of hooded youths began to emerge from seemingly every alleyway and crevice in the concrete jungle that was the nation's capital. Joshua laughed to himself, it amused him that normally, most of these feral cretins could barely get out of bed before noon but today they had risen in their droves to make the most of the populations plight. These types of people drove Joshua mad and he had little time for their sorts. As he approached a small posse of young men with intent etched into their faces, he even slowed and wound down his window.

  “Where are you going?” He hollered, feeling protected in the hard shell of his vehicle.

  “Shopping!” Replied one of the gang followed by laughter from the others.

  “Go home. What's makes you special? Haven’t you seen the warning?” Joshua yelled revealing a compassionate exterior despite his inwardly cynical posture.

  “Fuck yourself.” Came the somewhat expected reply. It preceded one of the gang moving towards the stationary car and kicking the door panel violently. Joshua reeled at the disgraceful attack but thought better than to challenge them any further. After all, it was a job car which took the sting out of it somewhat.

  Joshua moved on realising that the number of people on the streets seemed to have grown in the time he had been protesting. As he neared the office which he was glad was in a particularly lightly populated area of London, the pedestrians thinned out a little but it was clear that there was going to be imminent trouble as another army vehicle passed him at speed.

  Suddenly, from in his rear view mirror, a flash of movement gave the journalist only the briefest of warnings that an impact was imminent. A jarring thud hurled Joshua's car across the pavement and into the fascia of a grey, 1960's style office block. The shock of this surprise assault was great and the reporter arched his spine in pain as he gained his bearings. The steering wheel had buckled under the weight of his torso and it was clear that he was lucky to still be aware enough to extricate him from the crumpled car and crawl out to the pavement where the remains of his headlights greeted his hands with their sharp and spiteful form.

  It was clear as he rose to his feet, that another car had smashed forcefully into his right rear and spun him round off the road. This other vehicle now lay in the centre of the road. Its occupant had left the car...through the windscreen. A dark and crumpled body adorned the roadside a number of metres from the vehicle, it was clear that the driver was either unconscious or dead.

  Joshua limped over to the forlorn figure. A young dark skinned male stared vacantly into the sky, the top of his head in tatters. There was a darkened trail of macabre bone fragments and other soft tissues that led from beneath his body off in the direction of the steaming Nissan saloon car which could not have rightly been the property of the deceased. He was simply too young and too inappropriately attired to be the owner.

  Joshua sighed deeply and shook his head at the sight of another young life wasted in ignorance. It was not the first time the journalist had seen a dead body, but it was the first time he had had a hand in someone’s death. It felt awful despite the clear fact that he could not have done anything to prevent it.

  Joshua looked around for some kind of aid. He could not ring the police to assess the situation nor did he feel right just leaving the scene. This was somebody's son. It did not matter that he might be a hoodlum or petty thief, he deserved some kind of ordered memorial. Something however, told Joshua that it was senseless to sit and wait for some kind of assistance. He could hear wailing sirens in the distance and a wisp of black smoke on the horizon unnerved him. He did not want to be on the street alone and unprotected. He was a intelligent man, he knew that things would only get worse from here on in.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Joshua hobbled with best haste the rest of the way back to Fleet Street. Clutching his ribs, he snorted a small run of blood which dribbled down to his top lip. Several police cars tore past him on the way but all were moving with too much speed in order to flag down. He felt terribly guilty about leaving the crash scene and the youth on the roadside. He had written a short note and attached it to the windscreen of his car with his contact details. He did not expect to get a call any time soon. It was becoming clear that the authorities had far more pressing matters to attend to.

  The only people who now walked the streets were those seemingly with the intent to line their pockets or profit from the lawless nature of the day. Joshua saw gangs of both men and women armed with primitive weapons pushing shopping trolleys loaded with looted goods. At times, the pained reporte
r slipped down an alleyway with the intention of staying out of view. He was suited, injured and an easy target for those who wanted the contents of his wallet or his mobile phone.

  It seemed that these anarchists did not only want to fight the authorities but also themselves. Turning a corner, Joshua stood and stared in disbelief as he witnessed a pitch battle between at least twenty or so people who were hurling objects at each other or beating each other with their precious clubbing weapons. The melee was only stopped when a crackle of a gunshot tore through the air and a limp body fell to the asphalt. The crowd suddenly dispersed in all directions and Joshua ducked back around the corner as a young teenage girl ran right past him. Her face was pale and shocked although a bizarre excitement was etched upon her features, almost a smile even.