by Seth Rain
‘What happened to him?’
For a moment Jack appeared confused. ‘They got to him. Don’t know how. But they did.’
‘On his date?’
Jack nodded slowly at Isaiah and the tattoo-machine. ‘We’re going to give him a date,’ he said. ‘And he’ll be like the rest of us. Like you.’
‘But it won’t be true,’ Scott said. ‘What’s the point in tattooing a date if it’s not true?’
‘One of them still got to him,’ Jack said. ‘To William. They still got to him. One minute he was there, having a drink, laughing. The next, he was dead.’
Scott glanced at his own date.
‘If we couldn’t stop it happening to William, then no one has a chance.’
Something about Jack’s words made Scott think back to the old woman on the train, to the date graffitied on the bridge.
‘We’re going to tattoo the Watcher,’ Jack said. ‘With a date of our choosing.’
The expressions on the men in the room were cold, detached from what was happening. One of them reached behind the tattoo-machine and flicked a switch. The machine hummed and a blue light flickered across it.
‘What’s it gonna be, kid? You get to choose his date. And on that date, sometime in the future, your Watcher mate is gonna die.’
Two arms folded out from the machine, two needles extended from the arms, and paused, humming, in mid-air.
‘It won’t be real,’ Scott said. ‘Only the AI can work out the dates.’
‘That’s what we’re going to find out. You give me a date and we’ll tattoo your friend here. If what you say is true, then the AI knows this already. It knows that you’d be here, that you’d have to choose a date for the Watcher, and it knows the date you’re going to choose.’
They let Scott edge closer to Isaiah and the machine. One of the men took Isaiah’s arm and strapped it to the machine. Isaiah stirred, his head rolling.
The machine ticked, then whirred.
‘Scott?’ Isaiah said, his voice slurred.
‘It’s going to be okay,’ Scott said, laying a hand on Isaiah’s shoulder.
‘I’m going to need a date,’ Jack said. ‘Or I’ll pick one. What about tomorrow?’
‘The twenty-second of April,’ Scott said.
Jack smiled. ‘I didn’t need the AI to predict that. Even I knew you were going to say that.’
The machine’s arm jerked into life, slowing as the needle reached Isaiah’s hand. The needle pressed against his palm.
Scott watched the date appear on Isaiah’s hand, one number at a time.
Thirty
The tattoo-machine’s arm lifted from Isaiah’s hand, spun its needle one last time, and then froze.
‘Now your mate has a date like the rest of us,’ Jack said. ‘And we’ll keep an eye on him.’ He winked at Scott. ‘We’ll watch him.’
‘Now you’ll let us go?’ Scott asked.
‘You still want to see Mathew?’
Scott nodded.
‘Good luck to you, kid.’
Jack walked over to Isaiah, unstrapped him from the chair, and helped him stand. ‘Time to go, Watcher.’
Scott followed Jack and supported Isaiah’s weight. ‘Can you get us closer to Mathew?’ Scott asked.
‘Do you know where he is?’ Jack asked.
Scott nodded. ‘Isaiah knows.’
‘And what – you think he’s just gonna let you walk in and demand he check your date?’
Isaiah tried to lift his head. ‘I can,’ he said.
‘He’s awake,’ Jack announced, smiling. ‘You see your tattoo, Watcher?’
Isaiah lifted his arm, draped over Scott’s shoulder, and saw the tattoo. ‘Mathew will see me.’
‘Help us,’ Scott said to Jack.
‘What makes you think I want to help you?’
Scott held Isaiah as he leaned against the wall next to the doorway out of the warehouse. ‘You don’t want these dates to be true.’ He looked past Jack to the men waiting behind him. ‘None of these men do. If you hate the Watchers as much as you say you do, then help me prove them wrong.’
Jack glanced behind, at the other men. ‘There’s no way your date’s wrong, kid.’
‘So what have you got to lose? If I’m right and this date is wrong, then all of it – the lot of it – could be wrong: the 144,000, the Second Coming, the Rapture. All of it.’
Jack swallowed and glanced at the floor.
‘You don’t want any of it to be true,’ Scott said. ‘Not really.’ He leaned in closer and whispered, ‘You’re as scared as everyone else. You’re as scared as I am. What if they’re right? The Watchers? What if it’s all right and He’s coming for us?’
Jack shook his head slowly. ‘Heaven’s all bullshit.’
‘Then let me prove it. Help me.’
Jack spat. ‘I’m not interested in helping Watchers.’
‘I’m not asking you to help him,’ Scott said. ‘I’m asking you to help me. Help yourself.’
Jack took a step back and rummaged through his coat pocket before pulling out his e-cigarette. ‘If I do, it changes nothing. The Watcher is marked now. That’s the day he will die. We can’t forgive what the Watchers have done.’
Scott glanced at Isaiah, his head hanging, staring at the date tattooed on his hand.
‘Help me,’ Scott repeated, facing Jack.
Above them, rain fell through one of the many gaps in the warehouse roof. The afternoon sky was steel-grey. In two corners of the building, fires burned in oil drums, generating a damp heat. On the floor, with two men dismantling them, were what appeared to be police drones.
Jack stood close to one of his men – a short man who wore a hoody beneath his black jacket, the hood pulled forward to cover the top half of his face. They spoke for some time but Scott couldn’t hear what they were saying. The man lifted his head now and then and nodded.
‘We’ll take you,’ Jack said finally. ‘I can’t say I like the company you keep, kid.’ He coughed and cleared his throat. ‘But good luck to you. Come back and see us some time.’
Scott nodded at Jack but couldn’t bring himself to thank him. He couldn’t help remembering what Jack had done to Gregory. He linked arms with Isaiah and they followed the short man outside. The rain fell slowly and smelled of turned earth. They walked along the side of the warehouse and across a grassy clearing strewn with rusted iron girders and piles of old, undressed bricks. Scott struggled with Isaiah, who winced with pain whenever he put weight on his left foot. The man they followed pointed to an alleyway, at the end of which Scott saw the canal. He lifted Isaiah’s arm over his shoulder and virtually carried him the last few metres. When they reached the canal, they saw a narrowboat. Scott froze. It was Gregory’s. He looked from the boat to Jack’s man who had shown them the way. The man removed his hood. It was Stretch. Scott wanted to ask what had happened to Gregory, but said nothing. There was no point. Stretch looked stubborn, his mouth set in a firm line. Scott helped Isaiah onto the boat and down the stairs. Within minutes, Stretch had started the engine and they were moving. Scott sat on the bench he’d used the night he’d talked to Freya. He recalled how her eyes had shone in the darkness, and how every time she had closed them he had waited for them to open again so she would be there with him.
Thirty-One
Freya and Noah were in a small room at the back of the church, their hands tied behind their backs, side by side on a lumpy settee.
‘Untie us,’ she said, flexing her shoulders, trying to break free of her restraints. She looked at Noah. ‘He’s hurt – he needs help.’
Gabriel’s arm and chest were strapped. He held out his free hand. ‘Please. Wait.’
Noah scowled and leaned forward, pulling against the restraints on his wrists.
‘Stop,’ Gabriel said. ‘You’ll hurt yourselves.’
‘Hurt ourselves?’ Freya snapped. ‘You killed Paul!’
‘It should have been Scott,’ Gabriel said. ‘Only Scott. But wh
en Isaiah shot me, it all went wrong.’
‘You’re an animal!’
‘Please,’ Gabriel said, ‘listen to what I have to say. It’s Scott we need. You don’t understand the importance—’
‘Don’t start that again,’ Freya said.
Gabriel walked to the window at the far end of the room. ‘What happened, Noah? Why did you let Isaiah stop me killing Scott?’
Noah shifted in his seat. ‘What you were doing was wrong.’
‘You know me, Noah. You know I wouldn’t do something like that if there was another way.’
‘There has to be another way,’ Freya said.
Gabriel inhaled deeply. ‘If I told you why it was so important, you wouldn’t believe me.’
‘Try us,’ Noah said. ‘We’re not going anywhere.’
Gabriel looked out of the window. ‘I want to take you to see someone.’
‘Who?’ Noah asked.
‘There were three of us who worked with the AI, who developed it.’
‘And released the dates,’ Freya said. ‘Yes, we know.’
‘I never wanted to release those dates. That’s not what the AI was for.’
‘I’ve heard all this before.’
‘Which is why you need to hear it from someone else,’ Gabriel said. ‘From Juliet.’
‘No one knows where she is,’ Noah said.
Gabriel looked down at the floor.
‘You do?’ Freya asked.
Gabriel nodded. ‘She won’t thank me for taking you to see her, but I have to do something. Maybe if you understood, you might help me.’
‘Help you?’ Freya snapped. ‘Why would we help you?’
‘I’m truly sorry for what happened to Paul. I know he was a good man.’
‘Don’t,’ Freya said. ‘Don’t talk about him.’
‘If you’ll come with me and listen to Juliet with an open mind, I know you’ll see things differently. Please.’
‘Untie us,’ Freya said. She nodded at Noah. ‘And help him. You have a surgical-machine?’
Gabriel bit his lip.
‘Remove them and help Noah,’ Freya said. ‘And we’ll go with you and listen to her.’
‘Will you really listen?’ Gabriel asked.
Freya glanced at Noah, then back to Gabriel, and nodded.
Thirty-Two
Scott wiped his forehead, his skin damp, his body shivering. The narrowboat’s engine made a loud, continuous chugging noise. Isaiah was awake, lying on his side, his face pale. Scott stood and walked over to him. ‘You’re in pain.’
Isaiah needed Scott’s help to sit up.
‘Will Mathew be able to help?’ Scott asked.
Isaiah nodded. ‘Do they have any whisky?’ he asked, scanning the boat. ‘I could do with some.’ He nodded at his ankle. ‘For the pain.’
Scott smiled. ‘For the pain.’ He searched the kitchen and found four bottles in a cupboard. Placing two glasses on the chair next to Isaiah, Scott cracked open the bottle and poured. They sipped their drinks. Scott enjoyed the warmth at the back of his throat, in his chest, then his stomach.
‘How long have you been a Watcher?’ he asked Isaiah.
Isaiah sipped the whisky and grimaced. ‘Since the beginning.’
‘You were one of the original Watchers?’
Isaiah nodded. ‘When it happened – when the first dates were released, it didn’t surprise me. I wasn’t religious; I had no allegiance to a particular faith or anything like that. To tell you the truth, I’d not given any of it much thought.’ He took another drink. He was already a better colour, no longer pale. ‘But when it happened, it made sense. You know?’
Scott stared into his glass.
‘You don’t agree?’ Isaiah asked.
Scott shook his head. ‘Sorry.’
Isaiah raised a hand. ‘I once thought the way you do. Before the Chosen were discovered, I felt the same way.’
They drank again.
‘I had a friend who was Chosen,’ Isaiah said, resting his glass on his thigh.
‘Is he dead?’
Isaiah nodded. ‘He died the first year – less than a month after the email. He hadn’t even got his tattoo.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It made me angry at first. He had a heart attack – on the date in the email. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t get my head around how it could do that – how the AI did it. It was as if knowing the date made him die – a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy.’
Scott waited, listening to the engine.
‘Freya and me,’ Isaiah said. ‘That’s when we broke up.’
Scott tried not to appear too interested.
‘There was always an imbalance,’ Isaiah said. ‘Between us.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I loved her more than she loved me. It was always that way.’ He took a long drink. ‘It’s okay. I always knew. I’d have done anything for her.’
Scott shifted in his seat.
Isaiah smiled. ‘I’ve seen how you look at her.’
Scott thought about denying it.
‘It was Freya who became a Watcher first,’ Isaiah went on. ‘And I followed her. I wanted to make sure she was okay. I was sceptical, but convinced them I was a believer. Once I was in, I saw the truth.’
Scott stared at the wall ahead of him. ‘Have you killed anyone? On their date?’
‘No,’ Isaiah said. ‘I’ve told you – it doesn’t work that way. Watchers – they watch.’
‘But what about the revolver? What’s that for? The five bullets?’
Isaiah winced and held his leg. ‘You know only too well that there are people out there who take matters into their own hands. We protect the Chosen; we don’t harm them. The Watcher’s speech is for those who contest the dates.’
Scott recalled Craig, and the rogue Watcher.
‘I know what happened to your friend,’ Isaiah said. ‘But that man was no Watcher.’ He shifted in his seat.
Scott believed him.
‘I promise you, Scott. That is not the Watchers’ way.’
Scott looked into his glass and then finished it. From the moment he had discovered he was one of the Chosen, he had not felt in control of his life.
‘She never loved me,’ Isaiah said.
Scott thought about denying any interest but waited.
Isaiah continued, ‘Not really loved me. I’ve seen the way she looks at you too. I can’t say I don’t envy you. She’ll be okay. She’s stronger than all of us.’
Scott sighed and rested his head on a cushion. He recalled Freya standing in New Street Station, waiting for him. He didn’t know it at the time, but her red hair, her green eyes, the way she moved – all of it was being etched into his memory. That was the thing with memory: you had no control over it. Sometimes the strangest, seemingly irrelevant moments were stored in the brain forever. But sometimes, the memories he wanted to keep were kept too. His thrill at imagining her shifted to fear. Where was she? What was she doing? He wanted to see her, talk to her, be around her.
The throb of the narrowboat’s engine grew louder. He closed his eyes.
A voice woke him. He looked around, remembering where he was and what had happened.
‘I can’t go any further,’ a voice said.
Scott’s head was groggy, his hair soaked in sweat, his chest thumping. Even when he slept, the threat of being caught plagued him.
It was Stretch. ‘You’ll have to get off here so I can turn the boat around.’
Stretch helped Scott lift Isaiah from the chair and both men carried him up the stairs. Outside, it was cold and damp, an invisible drizzle coating both Scott and Isaiah in seconds. The narrowboat had been tied to the bank. Scott jumped off the boat first and reached for Isaiah, who groaned in pain as Stretch guided him onto the path.
Without saying another word, Stretch walked to the rear of the boat and sat next to the tiller. The engine started up and the narrowboat powered away from them.
Isai
ah, his arm around Scott’s shoulder, pointed the way they needed to go. ‘It’s not far. Just up ahead.’
Scott held Isaiah’s arm and they began to shuffle in the direction he’d pointed.
Within minutes, the narrowboat’s engine had faded away.
They walked for twenty minutes, in places having to push through bushes that had grown across the towpath.
‘We’re nearly there,’ Isaiah said. ‘It’s on the other side of that bridge.’
Scott could no longer see a bridge in his mind’s eye without also seeing Gregory’s body hanging from it. This one emerged through the drizzle, and soon they were passing beneath it. As they arrived on the other side, Scott saw two figures ahead, standing with their legs apart, their coats open.
‘Mathew’s Watchers,’ Isaiah said.
They didn’t move, only watched as Scott got closer.
‘Show me your hands,’ the Watcher on the left said, pointing a revolver at Scott.
‘He’s a Watcher,’ Scott said, pointing at Isaiah before raising his hands.
They got close enough so the Watchers could see Scott’s raised hand. ‘You’re Chosen?’ the Watcher asked.
Scott nodded.
‘He’s no Watcher,’ the other Watcher said, pointing at Isaiah’s hand and tattoo.
‘The tattoo’s not real,’ Scott said. ‘The clans – they did it to him. You can see it’s only just been done.’
‘Twenty-second of April,’ the Watcher holding the revolver said to Scott. ‘You’re him.’
‘He needs help,’ Scott said, gesturing towards Isaiah’s leg. ‘Are you with Mathew? We need to see him. It’s important.’
‘Can I see it?’ the other Watcher said, ignoring him and moving closer. ‘Your date?’
Scott showed both Watchers.