And, what?
‘And, my penknife!’
Relief flooded his mind.
“Thanks for that. At least I’ve got a weapon.”
The ‘weapon,’ such as it was, wouldn’t be classed as a weapon by any self-respecting street mugger. It would certainly not frighten a pretty, young bank teller, should he ever decide to rob a bank!
But,
‘I suppose it’s better than nothing.’
Inspecting the so-called weapon, he guessed it was no more than two and a half inches long, when closed, with the main blade being a similar length. Plus, there was a shorter blade, about an inch and a half long. A third blade, which served as both a nail file and a screwdriver, and a silly, small corkscrew, which was neither use nor ornament, completed the setup.
The brief glimmer of hope in his mind died before it could grow.
A knot tightened in the pit of his stomach and the annoying lump in his throat was back threatening to choke him.
As he leaned back against the rock, staring up at the sky, holding his ‘weapon’ at the ready in his right hand, with the longest blade open, he pulled down the zip of his fleece with his left hand and wiped the sweat from his brow, with the sleeve of his fleece.
‘Why’s it so bloody hot? I’m sodding boiling here.’
Made a deep, puzzled frown. Why had he not noticed this before? Perhaps it was because he had been too concerned with his and Tinker’s safety and his mind had not registered the fact the sky was a clear, deep blue, with no hint of a cloud.
“This’s not possible,” he whispered in disbelief.
‘’S not right.’
Closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten.
‘If I wait a sec, I’ll be back at home, in my bed, when I open my eyes I’ll find this is all just a dream. Please, be just a dream.’
“Please.”
When he opened his eyes, the sky was still blue, still cloudless, and he was still uncomfortably hot.
“Why?”
Right on cue, his bladder started to complain again. This time he would not be able to hold it. He really needed to pee.
“Oh no. Don’t. Not now, you twat.”
‘Not now.’
He screwed his eyes tight shut, concentrated on trying to control his bladder as he fumbled with the zip on his jeans. Almost wet the front of his jeans when he remembered the bird-thing. If it decided to attack him when his eyes were closed he would not see it coming.
“You stupid asshole!” he mumbled.
Pol shuffled onto his side and arched his body slightly so he could safely pee onto the dry ground whilst missing his jeans. The steaming water soaked in almost immediately. He imagined the grass thanking him for the drink.
Almost caught his foreskin in his haste as he yanked the zip up.
‘Bugger!’
“Urgh.”
Instantly alert, eyes wide open. Pol strained his ears and held his breath.
Nothing.
Satisfied, he released his breath.
‘Phew. Has it gone?’
Threw a hasty look over his shoulder.
Still nothing behind him.
‘Bugger it! I can’t stay here all day.’
There was only one thing for it as far as he could see. No choice. If he stayed where he was, the bird or some other ravenous creature would eventually find him. If he moved, ditto.
“Damn.”
No matter what he did, if he was seen, he would be toast.
He had an urge to push up onto his knees so he could have a better look around. Try to get his bearings so he could decide which way to go, but fear made him hesitate.
‘I must’ve run off to one side, into one of the other fields, when the bird attacked me, and not noticed what I was doing.’
But,
He did not know for sure. If it had happened that way the sky would not be blue; it would still be covered in the same thick gray clouds, the way it had been when he had left the house with Tinker.
Tinker!
‘Oh. Shit. Where the heck are you boy? Come on. I need you.’
A heavy sadness descended and tears clouded his vision.
Sniffing, he tried to shake the feeling from his mind as he rolled over onto his left side. Propping himself up on his elbow he raised his head just enough to allow him to scan across the top of the grass. Forward, left, right, behind, and then up. Especially, up.
Nuh.
As far as he could tell, there was no black speck circling overhead and no big bird standing off to one side, waiting to peck his eyes out. No animals of any kind in the vicinity, at least none that he could see.
‘Right. With luck, the thing’s given up and gone home.’
He hoped.
He turned his head around, first one way, then the other. Scanned around in a full circle.
“Yes.”
Satisfied, he shuffled about and pushed himself up onto his knees. As a precaution, he went further and regained an athlete’s ‘starting’ pose.
His guess about the height of the grass was about right; it was almost up to his waist. Would be about knee-high if he were to stand up. Appeared to stretch for yonks in front of him. All the way, down a steep slope, towards a wide river on his left, up the slope towards a tall rock cliff on his right. Stopped abruptly about a hundred yards or so behind him, mainly because he could see nothing but a range of hills away in the distance. He could only think there might be either a sheer cliff, or a steep bank back in this direction, which blocked his view of any low-lying ground between him and the hills. The hills appeared to be shrouded in a thin, blue mist.
Nothing familiar as far as he could tell. The green lane he had been walking along earlier was nowhere in sight. No hedgerows either. And this did not look like any field he had ever seen.
“Ssshhh. Where the hell is this?” he whispered.
Looking down the hill, along the banks of the river, he could see a lot of short weird-looking trees, overshadowed by a number of much taller trees, but he did not recognize any of them—as if he were the world’s greatest expert on trees anyway. As far as Pol could make out, the trees stretched for a good way, perhaps five hundred yards or more alongside the river before widening out and spreading up the slope towards the cliff. Became something of a forest as they stretched away towards the line of distant mountains.
Turning to his right, the cliff appeared to be a sheer wall of rock, soaring up towards the heavens. Must be at least five hundred feet high with hundreds of large rocks and boulders strewed around the bare ground at the bottom. These rocks stretched outwards and down the hill for a distance of about twenty yards, or so. Smaller rocks, and a few boulders of varying sizes, were haphazardly scattered across the hillside, all the way down to the riverbank. He could only assume the cliff face had been shattered by an earthquake or two at some time in the dim and distant past and all these fragments had been gradually washed down towards the river.
‘Perhaps the river used to be a lot deeper and wider a few million years ago,’ he reasoned. ‘Bit like the Grand Canyon.’
The deep red color of the cliff and the surrounding ground area suggested there might be a high concentration of iron therein.
‘Phew.’
Pol shook his head, made amazed.
‘I don’t believe any of this.’
Totally nonplussed, he stared around in disbelief. The thought of Tinker, alone and bewildered in this strange place, returned to haunt him, and he slumped back to sit on his heels with his head in his hands.
Even though he knew, in the back of his mind, if he was not careful he might alert the bird-creature to his whereabouts, he lifted his head and called out in a loud stage whisper, “Tinker. Tinker! Where are you?” in the vain hope the dog might be able to hear him. “Come on, boy.”
When he got no response, he puffed out his cheeks and made his special whistle, the one he used to call Tinker whenever the dog was out of sight. Expected, and hoped, to hear an answering ba
rk.
None comes.
He gives another, louder whistle.
Still nothing.
‘Come on, Tinker. Don’t play the fool. You have to be somewhere close. I know you won’t have gone home without me. You always come back to find me.’
Raising his voice slightly, Pol again called out, “Tinker!” whilst continuing to glance around, still wary.
Silence.
Nevertheless, he waited, and listened. A deep frown furrowed his brow.
‘This’s not like you, Tinker. You never ignore my whistle.’
Then,
Another horrible thought crossed his mind.
“No. Oh no, Tinker. Don’t say the bloody thing’s eaten you!”
His heart sank.
“Asshole.”
Pol closed his eyes and groaned sadly.
‘Not Tinker.’
The thought of his best pal, his only pal, his dog, being ripped to pieces by some horrible, enormous bird like creature made him feel sick...
Chapter 30
Pol squinted against the glare of the sun and peered towards the forest where it met the river.
‘Looks like there might be plenty of cover down there.’
His top lip curled upwards, revealing the rest of his teeth as he made a low, determined snarl. It was time to make a decision.
Remaining cautious, he slowly stood up, whilst continually scanning the sky. Bunching his fists, he instinctively held the puny weapon at the ready in his right hand with the dog’s lead grasped tightly in his left hand. He took half a step forward with the intention of locating and rescuing his dog after first slaking his thirst down by the river.
‘No.’
He stopped as the reality of the situation began to sink into his numb brain. How could he go searching for Tinker when he had no idea where the bird would have taken him?
‘Idiot!’
Defeated before he had even started. Even if he had known Tinker’s whereabouts, he would be too late to save the dog. Tinker would be history by this time and everyone knows history does not exist anymore.
All he could do was hope Tinker was ok.
He shook his head and growled in frustration
“Grrr.”
Blinked away the tears and looked steadily up at the sky, as if seeking an answer.
Nope.
Nothing.
Blink.
‘Nah! Waste of time asking you. You don’t exist. Twat.’
After staring vacantly around him for what seemed like an eternity, he finally admitted defeat and squatted down in the grass where he rested his forearms on his knees. Allowed his hands to hang limp, but still held onto both his knife and Tinker’s lead. Clung to them as if they were his last connection to...
What?
‘Reality?’
Where?
‘The other world? Home?’
Pol shivered. With fear? Temper? Anger?
Yes, anger, tinged with more than just a hint of fear.
Pol made up his mind. Time for another executive decision a sensible one this time.
In order to be able to sort out his mind, he needed to get out of this intolerable heat. Find some shade, somewhere he could rest up in safety.
He glanced at the cheap, nameless watch on his left wrist which had been a present, nay, a bribe, from his Uncle Charlie, many years before, aimed at encouraging him not to tell his father how Pol had caught Uncle Charlie and his mother snogging on the front doorstep. Would not have been so bad if Uncle Charlie had not got his hand up his mother’s dress at the time!
The watch had a plain white face and ordinary black numerals. It also had a small window close to the right-hand edge, near the winder, which showed a number, twelve, the day of the month. He already knew the month was July, he also knew the day was Friday.
Almost mid summer, four pm.
“Shush. Five hours. I’ve been out since eleven.”
Where had the time gone? He looked up at the sky again.
‘It’ll be getting dark about ten o’clock tonight. Gives me about six hours in which to figure out a way out of this mess. If I can’t, I’m knackered.’
Pol raised his head again and carefully surveyed the unfamiliar landscape.
‘Bugger.’
As far as he could see, there were two choices, three at a push; he could try to make his way upwards towards the cliff, perhaps find a cave or recess where he could at least keep his back protected. Or, he could attempt to make his way down towards the river–he would need water–and hope he could find some kind of cover under those funny-looking trees by the river bank. Else, the third alternative was to go straight ahead, towards the thicker part of the forest in the distance. Surely, he would be safe there. The close-packed nature of the trees would provide plenty of hiding places. Trouble was he did not know what other creatures might be hiding in the forest. Between where he was now, and the forest, was a wide, barren, rock strewn area. If he were to try and cross this in broad daylight, he would be a sitting duck, open to attack. He discounted going backwards because he was unable to see anything behind him owing to a sharp dip in the land. Did not fancy walking off the edge of some camouflaged cliff.
Water was essential for his survival, especially in this heat, but would be of little use if he were not able to protect himself. More so if he was dead! Did not fancy ending up as dinner for some hungry wild animal.
Yuk!
So,
First, he needed to find shelter, preferably near water, and it had to be somewhere safe. Somewhere he could take time out to think about his ludicrous situation.
‘The cliff. Got to be the cliff. It’s my best bet. As long as I can find a cave or a crevice big enough to hide in, I’ll be fine for one night at least. Once it gets dark, I might be able to creep down the hill to get a drink.’
Glancing over to his right, he shuddered at how formidable the rock wall appeared. Looked un-climbable to his inexperienced eyes. Daunting. Nevertheless, it might offer instant security; even if he had to squeeze in behind one or two of the large boulders, he could see littering the foreground. Also, over to his right, and slightly behind, there was a small copse of those weird-looking trees. Had not noticed until now how they looked like a collection of open umbrellas, which had been stuck into the ground in an upright position.
Pol made a guess at the distance between him and the cliff. Not too far, as the crow flies. However, the thought of a lion or something equally dangerous hiding nearby, ready to pounce on him, and rip him to pieces, terrified him.
He made a frightened face as he visualized his stripped and bleached bones lying scattered about in the long grass. Never to be found for another million years or so. Some puzzled archaeologist in the distant future might probably assume he had uncovered the remains of some kind of naked, hairless cave dweller who had ended up in some hungry man-eating creature’s belly. Would not be far wrong.
The sudden urge to curl up into a ball and pull his fleece up to cover his head, tuck his knees up to his chest, ensuring the fleece covered every part of his body, was almost irresistible. A bit like the time, when he was nine years old. He had run out of the house in a huff because his mother had made a so-called beef stew which contained more fat than beef. He had rebelled, had not wanted to eat gristly fat but his father had stood over him and made him eat it all. He had gagged on every mouthful. Finally, when he had cleared his plate, and been allowed to leave the table he had gotten out of there quick enough. Ran out of the house, along the road and ended up on the canal towpath where he had dropped onto the grass verge by a hedge and curled up into a ball beneath the brown corduroy jerkin he was wearing at the time. Carefully pulled the jerkin around him in such a way it covered the whole of his small frame. He felt safe and secure under this protective cover. After having laid there for more than an hour, he was forced to emerge from his cocoon owing to the fact his muscles had started to complain, although he had wanted to stay there, safe, curled up under his
protective umbrella forever, and ever and ever. Once he had nursed his aching muscles back to health, mumbling under his breath about how he hated his mother for making such a rubbish stew, hated his father for making him eat the revolting mixture, hated the world for cursing him with such evil parents, he had begrudgingly trudged back home. Had spent the rest of that day in his bedroom.
Nuh.
Reality stormed back into his brain.
‘Shit to that, you idiot. Safety first. Dreaming second. Food and water can wait for the time being.’
Gulp.
‘Now. How long do you think it will take the bird to get down here from up there once it spots me? Can I get to those trees before the bird does? Even if I did, will I be safe?’
As far as Pol could tell, the drooping branches of the trees appeared to reach all the way down to the ground but he could not be sure because the grass was blocking his view.
‘What if I can’t squeeze under the branches? I’ll be…’
Blink.
‘Dead. That’s what I’ll be. Dead!’
Hah!
‘But. If I don’t shift my ass and make a break for it, I’ll end up dead anyway.’
No contest.
He made up his mind…
Chapter 31
Pol took a moment to steel his resolve before rising slowly to his feet. He made a tentative step forward whilst calculating how it should not take him more than a couple of minutes at the most to reach the base of the cliff even if he was to go via yonder clump of trees as a precaution. Once there, with luck, it would not take him too long to find a suitable niche in which he could take refuge.
‘There are always lots of cracks and caves in rock formations, aren’t there?’ he reasoned.
He crouched over as he walked quickly in the direction of the trees. The grass swished against his jeans, making a loud rustling sigh in time with each step.
Pol shivered when, from the back of his mind, there emerged the shadow of a half-forgotten memory.
Déjà Vu.
Had something similar happened sometime in the past, in a previous life, perhaps? If so, what had been the result? Good? Or, Bad?
Appollinaire: (The Other Side of Nowhere) Page 8