by Peter Repton
‘Well if you take a good look around you, Lisa. The modern Homo sapiens in this class do show some signs of that trend, what a bunch of mash-ups you all are!’ The class loved his insult directed at them. Again there was applause and whoops of appreciation. Anthropology classes were never this much fun.
Nick closed his statement by saying,
‘As this new generation of taller intelligent individuals, with long limbs and slender bodies, moved further north to distant lands. They adapted to colder temperatures in latitudes much more suited to the Neanderthals.
They were a much different genetic form of early humans who were living there for many years. With their broader bodies and shorter limbs, these nomadic guys were living there before the Homo sapiens showed up. The same appears to be true in Asia where Homo Erectus. The early ancestors of Homo sapiens lived in this same region, the first early humans to have left Africa over one and a half million years ago.’ Lisa smiled up at him, narrowing her eyes. She was full of mischief, determined to win this battle with her tutor, she said.
‘With all the different Homo’s about back then isn’t it a wonder this Eve lady managed to get laid at all?’ Uproarious laughter rocked the room now.
Then Lisa countered,
‘This out of Africa theory goes against the grain of the multi-regional hypothesis believed by many other top evolutionists. They say that people evolved right across the world, all at the same time, doesn’t it?’
Nick was stunned by her knowledge; it excited him. Beauty and brains in perfect harmony in one woman. He looked at her cute round face again, at the fullness of her red painted lips. The sweet upturned curve of her perfect nose. Then on the breeze from the open window Nick caught a whiff of her perfume. Lisa smelt good and fresh. She was young, inviting and desirable. Nick felt his pulse race and an involuntary surge of blood rushing into his penis. Then just when he desperately felt the need to leave, his secretary called his name from the doorway.
‘Professor West I am sorry to interrupt you.’ Nick quite pleased she did; he was about to embarrass himself by growing a stiffy in front of his whole class.
‘Bob Staples phoned, he said it was urgent that he spoke with you. I said you would call him right back.’
‘Thanks, Mary-Lou, I’m on my way.’ Glancing away from the door back at Lisa he said,
‘I am impressed with your knowledge. I suggest you look up and read the back issues of Scientific American called The Recent African Genesis of Humans. Compare it against the multi-regional theory you are familiar with.’ His eyes swept the room and raised his open palms to the assembled students he said,
‘Okay, you guys that is it for today. I will see you all again next week.’ His class started to disperse. He looked at Lisa once more and said.
‘Miss Cutan you have an obvious keen and refreshing interest in this field of human evolution, how about we meet up later to discuss it over a coffee?’ Lisa nodded, smiled and replied.
‘OK why not?’
Nick strode straight towards the door. Just as he reached it, he looked back over his shoulder, seeing the latest temptation to come his way since he moved to this college. Lisa smiled back at him, as he disappeared out the door, she whispered to herself,
‘I've gotcha.’ Lisa Cutan was pleased with herself as she looked around the classroom on her way out. This lecture room displayed a lot of maps of areas of interest where current digs were going on. Some fossils, two incomplete human skulls and a couple of thighbones were on display. Leaving the classroom behind, Lisa knew what Professor West thought. She also knew that the only bone that held any real interest for him now was the one that he kept in his pants.
23
‘Hi Bob it is Nick here, it’s been a while buddy how are you doing?’ Nick asked.
‘I'm good Nick, God willing, how are you, my fine friend?’ Bob replied.
‘Great, the new job is going just swell and some of the girls here in Denver are out of this world. It makes me think I am home in California. I guess it must be the Rocky Mountain air.’
‘I guess you will never change,’ Bob chuckled. ‘With you, it is always women in the first few seconds of any conversation?’
‘I'll not change if I'm still able to breathe while looking at beautiful women. Bob to what do I owe the pleasure of your call after all these months?’ Nick said.
‘Well, Nick I am currently working in the Cascades range. Some quite remarkable geological events are happening. Three hot spot volcanoes are exhibiting a marked increase in activity. In different parts of the world, all within days of each other,’ Bob paused then he gushed,
‘The worst of these was the Hawaiian Tsunami that killed half of the population of Hilo plus over twelve thousand others on the nearby islands. The undersea landslip on the submerged Island of Lo’ihi to the South East of the Hawaiian Islands caused a massive eruption and the Tsunami. The previous worst tragedy took one hundred and seventy lives back in nineteen forty-six. Then an earthquake off the Aleutian's caused a Tsunami. It raced across the Northern Pacific hitting Hawaii.’
‘Wow, the Tsunami shocked me too. I don't know much about your profession, but I guess it’s unusual for all this activity in this short time frame. Bob, you sound excited by it all.’ Nick had never heard his friend speak like this before. Everything about Bob Staples was slow and steady.
‘I can assure you it is not excitement Nick. But, there is more...’ Bob paused to consider how best to phrase his next statement. Nick said.
‘Bob, what is it? Do go on.’
‘Nick someone told me a part of it was going to happen, but in advance.’ His words were now slow, measured just like the Bob he knew of old.
‘None of our equipment picked it up in advance, but I got told about it and it came to pass.’ Nick considered this information for a short time before asking,
‘Bob, are you trying to tell me that Almighty God spoke to you?’ Laughter echoed down the line; the tension released.
‘Praise be to Allah no! It was not Allah who saw fit to speak with me,’ then Bob laughed again.
‘I did not think you would see it that way. But I do believe in the gift of the prophecy, he who told me may indeed have it. Kempston in great detail foretold of these events in advance. Kempston asked me amongst many others. For my help, to try and save people in his desperation but Nick, oh my friend Nick, I failed him, I failed to act,’ Staples voice now took on a forlorn, guilty tone. It was so different from the laughter moments before and the excitement in his voice just before that.
Nick astounded at the range of emotions his friend displayed. In such a short period, became concerned about him. He was struggling to deal with it all.
‘Bob, how can I help you with this, it is way out of my league. Why did you call me? Why have you not spoken about it with your many friends in the USGS or even the FBI?’ Nick queried.
‘I will be honest Nick I was too afraid of ridicule. I dare not take the risk I would lose my respect, becoming a laughing stock. I lost friends as you know when I embraced Islam. My contact referred in his second note to an extinction event, that area my friend is where you come in. I know you have come across this type of thing many times in your studies of the fossil records. As indeed have I, but did any of these catastrophic events have anything to do with volcanoes?’
‘I know some are, but others might be a big asteroid or comet impacts. I can check. Hey, you said second note. Have you not even spoken to this prophet of yours?’
‘I did not say he was a prophet!’ Bob said sharply,
‘I said I believe in prophecy. Mohammed was the last prophet of God and may peace be upon him.’
A long pause ensued and then Bob continued after he calmed down,
‘Yet there were many great prophets including Jesus, before Mohammed but none since. I have been considering that at such a difficult time as the world faces right now. Allah may deem the time is right to send us another one.’ Now Nick had heard everything; his
head was spinning with the amazing transformation. In just ten minutes his friend twenty-six years his senior. Who was more emotionally consistent than any other person he knew. Bob was excited, regretful and guilty. But now he was also questioning a core pillar of his faith.
‘So what do we do now Bob,’ Nick asked with wonder.
‘We wait that's all, we wait. I have asked for information. The next event is going to be in Indonesia.’
Nick was amazed, Bob had said it is going to be in Indonesia. Bob always doubted, never acting unless he was certain, for the first time in his life, Bob no doubts at all.
24
Friday morning in Cleethorpes, David awoke in the seaside boarding house to the sound of a powerful motorbike outside. He had been living in the small guest house for the last three days. David looked at the wall clock, seeing it was just after ten am. The bike revved up again; he looked out of the small, grimy sash window to see the cause of the commotion. David saw a man in the traditional attire of a Hells Angel, with much of his head obscured by an old type motorcycle helmet, not the modern full-face variety.
He wore a scruffy leather jacket with leather strips hanging off the sleeves. Together with a denim jacket with the arms ripped off, slipped over the top of his leather one. A pair of dirty blue jeans and motorcycle boots completed his outfit. He was sitting astride an enormous machine. David recognised it as a Harley Davidson that had been converted into a chopper.
With its frame raked, hard-tailed and fitted with a king and queen seat. The fuel tank of the bike was jet black being custom made in the shape of a coffin. The words Satan’s Servants painted on it in gold calligraphy. The capital S in Satan was depicted by a red open mouthed Serpent, setting him thinking where he may have seen it before.
This biker was laughing at something in the hotel's doorway. Leaning forward and looking right below, David could see one of the young women, the one with the long red hair, standing on the top of a small aluminium step ladder in a short skirt. She was changing a light bulb in the lamp above the door. She closed the cover, climbing back down the ladder. Turning her head, she smiled at the man on the bike, and he let out a long, low wolf whistle. The biker looked right up at David’s window as if he knew he was there and was making deliberate eye contact.
He stared straight at David with jet black eyes for a few seconds. Then looked back at the girl, gave her a bright grin and rode off. David sensed the man recognised him, even though this did not seem possible. But he met his gaze for just a little too long. Considering the implications of this David decided he would leave his lodgings tonight.
Later at 8.15 pm, David pressed the button on a small brass bell on the counter top. The noise in the quiet, small boarding house lobby shattered the silence surprising him. A few seconds passed before he heard a door at the back of the building open and the sound of old Dot’s voice call out.
‘Be with you in a moment dear, my legs aren’t what they used to be.’ David smiled at the old lady as she appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a white cardigan covered in red and yellow roses with a pair of Dalmatian puppy dog slippers.
‘Talking about my legs...’ Dot rambled on a little breathlessly. ‘I remember back in the old day's men used to tell me that I’d got better legs than Betty Grable!’
‘Well, maybe you did.’ David humoured her he did like this woman although he suspected she could be a bit nosy at times.
‘Yeah, well they would say things like that, wouldn’t they? Just hoping for half a chance to get inside of them that’s all they were after. Just like my old Jack used to be, God bless his soul, fifteen years I’ve been on me own now for fifteen bloody long years.’
‘How old are you now Dot? That’s if you don’t mind me asking.’
‘Seventy-eight love, seventy-nine in September, if I make it that far.’
‘Oh, I think you can count on that Dot, you look like a pretty fit old bird to me. You may even still be around to get a telegram from the next King on your one-hundredth birthday.’ Dot grinned at David’s cheeky comment, replying with a twinkle in her eyes.
‘Old bird you say, that makes me think you reckon I look like a bit of a boiler now. But I looked more like a bird of paradise when in my twenties. Often turned a few heads in those days, so I did.’ David laughed out loud at Dot’s sharp sense of humour. She was relishing her small, rare moment of attention. The old boarding house owner was now in her element as she continued.
‘Talking about birds my old Jack used to say I could squawk on like a bloody parrot when I wanted too, flapped my arms around like a chicken when I was dancing too. But I can tell you, still talking about the birds. I have had a cock or two in my time as well!’ Dot cackled out loud.
David once again laughed at her crude joke saying with a tone of regret in his voice.
‘I could listen to you for ages Dot, but I have to be off now, here’s the key to my room. Goodbye, you look after yourself dear.’ Dot gave him a wink and she said.
‘If I win the lottery I’ll need a young toy boy to take with me to Benidorm in Spain; I’ll give you a ring. You remind me so much of my neighbour’s son. Goodbye, love.’
David walked along the Cleethorpes sea front. It was a dull grey overcast evening, but someone was still out on the beach. Lately, some people seemed determined not to let it spoil their holiday, just making the best of it, whatever the conditions.
Many of the seaside amusement arcades were full to bursting, with youngsters playing the latest video games. He saw one fair, pale looking child of about six years old, lying back in the driving seat of a car. Gripping the steering wheel then throwing the vehicle around tight hairpin bends he often bounced a pedestrian off the bonnet. It appeared you could add quite a few points to your total score if you killed a lot of people.
‘Why is there so much teenager joyriding going on these days?’ David answered his question in his mind. In the next arcade, another youth was this time, riding a racing motorcycle, every time he fell off the game restarted. David could see in a few years’ time; this guy would have his high-powered motorbike. Then when he fell off for real the police would pick up all the pieces. As David passed a hot dog stall, the aroma of freshly cooked burgers with fried onions assailed his nostrils. He realised just how hungry he was. He ate no breakfast as he slept until the loud motorcycle woke him up. Having made the decision to leave, he only ate a pot noodle while he packed his few belongings away. David felt tempted to buy a burger immediately. Instead, he decided to find a cheap restaurant and sit down for a proper meal. Several hundred yards further along the promenade, in a side street to the left. He saw what he was looking for, a cheap and cheerful looking diner which advertised steak and chips for a tenner.
David took a seat in the corner of the large restaurant, at a table next to the window, picking up the menu. The place looked tiny from the outside, but ran deep and narrow on the inside, with seating for about a hundred people. It was simple food you got chips with everything. He was just trying to decide between a mixed grill and a rump steak. When a pretty blonde young waitress of about nineteen years of age. Wearing a bright blue tunic and a white lace apron came over to take his order. David returned her friendly smile with one of his own, deciding upon the steak. He ordered the obligatory chips with some peas and gravy. The waitress, her name badge identified her as Julie, asked him.
‘Would you like a drink?’
‘Yeah go on then, I’ll have a Pepsi please.’ She smiled again. David watched her wiggle away towards the kitchen at the back. Watching all these people tucking into their meals made David ravenous now. It was almost nine o’clock. The place was pretty busy still, his meal taking quite a while to arrive.
The steak was succulent and delicious. David assumed it would be like burnt cardboard. The chips were freshly cooked too, not the usually frozen crap most of these joints sold. He devoured the meal as if it were the last he would ever eat. David looked up, seeing the waitress who served his meal, getting r
eady to leave. Another girl arrived to replace her for the late evening shift. This place proclaimed that the takeaway element remained open until one in the morning, to capture the holiday nightclub trade from across the road on the pier. David assumed this new girl came on at nine thirty for about four hours in the evening. With her long curly red hair; she somehow looked familiar.
Sitting back, sated after the scrumptious meal, David sipped his Pepsi. It was almost nine thirty and many diners had gone. Then a tall, dark man who David had assumed to be a waiter, started sweeping the floor around the tables and picking up screwed up paper napkins. He nodded at David to thank him for moving his feet out of the way so he could brush up a couple of cigarette ends. The new waitress faced away from him at the other end of the room. She re-arranged her long red hair, binding it up in a ponytail, which now swayed as she wiped down the tables. This place would get busy again in about an hour. People would leave the pubs and turn their thoughts to food. The café workers were trying to get it back into order before the next rush.
The dull boom of powerful engines cut through the early evening air. Throbbing and reverberating in the narrow street outside. David craned his neck around to look out of the window, immediately recognising the huge Harley Davidson. The one parked outside the boarding house earlier that day. Two other bikes rolled up behind it. They were also custom built. One of them was a three wheeler with a blood red petrol tank known as a Trike.
The mysterious rider with the jet black eyes was still wearing the same scruffy leather jacket and dirty blue jeans from earlier. He swung his leg over the machine to dismount, retracting the side stand with one of his feet. David saw the denim jacket, the one with the sleeves ripped off, had Satan’s Serpents painted in blood red across the shoulders with a skull and crossbones motif on the back of the jacket, dripping blood from an open, grinning mouth. The Harley Davidson’s frame raked back so much the front forks extended way out in front of the rest of the machine it glistened with the sparkle of chrome. It sported chrome rails, and a tattered Union Jack Pendant fluttered in the breeze. The most striking feature David noticed once again was its coffin-shaped black and gold petrol tank.