by Perrin Briar
“You know where we are in our course of evolution, don’t you? This isn’t even the first time this has happened. We are now where we were seventeen hundred years ago when the Roman Empire fell. All our advanced knowledge and technology razed to the ground by barbarians. Will we survive? Will we rise again? I don’t know. But I do believe that our best hope lies with blood memory.”
Bang!
Something smacked against the empty cage wall, rattling it. Jordan tripped, falling back. “Jesus Christ!” He looked up at the empty black eyes, the fleshless lower jaw bone and protruding ribs.
“My God, man,” Stan said, helping Jordan up. “You keep a live Lurcher down here?”
“How else am I to conduct my experiments? Gentlemen, this is Lucy.”
Lucy might once have been a pretty teen – the kind all the boys liked. She wore a stained floral pattern dress long since reduced to rags.
Stan backpedalled toward the door. “We can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
“Lucy’s been down here for weeks,” Frank said, “and hasn’t harmed a soul. I assure you, we are safe.”
“Jordan, we should leave.”
Jordan looked at Lucy behind the bars of her cage, her hand reaching out for him. He could smell her rotten breath from ten feet away. He turned to Frank. “You said you had proof blood memory works.”
“Indeed I do,” Frank said, unable to restrain himself from flashing a victorious smile at Stan. “Observe.” He picked up a T-shirt and pushed it through a small hole in the cage wall.
Lucy grabbed it, sniffed it, and then tore it to pieces in a fit of rage.
“As you can see, Lucy fails to recognise what the T-shirt is, its purpose, and how to utilise it.”
“Wow,” Stan said, “that’s ground-breaking. You’ll win the Nobel for sure.”
Frank picked up another T-shirt, put it on over his head, and then ate a cookie slowly, deliberately. Lucy watched, her jaw mimicking his chewing motion. Then Frank picked up a syringe and extracted a small amount of his own blood. His arm was strewn with puncture marks. He took a small sausage, injected the blood into it, and then tossed it into the cage.
Lucy scrambled about the cage, located the sausage, popped it in her mouth and swallowed it, barely chewing.
Frank took off the T-shirt. “Now observe.” He fed the T-shirt through the same hole as before.
Again, Lucy seized it, smelled it… then proceeded – slowly at first – to put the T-shirt on. She struggled with the head hole, but was eventually successful. Stan, stunned, watched open-mouthed.
“Good girl,” Frank said, tossing her another sausage. He turned to Stan and Jordan. “Lucy is at the bottom of the Lurcher intellect ladder. She knows now, but she will forget within the next few hours. Imagine what the Overlord might be able to do. Imagine a predator that knew what you were going to do before you even thought about doing it. It knows all your strengths, your weaknesses, can incorporate your knowledge and learn from it. Imagine it. A physics teacher no longer needs to teach. He gives a small sample of his blood to his students, and they all know as much as him. Don’t you see? They never really tortured our soldiers, only Tasted them. That was why there was no blood in the Lurcher hive we went to. The Tasters had consumed it all.”
There was a moment of silence as Jordan and Stan took this in.
“You call them ‘Tasters’?” Jordan said.
“It’s more appropriate than ‘Lurcher’, don’t you think?”
Jordan frowned with thought. “Can these Tasters mimic our memories?”
“I don’t see why not. A sufficiently strong Taster could copy any sounds they heard. But remember: these Tasters are not really people. They are impersonations of people. They can switch between the people they've tasted and imitate the voices from your past. Lurchers live to acquire knowledge and become stronger. They pursue knowledge the same way our own scientists did. But their ultimate desire is not wealth or power or fame, but control. They exist to Taste and consume.”
“How do you know all this?” Stan asked.
Frank hesitated. “Because while they were kidnapping our soldiers and discovering our weaknesses, we were doing the same with them.”
Stan was stunned. “You experimented on them?”
“Know thy enemy.”
“Wait a minute. You said there’s a leader among them. How does this ‘Overlord’ control them?”
“I don’t know. We never could find their method. But I suspect…” He paused, meeting neither Jordan nor Stan’s eyes. “Telepathy.”
Stan looked over at Jordan with a small smile. “Telepathy.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “Of course. I don’t know why we didn’t figure it out ourselves.”
“I know it’s not easy to accept-”
“There’s no such thing as telepathy.”
“There was no such thing as Lurchers until a year ago.”
“But telepathy’s going a tad too far, don’t you think?”
“As I’ve shown you, blood memory is real. The dividing line between reality and fantasy has blurred beyond all measure.”
Stan shook his head, threw up his hands.
“Now,” Frank continued, “the thing about a virus is that it’s not even a living thing. On its own it is about as active as a third-generation skivvy on the dole. But introduce life, and hey-presto, you got yourself a super organism. But it must have a host. Willing or not, the virus will take control. But even a virus can evolve. The upper echelons of Lurcher society can read your memories crisper and cleaner than you ever imagined. Your life in HD. By the time we learnt about it, it was already too late. There’s no way to stop ‘em from reading your blood.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Jordan said, reaching into his pocket. He took out the three remaining yellow chill pills.
“What’s that?” Frank asked, taking the pills, holding them up close to his eyes and sniffing them.
“They’re used to defend against the Tasters.”
“Defend?” Frank said, slipping one of the pills under a microscope. “How?” He was silent as he twisted the focus knob. “Interesting. Tell me, have you seen anyone take one of these?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“The body seemed to… implode, rejecting the blood.”
Frank frowned and looked up from the microscope. “Shouldn’t it have had the opposite effect?”
“What do you mean?”
“The people who made this wanted to stop the Lurchers from Tasting their blood, right? So why make the blood come out? It makes more sense to keep the blood inside the body, doesn’t it?”
Jordan shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Frank thought for a moment. “How did the Lurchers react when they Tasted the blood? Did they like it?”
“No. They spat it out straight away.”
Frank grunted in satisfaction. “Fascinating.”
“What is?”
“Can you go to the refrigerator there,” he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, “and bring me a vial of blood? Any is fine.”
Jordan moved to the grimy refrigerator and opened the door. There were a dozen vials. Jordan selected one at random.
Frank took the vial without a “Thank you,” extracted some of the blood with a syringe, and dripped a few drops onto a pill. He perched over the microscope. He fiddled with the fine focus knob. After a moment, purple blood dribbled off the microscope onto the workbench.
“Extraordinary.” He looked up with childish glee. “Looks like someone’s been trying to find a cure.” He somehow managed to make the attempt not only sound foolish, but reckless. “They’ve created a compound that has the exact opposite effect of the virus.”
“Exact opposite? A cure?” Jordan said.
“No, not a cure. I said it has the opposite effect of the virus. It would prevent the memories from being read. I guess they thought they would cancel each other out, and the virus would have no effect.” Frank moved aside. “Do you
want to see? Go ahead. Take a look.”
Jordan did. The pill looked like it had been half-melted. Frank added another droplet of blood, and Jordan watched as the blood bubbled with whatever was in the pill and turned a dark red, then purple. Next, Stan took a look.
“It’s a nasty little concoction you’ve got there,” Frank said, handing the two remaining pills back to Jordan. “Did you make it?”
“No. A… friend gave it to me.”
“A friend, huh?” Frank cackled. “With friends like that, who needs enemies?”
“They called them ‘chill pills’,” Jordan said.
“What?”
“Chill pills.”
Frank hacked again. “It’d certainly be that all right. With no blood left in your system, it would turn mighty chilly mighty quick. But you listen, you ever see yourself a Taster, you do yourself a favour. You say your prayers and pop that pill you got there. You don’t want them using your memories against your loved ones now, do you? God help whoever’s blood they do get a taste for.”
Jordan and Stan shared a glance. Frank looked between them.
“You’ve seen them, you said,” Frank said. “You said you saw them Taste… That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? They’re chasing you.”
“We lost them,” Jordan said. “And we’ll be out of your hair by morning.”
“I’m not worried. I have all the defences I need.” Frank approached Jordan like a devout approaching a crucifix. He put his hands on either side of Jordan’s head. “There’s something in your mind, in your blood, that they dearly want, my boy. What is it? Do you even know?”
“No.”
“When the time comes, do yourself a favour and pop this pill. Cos there ain’t no other way you’re going to escape them.”
Frank tossed another sausage to Lucy. “Listen to me – droning on when you guys must be all tuckered out. The bedrooms are upstairs. One of you might have to sleep rough downstairs on the sofa.”
“Thanks, but we’d prefer to sleep together. Old habit.”
Frank’s smile broadened. “Of course. You can sleep in the barn. It’s warm, and the hay makes for good, soft bedding. You can stay for as long as you like.”
“Thank you, but we’ll probably just stay the one night and be on our way in the morning.”
“Suit yourselves,” Frank said. “Help yourselves to hot water. Put your clothes in the hamper. I’ll have it washed by dawn.”
133.
Jordan stood before the familiar flame-filled house. Shadows danced with wicked flickering flames, rolling and folding in upon itself, winking out and reigniting in an endless rhumba.
Up in the dirty attic bay window the little girl’s hand pressed against the glass. The fully-grown female figure appeared beside her, eyes glowing bright. Her red lips – visible despite the grime – moved in luscious full-bodied movements.
“Jordy!” the lips said. “Jordy! Don’t go!”
Jordan summoned his strength and dragged his heavy legs toward the front porch. The pain from the fire stabbed him from every direction. His skin blistered and popped. He pushed on, and took another step. The flames snapped at him in cobra-like strikes. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, trying to escape. Sweat ran down his face that had nothing to do with the heat because there was no heat.
There was no heat?
Jordan looked around at the house. The frames hung from the walls, undamaged. The carpets lay unsinged. The heavy red wine curtains hung, seemingly ablaze but not burning. Even the wallpaper hadn’t been kissed by the flames.
He turned to the staircase and climbed step by step. He gripped the smoking bannister and climbed with increasing confidence.
He was halfway up the stairs when he saw them.
The little girl still had her chubby hand pressed against the dirty glass that stained her fingers. The woman stood beside her, grasping the other hand. He could see they wore matching dresses now, made of thin pink material.
“Jordy,” the woman said, her eyes still transfixed on something outside. “Don’t go.”
A stair creaked behind him, but before Jordan could turn, a Lurcher burst forward, stepping through Jordan as if he were smoke. The girl and woman were about to turn, to reveal their faces, and Jordan felt certain his past memories would unfurl with them, but just as he caught sight of the little girl’s round puppy fat cheek something pulled him back, jolting him from the stomach.
He burst through the roof, making no disturbance. He reached with outstretched fingers, but met nothing but air. He picked up speed, and was dragged up and up and up. The house became a dot and-
134.
He snapped awake with a grunt. A harsh beam shone down from an arc light, turning the world white. Jordan shielded his eyes but there was nothing but the halo starburst of the lamp. Anne and Stan moved up beside him, hands similarly cupped over puffy eyes.
“Jordan?” Anne said, voice full with sleep. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Where’s Jess?”
“Wakey, wakey. Rise and shine.” The voice seemed to come from the spotlight. “You didn’t expect this, did you? Especially not from poor old farmer Frank.”
Jordan saw an amorphous silhouette against the lamp. There was a whimper, and Frank shushed somebody quiet beside him. There were two silhouettes – the second far smaller than the first. They stood on a ledge that jutted out from the wall fifteen feet up, hard crumbling edges catching the light.
Jordan’s breath was snatched from his throat. “I swear, if you touch her…”
“I’m going to be doing a lot more than just touching, I promise you.”
“Don’t worry, Jess. We’ll come for you.”
“Oh?” Frank said. “And who’ll come for you, I wonder?”
As if on cue, screeches came from the darkness outside, somewhere in the middle distance.
“I’m so glad you decided to sleep in the barn of your own volition.” Frank’s voice rang out, joyous. “It’s very tiring getting unwilling persons inside.”
“What about the traps you set?” Jordan said. “The Lurchers will be dead before they even get here.”
“I deactivated them, of course.”
Jordan made angry fists. “Why are you doing this?”
“For that, I must return to the story previous. I neglected to tell you the third act of my little story. After the Diss compound fell, those of us who survived moved on. We needed to find somewhere safe – another compound perhaps. But the Lurchers chased us like hungry wolves. They were relentless. They picked us off one by one. We fought as best we could, but out in the open we had no chance.
“I knew that the only way to survive was to sacrifice those around me. I made it look like an accident, of course. It’s amazing how much less aggressive a monster is when it’s full. But eventually I ran out of sacrifices and it was only me left alive.
“The wolves circled. I fell to my knees and begged the Lurchers to spare me. I was surprised to find one actually listened to me. He was not the Overlord, but an underling. They have ways of contacting one another. Ways of communicating we’ll never understand. I promised him further sacrifices if he let me live. The Lurcher touched me on the head, like the Pope giving his blessing, and I was spared. I came across this farm, and every time a wayward traveller comes my way I turn on the lights.”
“Let us go,” Jordan said. “And you have my word we won’t harm you.”
Frank laughed – an ugly hack at the back of his throat. “You won’t harm me? That’s a new one! Aren’t you going to beg for your life? Make promises you can’t keep?”
“Would it make any difference?”
“No. But it’s always entertaining. Speaking of entertaining…” He leaned over and licked Jessie’s cheek with his tongue. Sticky saliva clung to her face. Jessie whimpered. Frank noticed her restless fingers around the bracelet. He tore it away and tossed it down to those below. “Here. Something to remember her by. We shan’t be needing it.”<
br />
At the far end of the barn, the doors buckled inward under heavy blows.
“Ah. You have guests. We’d best let them in. We wouldn’t want to be rude now, would we?”
Frank took a remote control out of his pocket. He aimed it at the barn doors and pressed a button. A red light flashed on the barn door, but nothing happened. Frank frowned and smacked the remote against his palm and tried the button again. No dice.
Frank sighed. “Never trust technology. I’ll just have to replace the doors when they’re finished. I’d best leave you. We have our own… business to take care of.”
There was a final whimper from Jessie before the door above slammed shut. A few pinpricks of light escaped the door’s contours.
Stan shook his head. “Never trust strangers. How many times are we told that over the years?”
The barn was sixty feet long. Thick beams ran across it, bracing a tall arched roof. A nest protruded from each juncture. A series of well-used farming tools hung from purpose-built struts on the wall. There was a musty smell from the wet hay on the rough concrete floor.
Jordan smacked the wall with a fist. “This can’t be happening! We’re so close to the end!”
The barn doors bulged, wood splintering.
“Why is it,” Stan began, “we always get the lunatics? Why can’t we stumble across a nice old lady who bakes cakes for once?”
“Because that would be boring,” Jordan said.
Stan shrugged. “I could get used to it.”
“We have to get out of here,” Anne said.
“You think?” Jordan snapped back.
“How?” Stan asked.
“There must be a way,” Anne said. “There’s always a way.”
“We could break the spotlight,” Stan suggested. “Some shards of glass might fall down, and we’d have something to fight with.”