by Liam Brown
Our planet choking, our economy unravelling – and still no Monsters.
How many more people have to die before we stand up and ask:
WHO ARE THE REAL MONSTERS?
The leaflet went on, giving the details of a rally taking place next week, but before I could read any more I looked up and saw Dustin was on his way back to the table. I was still too shocked to even attempt to pretend I hadn’t been snooping and so I just sat there, the glossy paper lying in front of me like a piece of evidence. ‘So are you coming comrade?’ Dustin asked with a grin.
Realising he wasn’t pissed off at me for going through his pockets, my shock quickly began to evolve into resentment. ‘Huh?’ I spat, not bothering to look up. ‘To the rally?’ he continued. ‘They say it’s going to be the biggest since Year Zero. A million people on the street maybe – one for every murder by our boys in uniform.’ I took a deep breath, counted to five.
And exploded.
‘And what about all those murdered by Monsters, hmmm? Where’s their march?’ Dustin shrugged, on a roll now, oblivious to my rage. ‘Oh pur-lease. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for all that government-sanctioned bullshit about the hidden ‘enemy’ in the sand? Who by the way always happen to live in oil-producing nations? My, isn’t that a happy accident… ’
Somewhere in the distance I heard the sound of breaking glass, followed by Steve swearing.
I stood up and punched Dustin as hard as I could.
‘Fuck!’
Dustin was doubled over the table, clutching his face with both hands. ‘You fucking hit me!’
I stood there shaking. A couple of people around me had stopped talking and turned to see what was going on. It might have looked like an ‘edgy’ downtown bar, but in reality it was just a façade – a place where middle-class white kids came to look tough, even as they sipped their bottles of organic craft beer. It was evidently not the kind of place where hysterical women stood up and punched rich white hipsters in the face. I leant over and whispered furiously in Dustin’s ear. ‘My fucking dad was killed in Year Zero you self-righteous prick!’
Dustin stiffened a little, moving his hands from his face. Already his eye had started to blossom pink and blue. ‘Look, I’m sorry Lorn,’ he said, his voice calmer now, back in control. ‘Lots of people died. My friends lost relatives. And I’m not trying to belittle their deaths in any way, really I’m not. But the whole Monster thing, it’s a fraud Lorna. It’s ridiculous, everyone’s known that for years. Go online if you don’t believe me – shit, even veterans are joining the movement now. I mean, you show me one shred of evidence – one shred – and I’ll… ’ Dustin was standing now, facing me again. And I felt bad about his eye, I really did. But seriously, he just didn’t know when to shut up. And before I could stop myself I felt the bile rising in my throat.
‘My fucking husband is out there now, fighting Monsters to keep pathetic little men like you safe. Why don’t you ask him for some evidence?’
And with that I walked away.
Dustin didn’t call after me. For once I guess he was lost for words. As I reached the bar I slammed down a crumpled twenty, Steve not looking up to meet my eye. And then I was gone, the tears stinging my eyes before I was even out of the car park.
I was halfway down the road when I stopped and pulled over, wrenching open the car door just in time to splatter the tarmac with the contents of my stomach. I stayed there for a moment once I’d finished retching, my head on the wheel, my face a mess of snot and sick and tears. And I wanted so badly to be anywhere else but there. Then I thought of my empty apartment with its lonely little bed and I didn’t want to be there either. Then I thought about Dustin and Danny and I didn’t know where I wanted to be anymore. Everything just seemed broken and dirty and ruined. I lifted my head and my stomach churned again.
And maybe it wouldn’t all seem so bad if I just didn’t feel so goddamned
Sick.
The next morning we were sick. As before, we’d dug shallow trenches to protect us from the wind, though with Jim’s damn night patrol up and runnin there weren’t much sleep to be had. I was lyin in the dirt with my eyes open when I heard it. At first I thought it was an animal of some sort, this low, guttural groan that echoed around the clearin. There was a pause and then the noise came again, louder this time, more desperate. If it was an animal, then it sounded badly injured. I sat up to investigate. That’s when I felt it. A hot, sharp pain in my belly, radiatin all the way through to my back. I don’t know if anyone’s ever stuck a knife in ya before son, but that’s exactly what it felt like – as if I was bein stabbed over and over again with a long, serrated blade. As if someone were tryna finish me off. Clutchin my stomach, I attempted to get to my feet, but the ground beneath me began to tilt and my vision swam. I puked, or rather I erupted – a cascade of thin grey liquid splatterin the front of my uniform and boots as I doubled over, retchin. It stank like something dead. Through the haze of pain and stench, I gradually became aware of the animal sound again, closer this time, more urgent. I tried to look around, vaguely worried I was about to be attacked, before I finally realised the sound was coming from me. I was the animal. I puked again. Then I collapsed.
I’m not sure how long I lay there, face down in my own putrid juices, but when I opened my eyes again the sun was high in the sky and the vomit had started to form a skin. I brushed away the swarm of flies that had settled on my face and tried again to climb outta my hole. This time I succeeded, slitherin out onto a mound of sand then rollin over onto my back, gaspin to catch my breath. High above me a flock of wild geese cut across the sky, locked in a perfect V formation. I’ve always wondered how they do it, the geese. How they keep so organised, disciplined. Like an army when you think about it. They even got the goose step ha. I watched the birds until they disappeared, then rolled back over, this time managin to make it to my feet. Very slowly I started to make my way back towards the lake, lookin for any sign of life. It didn’t take long before I found someone.
‘That you Jett?’ I said, croakin at the lifeless figure lying over by the ashes of the fire. The figure twitched and turned its head towards me. It was Jett alright. ‘Dude I’m sick… ’ he groaned. ‘I think I shit my pants.’ Instinctively I stuck my hand in my own boxers, relieved to find I was clean. ‘Must be those fuckin berries,’ I muttered as I made my way over to him. ‘Trust Doggie to poison us all. You seen that fat retard anywhere? Or anyone else?’ Jett shook his head, then turned green as he let rip a loud, wet-soundin fart. ‘Oh Jesus… ’
It was another half hour before I found Cal, huddled on the far side of the lake. He was pale and sweatin, but otherwise didn’t look too bad. ‘I was gonna try and clean myself up,’ he said, pointin towards his sick crusted top. ‘But the water don’t seem too good this mornin.’ I looked and saw he was right. An oily film of scum seemed to have formed on the surface of the lake overnight, thick and black and toxic. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said to Cal as I helped him to his feet. ‘Just wait ‘till you see Jett.’
By the time we got back to the fire I was feelin much better. I was still shaky but the nausea had more or less disappeared. Jett too looked a little better, though he weren’t smellin too hot, even with his trousers stripped off and a blanket tied around his waist. Now that my head was clearer I could see it weren’t jus’ the water that looked different in the daylight. To tell the truth, the whole place looked as sick and tired as the three of us. The palm trees that hung over us, so exotic last night, now looked frail and rotten, while even the flies that buzzed around us seemed feeble and sluggish. Paradise it weren’t.
As I kicked at the charred set of bones that lay scattered in the ashes of the fire, I heard a noise and saw what looked like a dyin cow stumblin towards us. The cow got closer, and I saw now that it was wavin at us, shoutin and tryin to get our attention. Then I saw the cow was Doggie. ‘Hell… I frown gin… I frown gin!’ he was yellin over and over. I turned to Cal and shrugged. ‘What’s th
e fuck’s a frown gin when it’s at home?’ Before Cal could answer though, Doggie made another sound, one we all recognised this time. He’d stopped to throw up. ‘Well at least that bastard’s sick too,’ spat Jett. We all nodded in agreement.
Doggie was still chuckin up when we reached him. Up close I could see jus’ how bad he was, his hair drenched with sweat, his skin so pale you could almost see his teeth through the sides of his cheeks. Greedy fucker’d probably had a whole handful of berries to himself. Lookin down I noticed the puddle of vomit at his feet was streaked red. I almost felt sorry for the dumb fuck. ‘I frown gin… ’ he gasped again between heaves, his voice thick with bile. I glanced at Jett and Cal to see if they had any ideas. Neither of them said anythin, so I knelt down beside Doggie and slapped him as hard as I could across the face. He coughed a couple of times and turned to me, his eyes driftin into focus. ‘I found Jim… ’
It took another twenty minutes of slappin to get any more sense out of Doggie, and even then he only came round enough to mumble a few garbled directions before he slumped forward and passed out again. Me and Jett set off, leavin Cal to babysit. ‘Don’t forget to check his airways every coupla minutes,’ I called back as we reached the edge of the clearin. ‘And don’t be scared to give him a slap if he looks like he’s stopped breathin.’ I might’ve hated the fat fuck for the berries, but I didn’t want to see him dead. Not jus’ yet anyway ha.
We moved as quickly as we could, which to be honest between the sickness and the blanket wrapped around Jett’s legs, wasn’t too fast. I was startin to feel rough again, a cold sweat pricklin my back as the sun raced towards the centre of the sky. Jett though was lookin better by the second. In fact, now that the colour had returned to his cheeks he was positively glowin. Yup, with his tangled blond hair and his eyes hidden behind an obnoxious pair of sunglasses he’d dug out from somewhere, he could probably’ve passed for some homo Z-list celebrity or somethin. The bastard.
After about five minutes or so Jett started to pull ahead of me, the blanket trailin behind him as his long, athletic legs propelled him forward. ‘Hey, there cowboy,’ I called after him. ‘You’d better slow down. Don’t wanta be shittin yourself all over again.’ Undeterred, Jett seemed to take this as an invitation to start up a conversation. ‘Hey Danny,’ he said as I caught up with him. ‘Did you mean all that stuff you were sayin last night? About there being no Monsters out here?’ I looked over at him, his big, dumb eyes wide with expectation. What the hell was I supposed to say?
‘You ever hear of a guy called Pascal?’ I asked. Jett shrugged. ‘Was he a footballer?’ ‘Close. He was a gambler. At least, he liked to bet. He was a Frog I think. Anyway, he came up with this theory that was supposed to stop kids complainin about draggin their asses outta bed to go to church each Sunday mornin. His thinkin went somethin like this. If God exists and you worship him – well good for you. You’re ridin them pearly escalators all the way to heaven. If God don’t exist but you pray to Him anyway, well where’s the harm there? You ain’t gonna know no better anyhow. Same if God don’t exist and you don’t believe in him. So far so good, huh? But what about if God does exist and you don’t believe? What then? Well kid, as the French like to say, then you’re well and truly fucked.’
Jett was silent for a while as he tried to digest this. Sure, ol’ Jett’s cheekbones mighta been razor sharp, but when it came to the big words he was dull as dog shit. Eventually a light came on somewhere behind those sunglasses and he nodded slowly. ‘So… Pascal was sayin that a gamblin man would bet on there bein a God whether or not he thinks there is one or not?’ I shook my head. ‘Listen, forget God. God don’t matter. What Pascal was sayin is that we should bomb the fuck out of every sandy crap hole on earth regardless of whether we really believe there’re any Monsters there or not.’ Jett fell silent again as he chewed this over. It was a good five minutes before he spoke again. ‘So hang on, I don’t get it. If Pascal proved the odds were against you, how come you said to Jim you didn’t believe there were any Monsters out here?’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Because Pascal’s a French cocksucker and Jim don’t know shit.’ I paused. ‘Anyway, far as I’m concerned there’s only two safe bets in life. The first one’s death.’ ‘What’s the other one?’ I grinned. ‘The more beautiful the woman, the worse she will fuck you over in the end.’ Jett laughed pretty hard at that. ‘Let me guess, you got woman trouble huh Dan?’ I shrugged again. ‘Well I’m still breathin ain’t I?’
Jim on the other hand weren’t still breathin. Jett spotted him first, over by the far west perimeter, right where Doggie had said. From a distance he looked like a fallen tree stump or something, but as we drew closer we were able to make out his medals twinklin in the sun. He was lyin face up. That’s when Jett started runnin. By the time I caught up, Jett had his arm in the air, desperately searchin for a pulse. I don’t know why he bothered. ‘He’s dead! He’s fucking dead!’ Jett was screamin. A sense of calm washed over me. ‘Of course he’s dead,’ I answered. ‘He’s fuckin blue.’ It was true, Jim’s face had turned a particularly sickenin colour. His mouth was hangin open too, and the way Jett was leant over him it looked like he was tryna whisper somethin to him. To be honest it wouldn’t have surprised me if he had sat up and started talkin. Ol’ Jim always did like to have the last word.
‘I just can’t believe it,’ Jett sniffed, still cradin Jim’s head in his lap. His voice had gone all funny, like he was tryin really hard to stop himself hicuppin. If I didn’t know better I’d said he was about to start blubbin. I decided to take control of the situation. ‘I suppose we’d better bury him.’ Jett stared at me, confused. ‘So the crows don’t get him,’ I explained. Jett didn’t move. ‘Listen, I don’t know about you but I ain’t carryin him. Now I say we dig a hole and drop the poor old fucker in it. Unless you’ve got a better idea that is?’ Jett thought for a moment. Then he shook his head. We started to dig.
The sand was harder to shift than I’d expected. There seemed to be a thick layer of silt a couple of inches below the surface, as if maybe the whole area had once been underwater. After huffin and gruntin for around half an hour, we only managed a very shallow trench, barely wide enough to cover Jim’s legs. Realisin we were getting nowhere, I left Jett scrapin away on his hands and knees and went to look for somethin we could use to speed things up.
A coupla minutes later I returned with my arms full of rocks. ‘What are we going to do with those?’ Jett asked as I dropped them at his feet. Ignorin him, I bent down and snatched Jim’s tags from his neck, pocketin ’em. Then I started to pile the rocks on Jim’s face, scrabblin around for more when I ran out and stackin them up until his head was totally covered. After I’d finished I stood back and dusted off my hands, admiring my work. ‘Right then,’ I said, turnin to Jett. ‘Job done. You ready to go?’
Jett didn’t move.
‘Was it the berries do you think?’ he said, not takin his eyes from the pile of rocks. ‘Huh?’ ‘That killed him. You think it was the berries?’ ‘Of course it was the berries!’ I said, slappin him on the back. ‘Well, either that or the AIDS.’ I laughed. ‘Now c’mon ya crazy fuck. It’ll be dark soon.’ Jett kept starin at the rocks. ‘Only there’s no sick.’ ‘Huh?’ ‘There’s no sick anywhere. Or shit. Nothin. I mean, I only had a couple and look at me,’ he pointed down to his bare legs. ‘You’d expect there to be loads, wouldn’t you? If it was enough to finish him off.’ ‘Listen,’ I said, grabbin him around the back of the neck. ‘That incompetent pricklicker Doggie has gone and handed out a bunch of poisonous berries and poor Jim here was obviously too weak to take ’em. Maybe he had a massive heart attack or maybe it gave him a blood clot in his brain. Who the fuck knows? It’s jus’ a horrible, horrible accident.’ I paused.
‘Unless… ’
Jett twitched. ‘Unless what?’ ‘Nah, forget it.’ ‘No, really. Unless what?’ I let out a long sigh. ‘Christ kid, cool it. All I was gonna say, and really I’m jus’ thinkin out loud here, is unless it w
asn’t an accident. I mean, we both know Doggie was jealous of Jim, right?’ Jett scrunched up his face. ‘He was?’ ‘Sure he was. I mean, they’re the same age, coupla years apart maybe. I think they might’ve even signed up together. Only, how can I put this… Doggie’s career ain’t exactly goin places. Thing like that can cause a lot of resentment, ya know? Turn a man funny in the head. Make him bitter.’ I paused. Jett was starin at the pile of rocks again. He didn’t look like he was gonna cry anymore. ‘Christ, what am I sayin? Of course it was an accident. Can you honestly imagine that dipshit Doggie pullin off anythin that sophisticated? Look, let’s jus’ get back to the others and forget it, eh? I won’t say another word about it.’ I held up two fingers and saluted. ‘See, scout’s honour. I won’t say another word.’
I waited a week before I called Dustin. For the first few days I did nothing but lie in bed feeling like shit, the nausea that had started at the Tokyo Lucky Hole having followed me home, growing to the point where I could hardly lift my head off my pillow without reaching for the sick bowl. As I lay there whimpering, it occurred to me I might be seriously ill. Could I have contracted some unpronounceable tropical disease from the patrons of Save the Animals? Or perhaps all of my guilt and resentment had finally manifested itself as a rare form of untreatable cancer? Twisting the sheets and hugging my knees to my chest, I tried to tell myself I was being ridiculous, that it was food poisoning, or flu – while the whole time visualising some deadly parasite burrowing deep down inside me, feasting on my internal organs.
In my heart I knew I only had days to live.
Towards the end of the week I started to feel a little better, even managing to make it from my bed to the sofa, where I attempted to console myself with chicken noodle soup and long stretches of daytime TV. It was no good though. No matter how hard I tried to focus on the bad acting or suspect plot lines, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Dustin had said. Back in the bar, I’d been so angry I couldn’t think straight. Still, as I sat watching Brad woo Charlene and Max betray Clay, the seeds of doubt that had been scattered in my direction began to sprout. Was it really possible that Year Zero had been a smokescreen to steal oil from developing nations? It sounded ridiculous, like the storyline from some hack thriller