The word colleague sparked the slightest tweak in her left eye. Scott pushed the point. “If you take me to him, we can get this sorted out.”
“What do you think this is, some kind of Bureau for lost children?”
“No, I don’t think that.” Scott could feel his anger building, spreading from his chest to his belly, a gnawing flicker that he needed to keep under control. He couldn’t work out what this woman’s problem was, or why he hadn’t been led into her office, but if he began to shout he’d be ejected. “But these are the management offices, one of your colleagues escorted my son here, I’d just like to pick him up and be on my way.”
Healey looked to her left and Scott followed her gaze. A couple of the typists in the glass office had stopped working and were looking at them.
Healey took a deep breath. “You’re right, of course, Mr Burton. Please follow me, I’ll put you in an office and go and find your son.”
Relief flooded through Scott, warming those patches of skin made cold by adrenaline and fear. “Thank you,” he said, “I’m sorry if I was an arse before.”
Healey smiled tightly at him and clasped the clipboard closer to her chest. “No problem. Follow me.”
She turned briskly and strode away from him, her heels beating a tattoo on the polished tiles. Scott had to walk faster than was comfortable to keep up with her. They passed the office and Scott peered in. Four people were sitting at desks, all typing and only one of them, a dark skinned woman in her early twenties, looked at him. She looked back at her screen quickly and the move struck Scott as furtive.
Behind her, an operator touched his ear and said “Second floor McDonalds, Spongebob t-shirt, IC1, observe and report.”
Scott slowed down, looked at the black woman again. She kept watching at her screen and Scott felt a chill of discomfort. His mind began to race, the poster by the door, the interrogation from Healey, the woman unable to maintain eye contact, the Spongebob comment. And how could Josh have got so far, Scott hadn’t been that far behind them. Unless that’s why Healey kept him talking in the corridor.
“Come along, Mr Burton,” said Healey, keeping up her pace. Scott jogged a few steps to catch up.
The corridor ran for a further hundred yards or more, where another bisected it. Healey stopped in front of a door marked ‘Perdidit Puer’, took a key out of her jacket pocket and unlocked it. She stepped to one side, held the door and gestured with her clipboard for Scott to go in.
“Where’s Josh?” he said.
“Wait here and I’ll bring him to you presently. We can’t just hand out children, you know.”
Scott stepped around Healey and entered the room. It was bare except for a scarred wooden table, two wooden chairs and a door in the far wall. A man sat in the furthest wooden chair, his hands knitted together on the desktop. He was wearing a grey suit, though his hair was dark and longer. He nodded at Healey, ignored Scott. “Wilson here will take care of you.”
“Wilson?” Scott felt a pressure on his back. He turned, meaning to step out of the way but Healey increased the force of her hand against him. The wooden chair scraped against the floor as Wilson got up.
“What’re you doing,” said Scott, “what’re you doing?”
Healey’s lips were set in a tight line, all the colour drained from them. She glared at him, as if angry that he wasn’t responding to her push. Scott reached out, grabbed the edge of the door, holding himself back. Wilson began to stride towards him.
“Daddy!” Josh’s voice, high and panicky, echoed down the corridor. Scott turned in time to see Josh being bundled across the corridor ahead, the buzz cut man shoving him.
“Josh!”
“Shit,” said Healey.
Scott grabbed her arm and twisted it hard and fast until she cried out in pain and let go of him. Scott ran up the corridor and heavy footsteps pounded behind him, giving him more pace. He reached the corner and skidded around it, chanced a glance back - Wilson was close - and ran pell mell in the direction that Josh had been shoved. The boy was nowhere to be seen but the corridor ended in a plain metal door. Scott reached it, his breath burning in his throat and pulled it open. The office was empty, a huge wide space with absolutely nothing in it. Way across, another door was open.
“Josh?”
“Daddy!”
Scott ran, his limbs heavy but full of energy. Wilson was still gaining on him though, the footsteps louder with each slap against the tiles. The room seemed to spread out, getting wider and longer with every stride, as if he was on a treadmill rather than actually covering distance. The footsteps slapped closer, the door seemed to get further away. He willed himself on, his breath rasping in his throat, his mind filled with images of Josh and the desire to get to him.
Scott was five paces from the open door when he felt a hand against his shoulder. He dropped his arm and heard Wilson grunt and then he was through the door. It was dark, the floor slippery and he careered into a metal wall, his forehead bouncing off it. He staggered sideways, dazed and tasted copper.
“Josh?” His voice echoed around the darkness, mocking him. “Josh? Where are you?”
Wilson stepped into the doorway, blocking the light.
“Come on, Mr Burton,” he said, “we don’t want any trouble.”
“I just want my son.”
“I know you do,” said Wilson. He walked over to Scott, his left leg stiff. “Come on, let me take you back to Ms Healey.”
Scott, suddenly aware of how close the man was, tried to step back but he hit the wall. “Shit,” he said and Wilson landed a heavy punch right in the middle of his stomach and Scott dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.
“Not so quick now, are you?” asked Wilson and he punched Scott across the back of his neck. Scott went flat, his head to one side, his vision blurring. He watched Wilson’s feet walk away, then the high heels of Ms Healey come close.
“Is he docile?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said, “let me do the honours, then you can put him back.”
Honours? Scott’s mind, trying to process all the pain that his body was in, couldn’t work it out. Put him back where?
Healey knelt against him. She smelled of cotton and summer flowers. He heard a squeaking noise and then a jet of liquid passed his line of vision.
“This will hurt,” she said and plunged a needle into his neck.
***
Scott opened his eyes. He was sitting in the café, a book open on his lap and he could see Jess walking towards him carrying several bags, their handles entwined through her fingers. She smiled at him, blew a kiss.
Scott leaned forward, drank the last of his coffee and put his book on the table. Jess reached him and put her bags on the seat opposite.
“Where’s Josh?” she asked, frowning.
“You were quick,” Scott said.
“Quick? What’re you talking about, I’ve been gone almost two hours. Now where’s Josh?”
Scott turned to his son, running his hand through the boy’s short black hair. Josh looked up at him and smiled briefly. Two of his front teeth missing. “He’s here.”
“What? Scott, this isn’t funny, where’s Josh?”
Scott held his arm out, pointing at the boy sitting next to him. “Here, Jess.”
Jess walked around the table and knelt in front of Josh. “Who are you, little man? Where’re your parents?”
The boy looked at her and frowned. “It’s me, Mummy, I’m Josh.”
Jess rocked back on her heels. “Scott, I don’t know what you’re trying to do but this isn’t funny. This isn’t Josh, this kid’s younger and he’s got straight black hair and he’s not dressed the same. Stop playing games, you’re frightening me, stop it.”
Scott stood up, his hand on Josh’s head. “Jess, you’re scaring him.”
“Scott, where is he, this isn’t funny.”
“He’s here, Jess.”
“Yes, I’m here Mummy,” said Josh and Jess l
ooked at him, the scream building in her throat.
for
Matthew, whose little ‘disappearance’ in Game kicked this story off
and
in loving memory of Jan, a much loved friend, who passed away whilst I was writing this
Afterword
Although Steve, Neil & I had always worked on the assumption that - following the nice reception the first volume got - there would be an “ill at ease 2”, I didn’t even start thinking about my story until we’d recruited the additional writers. Once we had, I then realised that a) I had to produce something and b) it had to be ‘big enough’ to justify its place.
Whilst I was in the “whittling about it” phase, I went shopping one Saturday afternoon, to the Newlands Centre in Kettering, with my family - my wife Alison and my seven year old son Matthew (who I usually refer to as Dude). He wanted to have a look in Game (the videogame shop), as he liked to play on the 3DS machine they have at the counter. It’s not all that interesting to watch, so Alison & I went further into the shop, explaining to him where we’d be. After a minute or so, Alison looked over at the counter and couldn’t see him. I checked but couldn’t see him either. I asked the girl behind the counter, she hadn’t noticed him. We went out into the centre and split up and the feelings I went through are exactly the ones that Scott goes through in the story.
On the off-chance (since he knows I like to look in there), I went into HMV and as I crossed an aisle, I heard running footsteps. I turned and Dude launched himself at me, so I hugged him hard and tight and kissed him. One of the counter girls walked up and smiled at me and I thanked her - Dude had apparently wandered in, gone up to the tills, told them his name and said that he was lost. What a star! As we left, another counter clerk called out “See you, Matthew!”
For five minutes, I was more terrified than I ever have been in my entire life and I never want to be that scared again. This story was an attempt to bottle that feeling.
Once I had that beginning, the rest of it all seemed to fall into place and I’m still not entirely sure where from. I read it aloud to Alison in draft, as is our custom and she liked it but never wanted to hear it again, which I took as a good sign. I then ran it through the critique process at the Northampton SF Writers Group, which I belong to and got a lot of good feedback from there.
Regarding the centre itself, it’s named for one that appeared in a very early Strange Tale I wrote back in the late 80s (taking the surname of a good friend of mine) and isn’t really the Newlands (which is only on one floor in real life) but a combination of several - Leicester, Northampton, Nottingham - to give it that “anywhere” place feel. I created ZAP!, quite simply, because I didn’t want to get into trouble with Game.
I think I lucked out with the title. It came to me very early on in the process and I had to double-check it with Google because I assumed I must have picked it up from somewhere else. But it appears not.
So that’s it, a story about a parental nightmare, made much worse by the inclusion of the people behind the walls.
Paradise Lost
Sheri White
“My wife was furious when she discovered the digital recorder in my suitcase as she was unpacking. This was supposed to be a family retreat, yet I couldn’t completely leave my work behind at home. I saw no harm in composing memos and letters as ideas came to me. I’m glad I have it now - at least I can record the events of the past few days. Luckily, this ‘toy,’ as Cathy referred to it, stores over two hours of recording time. I only wish I had brought my cell phone, but I knew Cathy would never forgive me. It doesn’t matter now, I guess. I am glad I can record the story anyway, just in case. Just in case someone survives.
“We came to the island for a much-needed vacation, my wife, son, and I. An idyllic place in the sun, accessible only by private plane. No phones, television, radios or computers in any of the cottages; these things were located in the main lobby for emergencies only. It’s a place where you can pretend ‘civilization’ doesn’t exist. And as far as I know, it doesn’t anymore. I know I’ll never leave here alive, but I suppose there are worse places to die.
“I haven’t left this little cottage since it happened - Christ, was it only yesterday? It was the most horrible thing I have ever witnessed. Cathy and Eric had gone out to the beach early. God, I wish I had gone with them then, but I told them I had to finish the latest Newman novel. I would join them later. That was a lie, of course. I was composing a proposal that I planned to present the minute I returned to my office. I was determined to become a partner in the firm by the end of the year. I don’t know how much time had passed when the screaming started from the beach; I was totally absorbed in my dictation. The screaming was a terrible cacophony of noise; a chorus of terror and agony. I imagine Hell would be filled with that ghastly sound. I leapt off the bed and ran to the door, praying Eric and Cathy were all right.
“My first thought was that I was hallucinating, because what I saw when I flung open the door can only be described as a nightmare. I had expected to maybe see a scene straight out of that shark movie from back in the 70s. It wasn’t unheard of here to spot the occasional shark. But it was something worse - much worse. Everyone on the beach was melting. Melting! Flesh was sliding off their bodies, the bones liquefying as soon as the skin was gone. I completely freaked - I couldn’t move. Which was a good thing, I guess, because everyone who emerged from their cottages into the sun started to melt as well.
“I could smell burning hair and flesh – God, it almost smelled like the luau we went to years ago. My…my mouth actually watered for a second. But this wasn’t pork cooking. Tears filled my eyes, transforming the hideous scene into a shimmering blur. I swiped at my eyes with the backs of my hands and watched in horror as tiny flames danced upon the heads of the people on the beach.
“A few people instinctively beat at the flames with their hands, but only succeeded in getting their hands stuck to their heads. Some looked up at the sky, I guess to see what was causing it, and immediately their eyes burst into flames.
“Blisters bubbled and erupted on any exposed skin, then ruptured seconds later, gushing fluid that ran in rivulets down their bodies. Finally, the skin slipped off their bones, leaving blobs of flesh upon the sand. The bones dissolved as soon as they were exposed, mixing with the melted flesh, giving it a swirled appearance. The beach looked as if a pudding factory had exploded there. Waves licked at the flaming puddles, extinguishing those closest to the shore.
“Frantically I scanned the beach for my family, praying that maybe that they had gone inside the bar hut to get a drink. Then I saw them - dear God, I saw them.”
Sounds of sobbing; recording stops abruptly.
Recording starts again, the voice shaky and quiet.
“Okay…Okay. I’ve got to do this. If it’s only happened on this island, the world needs to know the story. Sweet Jesus, I hope it only happened on this island.
“My wife and son were still on the beach. I hadn’t seen them at first because I thought they were someone else. You see, at first glance they looked like one obese person - but I guess Cathy had clutched Eric to her when it began because they were melting together. They had…had fused together as they melted. Half of Eric’s face had melted into Cathy’s breast - an obscene parody of their nursing days. I’m just thankful they had worn hats onto the beach, which protected their hair from catching fire. I was able to look into Cathy’s eyes before her face fell off her skull. Betrayal, fear, pain - I could see all those things. It hurts me to think she may have hated me at the end for deserting her. Maybe I should’ve just run out to the beach and embraced her so we could all die together. But I couldn’t. I shut the door. Then I closed all the blinds and went into the bathroom. I ran the shower full-force so I wouldn’t hear anymore screaming.
“All of that happened in a matter of minutes - no more than two or three. But each minute was an eternity.
“I don’t know how many people on the island are still ali
ve. I hear occasional screams outside, but I don’t open the door. I have enough to survive for a while; I have no intention of sharing. There’s a small kitchenette with a refrigerator stocked by the resort management.”
Derisive snort
“Guess now I won’t have to pay eight freaking dollars for a tiny jar of macadamia nuts. Too bad there’s no vodka in the damn fridge; God knows I could use a few shots. Anyway, I figured as long as I stayed inside during the day, out of the sun, I’d be OK.
“But I was terribly wrong. Because it wasn’t the sun. When the sun finally set, I opened the window blinds and looked outside. Thankfully, the sand had absorbed what had been left of the dead. No trace remained of the horror that had taken place out there. As I watched, several people stepped out of their cottages onto the beach. At first I thought everything was okay and planned to join them.
“The screaming began again, though, only this time much worse. Turns out the melting hadn’t been caused by the sun, but the sun had helped it along and had also caused the fires and blisters. The people outside were melting, but they were melting much slower than the others had. I could see flesh dripping off their fingertips, their chins. I wondered why they didn’t run inside - then it came to me a few moments later. The beach was still very hot from the sun beating down on it all day, and I saw that their feet were shapeless blobs of flesh anchored into the sand. They were like candles in a sconce, and they would stay there and drip bit by bit until there was nothing left. With a shudder I closed the blinds once more. The screaming went on all night, finally stopping a few minutes after the sun rose. If I had had a gun, I would’ve been dead long before they were.
“So I decided the melting was caused by the heat outside. It sounds absurd, but what else could I think? I cranked the air conditioning up full-blast and took off my clothes. I didn’t want to take the chance of getting hot in any way. I was freezing, but that was better than the alternative. I kept busy that day. I had brought several novels with me, and Cathy had brought her trashy women’s magazines, so I read. I wasn’t too hungry, but I ate anyway, just to have something to do.
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