by Andy Briggs
Marlow felt a rare twinge of guilt talking about money; God knows she was always looking for an angle to increase her fees. But here was a young boy, lost in the world without any idea of what he was capable of, and Marlow was figuring how to profit from the situation. Only by thinking about her own children, at least how she remembered them, and the harpy call of her Ex demanding money, lessened the guilt.
A daily fee was agreed, plus expenses, and Boris left, insisting that Marlow contact him every six hours to inform him of progress, or lack of. Marlow had hurried to her Beetle and slammed the door closed, thankful for a few minutes isolation. She breathed hard, wondering what she had got herself tangled up in.
The rest of the day passed quickly. There was little point in driving around the city looking for Dan. If the boy wanted to fall off the radar then Marlow doubted he would be stupid enough to draw attention to himself, and if he was, then perhaps the police would pick him up and solve Marlow's problem. She just hoped to rack up a day or two of fees before that happened. She reasoned the best cause of action was to return home and keep monitoring the news for any unusual incidents that might give an indication that Dan had passed by. Strange black cats, chupacabra, weird lights in the sky - something subtle that would allow only the most knowledgeable to suspect what was really amiss. She turned on the TV and thumbed through the usual morning dross until she found a local news channel.
“Police are still baffled as to why the petrol station exploded,” read a newsreader calmly.
Marlow hunched down in front of the screen as footage showed the fire brigade tackling the smouldering embers of the petrol station.
The Newsreader continued. “The local man on duty at the time, student Ravi Kafforan, survived the blast and claimed a group of teenagers had arrived just minutes before.”
The picture changed to a young Indian man who was being escorted to an ambulance by a policewoman. He clutched a bandage to his head as his wild eyes scanned the emergency crews. As soon as he saw the camera he surged towards them.
“It came from the darkness! It got them! It got them!” he babbled before the officer managed to steer him back towards the ambulance, a firm arm around his shoulders preventing him from talking to the camera.
The picture changed back to the Newsreader. “Police say he was fortunate to only be suffering from mild-head trauma and hoped to interview him later today for more details. In other news...”
Marlow muted the rest of the report. She knew the petrol station, it was the one on the edge of town, near the motorway. It was too much of a coincidence for it not to be linked to Dan, but the sheer scale of the devastation... a shiver ran through her. Infiltrators disrupted homes, ate a few dogs, on occasion caused minor property damage but never caused destruction on a scale like this.
Her mind went back to the incident in school. At the time she hadn’t known it was linked to Dan, so had only half watched the reports. But thinking back, the damage the nightmarish ape had caused was far from usual. The thing back in Dan's house had been powerful too...
“Focus,” Marlow whispered to herself. She reasoned that Dan was heading out of town. The kid was smart. He could easily hitch a ride on the motorway and get far away with the minimal of fuss. The question was, which direction was he heading?
Marlow moved to her supply closet, filled with firearms, baseball bats in various states of wear, and a sword she liked the look of and had purchased from a second hand shop. She tested the blade, it was blunt and therefore useless, not like the sword her father had carried.
Her father... Marlow did everything she could to resist taking over the family business, but her father had been adamant it had to be her. Sure, he would have preferred a son, but he was out of luck in that department. Marlow’s older sister, Gina, was now a florist somewhere in Scotland. They never really stayed in touch, especially after she married. Like all of Marlow's personal relationships, it had just faded away as she reluctantly stepped into her father's shoes. Gina could dream and, as children, she had regaled Marlow with stories of her dreams; far off places she could never visit. Marlow had always resented her dreamless nights, but her father had taken it as a sign that she was a bona fide nightmare hunter, destined to continue the family tradition, while her sister was resigned to a normal life.
Marlow hated him. She wished she could tell him to his face, but that was never going to happen.
With a regretful sigh, Marlow cast those thoughts aside and pulled an aging chunky radio scanner from the cupboard. The aerial snagged several times as she extended it. She couldn’t recall the last time it was used and wondered if it would still work. The power switch tried to resist being pushed in, but she was rewarded with a flickering green power light. She placed it on the table, cranked up the volume and set the controls to 'scan'. It was already illegally tuned into police radio frequencies from a previous endeavour, but Marlow figured they were all working on the same side whether they knew it or not. She unmuted the TV and set it to a rolling national news channel. If Dan had travelled far then the police scanner would be useless, and the national news network would provide her only sourced of intel. It was a lazy approach, but all she could think of.
With a deep sigh, Marlow settled back on the lumpy sofa and closed her eyes to listen.
Dan's rumbling stomach woke him. At first he thought he was back at home on his uncomfortable mattress until a gorse bush scratched his cheek and he sat bolt upright in the ditch.
Memories of the last twenty-four hours came flooding back as he squinted in the morning sunlight. His backpack was still firmly attached, his left foot damp from where it had landed in the full drainage ditch, but otherwise he was fine. The question was where was he? Anywhere but home, he thought as the image of his mother crying, his Grandpa draping a consoling arm around her and whispering that it was for the best Dan had vanished.
He whipped off his wet trainer and damp sock. Wringing it dry, his knuckles turned white as he assaulted it using all his pent-up anger. He slipped it back on then fished a Mars bar from his pack, tore the wrapper open and shovelled it greedily down. He immediately regretted the fact he had chosen to dry his mangy footwear off first, as his hands now smelled disgusting and the chocolate didn't taste much better. Resisting the urge to spit it out, Dan swallowed it - almost choking. He chased the taste away with a fizzy energy drink and was glad he'd took time to raid the hotel's vending machine before he left. Maybe not the healthiest meal, but with his lifespan currently critically low, it would at least keep him awake.
It was cold and the morning sky above was blue but leaden clouds were already threatening the horizon. Hooking his thumbs in the straps of his pack, Dan set off towards the motorway. After several minutes he reached the roundabout, broadening his line of sight beyond the trees edging it. A flare of lights forced him to duck into the bushes at the side of the road, ignoring the sharp branches scratching his skin. His gaze was fixed on the cordon of police cars and fire engines surrounding the petrol station.
What used to be the petrol station, he corrected himself.
It was now just a jagged mass of twisted black metal and concrete. A car lay on its roof, in the centre of the forecourt. The fender savagely smashed in. He presumed it had crashed, causing the fire. As usual, another spectacular thing he’d missed. He hoped nobody was hurt in the inferno, but it must have looked cool.
The presence of the police gave him cause to pause. Would his Grandpa notice he was missing yet? A quick glance at his watch showed it was nine thirty. He had slept heavily through the night. Then an ominous thought struck him... had he caused the fire? Had a fire-breathing dragon soared out of his dreams and torched the place? He shivered, surely not... but if anything, it strengthened his resolve to leave everybody he cared for behind.
Dan cut through the bushes. They were dense and at times tangles of brier snagged his foot forcing him to flail his way through. It took several minutes to circumnavigate the petrol station and emerge onto the
motorway slip road.
A quick glance at a road sign revealed the stretch of road headed north. He had no clear idea of his final destination so north was as good as any other compass point. He stretched out his arm, raising his thumb in the international sign of a hitchhiker.
A dozen cars slid up the entrance ramp and onto the motorway without so much as slowing for him. A couple blared their horns and it occurred to Dan that people might not stop to pick up a kid trying to hitch a ride.
A sleek red sports car roared past, followed by a pair of blue Mercedes, a van, a motorbike... like counting sheep, Dan thought as his eyelids started to feel heavy. How long had it been since he had fuelled himself with caffeine? Thirty minutes? An hour? Longer? Staying awake for more than an hour at a stretch was a huge effort without regular doses of caffeine to keep him on his toes.
Maybe just a quick shut eye...
NO! Dan screamed inwardly. He couldn't fall asleep. Not here. Not now. He refused to let that happen. He had practised controlling his sleep disorder with sheer willpower, but unfortunately it seldom worked, instead it just sank him deeper into the welcoming arms of Morpheus.
Morpheus... what had Maven told him? The Greek God of dreams? The name sounded fat and comfortable...
Dan felt himself sliding forwards, ever so gently, as if riding a giant feather to the ground. All exterior noise faded into a quiet hum.
Then something stirred. Something on the edge of his vision. His mind's eye fought to focus on it but his gaze kept sliding off. It was a large creature. Dan could just make out the multiple legs as it galloped towards him. Silver fangs lined an impossibly big mouth that stretched open with a deep–
HHHOOOONNKKK!!
Dan jerked awake - only to discover that he was toppling into the road as a huge articulated lorry bore down on him. The truck filled his vision. The horn was deafening, but not quite loud enough to drown out the squeal of rubber as the brakes on all eighteen wheels locked and rubber burned.
Like a collection of snapshots, Dan saw the Volvo logo mounted on the lorry's grill grow larger. He picked out the full licence plate in perfect detail - every letter and number filled his field of vision with Imax-like force.
Dan tried to move - but fell flat on his backside.
The lorry ground to a halt inches from crushing him. The Driver jumped from the cab, eyes scanning the road ahead. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” he repeated like a mantra. “Christ, son! Are you OK?”
Dan stood and wobbled on his heels. “I'm fine,” he said batting the Driver's helping hand aside as he reached to stop Dan from falling again.
“Don't move. I'll call an ambulance.”
“No need,” said Dan, stifling a yawn despite the near death experience he had just experienced.
Seeing that the boy was alive, in perfect health, tired and bad tempered, the Driver's concern evaporated and was replaced with recrimination.
“What the hell where you trying to do? Walking out in the road like that?”
“Actually I was falling asleep.” The explanation only served to baffle the man. Dan gave him a broad smile that further disarmed the Driver's sense of outrage. “Anyway, thanks for stopping! I would’ve been waiting hours out here I reckon.”
Without waiting for an invite, Dan leapt up into the lorry’s cab and shuffled along to the passenger’s side. The Driver was nonplussed as angry horns honked behind him. Taking several paces back he saw the long line of traffic backing up on the roundabout, blocked by his lorry. He jumped into the cab and stared at the boy as he dropped his backpack in the footwell and pulled the seatbelt on.
“What do you think you're doing?” he asked impatiently.
“Buckling up. Safety first.”
“I meant in my cab? Get out.”
“I was hitchhiking. Didn't you see my thumb? I thought that’s why you stopped?”
“You were falling into the road!”
Dan mustered all the innocence he could convey. “Really? Oh, silly me. I'm so sorry if it looked that way.” The irritating medley of horns behind them agitated the Driver. Dan tried to keep the smile off his face and looked as forlorn as possible. “Well if you think it was an accident we must tell the police, although I don't want you getting into trouble. And to think I was hoping to get to my Grandpa's before it got too dark.” He slowly extended a hand for the door handle. “Such a shame. He’s so ill...”
The Driver's gaze switched between Dan and the side mirror, and a sea of furious heads poking from windows to see what the problem was. The mention of police had ruffled him. The boy was unharmed so police intervention would not only make him late for his deliveries, but also give his boss an excuse to berate him and study the lorry's tachograph, which recorded every detail of the journey: each time he stopped, his speed, everything. A careful analysis would highlight his penchant for speeding, which would in turn give him a black mark on his licence. He quickly made his mind up and snapped his seatbelt on before Dan could open the door. He hadn't even noticed that Dan hadn't taken his seatbelt off.
“OK, OK, no harm done. Let's go.” He put the lorry into gear and they lurched forward. “Where were you heading?”
Dan's mind raced. He hadn't given a thought to his destination. He needed some texture to smooth the lie. “Scotland. Edinburgh, to see my Grandpa.”
“I'm not going that far. I'll drop you off along the way.” They merged onto the motorway, a long precession of vehicles behind them. Now they were moving the Driver's suspicions started to kick in. “Why are you hitchhiking to Scotland? Where are you parents?”
Dan yawned. As he stared out of the windshield the lies came fluently. “I live with my younger brother. Our parents are dead and Grandpa 's ill. We didn't have enough money for the train so I decided to hitchhike.” Each word came out smoothly but slowly. The gentle rocking of the lorry and monotonous thrum of the engine was lulling him to sleep.
The Driver said something but it was lost in warm hum that enveloped Dan as he slipped away...
He suddenly bit is tongue so hard that he jolted awake. He tasted blood in his mouth and he winced from the pain, but the technique had served him well a couple of times when he had fought his narcoleptic choke. He blinked rapidly and took a deep breath hoping that the oxygen would ignite his brain enough to keep him awake a little longer.
“It would be great if we could stop at the next service station,” said Dan. “I could do with a coffee and I think I owe you one by way of thanks.”
The Driver gave a quick sidelong glance at his passenger. There was something odd about the boy, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. With any luck he would fall asleep before they reached the next service station so he could drive past. He couldn't afford any more unscheduled stops.
Chapter Six
Onerism had many awkward and annoying attributes, but one of the most irritating, at least on a daily basis for Marlow, was that because her dreams were replaced by blackness - utter darkness as if she were blindfolded in a windowless underground room at the zenith of midnight - it came with no sense of time. That was the condition Marlow had suffered all her life and she long ago wished a card would appear in her imagination with the words 'insert scene here'. At least she could read the sign over-and-over to give her some sense of the passage of time.
Instead the seconds, minutes, hours all blended into a void that was nothing more than an overly long blinking of the eye. One moment it could be sunset, the next blink it was midday and she was feeling refreshed, even if a sliver of congealed drool usually clung to the corner of her mouth.
It happened while Marlow was listening to the police scanner. This particular catnap was even more unwelcome because she had not been aware she'd fallen asleep until she glanced at her grubby diver's watch, a rare gift from her father, and noticed that two hours had mysteriously vanished. Vexed, she scanned the news for any signs of unusual activity but found nothing. In the two hours she had slept, Dan could have made it far away.
So
far away that he was no longer my problem, an inner devil whispered.
Marlow shooed that thought away. Even though she was jealous that Dan could so readily, and no doubt, vividly dream, she felt some sympathy for the kid. Only a tinge, mind.
With nothing more that could be done, and certain Boris Glass would soon be banging on her door again, Marlow decided to get out of her apartment. At least the air would be fresher outside as something had gone off in the fridge and Marlow hadn't drummed up the courage to investigate what it was. Fighting nightmare monsters was one thing, but wilfully touching some mouldy alien growth in the fridge - the mere thought churned her stomach.
Marlow climbed into her Volkswagen Beetle that was now more rust than machine, and, after turning the engine four times and keeping the accelerator floored to flood the engine, it coughed to life. She had intended to head to a local Starbucks to get something to perk her up. The one advantage with her appearance was that she easily got a table for herself at such establishments; sometimes she could claim a whole booth as her own territory. Even the tramps on the street didn't bother her; never once had she been hassled for spare change - and once, she had even been pulled away by a thin wastrel and told where she could find a free soup kitchen. Being hard up on cash at the time, she had gone with it.
Musing over her terrible life choices, Marlow was surprised to find that she had been driving on autopilot towards her ex-husband's house. Or, as she used to call it, her home. She considered performing a U-turn and sticking to her plan, but some inner tractor beam drew her nearer.
Familiar street signs started to appear and the neighbourhood became markedly more up-market with each passing street. Ah, those were the days...
She turned into the street - her old street, that is - and received a few suspicious looks from various residents who had decided that today was the day to tend their front gardens. Undisguised disparaging looks – from the very people she once knew as neighbours, who now didn’t recognise the wreck she had become - made it clear that she wasn’t welcome in their little patch of heaven.