Hunters: A Trilogy (12 page)

Right now he wanted to get the tea down his neck before he was to face the next big adventure. Ken mulled over the recent events again. He definitely felt okay about them and was more engrossed in trying to figure out who the guy with the ponytail was. He was positive he knew him, but there was a void in his mind when it came to remembering the man’s name, and where he knew him from. It baffled him. ‘Weird, I’m pretty good with names and faces,’ he thought, ‘but I’m sure I’ve seen that one before...’

All at once, his mind decided that perhaps the good times were over – reality called round to see him and it wasn’t just here for a friendly chat. A horrible thought, a vision, maybe, gradually slithered into Ken’s head. He saw himself in chains, being forcibly led to a small, dimly-lit room. He saw the end of a steel bed-frame and glimpsed a dangling strap, a leather strap.

Then the iron grip of strong hands encircled his arms and the tang of some unrecognised disinfectant invaded his nostrils. Wearing a large pair of hobnail boots, Mr Fear jumped, uninvited, straight into Ken’s mind. He felt the terror within burst forth.

Cursing loudly, he sat upright and nearly spilled the tea. ‘Shit!’

His curse may have been loud, but it didn’t send the awful thoughts away.

‘Everything is just a bit too good, they’ve tricked me! That breakfast has been my last meal – the last meal of a condemned man! Whoever they are, they’ve spent a long time showing me how we’ve screwed up this planet, yeah...and how they have cured it all with one big, motherfucking storm!’ His mind shuddered.

‘Right, I get it, okay, I understand but...now they’re gonna to top me as well? Kill me along with the rest of mankind and turn me into nothing but dust, green dust!’ His head cowered from those terrible thoughts. ‘I’ve been given my last meal, had a nice brew, and any minute now the men in white are gonna come in and drag me away, drag me away screaming!’

The picture was quite clear in his head. They were going to tie him to the bed, really tightly, where he’d have a little sleep. Yes, a little, hypodermically-induced, sleep. ‘Yeah, you’ll sleep when they’ve finished with you all right, you’ll sleep permanently!’ he said, shuddering physically this time. It was right then that he decided to make a plan for getting out of there. Ken had just started to rise to his feet when he heard a rustling noise coming from behind him.

His heart broke into full gallop, mind leaping into overdrive. ‘They’re here! Run, no…’ He whirled around, angrily snarling out his fear. ‘Come on then, you bastards, let’s have you…’

‘Good morning, Kenneth, I trust that you enjoyed your meal…’ said George, who happened to be standing about six feet away. He smiled at Ken, blue eyes sparkling with humour.

Ken screamed at the old man: ‘Fucking hell!’

For one second he thought about stepping up and delivering a killing blow to the old bastard’s skinny throat. Instead, he took a deep breath and unclenched his fists. ‘Why can’t you just knock, eh?’ he said, angrily. Ken sat back down in the chair, hands shaking with adrenaline, not quite sure if it was from the shock of having George sneak up on him, or more likely from the all-too-real vision he’d recently witnessed of the terrible scene portraying his own demise.

George smiled at him and pulled up a small black leather stool.

‘I guess he bought his own,’ Ken thought, trying to get his emotions back onto an even keel. Through blazing green eyes he looked at George and clenched his teeth. The anger welled up from his stomach – the old feeling was a welcome one and filled him with its coldness.

He and George sat looking at each other in silence.

Finally, Ken said, ‘So, George, what do you know – what’s happening?’

George raised his eyebrows. ‘More to the point: what do
you
know, Kenneth,’ he said, ‘and how do you feel?’

Ken looked into those blue eyes, and then he told George what he knew, told him straight. ‘Well, let’s see now,’ he said. ‘You may have to forgive me but a lot of bad stuff has gone down just of late. I know something major has occurred, some kind of apocalypse. The airbase is completely devoid of life.’

Ken also said he thought that the ‘slide-show’ had, perhaps, been a way for him to see the catastrophic effects man had wrought upon the planet. He had understood that particular message, and understood it fairly easily. After all, it wasn’t as though it hadn’t been a popular subject over the last decade or so.

‘Thousands of people, some of them pretty big fish,’ he said, ‘have made a damned good living about telling us we were all gonna die if we didn’t get a smaller car or walk to the damned shops, or blah-blah-blah!’ Ken reckoned they were all full of bullshit, personally, and he told George so, too.

George shot him a knowing glance and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Ken told George that he himself didn’t really understand some of the other things he’d watched: the silver case with its blue glass lid was one; the oft-repeated scenes of the ocean and abject chaos were but a few more. Then there were the hyenas, hell-bent on jumping into the black pit, and, he wondered, just what was that wall of misery he’d been shown as the terrible avalanche of sand, oil and blood?

The only real thing George told him was that the Fallow deer had been a depiction of deep sorrow, of regret and of the undeniable destruction of beauty. Ken understood that one with total clarity. He also understood when George told him of how the unexpected return of his long-lost Zippo lighter had served as a link to reality, something tangible with memories for him to hold onto.

Ken nearly said he thought it had been a test, one designed merely to see if he would go insane, because, if he were to be honest, he still wasn’t quite sure that wasn’t the case. When it came right down to it, Ken asked George more than he was able to tell him. He was just starting to feel pretty dumb when George raised his finger to his lips.

‘Hush, we have covered enough for now, Kenneth,’ he said. ‘You have done extremely well. The questions you have raised show a level of understanding far above what we were expecting – you have a certain awareness and adaptability that will see us through the difficult times ahead.’ He smiled at the wide-shouldered man in front of him, asking: ‘Do you have any other questions before we stop for today; I suppose you must be rather tired?’

‘Yes, actually I do have some final questions, George.’

‘Please proceed…’

Ken did as he was asked. ‘One - is my wife still alive?’ he asked. ‘Two - who are you and how do I know you? Three - what the hell is actually happening around here?’ George nodded. Ken continued. ‘And number four,’ he said, in exasperation. ‘Well...number four is: when the hell are you going to answer any of my damned questions?’

George said, quietly: ‘The only answer I can give you at the moment refers to your wife – I do not know if she is alive or not, I am afraid to say. We will have to wait and see what our future brings to us, the other questions I cannot answer until later this…’ He paused, before saying: ‘Later this week – just know one thing for certain, Kenneth. I will never lie to you, I cannot lie and it is forbidden anyway, no matter what the cost. You will not be lied to!’

He smiled once more and Ken guessed that lying was perhaps a very subjective thing; it all depended on what a person considered the truth to be. He still didn’t feel as though he was getting all the facts. George interrupted his thoughts.

‘There is time yet for these other things to be made clearer,’ he murmured. ‘You must understand that you have done extremely well under extraordinary circumstances. We must take one step at a time, and time, unfortunately, is something that we currently do not have an excess of. However, this part we cannot rush. Please be patient and please trust me.’

Even though he felt as though he wasn’t being given the whole story, Ken thought it would be nigh on impossible not to trust the old man.

‘Alright then, George,’ he said, and nodded his head wearily.

George was right, Ken was knackered and his eyes felt gritty. He looked towards the bed and turned to ask George if it would be okay if he took a quick nap. George had already gone. ‘Well, I’ll take that as a yes, then,’ Ken said, softly. He rose to his feet and headed towards the bed, slipping out of his clothes as he went. Leaving them where they fell, he collapsed onto the soft bed and closed his eyes. This time there were no dreams.

Only sleep.

The next day he was finally given exit from the room, a place which, as comfortable as it was, had begun to wear a bit thin with Ken. Whilst he was sitting and looking up at the ceiling above, marvelling at the clever design, he heard a soft hissing noise from behind and looked around to see George standing in the doorway.

‘Good morning, Kenneth!’ he said, jovially.

‘Morning, George, do you fancy a brew?’ Ken replied. ‘What’s on the cards today? Something good I hope – I’m really starting to get bored.’

‘No, not for me, I am fine, thank you,’ George said. ‘We are going to see Mister MJW, and I am sure you will be happy to know that it is most doubtful you will be getting bored any further. There have been some developments, shall we say, that are forcing us to accelerate our programme!’ He looked at Ken and then nodded toward the door.

Ken turned and followed George through the second door in the wall to the left of the wardrobe, a door that had not been open before – the red light had turned to green. With a whine, the silver door swung outwards and permitted them an exit into Ken’s unknown. The men entered a dimly-lit corridor with black floor tiles and curved glass walls that arched upwards to the ceiling; this in itself was of an almost magical design, one incorporating a wonderfully illuminated glass roof with a solid, stainless-steel handrail snaking along each side. Ken marvelled once more at the extents to which the architects had gone to in the design of the building. It was an awe-inspiring display and Ken stared upwards for so long that he very nearly tripped over George’s heels. He felt like he was floating as he traipsed along behind George and into the room where Mike was waiting.

Mr MJW looked pretty good compared to the last time Ken had seen him in the bathroom mirror. He was sitting in an enormous red leather couch, which was fashioned in the shape of a half-moon. Mike was wearing one of the weird flight suits that Ken had seen in the wardrobe back in his room. Even through the baggy material, it was easy to see that his friend had lost weight.

Mike was taller than Ken, standing at around six-foot-three and usually about twenty pounds heavier, too. But, by the looks of things he had easily lost that much and was very gaunt around the face. A thin layer of dark stubble lay in shadow across his cheeks. Mike was leaning forward and studying some paperwork on the table in front of him. His head was tilted forward in deep concentration; dark hair flopped over his forehead, left hand drumming the table. As they approached, the sound of a squeak from the sole of one of Ken’s boots caused Mike raise his blue eyes. As his gaze fell upon Ken, the Australian’s face lit up with joy. He immediately jumped to his feet – such was his haste to cross the room that Mike nearly knocked over the large, oblong coffee table in the process.

‘Kenny, Jesus man – you took your friggin’ time, you old git!’

The two men shook hands fervently, clapping each other on the back so many times that it started to hurt. Mike’s eyes flashed with a fire, it might have been a tear, or maybe it was only the light, but either way he was ecstatic.

‘Come here you!’ he said, lifting Ken clean off the floor in an unrestrained bear hug. Mike’s overzealous show of affection crushed Ken’s ribs with a crackle so easily heard that it caused George to laugh out loud.

Ken croaked: ‘Arghh, put me down you Aussie twit, you’re gonna bloody kill me! After all of this, I’m gonna end up being suffocated by a bleeding, brain-dead colonial moron!’ Seeing his friend made the terrible fear that Ken had been experiencing, momentarily take a back seat. He felt his face aching with the smile that stretched his skin from ear to ear.

‘I see you’ve met the surgeon,’ Mike exclaimed, as he looked at the scar on Ken’s cheekbone. They both laughed and then, more soberly, shook hands again. The Australian smiled, saying: ‘Good to see you, brother!’

Ken smiled back. ‘Yeah, and me too, Mike!’ he said, happily.

He looked around and whistled in admiration, it really was quite some place. Fine furnishings lay amongst luscious plants, which stood in wonderfully ornate pots. Soft lights glowed in one area, whilst bright spotlights gleamed in another. Large oval tables stood below magnificent oil paintings, pictures depicting scenes and places that Ken had never been, nor would have comprehended, hung upon gleaming, metal ceiling-supports. A warm, spicy smell, tinged with something else, filled the room. It was an amazing place and he would happily have spent hours looking at its contents. George nodded in an unsaid agreement of Ken’s obvious approval of the beautiful room.

Then, with a wave of his hands, he indicated for the men to be seated. Taking a breath, he said, ‘Welcome, gentlemen, and now we must get down to business, for time is of the essence!’

His next line was a killer…

‘Have you ever considered the fact that you may not be alone?’

The only answer to that question was a raft of total silence.

Undaunted, George pushed on. ‘Have you ever considered that the immeasurable, empty vastness of the heavens above you,’ he said, raising his eyes in reference, ‘may not actually be quite as empty or quite as big as you think it is?’ No change in response, just a deathly silence.

‘Have you considered that perhaps this perceived vastness may appear to others, to other sizes, as merely a small collection of dust, maybe like the whirling particles within a vacuum cleaner?’ His questions still met with silence, and it wouldn’t be the last time. Seemingly unconcerned, George then said, ‘Everything is relative, everything is linked, and everything has a parallel!’

Ken looked at him in confusion. ‘Parallel, what’s a parallel, what do you mean by that?’ he asked. Yet again he felt as though he was just a little bit behind the plot in this game. He was about to find out just how far behind.