Magenta Monster

The night was damp, not raining but a haze lit by the amber street lamps making everything glow a sickly yellow whilst moisture penetrated through layers of clothing giving that chill dankness.  Amelia stood at the bus stop a ladder in her tights and lipstick smeared, mascara rims were growing around her smudged eyeshadow, it had been fushia, now it was a a muddy colour on a waxen washed out face.  She was tired the club had been a mistake.  Her lungs felt like bursting from dry ice, in bed it would be a rock on her chest and she hadn’t got a clue were her inhaler was.

A bus cast in cordial orange where red should have gleamed, pulled in with a hydrolic hiss, she staggered on board bouncing her oyster card on the yellow circle.  She didn’t even make eye contact with the driver hidden behind thug proof shielding.  She slumped on the nearest apparently gum free chair, huddled inside her thin coat.  The window was scratched with gang sign, the floor sticky in its glittering grit.

The hum of the bus lulled her into a stupor deepened only slightly by the mix of fancy fruit beers and vodka.  The later she had supplied herself in the old guise of an evian bottle.

‘Amelia?’

She crained her neck slowly around such liquid tones she had not heard for what seemed an eternity, Jose was there silver in her hair, chapped pink lips, wonky glasses.  Amelia took in the ink stained finger and paint splatter clothing, a frown creased her forehead.

‘Jose?’ the woman nodded and smiled, it lit up her face, she became an angel - cracked lip, broken glasses and all.  As it had always been.

‘We’ve been wondering were you’d got too!’ she chirped, a look of disgust contorted the womans features, ‘you’ve fallen off the wagon haven’t you?’ she demanded harshly - it was as it always had been, somehow at odds with her general demeaner as if it had been learnt.

Amelia bristled to hear it, ‘no!’ then she blushed, she remembered the young man in the bar the one who had offered to buy her drinks.

‘Don’t lie I can smell it on you from here!’ Jose looked livid.

‘What’s it to you anyway,’ she hissed.

Jose got up from her seat and glided to the one next to Amelia, leaning down so that all the world become just Jose and whispered, ‘You know the answer to that one don’t come the fool! Were have you been we assumed you were with another group.’

‘Hah! How many groups do you think there are Jose!’ she spat then regretted it, the vitality of the other woman seemed to sag.

‘I… I had hoped?’ the eager hope, the fear in her eyes hurt Amelia as she shook her head.

‘How many are left Jose?’ she asked far more soberly than should have been possible.

‘Just the three of us,’ she said quietly.

‘But…’ Amelia shuddered at the thought, ‘there was 120 of us! How many are awol like me?’

‘Not many and we think… it doesn’t matter, were are you living? We could have a cuppa - you don’t have to be part of the group but we would like to see you again.’ The urning in the older woman’s eyes burnt into her.

‘I… I don’t think I should Jose.’ She turned her face away not to see the other crumple but instead a fierce grip dug into her arm.

‘Amelia, you have to understand, you have to know!’

‘Let go!’ she said prizing the other woman’s fingers off of her - what was the woman thinking.

‘You have to listen!’ she pleaded.

‘No Jose I don’t I am well shot of you lot, we can never go back, we are stuck here and that is that, we should just get on with blending in, the sooner you lot come to terms with that the better.’ Her venhem ebbed away to a hiss.

Jose slumped back on another chair, ‘and how is trying to fit in working for you?’

Amelia shrugged, she was not about to admit that it wasn’t, she was lonely and sick but she wasn’t going back. Not that there was much to go back to by the sounds of it.

She snugged down in her coat and pointedly ignored Jose who stared penetratingly at her, it itched.

At her stop Amelia stood a bit shakily, Jose grabbed her wrist, ‘please reconsider, it’s not safe for our kind here anymore!’

She snorted, ‘and who’s going to know as long as I dress and talk like everybody else? Jose you need to think about yourself more, look at you! Go on holiday on your own or something.’

She ripped her hand out of the others and staggered off the bus. Her heels clicked on wet pavements sounding too loud, the panicked furore in Jose’s eyes had spooked her. Twisting her key in the lock she felt the unease of panic turn her stomach, she had to wiggle the key and pull the door, finally the little click ment she was in.

The air smelt wrong in her flat, dry ice always messed with her senses. She bunged the kettle onto her hob and went to the cupboard, a sharp grinding sound made her jump, metal on stone. She turned around and almost screamed. Talons clasped her throat holding her off of the floor, a snout dripping mucus snorted at her.

‘Little angel run, Little angel hide, Little angle going to hell for a ride!’ the apparition wheezed through slits of teeth. Amelia flailed and kicked at the Beast but knew it was no good, this had been what Jose feared then. She choked and dragged ragged breaths, painful and not enough. A jolt shot through the monster sending her sprawling, dazed she looked up to see Jose pummelling the creature. It ceased moving.

‘I think I’d like to rejoin the Fallen Angels Self Help Group’ she said horsely.

The world drowned in litter and most of the people with it, but Jacko was a bit insane to begin with - the sort of person who got obsessions and when the world collapsed he was into origami, in a big way.

Whilst most survivors felt they had been plunged into hell Jacko was in heaven - all that paper and thick plastic bags! Just right for folding. And so he did, he folded whole gardens of flowers out of magazines and newspapers, and boats out of plastic bags. Large litter created dinosaurs, roamed the rubbish strewn streets. And when the paper ran out and the carrier bags - he simply moved on.

Until finally the world - or at least the bits of it he could walk too, where filled with sculpture instead of rubbish. As the historians noted centuries later, he saved the planet - it was a shame none of the governments had seen the solution lay in the hands of a mad man - they where too busy arguing semantics and ignoring the calls to re-use, recycle and upcyle. Jacko did it for them anyway so all’s well that ends well - except that most of the human population of the planet had to wiped out for it to work.

Jessica Was about eight years old when they moved to the Village, they lived in a cottage on an old derelict farm. Min lived in a tiny cottage just over a hedge that had gotten out of control and shot up into the sky. Min was an old lady with waist length course grey hair that she plaited in a single braid down her back, the end always had some sparkly flower or butterfly adorning it. On her head were a variety of floppy hats in various colours, often these would have flowers or something on them too, but somehow they were not old lady hats.

Min didn’t really seem much like an old lady to Jessica, she was tall and willowy unlike Jessica’s nan who was large and jolly and had short wispy white hair with red cheeks. Min’s clothing was always made of stripped fabric with the seams on the outside, long and flowing tended to be what appeared most. Even in the autumn when the rains started and the mud came, she donned a series of bright floor length coats with things like flowers on the pockets, they all tapered at the waist and made her seem even taller.

Jessica would take biscuits round that her mother had made and Min would give her a cup of tea, at least she said it was tea, it was always sweet and smelt of berries and was often a virulent purple.

Min’s house was full of bead curtains and cushions in silk patchwork. Min’s smile was beautiful, even when she took her false teeth out to entertain Jessica. One day she gave Jessica a bag covered in tiny little seed beads, the beads made up a pattern of the sea with creatures roaming the depths and the waves and sun at the top.

‘Find me some pieces of silvered wood in the forest during you holiday,’ she said grinning. ‘Silver, mind! Not blond or red!’

Jessica had promised and took the bag carefully home with her, that coming half term saw her family exploring the New Forest and staying with her mum’s old friends, they all helped her find the silvered bits of wood for Min.

Min was delighted with the haul and gave Jessica a purse made of shells, ‘find me same small thin pink shells when you go to the beach next,’ Min said Jessica nodded and with her father’s help picked up a bucket full of shells, Jessica had been afraid of the sand worms so had to be cuddled for most of the exploration. But Weston Super Mare was the perfect place for such delicate little shells.

The presents and requests continued, plastic beads from Leigh-on-sea and pine cones from the forest of Dean. Quartz from Ben Nevis and slate from Snowdon.

Jessica was 13 before she thought to as what all the bits where for, ‘My Weather Warner,’ Min said as if it should be obvious.

‘Weather Warner?’ she’d asked.

‘Different bits will spin to tell you what will be coming, a storm, hurricane or tempest.’ Min had grinned and patted Jessica on the head. ‘If all the levels start turning at once you know it’s time to hide in the cellar!’

Jessica had laughed and forgotten promptly.

Around Jessica’s fifteenth birthday Min began to build a strange sculpture in the garden, Jessica’s father shock his head muttering about batty old hippies and her mother had told him off and made him take a tray of cakes over. It grew in fits and starts over the next few years and then Jessica was packing to go off to university. She packed with care the funky cloths Min had given her, they were ones she hadn’t dare wear around the village but she thought they might be good for university.

And then it was Christmas and Easter and Summer. And the cycle repeated and suddenly Jessica was coming home to Min’s funeral. Tears streamed down her face and she found she had been left Min’s house and the strange Weather Warner which was apparently finished and sitting like a rickety sky scraper. Jessica pondered selling the place and paying off her student loan but somehow it called to her and she found herself moving in.

‘You’ll go batty just like Min was.’ her father had muttered.

‘Shush you!’ her mother had glared, ‘they girl was always going to be a reclusive genius and at least she’s next door!’

‘What about grandkids though? That’s what I would like to know.’ he’d muttered in defeat and stormed off.

Jessica watched the Weather Warner and noted that it did seem to predict certain types of weather - Min had a hand written catalogue of what meant what. Jessica kept quiet about this though as people would think her crazy.

Then one day when her brother was visiting with his wife and kids Jessica was in the garden, it was a thick sultry day and the air lay heavy upon them. Without a breeze without warning the whole Weather Warner begain to spin erratically. Jessica watched in horror as all of the different layers, shells, drift wood and plastic beads began to spin. Min’s words echoed through her skull as if the woman were shouting in her head. She rushed to her parents home but when she said they had to hide her father laughed and started saying the house had cracked her.

He brother looked skeptical though her mother bit her lip, ‘Min’s Weather Warner?’ she’d breathed.

‘Yes Mum!’ she’d said in desperation. Her sister in law was looking worriedly at the children.

Jessica grabbed the baby and ran to the cellar. ‘Jessica for heavens sake!’ her father had called. But her mother grabbed the toddler and a hysterical mother followed them into the cellar.

‘This is stupid!’ her father called just as the sky went dark, her brother dropped the phone he’d started dialing and they followed into the cellar after a moments glance at each other.

The Artists arrived on an unsuspecting Earth; they arrived in shining spaceships curved into weird and disturbing shapes. It would take the humans no short time to work out why the ships were so disturbing and by that point it was a bit mute anyway.

The Artists were sleek, looking as is they were made from shiny rigid plastic in bold shades of red and black but they were flexible and their skin did not wrinkle or furrow when they moved. There heads curved up like an over grown gnome hat but it was all their flesh. Flesh that turned out to be as hard as armour plating and not brittle in the least. They were pretty impenetrable. Their mouth parts opened in four pieces but there were no teeth, they ate algae filtered from bodies of water, this lulled the humans into thinking they were safe.

Worries over plague were the initial problem but that soon died down as other species from other planets had come with them. They were welcomed.

Our first contact.

They gave the humans wonderful fabrics and jewels, selected an elite to wear creations they had made. People flocked to the fashion shows. People of just about every body form where required and all exulted in it.

And then one morning those who survived got up to find the streets painted in blood and gore, vital organs hung from the trees in various shades of purple, green and pink, tendrils of fat where draped artistically over the branches. A garden of hands on spikes reached up to the sky. And in the town centers or general open spaces there where people some of whom where still alive, impaled on stakes arms and feet missing, the ends of the bone sticking out just so. These where arranged in tablos, a family here, a couple there.

Bows of flayed flesh adorned park benches. The survivors retched up their meals and screamed themselves horse, then wondered in desolation amongst the gristle and guts of their peers. And then… then the tourists began to arrive, aliens of many shapes and sizes carrying what amounted to cameras and guidebooks. And then the true horror started, some of them commissioned art work from the Artists and the rounding up began this time the victims know what was coming and all they could do was run until this latest art fad died a death.

Adriana shivered, the night had a clammy clinging quality to it and she was only wearing a thin cotton shirt, the cloying moisture of the air condensed out onto her ashen hair plastering it to her head. The streets looked deserted and bleak, most people had evidently decided that this was not a night for being away from their cosy settees and blazing TV screens. She lent against a damp brick wall, regretting it instantly as the coldness seeped through her inadequate clothing. At this rate she would look dreadful when he finally turned up, if he turned up. Adriana half smiled, the pink diamond gloss shimmering on her lips, making her look more washed out in the sickly yellow of the street lamps. She was nestling inside one of their relatively cosy pools of light, waiting for Judd to turn up and was becoming quiet bored.

She examined the brick wall she had lent against only to see an oozing green trail of slime mold oozing mere inches from where she had been. The relentless drip of some overflow eroding the pavement in a slow and patient way had given this monstrosity life. Feeling slightly edgy and invaded by the gelatinous mass she bounced on the balls of her feet with impatient and watched the clouds of her own breath dissipate into the murky night. Somehow the clamminess seemed to be deadening sound and only the faintest echoes reached her ears, her pink pearlised patent leather handbag bounced with her keeping warm ritual as did her moderate breasts . Mist seemed to be clinging to her ankles, something that she had not yet realised. Her golden strapped shoes allowed it to billow around her toes; the candy nails shimmering in the strangely incandescent light. Adriana’s brow furrowed as a disquieting sensation reeled through her, something wasn’t right, the night was too dead, to closed in, to lonely and yet she had begun to feel watched. Some faint nose in the distance caught her attention and she strained her ears to catch every last echo. The thud, thud of running feet, the noise deadened by rubber soles. A nervous tension began to build within her, half recalled news reports poured into her brain, fear tightened her throat and her mind swam with darkness, it had come again, ‘no not now,’ she whispered as she staggered backwards to rest prompted up on the filthy brick work once more. Her gray eyes shimmered with tears and she panted closing them. Finding the warm red tinged dark of her own head, locked away from that hateful world beyond. Adrian fought to control herself and then opened her eyes once more.

The night was exactly the same as it had been, she smiled again, chiding herself for an imagination she had not asked for, the mist still wrapped itself around her, working its way up her calf. The thudding of the runner was stronger now, they would be here soon, Adriana felt as if all her energy had began to trickle from her, leached into the night, her warmth imperceptibly sucked into the cold. Feet tingling Adriana fort for repose, the running feet may well have been Judd and she did not want him to see her flaked and slumped against a filthy brick wall, that would do nothing for her dating prospects, if the bastard hadn’t stood her up that was.

She felt the wrongness of the night in the pit of her stomach but resolutely ignored it, she always did, it was the best way she had found of being able to survive and be normal. A shape loomed at her out of the night, dark and indistinct but she knew it was him, knew that Judd was running to her, annoyed at being late and seething silently at her for dragging him out on such a thankless evening. His dark brown hair gilded with gold looked black and his warm liquid eyes seemed to burn inside his ashen face, pale under the tan. Something’s wrong, that thought again echoing in her mind, resonating with what her senses told her and still she ignored it and smiled brightly at him.

‘Adriana,’ he gasped as he came closer, ‘time shifts,’ he whispered as he fell at her feet, in panic and exhaustion, his eyes wide with fear, the mist instantly began to entangle him. The fog seemed to deaden his voice as he whisper, ‘run.’

But she could not leave him to the things her gut told her lurked beyond the dense mist. The air seemed hard to breath, like it really was fibrous cotton choking her lungs.

‘I can’t leave you!’ she cried, the night stole the sound and she tried to lift his dead mass, his eyes were closed and he looked greyer, age worn lines etched him like stone - she’d never noticed them before. Concern furrowed her own brow.

‘Run - time shifts Adriana, run, runn n nn,’ he shuddered and she dropped him, her breath was sharp and painful panic blurred the insidious evening. Her all told her that they were there waiting in the white tendrils, tendrils that attempted to shackle her as she took flight into the milky depths. The echo of clacking heels did not reverberate off the buildings.

Alex carried his tranquilised wife into their now empty home, the toys that were now obsolete scattered the floor and he pushed his tears down deep. The house was chill and clammy damp. The hospital smell was all over him but there was nothing he could do. He dropped Clare on the settee and picked up the toys and put them away, then he sat in the half gloom and stared at nothing.

The numbness he had was a protection and he clung to it. The house had seemed such a good idea, room for Anna to run around now she was a child, but the front room had been plastered in floral wallpaper, as had most of the house, the same climbing roses everywhere.

They had scraped it all off and had only just finished the decoration when Anna’s apparent cold had not gone away. The last few months had been spent to and throw from the hospital. His wife had grown thinner and he had aged. The funeral came and Clare came out of herself slightly - someone he wasn’t sure who had given her a framed photo of Anna and it was placed on the wall in the lounge.

Eventually he went back to work but Clare rarely left the house and would just rearrange the smallest bedroom when he wasn’t there. Then one day he came home and there was another photo of Anna on the wall, this one was not framed but a canvas like a painting, he recognised it from a holiday they had had in Wales.

He looked away unable to bear the blue eyes that stared at him from the giant happy face, he shuddered but kept his thoughts to himself. And then he had a business trip, two weeks away, he almost didn’t go, Clare was strange and the Drs where of no help, she was ordering things on the internet - he didn’t enquire what they were. But she was busy washing down the walls when he left.

When he returned he heard Clare singing and sighed with relief, he frowned slightly when he heard the nursery rhyme lyrics but quelled the fear. Opening the door he was confronted by hundreds of eyes, hundreds and hundreds of blue eyes, smiling eyes and they were all looking at him. His breath caught. The walls were covered floor to ceiling in photographs of Anna. They were large and small but none the less all of one little girl, his little girl. A little girl who no longer existed except in those photographs.

‘Clare?!’ he called shakily, his wife appeared beaming from the kitchen. ‘What have you done?’ he asked hoarsely. She looked confused and then her face split into a beautiful smile.

‘Oh! Me and Anna have been decorating, do you like it?’ He closed his eyes, her and Anna?

‘We’ve done the whole house!’ she said with enough enthusiasm to stick his heart to his lungs.

He tore past her into the kitchen, blue eyes eating ice cream, skating, singing, doing everything, blue eyes smiling and accusing. Shakily he made his way up the stairs - the hall, landing and bedrooms where all the same, his breathing was fast. It was like the pictures where drilling into his head. He ran out of the house.

His neighbour was mowing his lawn, he looked over curiously. ‘You ok Al?’ Alex answered with an automatic yeah. ‘You know Al I’m sorry about your little girl but my Mother reckons it’s the house you know, she’s sort of got this crazy idea.’ Alex tore his eyes from the house and stared disbelieving at his neighbour.

‘W-What do you mean by that?’

‘Oh its just the old lady being silly, but the O’Donalds had similar luck after moving here you know. Their little Rosa got sick, such a shame, lovely little thing she was too, bit like your Anna. But then Shelly she couldn’t take the kids death and started doing strange things, I wasn’t around much off at university but mum remembers.’

‘What sort of odd things?’ Alex asked though his tongue was glued to the top of his mouth.

‘Not sure mum could tell you more, MUM!’ there was a thump thud as the old woman worked her way patiently down the stairs.

‘You’ll want to know about poor little Rosa now.’ She crocked Alex shook himself, everything suddenly looked wrong to him, he nodded and stared at the old lady, ’she died and her mum just sort of snapped, began decorating the house with all that wall paper, like it was a way of bringing the kiddie back. She even started talking to… well to the child.’ Alex laughed loud and false. Gimlet eyes stared at him.

‘Your wife slipping the same way?’ she asked gently, without thinking Alex nodded.

‘She’s… the walls… its all Anna. But that’s not the same as that rose wall paper is it?’

‘I’d get your wife out of there quickly if I were you Mr, Rosa wasn’t the first and yours wont be the last, and the mums often follow.’

“Mum!’ his neighbour smiled a pained apology. But Alex had looked back at the house he thought he saw… just a flicker but it was as if the house were full of people.

‘Clare! Clare!’ he yelled running back to the house.

‘The others killed themselves Mr!’ Alex didn’t turn around, he re-entered the house, it was like walking through treacle, whispered echos bounced inside him. Clare was talking through the alphabet whilst setting the table for three.

He caught her arm, she dropped the plates, the house seemed to shudder, the lights flickered and she was laughing light pretty laughs, ‘Daddy’s playing Anna, look Anna,’ Blue eyes looked at him and not just from the walls.

‘Anna,’ he breathed tears.

‘Join us Daddy.’

Broken in the woods the aluminum pole that had once been a black and gold hiking stick lay. The leaves half covered it before anyone arrived looking for it’s young Mistress but unfortunately by that point she was many miles away and on the verge of death. The police bagged it up like a dog turd and threw it in the back of a vehicle. Of course if it had been able to talk, if it had not been an inanimate object, it could have told them what had happened. How the two men had jumped Nancy and how she had dodged them and the swung the hiking pole at them connecting jarringly with the side of one of the assailants heads.

As it was, it would take the police two days to find the blood and test it, and a little longer to work out that it was not the girl’s blood.

The stick could also have told them about how the force of impact had hurt Nancy whose slight frame had crumpled with the force of the second assailants body-tackle, as she dropped the pole. It had been broken and bent then and in anger the man it had maimed picked it up and through it with scant regard for the fact he had lost a leather glove somewhere in the scuffle. His fingerprints were picked up pretty immediately but he was not a criminal or at least not one currently known to the police.

If it could have, the stick would have told the forensic team that the leather glove lay near a rabbit whole a few feet away but as it was they didn’t find that until a third sweep just after a spring shower had washed off suspect stains that could have given them at least a connection. It did however have skin cells and even a hair on the inside.

The rucksack lay in the evidence bay next to the stick; the contence so precious to Nancy had been of no interest to the two men who had left it on the wood floor just below the bus. The notes and files were a soggy mess that would have made her cry.

The diary within told the police what the stick knew already, of the boyfriend Miles, who was worried about her keep taking the short cut through the woods so that her parents wouldn’t realise she was getting the later bus. Of the boyfriend who had a temper and had been on the wrong side of law when it came to his mother’s safety in his parents devoice. Of how he feared his father’s retribution and of course of how he was excitingly older than she.

The stick could have told them, then and there, that all the pieces where in place but they got it wrong. The police turned up to Nancy’s boyfriends house and arrested him with apparently oblivious for the fear and worry he showed for the girl.

In the end the DNA profile cleared him, as the woods had not been wet enough to show footprints and the fact there were two assailants. Miles also pointed out that if he had done it he would have taken the diary - the police considered this suspicious and informed him that he would probably still be charged with statutory rape.

Which was news to him and made him reassess his girlfriend quite clearly and cry with frustration at the realization she hadn’t lied. She had just let him assume things. As it turned out Nancy tended to let people assume things but none of this was much help with finding her and the days flew by in desperation.

Two and a half weeks and the chances of the girl being alive where remote. And then a teenager covered in blood and naked was found wondering around with a bent hiking stick in her hand. Dangerously weaving among the cars on the motoway. She could remember little at first but she always carried a pair of hiking stick incase of rain as they made the leave litter hard to navigate.

It was put in the evidence locker with the first stick were they exchanged tales of daring do and a kidnapping - ending with the death of Nancy’s future father-in-law. She had simple finished what Miles had started. The sticks however kept their silence on where the body could be found.

Metcalf stood back from the oily smoke. If he thought about the smell and what it was, he gagged; but he was the senior investigator in this mess and had to be made of sterner stuff. The plumes were from the incinerator designed to deal with foot and mouth outbreaks in farm animals, but the carcasses being loaded in where most definatly not animals. He chewed his cheek until it drew blood. Someone, he thought, someone high up had thought of these people as diseased animals. The feeling just would not leave him. It was supposed to have been an accident and he was to check and write a report to prevent it in future.

But of course it wouldn’t happen in the future becuase they were all gone, including the women from the shelter hiding from their men, their little ones following them to the same mass grave. Metcalf’s hands balled into fists. Such a waste - the teenagers from the mental health half-way house had mostly been affected too.

With a bad taste in his mouth he turned away from the piles of bodies awaiting incineration. The food in the soup kitchens was the only answer; his men were rounding up what was left of it. The lab would have results for him that afternoon. ‘Sir?’ came a tentative voice.

‘Rose?’ he said turning around. The young sargeant had been crying. Most unprofessional, but then so had he, hadn’t he?

‘Some of the food… some of the food, got into the childrens home.’ she was pale with bright spots on her cheeks. He didn’t correct the term childrens home, there was no point. He sighed heavily.

‘Has anyone survived yet?’ she shook her head. Metcalf closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his course silvered hair.

‘Sir… ?’ her voice broke. ‘It looks to me like… like radiation poisoning.’ She pushed the toe of her shoe into the ash covered ground. He nodded, that had been his conclussion too; but the only thing they all had in common was the donated food. Soup kitchens fed the homeless, shelters and children’s homes often ran on donations too, as did old folks homes!

‘Rose, check out all the old folks homes,’ she nodded, ‘and Rose send warnings to other districts would you?’ The puzzelment was there only for a moment replaced by fear - This could well be bigger than one city, why had it taken them so long to spot it?

Because, he thought bitterly, homeless people die in puddles of puke and blood all the time.

It had only become apparent when the rats had entered the city to clean up the corpses. He’d had to call in the Army to help clear the corpses, there were just so many of them. Rose’s slight shadow fell across his path once more, ‘Dad?’ she whispered, he didn’t reprimand her, ‘Dad the hospitals! It’s in the hospital food too,’ and then she was sobbing and he was hugging, her numb but pleased she at least could still feel.

He squeezed her shoulders, ‘we’ll get them, Rosey’. She nodded mutely.

She dried her eyes and drew back her shoulders in defiance. ‘If it’s radiation it will be easy to trace to source.’

He smiled with no humour. ‘They’ll have accounted for that honey, it will be dirty and mixed source; probably traceable to half a dozen enemies of state.’ he snorted. Yes, he was that suspicous.

He went back to his office to read the incoming reports. There were scared people, clustered around the front of the building, screaming plague, screaming doomsday, crying and wailing. Some of them, he noticed, had the sheen and the odd one here and there had a nose bleed. Some of these people were dying and there was nothing he could do to save them.

The common factor was the food, donated food to the needy, so it could be that cheap contaminated food was being sold on the black market somewhere and a benevolent donar had thought it would feed hungry bellies as well as anything else. If so, that person would probably have commited suicide. He knew those reports were yet to come, the nurses and aid workers who would think they’d done it, the officers who had to watch a childrens’ home die.

Eventually he got into his office, his gut churning on nothing but black tar coffee. This had to be deliberate, all the vunerable had been targeted. His heart sank as he read confirmation messages, every city and town, all of them - the same. It was a national operation.

And then he saw it, a red envolope. Gingerly, he opened it.

Metcalf, Welcome to the New Solution Now the world will be stronger Now we will have only the brightest, strongest Society has been cleansed

Do not fight you are part of it

The Actiman Affiliate

…..

It could be a hoax, people did things like that, and why sign it such if it really were the Actiman Affiliate, the global corporation? And why? Just why? But he was already punching the forensic team’s number and the internal post’s. This was genocide, this was a cull, why hadn’t he seen it? He’d thought it was an accident cover-up - but this was systematic. The sick, the old, the poor, all those who rely on society had been… exterminated.

A white-clad officer took the envelope from him. He called the government; the coldness in his stomach told him he would be fighting them on this one. His life expectancy was now probably very low. Time for Rose and her brother to leave the country - he’d sort out their visas before he trod on too many toes. Of course he thought bitterly if the Actimen Affiliate were involved then there would probably be entire nations writhing in slow languid death already, and if that was the case then nowhere would be safe.

Guttering wind had stolen her candle light only moments before; Bella stood hoping like hell that dawn was not far off. There were skittering noises in the distance but the worst thing she could do was run. She calmed her ragged breath. The Namrok had been known to attack those who maintained stillness but had panic attacks. She closed her eyes; it made no difference to the impenetrable gloom, but it made her feel better.

Ten years ago no one had heard of the Namrok. Well, not in a way that any adult would ever have belived. Ten years ago she had been a lab tech with a promising career but that was before the rift, before the Namrok had taken back the realm they maintained was theirs. It was a shame they had rendered electronics useless as Bella would have swapped her very soul for a torch. Her breathing sounded harsh in her ears; she trembled and caught herself. No movement, that was the key - they were predators, and without her flame she was the prey.

A frozen rabbit, and if the Namrok caught her a fate worse than dinner awaited. She swallowed involuntarily. Angry with herself, she opened her eyes; a faint brusing had entered the sky. It was getting lighter, dawn! She may survive yet!

She exhaled in relief and the scuttling noise stopped. They were listening now - they knew she was there, and they would be clicking at each other to pin point her. She wanted to scream, wanted to run. With extreme hardship she pushed down the whimper that pushed at her, counting in her mind whilst straining her ears, desperately listening. Time seemed to stretch and she was cold, the roll of… parchment in her hand seemed to burn into her in contrast.

She had no idea if it was valuable or not, but they had just left it there and the flame should have protected her to her home, but there had been no lamps left and she had been too eager to get home and away from the dark. The scrittering noise had started up again, they would be moving in a slow circle around her, trapping her, but the sky was pearlised with precious sunlight now.

Unless she was very unlucky she would survive. The lighter it got the blinder they got, and fear of light would drive them away before long. But now she could see their forms, large and shapeless, at the edge of a large circle; and there were a lot of them, seeming to condense out of the night, little grey points of reflective light - and the smell. Sweet, sickly, sour, rotting meat - it clogged her nostrils and made her gag. They rose in a wave. She screamed and dropped down into a ball as a long, flicking talon scythed the air above her.

‘I’m dead’ she whimpered, waiting for the next blow, but the sun was tinging the sky rose and peach and they where wailing in a forlorn and alien way. The danger was not past, though as they know where she was. She used the confusion to duck and dive amoungst them, dreading the claws; few had seen the Namrok and lived to tell. Bella panted hard with fright once outside their circle and then she ran.

….

Bella was throwing up outside the Den, that had been too close, she had to stop this, but someone had to try and stop the Namrok. Viktor opened the metal door, with talon scratches all over it. ‘Close call?’ he asked, wrinkling his nose as she nodded and puked some more. He shouted for tea and warm water to those below and then took the parchment from her. ‘This is skin… ‘ he said, paling. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘I will get Anna to translate it.’ and he was gone into the gloom. She wondered briefly if she should have mentioned that the letters would be written in the victim’s own blood. Her stomach flipped again and she sunk down the wall instead. There would be parties going out to retrieve more supplies, candles, food; that type of thing.

She felt a bit better after cleaning up and drinking her tea, Viktor was pacing the small room he called HQ central. ‘Are you sure, Anna?’ Anna nodded, Bella slipped herself into a vacant chair. ‘This is not good, can we stop them?’

Anna hesitated, ‘Maybe, I do not know. Bella may, though.’

Bella froze, ‘Wha.. what’s it say then?’ she asked.

‘They are planning on blotting out the sun so there will be no dawn to rescue us.’ Bella’s stomach flipped once more.

‘They have some scientists held captive…’ She was already nodding, knowing full well she would not be getting any sleep.

‘It’s my lab isn’t it? They are are going to trigger one of the super volcanoes!’ The others nodded. The dust from the eruption, smoke, soot and ash would clog the sky. It would become cold and dark, and in the dark the Namrok were supreme.

They began planning Mission Abort Vulcan.

Selorian Raising up her hair to fasten the necklace, Trent discovered a zipper pull just inside her hair line on the back of her neck. #storystarters

Selorian Ripples of time crashed in, trapping him in a turbulent inner storm born from his own past mistakes. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks “Have a care, dear,” Grams said, patting my hand as my boyfriend got the car. “Monsters don’t advertise themselves as such.” #storystarters

jessrosenbooks His eyes were solemn. “You cannot know what will come. Everything leaves ripples beyond your vision.” He held out his hand. #storystarters

Selorian “If I died tomorrow, I’d still love you forever.” Tears welled in her eyes as he spoke. “Words of love can break hearts too.” #storystarters

Selorian There are places where rules don’t apply. The laws of physics mean nothing & reality is an illusion. My town is one of them. #storystarters

Selorian Too many times my hands have gotten me in trouble. They make gestures, pick up things, and hurt people. #storystarters

katirra Cinderella didn’t expect a Fairy Godmother to be riding in on a Harley with a t-shirt, saying ‘Born to Spell” & a gun rack. #storystarters

katirra Thanksgiving was officially out of hand when Auntie Em hopped on the table & started singing “I’m too sexy”. #storystarters

katirra Opening her eyes, she saw a spider the size of a cat crawling on the bed. Jumping for the door, she saw a 2nd approaching. #storystarters

Selorian Tarot cards vibrated on the table. The fortune tellers eyes widened as they flew into the air and fluttered around the room. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks Why weren’t the neighbors coming out, too? The thing that landed in the street lit up the night sky & kept calling her name. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks Mary thought she might love Lyle. So nice, made her smile, feel special. Feel tingles. “Hello, Millie,” he said as he passed. #storystarters

Selorian Time crashed in, eating away at him like vultures tearing flesh from a carcass. Was time travel really worth the pain? #storystarters

Selorian Leaping. Backstepping. Television had plenty of terms and methods for time travel. None of them came close to the real thing. #storystarters

Selorian Flies circled the body but didn’t dare land on it. The two figures approached it in full biohazard gear. #storystarters

Selorian The wind smelled foul and sounded unsettled. It wasn’t going to be a good day. #storystarters

Selorian Enough coffee in me now to try some #storystarters to get the day, and the muse, to rolling. #amwriting

jessrosenbooks Sleep eluded Maria. Like a greased marble, it slipped from her grasp. Hours yawned before dawn. #storystarters

valeca The night began with “Oh, and Mr. [Patient X] has flesh-eating disease”… and went downhill from there. #storystarters

valeca It all started to go wrong when she asked, “Do you mind if I kill you?” #storystarters

jessrosenbooks The Freyan was exotic, smooth skin & wearing a sarong. So different from home, where everyone had soft fur and clothes. #storystarters

Selorian Her breath caught in her throat as tears filled her eyes. He’d been her world. Fifty years he had promised. Now he was gone. #storystarters

Selorian Air shimmered in front of him like a mirage in the desert. Wind whipped the trees & a dark figure stepped out to look at him. #storystarters

Selorian Veins wiggled beneath his skin as the bugs entered the bloodstream and moved from his hand to his forearm. #storystarters

Selorian He stared down the barrel of the gun pointed at him. ” You better shoot me, because if you don’t, I’m going to kill you.” #storystarters

Selorian It isn’t what the government doesn’t say we should fear, but those they do say. #storystarters

Selorian There was more to the noises we heard than the settling noises made by a hundred year old house. Something was there. #storystarters

Selorian “Roswell was a media decoy. It was fabricated to draw attention away from what actually crashed in upper Washington state.” #storystarters