Chapter 3: Policing the Apocalypse

9:00am

“I know I don’t need to stress to you gentlemen…excuse me and ladies the scope for...”

“Officers will do fine. Captain.” Chief Byron interrupted. There was a slight ruffle from the assembled men and women. Byron was being difficult. He didn’t like being talked at in his own precinct, by an army Captain of all people.

Crowd control in New York City was the jurisdiction of the NYPD plain and simple. He idly rubbed his ample stomach, hadn’t been able to catch a decent breakfast this morning, on account of being called into an emergency action meeting with this mountain of a soldier.

Byron couldn’t quite remember who the tall Captain reminded him of. It was some well- known black actor. Maybe he had won an award or something. Byron didn’t really care. He had missed breakfast, and he was pissed, he was being preached to in his own briefing room by some Army boy with a southern drawl that would make the Coronal proud, and worst of all some big wig somewhere had decided that New York Police were not strong enough to look after their own city, just because some hokey bunch of doctors were planning a Frankenstein job.

Byron was from Brooklyn, his family had always been in Brooklyn since Great, Great, Great Grand Daddy Byron had left the Emerald Isle. Byron was New York through and through, the city flowed through his veins, he was part of it and it him. It was Chief Byron’s job to protect the people of this town, his people, his town. And now some soldier boy from the sticks was telling him how to do his job, and he was really…really pissed.

“I’m sorry Cap…you were saying.” Byron smiled and took a slug of the treacle thick coffee.

Captain Jefferson said nothing. He simply stared at the short pot bellied police chief. Jefferson had encountered men like him before. Men who for one reason or another wanted to stand in his way, cause him problems. Jefferson eyed him. He guessed single, maybe divorced, dedicated his life to the force no time for anything else…probably owned a cat called Rocky.

“My name is ‘Captain Jefferson,’ ‘Chief’ Byron. Not cap. I’m not a comic book character.

Byron squinted. The man had an intimidating stare. The voice had seemed to echo around the squad room and Byron hadn’t missed the emphasis on Captain and Chief. This guy was trying to tell him who was in charge…In his own briefing room…man was he pissed.

“Whatever.” He mumbled and took another slug of the coffee.

“As I was saying, we all know the scope for chaos if today gets out of hand. Strike that, more out of hand than it’s already got. This is what were currently looking at. Sergeant Bailey.” Jefferson motioned to the man on his left. The officer, switched on the TV and stood back.

“This is a live feed.” Continued Jefferson. Already we can see from the aerial shot here that the crowds have pushed back as far as 23^rd. It’s still only…”He glanced at his watch.

“Just after 0900 hours.”

“Nine o’clock guys.” Quipped Byron, to a ripple of laughter.

“This is serous…!” Jefferson barked so loud that a few of the officers assembled physically jumped. He eye balled the room, his teeth gritted. There was an instant silence.

“We’ve got another 14 hours until ‘Wake up’ and already there is a situation down there that looks like turning into a bad day in Baghdad. As things stand we’re talking about nearly 30,000 folk outside the Memorial. And in case you hadn’t notice people, they aint very happy…”

He waited again.

“Thank you Sergeant.” Bailey switched of the TV, rolled it to one side and then pulled down a large map on the board behind.

“I’m going to be brief people. We’ve got work to do. Right now, like I said, we’ve got near on 30,000 people in this here area.” Jefferson gestured to the map.

“This here area to be specific.” Reaching for the table he took a thick black marker and drew a rough oval shape on the map. Our job is simply to make sure that this swarm of angry…protesters does not grow beyond our control.”

“Your control?” Byron sneered.

“Our control Chief. We all work for the United States Government. We’re all here to do the same job. Prevent injury, save lives.”

“We don’t need reminding what our job is Rambo. It’s written on our shoulder; Serve and Protect. We know our God dam jobs.” Byron was suddenly upright, and drew himself up to his full, not particularly impressive height.

“We’re out there, day on day out serving and protecting these people. We’ve had some good days and some pretty God awful shitty ones. But we’ve always done our job.

We know the city, we know the people, and we don’t need no fuckin hill billy general telling us how to do our fuckin jobs!” Byron was panting. He took a slug of the coffee.

Jefferson was taken aback; he didn’t think the little podgy chief had it in him.

“I am not telling any of you how to do your jobs! But I am telling you the way it’s gonna play out today. Let me be absolutely clear when I tell you that my orders have come from the very highest platform.”

“Yeah. No Shit, Anthony fuckin Bull.” Byron whispered just loud enough to be heard. “From the President of the United States of America!” Jefferson bellowed.

“Like I said.” Byron gave a wry smile sensing he had shaken the huge soldier.

Jefferson, slowly looked around the room. There were quite a few smiling faces looking back at him. He wasn’t used to this kind of situation. In his 19 years of service he was used to orders. You’re given an order, you follow it. You give an order, it’s gonna be done. That was the way it worked. He been through hell and high water with his men, they’d seen action in the middle east and the Sudan, watching each others back, working as a unit, following orders. But his was new. These weren’t his men, they were New York’s finest, they were street warn, hardy, certainly brave…and they thought he was a dick. He almost had to laugh.

“I work for the President, and so do you. And quite frankly I don’t give a shit about cryo whatever, the media politics or any of the other shit going on these days.

Like you, I just want to serve and protect the people of this country…even when they need protecting from themselves. Anyone who isn’t with the program better get the fuck out now, because people, today aint gonna get any better from here…Anyone going?”

Byron took another sip off coffee, never taking his eyes of the Captain, but stayed.

“Good. Now like I said, we’ve got to make sure that this body of people does not increase. In order to achieve this we intend to set up a perimeter here.” He drew another oval larger than the first encompassing another five square blocks.”

“That’s some perimeter,.” Whispered a voice from somewhere in the room.

“Yes sir it is.” Said Jefferson.

“Were talking virtually a ten miles radius, albeit in street blocks and therefore far easier to secure than open territory. Myself and my men will be controlling this perimeter. It will be a one way perimeter, people can leave, but no- one is getting in.”

“What?” Byron snorted.

“You’re going to patrol 10 solid miles of city blocks all by yourself?” He was practically jeering.

Jefferson smiled for the first time. Byron found it extremely unnerving, he went to slug his coffee, but it was finished.

“Yeah Chief. That’s if you call 8,000 of the finest US Army troops all by myself.”

The room was stunned into absolute stillness.

“You gotta be kidding me.” Byron was genuinely dumb struck.

Jefferson abruptly lost the smile.

“No chief, I’m deadly serious. Right now we have about 3000 within the city limits and in another 30 minutes or so the rest of the containment force will be in place…Like I said. My orders come from the top. And the President sees this June 25^th a very real threat to national security.”

“So why the fuck are they doing this voodoo shit in the middle of the God damn city? Hell it’s not even a private facility. It’s the God Damn Lincoln Memorial for Christ’s sake. It’s where I had my ulcer taken out!” Byron waved his arms in the air, to a general response of laughter and nods of agreement.

“I can’t answer that Chief, because I haven’t the faintest idea why. My only concern is to handle the situation as it stands.”

“Ok. But if you’ve got 8000 God damn heroes in the city. What the hell are we supposed to do?” Again Byron’s question produced a murmur of agreement and the statutory scrapping of chairs.

“Like you said Chief your jobs. You and your men will be controlling here zone 1. That being the area already infiltrated by the protestors. And here zone 3 the area outside and beyond our exclusion zone. The US Army will assist you in zone 3 though our primary objective is to secure zone 2. That being the perimeter itself. Your job then is clearly the lynch pin of the operation; control those people within the zone 1 area. Protect the hospital, its staff, and the operation.

And finally patrol the outer ring and assist the Army in preventing would be aggressors sneaking into the danger zone…Any question?”

Jefferson surveyed the faces of the men and women looking back at him. He wandered about their lives. How many were married, had kids? Did their families really know the risks these people put themselves through on a daily basis. Could any of their loved ones have any idea the danger these people may face on this summers day in June, as the rain pummelled down.

“Yeah I gotta question” Byron was scratching his balding head.

“Yes Chief?”

“Can I get some breakfast now? I’m starving.”

Jefferson smiled.

“Make it doughnuts to go Chief. It’s going to be one hell of a day.”

Chapter 2: The Mad Doctor

Archer woke with a start, the phone was ringing. He fumbled for the handset.

“Yeah?”

“Dan? I’m not going to believe you’re in bed… Dan? Do you know what time it is? Dan? What day it is?”

“Janey?”

“Yeah it’s Janey, who the hell else would it be?” Her Texan drawl sounded unusually anxious down the phone. “Dan, do you know what time it is?” She asked again.

“Yeah, Janey, sure it’s…”He blinked as he tried to focus on his Rolex. “8:30…”

“8:30 hotshot! Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Janey snapped down the phone.

“Hey Pixie! Don’t sweat it! I’m up. Just leaving now!” He tried to laugh down the phone.

“Don’t fucking Pixie me Dan, just get your ass down here! It’s already like World War 3 and the day’s just got going!”

“Lot of people down there?” He pulled back the sheet and arched his back, the phone still clasped to his ear.

“No shit, there’s a lot of people…Come one help me out here hotshot.” Her voice sounded desperate.

“On my way Pixie. See you in ten.” Dr Dan Archer clicked off the phone and turned back round to his bed. “Sorry babe…you gotta get up. I’ve got places I have to be.” The lumped in the bed groaned. “Come on.”

“I’m serious. You’ve got to move. Big day to day! The biggest!”

The lump moved again and then suddenly with another groan the sheets were thrown back. Flicking her red hair the naked woman marched past.

“What’s the big deal? The world about to end, or something?” She grabbed a towel from the back of a chair and headed to the bathroom.

Dr Archer flicked on CNN, “Maybe darlin, just maybe.”

“…most controversial decision since Vietnam. But that decision was 3 years ago. And today, 25^th of June we’re finally here.”

“Senator Turner, thank you for joining us this morning. Senator; your voice has been one of the loudest in the whole Cryogate affair. Is there anyway we can predict where this 25^th of June is going to take us…as a race of people?”

“Christ.” Archer grimaced. “Honey? Room for one more in there?” he made his way to the bathroom.  

“…I mean it’s happening already Bob. You look at those pictures, we’ve got riots in Jerusalem, half of Istanbul is in flames, Baghdad is calling for Jihad.”

“Not only that Senator, if we look closer to home, just a few blocks from this

studio, down at the Lincoln Memorial…Good God, look at that. I think there’s just about every religious group under the sun.”

“That’s right Bob, and as a Christian myself, I gotta say that I don’t blame them. What we are seeing today as a nation, no strike that as a species, is a direct assault on all religions, and all men and women of faith.”

“Senator Turner, thanks for now. So, we’re finally here, the 25^th June the final day of what has been dubbed ‘Operation Birdsong.’ We’ll have more live pictures from Lincoln Memorial and the other ‘Wake up Sites’ around the globe in a moment. But 1^st just in case any of you have been living on Mars for the last 3 years, lets remind ourselves of how we got here.”

“Almost 3 years ago on July 6^th, Congress voted on the much debated article 12. To the shock of billions of people world wide, and by the narrowest of margins, it was passed. This meant after years of lobbying, the pro-cryos had won. The US spokesman of E.V.O.L.V.E had this to say; ‘this is a landmark for all the people of the world. We have the technology to revive some of those men and women who have been cryogenically frozen over the last 50 years, and now, finally thanks to the courage of the people of that assembly we’re going to do it. This day will be remembered as the day that we as a people shrug off the chains of Darwinism and stride forward. Today we unlock the potential of our minds. Today we claim our birthright.’

“Millions however, disagreed. Many cried foul as Article 12 was passed. Allegations of corruption and sleaze have been levelled at every office from the American Legal Society to the Oval office itself. But most fingers pointed at the biggest player in the cryo market, the corporation that had and has most to gain from ‘Operation Birdsong’ the international giant Sphere Industries. President of Sphere Anthony Bull had this to say;

‘we of course are delighted at the news, that Article 12 is through. This is not a statement of delight that we as an organisation may profit. But that we as a nation, and I mean a global nation may stop the horrors of cureable disease. With this technology finally freed we can bring back the minds of those who were striving to save all our lives.

I want to tell you a story. I was with my little daughter this morning. She’s sick, in bed. Nothing serious just a touch of the flu. I was reading some passages of the Bible to her. We do that kind of this a lot in my house. When I’d finished she asked me a question. She said “Daddy? If God is so good, and so strong, why does he let people die?” Well people I don’t mind telling you I did not have an answer for my little girl. That was at 9:00am this morning…But by 3:15pm this afternoon I did. So I want to tell you honey, people will always die, because that’s God’s will, that will never change and it’s not our place to question his judgement. But one thing has changed, and I believe it’s the will of God too;  yeah people are gonna die, but some of them, just some of them…your Daddy is gonna bring back!’

“Well those words sparked outrage throughout the world. Some claimed Bull and his associates had bought the government and killed God. Some went further and said that Bull thought he was God.

Well despite 3 years of death threats and assassination attempts Anthony Bull is still here. With the soaring share price of Sphere Industries Bull is undoubtedly the richest man in the world…apparently eternity is more valuable than the microchip!

It was soon apparent that these arguments were not just for the American people to decide. The Article 12 announcement prompted immediate and furious global response. 

The nations of the world were quick to choose their sides in this epic debate. The strongest voices against the ‘Wake up’ being those of The Middle East, Brazil, Italy and The Republic of Ireland. The remaining countries either getting behind the movement or settling for neutrality in this the argument to end all arguments.

We have seen demonstrations, terrorism, political rallying and world wide debate, at unprecedented levels as the nations of earth have carved their view points on this monumental issue, which is quite simply; do we wake the dead?

To many around the globe the very concept of waking the dead is stuff of religious doctrine and folklore and is better suited to vampire movies than science. But how can this be achieved, how have we come so far that we can literally cheat death? Well as the shadow of these fantastic and terrifying events drew nearer, we caught up with Sphere industries US project leader Dr Daniel Archer.

“Doctor Archer. Next Thursday you plan to literally raise the dead. How do you feel about that?”

“Wow, what a question. I don’t know how anyone is supposed to feel at a time like this…Privileged I guess, excited, humbled I find it hard to express in words.”

“Doctor Archer. There are literally millions of people around the world up in arms over ‘Operation Birdsong.’ Many are saying that you are defying God, that what you are planning is a travesty against nature and some even suggest that your actions are going to directly threaten our very existence. How would you respond to that?”

“Well Bob. First of all ‘Operation Birdsong’ is your phrase, not ours. As for defying God; I don’t want to get into another theology debate here but as I’ve said before, it seems to me that if God gave man the ability to think, to learn, to make babies and to do all the millions of other things we can do. Then it follows that he also gave us the ability to perform this procedure. Therefore, I fail to see how we can be defying God…”

“Doctor Archer, just because a man can perform an act, does it necessarily follow that God condones it? What about murder? Rape?”

“Like I said theology debates are for the scholars. I’m a doctor.”

“Ethics apply to everyone Dr, especially the medical profession.”

“Are you trying to teach me something Bob?”

“Some would argue, that you and your colleagues need a little religious instruction Dr. Is it not the case that you are in fact a non believer?”

“My own beliefs are irrelevant here Bob. And frankly a lot of people have been arguing a lot of things lately. So let me be absolutely clear. I do have beliefs; I believe in mankind....in humanity.

I believe in our ability to climb out of the primordial slime and evolve. I also believe that man has reached a point where evolution has reached the next step. That step is a greater understanding of the boundary of physical death. It is our essential nature to grow to adapt.

When the coyote learns to adapt itself to the changing environment, it is not called a travesty against nature. When leaping squirrels develop flaps of skin to glide, this is considered part of God’s plan. But when human beings find a way to save lives, we are called every name under the sun.

June 25^th is a day for all the people of the world and I am ready and very willing to do my duty for those people. For all of us.

And as for threatening our existence; well I’m sorry, but if you look back in history any great move forwards that mankind has ever taken has been surrounded by at best pessimism and at worst down right panic driven fanaticism.

I appreciate that this is a big step, I understand that people are scared by what is about to happen. But the people of the world need to understand that what we are doing is for them.”

“And for Sphere industries?”

“That’s a cheap shot Bob. Whether people love or hate Sphere industries, without their research and support next Thursday wouldn’t happen. And despite what some of you guys are making out, not everyone is against this project. For a start there are 18 families around the world, very excited about the wake. They are going to be re-united with their loved one. Lets not lose sight of that.”  

“Indeed no. In fact, let’s move on to that area now Dr. How exactly did you decide who would be selected for this ‘wake up’ as you call it?”

“The process was to a large extent random Bob.”

“Sorry Dr. To a large extent?”

“Well, out of the 975,000 people who have been cryogenically frozen over the last 70 years, there are still only a proportion whose injuries or illness that are now curable. We have no intention of bringing back those who would need to spend all their time on life support. So, it was a fairly simple process of selecting individuals who we knew we could now cure. Following that the process was for want of a better word a lottery.”

“A lottery?”

“Yes Bob. A computer selected the names at random. The families were then contacted, and if the situation was appropriate, that individual was confirmed.”

“What do you mean the situation appropriate?”

“…Well Bob. I don’t think it takes a genius to work out that, being brought back to life is well…going to be extremely stressful. To be honest although we feel we have taken every precaution to provide for these people when they return. It is very hard for us to predict the level of trauma that the wake will create. Not just for the individual but for their families.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“The family details of all the sleepers…”

“Sleepers?”

“Ok you got me. We refer to the subjects scheduled for awakening as sleepers. It seemed appropriate.”

“As I was saying, the family details of all the sleepers is a secret, for their own protection. But for instance. One of the 2 US sleepers, lets call him Bob…Bob. He has or had, or has which ever way you look at it…”

“Which way do you look at it Dr Archer?”

“Hmm, has. If Bob has a family here in the US. Those people need to be ready to welcome him back to life. And bear in mind, our man Bob may have gone to sleep anytime in the last 70 years, so say his daughter may now be an old woman. Even his grandchildren could be old. In short, Bob maybe a great, great  grandfather.”

“Is Bob a great, great grandfather?”

“Ha, I was just giving you a for instance Bob…But remember we have 18 sleepers waking around the world so the scenario I’ve described is by no means unlikely.

In fact, if you think about it, it does follow that most of the people we can now awaken are going to be those who passed into sleep more than 10 years ago.”

“How so, Doctor?”

“Well, if someone died two years ago and we couldn’t save them, we would have had to make a pretty radical breakthrough to save them now”

“Are you saying all of the 18 are people who died over say 30 years ago?”

“No Bob, I’m not. I’m simply trying to show that this procedure is far more than simply a biological one, imagine waking up, looking at the world and realising it has radically changed.”

 “Why only 18?”

“There are a few reasons for that.

Firstly, this is an experiment. And as an experiment what we are dealing with here is a test group. Now I know that sounds very cold and heartless. However, it is a medical reality. The families were well aware of this, as in fact were any and all individuals when they signed up for cryo freezing.”

“Signed up Dr? Is it not the case that many of the subjects in cryo freeze were in fact signed up by loved ones after their deaths?”

“No Bob. That is not correct. I think that is what is called urban myth. Anyway, to continue. A further reason why we have restricted the initial wake up to 18 is equipment. As you know I cannot go into too much detail about this. But let me just say. The cost of equipment to bring back, just one person is close to half a billion dollars. Even a company the size of Sphere, with the generous backing it receives cannot afford more than 20 machines…At this time.”

“You mention backing Dr Archer. This project has become a truly global event. To what extent have the governments of the world assisted ‘Operation Birdsong?”

“Wow, ‘Operation Birdsong’ again. Where did that come from? Anyhow, there has been an element of government backing as has been well documented over the last few years. But as to what degree in each of the wake up zones…I couldn’t say. Because, I don’t know.”

Again just to indulge us…for those who don’t know; as things stand only 8 countries will be participating in ‘Operation Birdsong;’ The USA, Japan, Germany, Russia, France, Mexico, The People’s Republic of China and the UK. Each nation will simultaneously awaken their sleepers on the stroke of midnight. All nations have two sleepers currently prepared for wake with the exception of the UK where there are four.

“Why four in the UK?”

“Just happened that way on the lottery?”

“Does a part of you wish, we had more…sleepers waking here in the US?”

“Not at all. Dr Tovey is an expert in his field as all our project leaders are, and the facilities at the London Institute are second to none.”

“Finally Dr Archer; the technology created for this unprecedented event has been hidden from the world at large for up to 7 years now. Why?”

“As an organisation Sphere feels it would be irresponsible to release this technology into the hands of those who may not act responsibly with it. Further more, such is the complex nature of this science that there literally is not another medical group on the planet capable of managing…your ‘Operation Birdsong’ in a manner deemed to be controlled measured and above all …safe.”

“One last question Dr. If Sphere is the benevolent caring organisation that you paint. Can you explain to our viewers why earlier this year at the peak of media speculation over ‘Birdsong’ Anthony Bull made the company public buy selling a 55% share?”

Click.

Dr Dan Archer turned off the TV and threw the remote on the bed.

“Because Bob…He’s an evil money grabbing bastard!” He took another bite of the toast and threw the remainder over his shoulder. He froze and waited for the snapping sound.

“What are you doing there?” The doctor quietly growled with a smile on his face.

As Archer spun around he heard the sweeping sound of Barclay’s tail. It was a game he played with the small dog every morning. Barclay careered towards him, with his ears flapping as he went. Archer had no idea what breed the dog was, his sisters kid had found him 2 years before wasting in a box on 27^th.

Archer’s sister Hannah decided her brother and the mongrel were the perfect match. Both single, both obsessed, Archer with his work and the dog with food and both in desperate need of company. The small brown heap of straggly hair leaped up to Archer’s chest.

“Hey, steady there you mangy ball of cat shit.” He laughed as he sunk back on to the bed.

Barclay yapped back. The game was the same everyday.

“What’s the matter you want your breakfast do you?”

Yapp.

“You got it smell bag! Cheerios? Poptarts? No?” Archer would around the corner into the huge 20 by 25 ft kitchen.

“How about…Cornflakes? No, Jesus everybody likes Cornflakes…No? Ok, then I guess it’s going to have to be…

 Mr Woof?” Barclay was already at his bowl, tail sweeping the floor at 10 sweeps a second.

Archer started to spoon the food in to the bowl.

“Wait…wait!”

Barclay ignored him as usual, liberally taking food from the spoon, the bowl and everything in between.

“Dog! You are a new breed! Pig dog!

“Do I get Mr Woof too?” The red head was in the doorway.

“Heh, no babe. You can have whatever you want. As long as it is under 5 minutes. I’m so late!”

“I know. I saw the TV. They’re saying you are in league with Lucifer.”

“Jeesh, which channel were you watching?”

“I don’t know. Even CNN say you are playing God. Are you playing God Danny?”

“I don’t know about God sweetheart. I’m just doing my job. I’m just another Joe at the factory, earning a crust.” Archer necked a glass of orange juice.

“I’m just dating an ordinary Joe?” The redhead frowned.

“Fraid so babe.”

 The doctor spun past her back to the bedroom, Barclay hot on his heels.

“Hmmm, I’m not so sure Dr Archer.” She whispered.

“Not sure at all.”

Wake Up

Wake Up

Chapter 1

8:30 am

   

“It’s not right I tell you. It’s an obscenity! To God! An obscenity…”

“Can I smoke in here?” The woman interrupted.

“No smoking, not in my cab, an obscenity to God!” The driver continued.

“Which one?” muttered the woman under her breath as she stuffed the Marlboro back in the packet.

The cab sped down Broadway, the rain was still coming thick and fast. The wettest June in American history. Or to be accurate the wettest June just about everywhere.

“Which one? Which God?” The cab driver had heard. “The only God, our father, who sent his son to die for our sins.” The man made a dramatic grab for the crucifix hanging from the rear view mirror.

“Our lord God. Our father, and the holy Jesus Christ, and Mary the blessed mother.” He grabbed the crucifix again and kissed it.

He looked of Indian origin the woman thought, sounded Indian too. She wondered what was his story, how did he end up in the big apple? How did he end up with this frenzied mix of Christian dogma?

But hey! Fuck it! Everyone had a story. Who gives a shit? And come to think of it everyone seemd to have religion these days. Not her. Not her. Who gives a shit?

“It’s a sign, I’m telling you.” The cab driver hadn’t stopped talking. “A sign I say!”

“Oh, yeah? What’s a sign?” She breathed.

“The rain, the rain I’m telling you. It’s a sign, a sign!” The driver grabbed his crucifix for the 3^rd time and the woman wondered why he didn’t just hold onto it permanently.

“A sign of what? Umbrella stocks going through the roof? What?” The cab passed 22^nd Street.

“God of course! God is displeased, angry he is! Like Noah, you know Noah. He was having to build his Ark. This is the same! Like Noah…Here we are $28 on the nostril.” The cab had come to a halt.

“You’re kidding right? We’re 5 blocks away!” the woman leaned forward so the driver could make her out over the rain.

“Won’t get no nearer now” said the man pointing. “Look, look see the crowds! All the people. They are like the vultures!”

The woman peered down Broadway boulevard. He was right. She could just make out about 2 blocks away the back end of a huge crowd of people. There was a lot of noise and many of them seemed to be waving banners.

“Shit, it’s only 8:30 in the god dam morning. I never expected it to get busy till later.” She reached into her leather handbag for her purse.

“No swearing in my cab please. No blaspheme in my car please. So you are part of this nonsense?” The man was frowning, showing the crease lines of age and a life of toil in the city.

“No.” She sighed. “I’m not part of it. I just need to get to the hospital. Here keep the change.” She pushed 3 creased up ten dollar bills through the hatch.

“You sick?” The man’s stern features softened.

She looked into his brown eyes, and wondered again, ‘what was his story? Why was he asking about her health, why wasn’t he cynical? Why wasn’t he like every other fucker in this city?’

“No…I’m not sick. I’m…ok. Here” She pushed another $5 through the hatch, pulled a small black umbrella out of her bag and opened the door. By the time the door slammed shut the cab was already indicating to pull away.

She turned towards the crowd. Suddenly a car horn blasted out through the rain.

Carrie spun around.

“God love you and keep you!” Her driver called through the window as her drove past.

“Yeah. God love me.” She whispered. “I better go and build a fucking ark!”

River Gods: The Rivers and The Dark

River Gods

Prologue

The Rivers:

Such sweet laughter, like a billion tiny bells playing the symphony of the cosmos.

If joy has a sound, if the elixir of ecstasy has a taste that could be mixed with the warm certainty of unending comfort and balanced by the unshakeable delight of limitless power it would pale in comparison to the flavours of the Rivers.

The melodious heartbeat of this place sends the spirits of the few into rapturous, eternal wonderment. Though truly hearts and flesh have no place or meaning here. This place is lights, swirling like swarms upon swarms of fire flies.

They chase each other in unison, separate, fly figures of eight, circles, loop the loop. The laughter rings out. The flow is fast, smooth, a myriad of colour light and song. These are the communities of the rivers, yet there is no water here, only life, the purest energy of life.

The souls of those who were and will be again weep with joy as they swim the rivers of light, no pain, no loss only warmth, happiness and above all love.

If they had a mind to think, they may call this heaven, but there is no need for thinking, no use for the sluggish machine as humans they called a brain.

In the rivers everything is known and the part of you that was you is now part of everything else as well.

There are fields here, a place where you can pretend to be solid…mortal… if you desire. Many spend some time in the fields, more or less in their human shape, though time does not mean anything either and soon they leave the fields and return to the streams and become whole again.

These are the rivers of life, from where all come and all return, this is a place of peace of joy of enlightenment and… above all love.

The Dark:

This time he could definitely hear it…

A faint metallic ring in the darkness. He tried to hold his breath, freeze against the rock.

He pushed himself back into the hollow in the wall of the cave. Again he heard the un-mistakable clang of metal, closer, it was coming closer.

He couldn’t stop shuddering, he needed to stop this shuddering, his breath was going to get him caught. Shouldn’t have run, so stupid to run, nowhere to go, no escape, not like this.

How many years, how many years of agony in this place, surrounded by the whimpers of the lost and the screams of the new arrivals. He’d given up screaming years ago, maybe centuries.

Screaming only encouraged them, made them worse. Work was the only way. Work in the quarries, the black rock quarries that stretch into the forever.

There’s no reason for the work, no explanation, just suffering. But that was the point wasn’t it? This place was suffering. This was mortal hell. So very mortal.

Pain and torture, so inventive, so all invasive. The brightest, most evil minds of humans could never have conceived such innovations, ways of delivering the victim to the brink and a million miles beyond. Humans knew pain, but not pain like this. The human mind gives up after a time, delivers the sufferer into the peace of unconsciousness. There is no unconsciousness here in the dark, no escape, just endless new waves of excruciating agony eternal suffering, eternal damnation at the clawed hands of the overseers.

The overseers, like ridiculous mythical beasts.  Man shaped they looked but with dark green scaled skins. All were above 7 feet tall and their strength knew no bounds. They all wore leather tunics, wrapped in thick leather belts. From these hung an array of devices, evil shaped blunted surgical tools, constructed to rip, gouge severe and devour the flesh of the dammed.

Though their tools may have been blunt the Overseer’s teeth were sharp as razors and they used these on occasion for shredding and ripping the flesh from their prey.

The Overseers were in charge of battalions of the dammed. 50 lost souls to each Overseer. 50 terrified beings, condemned to the dark at the mercy of the eternally evil. Driven to work under the threat of hideous, indescribable torture. And the fear of all fears, the looming terror in the darkness was the tongue of the Overseer. Though these lords of the dark rarely spoke words, as a human would recognise, their tongues were rarely still. Aside from the demonic snarls and the deep guttural laugh, which would virtually freeze a man with terror when directed at them, they had another more sinister use.

With a flick of the thick neck the tongue could unravel and whip the back of a fool who dared to lower his pick while mining in the obsidian pits. Their torso would be ripped to the bone from one lash of the barbed tongue. Hands could be severed, stomachs could be ripped open, leaving the receiver clutching one hand to his spilling guts and the other to the obsidian pick.

That was the worst of it, no matter what the ordeal, no matter what despicable degree of mutilation had occurred; you had to work. To stop would bring even more destruction.

There was no release from the ringing waves of pain, no sweet unconsciousness. Limbs and appendages grew back in time wreaking their own agony as they did. It would sometimes amuse an overseer to wait for the ear of one of their charges to finally grow back before whipping it away again with a smile and a flick of the tongue.

But they didn’t just use the tongue. That was often too quick. The toys to be found on the belt of the Overseer could make the games drag on forever, and forever was exactly how long it could take.

Kane had long since given up believing these creatures were really there. It seemed they were designed to terrify humans on a primeval level. They were too perfectly grotesque, too horrifying to be really as he saw. Yet the pain felt was real, the endlessness of his punishment felt real. And the only way to continue, the only way he could endure was to work. Dig the obsidian. Dig from the pits by the dim light of the torches. You dig or become the plaything of Terrick, Kane’s overseer.

Why had he run? Why now after all this time? How many years of dedication to the pick and the obsidian. Never taking his eyes off the stone, he knew to work was the only way to avoid the tortures. How long had he escaped the yellow eyes of Terrick, his overseer, avoided the lashing tongue of his monstrous master?

But this day, if there was day in the dark he had stumbled in the pits. His pick had spilled from his grasp and pierced his foot. Like a pathetic new arrival he had called out in pain. It had been too long since he had felt the slice of the tongue or the invasions of Terrick’s belt of terrifying implements.

The overseer despite being merely a dark figure on the horizon had heard the yell. Instantly the tongue flew out, swooping down on Kane like an eagle to its helpless prey. Without thinking Kane had shielded his face with the pick. Terrick’s tongue was cleanly severed by the hardy metal. Kane looked down with horror at the twitching end of Terrick’s tongue.

The beast howled on the horizon as the remains of its mutilated organ returned to its mouth with a snap. Panic Kane had not known for a thousand years gripped him.

He dropped the pick and ran away from the torch light into the darkness of eternity. Ran, he had run away. There was no where he could have possibly have gone, no hope no escape just the promise of agony. A promise that would be kept.

He knew what would happen, no work now, no obsidian pits for Kane, Terrick would make him rive in torment for eons, he would do it slowly so slowly every second of unspeakable pain would last a thousand years.

Clang…it was closer…Clang, the belt of the overseer ringing of the suffering to come…Clang Terrick was almost upon him smelling him out through the darkness. Clang…Clang…Clang…