The Forever Man - Book 1: Pulse

Nathaniel had been busy. Over the last week or so, he and the boys had cleared the trees back from the walls. They had then cut off all branches between two and three inches thick, sharpened both ends and dug in a forest of spikes around the walls and the gate.

  The marine had then taken the fishing line that Conradie had supplied and set up a rudimentary alarm system. Trip lines attached to tin cans filled with stones. Kick the line and the can would rattle. Simple but effective. He had also instituted a twenty four hour watch so that at least four armed people were on the walls at all times.

  The Professor had found a stash of cigarettes in the matron’s room and, as she had gone on leave before the pulse, he gave them to Nathaniel. They were Silk Cut, so mild as to be akin to smoking soap bubbles. Hogan pulled the filters off and they became marginally more acceptable.

  He was smoking one at the moment, sitting on a wooden bench in the middle of the quadrangle and watching the smoke spiral lazily up into the still, late, afternoon air. The English sun was low and feeble, the rays washing the foliage of the surrounding forest with subtle yellows and oranges. The multicolored aurora of the now almost constant solar flares rippled silently across the skies. Its soundless beauty taking with it thousands of years of mankind’s most scientific achievements.

  The marine sensed someone approaching.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ Asked the Prof.

  Nathaniel said nothing. Merely gestured at the empty side of the bench.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts.’

  Hogan smiled and pointed at the sky. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the Prof. ‘But evil is oft the author of beauty.’

  Nathaniel shook his head. ‘It’s not evil. It’s merely light. Gamma rays. A thing. All that it has done is to expose us, humanity, for what we are. That light up there has shone into our dark places and shown us that evil is merely a point of view. It is unspectacular, it is human and it sits at our tables and shares our beds. It is us.’

  ‘Very philosophical, master sergeant.’

  Nathaniel shrugged. ‘I am a soldier. People think that soldiers spend their time fighting. That’s not true. Soldiers spend their time waiting to fight and, on the whole, hoping that they never have to. Soldiers spend most of their time wondering what the hell it’s all about. Philosopher? No, not that. Thinker? Perhaps. Are you a religious man, Prof?’

  The older man shook his head. ‘I am a man of science. Empirical proof. Evidence thrice checked and checked again.’

  Hogan grinned. ‘That’s irrational, Prof. If you cannot prove that something exists, well, then you also can’t prove that it doesn’t exist.’

  ‘I’m not one to let rationality stand in the way of a good theory,’ laughed the Professor. ‘So, good soldier,’ he continued. ‘The defenses are all up to scratch. What do we do next?’

  Nathaniel took a drag. Exhaled. Stared at the glowing tip. ‘It won’t be long now and a few things are going to happen. Firstly, survivors, singles and groups, will begin to appear at the gates. You will have to decide on whether you let any of them in or if you simply tell them to piss off and die.’

  The Prof looked uncomfortable. ‘Can’t you make those sort of decisions?’

  ‘No. I won’t be here forever. I need to keep heading north. Please don’t ask me why cause I have no idea. I just feel that I need to. It’s a compulsion, like birds flying to the sun. But it’s pretty simple; you need to let in anyone with skills or resources that you need. Doctors, nurses, anyone with livestock, supplies.’

  ‘And all others we sentence to death?’ Asked the Prof.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ rejoined Nathaniel. ‘You merely send them on their way. Too many people and this place will become unsustainable. However, you are also going to get larger groups that will insist. Armed groups. Maybe even ex-soldiers. Policemen. You will have to deal with them most harshly. Show no quarter. Give no warning.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I understand,’ said the Professor.

  ‘I mean that you must kill them. Open fire on them as soon as it looks as though they may try to force their way in. Cut them down to the last man.’

  ‘Well,’ said the Prof. ‘We shall cross that bridge when we come to it.’

  ‘No,’ disagreed the marine. ‘You shall cross that bridge now. Everyone. The teachers, the scholars. Everyone must be told that when, not if, when you are attacked, the attackers must be repelled at all costs. No one can afford to hold back. People must shoot to kill and they must continue to shoot until the enemy is no more. I cannot stress this enough, Professor.’

  ‘They’re a good bunch of chaps,’ said the Professor. ‘When push comes to shove they will do their duty.’

  Nathaniel took out another cigarette. Ripped the filter off. Placed the cancer stick into his mouth and lit. ‘There was a guy, US army general. Did some studies. Did you know that, in the Second World War, only fifteen to twenty percent of soldiers actually fired at the enemy. One in every five. Those who would not fire did not run or hide - in many cases they were willing to risk greater danger to rescue comrades, get ammunition, or run messages. They simply would not fire their weapons at the enemy, even when faced with repeated waves of banzai charges.

  Why did these men fail to fire? I’ll tell you why, Professor, the simple and demonstrable fact is that there is, within most men and women, an intense resistance to killing other people. A resistance so strong that, in many circumstances, soldiers on the battlefield will die before they can overcome it.’

  Nathaniel took a drag. ‘Do yourself and your community a favor, Prof. Talk to the boys. And the girls. Kill or die. Tell them that, over and over again. Kill or die. Kill or die. Kill…or…die.’

  The Prof rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Then he sighed. A sound of absolute exhaustion. For the first time Nathaniel saw how close the older man was to collapse. An academic suited more to classrooms and civic dinners as opposed to telling a bunch of teenagers that they had to kill their fellow man in order to survive.

  Nathaniel put his hand on the Prof’s shoulder. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I know that things are tough. Why don’t you get some vittles and take an early night. Tomorrow…well, I won’t bullshine you, tomorrow things will be just as bad, but you’ll be more rested.’

  The Professor took a deep breath. ‘O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down

  And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,

  Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush’d with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfum’d chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull’d with sound of sweetest melody?’

  ‘Shakespeare?’ Asked Nathaniel.

  ‘Yes. Henry the fifth. It’s an affectation that one gets, being a scholar in England. We tend to nurture pretension and there is little more pretentious than sprouting the bard.’

  ‘I dunno,’ disagreed the marine. ‘I think that it’s pretty cool. Better than quoting Walt Disney. Or Garfield.’

  ‘True,’ said the Prof. ‘However, before I go, good marine, what else to do?’

  ‘You’re going to have to set up some sort of formal command structure. Who takes over if you kick the big one or get injured? And make sure that it’s not Conradie. That dude couldn’t organise a party in a brewery. I would say one of the older boys, but it’s your call. And not only your replacement. You need to put a couple of people in with the nurse to learn what she knows. You need a system of repair and maintenance set up. Someone needs to be in charge of the weapons and the people that are going to be using them. Also, you have an extensive library, get a few scholars to start doing research; natural replacement for drugs, antibiotics, pain killers and such. You have around five thousand rounds of ammunition. Sounds like a lot but it won’t last forever. Get someone onto making bows and arrows. Perhaps crossbows, slings, spears, pikes. Send out search parties and s
ee if you can acquire some horses, use force if necessary…’

  The Prof held up a hand. ‘Enough for now, Nathaniel. I think that I shall take your advice, get a little sustenance and retire for the night.’

  He stood up and offered his hand. Nathaniel shook it.

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant.’ said the older man. ‘Thank you very much.’

  Nathaniel finished his cigarette and then sat alone until the sun went down and the moon, three quarter full, rose bright and clear, shining through the collage of color formed by the aurora.

  He smelt her fragrance before he heard her. Floral. Fresh cotton. Citrus.

  She sat down next to him without asking.

  ‘Maggie,’ he greeted.

  ‘Nathaniel,’ she answered.

  He took out his pack and offered. She shook her head. ‘I’ll share one, if you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘One or two puffs is about my limit.’

  Hogan lit and offered. Maggie took a small drag. The smoke drifted from her mouth. Moonlight white against pale skin. Lips a deep pink. Highlights of lunar-blue woven through the strands of her copper and golden hair.

  ‘What was London like?’ She asked the marine.

  He hesitated before he answered. Remembering the Professor telling him that Maggie’s parents lived in the city.

  ‘The truth,’ she said, sensing his hesitance.

  ‘It’s bad,’ he said. ‘Very bad. Worse than one could ever imagine. Where about did your folks live?’

  ‘Central. The Barbican. Right in the middle.’

  ‘Were they young, old, fit, healthy?’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘I’m an only child. Born late to parents who had long since given up any idea of having children. It was my father’s second marriage. My mother is twenty years younger than him. He’s almost eighty now. Pills for high blood pressure, statins for cholesterol, type 2 diabetes.’

  Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. ‘Maggie, what can I say that you don’t already know. I’m sorry. Sometimes life sucks.’

  He glanced sideways at the girl. A single tear rolled down her cheek. The moonlight turned it into a tiny rivulet of blue ice against her soft pale skin. The marine said nothing. Uncomfortable with emotions. Trained to kill, not to empathise. Eventually he spoke.

  ‘Hey, you know, I grew up in a town called Toad Suck, Arkansas?’

  Maggie giggled. ‘Toad Suck?’

  ‘Yep. Toad Suck, Perry County, Arkansas. Home of the famous Toad Suck Daze music festival. Population some 60 000. The Hogans have been Toad Suckers for five generations. Been sucking for over two hundred years.’

  The girl laughed out loud. ‘You made that up.’

  Nathaniel shook his head. ‘No ways. We had a big old double story house on Ira Gill Lane. My daddy ran the Arkansas Pet & People photography barn. My mom did charity work for the Toad Suck Daze festival. Had two sisters, Charlene and Bethany. Both older than me. Both married Toad Suckers.’

  Maggie sighed. ‘You talk in the past tense.’

  ‘I do, Maggie.’

  ‘That’s sad.’

  ‘Yep.’ Nathaniel pulled on his cigarette.

  Maggie lent against him, her hair spilling onto his shoulder, filling his nostrils with her fragrance.

  ‘I’m eighteen years old,’ she said.

  ‘Oh,’ responded Nathaniel. Not sure what the girl was talking about.

  She looked up at the marine. ‘So, I’m not a child.’

  Nathaniel nodded, not trusting his voice.

  Maggie stood up and held out her hand. ‘Take me to your room, marine.’

  The two of them walked, hand in hand, to Nathaniel’s room.

  He closed the door behind them, slotting the bolt into place.

  Nathaniel sat on the edge of his bed, pulled his boots and socks off then stood up to remove the rest of his clothes. Maggie also disrobed in an unselfconscious way, folding her cotton dress neatly over the chair in the room. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her breasts were small, firm. The nipples thrown into stark relief by the silver lunar light pouring in through the window. She put her arms around the marine’s neck and, even though she was a tall girl she still had to stand on tiptoes to reach.

  They kissed for a while. Softly. Hesitant. Then Nathaniel picked her up. Easily. As if she weighed nothing. And he laid her on the bed. She lifted her hips and, using her thumb, hitched her panties down over her ankles, tossing them onto the floor.

  Nathaniel looked at her for a while. Marvelling in the soft smoothness of her skin. The exquisite paleness of it, frosted by the merest hint of freckles scattered across her chest like tiny flakes of gold.

  He knelt over her and they kissed again, this time a little more urgently. And then she grasped him by his shoulders and pushed him down. Insistent, her breath faster now, urgent, her hips rising up to meet his mouth. Her fingers entwined in his hair, tugging, adamant. Her need a desperate necessity. A break from reality. Then she cried out as all feeling culminated in an ecstasy of fulfilment.

  And Nathaniel moved up and entered her. Their lovemaking an affirmation of life in a new world of dissolution and bereavement.

  Chapter 18