The Terminus Read online

  Arthry and Blinker burst into laughter.

  “Hand them in to the police? A good one, ay? Must say, he’s original,” observed Blinker.

  “What’s so bloody funny?” Gary asked angrily, his eyes seeking help from the girl. She blushed again, avoiding his gaze.

  “Why should the people who distribute food be the slightest bit interested in the specs?” Arthry asked. The man had stopped laughing, his stare a laser that threatened to cut Gary in two.

  “Tell me one thing. What is this place?” Gary asked.

  “London.”

  “Right! London! Kinda gathered that up there at the station. So we’re somewhere in the Underground, yes?”

  “No! This is the Retreat.”

  “Okay! The Retreat. So what about that flood you spoke of?”

  “You’ve really no idea… or you’re pretending?”

  “Of course I’ve no flipping idea! Police dishing out food? You lot thinking mums are flowers? All crap to me! Crazy crap!”

  Cool it, man!

  “The Flood. The one that destroyed the world… except for us lot and the unbrained surfacers up there.”

  Gary sensed the pit of his stomach opening up, as if he might fall in and be sick at the same time. Arthry’s face hardened. Something had clearly occurred to the man; something involving Gary.

  “D-D-Destroyed the…?” Gary stuttered, his voice sounding squeaky. “Ahem! Destroyed the world, you said?”

  “Apart from London,” Arthry added. “Thanks to God.”

  “When… I mean, what year are we in?”

  Arthry eyed Gary with intense suspicion.

  “Fifty-six A.F.”

  “A.F.?”

  “After the Flood. You, with those specs, come from the future. Yeah? Where God was heading last time we met.”

  Gary shook his head.

  “The past… I think...” He hesitated. “Sure! The past. ’Cos in the London I come from there are trains whizzing along in those stinky underground tunnels.”

  “Trains?” questioned Blinker, his face drawn into a sneer. Gary disliked the boy more and more, all the time softening towards the girl who still stared anxiously at him.

  “Same as that pod thing. The ‘shuttle-bus’. Only the carriages are joined together. Run on wheels and make a heck of a noise... and don’t shoot by at the speed of bloody light. Tell me one thing. This flood... why isn’t London under water? Should be one of the first places to get submerged.”

  His last remark raised eyebrows.

  “We are under water,” explained Beetie. “We survive here only because of God.”

  “Hang on a minute. You’re saying this place is under water?”

  Arthry nodded confirmation of the fact, fixing Gary with eyes of steel.

  “So, how come…?”

  “God’s defences,” Beetie interrupted. “Flood defences around London. Built a long time ago. As the water levels rose, so did his defences. When they’d sorted out God’s air purification system, they closed the top over the city... just in time. Before the asteroid strike.” She paused. “But London’s doomed,” she continued. “So God must visit the future. Something he’d never wanted to do.”

  Arthry’s face changed, revealing emotion for the first time.

  “Doomed, like all of us here,” he affirmed. “Then you show up, huh? Trying to find out how we plan to…”

  He stopped, as if trying to trap Gary in the gaps between his words. Gary swivelled to face Beetie, praying she’d bail him out.

  Christ, man! London under water… doomed… and they think I’ve got something to do with whatever’s going on?

  She said nothing, although her welling tears strengthened his growing conviction that they shared a common purpose.

  “Can’t God the Man do something?” he asked her.

  Instead, Arthry replied:

  “God said if he didn’t return himself with the time-specs he’d send the only person he could trust… unless...”

  “Time-specs?” interrupted Gary.

  “The ones you’re wearing. Things are happening in the Terminus. The Agenda! You’re in with them, aren’t you? God told me to beware of traitors. You must be the one we’ve feared for so long. The one sent by them to kill him.”

  “Time-specs... Agenda? No idea what…”

  “Don’t try to fool me! Monsters, the lot of ’em! What hold’ve they got over you, ay? Except for a possible spy in our midst, nobody here has a clue what they’re up to… apart from them taking control of the Hatcheries and blanking out surfacers’ brains. So why did you kill him?” Arthry’s hand reached for something stuck into his belt. “You know who the spy is, right?” he continued, his eyes now glacial. “Trouble is, my little friend, they didn’t brief you well enough. And you’re a hopeless liar!”

  Sweat broke out on Gary’s forehead. If only Mike were with him. He was an ace bull-shitter... although Mike preferred the term ‘factual embellishment’.

  “Um… H-Hatcheries… er… wh-what are they?” he stuttered.

  Acid silence followed, finally broken by Beetie whose large, warm eyes never once abandoned Gary. They were his only hope of ever returning alive to Mike and Regent’s Park.

  “The Hatcheries? It’s where we all come from,” she explained. She was trying to help him but seemed frightened. “Me and Blinker, we came from the same Hatchery. Brother and sister… see?”

  Bugger! Not related, then! A strained smile flickered across Gary’s face as he tried to imagine clucking, humanoid hens scratching away in the ‘Hatcheries’. What the girl said next wiped the smile from his face:

  “We’ve all had our memories wiped out, so what goes on there is a mystery. Our brains are re-conditioned before The Agenda lets us out.”

  “But how can you be so sure London’s doomed?” Gary asked, sickened by the thought of such a gorgeous girl having her memory erased. “Why would The Agenda wanna destroy London, anyway?”

  Arthry replied for her:

  “That’s what God meant to find out. From the future. Now he’s disappeared and you’ve turned up instead, from the past you say, wearing his time-specs!” The man threw Beetie a stern glance. “Tell me this,” he continued. “How can we be certain you’ve not been sent by The Agenda to kill God and flush us out? And who’s their spy in the Retreat?”

  “No idea! Anyway, what prevents The Agenda from just coming here?”

  “Stupid questions won’t get you anywhere, Gary!” Arthry stood, revealing for the first time his full size. Something flashed in his hand. “The gee-rats keep The Agenda guys away, as you’re well aware!”

  “Gee-rats?”

  “Giant rats. Genetically-modified is the correct term. All over the place in the tunnels out there. Hungry as hell!”

  Gary shivered. He hated even normal-sized rats.

  “Wouldn’t get in here, would they?” he asked, scanning the walls for holes.

  A smile reappeared on Arthry’s face. He pointed to a row of sacks full of large blue pebbles.

  “Gee-rat poison. Anyway, they have their uses. Fancy a steak?”

  “Yuk! You don’t actually…?”

  “Gotta eat something!” The smile vanished. “Prove to me you’ve not been sent by The Agenda, or give me the name of the spy, and I may let you live.”

  “This is ri-ri-ridiculous,” Gary stammered, seeking eye contact again with the girl again.

  “I’m only a schoolboy. Like I said, I found these bloody specs on a park bench and thought I’d try them on. Look, for God’s sake…”

  “God?” interrupted Arthry, taking a step towards Gary. “You killed him... took the specs, and when Blinker found you, you were planning to hand them over to the spy.”

  The thing in Arthry’s hand… a knife!

  “No!” insisted Gary, shaking his head and backing away, his eyes trained on the knife. “Why kill me?”

  “Why should I take chances… with everything at stake and no sensible explanation from yours
elf? Anyway, the gee-rats need feeding.”

  Gary, his back against the wall, had no escape option. His only hope would be to remove the time-specs, but what chance was there of avoiding death in the present-day Underground tunnel? Get stabbed or be hit by a train? Beetie made the decision for him:

  “DON’T! LEAVE HIM ALONE! YOU’RE WRONG! RUN, GARY!” she screamed, darting forward between Gary and Arthry just as the big guy lunged with his knife. “RU… AAARGH!”

  Beetie swayed, her beautiful eyes showing pain then fear until replaced by an awful, hollow emptiness.

  Gary turned and fled. Beetie’s agonised cry cut him to the quick but he could do nothing for her. He ran on, making maximum use of his limited soccer skills as he dodged those in the corridor who tried to block his way. The door to the tunnel opened automatically. He took off into the blackness in the direction of the disused station, his anger turning against himself for not having saved the girl’s life. With a heart-beat fall of running footsteps hot on his heels his only protection would be the darkness. He threw himself to the ground, rolling sideways till up against the wall where he remained perfectly still, holding his breath whilst three pursuers ran past. One held a small torch, its light dancing. Gary recognised the flickering face of Blinker. Another carried a spear. After they’d passed, Gary stood and blindly patted his way along the wall, soon reaching an alcove where he could hide. The sickening stench pervading the tunnel half-choked him as the voices of Blinker and his mates echoed in the darkness ahead:

  “We’ve gotta kill him. Arthry mustn’t find out. Beetie suspected, as you thought, the silly little bitch, but we won’t have to worry about her any longer.”

  “Are you sure he went this way?”

  “Where else would he have gone, rat brain!”

  “Could’ve doubled back. Might be thinking of trying to save Beetie.”

  “Revolting, the way she couldn’t take her eyes off him! Ready for a return to the Hatchery, my sister is. Was! Wait… that noise! Did you bring the gee-rat poison?”

  “Thought you did.”

  “Damn you! Back to the Retreat! NOW!”

  “What about…?”

  “We’ll check the gee-rats’ shit for the time-specs later...”

  As they ran back past him, Gary also heard it: a scraping of large objects moving swiftly towards them, accompanied by a deep-throated chatter. The darkness exploded with frantic screams and thuds. Gary sprang to his feet and ran on ahead.

  To run into blackness, unable to see more than a few feet ahead, was terrifying, but this seemed as nothing compared with the horror being played out in the tunnel behind him.

  Thankfully, the dimly-illuminated station soon emerged from the gloom. Gary ran along the platform, up the escalator stairs and out onto the street teeming with surfacers.

  Were these zombies part of some plan devised by the mysterious Agenda? To carry out his plan, and prevent Beetie from dying, he had to remain alive. Calmly, he retraced his steps towards the spot where Blinker had pulled him from the path of the shuttle-bus. In precisely the same spot, was a little man wearing a long, grey coat. His ridiculously large head bore a skull-like face with goofy teeth and oversized eyes as ugly as Beetie’s were beautiful, and he appeared to be seeking something or someone. The man for whom Gary had been mistaken? The one sent to kill God?

  The awfulness of causing Beetie’s death hit the boy; the guilt of allowing the girl to get slaughtered in that Godforsaken underground hole was as unbearable as the thought of never seeing those eyes again. His plan had to work!

  Gary slowly approached the figure, avoiding his searching gaze. On seeing another shuttle-bus, he leapt past him into the path of the hurtling pod whilst removing the time-specs.

  “Don’t suit you! Let me try them on!”

  Mike approached Gary with his hand out-stretched.

  “NO!”

  “Hey, cool it, dude!”

  “I’ve gotta go back! Have to stop Beetie from getting killed.” Mike halted, his mouth agape. “Must find God, too. Maybe he’s not dead! These are his specs, see.”

  He held up the time-specs.

  “Jesus, Gary, don’t go nuts on me now! You can do the wacky act after soccer this afternoon, if you must!”

  “I nearly got stabbed. She ran between us. Got herself killed. Must go back. Before it happens. Find out more about her. Nothing else bloody matters...” Gary paused. “And he must’ve been along here. Maybe only a few minutes ago.”

  “Who?”

  “God, for heaven’s sake!”

  “Gary... it’s okay... honest... but…” Mike began, trying hard to sound calm, “but why would God come to flipping Regent’s Park when He’s got the whole world to choose from? He’d do better taking an EasyJet flight to Majorca or some place!”

  “Dunno… only these are his specs.”

  “So what d’you plan to do? Go around asking people if they’ve seen God ’cos you wanna give Him His specs back? You’re stark raving bonkers!”

  “She’s so lovely!”

  “Who?”

  “Beetie! How can a girl can be as lovely as that?”

  Mike rolled his eyes upwards.

  “Gorgeous tits? Like Emma Pearson?”

  “Oh piss off! Nothing like Emma! Her brother pulled me out of the way of a silver lozenge-pod thing, too. Only he’s not her brother. But this worries me! Comes from the same Hatchery and I don’t trust him. He’s up to something.”

  “Christ, Gary, you’ll be going on about little green men, soon.”

  “Blue. Beetie and Blinker, that is. And the guy who wanted to kill me was in red.”

  Mike shook his head in disbelief.

  “Forget God! You need a bleeding doctor.” He turned and went on ahead along the path alone, swinging his soccer boots. “Bloody crackers, you stupid nerd! Useless at soccer, anyway!”

  “Wait, Mike!” Gary called out. “Sorry I said ‘piss off’.”

  “So you should be, Professor Wanker!”

  Gary remained on the bench, watching Mike disappear towards the playing fields.

  Marvellous! Gone and lost my best friend! But, oh Christ, I’ve gotta get back to Beetie. Can’t bear the thought of her getting killed ’cos of me. Why on Earth did she sacrifice her life so readily? And what about God? He peered up at the cloudless sky. Poor Beetie, under the sea, in the future... she’ll never know the blue of the sky despite those eyes of hers!

  From the corner of his eye he became aware of something moving near a tree by the lake. When he turned to look it merged with the tree. He tucked his boots out of sight underneath the bench, fitted the spectacles into their glitzy case and approached the lake... cautiously. Having had enough scrapes with death for one day, he decided to play safe. With his cheek pressed against the rough bark of the tree, he whispered:

  “God? Are these your specs?”

  Nothing!

  He crept slowly round the trunk.

  No one – although he sensed someone was on the other side where he’d been a moment before.

  “God?” he repeated.

  Silence.

  So he played a time-honoured trick: ran clockwise halfway round the broad trunk, abruptly swivelled about and ran back anticlockwise.

  BUMP!

  He collided with a short, skinny man with black caterpillar eyebrows, a disproportionately big head, hollowed-out cheeks and rabbit teeth. It was him, the ugly little fellow who’d been standing at the edge of the pavement of the future before Gary leapt in front of the shuttle-bus, only this time he had on a pair of spectacles identical to those in Gary’s hand. He wore the same long, grey coat, so incongruous for the time of year that he stood out like a clown at a Sally Ally Rally. The man rubbed his forehead where he’d with impacted Gary’s chin.

  “You?” Gary queried, nursing his chin. “You put these specs on that bench?”

  “What are you talking about, my boy? I come to feed the ducks and you start accusing me of things and threatening
me.”

  “Nothing of the sort, mate! Are you God?”

  Somehow Gary couldn’t believe this strange little man was the one they called ‘God’. The guy put his hands together and peered at the sky:

  “Holy Father, save me from this blasphemy!” he mocked.

  Gary felt his cool slip dangerously close to the edge.

  “Show me what you’ve got underneath that coat of yours, you bloody creep!”

  The man stared at him in an odd way before screaming in a high-pitched voice:

  “GOD’S UNDER ATTACK! CALL THE ANGELS!”

  “Shut up! Tell me about the girl!”

  “Girl?”

  “B32… whatever! Beetie!”

  “Beetie? Oh, look! There’s a policeman! Food distribution, ay? Hee hee!” He glanced at something behind Gary who automatically turned in response. No one! The man snatched the spectacles case from his hand and sprinted off.

  Damn! How could I have been so crass? thought Gary as he took off after the deformed runt.

  The man ran fast for one so short, but so did Gary, despite being useless at soccer. They sped out of the park and towards Baker Street. The bastard had taken Gary’s only means of return to the future and the boy would let nothing stop him from getting back to Beetie. He had to make sure she didn’t die... and find out why she’d been so willing to sacrifice her life for him. Startled shoppers scattered as he closed in on the man. The grotesque, diminutive figure darted off the pavement outside Baker Street Underground station and shot across the busy road. He never reached the other side. A swerving taxi slammed into a car, which, after a couple of pirouettes, rammed a bus with a metallic bang. Panic-stricken people ran in all directions, but the man had simply vanished. Gary gave up searching the jostling crowd of onlookers then spotted something glittering in the middle of the road beside one of the crashed cars.

  He casually retrieved the spectacles case whilst a police officer sidled up to the alarmed taxi-driver. After slipping it into his jeans pocket, ensuring he could feel the strangely smooth surface snug against his palm, he entered Baker Street station. With the cheapest ticket, he passed through the barrier and ran down the escalator. After finding the right platform, he waited till a train pulled into the station and when attentions would be diverted. At that precise moment he took out the spectacles, slipped them on and jumped.