PROLOGUE

"The blame for Armageddon lies on man.

And the millennium will come only when the average man exhibits a scientific integrity about all he is and does--instead of half of it.

Many a psychological Archimedes has put signposts on the hard road man must follow if he is to avoid self-destruction and come into his own.

A few very great modern scientists have added to the lore.

Indications of what man may expect of himself are everywhere at hand.

But most men must first be persuaded that the task lies ahead and not behind--that we are infants still, with loaded guns for toys."

PHILIP GORDON WYLIE

GOLGOTHA

33 AD

A solitary figure trudged the dusty road that wound past the small cemetery and led to the foot of the strangely shaped hill that bore the physical resemblance of a skull and wore a bleak, barren foliage. The horsehair crest on his helmet and the mail armour shirt were an indication that this was no ordinary soldier. A long flowing cloak that would have graced any state occasion trailed behind him as the soldier continued his walk accompanied by his shrill and loud whistling. His sword sat on his left hip and his dagger was sheathed elegantly on his right. He tapped the ground with the strangely crooked and yet ornate stick that occasionally received a baton twirl around his shoulders and head. The caligae on his feet seemed uncannily shiny and new in complete contrast to any other soldier’s footwear and for a man who seemed physically fit and abnormally jaunty he wore a huge amount of phalerae, which if nothing else, at least indicated the huge amount of battles this particular soldier had participated in.

Crows circled the hill in front of him and filled the air with their cries as if mourning the passing of a soul. The skies were dull and grey and although no thunderclouds were in view and there was no sign of rain, the air was filled with static and a vacuum-like quietness, which was only broken by the screeching of the crows. The landscape if front of him was devoid of colour too and the overall sense of grey was not lost on the soldier. A quiet snigger and a raised eyebrow greeted the foot of the hill, for now the soldier could see the tops of the wooden structures that broke the horizon and he could hear the soft moaning of human suffering. Yet there was still a fair distance to walk as the road continued upwards on its spirally route towards inhumanity, desperation and death. The soldier’s eyes lifted towards the skies displaying the yellow pupils for only a brief second or two before electricity cracked and popped in the air around him, meeting only with a derisory snigger from the soldier himself. He continued his journey and resumed his whistling which became increasingly pronounced and progressively discordant and bizarre.

The two guards stood either side of the road, manning an imaginary post, observed the passers-by, making sure that nothing untoward was about to occur but made no comments or attempts to interfere with anyone, preferring to quietly man their position. However, their demeanour changed when they observed the man strolling towards them. Both guards stood up straight and made sure their weapons were sheaved correctly whilst straightening their armour and cloaks to make them more presentable. They looked at each other, and then walked down the hill towards the whistling soldier.

The soldier looked up and saw the two guards. He laughed quietly to himself and whilst keeping both hands firmly at his sides, he rested his stick on his leg before unfurling both sets of fingers. Electricity crackled between his fingers and the stick, he closed his hands again and the crackling disappeared. He raised his head expectantly, waiting for the men to join him. The guards now stood directly in front of him, raising their hands in salute and addressing the soldier.

“Centurion!” one of the men said. “My name is Gaius Rustius. How can we help you?”

“Seriously?” the centurion smiled and looked quizzically.

“I have given you my name. I would have yours and know your intent!”

“My name is Lucius Curiatius Priscus. I command one thousand men of the Roman infantry who wait patiently, at the moment, for me in the camp less than one mile from here. I have come to see the one they have called saviour.”

“I would ask what it is you want of him Centurion. We have been told to keep a strict eye on him.”

“And yet you elevate him by the side of a road for all to see. On my way here, I have seen soldiers forcing the natives of this place to take this road when there are other routes to use, just so that they must witness this. You however question my right to pass by him despite my rank and standing in Rome?”

The soldier looked suitably nervous.

“Forgive me centurion but there is much talk of this one. You may pass.”

Lucius nodded at Gaius. Gaius nodded in return.

Lucius started to whistle and resumed his walk along the path until he reached the man on the third cross. Lucius knelt in front of the suspended man.

“Forgive me brother for I have sinned…………quite a bit.” Lucius chuckled as he said this. The man on the cross opened his eyes slowly and gazed upon the Roman in front of him. He smiled gently and addressed the kneeling man.

“I have been on this world for some time and yet you wait until now to come and see me. Thank you….ermmm what are you calling yourself these days old friend?”

“Lucius Curiatius Priscus. It’s a mouthful isn’t it? I did feel it necessary to see you and let us not forget you abandoned me long ago and you never even sent a letter. However when I discovered the mighty civilization of Rome had deemed it a necessity to nail you to a cross, I felt I had little choice, despite our differences, but to find you and intervene.”

“Intervene in what way brother?”

“I have an army of one thousand men a little over a mile from here. They hang on my every word as you might expect and would not hesitate to burn Rome itself to the ground should I command them to. Let me take you from this place and you can return home free from this pointless torment.”

“You forget, my brother. I choose to do this. I am here to show them that there is no death, only transition. I will die very shortly, be taken from this cross and placed in a garden tomb. After 3 days, I will rise and leave the tomb proving to the mortals that death is merely a transition. I will spend forty more days reinforcing this message before ascending and returning home. Once they have witnessed this, they will realise their time here is not fleeting and that they will be here long enough to witness the fruit of any actions that will damage the earth, other species or themselves. I do not need rescuing. Joseph will ask for my body from Pilate when the time is right. You understand?”

“Pilate? Pontius Pilate, Prefect of Judaea? So Pilate has allowed your crucifixion. Did he give the order? Tell me brother; did he also let them nail you to this wooden cross? Where are your followers now? The ones you treat so well and place so much faith in, where are they? In what world is it right for one man to torture another? They will not understand what you are going to do; they will misinterpret it, like they always do. You cannot even force sentience on these primates. They are not ready. If they believe there’s no death, then what do they have to lose? Carnage, murder, slaughter, rape and genocide, where would it end?”

Lucius stopped his rant, transfixed by the sign that hung over the head of his brother. ‘Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews’.

“That is what your crime is? Is this Pilates’ doing? Brother? Answer me was this…”

The earthly figure of Jesus of Nazareth hung lifelessly from the cross; a single tear fell on the kneeling Lucius.

Lucius composed himself and stood up to address his dead brother.

“Give my regards to father, tell him thanks for all this I’ll be sure to look upon his face and greet him warmly soon, whether he wants it or not. Oh, I almost forgot. The voice of the forgiveness and understanding has left this world, what to give them in return?”

Lucius turned and walked towards the two soldiers at the bottom of the hill.

“GAIUS RUSTIUS!”

The air crackled and warmed as Lucius shouted to the young soldier. Gaius made his way quickly towards Lucius, he was terrified but knew that the sooner he responded the better it would be for him.

“Gaius! Inform Pilate that Jesus of Nazareth is dead.”

“Yes, of course, immediately.”

“Who is responsible for the sign above his head?”

“Pontius Pilate.”

“Did no one question it?”

“Yes sir, but he just told them ‘what I have written, I have written’.”

Lucius sighed and reached beneath his cloak. He produced a golden chalice, detailed magnificently with hieroglyphic symbols and inscriptions. He handed the chalice to Gaius.

“Guard this with your life. A gift for Pontius Pilate Tell him that Lucius Curiatius Priscus wishes him to accept this as acknowledgement of the efforts Pilate has made here today. Consider it a tribute so that he will always remember me. I will be long gone before he arrives; I have a new purpose now. I have had it personally inscribed for him. Now go and thank you for your help today.”

“I will guard it with my life Centurion. You have my word.” Gaius turned and returned to his fellow soldier at the foot of the hill.

Lucius turned to face the lifeless form when he heard shuffling behind him. Drawing his dagger, he swiftly lurched to his left snarling as he caught the hooded figure by the neck and drew the blade close to his throat.

“Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!” the figure whimpered.

Lucius pulled back the hood to reveal a young man who was clearly petrified. In his hand, the man carried just a gourd of water, nothing else, no weapon. Lucius relaxed his grip and stood the man in front of him.

“What were you thinking?” said Lucius.

“Forgive me sir, but I have brought water for Jesus of Nazareth. I have tried to for some time now but was prevented by the soldiers.”

Lucius looked at the man. “You charged up the hill, armed with a gourd of water, to give relief to a man you did not know? You would risk death to do this?”

“It seemed the right thing to do. I know you are a Centurion sir. But this, this crucifixion is barbaric and unworthy of us all.”

Lucius stood the man up straight.

“I am afraid you are too late. Our brother has passed.” He smiled at the man. “What is your name?”

“My name is Ben Ezra.”

Lucius smiled. “Of course, what else could it be? I have a gift for you and your family because you have shown compassion today.” Lucius placed three fingers on the man’s neck. “This might sting a little.” Ben Ezra flinched as the electricity passed into his neck, “I don’t understand, what was that?” he asked.

“It is a gift. Call it...protection,” laughed Lucius. “Now return to your family and give the water to them.”

Ben Ezra turned and ran down the hill. Although he guessed that the Centurion had spared him and he should not be afraid, he most probably would have been had he been able to see the still glowing three roughly drawn circles that now adorned his neck. He turned to look up the hill but the centurion had gone. He carried on running.

Gaius Rustius sat on the ground looking, open-mouthed at the chalice, his friend made his way towards him, sensing that something was wrong.

“Gaius? Gaius? What is it? You have stared at the chalice for ages now. It’s beautiful isn’t it? Pilate will be extremely pleased with it.”

“It’s not that. It is beautiful, but… It’s the inscription.”

“Why? What does it say?”

“It says, ‘That I may always know you.”

“What’s so bad about that? A short message.”

“But that’s not all. It gets stranger. There is another inscription beneath it.”

“Well what does it say?”

“It says, “What I have written, I have written.”

CHAPTER 1

THE CALLING

“Kill one man and you are a murderer.

Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror.

Kill them all, and you are a god.”

JEAN ROSTAND

The log cabin stood in a remote woodland area with wooden stairways leading to an elevated decking area. Whilst the cabin itself was a recent addition to the landscape, the area itself was swamped in history and the beauty of nature. The old maple trees reached all the way into the sky as far as the eye could see whilst the mountain flora hid the ground in a covering of rich variety and colour. From the front of the cabin, a walking trail descended the hillside towards a large cleared area specifically designed for car parking. At the side of the cabin, a small creek cascaded towards the lower levels of the hillside making that audible crinkly sound more commonly associated with light rain. The eastern side of the cabin had a small decking level that provided a seating area which was definitely needed as this looked across a steep drop with a panoramic view across the valley beneath.

A man dressed entirely in black walked slowly towards the cabin pausing now and then to look at the screen of his mobile phone. As he reached the steps to the raised level of the cabin, he sighed and placed his mobile phone back into his pocket. Climbing the steps he produced a set of keys and after fumbling through which one might be appropriate to open the front door, he unlocked the cabin and entered. Closing the door behind him, he was struck by the size of the dining area, which was graced by a very large circular wooden table with eight ornate wooden chairs surrounding it. To the right of this area was the open plan kitchen area. Through the door immediately in front of him was the living room, which he did not pay much attention to as he guessed he would not need it. Briefly glancing at the stairs, which obviously led to the sleeping and bathroom areas, his attention was diverted to the large full-length mirror that stood at the end of the dining area. He resumed his whistling as he approached the mirror, a smug grin now deepening across his face.

“Look at you!” He said to himself smugly, performing a semi twirl, and laughed at the reflected portrait of himself. Black jeans and a plain black t-shirt accompanied the flowing black cloth lightweight coat that draped across him like a cape. Black deck shoes made up the look and over his shoulder, the holdall that he carried looked half-full and saggy as well as being black. He moved nearer the mirror to check out his face. He was aged around thirty with medium long black hair, facial hair comprising of stubbly beard and moustache and the angular features of a Hollywood heartthrob. If ever there were a remake of Lord of the Rings then this guy would have made the perfect Aragorn.

Jumping into the air and throwing his arms open to the mirror he tilted his head back and shouted,

“You, my friend, have impeccable taste!”

He blew a kiss towards the mirror and started to laugh only to be interrupted by the ringing of his mobile.

“About bleeding time”, he muttered and answered the handset. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” the voice on the other end said.

“I know it’s you Victor, it says so on the screen.”

“Oh yeah, anyway you told me to ring you when I was in place and good to go.”

“And are you, ermmm….good to go?”

“Well I’m in place but I’m not exactly good to go yet because I just needed to check a couple of things with you.”

“Go on. Hurry though; he’ll be here in a short while.”

“This place is a drive-in picnic area and there are a few folks here. Which is cool and I have a space, but…..why am I putting plates and food on the other side of the table to me? Is someone else going to turn up and if so who, and how will I know you sent them? Are you having a bite to eat before we leave or something? I thought the plan was to leave as soon as you turn up here?”

“Victor, just do as you’re told. All will be revealed, mate. No one else will turn up so you don’t have to practice your greeting technique and we will leave as soon as I arrive. Is that clear?”

“Yes boss, but there’s something else.”

“And what is it?”

“Why are you dressed all in black? You looked like Johnny Cash walking up that trail. I’m surprised you didn’t have your guitar slung across your back.”

“You what? Johnny Cash?”

“My name is Sue, how do you…”

“Victor! Hang up and shut up, now!”

The phone went silent. He looked in the mirror. “Johnny Cash? Hmmph.”

Just off the main road, between tall ranging trees, there was a picnic area, extremely popular with young families. Truckers and motorists would also stop there to take a break. As you pulled off the slip road into the segregated area, there were white lined markings that indicated where to park your vehicle with separate areas for trucks and cars. Victor was driving a hired camper van and had pulled perfectly between the white lines. To the right hand side of him, two wooden benches sat either side of a large rectangular wooden table. He exited the vehicle and opened the sliding side door to reveal a brand new picnic hamper, which he duly deposited on the table. Inside the hamper were sandwiches and batches, a bottle of coke and some still water together with two knives, two forks, two plates, two glasses and a roll of serviettes. Victor examined the contents, “Two of everything?” he muttered. Nevertheless, Victor carefully laid out the table, placing the second setting opposite to him and then sat down to open the coke and pour himself a glass. It was too quiet for him here he thought and opened the door on the camper, lowering the window. He reached across and turned on the audio system. Cradle of Filth blasted across the picnic area and into Victor’s face. “Shit! Jesus Christ, Blake”, he stammered. He turned down the volume and switched on the radio selecting one of the quieter more refined west coast radio stations. He looked around to see his fellow sandwich munchers glancing sideways at the noisy individual who had dared to destroy the peaceful tranquillity of this haven with that godforsaken noise. Victor gave them all a limp smile and muttered, “Go screw yourselves!”

Victor Luzny was a slightly overweight, balding anglophile of distant Polish origin who had developed a healthy disdain for the rest of the human race during his years of failure. Despite being highly intelligent and very assertive, Victor was aware that his inability to focus had cost him dearly over the years, denying him what would surely have been the most illustrious of careers in whatever field he had felt compelled to follow. The sad truth was that Victor was easily bored and, coupled with an absolute hatred of authority, this had sentenced to him a lifetime of frustration and under-achievement. Until that is, the day he answered an advert and met Blake, the man now sat in a log cabin behind that line of trees across the road.

Blake slung the black holdall off his back and onto the wooden dining table. Unzipping the holdall, he began to place the contents on the table carefully, a box of nails, a hammer, a bottle of 1923 Beaune Faiveley burgundy and a gold chalice. Blake left what seemed to be towels and rags in it and stuck it under the table. Taking his mobile phone from his pocket, he sat at one of the long ends of the table and examined his text messages carefully. Observing nothing new in the inbox, he sighed and slumped back into the wooden chair. Placing his hands behind his head he muttered, “Veniet cito”.

Nick Donato drove the car up the winding road towards the parking area that sat at the bottom of the steps leading to the log cabin. A catholic priest of some years, Nick, who was now approaching middle age, could have done without a trip to this outback holiday area. He had no alternative due to the personal nature of the call and the chance to retrieve a family heirloom. David had rung him apologizing for the theft and asking to meet the priest one last time before returning the item to him and leaving to start a new life in the North West of the USA. Nicoli pulled the car into the parking area and donned an unusually long coat given the time of the year and the heat but Nick deemed it necessary given the pockets were wide and easily accessible, making the concealment and retrieval of the handgun in the right side pocket easy. He crossed himself and began the climb towards the cabin. Inside the cabin itself, Blake’s eyes sprang open and he grinned from ear to ear. Standing up, he leaned on the table, tapping out a rhythm with his fingers whilst he waited for the man to reach the door.

Nick stood outside the cabin door his hand poised on the handle. The door opened suddenly and he was greeted by the sight of the bearded man dressed all in black and grinning from ear to ear. “Come in Nick”, he said. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long, long time. You must have so many questions for me. I know I have for you.”

“What the hell? Who are you and where is David?” Nick asked. Blake beckoned Nick to take a seat, “Please. Sit down. I will explain it all. Look, the chalice is on the table. I have returned it to you.” Nick pulled a chair from the table and sat down, his hand resting lightly on the gun in his pocket. Blake took a seat at the opposite side of the table and proceeded to pour himself a glass of wine.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Would you like to try the burgundy? Of course you would. You have a particular palette for burgundy, don’t you? ”

Nick looked around the room. The chalice sat in the middle of the table as indicated and that was the most important thing, the retrieval of the family heirloom. The chalice had never been lost or damaged in 2,000 years before now. It had survived war, bombs, fire, water and impact and still looked new, uncannily new, and beautiful. Blake smiled and passed him the glass of wine.

“400 bloody quid for this. Still I thought you might appreciate it. You being a man of the church and cultured.” Blake smirked.

“I don’t know who you are. I came to see David. Where is he?”

“Let me introduce myself. My name is Blake and as you probably gathered from the accent, I have travelled all the way from England just to see you. So please afford me a little of your time. It’s interesting that you are so interested where David is because I really thought you didn’t care and to be honest neither did he.”

“So where is he?”

“Dead”

Nick held his face in his hands and genuinely looked remorseful. “How?”

“The night you left him in his flat, the night you told him it was over and he would never see you again. After you had left, he locked the flat and drove the car to the railway track. He parked it up, walked onto the centre of the line, and waited patiently for the midnight freight train. You know he never flinched not even in the last seconds and, at that speed, there's no time to scream. You did that to him Nick. Couldn’t have a relationship with another man could you, not a catholic priest, not a follower of God. Despite the fact that you are homosexual, because God says no you commit your lover to death by freight train.”

Blake stood up and walked around the table towards Nick. Nick’s hand tightened around the gun.

“You just didn’t have the resolve to abandon your calling and grasp the truth did you, but then you never did, did you? You abandoned David so that he became another suicide statistic and on a more personal level….you abandoned…..no sentenced…my brother to a public execution by slow death two thousand years ago.”

Nick sprang to his feet, drawing the gun from his pocket and pointing it squarely at Blake.

“You crazy son of a bitch, two thousand years ago," said Nick. “Well I’m looking pretty good for my age then. I didn’t drive all the way here to get a lecture by some nut job on my personal relationships and beliefs. Give me the chalice and I’ll leave. Just thank god I haven’t blown your head off.”

Blake gazed briefly at the floor, and then snarled. In a second, the handgun was hurtling across the cabin and Nick was pinned to the table by his throat, slowly and quite deliberately having the life choked out of him.

“This is what slow death feels like Nick. You can experience it some more or we can talk. Which is it to be?”

Nick nodded. Blake released the coughing priest to his chair and sat back down himself.

“I’m sorry about that Nick. I know I have anger issues and people pointing guns at me don’t help”, he smiled. “Now tell me about the chalice and I will tell you why you are here.”

Nick cleared his throat.

“Okay. The chalice is a family heirloom around 2,000 years old. It’s said it was presented to Pontius Pilate by a roman centurion who left it with a roman soldier the day Christ died on the cross. The soldier was on duty at the actual site and the centurion actually spoke to Christ at the moment of his death. The inscription on the chalice is in Latin and says that the centurion will always know Pilate, whatever that means. It also sarcastically echoes Pilate’s comments when he was questioned about the words displayed above Christ’s head.”

“Go on.”

“Legend has it that the chalice can never be stolen, damaged or destroyed. Indeed, it still looks brand new. It is also said that the chalice can only be handled for any length of time by Pilate, one of his descendants or the centurion himself. Historians are not sure who the centurion was but I do know that people who have handled or looked after the chalice who were not descendants of Pilate became very ill, very quickly and in some cases died. That is as much as I know. It would in your interest to give me back the chalice. The fate of those who would hold the chalice but were not meant to do so is no myth.”

Blake stood up and moved towards Nick.

“That’s very good but it’s not all. I will return the chalice to you and you will leave here alive in case you were wondering. The wording on the chalice is so that the centurion would always know where and who Pilate was throughout eternity. Man misconstrued the actions of Christ. He meant to give his life to prove that death is just an evolutionary step and that energy is eternal for all. Unfortunately, man took the demonstration to mean that Christ was the immortal and that he should be worshipped. Man failed to appreciate that man himself was immortal. This was the point. If that wasn’t bad enough, Pilate, Romans, Jews, and natives of the land allowed Christ to be tortured to death in full public view. Now that was something Jesus didn’t see coming. A sentient being with a memory burned into his soul, so to speak. Sentience and memories are everything to immortality Nick. You will learn more of this as events take their course. You should understand however that the torture and humiliation of their son did not go down well with his parents. The second coming might not be for the reasons you believe. Maybe Christ will want a reunion with his brother, or maybe it will herald Armageddon. A brother abandoned here a long time ago, a brother now highly evolved but evolved differently to the rest of his race due to his confinement to Earth. A brother dressed in imaginary darkness by the Christian churches and other human religions, a brother that they don't know how to fight yet, sworn to protect the planet by sacred oath, the first of the terraformers. A brother who visited his kin as he hung dying on a cross and made sure he always knew where the person who could have saved him was, which is why I'm here today. The chalice I will give to you before you go but allow me to ask one small favour of you before then. Oh. I guess I should formally introduce myself to you now. My name is Lucius and it was me who made a gift of the chalice to you.”

Victor sat biting through the cheap beef sandwich that constituted his lunch and surveyed the scenery around him. What a brilliant place to wait for him, he thought. Surrounded by tall trees, singing birds, young families, crackling rippling streams coupled together with a beautiful summer’s day, this was surely the best job in the world. Well except for the death and torture bit, that popped up every now and again. Blake had said he would not hurt the priest. He only needed to leave him a painful memory. A small drop of blood might be spilt and that was it. To be honest Blake wasn’t the type to complicate things but…he did have a temper. Victor hoped that the priest didn’t anger him in any way or compare him to Johnny Cash. He laughed to himself.

“Hey young fella, sorry to interrupt but could I get past you to empty that bin over there?”

Victor looked up and saw the old man with a big grey cloth sack and a litter picking stick looking at him. Victor realised he had his feet sprawled across a narrow footpath and the man was merely being polite.

“Oh! Sorry.” Victor said, “I didn’t realise you were there. I was lost in this place. It’s absolutely fantastic.”

“Yes. I have come here on and off for 40 years now. I love it so much that I volunteered to help with the upkeep of it and keep it tidy of course.” The old man smiled.

“Here let me pass you the bin. I’ll have done my bit too then.” smiled Victor.

Victor leapt to his feet, extracted the steel bin from its wire holder and passed it to the old man. “Victor Luzny”, he said, “pleased to meet you.”

“Name’s Earl, pleased to meet you too, son.” said the old man, emptying the contents into the sack. “Enjoy your day son”, he said and walked off towards the other tables.

Victor reached inside the food bag for another sandwich but looked up when he heard Earl shouting towards him.

“Hey that’s okay fella. I’ll remember that and thanks for the tip. I’ll pop down the store and get me some tomorrow. You and Victor have a nice day now, you hear?”

Earl turned and walked off once again. Victor realised Earl had been looking towards the space opposite him where he had laid a second plate. You and Victor? Victor waved his hand over the space where 2 minutes earlier Earl had addressed himself; there was nothing there. “Hi. You must be Harvey the invisible rabbit; I’m Victor, sane bloke.” Victor laughed to himself again. Nice bloke Earl, but completely crazy thought Victor before launching into the remaining sandwiches.

In the cabin, Nick looked quizzically at Blake. “I understand that you might believe in every word you tell me son, but these things you say are not real. You know this might be schizophrenia. Have you sought any help? Is there a doctor I can contact for you? I can give you a lift to a surgery or hospital if you would like?”

Blake laughed. “I knew you would think I’m barmy. Still I don’t blame you for that. It’s a lot to take in. Over time, I think you will come to realise that what I have told you today is the truth. It is a bit rich really, given that you follow a doctrine based on guessed at literature from thousands of years ago, written by people you have never met and perpetuated by people with no rationale for it and an acute gift for denial when it is brought into question. Still, time is pressing; onto the reason for our meeting.”

Nick suddenly looked up. Hit by the realisation of something strange, too strange. “I came here because I received a call from David, actually David. I spoke to him. We had a conversation. He was crying, apologising. I’ll give you back the chalice, he said. I’m sorry he took it, he said. He said I’m sorry…HE….took it.”

Blake raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, gifted impressionist.” Blake pointed at himself. Smiling he said, “Either that or voices beyond the grave. You don’t believe in that do you? You don’t even believe in me and yet here I stand in front of you.”

“Carry on”. Nick said.

“Well you’re not going to believe this but energy never dies, ever. You are not just the descendant of Pontius Pilate, Nick, you are Pontius Pilate.”

Nick stood up. “Oh right! That would explain the bizarre dreams I’ve had about marching through the streets of Rome, ordering the crucifixion of Christ and bonking like crazy at the weekly Roman orgy held every Wednesday.”

“SIT DOWN!” The room visibly darkened and the cabin crackled with static electricity. Blake’s yellow eyes pierced the veil. Nick sat back down.

“You are Pontius Pilate. You have much to learn and do not have the gift of sentience. I can excuse your doubt but I am no fool. You have been missing from my sight for centuries as someone threw a veil across my ability to track you. You are Pontius; the physical form you hold is just a vessel. If you were more evolved, you would understand this. The chalice you and your family have kept safe over the years was a gift from me to you. At that time, I led a legion of not only men, but also other species, evolved along the same lines as humans but developing other characteristics through a series of different choices, environments and events. After I had gifted you the chalice, you thought it a personal insult and threat and exiled my legion and me to another land to fight an impossible war against an unbeatable foe. We fought and settled in this land but my followers were persecuted because they were different. They were hunted and killed by one civilization after another, a practise that still goes on today. It was impossible to live peacefully and keep safe my army and their offspring, so we split into different parts and spread across different lands. We destroyed the means to track each other and killed all communication to make it more difficult for our human enemies. However, the day would come when my brother would return and the forces of the light would try to reclaim the Earth. I need to switch the signal back on, bring the communications back online. I need the chalice. Do you know the proper name for the chalice, Nick?”

“Calicem sirenis.” Nick replied.

“The Chalice of the Siren; when the chalice receives the blood of Pontius Pilate, the lines of communication will be open again and the call raised. Lucius and the Forsaken will be able to find each other and I will be able to assemble my army once more. Now, if you please, a small droplet of blood will do.”

Blake produced the shiniest stiletto knife that Nick had ever seen. Nick sprang to his feet.

“In God’s name, stop this madness. I won’t be a party to this insanity,” Nick cried.

Blake looked at Nick and grinned.

“Please yourself Nick.”

Blake sailed across the room, puncturing the priest’s hand with the knife and forcing his hand over the chalice. The first drop of blood missed the chalice falling silently onto the table, but the next drop of blood landed squarely inside the chalice landing with the noise of a sonic boom. The last thing Nick remembered before slipping into unconsciousness was the screaming, the sound of the chalice screaming.

Victor looked up at the sky.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. The storm clouds came from nowhere and the static electricity in the air was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Jesus!” Victor almost fell off the bench when the fork lightning crackled through the sky striking what would seem to be the area that Blake had walked towards to meet the priest. ‘God that was loud’, he thought. What was weirder was that it looked like the lightning was going from the ground up and not vice versa. The heavens opened and the rain poured down like a monsoon.

“Bloody, bleeding shit weather.”

Victor gathered up the food and utensils throwing them through the side door of the vehicle and quickly jumping into the driver’s seat. He set the window to be open by about 3 inches and watched the light show in the sky, complete with incessant rain, and listened to the rhythmic heavy metal pulsing of the thunder. He cleared his ears with his finger.

“God almighty!” he said shaking his head. His ears were still ringing from the lightning crack, but they were ringing like the noise a half full wine glass makes when someone runs their damp finger around the rim. The noise filled his head, but Victor thought it was more than just a ringing sound. It wasn’t like ringing at all, it was more like screaming.

Blake started to pack the holdall back up and looked across at the chalice. The noise was unrelenting but Blake was used to it. What remained impressive to him however was the single thin light coming vertically straight up into the roof of the cabin from the chalice. Outside the light branched into forks piercing the storm clouds hovering in the sky. The sound of a million fingers tapping on the roof of the cabin was being emulated by the rain. He picked up the bottle of burgundy and emptied the remaining contents down the sink. “Damn waste really.” he muttered and retrieved the cork popping it neatly back into the neck. He zipped the holdall back up and placed the empty bottle back onto the table. Blake looked across at the still breathing body of Nick lying on the cabin floor and picked up the box of nails and the hammer. “I’m gonna get bleedin’ soaked”, he thought.

Victor sat tapping his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. Finally, he lost his patience and started the camper up. He drove it into one of the rest bays nearer the road and decided to wait for Blake there. He knew Blake had told him not to move from the picnic area but it was throwing it down with rain and he just felt uncomfortable sitting there not moving. Victor leaned back in the seat. “Thank Christ for that!” he shouted. The ringing in his ears had stopped, the rain had cleared and the skies were blue again. The lightning had disappeared into the sky and the thunder had muted. He opened the window fully and turned just in time to see the passenger door open. “Christ had nothing to do it!” reprimanded Blake.

“Well did you do it?” asked Victor.

“Didn’t you see the show?” said Blake.

“Yeah okay, stupid question but is the priest alive?”

“Of course he’s alive. I said I wouldn’t kill him. I did however give him a gift. I gave him a memory.”

“I’m not gonna ask. What’s with the bottle of burgundy? It’s still full. Thought you were drinking that?”

Blake wanted to tell Victor that the wine had been drunk and the liquid it contained now was something entirely different, but thought better of it.

“It’s not a bottle of burgundy Victor, It’s a bribe!”

“You are one strange son of a bitch Blake. Home?”

“Home Victor and step on it.” Victor looked across at Blake, who was tapping his fingers on the dashboard, his lips pursed in familiar fashion.

“Stop tapping and bleeding whistling first,” said Victor.

Blake lifted his fingers from the dashboard and stopped the shrill whistling, his face presenting an apologetic grin to Victor, who proceeded to move the van.

The camper exited the lay-by and sped off up the road while the two companions laughed and joked as they travelled into the distance. If they had glanced behind for just one minute, they would have seen the black Mercedes pulling into the beauty spot they had just vacated.

The Mercedes hovered around the parking bays drifting from one to the next as if looking for something. Eventually it pulled up three tables down from where Victor had annihilated a whole bag of sandwiches. The two occupants emerged from the car. One a black male, about 6 foot in height and with a muscular build, which was noticeable in definition despite the black suit and light blue shirt and tie he wore. The second man, a small white male with a goatee beard and straggly long, dirty blonde hair spoke to his smarter looking friend. “Connall, Connall, are you sure?”

“I heard it, Phelan. I heard the siren, I’m telling you.”

“Just families and kids here now, Connall, and the rain won’t help us either.”

“Damn it!” Connall thumped the side of his thigh. “Let’s take a look at the tables over here before we go. Phelan, you coming?”

“Yeah, sure, sorry was thinking how nice it is here.”

“Yeah I remember when most of the place was like this.”

The two men walked up the short steps towards the tables and worked their way towards the parking space and table that not fifteen minutes before had been occupied by Victor and his healthy appetite. Phelan was still looking in awe at the surroundings when he bumped into the old man cleaning up by the last table.

“Sorry, sir”, said Phelan to Earl. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“That’s okay son. I wasn’t looking either. Looks like you’ve timed it right though. Just been one hell of a storm here and looks like the two fellas who were sitting here left in a hurry because of it.”

Connall whirled round to face Earl. “What did you say?”

“About the storm?” Earl asked.

“No, after that.”

“The two guys?” Earl asked looking at Connall,

“Yes. You said two. Are you sure there were two?”

“Of course I’m sure son. I may be old but I’m not crazy.”

Connall laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. Thanks for your help.”

“That’s okay. Better get this place cleaned up a bit. Have a great day boys,” Earl said and walked off towards the other tables.

“He was here. He was definitely here,” Connall exclaimed in a state of near euphoria.

“How do you know that”, asked Phelan.

“The smell Phee, breathe it in.” Connall said. “I smell one human, one human, and the old guy said two people.”

“Still doesn’t prove anything Connall. Old people see what they want to, you know?”

“I know”, said Connall. “Wait here a sec will ya?”

Connall jumped the barrier and ran across the road towards the woodland before Phelan could protest. He moved towards the gap into the bushes, breathing in deeply all the time, examining the air and its contents all around him before stopping at the line of bushes that were visibly forced back. Connall stooped to pick up the driest leaf that had clearly been detached by a physical presence. He held the leaf in front of him drawing in the fragrance surrounding it before opening his mouth in a wide smile to pronounce, “Morning Star, long time, no see!”

CHAPTER 2

BLOOD

“All men dream, but not equally.

Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men,

for they may act their dreams with open eyes,

to make it possible.”

T.E. LAWRENCE

Jack saw the light. Dim and tiny, no bigger than a pinhead, it was steadily growing larger. All around the light was nothing, a pure black nothing, coupled with the silence of the vacuum. Jack concentrated, trying to work out where he was. Was he lying on his back or standing up?

The complete absence of sound added to his fear and his inability to move or shout made it all feel like a nightmare. The type you have when you are paralyzed with fear and rendered mute by anxiety.

The light now seemed to be moving faster. Where am I, how did I get here, why can’t I feel or hear anything, he thought? The panic began to burn into his forehead. He closed his eyes and violently tried to turn, succeeding in only a very partial shift of position. This was success, although he had only managed to move very slightly. He smiled and opened his eyes to gaze on the now brighter light still directly in front of him. It was then that he heard the sound, faint and eerie: the sound that was coming from the light.

It had variation and tone, a repetitive screech or whine, and it got louder as the light grew closer. He wanted to be free of the invisible force that pinned him in position, he wanted to break free and run. The light was closer and brighter now but it shed no light on his surroundings, which remained black and untouchable. The air around him was warm and comfortable, no biting cold or searing heat, and it seemed out of place with his situation. The light began to form a shape against the void.

It wasn’t just a point of light anymore. It had strands of light emanating from it, giving it the appearance of a bright shining spider scurrying towards Jack, closing the distance faster and faster and increasing the level of that noise as it moved towards him. He now realised that the noise was not a screech or a whine of any sort; he now realised that it was a scream. The thing that was accelerating towards him was screaming, screaming and shouting and it seemed to be directed at Jack.

He took a deep breath and muttered, “Mother of God!”

He could speak; he could speak again.

“What do you want?” “Who are you?”

He could shout. Maybe I’ll be able to move soon as well he thought and braced himself for the return of mobility to his limbs. It didn’t happen, Jack just watched helplessly as the light began to move into a clear and unsettling focus.

It was an old man, running towards him and waving his hands frantically. He was dressed in a white robe and held what looked like a staff. His long grey hair covered his head, with no sign of it receding, and cascaded across the long grey beard that covered the rest of his face. He was waving at Jack, ushering him, motioning to him to move back, to get out of the way. No, wait; he wasn’t motioning him to move out of the way at all, he was telling him to run, for Christ’s sake, he was telling him to run away, but from what? Now the screaming and shouting turned into words.

“Run! Run boy! They’re coming!”

Jack almost lost control as the fear began to bite into him. He couldn’t run, he couldn’t move, but he could shout back. It was this that helped him regain some sense of calm.

“Run from who, from what, what do you mean?”

There was no reply to the question just the reiterating of the man’s first warnings.

“Run boy! They’re here! You must flee!”

Jack tried to look behind the man. It was then that he realised that the light did not come from the old man; it came from behind the old man. The old man was now directly in front of Jack and he stopped briefly to look directly at Jack. His face was scarred with terror, and Jack knew right then that this guy was not going to stop to save him, or fight the light that cracked menacingly behind him. This man was going to carry on running straight by him pausing just long enough to talk briefly to Jack.

“He cannot save you. He can only guide you. You must listen. They are here and will not be denied.” The man looked at Jack again.

“For god’s sake move boy.”

The man looked behind him once more before continuing his escape, still shouting, his voice gradually fading into the distance leaving Jack to face the light alone. The light and the shadow? He tried to focus his eyes on the black form that walked slowly in front of the light. There was no panic, no sound, the figure moved calmly towards Jack whilst still managing to maintain some distance between itself and the luminous monstrosity behind it. Another man, was this really another man, why was he so calm and steady? Logic dictated that this time the approaching figure would not care about whether Jack stood still or ran, that this figure did not care about the light show that crackled behind him. That this… Then the shadow was on top of him, standing directly in front of him, the shadow of a man. It was a black cloak and a hood covering him, Jack could see that now. The dark man made no move to harm him though, made no move to walk or run by Jack, he merely removed his hood. Jack could see him now; he sighed and thanked God that he was human, dark haired with a beard as black as night and a smile like the sun breaking across the horizon. He touched Jack on the forehead and spoke gently.

“Push boy, push," he said softly.

Jack pushed but against what? He realised he was floating, floating in a liquid in a container that moved when he pushed against it. He could move, Mother of God, he could move. The man covered his face with his hood and calmly walked by Jack; Jack pushed and kicked, punching the invisible field that held him. Screaming and shouting he exerted all the physical force the will for survival demanded of him. He fought for life and scratched, punched, bit, butted and kicked the container until it fractured. He fought even harder and then the darkness around him broke and shattered as Jack fell, fell into the light.

Sunlight reflecting off a still lake in the quiet of an English country morning and dancing across the eyelids, pulling Jack from a deep sleep and his recurring nightmare, kicking and screaming into reality.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

Jack sat straight up in bed, the covers kicked off and lying on the floor. The warm and comfortable temperature of the dream replaced the cold sweat of fear, but more importantly, the relief that this was reality replaced the vivid, frightening grasp of the nightmare. Once more, the warmth of the sun and the inevitability of daybreak had rescued him from this recurring nightmare. He jumped out of bed and rushed into the bathroom. He turned the taps on full and immersed himself in the waters of salvation, gasping and thanking God.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

He looked in the mirror, and despite the bad hair day and the dripping water, he was delighted to see that he looked normal. The mobile in the living room was ringing, bringing reality into an even clearer focus. Jack let it ring because for once he was enjoying the familiarity of normality and not rushing to answer the god of telecommunications. He dried himself off and quickly dressed before making his way to pick up the now silent phone. Surveying the screen he found himself wishing he had took longer to pick it up.

“Jesus.” He muttered, “It’s my day off.”

The last call you want when you had figured you might just spend the day relaxing, watching sport and maybe ordering takeaway, is the call from work, the call that you know will always end with the request to surrender your time once again to your employer. Jack grinned; he loved Mark, but today, right at this moment, he hated him. Jack rang back and spoke the minute the voice at the other end answered, giving Mark no chance to lodge excuses.

“This had better be really good. You know?”

“I know, I know. It’s your day off and you had a date with Jennifer Aniston and I’m a total freak for even thinking of calling you but…………..You are not gonna believe this one, it’s right up your street. Weirdsville Jack, complete Weirdsville and you’re only seven miles away. Life is sweet, huh?”

“Mark, are we FBI or are we script writers for ‘Supernatural’? I swear that every time something remotely strange comes up you assign me to it, and it never ends up being strange at all, just stupid.”

“No, no! It’s different this time Jack. Trust me. It’s religion, storms, priests, forests and….a bad man. So I’ll text you the location and meet you there coz the local sheriff is coming my way and he seems a little puzzled.”

“Mark I didn’t say I was coming and …………Mark…Mark!”

The phone went dead and the text came through. Jack stared at the phone.

“This is going to be fucking stupid isn’t it?”

Jack sighed, put the phone in his pocket, grabbed a premade sandwich and struggled to get his coat on as he made his way out of the door of the flat pausing only to pronounce a brief “Fuck!” as he hit his head on the top of the doorway as he always did. He loved his flat, he really did, but he wished the doorways were a little higher, and the ceilings too. However, at seven feet tall, he should have been used to this and learned when to stoop by now. Jack made his way to the elevator and would hit the road shortly to spend his day investigating something that would surely turn out to be completely stupid.

The road from Marion to Lake James State Park was about a fifteen-minute drive and Jack loved the curves and bends in the route. The sun was high in the sky and this was the perfect day for a family picnic or a visit to his destination, so what bastard had defiled one of nature’s preserves today? Who had taken him from a day of relaxation and peace to a day of stress and pain? Who had caused an FBI investigation so close to his home? Jack followed the directions he had as he left the main road and drove into the park. Moving swiftly through the entrance Jack spied the two police cars either side of the road. The two cops standing in the road waved him down; the shorter of the two leaned towards the open window through which Jack was now flashing his badge.

“Jack Abrahams. We’ve been expecting you sir. If you follow the road up to the top, you’ll see the markings for the cabin they’ve set up. Good luck sir; that’s some real weird shit going on up there,” the cop said.

“Thanks…………I think,” Jack replied.

He drove the car farther up the road until he came to the small dirt road on his right hand side with the access blocked by two more cops. Flashing his badge once more, the cops waved him through and he drove the short distance to the parking space allocated to the holiday home. Finding a space between the forensic vehicles, cop cars and everything else he managed to squeeze out of the door and make his way to the short blonde haired man orchestrating this investigation.

“Mark.” Jack said as the pair of them shook hands.

“Why do we do that?” said Mark.

“Do what?” asked Jack.

“Why do we always shake hands at the start of something like this? It’s not like we don’t see each other regularly and yet every time the shit hits the fan we shake hands like it’s parent’s evening.”

“It’s a ritual kind of thing I guess,” said Jack smiling.

“Speaking of rituals buddy, you are gonna love this one.”

“Go on.”

“Let me bring you up to speed. We get a call from here around six this morning. The guy who empties the trash was picking up the bin from the porch area at the cabin, when he notices the door is open and he can hear a murmuring. Guy thinks its inside and decides to look but all he finds is, and here’s the funky bit, a gold chalice full of what he first thought was wine. Guy looks around but he can’t see anything else, but he can smell burning. Cookers are switched off and everything electrical is fine but when he looks up he can see that the ceiling has been scorched black like it was hit from lightning, and trust me this gets freakier when I tell you about the forensic stuff later. Anyway, he can still hear the murmuring so he goes back outside and decides to check out the side of the cabin that faces the valley, great view from there by the way. He looks around the corner and there he sees it, Jack. The guy literally shit himself. Moaning and semi-consciousness is a priest, nailed to the log cabin by his hands and feet. He has been crucified, can you believe this shit. He walks across to him to help him out whilst at the same time trying to phone the cops and the priest suddenly rouses, turns his head and shouts “Tibi est uade retro me” right in the guy’s face.

“Get thee behind me”, Jack said, looking quizzically at Mark.

“Our guys heard it over the phone as he was calling them.”

“Is the priest alive?”

“Yeah we’ve taken him to hospital and he’ll be checked out, but get this. When we pulled him off the nails, there was no fresh blood only dry blood, no broken limbs as far as the guys could tell, in fact no real lasting damage to the priest at all but, and this is your kind of shit, there wasn’t a hair on his body, no stubble, no bristles, no eyebrows and no eyelashes. Paramedics say that it was like every hair on him was burnt away, which kind of adds up because he smelt like he was smouldering, and yet he had no burns at all.”

Jack looked away from Mark towards the cabin.

“Shall we take a look?”

The two men made their way towards the side of the cabin.

The nails were still in the cabin and a little further up from the bottom nails was a block of wood. Jack looked surprised at Mark.

“You ripped him off the nails?”

“We couldn’t get the damn things out, but as we’re all trying to figure out how to get him down without killing him, one of his damn hands slips off them and smacks the paramedic in the face. So we tried just to slip him off them and Jack, we did it without causing any damage at all”,shrugged Mark.

“Dude has put a saddle here to help support his weight. Priest’s balls will be sore but that’s about it. He sure as hell didn’t want to kill him,” said Jack.

Jack examined the nails. There was very little blood and no staining of the wood itself. The nails gleamed in the sunlight and, look as hard as he might, he could find nothing that could constitute evidence. The priest had been nailed to a log cabin and yet this was as clean as a whistle. Jack gestured to Mark to go inside.

The inside of the cabin smelt like a million faulty toasters that had all refused to pop up. The ceiling was black before moving from shades of dark brown to normal colour. On the table in front of him was a gold chalice filled with what appeared to be red wine.

“Don’t drink the wine”, Mark said to Jack with a smile upon his face. “Got a call about that just before we came which confirmed what we pretty much knew. It’s the priest’s blood.”

“Don’t want to kill him but a nice drop of priest blood would go down very well. This guy a fucking vampire?” Jack said.

“Don’t think so Jack because that blood has not moved from when it was put in there, other than when we took a sample of course, and there’s no mess and get this. Not one bit of forensic evidence, no DNA, fingerprints, smudges, fibres, absolute zero, impossible huh?”

“Anything else I should know? Any other freaky shit?”

“Yeah, just one more thing. We examined the roof but there was nothing of note there either. The burning on the inside was caused by lightning. Apparently, they had a real severe flash storm and the log cabin was struck by it. Now that’s not weird in itself except that when our guy was checking it over he kept saying there were no direct impact signs to the exterior of the roof. I asked him what difference that made and he said, that for all intents and purposes, it looked like the lightning had struck the roof from the inside of the cabin.”

Jack looked at Mark and spoke softly, “We’d better go and see this priest.”

The two men turned to walk back down the small path but were stopped in their tracks by the finger wagging middle-aged man fast approaching them, Sheriff Kramer.

“You guys running out on me?” said Kramer, pausing only to look Jack up and down, before staring open mouthed and exclaiming, “Jesus Christ! I’m sure nobody ever tries it on with you. You quit WWF to join the FBI or something?” he said, before adding weakly, “No offence.”

“None taken Sheriff”, said Jack smiling. “It’s good when folks notice my size, usually saves me having to kill them.”

Mark coughed before moving between the two.

“Gentlemen let me introduce you to each other as you’re becoming such good friends. Sheriff Kramer, this is Jack Abrahams one of the biggest talents we have, literally. And Jack, this is Sheriff Kramer, a well respected law enforcement officer and a very good shot, before you go making remarks like that again.”

Jack and Kramer laughed before shaking hands.

“I’m sorry about that”, said Kramer. “Let’s start again?”

“Sounds good to me, Sheriff.” Jack said.

Mark pointed over the trees towards the road.

“The sheriff has been down to the road to see whether there’s anything there that will help us.”

“Yeah, whoever did this went straight through the tree line and walked down the slope through the woodland. Not an easy thing to do and so it’s not an easy thing to track but we’ve been talking to some folks down at the bottom. There’s a drive-in picnic area there and we managed to take one or two interesting statements coupled with some video footage we all need to see. I’ve left a couple of my boys down there now, soon as they’re finished they’ll get everything to us. You guys were going somewhere when I came back?”

“Yeah, we were just going to make our way to the hospital to see how the priest is and maybe have a word with him. Maybe get an ID on the guy who attacked him or at least a little more information.” Mark said.

“Good idea. Tell you what; if you guys want to leave your cars here, I’ll drive you down there myself. I need to ask him a whole bunch of questions and we can meet your other agent down there once she’s tied everything up with my guys.”

“Let’s do it,” said Mark.

“Other agent: what other agent? And now we are three, Mark?” Jack asked.

Mark looked sheepishly at Jack.

“I was going to tell you, I swear. Listen you’re good at all the freaky shit and the violence obviously, but Helen is at the top of the game for evidence hunting, she also knows a shit load about forensics and technology. She’ll join us at the hospital.”

“Anybody else I need to know about before I get there, any more secret members of the team?”

Mark smiled, “Jack, you know you love me. Shall we?”

Mark gestured towards the Sheriff’s patrol car.

Sheriff Kramer called to one of his deputies.

“Jones, watch this place. Nobody goes in or out without authority and without your say so, okay? Make sure the CSI guys are good and if anyone weird shows up trying to nail folks to the holiday homes…..shoot the fucker.”

Jones nodded, smiling.

Kramer and his FBI associates climbed into the vehicle and drove slowly down the road.

Jones looked around: at the bottom of the road were two police vehicles with officers. At the car-parking area, there was himself and two other patrol cars with two more officers. All that was left of the CSI team were two guys who were now securing the cabin itself, as there was little evidence, just the chalice on the table that Jones had been told was not to be touched. He looked up to the cabin, turning around only when he heard the approaching sounds of a motorbike in the distance.

Two of the officers, McAdam and Benning stood at the bottom of the driveway; both had been talking about the bizarre events that had led them to stand guard over this site. They drew their guns and waited when they heard the motorbike now speeding towards them. Both men crouched down behind their vehicles and aimed their weapons because the vision now approaching them was not right. The black motorbike pulled up about 50 yards away from the officers. Decorated with gold chrome and with what looked like a gold cross on the front of the handlebars, the bike looked like it had just been rode out of the showroom. The rider stepped of his steed and started to walk towards to the men. Dressed in black leather and black riding gloves and boots, the figure looked normal until the officers caught a closer view of his helmet. The helmet looked less like a crash helmet and more like a sealed unit with a visor all in a black iron finish but with what looked like a light shining through the narrow openings for vision.

“Fuck me, it’s Iron Man,” said McAdam. “Do we get his autograph or shoot the fucker?”

Benning stood up and addressed the approaching figure.

“Sir, please return to your vehicle and move on. This is a police incident and we have instructions not to let anyone pass”.

The figure continued walking towards them, removing his gloves as he did so.

“Sir, please turn around and walk away or we will have no choice but to open fire. Do I make myself clear? This is your last warning.” Benning shouted.

“I guess it’s the shoot the fucker option then.” McAdam whispered to his friend.

Ironman produced a gun in each hand and opened up on the officers. The bullets ripped through the flesh and shattered the skull of McAdam leaving him a lifeless corpse whilst his friend Benning received an uncannily accurate volley of bullets that ripped through his throat, spraying blood in a red mist behind him. The two officers lay lifeless, beaten by the inhuman speed of Ironman’s reaction. Ironman walked past death and continued on to the cabin. The two officers and Jones had heard the gunshots and Jones shouted at the men.

“No. Don’t run down there, take cover behind your vehicles and if there’s anything still on its way here we won’t be caught in the open.”

The three took up positions and waited.

“What the fuck?” exclaimed Jones.

Ironman came into view and stopped to view his surroundings.

“Stay completely still and put down your weapons or we will fire,” shouted Jones.

“Fuck it.” Shouted one of the other officers and a hail of bullets made their way towards Ironman from both men.

Ironman had already knelt and produced a large black rectangular shield from his back, positioning it directly in front of him. The bullets pinged and screamed off the shield whilst Ironman threw two small black discs, one at each car. The discs whizzed through the air attaching themselves to their targets with a loud metallic thud.

“Fucking run,” shouted Jones to his men.

Jones turned and ran but too late. The explosion threw Jones through the air into the woodland, whilst the other men disappeared in an unholy fusion of man and metal, melting together in a grotesque tapestry of steel and flesh.

Ironman stood up and walked towards the cabin. The two remaining CSI guys had already begun their flight to safety, both tumbling and tripping out of view down the sloped woodland. Ironman paid no attention to them, they were not a threat and they were not standing in his way. He entered the cabin and looked at the chalice on the table before attaching four more of the metal discs to the table, taking care not to touch the chalice. He calmly turned around and left the cabin walking back down the dust path, past the dead cops and onwards towards his vehicle. He sat astride his bike, looked towards the cabin area, and clicked his fingers. The cabin erupted into a ball of fire and flying debris, leaving nothing standing. Ironman put his gloves back on and started his descent back down the road on his bike.

Jones lay wrapped around a tree, his life ebbing away, one leg half torn from his body and fragile black, crisp-like flesh where his face had once been. Jones had just enough life left in him to reach for his mobile and give one last warning.

“Sheriff, the explosions, my guys are dead and I think the bastard’s killed me too. It’s one man and he’s coming your way on a bike. Sheriff…” Jones slumped, spinning through time and space, with no direction, just the random positioning of death.

The Sheriff’s car spun around and began the drive back up the hill, but just as they turned around, Ironman raced by them.

“Fuck!” Kramer shouted and turned the vehicle back again. “Guys, nail that motherfucker.”

The car began its pursuit of Ironman. Jack and Mark leaned out of the windows trying to get a clear shot at the biker on the winding road. Mark couldn’t find a clear shot but Ironman came into view on Jack’s side. Jack emptied the chamber in Ironman’s direction, finding every tree between himself and Ironman but not the rider himself. Mark looked across at Jack.

“Fuck me Jack, how did you miss him? Who the fuck taught you to shoot?” said Mark.

“You did”, replied Jack.

“Aaaaaaaaah, shit!” moaned Mark.

Kramer was calling in support as they continued the pursuit, and the scrambling of a helicopter was now in progress.

“Don’t worry we’ve got all the roads blocked anyway. This guys going fucking nowhere,” shouted Kramer. The pursuit continued until Ironman took a suicidal turn. In a gap in the trees was a large metal platform, built to access some of the trees damaged in the storm.

Long metal struts with added support in the form of wired cables attached to the trees, held the narrow platform, which ended in a long drop into the waters of the lake. The car screeched to a halt and the men left the vehicle running towards the platform. The bike accelerated along the platform, breaking through the end rails and sailing through the air with such speed that it landed squarely in the middle of the lake, with Ironman still holding onto it before plunging into the watery depths far below.

Kramer looked at the two FBI men.

“Do you believe any of this shit?” he said.

It had been an hour since the Ironman and his bike plunged into the lake. Helicopters floated above the surface and Kramer had secured the area. Divers were debating whether to search the lake for the mysterious assassin but it seemed like this would be best suited to the next day as the light was dimming, and the guy was obviously dead. Mark and Jack had continued their journey to the hospital courtesy of the local police as both their vehicles were destroyed at the cabin. Kramer decided to stay with a small group of four officers overnight just to make sure nothing else should occur. The lake itself now was relatively calm and thankfully, maybe things could get back to some kind of normality unlike the area of the cabin. An army of police, medics, CSI and others sorted through the debris. The cabin had been destroyed; fragments of metal that had once been patrol cars lay strewn on the ground together with the fragments of human beings mercilessly executed by an ironclad opponent.

Carl Baker sifted through the log cabin rubble, carefully looking for any remains that would help explain the reason for all this slaughter: and then he saw it. There gleaming beneath the still, smouldering wooden remains was the chalice. Still as new with no visible damage, there it lay beckoning to him. Carl stopped and rattled his fingers in his ears. Was that noise coming from the chalice? He stopped and laughed nervously. Was it singing to him?

At the bottom of the lake there sat a figure hunched lifelessly over its metal steed. Bubbles of air still escaping from the still form slowly made their way from the dark impenetrable depths to the surface. The rider remained at one with his steed, looking like some stone statue built as homage to a bygone age and now enveloped in the waters of time. Waiting: waiting for the slow erosion of time to purify it and cleanse it from the face of earth or waiting: waiting for the night.

CHAPTER 3

FLOODLAND

“There is a tide in the affairs of men
which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
omitted, all the voyage of their life
is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat;
and we must take the current when it serves,
or lose our ventures.”

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Mesopotamia

4990 BC

Luke gazed from the top of the hill to the valley below, watching the men, women and children go about their daily business. Their faith in their god would betray them today and the reformation of their landscape would leave them all dead or clinging to life for a brief period until starvation or disease claimed them. The sun was high in the sky and the heat was intimidating, but still Luke sat on a rock protected only by a light shroud watching the ants below. Further down the hill, sat by the only access to the top was Volkane, clad entirely in black, not one part of his flesh exposed to the sunlight, his hands covered by skin-like gloves and his face covered by a black membrane under the cover of his hood. Volkane shifted uncomfortably, the intense heat was annoying him and his hand grew unsteady, as did his grip on the gleaming white metal blade that spelled death for those who tried climbing the hill without his say so. Luke could hear the children playing from his lofty vantage point and wondered whether it was in his power to intervene, whether he could stop the impending death of all the souls below. He laughed nervously because he knew there was nothing he could do. He deliberated with himself whether it was the slaughter of the innocents that outraged him or the helplessness of watching the old enemy act with impunity that caused his revulsion. From his vantage point, he could make out a figure with long flowing blonde hair dressed completely in heavy red and black armour, a shield draped across his back and a sword sheathed by his side. The man wore no helmet and bore no expression; he just walked slowly and deliberately to the bottom of the hill towards the watching Volkane.

Volkane sniffed the air; he could smell the blood of another race, not human but the same smell as his friend sat on the top of the hill. The warrior came into view and Volkane got to his feet and drew his sword planting it firmly into the ground with a resounding thud. The warrior stopped and looked Volkane up and down before emitting a sneering grin.

“He is expecting you. Sat patiently at the top waiting to hear exactly what you need from him. What favour; and looking forward to you grovelling and begging. What goes around comes around, hey?” said Volkane.

“I thought all your kind dead, but clearly, unfortunately, that is not the case. Look at you; he calls you evolution, I call you mutation. You had best pick that steel back up before I’m tempted to stick it in your arse,” said the still sneering warrior.

“I have instructions to let you pass although watching your feeble attempts to parry my attacks before I send you spinning into oblivion would be very entertaining. Now fuck off!”

Volkane gestured to the warrior to walk by him.

“Charming,” said the warrior and passed by Volkane to climb the hill.

Luke sat still but sniggering at the conversation that had taken place below him. He still observed the doomed, playing and working in the land below him whilst every now and again turning his head in the direction of the noise coming from the hill opposite.

The warrior stood directly behind Luke and went to talk to him.

“Don’t fucking speak. Don’t you dare fucking speak to me.” Luke said, without moving or turning to look at the now kneeling figure behind him. “If you so much as utter a syllable before I say it’s okay, you can turn away and walk back down the hill. Volkane will point the way back for you if you need directions.”

Luke stood up and brushed his hair back. Walking over to the warrior he leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“Hot isn’t it?”

Luke laughed and stood back by the rock.

“I have no way of telling how hot it is today but you walk around dressed in a thousand animal skins, and let me tell you something…….you stink! Stand up man; let me look at you. It has been a long time hasn’t it. The last time I saw you, you were escorting me to my exile, to a world where no other life form capable of conversation existed. Do you remember the judgement? I remember the words they used to this day. You want to be lord of this world; you can be lord of nothing. They sent me here as a war criminal, my father, mother, brother and friends, punishment for exercising free will. They thought that the experiment had not gone well, that it needed a little tweaking. That little tweaking involved a ball of flame engulfing the planet, destroying all the life forms and gripping it in winter. Oh what fun that was, the dark days, the dying reptiles and the cold and hunger. Yet a few survived, only a few, but enough to restart the process, nature’s way of pointing at the high and mighty and shouting fuck you. They never realised and when they came back down and formed their new creation in the waters of the planet, their plans corrupted with all manner of species growing and evolving, corrupting their beloved work once more. One of those species sits at the bottom of the hill, you know him well don’t you. You call him mutant and sneer at him but he kicked your arse once didn’t he, you and the three other commanders? How are they by the way? Do you think they would relish another war with the lord of nothing now? Now I am stronger and more powerful, now I have evolved, this twisted immortality bringing power to the throne. We both know that they are on their way now, they are coming back to do a bit of spring-cleaning. I will just observe this time because this is a local issue. The time is not right for war, not yet. When it is I will be ready, but I don’t need to tell you that do I Sariel? What do you want from me I wonder?”

Sariel sat on the ground opposite Luke and watched him without expression. Luke stood up and pointed at the hill opposite.

“Isn’t that the biggest pile of shit you’ve ever seen? They’ve been throwing pieces of wood at it for ages now and tacking them in place. They’ve done for most of the trees around here and you can’t hear yourself think for knuckleheads with hammers. Built to the specification of their God and held together by blood and shit, it’ll be a miracle if it floats, and yet you want a place on there for your wife and child.”

Luke waved at the workers weakly, knowing that they wouldn’t see him from this distance. He knelt down directly in front of Sariel and spoke.

“The army of the Lord came to earth to purge the land of unbelievers and after a while they became bored and looked around them. They gazed upon the beauty of the female humans around them and thought it would be a good idea to fuck most of them. Even their commander became captivated by a female, didn’t you?”

Luke grinned, stood up and walked to the edge of the hill. He pointed towards the land below and turned back round to face Sariel.

“The females became pregnant and spawned huge, out of this world children. Some called them giants and some called them the Nephilim, the spawn of mortal and angel. You might have got away this but the Nephilim rebelled and stuck two fingers up to their superiors who were really pissed about this. The commanders were summoned, minus one of course, and told that one of them would have to lead a small army to kill all the women and children in this area and wipe out the Nephilim. Michael volunteered because he considered himself duty bound and also because he was the biggest arse licker. The plan is to flood the area by cracking the ground beneath the straits to the north and causing the sea to flood the area and take care of anything that wasn’t from another world. This would leave the rest on high ground at the mercy of Michael’s team. They would kill anything remaining, human, animal or Nephilim, leaving only the occupants of that ridiculous wooden monstrosity alive. That’s presuming the thing actually floats of course. That’s why you need me to arrange a place for Rebekah on there isn’t it?”

Sariel nodded and got to his feet. Luke turned and looked back towards the ark on the hill.

“I have already arranged it for you. The old man has agreed to reserve a place for her but he does not know she is pregnant. You may speak.”

“Thank you, Luke,” said Sariel.

“Ah, don’t thank me yet because there is a price.” Luke pointed at the ark.

“Men of god,” he said then turned and pointed at Sariel, “Servant of god.” He pointed towards the bottom of the hill at Volkane. “Dark assassin”. Finally, he twisted around and pointed gleefully at himself. “Bad fucker.”

“The price, without the dramatics please,” said Sariel.

Luke felt inside his pocket and produced a small vial.

“The ark is full of men mainly and most of them are builders and carpenters who have earned a place on there by building it. They will most likely float around with nothing to do for some time. On that ship there will be a striking woman travelling alone. She will probably be the way those god-fearing men pass their time before throwing her into the water. For that reason I have assigned a bodyguard to her.”

“A bodyguard, who?” asked Sariel.

A cough behind him made him turn and face a black figure waving two hands at him; Volkane.

“Please tell me this is a joke,” said Sariel.

“He has no love for you but he does look upon me as a friend. Volkane will protect Rebekah until the ark finds land again. There are three options of course. Yourself, but Michael will track you and kill her. Me, but the old man can’t have me on the ark when Michael visits can he. Michael would set fire to it and kill everyone on board, then laugh at me swimming through the waters. Volkane is the only option. Michael will not detect him when he checks the ark, and there isn’t a man alive who can fight him. There is however one small problem. Rebekah needs protection day and night, which is why we have to fill the vial.”

Luke popped the top off the vial and beckoned Sariel towards him.

“If we do this, he will spawn a race of killers harvesting humans for their food no longer hampered by the sunlight. Is that a price worth paying?” asked Sariel.

“That’s a question for you, not for me,” said Luke. “It might help to know that only Volkane will have the gift. Third party transfusions will change nothing.”

Sariel drew his sword from sheath and cut across the palm of his hand with the blade. The golden blood oozed from the cut and dripped into the vial. Volkane gasped behind Sariel and breathed deeply.

“A little less of the pervy breathing please,” said Sariel.

Luke held the vial up to the light.

“Blood of angels, the mother of day walkers.” He laughed. “You can go now. Bring Rebekah to the foot of that hill at dusk. Volkane will be there waiting to escort her. Don’t speak.”

Sariel nodded towards Luke and turned to descend the hill.

Volkane waited for him to disappear from view then said to Luke.

“I’ll guard the woman with my life but if none of them try to harm her can I just kill one or two of them anyway.”

Luke put the vial in his pocket and shook his head. Grabbing Volkane by the shoulders and smiling, he said, “You can kill the whole lot for me. Remember, I’m the one who doesn’t give a fuck.”

Rebekah sat in the small shack nursing a cup of hot milk with her hands and sipping slowly. Sariel had been gone all day and still there was no sign of him. Dusk was fast approaching and normally he would not have left her side. She stood up and walked towards the door. Sariel had told her not to leave the shack but she needed to look outside, maybe he was coming in the distance. She opened the door and looked outside. The sun was setting in the sky, blood red and slowly submerging behind the mountains. The wind was growing fiercer and outside men and women were hurriedly gathering their children and belongings, taking them inside to safety. A man ran past with two small children, he turned to Rebekah and said, “Stay inside. Have you not seen it? The storm is coming, listen to the wind.”

Rebekah looked further down the valley, opposite to where the sun was setting. In the distance, the sky was completely black, the only light being the small forks of lightning that danced across the sky. The wind howled and thunder rumbled, faintly at first but gradually becoming louder. She turned back towards the house only to run straight into the man running towards her.

“Sariel,” she gasped.

“What did I tell you? Get back inside it’s not safe without me here.”

Sariel grabbed Rebekah and ran into the shack, closing the door behind them. He sat her down and hugged her before kneeling in front of her.

“We don’t have much time so listen carefully. They are coming to cleanse the land. They are coming to cleanse the land of everyone. There is one exception. On the hill, the old man has built an ark and those granted passage on it will survive. I have managed to get you a place on there.”

“He has got you this place hasn’t he? How can you trust him? Do you know what we call him?”

“He hates the men of light more than anything. Our child is an abomination to them and Luke sees it as a way of insulting them once more. He also knows that I am in his debt now and he has already made me pay a price for this.”

“What of you? Will I ever see you again? Who will protect us?”

“Of course you will see me again but I cannot be on the ark. They come to punish me for my misdeeds but it cannot be death. I will wait until the storm is over and you find land again. They detect the nephilim but not the unborn child; you will be quite safe, but just to be sure Luke has provided a guardian for you. The light will not detect him as anything other than human. Luke has guarded against that, so if anyone asks, you are to say he is your husband. Is that clear?”

Rebekah nodded.

“His name is Volkane. Rebekah, he is not mortal and should he be required to protect you, you should look away and cover your eyes and ears. It’s not pretty when he kills someone. He is bound by Luke to protect you, so do not worry, he will not harm you. He waits for you at the bottom of the hill. Now come, we will survive this and meet again shortly.”

Sariel swept the weeping woman into his arms and kissed her warmly.

“I love you. Don’t worry. No one will harm you.”

They both left the shack, entering the golden landscape of sunset and crackling skies. Men and women desperately tried to tie down belongings, children cried and screamed, animals howled and shrieked, and all the while, the drumming of the thunder grew louder.

Volkane sat at the foot of the hill, tapping his foot.

“C’mon,” he muttered impatiently.

The two figures came running into view.

“One man and his monkey,” he scoffed.

Sariel ran to Volkane and gestured to him to take the woman’s hand.

“Take good care of her or I swear…”

“I will kill anyone who so much as sniffs her. After all, I owe you the daylight. I will not fail you.”

Rebekah sobbed uncontrollably.

“When…..”

Sariel put his fingers to her lips.

“Ssssh, soon, very soon, now go with Volkane and hurry. I love you.”

He turned and ran back towards the darkness. Volkane grabbed Rebekah and ran up the hill. He paid no heed to the sobbing coming from her; he just focused his eyes on the wooden structure at the top and guided her towards it without stopping once. At the top of the hill, two men dressed in heavy leather armour stood in the way of the ark whilst behind them an old man watched Volkane and Rebekah intensely.

“Stop!” said the first guard. “Where do you think you are going?”

The old man gestured at the guards and addressed the couple.

“I have one place available, for a woman, I was told. I have no place available for sons of the night. Leave the woman and go.”

“I am this woman’s guardian and I have sworn to protect her. You will grant passage for me as well,” said Volkane.

The first guard stood in front of Volkane.

“You heard the man, fuck off! Leave the woman though, we will take very good care of her,” he said.

“Tell me what you did before you became a guard to this…ermm log?” asked Volkane. “Why does a fool like you get passage on this vessel?”

“I helped build this thing. I am a carpenter by trade. That’s why. Now fuck off!” said the guard.

“The ark is completed and your purpose served then,” said Volkane.

Snarling, Volkane ripped his sword from his sheath and swung the blade at lightning speed, neatly cutting the man in half through the waist. The man’s torso fell down the hillside; Volkane kicked the still standing legs down the hill to follow the rest of the man.

“You have a vacancy I believe?” he said to the old man.

The old man pointed the second guard towards the ark; the now crying guard turned and ran, the unmistakable smell of urine, faeces and fear, trailing him in the wind.

Noah looked at Volkane and without smiling said, “Welcome.”

Sariel raced towards the second hill, his sword drawn, his mindset focused on the inevitable confrontation with The Light. The wind was severe now and the rumbling in the distance was no longer the sound of thunder; it was the sound of something else, something darker, and something more destructive. He raced to the top of the hill and ran straight into the figures dressed in steel and faceless helmets that waited at the top. He stopped and lowered his sword; he knew resistance was futile.

“Lord Sariel. It’s completely bloody brilliant to see you again. Come here and give me a big hug.”

The figure emerged from the shadow, dressed head to toe in silver, complete with silver shield, golden hair and boyish good looks.

“Michael,” snarled Sariel.

“Thanks to Our Lord that you have come here so quickly. We were getting so fucked off chucking mortals off here. Of course, there was the occasional Nephilim to kill but even that is a little dull. Oh, quickly, come here and look at this, it’s absolutely bloody brilliant.”

Sariel was ushered towards Michael who pointed towards the darkness now right on top of them. A wall of black water almost as high as the hill itself rushed inland at great speed. It smashed into the houses and dwellings below, ripping them apart and ejecting their occupants into the rampaging waters. All life crushed and drowned swiftly, whilst those on higher ground were slaughtered and despatched into the newly formed seas by the cackling armies of God. Michael stood upright and lifted his hands towards the skies.

“Deliver us from evil, Lord.” He shouted maniacally.

Lightning seared from the storm clouds, electrifying the ocean below, turning struggling survivors clinging to wreckage and each other into black husks and screaming balls of fire. The fusion of debris and flesh smouldered on the waters like a flotilla of death.

“This is your justice, this is our civilization?” screamed Sariel.

“Fuck yeah!” grinned Michael.

“Animals!” roared Sariel.

“Gods!” retorted Michael. “Hold him fast; by his genitals if necessary.”

The others restrained Sariel and marched him to Michael.

“Lord Sariel, commander of the forces of The Light. I have orders to return you to Heaven to face charges of mutiny and conspiracy to fornicate. Do you have anything to say?”

“Fuck off,” said Sariel calmly.

The cylindrical light hit the hill, surrounding Sariel with a golden glow. His form shimmered in the intense light before disappearing in sparks. The light was gone just as quickly as it came, but in the skies above the dull drone of thunder played its song as Michael turned to his men.

“We have work to do and only forty days to do it. Kill anything that lives unless it’s in the ark of course. I don’t care what you do or how you do it but there are two rules. If you run into Luke do not challenge him, just return to me, and secondly; no fucking the humans.”

In the bleak conditions of the ark, Volkane felt the waters lift the vessel. Despite the intensity of the storm and the force of the water that thrust the ark into the newly formed sea, Volkane held the still sobbing Rebekah and brushed her hair gently. Despite what Sariel may think of him, he had feelings too and genuinely felt sorry for the woman. He too had known loneliness, death, grief, and the loss of everyone and everything you had ever known and loved. Luke had saved him and given him direction again because Luke knew all this too. Luke had probably suffered more than anyone else in this world and understood. Luke also knew when to kill and when not too, as well as how to do it for greatest effect. This knowledge he had shared with Volkane and the other officers of The Forsaken and Volkane just knew he would get a chance to demonstrate this on this godly boat ride.

The smell of damp wood, rats, straw, piss and shit irritated Volkane’s nostrils immensely. He had been on this floating turd for twenty days. Sleep was impossible, the noise of the animals was incessant and the thunder and wind added weight to the chaos. The old man gave them a cupboard hole with a simple wooden lock and brought them bare rations to eat. He knocked three times and then paused before knocking twice more, so that they knew it was him. He kept the woman safe from the men onboard in this way in the same way he kept his daughters safe. Volkane knew he had left the vial alone too long to be safe though. Not only that but his blood was burning, he could feel it coursing through his veins and the hunger grew and grew, he needed a transfusion soon and if he didn’t do this he would die slowly and painfully as his blood turned to dust in his veins. The woman was not an option, even if it meant his death, he knew and respected that. The contents of the vial needed diluting and the only way to do that was to feed at the same time he drank the vial. He moved towards the woman, beckoning her to stand. Rebekah stood and shrugged her shoulders at her guardian, a question without speech.

“I…We, have no time to delay. I need you to do something for me that might seem wrong to you. It might seem a risk as well but you have to trust me that it isn’t,” said Volkane.

Rebekah shrugged her shoulders again.

“I need you to attract one of the men outside into here for me. Once that is done you must look away and cover your ears, I will do the rest.”

“Why? What do you mean to do?” Rebekah asked.

“Kill him, wait for the night and then throw the corpse overboard,” replied Volkane in a matter of fact manner.

“Why? No….I mean I can’t do that. Why would you want to kill one of them, what have they done to you?”

“I need to do this so that we both can survive. What makes you think they would not hurt you, why do you think we lock ourselves in here, why does the old man insist on this? If we take the lock off that door and I leave you alone they would fuck you in the arse, probably all at the same time until you bled to death or screamed to loudly, then throw you screaming into the waters. God fearing men every one of them, huh?”

Volkane paused and studied Rebekah.

“He didn’t tell you what I am, did he?” he said.

“What are you then?” Rebekah asked.

Volkane knelt in front of her and began to unravel the black membrane from his face. Slowly and deliberately, he freed his features from their prison, so that Rebekah may see her guardian.

Rebekah watched mesmerised as he pulled the last strip away and stared into his eyes.

Volkane looked about thirty years old and sported a large amount of unruly hair as black as the night. His eyes were midnight blue and his asinine features and aquiline nose made Rebekah think that this might possibly be the most handsome man she had ever seen. Only the pale complexion of his skin and the slightly more pronounced top lip were not perfect.

Rebekah shrugged once again.

“I don’t understand, I’m sorry, I thought that maybe you were deformed or scarred in some way because you always hid your face,” she said.

Volkane smiled and looked at her. Rebekah felt that no woman would resist this man; he was quite simply beautiful.

Volkane spoke.

“There are two reasons that I hide my face. One: look at my complexion, the sun has never touched this face, it has never tanned, but it has never aged. The rays of the sun burn me as scalding water would burn you; I would last minutes at the most. The second reason is…”

Volkane drew back his hood and opened his mouth in a snarl. Two huge incisors now protruded fully, gleaming white and reflective. She recoiled in terror and moved quickly away from her but Volkane was back with her in an instant.

“What are you?” she gasped.

“A corruption in truth, however some call my kind nightwalkers, parasites, children of the night, but more commonly…vampire.”

“I thought they were just stories, fantasy, now I know they are not,” said Rebekah.

“Your husband and his armies pursued my kind, and others who were not deemed necessary for this planet, to the brink of extinction. The unwanted by-products of evolution that The Light had no need for, the ants in your garden, the wasps that fly around your head, the mites that live in your bed. They looked to wipe us from the face of the planet and they still do but Luke saved us. He hid us from them and now he builds an army to fight back and free the planet from persecution and slavery and defeat The Light.”

Volkane retracted the fangs and moved back towards the darkness but did not replace the membrane, he merely smiled at Rebekah and removed the wooden bar from the door saying, “Now you must contribute and make sure we both live. Please.”

There was no need for Rebekah to move towards the door, it swung open violently, nearly flying off its hinges. One man stood with his blade to Volkane’s throat.

“You move one inch and I’ll cut your fucking head off pretty boy,” he said.

Volkane did nothing. The second man pressed against Rebekah. The man ran his hands up and down her.

“Thought you’d never open the door, princess, me and Baria over there been bursting for a bit of action, but the old man kept you in here; spoil sport. Now let’s have a look at what we’ve got.”

Rebekah’s clothes were ripped from her and the man stood back to enjoy the naked female form in front of him. Rubbing his groin, he spoke to his friend.

“Don’t know which hole to fuck first. What do you think?” he asked, but there was no reply, only the sound of gurgling and hissing. The man turned to ask his friend the question once again. Baria stood expressionless facing the man, blood trickling down his shirt. Volkane’s fangs were buried deep in Baria’s neck but his eyes focused unflinchingly on Rebkah’s assailant. He dropped the empty and lifeless Baria to the ground.

“Haven’t had a good suck in ages,” he said smiling at the transfixed man.

Rebekah felt the whoosh of air pass her ear and heard the scream of her assailant as Volkane slit the man’s throat with a very sharp fingernail. Volkane produced the vial from his pocket and whispered into the bleeding man’s ear.

“I just love cocktails.”

Downing the contents of the vial, he bit through the man’s neck, half-eating through it. Volkane could scarcely contain himself; he had not fed for days and could not help but rip the man’s head apart as he replenished his blood. He felt the burning start to subside as it was replaced by a strange sensation. Ice-like cold fed through his body and began to bite into his head. He felt himself losing consciousness and felt afraid. He had never been so scared, he was dying, how could this be? Luke had promised. The vampire collapsed to the floor and watched the walls and ceiling of the small room fade from his view, the world around him receding into the distance.

“Get the old man and get rid of the bodies,” he hissed at Rebekah before lying completely still on the floor.

Rebekah reached for her torn clothes and covered herself as best she could, she moved towards Volkane who was not breathing. She looked at the mess of blood and flesh on the floor. How could she clean this up, what would she do with the bodies, how would she survive without Volkane?

“Leave them girl, I will clean this mess up. Take yourself to my daughters, they will let you wash yourself and give you new clothes. I am sorry about your friend, but in truth he was not meant for this world,” said a voice from the doorway.

The old man stood there, beckoning her to leave quickly. Rebekah gazed upon the lifeless face of Volkane, who looked even more handsome in death than he did in life. She bent over and whispered just once in his ear.

“Thank you,” she said.

Thirty-Nine days had passed on the boat and the storms had settled, giving way to glorious sunshine and clear blue skies, the waters had subsided and land was beginning to emerge once more into view. Noah looked at the skies and cursed the golden haired angel. Michael had visited the vessel not once during the whole drama. He gazed across the ocean and surveyed the horizon, contemplating where he would land the ark and disembark. The silent change in the air behind him informed him of the supernatural presence behind him. Noah turned to face the missing angel.

“You were lucky there old man,” said Michael. “I could have fucked you in the arse and flew off before you could shout hallelujah. Word of advice; never lean over the side of a boat with your arse unprotected.”

Noah didn’t laugh; he just looked at Michael with an expression of disdain.

“You were supposed to check on the ark and make sure everything was alright,” he said.

“And I did old man, but from afar. Destruction and conservation is thirsty work, no time for fucking about on a boat. Why, did something happen, some problem I should know of?”

“Nothing at all,” said Noah. “Absolutely the most uneventful time I have ever spent anywhere.”

“The mountain over there will be your landing point,” said Michael. “The waters will be gone tomorrow and you’ll be able to land. It’s over and I would like to say thanks very much for your help. I hope your men have not been fucking the goats?”

Noah said nothing.

“I’ll just quickly take a look around the deck, if I may, before I go, I take it that meets with your approval,” said Michael.

Noah gestured for Michael to explore the boat and turned back to gaze towards the water.

Michael surveyed the deck and smiled at the children playing together in the sunlight. A ball bounced and landed near his foot. Picking it up, he returned it to the child and smiled. He looked up and moved across the deck. The men were moving some of the animals and cleaning the decks, laughing and joking. He heard the laughing of a woman towards the rear of the boat and peered around to take a closer look. She sat laughing at something the man she was hugging had said. The man leaned towards her and said something else in her ear and once more, she giggled playfully.

Quite obviously, lovers, Michael moved towards them, entranced by the beauty of the woman. The man was dressed in only a wrap around cloth, which covered his manhood and backside, and was tanned and muscular. From behind, Michael marvelled at his gleaming black hair tied neatly in a tail behind him.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you but you really are the most attractive couple I have ever seen,” said Michael.

The woman smiled at Michael and the man turned to greet him. Michael gasped as the man faced him. The most handsome features complimented his tanned face and blue eyes, and when he smiled at Michael, he knew that this was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Michael quickly regained his composure and addressed the couple.

“Forgive me, I forget my manners. Let me introduce myself, I am Michael,” he said.

“Rebekah,” said the woman. Michael smiled and kissed her hand. He turned towards the man now offering his hand to Michael.

“And you are?” asked Michael.

“Volkane,” said the man. “They call me Volkane.”

CHAPTER 4

DENIAL

“The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.”

MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO

The chase at the lake had delayed Mark and Jacks’ visit to the hospital, ending only when the Ironman plunged to a watery grave. Their arrival at the hospital would not provide much relief for Jack however, as he had no great love for these buildings.

Hospitals were grey, depressing places, eternally dark and doomy despite modern-day attempts to brighten them up and fill them with light. The perfect squares and rectangles of ordered design complimented by ramps built for wheelchair access and wide double swing doors to allow wheeled beds easy passage. They gave no joy or sense of relief to Jack and he could not put his finger on why he hated them so much. He had never been ill, other than a cold or childhood illness, and he had never visited sick or elderly relatives in a hospital. He came from a single parent background, abandoned in childhood by his blood mother to an array of foster parents before finally seeing out his journey to manhood in state care. Despite all this he still remembered his mother with amazing clarity, a beautiful woman with an intelligence and foresight that few other people he knew possessed, which made it even more incomprehensible to Jack when she held his shoulders tightly one day and told him that the time had come for her to leave. She told him that one day he would understand why and though her heart told her to stay her head knew it was impossible.

Well Jack was a lot older now and he had seen and done a lot, but he still didn’t understand why he was left alone. The fact that he was left to his own devices did explain why he had never frequented hospitals however, because he was never that sick and there wasn’t anyone to visit.

Mark was walking alongside him in that excited irritable manner he had when a case started to unfold, his smaller strides struggling to match the larger and effortless strides of Jack’s. They approached the reception and flashed their badges at the smiling woman, who pointed them towards a private room where they could meet Doctor Mason outside before interviewing the patient. Jack couldn’t resist the urge to kick the double doors open at every available opportunity before they arrived at the room where Mason was waiting in a long white coat that actually covered his shoes. Mason was a balding, black-haired man with dark spectacles and an unshaven chin, an average build and a disarming smile. Mason stretched out his hand to the two, who took turns to shake his hand warmly and exchange pleasantries.

“Before you go in and talk to Father Donato there are a few things you should know,” Mason said. He scratched his head and looked down at the floor before composing himself and speaking again. “He had wounds to his hands and legs where the nails had obviously been driven through, but remarkably those wounds have almost healed now, leaving just scarring. Now we don’t think the Father is Superman and we are pretty sure he’s not Wolverine either, so we can’t explain this.” He smiled at the two agents. “That’s obviously something that interests us medically but no less strange is his power of recall which is something that is going to interest you and unfortunately it’s not good news.”

“Doc, you’re not going to tell us he’s got amnesia are you?” asked Mark.

“No it’s not that. He has perfect recall of everything that has happened to him. How he was lured there and by who, the conversation that took place and the appalling torture inflicted upon him but…gentlemen have you ever heard of the condition called prosopagnosia?”

Mark did his excitable jumping up and down and opened his eyes wider in acknowledgement.

“Yes, of course, we thought he might have something like that, proso….prosy….of course we haven’t heard of proso…”

“Prosopagnosia,” the doctor interrupted. “Basically it’s a condition where the patient has no illness and all other functions are normal. Mental agility, speech, hearing, reading, recognition of objects, physical movement, all are perfectly normal, except that they cannot recognise faces. More importantly, the Father in there seems to have selective prosopagnosia. He recalled me and my staff perfectly after we first met, he recognises faces in newspapers and magazines but…..he has spoken of his attacker many times now as you might expect, and every single time his description of him has been different; blond-haired, black-haired, ginger, black, white, Asian, tall, short, fat. It really is quite remarkable.”

“Fucking great,” said Mark.

He turned around and looked at Jack before taking out his phone and hitting the keys.

“Better call the cavalry in. Jack, there’s someone I want you to meet but we can go and talk to the priest meanwhile.”

Mark made the call, asking the receiver to meet them at the hospital whilst Mason opened the door to the small private room, where propped up in bed with a couple of heavy pillows lay a very healthy looking Father Nick.

Mark introduced Jack and himself to the Father, and then said the opening words he wished he hadn’t.

“How are you feeling, Father?”

“Great, just great,” said the priest. “I’ve been beaten up, poisoned and held hostage by some psychotic lunatic who then decided to nail me to a log cabin. Just great, thanks for asking.”

“I’m sorry Father, I didn’t mean to offend you,” said a wincing Mark. “Why did you go to the log cabin?”

“I’ve already told the other guys this and I really don’t want this getting out, okay?” Nick said.

“You have my word father,” Mark said.

“I had a phone call from an associate of mine, David Nardiello, or so I thought. A family heirloom was stolen from me a couple of days before and well, David apologised for this. He had taken it to get revenge on me but obviously felt guilty and wanted to return it to me without any fuss. He suggested we meet at the log cabin and he would return it to me, I agreed, it was as simple as that.”

“Was it David who attacked you,” asked Mark.

“That’s just it; it wasn’t David at all when I got there. It was this short, fat guy with ginger hair and a beard going on about how he was a Roman centurion and he needed me for a ritual. Oh yeah, and apparently I am Pontius Pilate and he’s known me for years. Guy was a complete psycho, I tried to reason with him but he wasn’t having any of it. I….”

The knock at the door interrupted Nick and he stopped to allow the new arrival to enter the room. Helen Fisher was a criminal psychologist working for the FBI and was widely acknowledged as the best in her field. She was 5’6” tall with short auburn hair and glowing green eyes. High cheekbones draped an evenly tanned faced, her medium frame tightly enclosed within a very smart grey suit and white shirt.

“Gentlemen, this is Helen, she has gathered information for us and been trying to piece it altogether. I thought it best she was here as she can answer a lot of the questions we have, including yours Father,” Mark said.

Helen smiled and squeezed between the two men before turning to speak to Jack.

“My you’re a big one aren’t you?” Helen said.

Jack didn’t know where to look and felt his face flushing a bright red. A huge juggernaut of a man reduced to the red-faced guilt of a small child. Mark did little to help the situation either.

“Isn’t he?” he said. “Comes in disappointing proportions though, trust me.”

Helen smiled and turned back to look at Jack. Jack’s eyes fixed on Mark with a steely gaze.

Helen laughed and put the A4 size envelope folder she had under her arm on the table next to her.

“Father, Helen would like to question you now, if that’s okay with you, she’s been around the site and interviewed some people who have information about your assault. She also has some information that you might not be aware of,” Mark said.

Father Nick nodded his head in approval and Helen sat right beside him on the small plastic chair by the bed.

“You say David Nardiello called you on your mobile phone but it wasn’t him who greeted you at the cabin. Can you describe the man you met to me?” Helen asked.

“Yes of course. He was a tall guy with short blond hair and a pale complexion. I will never forget his green eyes staring at me either,” said Nick.

Jack stared at Mark and raised both eyebrows but Mark was too busy silently thumping his own forehead with his fist.

“What did the man say to you about David, as he wasn’t there, and what did he call himself?” continued Helen.

“He said David was dead,” Nick said, struggling to hold back the tears. “He said I did it, he must have thrown himself in front of a train. He said he did a really good impression of him to get me there.”

“Why would you have caused David’s death? Why would a strange man, you have never seen before, accuse you of that? Helen asked.

“I can’t tell you that, I’m sorry but I’m not prepared to tell you anything about that. This guy knew nothing, he was completely insane, probably read an obituary somewhere and thought this was a way of getting to me but I have no clue why he would want to hurt me,” retorted Nick.

“And yet, there was a reason he blamed you for David’s death, else you would have nothing to keep silent about. Father, I don’t want to seem blunt but if you are withholding information, we will dig an awful lot deeper and anything you are trying to hide will leak into the public domain especially if we actually catch the guy and this goes to trial. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Helen said, with a solemn air.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Nick replied. “Listen, regarding what I’m about to tell you, nothing must leave these four walls, do you understand? I’m a Catholic priest and this would ruin my family and me. Please keep this quiet if you can. I need you to promise.”

“Okay, there’s no need to worry. We won’t be broadcasting anything you tell us in confidence Father,” Helen assured him.

The two men behind her both nodded their heads in agreement and Nick continued.

“David and I were having an affair. So now you know why I was reluctant to tell you. We met when we were restoring parts of the church. He is a wealthy young man, mainly because there isn’t much he doesn’t know about restoration and work comes easily to him. To cut a long story short it became more and more difficult to keep this a secret and I decided to break up with David and not give up my calling.”

The priest shuffled his body upwards to sit up straight using the pillows before continuing. “He said David had killed himself because we had broken up.”

“David isn’t dead Father, he is very much alive,” Helen said. “I have contacted him and I can tell you now that I believe it was David who phoned you.”

“What are you saying? Thank god, he’s alive, but why would David call me and who was the guy at the cabin? Why steal the chalice and then just give it back to me,” said the priest.

“David would have been very angry and upset when you finished the relationship. From what I'm told about security at the church and your home, he would have easy access to the chalice. Do you think he would have taken the chalice to force you into a meeting, I understand it is a very precious and valuable family heirloom,” said Helen.

“No, why would he hurt me like that? He stole the chalice and set me up for a meeting with some mad man to crucify me? That’s just insane,” said an indignant Nick.

“The mobile number wasn’t known to you but the voice was. We couldn’t find the mobile phone and he denied making a call to you, but you were sure it was actually his voice, and so am I. I also think that they deliberately made this whole assault flawed so that you would know who did it, but they also knew that you would deny everything. After all you are a man of God aren’t you father?”

The priest looked at Helen and started to laugh.

“You’re quite right of course. So David hires someone to torture but not kill me and then says, look it was me and you dare not admit it.”

“We can pull him now and prosecute him; you only have to say the word. What happened to you was inhuman; surely you want to see justice done?” Helen asked.

“No young lady, I don’t. What I want is to be forgiven for my sins by our Creator, leave this hospital, and continue to do His work and spread His word. This was punishment and it has focused my mind and revitalised my soul. Now where were we, oh yeah, I seriously don’t remember a thing,” said a smiling Father Nick.

Jack lurched across to the bed, putting both hands on the footrest he snarled at the priest.

“Do you know what happened there today, do you? After the local police pulled you down and sent you to hospital, another mad man turned up on a bike and slaughtered them. He blew up the cabin and when we chased him, he took a suicidal turn into the bottom of the lake. Now who was he and what did he want? Did he want you father? I suggest you seriously remember right now.”

Nick looked incredulous at Jack.

“What? I don’t know anything about this I swear. Yesterday I was a priest who had let his morals slip and now today I’m responsible for slaughter? I won’t admit anything to you about David but I swear to you I know nothing about this person you say turned up after I’d gone. Did he shoot the madman too?” he asked.

Jack shook his head and stepped back from Nick.

“No Father, your attacker was long gone before he arrived.”

“Leave it Jack,” said Mark and gestured for him to leave the room with Helen. The doctor remained in the room with the priest and once outside Jack watched the physician calming the priest back down. Looking through the blinds he realised that the sudden panic etched across the priest’s face was not a result of his deception, but more a result of hearing about the disturbing events after his arrival at hospital. Jack sighed and turned back towards Mark who was muttering with Helen.

“Something you guys want to tell me?” Jack asked. “We have a priest who doesn’t know anything, although we know he does. Every time he describes his attacker, he gives us a different description and on top of that, you pull me out of there after I touch a nerve. We’ve barely begun to question him but you decide that’s enough.”

Jack pointed at Mark, “Now you tell me to get back in there and find out what’s going on or I’m done with this shit, you understand me Mark?”

Mark shifted uncomfortably.

“You can’t go back in there, it’s pointless,” he said.

“Well I’m off back to bed then or maybe a few beers and some TV, oh and next time you get a weird case, either leave it to me or don’t bother fucking calling.” Jack rasped.

“Jack, wait, you don’t understand,” said Mark. Jack had already started down the hallway towards the lift but turned around immediately and threw his arms open.

“What don’t I understand?” he asked.

“We have more information, so we don’t need the priest. Helen was tracking this kind of thing before today, it's not the first weird thing to happen just lately and well….well she should explain,” said Mark, gesturing to Helen.

“I’m all ears,” Jack said.

“Oh I think there’s much more to you than that Jack,” smiled Helen. She took out the contents of the A4 binder and passed them to him.

“For some time now there have been a string of shall we say, strange events both here and abroad. Severe weather and isolated pockets of freak storms have often accompanied these events as well. Today we have had the crucifixion of a priest. In Texas, a man claims he was chased by a pack of wolves down a mountain road before he eventually escaped. In Paris, thieves with super speed, according to the security guard, stole an entire blood bank from a hospital there. The gendarmerie might well have laughed all the way to the interview room with him, if it wasn't for security footage that just showed black speed blurs and blood disappearing from the lab refrigerators. In England a man took a video on his phone of an angel apparently descending to earth in a bright light and put it on YouTube,” Helen said.

“I saw that, it was a fake. The guy was discredited and got his account banned,” said Jack.

Helen shook her head and smiled.

“No it was genuine, but the British can’t afford stuff like that doing the rounds anymore than we can. So they altered it a little and got in experts to discredit and ridicule it, when the truth is they couldn’t explain it.”

“What has this got to do with the good father and his best kept secret?” asked Jack.

“I believe I know who assaulted him,” said Helen.

Jack’s eyes widened and he threw his arms wide before slapping them hard on the side of his legs. He turned and drew one hand down over his mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he asked.

“We needed to see if the priest knew anything which might help and to be honest it just added to the confusion. There is CCTV footage of the picnic area nearby. I have photos and a media player here, so you can check this out for yourself. We interviewed the maintenance guy at that area and he said he didn’t notice anything unusual, anything that didn’t fit. He said the only thing that stood out was two guys who put their music on too loudly by mistake, but they seemed nice enough when he had to get by them to empty the bins. Jack, he said they were at the far end of the area, but when we checked the footage, there was only one guy there. We showed this to him but he swore blind that there must be a fault because there were definitely two guys there. Not only that but when we checked other footage you can see a man emerging from the bushes across the road. Now why would someone be in those bushes, unless of course they had come down the hill from the log cabins up there,” she said.

“Maybe he needed a piss,” Jack said.

“Toilet facilities are good and there are no queues. He knocked on the door of the van waiting in the lay-by, jumped in and they drove off.”

“And this proves what exactly?” asked Jack.

“Nothing on its own,” Helen said. “But when the old man saw this, he told us this was the guy sat at the table. The man who came out of the bushes was the invisible man, Jack.”

Jack stood silently, trying to take all this in. It had been a weird day but this was all fantasy. Had they really dragged him all the way down here to sift aimlessly through this stuff when he could be helping find out who the Ironman was? He looked pleadingly at Helen.

“I know what you’re thinking but I can explain why this is so important. Mark and I believe that the guy coming out of the bushes can tell us who sent the ironman. Trouble is we can’t prove anything and Mark thinks that you and I should investigate this further,” said Helen.

“Okay if we can get that murdering son of bitch through him then I want to know more,” Jack said. “Where are we going to?”

“England,” said Helen. “His name is Adam Blake; he makes his money through archaeology. He is noted for his ability to pinpoint historical sites, incredibly accurately, and dig them up. Roman gold, ancient Briton gold, Aztec artefacts, you name it, he’s dug it up. He is incredibly wealthy, and usually nearby whenever something weird in the world occurs, with the exception of the events in Texas. The guy waiting for him in the lay-by is his sidekick Victor; they are both English and they live just outside London. I’ve asked Mark if you and I can both go to England. There are people we need to speak to and I believe it’s the only way to find out what’s really going on here.”

“Jesus, I don’t want to go all the way to England. Why me anyway?” asked Jack.

“You realise they call you Fox don’t you Jack?” Mark asked.

“Oh fucking hell. Fox Mulder? It’s just because of the X-File shit I do then?” laughed Jack. “And I suppose you want to be Scully?” he said looking at Helen.

“Mulder and Scully, why not?” said Mark.

“Because I like it right here in the good old U S of A and do not want to go to England that’s why, I’m allergic to rain,” said Jack. “You got a picture of this Blake guy in here?” he asked waving a loosely held collection of photos and printouts.

“Yes,” said Helen, taking out a photo of Adam Blake and holding it in front of Jack’s face.

“So when we going to England?” said Jack.

Helen and Mark just looked at each other and smiled.

Jack just stood there, silently looking at the photo of the man who always told him to push in his nightmares.

CHAPTER 5

ISOLATION

“Here is wisdom.

Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast:

for it is the number of a man;

and his number is six hundred threescore and six.”

Revelation 13:18

65 Ma ago

He sat in the dim light of the cave, the small fire flickering reluctantly, but nudged into just enough turmoil every now and again to keep him warm. Behind the foliage that covered the small opening of his new home, the sun struggled to rise and show through the dust-ridden sky.

Soon he must venture outside again and somehow replenish his food stocks, despite the dangers from both atmosphere and beasts, if there was anything still alive.

The cave itself had a small stream that maintained a supply of water and as far as he could tell this remained largely unpolluted and safe to drink. The temperature outside remained bitterly cold and he was thankful for the clothing that protected him from the biting of the frost and the numbness that would otherwise prevail upon his fingers and toes.

Across his face, he wore a thin wrap that shielded him from the cold and dust tears that he would surely suffer without it. He got to his feet and walked towards the longest part of the cave where a slice of almost perfectly straight and smooth rock stood, and picked up the greyish chalk on the floor, before marking yet another straight line to notch up the appearance of another day.

The problem with survival was not just the provision of food to prevent starvation and protection against the severe weather but also the wrestling with the boredom and the preservation of one’s own sanity, when the only company you had was the weak fire and the chalk lines on the rock face.

He had persevered so far, managing to guess correctly when to leave the cave and trek across the decaying, death laden landscape in search of safe food.

It occurred to him that without the sporadic expeditions into the dangerous world outside the cave, he would have nothing to keep him going or give him purpose. There was another reason to keep him going though, although he doubted revenge should have such a prominent position in his thinking at this time. Abandoned to live in isolation on this once green island, brimming with life; he felt the urge to scream; “But I was right.”

He resisted the urge, as who would hear him other than himself or some dying and desperate predator searching desperately for good food. Rustling, he heard rustling and the heavy breathing of winter at his doorway; just the foliage resisting the imperfections of the freezing wind he told himself and settled back down on one elbow in front of the fire, with one ear carefully listening for any other abnormal sounds that might indicate danger.

He listened for hours and despite the odd gust of cold air disturbing the leaves and thin branches, no predator made an appearance and no friend appeared wearing the smile of salvation. He drifted back off to sleep and dreamt of a world where comfort surrounded him and the communication of others was an all too frequent interruption to moments of tranquillity. He dreamt of leading his men into battle against the apparently invincible armies of The Light, and standing on the brink of victory before the burning lights entered the skyline and ruptured the surface of the planet. He tried to save those nearest to him; helplessly watching them dissolve in the heat, their frail bodies fracturing from the pressure of the explosion, their faces disappearing underneath the grasping hands of the water that claimed them for a different reality.

He reached out, trying to grip hands that disappeared into the new oceans and shouted warnings to the faces that melted in the blistering heat .Then, he woke up screaming once again, struggling to regain proper consciousness and regain his composure in this bleak solitude.

He looked around the cave, quickly making sure that all was as it had been before his dream world had taken hold of him. He stretched the wrap around his face until only his eyes were visible. The cloth had been soaked in a small container full of blue liquid, which would provide him some protection from the dust still dancing in the air. He could breathe out there, this much he knew, but not many living things could which made it a great deal safer and a great deal more dangerous at the same time. His only weapon was a blade made of shining silver that rung like bell when he tapped it on a hard rock of the cave and cut like a hot butter knife when it came into contact with flesh.

He was spared the same fate as his men. Held in captivity from a safe vantage point, he watched the planet recover from the catastrophe.

The waters had almost completely covered the planet and washed away the carnage that had followed the lights. The waves gradually became smaller and the land mass began to emerge once more, the waters subsided and the fires started. They raged intermittently throughout the landscape, trees that were sodden erupted into flame spreading their hot fingers to foliage, other trees, bushes and screaming life forms that had somehow managed to survive this long before succumbing to this unholy cremation.

The fires continued to ravage the planet but became less frequent in time, leaving the island hot and desolate but still inhabitable. The survivors searched across the landscape for food amongst the remaining vegetation and fought constant battles with each other. The main source of food seemed to be each other however, and the screams and snarling of fighting predators and their victims punctuated both the day and night like some sadistic concerto.

Then the rains came.

The vegetation was destroyed along with the survivors caught in it. The rains scarred even the rocks and destroyed the organisms in the water and the land. Toxic air became the norm on the planet and it was impossible for living things to breathe. Eventually the fires stopped and a deadly winter that delivered a white landscape to the once green vision of beauty, gripped the planet, cooling it dramatically.

The day the sun disappeared from view was as sudden as it was sad. The dust and soot had formed a visual barrier until the sun no longer graced the landscape, dooming the land to an eternal night. He was returned to the one safe spot on the island where drinking water and a supply of food had been deposited when the dust in the air started to thin. He now notched the passing days on the rock and planned his time carefully and methodically. This was not that hard to do, after all along with his blade, time was his friend, maybe not a true friend, but a friend all the same.

He sheathed the blade and peeled back the foliage from the cave entrance, leaving the sanctuary to enter a world of carnage and death. It was lighter though, the sky was brighter, and the haze was lifting.

The isolation was unbearable and the temptation to leave the cave as the world became lighter was great. It would be unwise to expose him to all this devastation and pollution but he was so lonely. Outside the cave, the dust obscured his vision, making even short strides treacherous. Supplies were running low and if he left it much longer, he would surely starve. In his mind, he wondered if this was pointless, after all, what was he likely to find to eat out here.

The wind was slight, and the dry harsh environment at least meant that the ground was for the most part secure and his chances of slipping slim. He knelt down and surveyed a soft bump in the ground, a nest full of ants, and a nest full of food. Hardly wonderful cuisine, he knew, but a lifesaver nevertheless. The ants were also foraging for food and were running back and forth with small bits of vegetation and depositing them into the nest.

A line of ants carried a small beetle on their backs, like a bizarre crowd surfing bug, making its way towards the insect’s larder. He decided that ants would have a special place in his heart from now on and a special place in his stomach as well.

The days went by and the wall in the cave gained more lines as he ventured outside and found more insects to digest and keep his hunger at bay The dead trees provided a constant source of fuel for the fire and the pool of water had remained intact although he noticed it had started to lower.

He had already been in the cave for far longer than he wanted, the lack of sunlight made his eyes sensitive to light but much more efficient in the dark. His sense of touch was far superior now, even to the point of being able to tell rock and soil types just by passing his hands across them. He felt mentally more able to cope with isolationism and adversity and his initial repulsion at digesting insects had developed into an appreciation of their different flavours. Indeed, he would now cook the insects in a variety of ways and he learned how to farm them.

Their nests were closer to his cave now and he no longer decimated the colonies, preferring to extract a proportion of them when needed, making sure the colonies survived and grew.

One day he woke up and opened his eyes, rapidly closing them again. He shook his head, managing only the slightest of squints at the cave entrance. The sun was too bright he thought; the foliage around the entrance must have dropped.

He crawled across to the entrance, his eyelids narrowed, to put the green doorway back in place, but it was still there. Suddenly he realised he was sweating profusely and his clothing was wet to the touch, ringing wet.

Then he realised what had happened; the dust had dispersed almost totally. It had been getting less and less gradually but he realised that today the wind was much stronger and warm.

The long winter is done and the long summer is here, he thought.

He removed some of his clothing to alleviate the heat and pulled down the doorway. The sun blistered through the cave, scalding heat, too hot to walk in and yet it was welcome. He rushed to the small pool and threw the water over his face but it was warm and served only to intensify his discomfort.

What was more alarming was the level of the water, which had dropped dramatically, and he was sure that if he watched the level closely he could see it slowly declining down its rock container. The heat was dramatic now on the island, and the intensity damaging to the skin. Before the winter and his life in the cave, this would have been nothing to him. He would have openly walked in the sun whilst others burned and combusted, but he had grown accustomed to the cold and adapted to his surroundings.

The explosion rattled the cave and knocked him off his feet. Regaining his senses, he peered outside the entrance to see a white plume of mushroom shaped smoke rise into the sky. The mushroom filled with debris and dust but for the most part, it was vapour, nothing more than water vapour.

He covered his face and head with a wet cloth and headed for the shade of an overhanging rock.

The heat was intense and he tore the head covering off as he hit the rock shelter just before the heat would have dried it onto his skin.

From his vantage point, he could see where the cloud had risen.

At the centre of a small lake, the vapour extended towards the sky, becoming more visible as it reached its fullest height.

Methane, he thought, methane would be toxic and dangerous, and cumulative. The lake erupted once again, small pockets of explosions skittering across its surface like a bouncing bomb, exploding at every contact point.

He ran back to the cave and decided that it would be better to stay in his current surroundings than either brave the heat or dodge the explosions.

The arrival of the night came as a welcome relief as it brought the temperature down. He settled down with no fire and no covers needed to stop him from freezing to death in his sleep. He closed his eyes and dreamt of home, meat, and people.

When he woke, it was still dark. He wondered how long it would be until daylight and what had woken him. It must have been a sound, but what sort of sound. The screech outside interrupted his thoughts and when it stopped he could hear singing. Music, he had missed music, and the new noises were the closest thing to music he had heard in a long time.

He peered through the veil of the foliage and looked to the skies. It must be near dawn as the landscape was discernible to the naked eye whereas the middle of the night was always pitch black.

The sounds continued in the night sky, on the ground and in the trees.

Birds; the birds have returned, or at least what passed for birds. It was the morning chorus waking him, the birds were singing to bring the dawn and it made him happy, happy to be alive and leave the cave and explore the island. He could not farm them as easily as the insects, the birds had wings and the freedom of the skies but….flying meat had arrived.

He could scarcely contain his joy, if there had been someone to hug, he would have squeezed him or her tight.

He would have to make traps and a bow, some arrows and learn to shoot but….he would eat meat again and what’s more, he wouldn’t have to search for it. The meat was delivering itself to him by airmail. He knew he would not sleep again today.

He readied himself to leave the cave and begin the hunt.

In the days that followed, he fashioned a bow from the wood that wasn’t too dry and was supple enough to bend without breaking, and he learned how to create a string strong enough to pull without breaking too.

It did not happen overnight though. He cut his fingers on string he had made like wire, cut his face on snapped bows, received splinters in many varied and wondrous ways from the wood he used to fashion his bows and managed to shoot his foot once with an arrow.

Even the arrows had been a pain to fashion. The bows seemed fine but the arrows were amazingly difficult to make. The weight, the length, the width, the balance, where to put the feathers and get them from were difficulties in themselves, let alone actually firing them from a bow. Despite his failings as a bow and arrow manufacturer, he persisted with the practice, making slight changes in design, all the while becoming more adept at all aspects of manufacture.

The traps had brought different results luckily. He quickly discovered that the birds had few natural predators and were happy to land right beside him, even walking towards him at times.

Some of them were even fool enough to attack him, believing him to be an easy target.

He gleefully despatched every one of them with his blade, sticking the dead birds in what he now proudly called his keep bag.

He became adept at cooking the meat as well as using the fat from the birds to enhance his cooking and learning how to create sauces from the meat, and the vegetation that was growing around him.

The birds varied in size too and he wasn’t sure at times, whether they were birds, flying reptiles or both. The large ones he trapped or killed whilst they walked by him, had very leathery skin and it was not long before he became an expert in skinning them too.

Suddenly his clothes were made of their skin along with his bags and water pouches, and before long, his arrows found their targets with unmerciful accuracy.

The waters settled and the methane pockets became fewer, the sun cooled but settled into a warm heat, and the birds bred and grew in numbers except when he grew hungry. His stomach was always full and his mouth was never dry, he was never cold or too hot. The clothes he wore were varied enough to be suitable for all occasions and his collection of pouches and bags was remarkable. He ate well, slept well, and dreamt of the future.

One morning when he woke, he went to fill the small water pouch he used when he was hunting as usual, from the cave pool. He dragged the neck of the vessel along the bottom of the pool, expecting it to fill with water. The screech of the neck on rock and the dryness of his hand meant only one thing.

The pool was empty and the cave had served its purpose.

In the corner of the cave, there was a large bag with two large straps attached. He filled the bag with meat, pouches, clothes and other bags he had made and slung it across his back. He picked up his blade and sheathed it on his side; he slung a leather quiver full of arrows across his back too, and strapped his bow to his left side.

The weight was a little discomforting, but the time had come to leave the cave and show the rest of the planet its new lord. He picked up the chalk and added one final line to the row of marks on the straight wall before writing the total underneath in his native tongue.

He had been in the cave long enough, he thought, smiling at the total.

“That number should have some significance for me,” he said smiling.

He turned and left the cave, with the only evidence he had ever been there, being the chalk lines used to mark the number of days he had spent alone in the shelter of the rock.

Below the straight lined chalk marks, he had inscribed the number Six-Hundred and Sixty-Six.

CHAPTER 6

CASH

“There is a great streak of violence in every human being.

If it is not channeled and understood,

It will break out in war or in madness.”

Sam Peckinpah

“Humanity is an illusion, a myth perpetuated by man to vindicate his dominion over the planet”.

Victor heard the words and pondered them for a while, tempted to reply.

Blake was always too much of a smart arse to argue with, but Victor genuinely believed that the human race cared not just about themselves but also about every other living thing and their environment.

Blake had always held the belief that this was not the case and Victor knew that any reply to this would lead to a long and protracted argument with his friend. Nevertheless, gritting his teeth, he composed himself before responding.

“So what you are saying is that despite the conferences about climate change and the resolutions to do something about it, despite the organizations in place to promote human rights and the existence of the likes of WWF to protect other species; despite all this, we just don’t care about anything?” asked Victor.

“Okay, one thing at a time Vic. Let’s take human rights as an example. This fragile civilization has to have rules in place to prevent anarchy and to make sure that the enforcers of civilization maintain their power base whilst appeasing the population. If civilization should collapse tomorrow, as it could at anytime, what would the survivors and competitors care about human rights then? Man is a competing species and his biggest enemy is man himself. If there are three humans left alive in the world but two are starving to death and the third has food which he will not share with them for fear that it will run out quicker and he too will starve to death, will the other two respect his human rights and quietly starve to death or will they take the food by force if necessary to ensure their own survival? On top of that, the greedy fucker already violated their human rights by refusing to share the food and keeping them from starvation,” said an assertive Blake.

“That’s a ridiculous example Blake,” said Victor. “There might be other factors at play. You’re assuming there are only two options at play here. You are the one who always tells me that nothing is ever black and white.”

“That’s true”, said Blake. “But this not a black and white situation, it’s a survival situation. We can assume that they have negotiated other things for food and tried to obtain their own food supply, but when all that has failed they have negotiated with the well fed one who has still told them to sod off.”

“I love the way you put things so eloquently,” said Victor. “Those guys are being forced into actions they do not want to take because they will starve to death otherwise. It’s not a real situation.”

“Not a real situation? Tell that to the people of Africa and other nations who dream of crops whilst the great enforcers of civilization watch them starve to death on their TV screens,” said Blake.

“They don’t just watch them on their TV screens though, do they?” replied Victor. “They give away some of their national profit to those countries and their people donate personally through charities to provide relief and support for them. We don’t just turn the other way, we try to help”, said Victor.

“So if the fat bloke chucks the other two a chicken leg, it makes him a saint and stops the other two from starving to death? Or is the fat bloke throwing them the chicken leg to stop the other two joining forces and eating him?” Blake chuckled.

“That’s a sick way of looking at it,” said Victor. “Are you trying to say that the rest of civilization only throws the poorer nations chicken legs to stop them rebelling and taking their food by force?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Where do you get this blind faith in the human race? Humanity is a myth, Victor. Deal with it,” said Blake.

Victor sighed and looked at his feet. Why was Blake so cynical about the good things people try to do? He knew better than to pursue the other subjects. The environment and climate change would have to wait for another time, as he was too tired to argue the toss with Blake.

If Jeff had turned up on time, he would have avoided this lecture from Blake and would not be standing outside the airport waiting for a drive home.

“Where the bloody hell is Jeff?” asked Victor. “You did text him and tell him what time we’d be landing didn’t you, Mr Perfect?”

“Shame on you, of course I did. He’s probably stuck in traffic. Give the guy a break,” replied Blake. Victor never really understood Jeff, just because he didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of Blake’s entourage.

They were a weird and wonderful mix of insanity and the bizarre, and Victor included himself in this set but Jeff was absurdly straight. Jeff was the driver and lived with his wife, five miles away from the Blake residence. He had silver hair, cut to uniform length and had the mannerisms and accent of a member of royalty. Jeff reminded Victor of a Victorian butler. Victor was sure that Jeff looked down on the rest of them, although he never said so, either directly or indirectly. He never criticized them either and was the master of the dispassionate one-liner. Blake said he employed Jeff because he knew how to keep a secret and didn’t give a fuck what he heard as long as he was paid.

How do you put that on a CV, thought Victor?

‘And in the final section could you please tick the box either yes or no on the do you give a fuck section?’

Victor smirked to himself.

Whatever his worries about Blake’s intentions towards the rest of the world and his concerns about his fellow employees, it was still a great job for a bloke with psychopathic tendencies.

Victor would never have a succeeded in a real job with normal people and normal tasks he knew that. Someone could have jumped Victor in the street and mugged him with little reply on occasion but they could also have taken a savage beating or even worse from Victor. It really depended on his mood. Sometimes when he went for a morning paper and someone innocently walked behind him, he imagined them attacking them and he would drive their head into the floor and whisper something sinister into their ear or he would launch an elbow across their nose and cheeks, fracturing the bone and sending them crashing to the floor.

All these thoughts and worse would cross his mind and this was just while he was fetching a paper.

It was as if he was someone else at times.

Blake had taught him control, and while Victor was no fool and would not assault anyone unless it was for self-preservation, he knew to avoid confrontation and walk away from loud mouths, volatile arguments and taunts.

At one time, his restraint could snap and his violent side would emerge but these days he was wiser. It didn’t help that Victor looked so inoffensive either, lager louts would ridicule him and laugh with their mates and carry on drinking, but sometimes…..oh, sometimes…he lost control.

The air was getting colder and Victor’s shuffling feet were beginning to irritate Blake, not to mention his tendency to shove his right finger up his nostril every now and again.

“Have you found it then?” Blake asked.

“Found what?” queried a curious Victor.

“Whatever it is that you’ve lost up your nose”, spat Blake.

“That and a few more beside it as well”, retorted Victor.

“Wherever you are Jeff, please hurry up”, murmured Blake.

Whatever wonderful things there were to do in the world, waiting outside airports on a cold English night was not one. Baggage cases on wheels and old people were not a wonderful thing either thought Victor as another pensioner rolled their luggage across his feet.

“They don’t even say sorry”, said Victor to Blake. “It’s like, we’re old we’ll do what we like and never apologise for it.”

“You know what your trouble is? You don’t have any sense of ingenuity. The next time one of them rolls their case over your feet, launch one of them huge bogeys at them”, laughed Blake.

Victor acknowledged Blake’s idea by simulating a targeted flick of his fingers, before jumping up and pointing down the road to the black BMW now approaching them.

The car pulled into the pick-up area; a grey haired man in a black suit and tie, exited from the driver’s side and addressed the pair of them.

“Good evening gentlemen, how was the trip? Did you manage to complete the business deal?” asked the driver.

“Alright Jeff,” said Victor. “Are we glad to see you; is everything okay back at home?”

“Life is uneventful when the two of you are away, but I am sure you are both well aware of that.” Jeff replied as he put their luggage into the boot.

Once Victor and Blake were in the car, Jeff drove the BMW towards the airport exit and out onto the public highway.

Blake looked back from the front passenger seat at Victor.

“That’s a good point. Did we successfully conclude the business?” Blake asked him.

Victor held up the phone to Blake and said, “Check out the digits, does that answer your question?”

Blake smiled but before he could turn back around, Victor grabbed him by the shoulder.

“What did you tell him? You didn’t tell him the kid paid us to nail the priest to a log cabin did you?” Victor asked.

Blake’s look of disbelief calmed Victor’s fears before he answered the question.

“I told him I was a roman centurion and he was Pontius Pilate reincarnated and that I needed the chalice for a ritual. Don’t worry he thinks I’m just nuts and what can he say anyway? By now, he will have realised that the kid set him up but he can’t say anything because it will cost him his vocation. What was even funnier was that lightning struck the cabin while we were in it. That was so cool.” Blake said.

“Jesus that storm was bad, but it couldn’t have lasted more than five minutes”, said Victor. “I bet you shat yourself when it lit up that cabin. What’s with the bottle of wine by the way? Why are we humping that about, you realise it’s been opened?”

“Of course I know it’s been opened, it was me who opened it. It’s a peace offering for someone by the way. Another little job I’ve got lined up for you.” Blake replied.

“Forgive me for asking, sir…” Jeff interjected. “But did I hear that right. You are going to make a peace offering to someone with a half full bottle of wine that you have opened and already drunk from?”

“You're cooking on gas tonight Jeff," said Blake. "That's exactly what I'm going to do."

“Just don’t ask Jeff. I’ve learned not to”, said Victor.

Jeff sighed and took his eyes away from the rear view mirror back onto the road ahead. It occurred to him that Victor had the right idea and that, whatever lay in store for him because of his employer, it was best not to know.

”I need a cash point.” Victor said.

“Can’t it wait till morning?” Blake asked.

“Nooooo….I’ll have to get in the car and drive just to get ten quid out or pay for my morning paper on my card. That’s so sad, can’t do it,” said Victor rolling his hand over his rapidly receding hairline.

“Jesus Christ! It’s late and…okay, okay. Jeff, pull into the next town and see if you can find a cash machine will you,” said Blake.

“Certainly, sir. Is there anything else Mister Luzny would like to do while we’re out, to save him driving tomorrow? We wouldn’t want him having a coronary whilst he was fastening his seat-belt.” Jeff said.

Blake smiled and pulled his best ‘what the fuck face’ at Victor.

“You’re not even funny Jeff,” said Victor.

“Am I laughing?” Jeff responded.

“Is he laughing?” Blake added.

“Difficult to fucking tell these days,” sneered Victor.

A resigned silence fell across the occupants of the car as they all struggled for something clever to say. Jeff thought it best, to just quickly find a cash machine for Vic and get them all back home as everyone was tired and the sniping could go on all night now. As soon as someone thought of something to say that was. He put his foot down on the accelerator and turned down the slip road towards the lights of the town.

Gary was swinging around the lamppost like a demented chimpanzee and Bill sat on the metal waste bin, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve at regular intervals, pausing periodically to see if he could lift the waste bin out of the ground. Carl gazed at his so-called friends and smiled to himself. Neither of them had ever worked and it was not difficult to see why; Gary’s shaven head bore the remnants of a faded pen drawn swastika and Bill looked like the bastard son of Catweazle.

Carl had a decent job though, driving a forklift in the local warehouse. No one bothered him too much and rarely did anyone ask him what he liked to do for fun, which was probably for the best.

If only it was not the end of the month, he thought to himself. Not one of them had any money, so here they were, lurking around on a Thursday night at 2 in the morning.

They were waiting to see if anyone was daft enough to get money out of the cash machine that stood by the local Spa.

Gary swung himself off the lamppost and in a demented Quasimodo style side-to-side step, made his way towards Bill. Bill jumped off the bin and launched himself at Gary, taking them both to the floor.

“The bells, the bells,” laughed Gary trying to dig Bill in the ribs.

As they were rolling around the floor, Bill had the opportunity to squeeze Gary’s testicles and did so, sharply.

“The balls, the balls,” laughed Gary pulling away from Bill quickly. Bill launched himself back towards Gary before both men separated as Carl’s size 12 boot met Bill’s ribs.

“Aaaagh, you fucking moron, what did you do that for?” rasped Bill climbing to his feet.

“You’ll wake the whole fucking neighbourhood up, you stupid fucks. Or worse still, some old fuck will phone the cops and we’ll get a shit load of grief.” Carl said.

“So what man. This is fucking stupid. Who is going to come here now? We may as well go home and get some sleep. We can do a bit of lifting tomorrow, anything is better than this,” said Gary.

“Just give it ten more minutes then and we’ll fuck off,” said Carl.

The three of them hung around the waste bin in agreement, resigned to the fact that it was heading towards daylight and they still did not have a pot to piss in.

The sound of a car in the distance, steadily becoming louder, stood the boys up to attention.

As the headlights started to appear, the three of them dived behind the bushes in the small bit of greenery the council supplied to hide the drab and grey atmosphere it had promoted in the first place.

“If it stops, wait and see how many are in the car first. Don’t fucking come out of here until they get out of the car, okay?” said Carl.

“Dude, it’s just gonna drive by. It ain’t gonna stop here, do we ever get that fucking lucky?” said Bill.

Carl shrugged his shoulders and shook his head; the three of them laughed quietly.

The black BMW pulled around the corner and came into view. When the car slowed down and parked by the waste bin that, just seconds ago, they all stood by, the three of them jumped up and down excitedly.

As the car stopped its engine and the headlights switched off, Carl squinted and tried to see what sort of resistance they would meet. The driver was plainly too old to be that much of a problem, although the guy with the beard in the front looked a little more capable. Carl wondered whether it was worth the risk as there was plainly a third occupant in the back seat and if he were anything like the guy in the front seat, they would never pull this off. Bill was already shaking his head in resignation when the third man opened the rear door and exited the car. The three of them nudged each other and Carl rubbed his hands in glee at the sight of the third man. He was about 5 foot 7 inches tall with a medium frame, a receding headline and a wide-eyed look to him.

“Fuck me, it’s Barry from East Enders,” laughed Gary. The three of them only stopped sniggering when the man headed towards the cash machine.

“You two watch the others and I’ll get the gimp to give us the cash,” whispered Carl.

Carl was bigger than his friends were, and he was much bigger than the man who had occupied the BMW. Gary and Bill would easily manage an old man and a hippy he thought, leaving Barry to me; piece of piss.

Victor walked over to the cash machine and fumbled in his pocket for his wallet. Eventually he managed to secure a grip around the wallet after blindly dispersing old pieces of paper and sweet wrappers and extracted it to reveal a torn and crumbling piece of old leather. Rummaging through the compartments for his debit card, he eventually noticed the figure leaning with one arm on the wall and smiling at him. He looked around and saw two other men at the car, both standing by the door and taunting the driver. Blake was already out of the car and was leaning on the roof from the roadside, smiling at the two men blocking Jeff’s door.

“You run out of cash mate?” Carl asked.

“Yes mate.” Victor replied.

“So have we and we were just wondering if you could help us out a little. We can give you something in return for it. Now if you just tell me the pin and gimme your card, everyone’s happy.” Carl said.

“What are you going to give me in return then?” asked Victor turning to smile at Carl.

“We’ll let you get back in your car and my two mates won’t beat the shit out of your dad and your hippie mate. How does that grab you?” Carl sneered.

“There’s only one problem with that buddy,” laughed Victor. “What are you going to do without your mates?”

Carl laughed and turned to gesture to Gary and Bill. The air crackled by the BMW and Blake shouted “Snap, crackle and pop.”

Gary and Bill were lying by the side of the road shaking violently with Blake stood over them. Blake laughed and pointed at the two men bouncing around the pavement.

“Fucking chavs break dancing,” he laughed.

“You tazered ‘em you fuckin‘ wanker,” shouted Carl.

“You didn't answer my question,” said Victor.

“What fucking question?” Carl shouted.

Victor put the card back in his pocket and moved towards Carl.

“What are you going to do without your fucking mates?”

Carl went to butt Victor, but Victor had already moved and was now laughing at the big man.

Carl aimed a kick at Victor but missed hopelessly and then swung a punch before Victor caught him flush in the groin with a right hand. As Carl bent over in pain, Victor threw his knee into Carl’s nose sending it disappearing into his face.

Bits of gristle and flesh tore and snapped and the blood streamed from the place where once there had been a nose. Victor slammed his elbow into the side of Carl’s temple, sending him crashing to the ground, struggling to keep from blacking out.

Victor stepped over the now crying man and deposited his cash card into the machine. Withdrawing £50, he threw £10 of it on Carl.

“Here; buy yourself a plastic nose,” he said.

Victor walked over to the car and looked at Blake.

“I wish I knew how you did that,” he said to Blake, looking at the still twitching men by the car.

Blake smiled.

“Electric isn’t it,” he said and climbed into the car.

Victor got into the back seat, checking his pockets, and then he suddenly opened the door again.

“Where are you going now?” Blake asked.

“Gimme a sec, I forgot something.” Victor said and exited the car.

Victor ran towards the cash machine and launched into Carl again, relentlessly kicking the squealing thug until finally returning and getting back into the car.

“Dude, you said you’d forgot something,” said Blake, looking at Victor in shock.

“I did,” said Victor. “I forgot to kick the shit out of him.”

Jeff guided the black beauty through the country lanes, driving away from the town and the violence, past the rows of oak trees and past the village sign.

Halesville was an idyllic village comprised of stone built houses and a village green.

A gentle stream ran sleepily through the village centre and the small church situated just on the exit road towards Blake’s house was noticeable for the silver specked stone that ran like an plimsoll line around the building itself.

The car passed the church on its left hand side and made its way up a much narrower road winding its way gently up the hillside. Before long, the gates of the house came into view and Blake blew a kiss towards the property that stood on the top of yet another hill behind the gates themselves.

“Home, sweet home,” said a smiling Blake.

“Thank fuck.” Victor said.

Jeff pulled the car up by the front of the gates.

“Would you like me to wait until Bob opens the gates,” asked Jeff.

“No, you’ve had a long night Jeff. Get yourself home. I’ll buzz Bob on the intercom,” said Blake.

Blake and Victor left the car and Jeff drove off back down the hilly road towards the village.

Blake pressed the button on the intercom. When there was no reply, he buzzed again and a static charged voice answered.

“Yes?”

“Bob, it’s Blake and Vic. Come down and let us in please,” Blake said.

“What’s the password?” asked Bob.

Blake looked at an equally confused Victor.

“Password, what fucking password?” Victor asked, shrugging his shoulders and rolling his eyes upwards.

“The password Bob?” queried Blake.

“That’s not it”, said Bob.

“What’s not it?” asked Blake.

“Bob. That’s not the password,” said Bob.

“I know Bob’s not the password. What I meant was we don’t have a password for security,” said Blake.

“Yes we do, I made one up. Now what’s the password?” said Bob again.

“When did you make this password up? I don’t remember you telling us a password.” Blake said.

“I made it up last week,” replied Bob.

“We weren’t here last week Bob. How could we know the password?” asked Blake.

“Don’t try and dodge the question, either tell me the password or I’ll have the law out on you,” said Bob.

Victor pushed Blake out of the way and said, “Let me handle him Blake, I know how to sort this.”

Victor pushed the button.

“Hey Bob, its Victor. Look I think Blake has forgot the password.” He winked at Blake. “You didn’t tell it me, but if you come down to the gate you can see it’s us before you let us in.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Bob. “Give me a sec and I’ll be right there.”

Victor turned half dancing and mocking Blake.

“See that’s how you sort the twat out. We’ll be watching TV with a beer each in no time.”

Blake just stared at Victor and gave him a sarcastic smile.

A golf buggy rolled down the small roadway and the lights came into focus.

Blake and Victor watched as the small buggy descended the hill. Then the horn started honking.

“What the fuck?” Victor exclaimed.

“Get out the way! Gangway! Coming throughhhhhhhhhhhh! Are you stupid? Get out of the way. JAYWALKER!”

The shouting continued all the way to the bottom of the hill and the gated entrance.

Bob climbed out of the buggy and walked towards the gate to get a better view of the men. Bob was around six feet tall and muscular. Clean-shaven with angular features, he had died black hair and a square jaw. Victor always joked that Bob could be a butler for the Munsters. That said, Bob was no butler, he was the groundsman and in charge of security at the estate for Blake.

He peered through the metal railings at the men.

“What were you shouting at?” asked Victor.

“Rabbits,” said Bob. “No road sense. They just dawdle across the road and some of them just stand there and stare at you. Still I managed to miss most of them.”

“But not that one it seems,” said Blake pointing towards the grey fur and blood wrapped around one of the buggy’s tires.

“Might have been yesterday, that one,” muttered Bob.

He looked at Victor and Blake, quietly making sure they were who they said they were. He pointed at Blake.

“I recognize you sir, but I think you’ve been duped by this guy,” he said pointing at Victor.

Victor walked purposefully to the main gate.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Victor has a small growth of hair around his top lip and his chin is covered in stubble. You have neither,” said Bob.

“I have had a fucking shave you goon,” shouted Victor. “Now quit this shit and let us in.”

Bob looked closely again at Victor and shook his head. Blake interjected before Bob could speak again.

“Vic had a bit of a mishap on the way back home and lost his hair. Look even the top of his head is a bit balder since we’ve been away,” he said.

Victor looked at Blake in disbelief but Blake merely put his fingers to his lips.

Bob looked at Victor again.

“I can see that now, sir. I am sorry, but you can never be too sure.” Bob punched the code into the remote and the gates swung open. Victor marched in first staring at Bob.

“I’m sorry about your accident Victor.” Bob said.

“I had a fucking shave.” Victor muttered.

Blake looked all around, his eyes looking left and right, peering into the horizon, before he sighed and turned his head to Bob.

“Where is she?” he asked Bob.

“Pandora?” asked Bob.

“Yes Pandora. Where is the cat?” said Blake.

“She is around here somewhere,” said Bob. “You know what cats are like. I give her a little food and a saucer full of milk and she’s off out for the night.”

Victor nudged Blake and pointed to the black shape emerging from the darkness, purring in delight at the return of her master.

Blake ran over, the cat licked and nuzzled her master, and in return, Blake stroked and hugged her, all 90 kilograms of stunning Black Panther.