Forever After - By David Jester Page 0,29
the size of a football pitch, slaloming through an assortment of computers, terminals and large vats which seemed to glisten and throb under the activity of a hundred wires. Inside the machines naked forms of human structure lolled about in gelatinous fluid like mannequins, lifeless and soulless.
The old man beamed as he surveyed his creations. “This is where the next generation of solider will be built,” he informed the suited twins. “Empty headed idiots, with no purpose other than to kill and obey, will be bred in those vats.”
One said, “This place looks familiar.”
The older man nodded knowingly. “This, gentlemen, is where you were born.”
“Ah,” One acknowledged without a hint of irony.
The creator took a step back, admiring the spectacle of his creations as they studied their birthplace. “And, with your continued help, many more powerful weapons can be created. Once we build a strong force, we, or whoever chooses, can use that force to reproduce, to create even stronger soldiers -- to breed an unstoppable force. There will be no limits to its, and to our, potential.”
He returned to his desk, to the alluring vial glowing on its polished surface.
“Whoever chooses?” One queried.
He laughed haughtily. “I’m not an idiot,” he declared with a wry smile. “I’ll leave the conquering to someone else. I’ll be looking for the highest bidder.”
****
On his haunches, scrunching through darkened woods with Naff and Chip scuffling by his side, Michael checked his timer and sighed: “We’re a little late.”
Naff groaned. “It’s hard to be punctual when you can’t see where you’re fucking going,” he moaned.
Chip stumbled over something. He flung a barrage of whispered obscenities towards the ground and then scurried to catch up with his friends.
“Why would they come out here anyway?” the tooth fairy wanted to know.
“Wolves live in the woods,” Naff said mater-of-factly.
“This is a werewolf,’ Chip argued, turning to face Naff, whose form was greyed in the darkness. “Technically human. Human’s don’t live in the woods.”
“Hermits do,” Naff countered.
Chip tutted in mock revilement. “So, let me get this straight, we’re looking for a deadly werewolf hermit?”
“Well--”
“Shut up,” Michael interrupted impatiently. “I can hear something.”
The group paused as one, pricking their ears to the night.
“You’re going mad mate,” Chip said after a moment’s silence.
Just as Chip raised a sneer and closed his mouth, a middle-aged man, as skinny as a pole and as naked as the day he was born, ran a horizontal path on the pass ahead of them. An ethereal glow lit him in the darkness and followed him like a contrail.
“Holy shit,” Naff spat.
Michael stood, slapping his hands together. “That’s him.”
Chip also straightened up, staring perplexedly at the quickly disappearing trail. “Is there a reason he’s naked?” he wanted to know.
“He probably turned before he died,” Naff explained.
Chip nodded slowly. “I hope so. Otherwise this could get weird.”
They ambled forwards, towards the trail which had already dispersed into the breeze. The naked man appeared to their left, lit up like a tree Christmas within the midnight foliage.
He darted up to them, gliding smoothly over the unseen obstacles. “You gotta help me,” he begged, his eyes wide. “There’s some men,” he said, gesturing behind Michael, into the darkened distance. “They killed me. They’re trying to kill me again.”
“Makes sense,” Chip said softly.
Michael turned around and scoured the darkness. Through the blackness he could see the glimmer of torchlights bobbing up and down like buoys in a tarred ocean.
“I’ve gotta get of here,” the naked man said quickly, his wide-eyes darting around. “They’re fully armed.”
“Guns can’t harm you now mate,” Chip announced.
They have other things,” the naked man said with a manic wave of his hands, trying to indicate something he couldn’t comprehend. “They tried something after I died. A probe.”
Chip took all of this in. “They’re probing and killing people?” he turned to Michael and grabbed his cuff. “I’m with the naked guy, let’s get out of here.”
Michael shook off the fearful tooth fairy, his eyes visibly sneering at him under the spiritual glow. “We’re undead,” he reminded his friend. “They can’t hurt us.”
“What about the missing souls?” Naff intervened, suddenly looking concerned. “If they can hurt them they can hurt us.”
“Trust me, I’m alive enough to feel someone probing me,” Chip joined in.
Ahead the two torches violently flickered and then straightened out. Two loud pops scratched the air and then exploded as a quick succession of bullets rocketed past the group.
A sickening thump tore a chunk of bark from a nearby tree and spat a cluster of sawdust at