Forever After - By David Jester Page 0,30
the group. Chip twitched as a bullet whizzed past his ear with a high-pitched scream. An army of anxious rodents beat a path of retreat from their hideaways on the forest floor.
“Let’s go,” Michael said, ducking instinctively at the sound of trouble. He turned on his heels and scarpered, his two friends and the naked man in tow.
In a clearing the two men in black, their clothes and demeanours at one with their surroundings, lowered their guns and exchanged glances.
“Did we miss?”
“I definitely shot the little hairy one.”
“Undead?”
“Maybe.”
“Reapers?”
“Maybe.”
“Should we report back?”
“No.”
“Chase?”
“They’re gone now. We’ll deal with them later.”
****
Chip looked casually looked around. His hands stuffed lazily into his pockets; a scowl on his face. “So, this is limbo,” he said, unimpressed.
The waiting room was empty but for two teenagers who clung tightly and lovingly to a large, bemused man who looked half embarrassed and half annoyed.
Hilda had watched the group enter, her perpetual scowl morphed into something even less endearing when Michael strode up to her and dropped his palms on her desk.
She looked beyond Michael, over his dipped shoulder, and spoke before he had the chance.
“Who’s the naked guy?” she wanted to know.
Michael twisted his head around. The man in the forest, who appeared as James Waddington on the timer, was scanning his surroundings with the awe-struck intrigue of a child on his first holiday.
Michael turned back to Hilda. “A job,” he said simply.
Hilda nodded slowly, a slyness creeping onto her grotesque face. “So, you finally caught one,” she mocked. “Well done,” she peered back over his shoulder; James was now striding around the waiting room. His manhood bobbed about unashamedly with every wide stride.
“Why’s he naked?”
“I didn’t ask.” Michael told her, refusing to go into detail. “I need to speak with Azrael.”
Hilda nodded, reluctantly dragging her eyes back to Michael. “He said you would say that.” She looked at her desk as if reciting from something scrawled onto the surface. “He told me to remind you that this is your job and he can’t help you any more than he has,” she finished with a flushing smile.
Michael stepped back with a sigh. “But he hasn’t helped me,” he pleaded.
Hilda shrugged apathetically. “What do you want me to do?”
He turned away, annoyed. James Waddington had now made his way to the hallway.
“James!” Michael called, stepping towards the naked dead man. “Here.”
James looked up with a simple smile and then trotted towards the reaper like a sedately content canine.
“I’ll process him later,” he told Hilda, “I need to take him back, sort a few things out.”
She opened her mouth to object, her senses heightened by the possibility of establishing authority, but at that moment Seers stepped out of one of the processing rooms and her anger was stolen by adoration.
Michael sighed inwardly, lowering his head to the floor.
Seers moved towards the sullen reaper and loomed over him. The florescent light above his head drew a shadow that engulfed both Michael and James, despite only being a foot taller than them.
“What do we have here?” he asked.
Michael looked up at the grinning expression plastered on the face of the respected reaper. He drank in his presence and then spat it out with a simple answer: “A complication.”
Seers nodded deliberately, his eyes passed from James to Michael, seemingly ignoring Naff and Chip who were subconsciously trying to use each other as shields.
“Always seems to be the case with you,” Seers stated.
Michael felt a welling of anger inside him. Seers was intimidating, he was at the top of his field, a position Michael could only dream of attaining, and he was respected by everyone who met him, but he was also a condescending, patronising prick, and Michael had things to do.
“Do you need something Seers?” Michael spat with a grinding edge to his tone.
“From you?” he rolled his head back slightly and laughed a brassy laugh, theatrics from a man who liked to be noticed. “I very much doubt it.”
“Then get the fuck out of my way!”
Michael barged past him, almost knocking himself off his feet in the process. Seers merely turned and watched him go, looking amused at his antics. He turned to Naff and Chip, both of whom were rooted to the spot. When he met their gaze they snapped out of their trance and skipped forward, keen to take the longest route around Seers as possible.
“Jesus Christ he’s a big fucker,” Seers heard Chip mutter as the group strode into darkness.
9
The whistling agony of the kettle drowned out the constant