Michael Robertson - New Reality - Truth

Arriving at the top, all he could see was a hole where the ground used to be. It stretched so far and wide it was like staring off a cliff overlooking an abyss. It was so dark, Jake couldn’t see the writhing mass anymore. “Do you really think it’s finished?”

Tom nodded.

“And,” Jake said, turning to his friend, the wind rocking him on his feet, “do you still think nothing was following us?”

Lifting his lip in a snarl, Tom shook his head, turned and walked back down the hill.

Although she’d watched Tom walk away from the edge, she still repeated, “Push him. Push him. Push him.” Punching her thigh with the repetition, she barely felt the dull thud.

Staring up at Jake as he looked off what was now a cliff, she dropped her head and spoke to her lap. “Half of the city falls and Tom fucking walks away from it. Why can’t he just bloody die?”

Lifting her stinging eyes up to see Jake again, she asked herself the same question that had been in her thoughts constantly. Could she kill him when the time came?

When Tom stopped and stamped his foot on the rough ground, Jake’s frame sagged in anticipation of what he knew was coming. They’d been walking for a day now, and Tom hadn’t stopped complaining.

“I can’t believe they stole my fucking water. I was trying to save your life, and the bastards stole my water!”

The burn in Jake’s legs was easing, but it was hard to get going again once he’d stopped. Slowing down, he hoped Tom would move off to save him the pain.

He didn’t.

Grinding to a halt, Jake winced as his joints seized. “Are you sure you didn’t bring it back over the hill with you when you came to rescue me? Everything happened quite quickly.”

“Don’t patronize me, Jake. I left it on the floor before coming back for you. When we returned, it was gone. If you were made of stronger stuff, I’d still have it.”

Looking at his friend’s long face, Jake shook his head. “All right, Seabiscuit, ease off, will ya?” Leaning down, he rubbed his sore kneecap.

“Don’t call me that.”

The angrier Tom got, the longer his face hung. Not knowing whether to offer him a sugar cube or an apology, Jake gave neither.

Staring over at the blurred red tower on the horizon, Tom brushed his hair out of his eyes. “They’re playing a bloody game with us. They give us hope and then steal it away just to fuck with us.”

Jake swallowed the frothy saliva in his mouth. Tom wasn’t the only one in need of a drink. “Maybe it rolled away when the ground shook?”

“Why are you sticking up for them?”

“Fucking hell, Tom, rein it in. I’m just suggesting there may be another explanation. Why does everything have to be a fucking conspiracy?”

With his face locked in a frown, Tom stared back in the direction from where they’d come.

Looking at his friend through narrowed eyes, Jake cleared his throat. It brought bitter phlegm onto the back of his tongue. Lifting the scarf covering the lower half of his face, he spat on the floor. “What did you see chasing me?”

“This again? Really? And you think I’m paranoid?”

“I know you’re paranoid. That doesn’t change the fact that you obviously saw something. All you ever do is look behind you now.”

The wind tossed the loose bits of Tom’s hair that refused to stay in his ponytail. Turning to face the tower, he threw an arm in its direction. “We’ve kept that bloody thing on our left-hand side for the past two years. Your plan isn’t working!”

“What’s that got to do with the things following us?”

“Your plan has everything to do with everything. It’s our reason for being.”

“First of all, Mr. Ed, do you have a better plan?” When Tom didn’t reply, Jake continued, “The idea was to—”

“I know what the idea was, but it hasn’t worked, has it?”

Grinding his jaw, the popping of the grit in between his teeth amplifying through his skull, Jake showed his friend his palm. “Hang on a minute, we decided together that we’d do that. We need to stay in Birmingham, remember?”

Tom dropped his head in an impatient nod.

“And we only have one consistent landmark to get our bearings from.”

Tom nodded again.

“The reason we need to stay in Birmingham is because we think Rory’s still here, correct?”

“Think? What do you mean ‘think’?”

“Sorry, Rory’s in Birmingham.”

For the first time in the past day, the tension fell from Tom’s face. “Do you think he’s been swallowed by one of the sinkholes?”

Suddenly Jake saw the truth of Tom’s anxiety. He shook his head. “No.”

“How can you be so sure?” Tom’s skin had turned pale.

“I can’t, but I think Rory’s out there, alive and well.”

“And what if he’s not?”

Stepping closer to Tom, Jake grabbed his calloused hands and looked into his foggy eyes. “I read a book once called Man’s Search for Meaning . It was by a Jew who survived the holocaust in a prisoner of war camp.”

“What’s that got to do with my son?”

“The man was a psychiatrist. The book was his assessment of what he believed to be the reason that some people survived in the camps while others didn’t.”

Throwing a shrug, Tom said, “And?”

“Meaning.”

Tom stared at Jake.

“Those who had meaning in their life—a reason to exist—were the ones who survived.”

“And Rory’s my meaning?”

“Exactly. The only fact we currently have is that we haven’t seen his corpse.”

When Tom flinched, Jake raised an apologetic hand. “Sorry, but it’s true. The only thing we can assume is that he’s still alive because we have no evidence to the contrary.”

Looking back over to the tower on the horizon, Tom ground his jaw. “I want to make that assumption. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.” Sighing, Tom continued to stare into the distance.

Moving close to his friend, Jake put his hand on his slumped back. “Believe it then. Reality is a choice. Choose your reality.”

The silence lasted for a good few minutes before Jake finally said, “So we’re looking for a Birmingham City football shirt, yeah?”

Tom was still frowning when he looked up at his friend. Then it lifted and he snorted a laugh. “Piss off.”

Grinning, Jake threw his arms wide and the wind smashed into him. Finding his balance, grimacing from the pain in his legs, he shrugged. “I thought you were Birmingham through and through?”

A smile raised one side of Tom’s mouth. It was nice to see. “There’s only one team in Birmingham, Jake, and it isn’t City. And before you say it, it ain’t West Brom either!” Looking away again, he sighed. “I suppose none of that’s important anymore though. Football used to be a religion for me,” he squinted as he looked at the tower, “before all of this.”

Refusing to let his friend forget his purpose, Jake said, “So we’re looking for red hair?”

“You know what we’re looking for. Stop being an idiot.”

“And he has a cleft palette?”

Pushing the loose strands of hair from his eyes, Tom didn’t reply.

“He’s wearing one of your old Aston Villa shirts?”

“And he’s going to be about seventeen now.” Tom’s voice wavered. “Seventeen!” When he looked at the tower again, his eyes welled up. “It’s been a year since we’ve seen him and four since he put that bloody headset on!” He stared at the floor. “Four years is a long time.” Looking at the tower again, he shook his head. “Why didn’t they leave us alone when we were with them last? They’re my family, not the property of Rixon International Limited. Arseholes. Sometimes I wish we’d stayed where we were.”