Michael Robertson: New Reality: Truth

Bending down, his body aching, he picked up a rock. Maybe the clanging metal would alert his friend. Putting everything he had into it, he yelled as he lobbed the projectile at the pylon. It fell woefully short.

“Tom!” The wind was so loud he could barely hear himself. How could he expect Tom to hear him?

Bouncing on his toes, Jake leaned forwards, and just as he was about to run down the hill, he lost sight of the thing. Frowning, he scanned the valley. Where had it gone?

Then he saw the ground move again. It had stopped about fifteen meters away from his friend. What was it doing?

The wind rocked Jake as he stood on the hill and watched the immobile lump of raised rubble. Having spent at least half an hour waiting, the thing hadn’t moved. He couldn’t wait there all day. It wasn’t just the thing beneath the ground that was Tom’s enemy. Time was sharpening its scythe too. The mission hadn’t changed. The only thing Jake could do was find a headset.

Taking a few steps up the hill, Jake turned around again. The thing still hadn’t moved. A few more steps and a check. Nothing. A few more steps …

Once he was at the top of the hill, Jake scanned what he could see of the wasteland stretching before him. One more step forwards and he’d have to forget about his friend until he found a headset. Looking behind again, Jake was now too far away to see what the thing was doing and could barely see Tom anymore. Watching the blurred image of his companion, he gulped. “God be with you, Tom.” He wasn’t sure why he’d said that.

Turning back around, he caught a flash of movement in his peripheral vision. Trying to trace the streak of black as it vanished into the grainy air, he quickly gave up and looked at what it had left behind.

Lying just meters away from him were two shiny black headsets. The scarlet stripes of their corporate branding ran across them. Looking again for what must have been the Bot that dropped them off, all Jake saw was dust clouds and devastation.

Shaking his head, Jake looked at the offering, his body tense. He then looked up at the glowing tower on the horizon. Tom was right, they were watching them.

Grinding his jaw, he threw his middle finger in the direction of their corporate overlord. “Fuck you, Rixon. This is all just a fucking game to you, isn’t it?”

There was no reply. Why would there be? Staring at what he could see of the tower, Jake let his hand fall to his side. It was just a tower. The god inside the machine was faceless and omnipotent. It acted when it was inclined to do so, not because it was goaded by an insignificant ant.

Jake had to hurry up. His choice was clear. One headset or two?

Holding his grumbling stomach, he looked at the small white tube in each. Sustenance stared back at him. In one of those black plastic shells was a potential escape from his hellish existence. All he’d seen in a long while was ruin and decay. Nature had abandoned this world a long time ago. Why was he still searching for it?

Rubbing his face, he stepped forwards and groaned as he leaned over. Using his functioning left hand, Jake lifted the headsets from the floor. Their combined weight was heavy on his weak arm. How much of their burden was physical, and how much was psychological? Jake was just about to do the one thing he swore he’d never do. Just the action of holding them was like signing a deal with the devil.

The headsets swayed in the breeze like coconuts, and the throbbing in Jake’s hand increased. It was like his body was spurring him on. The infection seemed to be getting worse by the second.

Two days away from dehydration, a week from starvation, and a thing at his back that was thirsty for his blood left him just one choice. Jake’s frame sagged. Tom was right; this was as good as it got.

Watching on, she rubbed her hands together. Take your time, Jake. Take as much time as you like. Don’t worry about Tom. I have my eye on him. The tension in her shoulders eased as she let out a relieved sigh. “He’ll probably be dead before you get back anyway.”

Before Jake was about to return to Tom, he saw a dark blur vanish behind a pile of broken plasterboard. Staring for a moment, Jake’s blood suddenly ran cold. Swallowing the grit in his throat, he tried to hold onto his panic. Why hadn’t he seen it before it happened? These bloody headsets weren’t a gift. They were a trap.

Loosening his grip on the straps, Jake was about to let the headsets fall, but he stopped. That was a ridiculous idea. What would he do, pretend he’d never seen them and deny any wrongdoing? Like that would prevent him from receiving a belly full of lead.

The machine had been sent with a mission. It had executed it flawlessly. Shaking his head, Jake’s body trembled. What a mug! Why had he fallen for it?

Pulling his shoulders back, he shouted at the pile of broken plasterboard, “Come on then, you piece of shit! I’m here if you want me!” The exertion stimulated a coughing fit that lifted the taste of blood and sand into his throat.

Opening his mouth to shout again, he stopped when he saw another movement. Falling into a defensive crouch, he let the headsets hang from his hand like a slingshot. David had beaten Goliath once before. Maybe he could do it again.

Tightening his grip on the straps, the grit on the wind burning his unblinking glare, he held fast.

When he saw movement again, he relaxed a little. It wasn’t a Bot behind the broken boards, it was a flap of material blowing in the gales. Laughing, he straightened his back. “Thank God.”

Both the throb in his right arm and good sense told him to take the headsets back to his friend. Despite this, he took a couple of steps in the direction of the fabric. The shifting surface was a terrible platform should he need to beat a hasty retreat, but he had to see what was there.

Arriving at the boards, he peered over. The first thing to hit him was the putrefying and rancid smell of rot and excrement. Although he pinched his nose, he was too slow and was left with the taste of decay in his mouth. It reminded him of food poisoning, but much worse.

After just a few seconds, the burn in his infected hand made pinching his nose too hard to bear. Letting go, he continued to hold the headsets with his other hand and tried to breathe through his mouth as he studied the form on the floor.

The billowing material was a sweatshirt. All that was left of it clung to the gamer’s right wrist and rode the elements like a tattered flag. The rest of the gamer’s body was exposed. The huge torso had clearly burst free of its clothes years before. The bulbous chin of the gamer moved with his phlegmy irregular breaths. It was like listening to someone with sleep apnea.

Rubbing his face, Jake looked at the long ginger hair, and scarred top lip. The remaining fabric bore the logo of Aston Villa Football Club. Running his left hand through his greasy hair, Jake sighed. “Oh, fuck.”

As she watched on, her sore eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. Shit! This could ruin everything. Tom needed to be gone for Jake to survive. If he found out about his son, he wouldn’t put the headset on. That would stop Jake from moving on. If he didn’t leave Birmingham, she’d have to get involved.

Balling her right hand into a fist, she bit down on it. “Shit!”

When Jake looked down the hill, his breath left his lungs. “Shit.” The space previously occupied by Tom was vacant. Opening his mouth to call out, Jake stopped. What good would it do? It was impossible to be heard over the wind.

Grinding his jaw as he frowned against the elements, Jake’s lungs tightened. Had the creature got to Tom? Looking down for a long line of raised rubble leading up to where Tom was, he saw nothing.