The Mariner

Heidi averted her eyes and ran, never looking back, not even when water lapped at her heels. Not even when the world she’d known became lost.

All this, Elli Heidegger would have remembered if that experience hadn’t faded from her head, just as it had from everyone else’s; gone to join the Wasp. The event existed only in the Mariner’s, who’d lost it to the Pope, only to have it returned years later.

And as the Mariner reminded her of this, Heidi’s mind tried to retrieve the memory. Just as Absinth had of Claude. Just as Pryce had of the stars. And just as before, the search found no trace of the Wasp where trace should lay, the needle skipped the record, the human within awoke.

And so too did every other who heard his story.

Mavis craned her neck and bent her head to try and hear what the Mariner was saying. It was no use, her tired old ears just didn’t catch any-more. Getting old was tricky business, every passing day brought new bodily failures. Long ago she’d become accustomed to the digestive issues, but it was the slow degradation of the eyes and ears that gave a sour taste. They should stick with you till the end! How long would she have to go without? When would they finally give up the ghost? She’d rather die than live without, it would be terrible to linger on, deaf or blind.

Whatever the man was saying, it had the rapt attention of the whole gathering. Probably lurid descriptions of his crimes, it was always the gory details that kept people hanging (to excuse the pun). She would have to ask Heidi about it later. It would be a shame to miss out.

However, looking at the woman who’d served Mavis as a loyal captain, she was doubtful that Heidi would be able to recall anything. The young lady was beginning to twitch and shake on stage as if in the grip of a fit.

“Oh my goodness,” Mavis groaned. She grabbed the sleeve of the gentleman by her side. “Excuse me? I think my friend up there is having some sort of seizure.”

The man didn’t respond. How frustrating! To go one week from total power, to this! Ignored in the street. “Excuse me!” she yelled at him, anger brimming over.

Suddenly the man’s head twitched back, juddering as if electrocuted. Mavis dropped his arm and backed away, alarmed. “Are you alright?” she asked, but like before there was no reply, just another judder and grimace, as if the man’s facial muscles were being pulled against his will.

She turned, afraid, hoping to push through the crowd, but everywhere she looked people were beginning to twitch and growl. Heads twisted as if on wheels, eyes rolled like dice, and where there had once been silence, a low moaning grew.

Mavis, terrified in her old years, felt her bladder give way, and release warmth down her legs. They were all around her: Anomenemies. More than she could ever have imagined! Too scared to do anything else, she looked back at the stage. The Mariner had ceased speaking, instead he looked out at the audience with regret and tears streaming down his face.

“What have you done?” she tried to appeal, but her voice couldn’t penetrate the screams that erupted about her. The Mariner turned and ran, slipping past guards who’d dropped their weapons as their bodies gave in to spasms; as, in a strange way known only to the Mariner, they finally became fully human.

Hands grabbed at her frail body and fingers scratched her face. Rage filled voices rumbled through her mind, until ears were torn loose and blood filled the drums. Distorted faces, like those of beasts, danced across her vision, only blotted out as her eyes were dug from their sockets.

Gripped with terror, Mavis was plunged into a sightless, soundless void with naught else to sense but pain. Her earlier wish was granted however; it didn’t last very long.

45. CHRISTOPHER McCONNELL WISES UP

A CACOPHONY OF BELLOWS ROSE above the town like distant thunder. McConnell had been sitting on a pew, idly running beads through his hands. Now they dropped to the floor with a light patter.

Harris cocked his head, questioning the sound, but the answer was already in both men’s minds. Both had experienced the Mindless. They had heard those howls before.

“Where the fuck did they come from?” McConnell ran to the door, pushing it wide open and looking up and down the empty streets. It didn’t take long to realise the sound was hurtling down from the central courtyard. Harris joined by his side, mouth agape.

“The execution?” he stammered like a billionaire whose balance had suddenly hit zero. “Arthur Philip? Oh my god, what’s he done?”

The sounds grew louder, and suddenly the north end of the street was awash with bodies all pushing and writhing against each other, struggling to be the first in line. They ran without direction, eyes searching, fingers grasping. They moved like a tsunami, a great wave of limbs and gnashing teeth.