The Mariner

“I told Daniel something he didn’t know. I’ll do it again. Jessica?” She fixed her eyes on the woman amongst them. Once again she looked at her for a few seconds before she spoke. “Your mother crashed her car whilst driving around Big Sur, California.”

At that the Mariner’s stomach took a twist. California. Home of his wine.

Jessica was nodding, urging the Oracle to continue. “You never knew why this happened, but I can tell you now. She had an epileptic fit, lost consciousness and drove off the road.”

Jessica’s eyes filled with tears and her hands shot to her mouth. “My uncle had epilepsy!”

The Oracle nodded solemnly. “Yes, as did she.” She turned her attention to the cynic. “Absinth. Do you still doubt?”

He was less wary now, an eager glint glowing deep in his eyes. “Still not sure, to tell the truth,” he said, though he joined them eagerly enough, leaving only the Mariner to stand by the exit, reluctant to come any further.

Absinth turned back to him. “Come on Cuntface, don’t you want your fucking truth?”

“This is correct, I have truth to share,” she said, her words like old glue. “But perhaps this man is not prepared for it? Perhaps he should leave?”

He didn’t, but the Oracle acted as if he had and she turned to Absinth, looking down at him as a teacher does an infant.

“You were friends with a girl, Isabel. She was murdered.”

Murdered.

The Mariner tensed, feeling sick with his own guilt. Absinth nodded, gazing back at her.

“You never knew who the murderer was—”

The Mariner’s heart seemed to stop. What was that? Why nod along with the false claim? He did know!

“I can tell you who killed her.”

What did she mean she could tell him? He already knew!

“She was killed by a man named Claude, a sailor who you shared a cigarette with, that very night.”

Absinth looked shocked, horrified by the news. He stared at the floor, muttering the name ‘Claude’ to himself over and over. Then he stopped, his head slowly turning towards the Mariner.

“You killed her?”

This seemed to surprise the Oracle as much as he! Her head jolted in his direction, eyes narrowing as if he were a strange illness she couldn’t diagnose. Absurdly she hissed, “Cuntface?” with genuine surprise.

“You fucking murderer! It all makes sense.” Absinth was on his feet and marching towards the Mariner, who backed away, hands held out for defence. “How could I have been so stupid? Who else was on the island at that time, but you? Who else could have killed her? It all makes sense. You evil fuck!”

“But… but… You knew it was me,” he pleaded, stumbling backwards. “I brought her body down in my arms, it was how we met!”

At this Absinth’s head suddenly lurched back, his face contorted and limbs stretched wide as if shocked. Great judders seemed to run up and down his body, throwing his shoulders, spine arched.

The rest watched with horror, but the Mariner had seen this before — when the philosophy teacher had changed. But there were no chains this time, nothing to hold back the Mindless before him. The Mindless that now opened its furious eyes and focused them purely on the Mariner before it.

He ran, hampered by his exhaustion and his wounds, well aware that if it came to a fight he would be easily bested. That thing would tear him to pieces. In a matter of seconds he was out the tent and onto the path back down towards the ocean, fresh air replacing the incense from moments before. His nuts screamed, but their protests were ignored. His legs wailed but their dissent was firmly crushed.

The Oracle had already turned her attention back to her pupils and was soothing their concerns, telling them more anecdotes from their past. No wonder they were transfixed. Stories of the past must seem far more real than this island. Far better to listen than to acknowledge the demon their friend had become, a bloodthirsty creature that now charged after the fleeing ‘Claude’, ‘Cuntface’, ‘Edward’ and ‘John’.

Every step was heavy, legs twisted as they caught roots and slid between stones. Absinth was having just as much trouble, his own body bloodied from countless cuts and gashes endured during the desperate chase.

The Mindless didn’t care though.

The Mindless didn’t think.

The Mariner reached the beach, his running becoming even more sluggish in the sand. Legs skidded and sank, knees twisting to even more uncomfortable angles. Flailing, he turned to look, to see if the zombie was still following. He was close, a picture of demented fury, though there were no thoughts behind that twisted face, only animal hate.

And then, popping into his head like ink from an octopus, the Mariner remembered a conversation he’d had with a poor murdered lady, many moons before. “Who was Winston Churchill?”

Absinth’s face suddenly went slack and he ground to a halt, just a few yards away.

“He’s er…” said Absinth, scratching his head. “He was the Prime Minister during the Second World War.”