The Mariner

“One day a crack appeared between the zoo and us,” she explained. “It filled with water, growing wider each day and the zoo got further away. Sometimes we’d get in a rowing boat and visit it, but the further away it got, the less people thought about it. One day it was just a teeny speck in the distance and then — gone.” She turned to look at him and in that moment he realised there was nothing supernatural about this girl, no strange presence bestowed by a magical name, nothing to be fearful of, she was merely child, and a lonely one at that. “Now no-one remembers it at all.”

“Nobody?”

Grace bit her lip and looked back to the sea. “I once tried to get Miss Taylor to remember. She used to bring us milk. I told her all about it, the animals, the statues, everything. I even described a day we spent feeding the monkeys together.”

“And she still didn’t remember?”

“No. She got mad. Really mad.”

The woodpecker stopped his incessant hammering and the woodland fell silent. Even the noises from the town below failed to reach the pair. It were as if the whole world between them and the horizon has momentarily disappeared.

“What happened?”

“She died. They had to shoot her.”

“I’m sorry.”

The girl shrugged, terrible acceptance in one so young. “It happens every now and then. People get angry and never calm down. I haven’t tried asking about the zoo since.”

“Until you asked me. Why?”

“I overheard you talking about a memory that came back.”

Sudden shame made the Mariner sick, the intrusion of privacy flaring anger. “What else did you hear?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Not much. Didn’t seem right to listen. I don’t eavesdrop.”

The Mariner turned to leave, embarrassed to share the company of the curious child any longer, but Grace stopped him.

“Is that your boat?” She pointed to the Neptune, impressive even at this distance.

“Yes it is.”

“My friend Donna is on her way to look at it.”

“Who’s Donna?”

“She’s a patient here, we’re trying to cure her.”

“I see.”

“She likes to burn things.”

Patient Number 0020644

Name: John Doe

I initially suspected that this man held a unique quality, and this has proven to be the case. He complains of a memory intruding into his dreams, one that consists of his mother attempting to smother him as a child. This rediscovered memory makes him more important than any patient I’ve ever admitted.

If my theory about a widespread degenerative brain disorder is correct, then this man must have a unique physiology that is either immune to the detrimental effects or has an immune system capable of repelling the infection. If I can understand why he regains lost memories whilst the rest of us lose chunks for seemingly no reason, then perhaps I can isolate the cause and thus discover the cure.

It is now of vital importance that his addiction is promptly cured so we may concentrate on this new pressing matter. My conviction is that this can be achieved within a matter of weeks. During this time it will be my duty to persuade him to stay and help me complete these essential studies.

T.

17. NEPTUNE

BEFORE THE WORLD CHANGED, ANDY Schiff trained dogs for the Metropolitan Police. Not being ‘one of the boys’, he’d never made an arrest in his life, never wrestled a criminal to the ground with his bare hands, never even uttered the words “you’re nicked”, yet still he considered himself one of the Good Guys. Not one of the lads, but still part of the Justice Machine. This was because without him, his colleagues would lack the spaniels to find drugs or German shepherds to drag down dangerous fugitives. And, in a strange way, he felt the dogs understood this too. Often he’d look into their eyes and feel they knew the mighty duty bestowed on both beast and man. You’re doing a good job Andy, the brown eyes would say. Keep it up.

Yes, Schiff had been assured of his place in life and it was firmly on the side of the Law.