INK: Red (INK Trilogy Book 1) (12 page)

Wish I could just point my fingers at The Eventuals like a magician and watch them burst into flames, that would solve everything.

"Okay, point taken then. You aren't just a normal kid and you have magic powers and you can bend reality. What a pair eh?" Edsel chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. The Lethargy really had changed humanity forever. Maybe it was something brought down by God to put mankind on a new path. If so then it was no God he wanted to be friends with — it was kind of an extreme way to reset the evolutionary clock.

"Let's catch another couple of fish then be on our way. There's no telling when we will get to eat next."

"I'll do it, I'm good at fishing." Aiden ran off to catch their second breakfast, leaving Edsel to ponder the actions of the child that he'd just witnessed.

From everything he knew about The Awoken, and admittedly it was limited, doing what Aiden had just done was an outlier even for the lucky few. Manipulating matter in that way was not what most could do. It was more of a cerebral thing, focused on minds and energies that were unknown before The Lethargy to all but the Enlightened few. It was about the life-force of all things, the matter that made up the Universe, not physically changing things as the boy had demonstrated.

He wondered what on earth he would be like once he grew to become a man. Let alone if he turned out to be an angry and moody teenager.

God help us.

Edsel smiled at the thought of a fire wielding mopey teenage boy.

Jeez, that doesn't bear thinking about.

Life was different. Very different. He wondered what it would be like hundreds of years from now; it had only been seven since the world had changed so dramatically.

If there would be anyone left by then anyway.

He had his doubts about the next few years, let alone centuries.

And for me? Maybe days if I'm lucky.

Edsel caught himself just as he was about to scratch at a naked armpit.

Bad idea dude, very bad idea.

He gritted his teeth and waited for the day to warm up.

HOPE

The fuel tank on the Seat was relatively low, but Edsel estimated they would have no problem making it back to the city, even with a few stops along the way. The first and most important thing was that he needed clothes. He felt extremely self-conscious about his naked torso, and he kept catching Aiden staring at his skin, clearly very uncomfortable about it.

I look like I just stepped out of a burning building, and look at all these damn flakes.

He didn't blame him, he looked like a damn mangled lobster, all red and like he'd been thrown on the barbecue but simply forgotten about until he'd gone all crispy. The warmth of the car had dried out his skin and already it was beginning to itch with a vengeance again.

Is there no end to this bloody nightmare?

The skin wasn't bubbling like it had been though, which was something, and the scabs weren't as thick and crusty. They were a lot flakier however. He looked down at his lap and the only comparison he could make was that he'd been eating chips and rather a lot had spilled into his lap. Or bits of torn red paper, scattered on his trousers like some kind of sick confetti after a marriage that definitely wasn't going to end with a happily ever after.

"I know, gross right?"

"Absolutely," grinned Aiden. "You look like a salamander."

"You know about salamanders?" Edsel was surprised.

With a look that would wilt the most confident of men, Aiden said, "I can read you know? There's not a lot else to do."

"Yeah, right. Of course, sorry."

"S'alright, but Daddy taught me lots of things, I can take care of myself. Dad, I sound like a baby keep saying Daddy."

Edsel focused on driving, they were in quiet lanes now and the going was tough — the overgrown hedges a real hindrance. "I don't doubt it for a minute. You're a lot smarter than me. And you keep right on saying Daddy, there's no hurry to grow up."

"Don't be silly, I'm still only twelve so aren't smarter than you, but I really can look after myself. And thanks."

"I know. I'm just sorry I got you into this mess." Edsel stole a glance over at Aiden, just to check he was holding up alright. "You alright buddy?"

"I'm fine. Where we going?"

"Well, I need some clothes, so hopefully there will be something suitable in one of the houses. Look, here's one now." Edsel pulled up to a large wooden gate, hopped out and opened it up, then jumped back in and drove slowly up to the small house. He figured it would be a more fruitful search out in the countryside on the outskirts of the city than in the city itself, where looters had gone door to door repeatedly the first few years since The Lethargy. The scenery was a lot nicer too.

All seemed quiet, so they got out and wandered around the grounds of the house. Edsel actually felt more comfortable without anything covering his upper torso, but the day promised to be a warm one and he didn't even want to think about what it would feel like to have strong sunlight on his skin.

I'll probably burst into flames like a vampire.

They skirted around the side of the old brick and flint cottage, roses, clematis and a huge wisteria clinging to the house delighting with their strong perfume and color.

Like none of it ever happened. Like some old man will be stooped over his roses, his wife calling him for a cup of tea and a biscuit.

He knew it wouldn't be like that though, but maybe, just maybe it would. Not everyone was dead, there were probably still hundreds of thousands of people left alive in the UK, or tens of thousands anyway. He didn't really know, he wondered if anyone did. But there were Whole people living in cities and he guessed that more and more of them had abandoned the urban sprawl and left to live as quiet a life as they possibly could — grow vegetables, raise some animals, get on with life the best they knew how.

That sounded nice; maybe they could move here after he'd done what he had to do? Grow cabbages, watch tomatoes ripen in the erratic sunshine. Find a chicken and name it Martha II; get some pigs, maybe cows. Mmm. Steak! What he wouldn't give for a nice juicy rare stake with onion rings and—

"Ow! What the hell?" A fiery explosion sent shockwaves spreading out from his ribs. Aiden had elbowed him hard. "Waddya doing?"

"Look," said Aiden, pointing ahead. "We have company."

"Don't you move one goddamn muscle or I'll blow your bloody heads clean off. I mean it, you better not mess with me. I was in the war you know?"

"You look like you died in it too," said Edsel. "What are you, like a hundred or something?"

This is just what we need, some gung-ho old veteran. Looks like that shotgun is older than him
.

"You cheeky bugger. Gerrof my land, this is private property I'll have you know. I've dealt with your sort before," the man scowled at Edsel's blistering body, "and I'm not afraid to do it again."

"Look, sorry," said Edsel, "didn't mean to be rude. It's been a long couple of days is all. We don't mean you any harm, and if you mean The Eventuals, then I'm not one of them. I escaped before they finished the job. Honest." Edsel held out his hands, palms pointing to the blue sky as an act of submission, then realized it probably just made matters worse showing just how much Ink he had.

Idiot. What's wrong with you?

"Honest mister, we are the good guys," said Aiden, in such a pathetic, sad tone of voice that Edsel stared at him like the boy he knew had been swapped for another one. Aiden gave him a wink before resuming. "This big lobster here is telling the truth. He saved me, although we lost Martha, and The Eventuals are after him. After us." The old man looked around worriedly so Aiden said hurriedly, "Oh, it's alright, we got away. They didn't follow us, we stole their car. I smashed a pole over one of their heads and we went fishing and we made a fire and Edsel..."

"Okay, okay. Gee whiz, what do I look like, your damn priest?"

Gee whiz!? He really is from another century. But he's chilling out. Good. He could've had our heads off with that old shotgun.

The old man lowered his weapon and stared at them warily. "Why'd you come here? What do you want?"

"To tell the truth," admitted Edsel, "we just drove down the lanes and stopped at the first house we saw. I, um, lost some of my clothes, and I'm not exactly a nice thing to look at currently. Little bit crusty."

"You can say that again," said the old man gruffly. "You look like my tomatoes if it rains too much and they split."

"Hehe, he does, doesn't he?"

"Hey, how about a bit of sympathy here? Have you any idea what they did to me? How much this hurts? I feel like I'm constantly on fire and you think it's funny?"

Damn, what's this? A new bloody double-act.

"Sorry."

The old man shuffled about a bit in his slippers and pajamas. "Sorry."

"Yeah, well."

"You sure you're not murderers or thieves?" The old man began to lift his shotgun again, looking like he'd been duped somehow.

Edsel sighed. "Do we look like we are? Do we look like we are here to murder you and take your slippers or your split tomatoes? I just wanted a sweater, a shirt, anything. We assumed the place was, you know, not currently occupied by the living. Or by anyone that would care anyway."

"Well, I may be old, but I ain't dead yet."

The man turned and shuffled slowly around the back of the house, kicking gravel noisily as he moved, the gun dangling loosely in a thick calloused hand. He shouted over his shoulder, "You comin' or what? The kettle's on."

Aiden and Edsel stared at each other. With a shrug of the shoulders, and a few nudges back and forth, they followed the old man into the house, for whatever passed as a morning cuppa to the old man.

~~~

Their host introduced himself as he poured the coffee. "I'm Bob."

"I'm Edsel, this is Aiden. Pleased to meet you Bob."

"Nice to meet you Bob."

"Yeah, well. You too I guess. Maybe." Bob busied himself in the compact kitchen where every surface seemed to have some kind of knick-knack, and the walls were covered in shelves with blue and white plates on display. Bob shuffled over and placed two mugs of coffee down on the table, then went back to get his own. He returned and with a sigh he carefully lowered himself into a chair.

I bet his wife was responsible for the decor, he doesn't seem the type to be so interested in plates.

"Good?" asked Bob, encouraging them to take a sip of what he said was coffee and actually smelled like coffee too.

Edsel took a sip warily. "Aah. Oh boy, that is the best cup of coffee I've ever tasted." Edsel took another sip greedily, trying not to scald himself with the piping hot brew.

It's been a long time since I had anything this good.

"Hot." said Aiden.

"Hot? That all you got to say?" said an amazed Edsel. "Don't you know how precious this stuff is? It's rarer than... well, it's rare."

"I just never drank it much, didn't get a taste for it I guess," said a subdued Aiden.

"Boys, boys, no need to bicker. I've got tons of the stuff anyway." Bob looked like he's said too much; he looked worried. "Well, a little bit anyway."

Edsel patted the man on the shoulder, a surprisingly firm shoulder actually. "Don't worry Bob, we aren't going to rob you and slit your throat."

"Um, good? But just you try young man, I was—"

"In the war, yeah we know. But you weren't really, were you?"

Aiden turned to Edsel. "What do you mean?"

"I mean this old geezer here was definitely not in the war. He'd be ancient if he was, ain't that right Bob?"

"Maybe," came a quiet grumble.

"What's that Bob? Must be my hearing in my old age," said Edsel, cupping a hand to his ear.

"I said maybe, no need to get cheeky."

"Hey, what's going on?" said Aiden.

"Bob here, 'old' Bob, has been duping us a little, isn't that right?"

Bob sat up straighter in his chair, suddenly seeming younger and a lot larger than he had a moment ago. Edsel had known something was going on the minute he put his hand on Bob's shoulder — there was a fair amount of dense muscle there, not the kind of muscle an eighty or ninety year old geriatric would have. And with his cap off inside the house it was obvious that Bob wasn't as old as he'd pretended to be. His face was sun-aged, but he was no decrepit old man that was for sure.

"Well, maybe a little. Ha, clever boy. I figured I'd stand a better chance of dealing with intruders if they thought I was some rather defenseless old man."

"How old are you then?" asked Aiden.

"A man of certain years never divulges his age," said Bob with a wink.

"Sixties is my guess. Early sixties." Edsel looked at the 'old' man closely, noting faded tattoos on his forearms — thick and densely muscled, dark from the sun, wriggling with veins. Thick fingers too, and calloused palms; gray hair but still a hint of dark on top.

Bob zipped his mouth shut with his hand and just smiled.

"Looks like we have ourselves a man of mystery here Aiden."

"Drink your coffee," said a grumpy Bob.

What's his story then? He's a sly old bugger and no mistake.

Edsel drank his coffee.

Bliss.

BETTER

"How do I look?" asked Edsel, twirling in the cramped kitchen, showing off a dark blue short-sleeved shirt. It was in surprisingly good taste for something Bob owned, and the thin cotton barely irritated his skin at all.

"Less red," said Bob.

"Like a lobster with a shirt on," said Aiden.

"Gee, thanks guys. Look, not being funny or anything, but can we do away with the jokes about The Ink please? In case you didn't realize, it's kind of personal, and a little insensitive to be honest. Do you know what this feels like, knowing I'm going to look like this for the rest of my life? Not to mention that it hurts like hell." Edsel's voice was rising, he was getting angry, angry at everything.