Kill Switch (Notes of Necrosoph Book 4), page 9
I had no idea. But they had been busy. You never got far without a traffic jam, a series of roadworks, or an accident of some description stopping you dead and leaving you trapped in your vehicle, frustrated, your temper rising.
I was alone.
Cut off from what made me whole. What made me feel like I belonged. Time outside was so important to me. I got antsy, grumpy, and depressed if I didn't get daylight, didn't surround myself with nature and get stuck in to the gardening.
One day it simply clicked. Do the things that lift your spirits. Watch your mind, see how it reacts to different tasks. Then do those tasks on a daily basis if possible to keep yourself in a positive frame of mind. It's why I exercised every morning. Why I dug holes, repaired posts, tended the garden, and kept the animals in as much comfort as our budget would allow. All of those things kept my brain in check, gave me the positive vibes I needed to face another day.
But I was on a road to perform another kind of dirty task, where my hands would be bloodied and my mind twisted just that tiny bit more. Even more reason to ensure I felt a part of this world, part of nature, as I'd have to dig a fuck ton of holes to feel better after what I was about to do.
I knew what I needed, so I decided this was enough for the day. After checking the route, I made a decision, and slipped off the road at the next junction and crossed into quieter country, weaving my way across Wales until I was on lanes surrounded by fields. I pulled over in a lay-by to check the map as the sat nav was hopelessly out of date, and searched for blue lines indicating streams. Five minutes later, I was parked up at an old car park for walkers at the edge of a large deciduous forest.
The moment I stepped out of the car I felt better. I breathed deeply of the smell of nature in all its glory. The shade and the peaty soil in this area meant the ground under the dense canopy was still damp despite the crazy heat. The humidity was high, but so was the water level in the numerous steams that criss-crossed the forest right by the car park. Keen to enter, I grabbed my gear and hiked along a wide path that sank down into the woods.
Huge ancient trees loomed either side of the path. Down a steep drop off on the left, spindly young saplings grew high and straight, reaching for the light, fed by meager streams almost hidden by ferns and rhododendrons. The blooms were over, but their glossy leaves dazzled when dappled sunlight hit. It was glorious.
I stopped just to take it all in, and breathed deeply, washing away the tang of car fumes, replacing it with nature's majesty. I followed the path then took a turn on a narrow mossy track that climbed up high into the woods. The low light and the springy ground eased my throbbing back and left me relaxed, almost hypnotized.
Not a soul around, not even the shout of a distant walker calling their dog. Just me and the trees.
Perfect.
After ten minutes, I reached the summit of a modest hill and found myself staring at the beautiful countryside in a panoramic three-sixty view. Rolling hills, dry stone walls, stock proof fencing, small thickets. It was wondrous. Houses dotted the vista like sheep in the distance. Farms and villages large and small nestled in the creases of hills or hunkered down in valleys, where drying rivers crawled sluggishly through the landscape. The best of the British countryside in all its majesty.
I admired the view for several minutes then had to escape the sun so moved into the woods beside the tiniest of streams, little more than a trickle. But the ground was soft and green with numerous moss species, the water made a relaxing gurgle as it tickled the boulders, and I found a deep pool where I set a sneaky bottle, okay two, of nasty wine and willed it to cool as fast as possible.
While I waited, I set up camp. I gathered plenty of dry firewood by snapping off low hanging dead branches, collected larger logs and plenty of kindling from the open at the edge of the forest where it was baked dry by the heat of years, then returned several times until I had enough to last the night.
Once the fire was roaring, I pulled out my sleeping bag and placed a blanket underneath on a dry patch of earth beside the fire. A tree offered welcome support for my aching back. I wasn't used to sitting in a car, so my hips were tight and my shoulders knotted. I spent ten minutes just sitting there, letting each muscle relax until I felt better than I had since this all began.
I focused on the fire, listened to the crackle and pop of the wood, enjoying the silence. I didn't need the heat, but a fire offers more than that. It provides a sense of place, a focus. I was famished, too, so cooking up a treat sent my mouth to watering as I considered my options.
There was chicken or there were sausages, bacon, and eggs. Being wise, I chose chicken, plus bacon and eggs. And sausages. I was alone, so nobody could comment on them not going together, and if a man can't cook his dinner however he wants when alone, when can he?
I laid everything out, careful to set the compact pan right on the edge of the coals, and let it cook slowly while I just messed about with the fire, removed my boots, and generally just prodded stuff until it looked ready.
When it was nearly done, I retrieved a bottle from the pool, poured myself a hearty mug of nasty British wine, then set the bottle back in the water and sat by the fire, eating, drinking, and listening to the coals crackle and the birds sing.
What a treat to return to my usual habits when on my yearly expedition. Why didn't I do this more often, rather than just once a year? It would be so much better without the stress of having to kill looming over me. Rather than this kind of trip being forever associated with bad things, I could turn it around and make it purely for fun.
I knew I wouldn't. I was no man out for answers on an expedition through life. My summit had been reached and I wanted nothing more than to stay at the dizzying heights of home and family. That was truly my place.
But how enjoyable this was. Being alone, no immediate worries, plenty of food, cheap booze, a nice fire, and no tech.
When would the kill switch be flicked back on? Would it ever be? Or was this our reality now? A true severing of humanity's technological progress, and a return to simpler times? Part of me wished for that, another not. And I knew it wouldn't last. That one way or another all that was lost would return.
I could only laugh when I thought about the uproar around the world that would currently be in progress. Governments would be going all out to uncover the reason for the blackout, tech companies verging on meltdown. There would be untold disasters and endless problems because of this, so it would undoubtedly all be turned back on soon enough.
Unless, and this was the chilling thought, it was done with complete cooperation of the world's rulers. Maybe now we'd truly see who ran our countries, our world. Would we finally uncover the truth that it wasn't our leaders in government who were in charge, but an as yet unknown secret organization? A massive tech company, or a pharmaceutical giant that actually called the shots?
Or maybe I was just a conspiracy theory junkie, and what we saw was truly what we got. A bunch of people ruling us so out of touch with the reality of existence down here in the mire that it may as well have been a troop of monkeys in charge. They'd probably make better decisions and at least there'd be bananas.
But I had to remind myself that I wasn't exactly a regular guy, and had no real clue how "normal" people went about their lives. Sure, I got an inkling, maybe even a sour taster of it, but my life was not theirs, and theirs was not mine. What the fuck did I know? Less than nothing, probably.
So I comforted myself with wine, and a lot of charred protein, and all was well in the world for a while.
Late into the night, brooding on the death I'd felt compelled to dole out earlier that day, and the haunted faces of the hundreds of men I'd killed floating above the fire with their silent screams, I stumbled into the woods for a steaming pee. The wine had got to me, but I already had the beginnings of a hangover so I knew there was only a single recourse. After I'd zipped up, I fished out the other bottle and slumped back against the tree and stared into the flames.
Where was Tyr? I was about to reach out to him when I decided to leave him be. He was more independent now, didn't need me badgering him and checking up all the time. Much like Jen, scarily so in fact, he was beginning to find his own place in the world, and I should let him have this time alone if that was what he desired. Instead, I swigged wine from the bottle, no longer bothering with the tin mug, and watched the flames dance.
There were no sprites this fine evening, just me and the fire and the moon. It was almost full, but not quite. A cold, strong light that lit up the forest in monochrome, affording me brief glimpses of deer, rabbits, and other creatures taking advantage of the warm evening and the chance to forage or hunt in their own piece of paradise.
Would the promises of those in charge ever come to pass, and our country once again return to the rich, diverse ecosystem it once had? Would new trees in their millions be planted, the grip of monoculture finally eradicated, the forests expanded, wild boar re-introduced? Was that even the right thing to do? We had to feed people, we had to look after each other, but we had to ensure the country wasn't bulldozed over and every spare piece of land built on.
Again, no answers from me. I just thanked my lucky stars I wasn't the one making these kinds of decisions.
Every new idea to save our planet was met with equal measure of enthusiasm and backlash. Things had definitely changed for the better, but there was no permanent solution to the energy crisis. Plans had been implemented to cover huge swathes of the Sahara and other desert lands with endless rows of solar panels, enough to light up the entire world. It had seemed great.
But the first trials uncovered insurmountable problems. We'd simply generate too much heat, the panels would warm the world more than it had already done, the volume of water needed to run such undertakings made it impossible to be viable, and the cost of producing, then replacing, the panels and the damage that caused meant it was dead in the water before it even got properly started. Not to mention the issue of actually storing such a volume of energy until it was needed, and the incredible losses when electricity was sent through cables over long distances.
Who was right? Nobody knew.
Countless other ideas had begun then halted. There were breakthroughs, setbacks, and complications I could never understand. The only overriding thing anyone could agree on was that if everyone turned the lights off and nobody drove, then that would definitely work. But everyone sensed the unease. It had to end soon or there'd be serious repercussions. Humanity was coming to the end of its tether, and this kill switch business might be the straw that finally broke the camel's back.
Or we'd all get along and decide that yes, it's awesome without the internet or communication or driving or going to shops or having any nice cheese, so let's all buy a horse and begin a new hobby. That'll teach the bastards.
Maybe that would happen. But I had my doubts.
I laughed out loud at my own idiocy. Here I was, half pissed, trying to figure out world problems the greatest minds of our time couldn't even agree on at a basic level. Hell, nobody could even decide what constituted family any longer. But I knew.
It was the ones you loved and wanted to spend time with. End of. Not blood relations, not just a sense of duty, but people you genuinely loved and cared for. That was family in my eyes. Just a shame all of mine apart from two wondrous ladies were fucking mental. But that's what made life fun and interesting, at least for this pissed Necro alone in the woods talking to the fire because it was the only time he was allowed to spew his crap without getting a serious tongue-lashing.
Damn, I need another pee. I grabbed the tree for support, heaved up, and stumbled off.
When I returned, and stared back into camp, I suddenly became very sober, very fast.
OLD NOT FRIENDS
My gear was strewn around camp, everything in total disarray. The remaining food was gone, the bones and all, and I had myself to blame for that. The fire roared, casting a strong orange glow on the pitiful creature prowling around the clearing at a safe distance then darting forward to snatch at things, sniff, then discard if it wasn't edible. It was doing a good job; I think he'd got everything already.
Too late to shimmy up a tree, the creature's head snapped around and unsettling green eyes locked on mine. The man-wolf snarled, baring sharp teeth that would make short work of me. I inched my hand down to my side, hoping to grab my knife, but there was intelligence behind those eyes and he snarled louder as he shook his wild, patchy mane from side to side in warning.
I nodded my understanding, and instead moved my hands in front of me then clasped them together, hoping he'd realize I meant no harm.
On all fours, the poor beast continued his search, taking his eyes off me only for a brief moment at a time, flashing his teeth repeatedly in warning. I got the message loud and clear.
But something wasn't quite right with this werewolf—although the term wasn't very common amongst Necros, as it conjured up too many images of bad movies and misinformation. He was a simple shifter, an animorph. But somewhere in his genetic history something had gone screwy, so rather than having the ability to shift into the shape of a wolf, things got confused and he ended up being neither fully one thing nor the other.
The few stories of lycanthropes I knew of, and could be at least partly relied upon, told that much of the time they were like others who could morph. They could choose the time and place, and it certainly helped them fulfill their notes if they could keep their minds focused enough and not lose themselves to the animal. According to Phage, something commonplace amongst their kind.
But when the moon was powerful, close to full, and especially when full, then they had little choice in what happened. They could fight it all they wanted, but change they would, so extreme caution had to be taken. Theirs was a life no other Necro envied. They were prisoners of their own powers.
Most died young, either unable to live with themselves and the things they did when a wild animal, or killed by other Necros when the yearly notes rolled around because they were a danger to our kind, to innocents, as it was all too easy for them to let themselves be seen and risk exposure. That was not something many Necros wished for.
Sure, a few thought we should rise up, take control. But truth be told, we were few and far between in a world of regular people. Uprising led to nowhere but more trouble than we all already had.
This poor soul was clearly struggling. I guess the pull of the moon wasn't quite strong enough to force him to change fully, but he couldn't draw back enough to become human. He was stuck in a terrible limbo where every thought would be like a scream, every movement confusing to a human body, and every forced human movement bewildering to the animal within.
I was stunned he'd lasted for so long. Well into adulthood and beyond. And I recognized him. I'd seen him before, when I had the blessing of foresight and was up a tree. That was several years ago now, but the markings were unmistakable. Guess this guy was either lucky or seriously hardcore.
The thick white patch of fur beneath his chin was dirty white, longer than the rest of his brown fur and hair combo. It was hard to tell which was which as either this was a naturally hairy dude or he simply grew it all when he changed. I'd met bald men who were shaggy dogs, and shaggy men who were bald cats, so you could never tell.
His face was just as unfortunate as the rest of him. The eyes were wolf-like but unmistakably human—aside from the bright green. His snout was stretched out but the nose was that of a man. His ears ended in blunt points but he still wore an earring, and although the eyebrows were bushy, it was nothing a quick trim wouldn't sort out. He moved mostly on all fours, but would stop and squat then bounce forward in a crouched position only to use his long fingers to scramble about with great dexterity. The legs and arms themselves were definitely human, but his ribcage and chest were as you'd expect from a wolf, and the long tail certainly made the overall effect very canine.
Seemingly finished with his rounds, he squatted with his back to the fire and watched me.
"Hey," I called quietly, "you still hungry? Can you understand me?" I reached out mentally to him as I had once before, but unlike last time I didn't have to retreat instantly. His head was a mess of warring thoughts and emotions, but there was more man than wolf there and he was regaining control fast.
He never spoke, but I "heard" the silent hunger within, so I tried speaking directly to him, more imagery than words, in the hope it would get through easier. I pictured myself searching in my pack and pulling out bread, slices of meat, and several apples, then tried to conjure the emotion of us happily sitting under the tree and biting into the apples, him less wolf, more man than currently.
He didn't speak out loud or even silently, not in words, but I felt the longing for company, to be a man again, and the incessant hunger. Yes, it was mostly for raw, fresh meat, but beggars can't be choosers. He would settle.
We snapped out of the connection the moment I moved guardedly towards my pack. With a growl, the beast shuffled forward, ready to pounce, but I kept going and soon I had the food. I sighed as I wondered what the hell I was playing at, and understood that maybe I was lonely. That I needed company tonight, and hardly ever spent time with other men, even very hairy ones. Was that it? Did I just want a pal?
I honestly didn't miss other people's company, but maybe tonight was different. Maybe I needed something to stop the nightmares, the dreams of killing over and over. Not that the killing was the nightmare, it was my lack of guilt at what I did that always got me. I should feel worse, yet although I hated killing, I lamented being unable to feel true sorrow and regret for taking the lives, just an overall ennui for having to kill at all.
Maybe it was a defense mechanism. I certainly knew what I did was wrong, and I was broken on too many levels for me to ever understand, so I did what I could and just felt sorry for myself. But maybe tonight there would be a reprieve.
