A Town Called Discovery Read online

  WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WAS THAT???

  STOP GIVING ME ROSES. I DETEST YOU ON A MOLECULAR LEVEL, MY SUPER SOLDIER MAN.

  DO IT RIGHT THIS TIME!

  (PHWOAR, FANCY A NICE PAIR?)

  He can’t help but chuckle as he eats the pear that is utterly delicious in a way no other food has ever been delicious.

  Day. Night. Light. Dark. Lost again and he lies down to savour the rose and ponders the subtle differences in fragrances they all have.

  ROSES ARE RED. VIOLETS ARE BLUE.

  YOU’RE A TWAT THAT ISN’T TRYING.

  I HATE ROSES.

  DO IT RIGHT!!

  (THE MELON IS SUPER NICE)

  (I PISSED ON IT, BY THE WAY)

  He sprays a mouthful of melon on reading the last line then spins round at the sound of the muffled laugh coming from somewhere. He sniffs the outer skin of the fruit, not detecting any scent of urine then tries to remember what urine smells like. An orange rose this time. ‘Thanks for the melon.’ He heads into the maze with an idea to leave a trail, so he knows where he has already been.

  OH MY GOD. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

  IT RESETS!!! BREAKING BRANCHES WON’T WORK.

  DEAR ME, YOU’RE NOT VERY BRIGHT, ARE YOU MY SWEET SUGAR PLUM?

  DO IT RIGHT!!

  (PLUM? GET IT? I’M FUNNY)

  He figures she left three plums because they’re smaller. Rose left and he sets off once again to see she was right and none of his clues are still there. The thing is vast too and must span several square miles at the very least judging by the distances he is covering each time he comes in.

  LET ME SPELL IT OUT.

  R.I.G.H.T

  DO IT RIGHT!

  (I’M STARTING TO LIKE ROSES, BUT I HATE YOU MORE WITH EACH PASSING MINUTE)

  An hour later he stops, turns round and marches back to the table to read the card again.

  R.I.G.H.T

  He stays right. Going right and never left. Some do lead to dead ends, but he makes far greater progress than he has before, but not enough, not this time anyway.

  FINALLY!

  I WAS ABOUT TO TATTOO IT ON YOUR DICK

  TAKE THE GRAPES WITH YOU AND HURRY UP SMARTY PANTS

  (CHECK YOUR DICK)

  He takes the grapes with him and jogs into the maze. Staying right and remembering the route to take and checks his penis for any tattoos but thankfully there aren’t any.

  Hours pass, he jogs as often as he can and only stops to recover his energy to keep going, then he reaches it. Turning from a path into a large circular opening with another table in the middle and a bottle of water on the top. He snatches the card up, wiping the sweat from his brow as he reads quickly.

  DISCOVERY LEADS TO SALVATION

  Run

  The lack of jokes and quips imbues a sense of urgency that makes him look up and round. Multiple paths lead off. Several on the left, several on the right, more ahead. She said to stay right.

  D

  Right there on the edge of one path. The letter D hanging from a branch. He reads the card again.

  DISCOVERY LEADS TO SALVATION.

  He runs.

  They come within minutes. Barks heard in the distance. He drinks as he runs to slake his thirst and pounds on, cursing when he reaches junctions and has to waste time to learn which is a dead-end and grunting with satisfaction when he finally spots the letter I hanging from a branch at a big junction.

  S on a branch.

  C on a branch.

  The dogs reach him. Snarling and sweeping along the path behind him and he stops to inhale the rose still gripped in his hands that takes his mind from this place now.

  He resets in the middle. Waking up to see the bottle of water on the table but no card. No anything. He grabs the bottle and goes on.

  Where is O? he can’t find O. The dogs are coming. Any sense of calm he felt before vanishes. The dogs reach him.

  Up. Grab the bottle. O! He finally spots it hanging side on and knows with a stab of guilt that he must have run past it a dozen times at least.

  V.

  E.

  R.

  Exhaustion starts to hit. The sweat stopped pouring ages ago when he ran out of water. His legs feel like rubber and his head hurts. Just one more letter to go. Left. Dead end. Go back. Go right. Scan the sides of the bushes. Look for the letter. They’re so close now. The snarls and feet pounding only a few twists and turns behind him.

  Y! There it is. He runs into the lane, sprinting hard but it’s long and bends frequently, taking him through sweeping corners until it straightens out with a door at the very end. He gives it everything he has got, surging the last few metres to slam through the door with a sense of victory as the dogs skid to a stop and watch him dropping towards the ocean below.

  6

  Position, glide, angle and dive.

  ‘Keep going,’ she shouts over the noise of the waves and wind from the boat named Discovery, riding the waves as he goes to shout, to scream and roar but something feels different. The boots. They’re filling with water and dragging him down. He tucks a leg up, pulling the laces apart to tug it and let it drop. Then the other one as he rises and drops on the waves and when he looks round she is gone.

  The same as before and he’s dumped on the sharp stones that cut his hands, but he’s done this before many times.

  His hands and feet find the first holds and he starts going up the cliff with that fury rising inside.

  ‘Where is she?’ he demands of the seven men dressed in blue coveralls waiting for him with axes, but as before they remain expressionless and silent.

  They don’t stand a chance. The violence within him becomes a cold detachment and the space he has now is wider and bigger. He goes to work with his mind taking him back to the lessons learned in the seven-sided room, breaking knees, arms and nose before snatching an axe and swinging it round, cleaving another one in half.

  He steps into the path with an axe and walks for five strides before looking back but the plateau is now five strides behind him. Another foul trick. Another cheap thing done. Where is she?

  He runs onto the lawn, ditching the axe to gain speed. The first arrow comes swooshing to thud into the earth. Then the rest sail down as he weaves and dodges before reaching the house to run through the door, slamming it closed behind him. A few strides across the room and he tips the sofa, blocking the knife coming into his gut and pulling the mask away to look into soft blue eyes and a fair complexion that isn’t hers. He shouts in frustration, throwing the knife into the servant.

  ‘WHERE ARE YOU?’ he stalks through the group, throat punching the young man that always laughs first for good measure.

  The seven-sided room and the second he steps in, so the other six doors open, and they come running. He goes in to meet them, avoiding the fighting sticks swinging at his head as that violence within grows darker and stronger.

  He strides out, sweating profusely and snatches the bottle of water up to drink it down in one long gulp while reading the card.

  DON’T STOP.

  He snatches a rose and runs on. He is not here. This is not real. Pain is just a suggestion of a sensation.

  The middle and another bottle of water. The dogs are loosed, and he goes faster, willing strength into his legs but he knows the route now and finds the letters with ease.

  The straight path to the door. Please no. Please not again. Please. He inhales the rose and runs praying through to scream in rage as he drops through the air.

  Position, glide, angle and dive. He goes deep and swims up to gasp again. ‘I can’t,’ he cries out,’ gasping for air.

  ‘You can,’ she says dully, watching him intently from the boat. She twists her hand to make the engine bite and powers away.

  Shore. Cliff. A dozen men with axes. He kills them all and takes the path to run out across the lawn and bursts into the room to throw a taken axe across the space into the servant and throat punches the young man as he goes past into the battle of the
seven-sided room.

  Six come and die. Then another seven rush through but they die all the same. His reflexes and instincts carrying him through while the heat rises, pressing down like a great weight.

  He staggers out onto the veranda, leaning against the table to drink the water while he sways on the spot and reads the card.

  KEEP GOING

  Rose. Maze. Run.

  Halfway. Water. Dogs. Run. Door. Please no.

  Position, glide, angle and dive.

  He doesn’t speak when the boat named discovery slows nearby. She doesn’t either. She just pulls her hood back and locks eyes on his without any sign of rage or anger or goad this time.

  Shore. Cliff. Kill the men. Plateau to the lawn and the axe sails across the masquerade room before he steps inside, smashing into the servant. He takes it up as he passes and spins once with a vicious snarl to behead the young man as the women cackle and the men slap thighs.

  The first seven come in the seven-sided room. He kills them and the next seven as the heat rises. He has no sweat to give now, he has nothing to give now. Another seven men in blue coveralls block the path from the seven-sided room to the French doors. No matter. He sways in the heat, shrugs and goes at them.

  There is no card at the table this time. No apple either. Just the bottle of water that he gulps down in one go while staggering to the flowerbed to pluck the stem of a red rose free and he presses the velvet head to his nose and inhales. There is no pain. He is not here.

  The maze is torturous. He falters and staggers into the hedges, cutting his hands and arms open on the thorns and razor wire. He loses focus for a long time then comes to crawling on all fours with his eyes fixed on the door at the end as the dogs walk behind him. Sniffing his feet and panting softly but he has no knowledge of them. He has no knowledge of anything other than the door that he reaches and paws at before falling through, landing face down on a concrete path.

  He is falling in his mind. Position, glide, angle and dive. He gets ready for the impact as she walks over, folding her arms and smiling at him humping the ground.

  ‘Why on earth did you keep going?’ she asks, not expecting an answer.

  His movements slow, his arms and legs growing still. ‘You told me to,’ the whisper is almost lost on the last breath before he blacks out,

  Roshi drops down to pluck the rose from his hand and inhales the soft fragrance. ‘What a strange man you are, my tiger…’

  7

  ‘Help me…please…’

  On his feet in a heartbeat to look round. A big room like a warehouse. Walls covered in grime and years of dust. The concrete floor broken and pitted, streaked with old oil stains and the air stinks of damp and piss. He was in the maze then on a path. Confusion hits once again.

  ‘Please…’ a pitiful voice, feminine, distressed and childlike. He blinks as he scans, seeing nothing then spotting a big central pillar and a small foot poking out from the other side.

  ‘I want my mummy…’

  Oh, god, she’s young. Blond hair in pigtails, a school uniform and tear-streaked cheeks. Wires round her body that go up to a digital clock on the pillar with red numbers flashing as they count down. 4:50. 4:49. 4:48.

  He drops down, blinking rapidly, ‘what happened? Where are we?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she wails, bursting into tears. ‘I want my mummy…’

  This is sick. To torture him is one thing but a little girl is something else and he frets for a minute, not knowing what to do.

  4:00. 3:59. 3:58.

  ‘I want to go,’ she tries lifting her arms, but the wires are too tight round her body.

  ‘I’m right here,’ he grabs the box, turning it over and seeing the hinges on one side. He pushes at the lip, flipping the lid over to see all the wires running into one end thread through to numbered connectors, each held in place by a tiny screw. A sequence of numbers printed on the underside of the lid with a small precision screwdriver and a set of tweezers stay fixed in places by plastic clips. He looks again at the sequence of numbers then at the screws, understanding what he has to do.

  2:33. 2:32. 2:31.

  There are so many. Dozens of them and the clock is counting back. Less than two minutes now and the girl weeps and begs as he rushes, snagging his fingers and dropping the tools from the haste in his motion.

  ‘We’re going to be okay,’ he says calmly. ‘Listen to me…we’re going to be okay. We’ll find your mummy.’

  Ten seconds. He snaps the wires out, cutting his fingers on the sharp edges of the box.

  ‘Please,’ she begs.

  0:05. 0:04. 0:03.

  He ditches the box and scoots to wedge himself between the explosives and the girl, wrapping his body round hers. ‘It’s okay…we’ll be okay…I promise…’

  A tick. A click and the explosives detonate.

  At the far end of the room, on a high up gantry hidden from view in the shadows, Roshi releases the breath she was holding at seeing him ditch the box and rush to protect the child with his body.

  A blink of an eye later and he’s back on the ground, waking up with a jolt and a yell, surging up onto his feet.

  Roshi remembers doing this. Everyone remembers this scenario. The difference is everyone else does this scenario after knowing why they are here. He is doing it without that knowledge, but he still covered the girl with his body.

  A sob, a cry and the girl calls for her mummy. The man runs fast, baulking as he spots the girl tied to the base of the pillar. A fleeting look of relief that she is okay and the understanding that this is another one of the levels he went through before.

  He works fast. This is the same as the ocean and the cliff, the same as all the others but it’s not just him this time. There’s a child here. ‘I know what to do,’ he tells the weeping girl. ‘It’s okay…I’ll get you out this time…’ Wedge, snap, check the next number, wedge, snap.

  It takes over four minutes to free all the wires and he glances after snapping the last wire, expecting to see the timer frozen but it’s still going, counting backwards with less than forty seconds to go. He doesn’t hesitate but wrenches the wires free from the box to unwind them from the girl then snatches her up to start running.

  Roshi bites her lip, watching him run underneath to reach the big heavy door that he heaves back on old rusty rollers that screech out.

  A dozen children of the same age as the first. Boys and girls all sitting in a room identical to the last. Wires around their frames and over their shoulders that all lead to a big flat box the same as before and a clock on a central pillar.

  0:05. 0:04. 0:03.

  ‘NO,’ he roars out and turns away, dropping down to shelter the kid in his arms as the bombs detonate.

  Reset and Roshi watches him surge up before his eyes are even open properly. He runs fast, sprinting past the girl to heave the door back.

  ‘It can’t be done,’ Roshi says from behind him, snapping his head over and staying passive when his hand grips her throat, lifting her off the ground to hold pinned against the wall.

  ‘THEY’RE CHILDREN,’ he roars. ‘I swear to God, I will make you suffer…’

  She squirms in his grip, her face turning red. ‘It’s not real,’ she gasps.

  ‘Help me get them free…’

  ‘I can’t…it’s not real…it can’t be done…’

  ‘You’re sick,’ he mutters and releases his grip, letting her fall to the floor with a look of disgust etched on his face.

  ‘I said it’s not…hey wait,’ she rushes up to her feet, grabbing at his arm but he pulls free, stepping away as though her very touch is abhorrent. ‘I said it can’t be done. It’s a flawed test…save one, save many, try hard but they all die anyway…’

  He looks back at the children as something inside snaps and he turns to the woman ready to make her end it by any means necessary, but the space is empty and when he spins back the children are gone too. No clock. No bomb or wires. He staggers away, faltering for a second wh
ile she watches silently from the gantry, feeling a strange reaction to his disgust. She nods once, firm and solid and a second later a uniformed American police officer walks into the room below. Black shirt, black trousers, smart and official with a utility belt brimming with equipment and a radio fastened to his shirt.

  ‘Hey,’ the man shouts, recognising the uniform but again not knowing how. ‘I need help…’

  The cop pulls his baton and flicks his arm to extend it out as he stalks at the man.

  ‘There were kids and…what are you doing? I’m no threat to you…Sir, I am not a threat…please…’ the man stops running to hold his hands out in front, placating the expressionless cop. ‘Please…I need help. I’ve been kidnapped and…’ the cop moves fast, running the last few metres to swipe at the man who dodges back out of range.

  Roshi leans over the gantry to watch with interest. A cop is of a symbol of authority that represents law and order.

  ‘Stop! Please…’ the man dodges and weaves, staying out of range of the cop swiping his baton at him.

  Another cop walks in. A third. A fourth and the man finally gets it. His face changing, his whole manner and being changing as he recognises it for what it is. This is the seven-sided room again. He goes back and away but ceases the calls to stop and focusses on the threat facing him.

  The first cop lunges and this time he goes in to meet the attack, blocking the swipe and twisting to roll the cop over his hip, dumping him on the floor then snapping his neck and reaching down to yank the pistol free from the holster.

  Roshi watches him aim and pull the trigger but the gun doesn’t fire. He doesn’t know how to operate the safety switch. He tries again, cursing under his breath when it still doesn’t fire and ditches it to take the baton up and as he kills them, so she sends more in, but not just cops.

  ‘What the fuck?’ he says at seeing a priest running at him wearing shiny brass knuckle dusters. ‘Stop it…’ he dances back and away, hesitating for a second. ‘Father…seriously…’

  Roshi smiles faintly on the gantry.

  ‘Oh, fuck off,’ he lunges in, driving the baton into the priest’s kneecap, smashing it audibly before flipping the man over onto his back as a scream from the door snaps his head up.