INK: Red (INK Trilogy Book 1) (20 page)

I'm just going around and around in circles, dragging death along with me. Soon it will all be over. One way or another.

After parking the car out of sight, Edsel got out and scanned around — there was no way Bishop would have made it back yet, but it was best to be cautious. He opened the door for Aiden and he jumped out, looking worried. Aiden made no move to enter the house, which was perfectly understandable.

"I'm sorry about Bob."

"Me too. They just killed him Edsel, just like that. Like it was nothing."

"I know. They don't care Aiden, they think they were doing him a favor, doing the planet a favor by getting rid of one more precious person. They're insane, all of them. Come on, we have things to do, and fast."

Edsel led the way down the garden to Bob's Anderson shelter. He rummaged around inside until he found what he wanted, then got Aiden to help him move it back toward the house.

This will either work or it won't. Either way this ends today.

Edsel and Aiden worked hard for all of five minutes, then they had done as much as Edsel thought was safe to do before risking being seen if Bishop made good time back — assuming that he did come back. Edsel knew he would. It was the logical thing to do, and they wouldn't think him and Aiden would return.

Just like they didn't think I'd go back to their corruption of a church. Seems they underestimated me again. If they do come back.

Edsel frowned at his own confidence, knowing it was unfounded and he was alive because he'd been lucky, and stupid. He prayed his luck would hold out a little longer.

He took Aiden past the gardens and the animal enclosures, then out into the orchard. At the far end was a small tool shed where Bob had shown them he stored various pruning and crop gathering equipment. He explained to Aiden that he couldn't face anything bad happening to him and that he wanted him to hide in the shed. If he didn't come back for him by the time it got dark, then he was to make sure Bishop had left then try to find somewhere else to live, just in case The Eventuals came back to take what provisions and equipment they could salvage.

Aiden argued vehemently, reminding Edsel of how he had helped him survive and escape a number of times throughout the day, but Edsel was adamant. There had already been enough bloodshed and he could not, would not, be responsible for losing someone else he cared for.

That swung it, Edsel knew. Understanding that he cared for him, Aiden promised to hide and do what Edsel asked, even though he clearly wanted to help if he possibly could. Edsel left the boy in the shed, the smell of apples permeating the wood and everything inside. It smelled like the country; it smelled like home — back when his mum would bake an apple pie on Sundays and they would sit around the table, eating a roast dinner, arguing over who got to have the last of the Yorkshire puddings and whose turn it was to do the washing up.

Edsel closed the door behind Aiden and made his way across the short grass of the orchard. He went to fight what he prayed was to be his last ever battle. His legs felt like dead-weights, his skin felt like molten wax — as if it was dripping off him as the flames licked higher, and he couldn't stop the thud, thud, thudding of a mantra running in a loop around his head.

Kathy, Kathy, Kathy.

Over and over it played, the happy life of just a few short days ago taken and replaced with red. Red Ink, red blood, cuts and pain and the lack of satisfaction after his partial revenge.

Well, it looked like he had the opportunity to complete his revenge now, maybe that would give him the peace he craved?

He didn't believe it would for a second, but at least his attempt at vengeance would be complete one way or the other. Whether or not it made him feel better or not, Kathy's death would have been avenged and he would be free to try to build a life, if for no other reason than so Aiden never had to live through what he had.

Edsel went to wait for his tormentor.

This had better work.

~~~

Reality became dream-like. As he stood, then squatted without realizing, on the gravel at the front of the house, Edsel lost himself in a summer haze that lifted his thoughts to dance in the sky with the fluffy clouds. His thighs burned from his position, The Ink, and the trials he had endured since he had been captured.

His forearms burned in the sun, and the smell of the blood of others tickled the cilia of his nostrils as he drifted further and further away from the present.

He felt something wash over him, almost like The Lethargy in reverse. This wasn't simply energizing his body and mind though — it was something different entirely. Edsel watched from far above himself as the wreck of a man below began to shimmer orange, fractal wisps of energy crackling around him like the sun was shining through his pores. Waves washed over the man he felt only remotely connected to, gentle lapping then a fierce pounding, like the tide coming in and out with all the force of the oceans of the world behind it.

He became the ocean, vast and deep, dark and heavy; light and gentle at the shore.

Life stirred inside. Edsel fell from the clear sky and became a man again, but somehow not the man he had been. He could feel the beginnings of a new him shifting inside, hinting at things, at mysteries and at knowledge, at futures infinite in possibility, each decision, each act, branching off into countless futures never ending in scope.

Focus became sharp, vision cleared, and Edsel stared out at the world like a newborn — everything was fresh, clear, deeper and more complex than he had ever imagined. Telling tales of the way the world really was, of what was possible — the nature of things; of nothing. He caught glimpses of The Noise, and The Void, the only enduring non-thing there ever was. Where everything came from and everything returned to in the blink of a cosmic eye.

Edsel had begun to Awaken.

It wasn't a sudden opening up of the vast potential one man had inside him, to play in The Noise and for all things to be known to him, to be able to alter his body chemistry and never age a day. No, it was just a tickle under the chin, a slight hint of what could happen if he ever did truly Awaken, like those at The Commorancy, like a man named Marcus Wolfe he had once sought out but given up on when he found happiness with Kathy.

Edsel stood slowly, his limbs screaming but somehow different. There was a tiny hint of control, a lessening of the pain if he focused and tried to soothe his ravaged body.

The Ink?

It would always remain, a reminder, a brand telling of the bad in men — him and others, and the man that was taught a valuable lesson by the cruelties of human beings.

Someday he might even understand what that lesson was.

Edsel wandered as if in a daze as he heard two men approaching. He went around to the back of the house, then returned a few seconds later to where he had been standing.

He stood in the sunshine and watched as two men walked up the driveway.

I am ice. I am patience. I am calm and I will watch them burn in hell for their crimes.

NEWS

"You know I could just shoot you right now, don't you?" said Bishop, looking tired and harassed, Edsel was pleased to note.

"Go ahead then, what's stopping you?"

Edsel registered the look of confusion on Bishop's face; the man next to him just stood there impassively, a red statue.

He didn't think I knew, but now he's not so sure.

"Where's the boy?"

I knew it! They want Aiden; the game has changed now. They know he's Awoken and they want him.

"Gone. Away. I sent him back to the city. You'll never find him." Edsel hoped that the sweat trickling down his forehead wasn't giving the game away.

"I don't believe you, you haven't had time. Where is he?" Bishop demanded.

"The kid's smart, as I'm sure you know. He can drive pretty good for a youngster." Edsel stared at Bishop, understanding what had changed the situation so drastically. He figured something was different as they were being chased in the car. Why didn't they just shoot at them? Why just try to ram them off the road? He knew they didn't want him, knew that Bishop just wanted him dead for his blasphemy of escaping and denying The Ink. So it had to be the boy. He was very young to be Awoken, that could be a real help to the church, and he was still immature and impressionable enough that he assumed they thought they could brainwash him into being one of them.

"Bet he'd be invaluable, right? A young boy, able to sense the presence of others, enter their minds. Wipe them out with just a thought, like the flip of a switch?"

Damn, too much information. Keep it together Edsel, just a little longer. You are ice.

Bishop looked shocked. "He can do that? He's more powerful than we thought. I never even considered that he'd be able to make an Awoken stop moving like he did. Wonderful."

Edsel noticed that Bishop had said too much as well. "We?"

"I have my orders," was all Bishop offered. "Now, where is he?"

"I told you, he's gone."

"And I don't believe you."

"Whatever."

Bishop and his silent sentry took a step forward, each probably knowing what the other was about to do, or talking silently through The Noise.

Did he sound casual? Relaxed? Like a tough guy? He hoped so, but doubted it. Edsel reached into his pocket, while Bishop trained the gun on him. He fumbled for the lighter there and said, "You mind if I smoke? It will be my last, right?"

"Right. Go ahead, be my guest."

Edsel squatted down, fumbling in his pocket for a non-existent pack of rare cigarettes. He dropped the lighter. "Oops."

"Hey, hang on, what are you up t—"

Edsel brushed aside the gravel, turned the valve and flicked the lighter.

Light first time, light first time.
This better work.

He repeated it like a prayer as time slowed and his thumb scratched along the roller of the disposable lighter. It sparked into life and Edsel heard a satisfying whoosh before he even had the chance to look up at his handiwork. Edsel moved away from the tiny spout of flame coming toward him, nothing like the one that was right now shooting out at the two men.

Bishop's goon was screaming, running around in a mad panic, swatting at his clothes as the burst of flame engulfed him.

Bishop was trying to dodge the flailing garden hose that was now spraying flame incredibly fiercely in random directions. Edsel had connected it up to the propane and left it lying on the gravel like it was there ready to water the pots lined up around the front of the house. He was surprised it had worked, even though in his mind it should have. He'd checked the gas bottle that ran the boiler and it was pretty full, so he'd simply connected the garden hose to the bottle, put a valve on it where he had decided to wait in full view, and turned on the gas.

He'd wrapped some tape around the hose just after the valve, then made a tiny hole in the hose — he had his marker so he knew where to direct the lighter. Edsel was no engineer but he assumed, and he really hoped he was right, that the non-return valve he'd hooked up would mean that when he lit the propane then the flame would have only one way to go and wouldn't just explode the bottle, and maybe the house along with it. He was getting rather fond of the house.

It worked.

The second he flicked the lighter into life a fountain of flame shot out of the open end of the hose, spraying fire randomly, the hose dancing like a cobra.

Yes!

It had been risky, he'd had to time it just right. Staying calm and talking to the men until they were stood just in front of the innocuous hose had been tough — it felt like they could see right through his dubious and desperate plans.

Bishop's companion was tearing off his clothes, screaming as the flames licked at his face, the skin on his bald head already bubbling under the heat. Bishop hadn't fared half as bad, although the shock of the spouting flame had caught him off-guard and he got a nasty hit to his gun arm. The cloth was melted on his forearm and the gun clattered to the ground, forgotten in the panic as Bishop tried to douse the flame before it got worse.

Finish it, finish it, finish it. Now.

With the smell of burning flesh heavy in the air, Edsel ran at them. Already the flame was dying down, now nothing but a tiny flicker that stuttered and died before he even reached his tormentor. He grabbed the gun but it was scalding and he had to drop it immediately. The other man was on the floor now, moving slower and slower, moans subsiding as his life bled into The Void. The fire had done its work and he would be dead soon, throat burned out, lungs irreparably scorched.

Bishop was becoming aware of his situation now, and as Edsel lunged at him with his knife Bishop chopped down with his left arm and caught Edsel on the wrist, deflecting the strike down and away. Bishop kicked out and caught Edsel hard in the groin; as he doubled over Bishop ran, clutching his burned arm, toward the side of he house where he knew the cars would be parked.

Damn, the keys are still in the cars. Stupid.

Edsel hadn't had time to think of everything, the plan he had come up with was full of flaws he knew, but at least it was a chance, and that was all that had counted at the time. He sprinted after Bishop, coughing and doubled over from the fierce kick. His groin screamed in agony, the force of the kick adding to the ever present torture of The Ink. Sharp pains stabbed him as he moved, hard shards of scabs poking him that had been dislodged by the kick and now the strange crab-like running he had to do to keep moving.

Never gonna end. Never.

A car sprang to life before he reached the corner, and gravel kicked up as it roared right at him in reverse — it was the Suzuki that Edsel had parked behind the Seat. Edsel jumped out of the way, landing hard on the gravel, his ravaged body screaming for him to stop, to never move a muscle again. Was there no end to the pain one man could endure?