Dead Reckoning and Other Stories Read online

  "Never mind, come and give your old man a squeeze. You too, girls."

  ***

  Lunch was subdued. Ellen and the girls said little as they ate. Earl felt the sidelong glances when they thought he wasn't looking. Even the cake didn't produce more than a quiet "thank you" from his granddaughters. Things eased a little as the youngsters chased around the park with Kat, while Ellen sat with Earl on a sun-washed bench watching them play.

  "What's going on, Dad?" Ellen's voice was quiet but intense. "And don't fob me off; I know when something isn't right."

  Earl hesitated. "I'm not sure I understand it myself. All I know is that I feel alive like I haven't in years. You remember the parties we used to have? When all the family and friends used to come around?"

  Ellen nodded.

  "We had so much to live for then, your mom and me. You kids were young and life was sweet. It felt like nothing could ever change that."

  "But things do change: we got older, I lost your Mom, you and Steve grew up. And there isn't anything you can do about it. That's the damnedest thing; inside you feel the same, but you're betrayed by your own body."

  "And now?"

  "Now?" Earl stopped. What about now? "Now I have what looks like a second chance, and nothing is going to stop me from taking that. Not you, not the girls, not anyone."

  "But it's not right Dad, not natural... you–"

  "Ellen?" She slid back slightly when he reached out to her. "Would you prefer I was still sick?"

  "Of course not, how can you say such a thing. It's just-"

  The air was rent by a pair of shrill screams. Both adults looked up to see the girls running towards them white-faced.

  Ellen jumped up. "What is it? What's wrong?"

  Nothing but incoherent sobs came from the two youngsters and as Earl went over to try and help he realized Kat was nowhere in sight.

  Earl stopped and turned full circle. "Kat? Here boy."

  "Take it easy girls. Talk to Mommy."

  "Girls? Where's Kat?" Earl felt his stomach flip-flop. "Have you seen him anywhere?"

  "Dad?" Ellen hissed. "They're upset and all you can think about is your dog?"

  "Here, Kat." Earl turned to the girls. "You were playing with him. What happened? Where is he?"

  Without waiting for a reply, Earl jogged down the grass to where he'd last seen them together. Not even noticing the incongruity of his fluid movements. "Kat! Here boy. Come to Pops." He walked around a bank of withered roses, the scent of decay adding to the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Kat lay unmoving on the grass.

  Earl rushed up and cradled the dog in his arms. Kat's frame seemed to have shrunk, like there was too much fur or maybe not enough Kat to fill it properly. Earl stroked the dog's head hoping to get some sign of life out of him, but there was no response.

  "What is it, Kat?" Earl's eyes stung as he forced back tears, lifting the dog carefully and carrying him back to Ellen and the girls.

  "Dad?"

  "I need your car keys, Ellen. He's hurt and I need to get him to the vet."

  "You can't drive, Dad. They wouldn't renew your license—remember? I'll take you."

  "Just give me the keys. I'll drop you on the way." Earl held out his hand and waited until Ellen fished inside her bag and handed them over.

  The drive to the animal hospital was a blur. Afterward Earl couldn't have said whether the traffic was heavy or light; in fact he couldn't remember any of the journey at all. All he remembered was striding up the steps, holding Kat like the most prized treasure in creation.

  "Please, you have to help him... like last time." Earl pleaded at the girl behind the desk. "Do something, I'm begging you."

  Earl waited, his forehead pressed against the cold smoothness of the picture window that looked out onto the parking lot. He wondered again what had happened to him and Kat. He wasn't sure. All he knew was that when he thought about losing the little dog, a hole opened up inside him that felt like it would suck in his heart and soul.

  A noise made Earl turn. The vet was grim-faced.

  "I'm sorry Mr. Err..." He glanced at the card. "Mr. Duarte. It was too late, there was nothing we could do for the poor fellow."

  "You mean?" Earl sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands.

  "The nurse seemed to think that you'd brought the dog in recently, but that must be a mistake. I'd remember any dog as ill as that little chap."

  "What was it?" Earl tried to stand but couldn't, finally propping himself up and dragging himself into a chair by the window.

  "Well, as near as I could make out he had complete liver failure, complicated further by a number of age-induced infections. There's no way to be sure without a complete autopsy." The vet paused. "I'm sorry. You must have had him a long time."

  "Since... he was a puppy." Earl sobbed.

  "Of course." The vet turned.

  "Wait." Earl called to the retreating figure. "Do you recognize me?"

  The vet turned back. "Funny you should ask. The name's familiar, but I don't recognize you, I must admit. Have we met before?"

  "I guess not."

  Earl walked blindly out of the surgery to the car, too numb to think about where he was heading. He drove without thought, taking random turns for what must have been several hours, stopping only by instinct for red lights.

  ***

  Weeks passed and Earl struggled on. He hadn't felt such loneliness since losing Isobel and now it seemed so much worse because of his own transformation. He still didn't understand what had happened and wasn't sure whether it had been a curse or a blessing, his physical improvement soured by the fact that his family had virtually disowned him.

  He'd only seen his daughter twice since the park and she'd left the girls in the car both times. Ellen said they didn't want to see him anymore, but Earl hadn't believed that and pushed past her. When he'd opened the car door, the girls had screeched, huddling together white-faced at the far side of the seat. Earl backed away confused.

  Today though, he needed a walk. Whether it was the unexpectedly bright sun or something else, he felt an urge to get out of the house. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and pulled the coat tight around him. Though sunny, the chill of winter filled the air as he strode through the streets.

  By rights he should have felt grateful for what had happened. He'd been given a second chance, another opportunity to make the most of life, but it seemed empty. Bel was still gone; nothing he could do would change that. He'd wondered whether he should look for someone new, but just thinking about it brought a sour taste to his mouth. Now he'd lost Ellen and the grandkids too. He felt hollow, as if he'd stolen a life that didn't belong to him. Perhaps Ellen had been right; he really was a selfish old man. No matter how good he felt, he didn't want this if it cost him his family.

  Passing a litter-strewn alley, a soft noise caught his attention. It was so quiet that by rights he shouldn't have heard it over the traffic. Earl moved down the lane, stopping frequently as he strained to locate the sound, eventually tracing it to a loose stack of wooden crates. Picking the jumble apart, he placed each shard to one side, finally revealing a shivering, bedraggled mass of damp fur. Dark button eyes looked up at him sadly from either side of a white-flecked nose.

  "Who are you then, old fellow?" Earl ran his hand across the dog's head. "No collar, huh? You're too old to be out here on your own."

  He slipped his coat off, no longer feeling the icy wind, and wrapped it around the dog; cradling the animal against his chest. The dog looked wary, but soon settled into the crook of Earl's arms with a grateful murmur.

  "Everything's going to be okay." Earl scratched the dog's ears softly, feeling a familiar twinge in his side. "I'll make it all right again. You'll see."

  The End

  Much has been published about the value of pet ownership. Pet owners tend to be more active, healthier, and better-balanced mentally. These ideas mixed with the fact that many religions believe in reincarnat
ion, especially in the form of animals gave me this story. It was the first short I wrote in our new Canadian home and I felt a new found optimism about the future. I'd also lost my own dog Jake, a few months before we moved to Canada and still missed him deeply. Writing this story had a deeply cathartic effect and opened the way to us introducing another dog (Kyla) into our little family later in 2006. Tragically we lost Kyla too a few years ago and we've never been able to bring ourselves to get another dog. It's still hard for me to read this story without getting upset.

  Dust to Dust

  Shards of adobe ripped into Holbrook's face as the wall exploded next to him. He threw himself down; he hadn't even heard the rifle shot. Bitter dust-like sand filled his mouth, grinding between his teeth as if he were chewing on glass. The wind gusted and all he could see was sand, leaving him only a vague idea where the rest of his squad was.

  "Norton? Fredricks? You there?"

  No reply. Holbrook pressed down into the heat-soaked ground and crawled forwards, the baking sand sticking to his exposed skin. There was something barely visible through the swirling clouds. His stomach tightened thinking it was the body of one of his comrades, but it turned out to be the lip of one of the many shell-holes that pock-marked the Sudan desert. A hollow, metallic bark of an AKM cut through the wind and he rolled into the hole as bullets tore the edge apart.

  "Dodged another one," he grunted.

  He heard two soft thuds and span around. Grenades! Holbrook hurled himself back as the force of the blast seared his face.

  ***

  Holbrook opened his eyes and saw an angel. At least if it wasn't an angel he had no idea what to call it. It floated in the air and its translucent body glowed as it moved around him as if examining him from all sides.

  You safe. Healthy.

  He sensed the words impossibly inside his head, unsure if they were real.

  "I'm alive?" He wasn't sure the angel would hear him.

  We save you.

  "Thanks." The word didn't seem enough. He felt okay though. There were no sensations of any wounds. "I'm glad you did."

  Ones before not like. Want return immediately.

  "I can go back?" Holbrook looked around; the space didn't look much like heaven, more like some kind of lab. He was surrounded by a number of box-like units lined with what appeared to be instruments of some sort, and two large cylinders dominated one corner reaching all the way up to the roof. He couldn't put names to any of it though. "Where is this? Who're you?"

  This Joleran, homeworld. Three-thousand light years from your planet. I Preel, leader Project Savior.

  Holbrook didn't believe in flying saucers or little green men. He shook his head; this couldn't be happening. I must be high on drugs or something, he thought. Maybe I'm in hospital, some kind of weird dream. If I lie here quietly, eventually they'll wake me up and-

  Your senses function correctly. I answer questions.

  Preel morphed. A thick extension of the creature's flesh reached out and molded against Holbrook's head. The tendril was cool against his forehead, then tingled, seeming to heat up until it burned. Thoughts flashed through his mind almost too quickly for him to follow. The Mechnas. War. Devastation. Decades. The Joles. Helpless. Pacifist. Unfamiliar with war and terror. Beaten. Retreat. Until only the homeworld remained. Last hope. Savior. Many attempts.

  "The Mechnas are destroying you and you need help fighting them? I hate to disappoint you, but I'm just one guy, not Rambo."

  You train we. We fight. We not good. Many years peace. You help us find again. Learn. Kill.

  "Hell, that would take months. And I'm not even sure..." Holbrook rubbed the stubble forming on his jaw. "Look, I can't stay here that long; I've got a girl..."

  Not months. Small time. Hours. We link your brain. Accelerated learning. Experience share. Please. Help.

  There was a desperation to the thoughts Holbrook received, a terrible cry of pain and loss that spoke of years of struggle. If it was hours, he could rationalize it. They'd saved his life after all. He could spare that sort of time in return. He grinned when he thought about what the other guys would say when he got back. They'd be buying him beer for the rest of his tour.

  Preel led Holbrook to a large capsule-shaped booth covered in fine pimples, like the surface of a golf-ball turned inside out, and shuffled him inside before he could object. Everything went dark and he blinked. Darkness was replaced by the sizzling heat of African Veld, the smell of hot grass sharp in his nose.

  Holbrook shaded his eyes against the fierce glare of the sun and saw his arm daubed with gray mud. In one hand he held a long spear, in the other a leaf-shaped wooden shield. A shout of alarm. Men charged toward him and the village behind him. Sun blinding. Figures melting. Blurs flashed past his eyes. Like a movie frame melting. Ears buzzed. He sank to his knees clasping his head as the noise became a deafening scream.

  Our apologies.

  "I thought you wanted me to help, not try kill me." Holbrook cradled his head in his hands.

  Your mind slow. Not anticipated. Pushed too much, too fast.

  "You better just send me back." Holbrook had the mother of all hang-overs and didn't want to repeat the experience. "This isn't gonna work."

  Nothing back there. Why you leave?

  "Everything I have is there. I know you're compassionate. Your mind showed me when we err... 'linked.' Look, you can return me can't you?"

  We can return. To origin. Place and time.

  "Great. No one will know I was gone." He was starting to wonder if it might be better not to mention this. They might lock him up if he did.

  You no future there. Here you live centuries. Your time.

  "You're wrong." Holbrook pulled back. "There's a whole world waiting back on Earth."

  We slow Accelerator. Training take days not hours. Preel paused momentarily. Is acceptable?

  ***

  First Holbrook was a Roman Legionnaire, fighting barbarians in the northern lands. The Centurions with him died in seconds at the hands of blue-stained hordes. Next he led British troopers against mass charges of Zulu warriors. Then he was at the controls of a Flying Fortress over the fields of Europe, as waves of Luftwaffe Messerschmitts tore into the flanks of the unprotected squadron.

  The scenarios were pulled out of his mind and each time the supporting Joles grew more skilled and confident. Initially it was as if they were in a daze. Now they acted like coordinated, tempered soldiers, killing efficiently and carrying the battle to the enemy. Holbrook was suffering though. Constantly fighting the ultra-realistic battles was even more stressful than real combat because of the infrequent breaks. He never had time to recover from one session before the next started.

  Now he was part of a multi-being StarChaser, individuals coming together as one. Projected energy beams and force fields allowed them to tear through Mechna fleets and rout their attackers.

  Holbrook gasped as he came out of the accelerator, his skin pale and drawn and his stomach hollow from being unable to fully digest the nourishment the Joles provided. The Joles also found that something in the dust on the planet was reacting with his lung membrane, resulting in a caustic bronchial irritation and making him fight for each breath.

  Our scientists are working on better food. It won't be long. Preel's thoughts had grown more fluid as their association had developed, increasingly coming across like regular English to Holbrook.

  "That has to be enough. I can't take any more."

  Preel came over and extruded a tentacle to brush Holbrook's head softly. At some point Holbrook had realized that Preel wasn't exactly male, and maybe not exactly female either. The touch soothed him as it always did, but this time it wasn't enough; he felt like his mind was disintegrating slowly the longer he stayed. One more battle and he'd lose it completely.

  "Send me home, please." he croaked.

  Your life is here. Your future here.

  "No! I've done all I can."

  Preel hesitated before answering; its
voice tinged with sadness. It is enough. Our people will defeat the Mechna now. But stay with us. You are hero. We celebrate and reward for your help.

  "I just wanna go home. I need to go home. You said you could send me back." The words tripped out almost in a babble. "Tell me you didn't lie."

  We don't lie.

  "Then do it."

  Preel pressed Holbrook down until he was lying flat on the platform, still stroking his forehead. Another extrusion moved to a nearby instrument panel.

  I send you back. I'm sorry, Holbrook. I hoped you would learn to like it here, with me.

  "Don't be sorry. I'm glad I could help." A flood of sadness washed through Holbrook as Preel's emotions touched him directly. "Please understand. I need to be with my own kind."

  Preel pressed the box.

  Farewell, Holbrook. You will not be forgotten. Return to your place and time.

  Holbrook felt nothing for the smallest instant. Then the oppressive heat of sand-filled air hit him from all sides and he tasted the bitter dust of the desert. Two gentle thuds sounded in the sand and he looked around.

  Grenades...

  The End

  Dust To Dust had a strange origin. I'd been thinking about writing something about a soldier teaching an alien race how to fight for a while but hadn't quite managed to work out the overall framework and plot. Then one day I was reading about "flash fiction" and wondered if I could write something that short (I tend to be a little more wordy!). Somehow the two ideas came together and so I dashed out the first scene and part of the second. I went to sleep that night and when I woke I had the whole idea fully formed in my head. I sat down immediately and wrote it out before I forgot anything!

  Murphy's Law

  IT appeared sometime in August and the world plus canine friends completely failed to notice. The first indication came from a BioSat that reported a complete shutdown of Earth's ecosystems. Obviously that never happened.

  No one saw the implications. Some backroom technician noted that number seventeen BioSat had "anomalous" readings and left it at that, until someone on the High-Rig doing routine checks spotted something in the same geostationary orbit.