Daisy Donnie: Random Access Memories » Book 1 – grand adventures

Epilogue

Lisa Sinclair — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 17:00:47 +0000

In the background of an airport somewhere in the world, a nasally challenged announcement was being made:

‘Will a Mister Pilt Down, arrived on BSD flight 945 from Melbourne, Tullamarine please report immediately to security checkpoint Three-Five.’

At the checkpoint in question, a passport was pushed across the desk in front of the customs officer.

She opened it, with a bored expression and checked the biometric data against that just taken by the machines.

It all matched. It always did.

She longed for a mismatch so she could justifiably shoot someone. Ever since these new passports came into force, her job had become one of rote and boredom. A machine could have done it.

The officer looked up at the man that stood there and pushed his passport back to him.

‘Welcome home, Mister Presley.’

The dark haired man nodded, his metal-framed sunglasses reflecting the face of the customs lady.

He walked through the barrier without a word.

Fade to black…

South Yarra, February-March 2006

The Grand Adventures of Daisy Donnie by Lisa Jane Sinclair is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Australia License.
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Elvis has left the building

Lisa Sinclair — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 16:59:18 +0000

Green hills rolled beneath as the helicopter flew a little lower, its destination near. Trees were dotted here and there on the grassy plain and small patches of colour emerged periodically.

* * *

A white jeweled belt was folded by two men. The silver buckle was folded last and ended up on top.

The Elvis impersonator, captain of The King’s Guard, carried the belt slowly over to Prime and Marcus and handed it to them.

‘Glory, glory, ‘ sang one of the impersonators, performing a splendid rendition of American Trilogy. Three backup singers harmonized with him as the rest of the guard strummed acoustic guitars, providing the musical accompaniment.

‘Ma’am,’ he said, nodding to Prime and then to Marcus, said, ‘Sir.’

He turned on his heel and walked carefully back to his regiment.

Above them all, a helicopter circled and came into land.

Prime glanced up at the cherry tree, in full blossom, still damp from the previous nights rain.

The honour guard slowly moved away, leaving Marcus and Prime standing alone.

* *

A single person, dressed in black stepped from the helicopter, ducking the whirring blades. They began to walk up the hill, pausing as the honour guard approached. The captain of the guard, behind silver sunglasses, nodded to the newcomer as he walked solemnly past.

* * *

Marcus and Prime stood looking down at the grave where a white, hand-made wooden cross took the temporary place of something a bit more appropriate for The King of Rock and Roll.

On the horizontal, written in black paint were the words:

Elvis Aaron Presley

On the vertical, in the same black paint were the initials:

R I P

‘I can’t believe he’s really gone,’ murmured Prime, dressed in black with a warm overcoat over her shoulders. Steel crutches supported her weight enough for her to stand, and from her coherence it was obvious she was off the pain medication.

Marcus stood, pale trench coat covering black clothing, a scarf around his neck. He was remorseful, the shock and guilt filled him; no longer the confident British ex- super-spy.

‘I should have gone with him,’ he murmured, sadness and annoyance mingling.

Prime turned and grabbed him by his jacket with one hand, the crutch she was holding toppled to the ground.

‘Snap out of it. He pulled a gun on you,’ she said. ‘He told you what he wanted you to do.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘’Don’t but me, man’,’ quoted Prime, putting on an astonishingly bad accent. ‘That’s what he said. I was there. I heard.’

He stared at her, with the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

‘Don’t blame yourself, Marcus,’ she added. ‘He went because he wanted to.’

‘’Two is better than one’,’ murmured Marcus, recalling his friend’s words. He blinked the tears away and smiled sadly. ‘He said to say “Hi” by the way.’

Prime glanced over as Daisy-Donnie reached the top of the hill.

Without realising why, Marcus glanced away suddenly.

Prime held out her hand and Daisy-Donnie walked slowly over.

* * *

DaisyDonnie dreamed…

They were walking; walking through wet, cold undergrowth.

Without stopping, they glanced around, trying to make sense of their surroundings.

A forest perhaps? Certainly there were a lot of trees around.

Although it appeared to be the middle of the night, they didn’t feel the cold. They were detached; a watcher wandering through a dreamscape.

They decided to settle in and enjoy the ride, ignoring a bizarre tug of familiarity. Deja-vu was a complete bitch at the best of times.

The treeline flowed into low scrub, then to a grassy clearing of perhaps an acre in size. Conical structures were dotted here and there, looking like hi-tech teepees.

The dream had revealed itself. They were walking through memories, dreaming of their first home. This was the village where they lived as children.

DaisyDonnie looked up into the sky with a sad smile, hoping to get a glance at the moon. Alas, it was the wrong time of the month.

Looking down once more, they surveyed the clearing, realising how small these homes really were. Everything looks big to an eight year old. Even bigger to two of them.

It was a pity it was the middle of the night, too. DaisyDonnie made a mental note to have a word with their subconscious to include some lights the next time they dreamed of home. And some people; some sound would have made this place a little less creepy.

A child began to cry; a fearful, scared sound which broke through the dark silence like nails on a blackboard, tapping straight into the right nerve. DaisyDonnie was now very frightened.

Note to self: ps, don’t be so bloody literal-minded.

Another child cried out in shock.

Without knowing why, DaisyDonnie ran toward the sound and found two children in one of the homes kneeling on the floor.

A moment of distraction hit DaisyDonnie; they’d run straight through a wall to find the children. This shock passed in a flash as they realised where they were, and the adrenaline of fear kicked-in properly.

The children looked up from the bodies with shock; a shock that was shared by DaisyDonnie… they knew what was coming.

‘You have to leave,’ said DaisyDonnie, voice rising to panic. ‘You have to leave now!’

The door behind DaisyDonnie opened with a theatrical creak of rusty hinges.

‘Hello there,’ said The Assassin.

BZORNT!

Cue theme music and titles…

Daisy and Donnie will return

in

And Dream of Home

Click to read the epilogue

Pornography (part 4)

Lisa Sinclair — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 16:56:27 +0000

Elvis wrenched the shackles free of Daisy-Donnie and helped them down.

‘You look…’ he glanced down at Daisy-Donnie’s chest. ‘Different?’

Daisy-Donnie grinned at Elvis, but was distracted by the sphere of energy high in the air.

‘What are they doing to him?’ they asked, looking upwards.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu leaned forward and kissed each other once on each cheek. Then they stepped back and stood at predefined positions.

Two isolation spheres exploded energy around them. They too screamed in agony, as the spheres lifted from the ground and moved towards that of The Assassin.

They rotated and tilted in the air until they were either-side of The Assassin, still imprisoned.

* * *

‘What the hell is going on?’ asked Elvis, shocked. ‘What are they doing?’

The three spheres merged into one.

‘No! Please NO!’ screamed The Assassin in a moment of clarity. ‘You don’t know what you’re unleashing!’

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu reached out for The Assassin and he jerked unnaturally. Gasping, blood now running from his mouth, he opened his mouth and from it escaped an awful sound of pure torment. The blood ran down his body and dripped from his feet, fizzling as it struck the blue.

‘No,’ he gurgled, choking.

His body distorted and twisted.

Then, in a moment of desperation and with the last of his energy, he looked down at Elvis, eyes pleading.

Elvis lifted the President’s gun.

The Assassin’s head snapped back suddenly, the single projectile releasing him from the torture.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu screamed, now in torment as well as agony. They were so close…

‘There!’ yelled Panix, leading his men into the room. ‘Fire!’

One of the better-armed but less circumspect members of Team Amber fired an appallingly large and destructive weapon.

The explosion took-out the power-supply and control-mechanism for the isolation spheres.

Three bodies fell to the floor.

* * *

Elvis dragged Daisy-Donnie out of the room. They tumbled forward, forced off their feet by the shock-wave.

‘You shot him. I don’t believe–’ said Daisy-Donnie, pushing up from the floor.

‘Better I did,’ said Elvis urgently. ‘You saw what they were doing to him.’

He grabbed Daisy-Donnie’s arm and pulled them upright. ‘Now come on!’

They ran. They ran from the explosions behind them, and the corpse of The Assassin.

‘If you know a way out of here, now’s the time, darlin’.’

‘The Monorail,’ murmured Daisy-Donnie. ‘This way!’

* * *

Colonel Panix stood over the corpse of The Assassin. He nudged the body twice with a foot.

‘Dead,’ he said, and nodded. He reached down and lifted a radio from his belt. ‘Close the net.’

* * *

Daisy-Donnie and Elvis tried desperately to put some distance between themselves and the BSD goons, but it was all getting too much.

The stairs slowed their pace substantially.

The four corridors just about did them in.

‘Jesus,’ gasped Elvis. ‘This is too much.’

‘It’s ahead. It’s just down there!’ said Daisy-Donnie as they emerged in the baggage-handling facility.

Daisy-Donnie slowed, letting the King catch up.

Their face was sprayed with blood.

‘Oh… shit,’ Elvis gasped, clutching his chest. Blood seeped past his hand. He collapsed to his knees.

* * *

‘Done,’ said Colonel Panix, lifting the gun, a satisfied grin on his face. He had a birds-eye view of the two below. He lifted his radio and spoke.

‘Move in.’

* * *

‘Elvis?’ said Daisy-Donnie crouching by their friend.

‘Go,’ wheezed Elvis. ‘You have to… go.’

BSD troops flooded into the room along the gantry above and through the doors.

They fired at anything and everything; Bullets whizzed through the air.

The smaller of the luggage machines spewed smoke.

‘I won’t leave you,’ said Daisy-Donnie.

‘Why does everything…’ Elvis gasped for air and sank to the floor, tense from the pain. ‘…have to be a… debate?’

Daisy-Donnie dragged their friend along the ground by one arm; he weighed a ton.

‘You’re next Penfolde!’ yelled Panix and fired a volley of shots through the smoke.

Elvis struggled free of Daisy-Donnie.

‘Go, goddamn it!’ yelled Elvis and with the last of his strength, he rolled so he was facing the right way and forced himself to kneel. He reached out and grasped the President’s gun.

* * *

Daisy-Donnie ran for the double-seat monorail car, leapt onto the drivers seat and threw the controls forward.

The machine leapt into motion.

* * *

‘Time to take care of business,’ Elvis wheezed, then steadied the gun in both hands, and fired his last bullet.

* * *

Colonel Panix fell, screaming, his knee gushing blood.

* * *

Daisy-Donnie looked back, as Elvis squeezed off the shot.

A flash-bang exploded near the entrance to the tunnel; Elvis was a momentary silhouette as the phosphorous blanketed everything in dazzling white.

Then there was darkness.

Click to see the next installment: Elvis has left the building

South Yarra, February-March 2006

Pornography (part 3)

Lisa Sinclair — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 16:52:41 +0000

Elvis and The Assassin ran along the gantry from which Donnie had fallen some hours earlier. A size eight ladies shoe lay there, a stain of blood on it.

The skylights exploded with flashes of light and glass showered the two men and the surrounding area.

Dozens of white and black-clad people rappelled down like a French trapeze act. The white were rabid members of The Sisterhood; the black, BSD thugs.

‘Got any bullets? Mine’re gone.’ said Elvis as he ran beside The Assassin.

He caught the box of shells that The Assassin tossed him, and reloaded as he ran.

The Assassin fired two shots at the door at the end of the gantry and they pushed through into another section.

They turned and rushed down some metal stairs and once at the bottom they stood a moment, to allow the new arrivals to depart. As ordered, the white and black members of the opposing groups had other fish to fry.

* * *

‘This says that the path to enlightenment is to see the world through the eyes of a child.’ said Daisy-Donnie paraphrasing the book.

‘Yes,’ replied Madame Pink, her attention on the screens. She glanced down and pressed a red button on the console before her.

* * *

All around alarms screeched. An automated voice spoke over the PA.

‘This is an evacuation notice. Leave the facility by the nearest exit. This is not a drill.’

This suited Elvis down to the ground; it meant they could get in and out without too much unpleasantness.

They turned a corner and came to a screeching halt.

‘There you are.’ said Colonel Panix, standing at the end.

‘You should give yourself up,’ said Miss Rook. ‘This is no-longer your fight.’

‘Now what the hell do we do?’ Elvis hissed, directing the question at his compadre.

The Assassin stood calmly and didn’t respond.

Panix licked his lips and declared with a patronising grin. ‘Your time is past. The Church of Elvis is dead.’

Elvis took a deep breath, readying himself to throttle Panix once-and-for-all.

‘Colonel Panix,’ said The Assassin. ‘And Miss Rook. You are delaying us on a mission of great importance.’

‘And what would that be?’ asked Panix.

‘There is a central control-room for the weapons you have been advised of. We have approximately five minutes before they are detonated.’

Panix and Miss Rook stared.

‘You have heard the evacuation notice,’ he added. ‘Time is not on our side.’

He paused for effect before continuing.

‘Unless we stop the count-down,’ continued The Assassin. ‘This will become ground-zero of a thermonuclear explosion that will be remembered for as long as humans walk the Earth.’

* * *

Daisy-Donnie turned on the swivel chair, glanced over their shoulder and surreptitiously pocketed The Book of Cubes.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu remained focussed on the screens.

Daisy-Donnie stood and wandered over to peer at the screens. Several showed what looked like a black and white movie, people running around wearing matching clothing. Others showed empty corridors.

‘Oh. There’s Elvis,’ said Daisy-Donnie.

Elvis was indeed on the monitor, running along a corridor with three other people.

On one monitor he ran towards the camera. On a monitor beside it, the reverse angle, he and the others ran away.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu looked up at the screen, then turned to face each other.

‘Perfect,’ they said as one and stood.

Monsieur Bleu slid open a drawer and produced a taser. He aimed it at Daisy-Donnie.

‘Now wait just a minute,’ said Daisy-Donnie. ‘Aren’t we past all this nastiness?’

Kzarrrrpp!

Daisy-Donnie collapsed to the ground, the twin barbs catching them in their ample chest.

Madame Pink knelt and sliced Daisy-Donnie’s left wrist with a silver dagger. Blood trickled from the new wound, and pooled beneath the limp wrist.

They lifted Daisy-Donnie’s ankles and dragged the body unceremoniously out of the room.

* * *

I’m gonna give up exercise, thought Elvis as he ran down the corridor. I’ve fulfilled my quota for this lifetime.

Behind him were Colonel Panix and Miss Rook; the former on the brink of a coronary, wheezing heavily; the latter irritated with the situation at large, but amused her opposite number might not make it.

* * *

Daisy-Donnie awoke in familiar surroundings.

‘Haven’t we done this before?’ they asked. ‘I thought we were all friends now?’

Daisy-Donnie was once again strapped to the table, the laser was activated and cutting slowly towards their nether regions.

‘Look, what is all this?’ asked Daisy-Donnie. ‘I don’t get it? First you turn the laser on me and let me go, now you’re doing it again? I don’t understand!’

They yanked unsuccessfully at the bonds.

‘You are going to die,’ said Madame Pink.

‘Is this the point where you tell me your nefarious plans?’ asked Daisy-Donnie.

‘Certainly, if you desire it.’

‘We created the BSD and The Sisterhood,’ said Madame Pink, circling the table.

‘We created the factions and they created us,’ continued Monsieur Bleu, following on the opposite side.

‘How’s that then?’ asked Daisy-Donnie, disbelieving. ‘One has to come first.’

The smell of white-hot metal assaulted their nostrils; they glanced down at the slowly approaching laser with real fear on their face. Their heart-rate began to increase.

‘After some false-starts, we reasoned that in order to achieve our goals we had to nurture two distinct groups,’ she said with a creepy smile.

‘False starts?’

‘We dabbled with the music industry, experimented with the concepts of popular music in an attempt to determine intelligence and longevity.’

‘Universal Promotions,’ Daisy-Donnie gasped.

Madame Pink nodded, smiling acknowledgement. ‘The experiments were a failure, but they revealed we had to be more directed; male and female minds work at right-angles to one-another.’

‘So we separated them,’ continued Monsieur Bleu. ‘We guided and helped them to see the state of the world for what it is.’

‘And what’s that?’ asked Daisy-Donnie, looking down at the laser once more. It had moved a couple of inches. ‘We couldn’t possibly turn this off and have a chat in the nearest coffee shop could we?’

‘Humanity is stagnating,’ said Madame Pink, ignoring Daisy-Donnie’s coffee-shop crack; she’d tasted airport coffee and wanted no part of it. ‘In certain cases it is devolving.’

‘We save the weak,’ explained Monsieur Bleu. ‘We nurture the poor. We permit sub-standard genetic material to circulate.’

‘Oh my…’ breathed Daisy-Donnie.

‘Those that cannot reproduce through normal means are helped,’ said Madame Pink. ‘Desires are put before the good of the species.’

‘We decided to put humanity first.’ said Monsieur Bleu.

‘Survival of the whole is more important than any one of its individuals.’

* * *

The Assassin stood beside the door, back the the wall. He turned the doorknob and kicked the door with a heel.

Elvis took a quick peek around the corner.

‘Empty,’ he said. Then glanced in once more. A small child stared up at him.

They entered the room, observing the wall of screens before them. There was activity on most of them. Superimposed over all of the screens were numbers which were slowly descending.

The Assassin scanned the console and found the button. Beside it was a button marked ‘Abort’.

‘Better late than never,’ said Elvis.

The Assassin turned to face The King.

‘Now,’ said Elvis. ‘Now would be a good time. Oh goddamn it.’

He stepped forward and reached out for the button.

The Assassin grabbed his arm.

‘We don’t have time-’

The Assassin reached down with his free hand and flicked another switch.

‘Booby trap,’ he said, releasing The King.

Elvis stabbed the Abort button.

The numbers flashed on and off, holding at 01.

‘Shit that was close,’ he breathed.

Over on the other side of the room, Miss Rook stood watching the screens. Her people had been successful. The nukes were being wheeled out.

‘They’ve secured the nukes,’ she announced.

‘Remember our deal,’ said Panix in a sotto voice, stepping behind her.

She glanced in his direction. ‘Would you let me forget?’

The Assassin scanned the screens but none revealed what he was looking for. He stepped back and slipped slightly.

He crouched down and touched the floor and lifted his fingers to his eyes.

They were wet with blood. He stood and glanced downwards, following the drips to a door at the back of the room.

‘Come on,’ he said urgently.

The Assassin and Elvis ran the door.

Alone in the silence of the surveillance room, Colonel Panix and Miss Rook watched the last of the nukes removed from their storage room.

‘It’s done.’

‘Not quite,’ said Panix.

Miss Rook glanced up, an eyebrow raised.

‘I have some unfinished business,’ he said, turned and spoke into a radio. ‘Team Amber; Meet at this location…’

Rook lifted her radio from her belt. ‘Evacuate, now.’

* * *

Shit, thought Daisy-Donnie. Next it’ll be blonde hair and jack-boots.

‘The Tinwhistle equations were only the beginning,’ said Monsieur Bleu. ‘We examined them at length, but they were only circular arguments, everything pointed to itself. Something was missing, some link.’

‘Tinwhistle,’ asked Donnie.

‘And we found it: That link was you,’ said Madame Pink. ‘You could jump from reality to reality, you are the next level of human evolution.’

‘Once we found that out, we were determined to see it happen,’ Monsieur Bleu continued. ‘When The BSD and The Sisterhood had achieved with science what pure breeding could not, we allowed them to modify our DNA.’

Oh, god, thought Daisy-Donnie, shocked. That’s repulsive.

‘We will be the parents of future generations,’ they said as one, glancing upwards, ecstatic looks on their faces.

* * *

Miss Rook and Colonel Panix turned at the sound of a small child.

‘He’s a boy,’ said Panix, staring at the child.

‘Yes,’ said Miss Rook.

They stared at one-another.

‘If you take him, you’ll turn him into a mindless idiot,’ said Miss Rook.

‘And if you do, he’ll become a donor,’ said Colonel Panix.

The child giggled and pushed himself to his feet. He closed his eyes and disappeared.

* * *

‘You’re mad,’ said Daisy-Donnie, feeling an idiot for stating the bleedingly-obvious.

‘They gave us incredible intelligence and perception,’ said Madame Pink.

‘And now we have you, we can make the final connections,’ said Monsieur Bleu. ‘We can speak with the universe.’

‘And you will help us,’ said Madame Pink, a triumphant smile on her face.

‘How can I give it to you if I’m dissected?!’ pleaded Daisy-Donnie. These were by far and away the craziest people they’d ever met in their lives. No-one came close; not Panix’s psychosis, nor Rook’s obsessive intensity.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu smiled knowingly and withdrew into the shadows.

‘I’m not on speaking terms with the bloody universe!’ yelled Daisy-Donnie, struggling with the bonds. They were well secured this time. ‘It doesn’t like me! It’s been trying to kill me my whole life!’

‘Are you there?’

Silence.

‘Hello?’

* * *

The Assassin kicked the door open and burst into the room.

In the middle was a metal table, above which a laser cut slowly from one end to the other.

On the table was Daisy-Donnie.

‘There!’ yelled the Assassin. He ran forward to the table, then jerked to a stop, as if he’d run into a wall.

He screamed in agony.

A sphere of arcing blue electricity surrounded him and lifted him into the air, rotating on one axis and tilting on another. Soon he was perpendicular once more. The Assassin was frozen, yet aware, screaming with pain.

Elvis stood transfixed.

‘Would you mind helping please?’ called Daisy-Donnie, watching the laser cut the final centimeters toward their groin.

* * *

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu stepped calmly from the shadows to admire their handiwork.

‘At last,’ said Madame Pink

‘The Prophet,’ said Monsieur Bleu.

They looked upwards at The Assassin.

Click to see the next installment: Pornography (part 4)

Pornography (part 2)

Lisa Sinclair — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 16:42:17 +0000

Daisy and Donnie wandered carefully and quietly through the dark and silent village.

‘This is a bad idea,’ said the voice again. ‘Bad things happened here.’

They ignored the voice. Donnie turned to Daisy, and nodded in the direction of their home.

* * *

The silence between Marcus and The Assassin was pronounced. Prime kept to herself, smiling and half giggling.

‘This stuff is great,’ she slurred to no-one in particular.

The Assassin puffed on the cigarette

‘It’s probably illegal smoking in here,’ commented Marcus, conversationally.

The Assassin offered Marcus the pack. Marcus accepted it and lit one, taking a puff.

‘So’s using nuclear weapons without a permit,’ murmured The Assassin.

‘Which means they’ll arrest us first.’

The Assassin smiled wryly at Marcus, who nodded in agreement.

‘Bored, bored, bored, bored,’ babbled Prime. ‘Bored, bored, bored.’

Marcus looked up at the access panel. ‘What’s keeping him?’

* * *

Donnie pushed the door to the house open.

‘Mummy,’ whispered Daisy.

‘Daddy,’ whispered Donnie.

Only silence answered them; it was as if they had spoken into a padded room. There was no echo, no depth to the sound; it was muffled and lifeless in there.

They stepped in and tripped over.

* * *

Alarms went off.

Elvis slid down the ladder. He rubbed his hands at the bottom to relieve the pain of the slide.

‘It’s done,’ he said.

‘This way.’ The Assassin led once more.

‘Brilliant,’ said Marcus, and began to run, his movement hampered by the wheelchair, catching himself before he tripped.

He stopped, spun the chair around and faced Prime.

‘Wassup?’ She grinned manically at him.

Marcus lifted the drip bag from the rack on the wheelchair and held it firmly in a hand. Then he hefted Prime up over his shoulders in a Fireman’s hold and kicked the wheelchair out of the way.

‘Wheee!’ she said, and laughed wildly, waving her arms around, throwing him off-balance.

He swung around, regaining his footing, and his heart skipped a beat.

A Cubist goon stood behind them, weapon drawn.

The Assassin turned and knelt, firing a single bullet past Marcus and Prime. The Cubist fell to his knees, choking, blood spewing from his throat.

Marcus, turned to face The Assassin, horror on his face.

The Assassin holstered his gun, a silver revolver with a pearl-handle and led the way.

* * *

‘Do we care?’ asked Madame Pink, standing in the control room. Each few minutes a screen that once showed a picture of the retreating quartet changed to static and snow.

‘Not particularly. I would be interested, however, to know what he transmitted up on the roof.’

* * *

Daisy pushed herself up. Whatever was on the floor was moist and squidgy.

She turned and looked into the lifeless eyes of her father. A stain of blood obscured one of his eyes.

Donnie yelped, terrified to find himself kneeling on the body of his mother.

They jumped backwards, banging each other’s heads together.

‘You have to leave!’ screamed the voice into their ears. ‘You have to leave. Now!’

They jerked upwards, as if on invisible wires just as the door opened once more.

‘Hello there,’ said The Assassin. He held a pearl-handled revolver in his hand.

* * *

The pilot looked up as people bundled into the plane behind him.

‘You ready?’ called Elvis from the other end of the plane.

Marcus put Prime as gently as he could into one of the seats and fastened her seat-belt. He put the drip bag on her lap and made sure there were no kinks in the tube.

‘You didn’t give me much time,’ said the pilot. ‘Engines are warm.’

‘Great,’ said Elvis. ‘I hereby grant you honourary rank of Priest of the Church of Elvis. Complete the paperwork back at HQ and you’ll also get the full collection of albums.’

‘I’ve already done that,’ said Marcus with a grin. ‘How’d you think I got him to turn back in the first place?’

‘Get these two out of here,’ said Elvis, addressing the newly anointed priest.

‘What?’ demanded Marcus.

Elvis had already turned and jumped from the plane to the tarmac below. Marcus gave chase, grabbing Elvis’s shoulder and pulled him around.

He stepped back suddenly.

A pearl-handled, Presidential-issue revolver was poked into his stomach, the business-end leaving an indentation in his skin.

‘I’m not arguing, Marcus,’ yelled Elvis above the din of the engines and with a determined look in his eyes. ‘Either you go with her or I shoot you and you’ll both go anyway.’

Marcus stood dumbfounded, staring at his friend.

* * *

Prime woke, roused by the discussion and found herself unclipping her harness. She fell to the floor and followed the noise. She stopped briefly to retrieve the drip bag and continued to the door.

* * *

‘I mean it!’ yelled Elvis. ‘Someone has to carry on the fight. Two is better than one!’

‘But where are you going?’

‘They’re still in there,’ said The Assassin. ‘And we have to get them out before it’s too late.’

‘I can help,’ said Marcus, disbelieving.

‘No,’ Elvis’s statement was final. ‘Go with Prime.’

‘But-’

‘Don’t but me, man,’ Elvis’s voice cracked with emotion. ‘There’s not enough time to argue.’

‘He’s right,’ said the pilot, standing by the door. He had helped Prime up and her head lolled forwards, then upwards as she snapped herself awake through sheer willpower.

Elvis and Marcus stared at one-another.

‘If we miss this launch window, we’ll be stuck here for the next two hours,’ said the pilot.

‘And that means The BSD and Sisterhood will be all over you both.’ said Elvis. ‘And Prime’s on their hit-list. You know what they’ll do–’

‘I know,’ said Marcus quickly, knowing he had no way out.

‘I have to trust you to get her, to get you both to safety,’ said Elvis. ‘You have to continue the fight.’

Marcus glanced at the tarmac, then up to his friend with a shocked expression.

‘You’re…’ he began.

‘We have to leave,’ insisted The Assassin. ‘Now.’

Elvis lowered then holstered the gun and hugged his friend.

‘Keep going. We’ll be fine,’ he said and looked up as Prime passed-out once again.

Elvis gave Marcus a trademark grin.

‘Say ‘Hi’ to Prime for me.’

Marcus nodded, a frown of concern on his face.

‘Now, go!’

* * *

‘Run!’ screamed the voice.

The Assassin was enveloped in a blue mist. He screamed heartrendingly.

Daisy and Donnie ran through the house and through to the back door.

Outside now, the children ran, terrified, back into the forest, the main path the easiest route to use and by far the quietest.

Of course, it also meant it was also easier for their pursuer.

They took a detour.

* * *

Marcus helped the pilot return Prime to her seat, then returned to the door.

The engines screamed, the volume increasing as the plane slowly moved away.

Marcus stood in the doorway and watched.

‘I hope we meet again,’ he said, expecting the worst.

He closed the door.

* * *

Elvis and The Assassin stood and watched the plane moving slowly away

‘Well, that’s it then,’ said Elvis and turned to the Assassin. He extended a hand.

The Assassin took it and they shook once, like old enemies forced to work together, like two old friends on either side of a war.

‘It’s been a while,’ said Elvis.

‘It has at that,’ said The Assassin with the ghost of a smile. ‘Just like the old days.’ They turned and strode back to the doors.

Pinpricks of light appeared in the distance; they weren’t stars.

* * *

Daisy and Donnie ran blindly into the darkness, the voice no-longer in their heads.

They emerged in a clearing, one they had not come across before.

In the centre was a blue haze, which became clearer as they grew closer.

‘You have to be hidden,’ said a beautiful creature that stood before them. Androgynous, neither male nor female; ethereal. The being had astonishing flawless skin which shone with an inner light. The creature was every cosmetic company’s dream model.

It spoke with the voice that had always helped them.

‘I wish I could make your lives what they should be,’ said the creature with a sad smile.

‘Help us,’ pleaded Daisy.

‘Please help us,’ begged Donnie.

The creature nodded, tears in its eyes.

‘Take my hands…’

* * *

Daisy-Donnie awoke with a start.

They glanced up at their shoulder. A hand was there that wasn’t theirs.

Monsieur Bleu, attached to the hand by way of his arm, spoke. ‘Your enemies approach.’

‘Oh yes?’ said Daisy-Donnie. ‘Which ones particularly?’

‘All of them,’ said Madame Pink.

* * *

‘Target ahead,’ said the helicopter co-pilot.

Panix and Miss Rook stood behind the pilot and co-pilot, hands steadying themselves against the aircraft ceiling.

Below them, the jet slowly took off, climbing almost as if in slow-motion. The pilot was well aware of the danger from above, but any attempts to avoid it would have simply ripped the wings off.

‘We have a lock.’ The co-pilot flicked off the safety on the weapons console. The systems were ready. Visual displays showed the target and a red flashing cross-hair superimposed across it.

The plane continued on its course. Slowly it climbed, the engine roar audible from the helicopter’s cabin.

‘Ignore it,’ said Panix at last.

The jet pulled away, heading east.

‘Panix to wave one,’ he spoke into his mouthpiece as the helicopter came in to land. ‘Secure the area. Wave two, join your opposite numbers and find the targets.’

‘Sisters, enter from the East and West,’ said Miss Rook, her radio held close to her mouth. ‘Secure the devices by any means necessary. Ignore anything and everything between you and the weapons.’

* * *

Elvis and The Assassin stormed into the facility once again.

‘Goddamn it, if the junk food doesn’t kill me,’ gasped Elvis, ‘it’ll be the exercise exploding my heart.’

The Assassin said nothing, but came to a stop beside a door with which Donnie would have been familiar.

And like before, it opened, and the hapless Harold stepped out.

‘Oh my god!’ he prostrated himself before Elvis. ‘I tried to deliver the message, I really did.’

‘You seem to have an effect on people,’ said The Assassin, looking over at Elvis with a sarcastic smile.

‘Uh-huh.’

* * *

Daisy-Donnie was hustled along to the Control Room and offered a chair next to a small table.

The room was a carbon-copy of the one which Donnie and Prime had become entangled several jumps earlier. A wall of screens on one side of the room, and another wall opposite.

They glanced over at the table and noticed a small black book sitting there.

‘The Book of Cubes,’ said Daisy-Donnie. Now that was odd; they were sure they’d heard of this publication. Maybe it was one of those book-into-movie debacles they had heard so much about, probably one starring an ex-comedian with a script which removed all the good bits.

In the absence of anything else to do, Daisy-Donnie flicked through the book. It contained lots of bizarre illustrations that Picasso had either drawn, tried to imitate, or had dreamed of; lots of eyeballs looking up their own noses.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu studied the screens for activity, ignoring Daisy-Donnie for the moment.

‘There,’ said Madame Pink, pointing.

Two figures ran along a gantry…

Click to see the next installment: pornography (part 3)

Pornography (part 1)

Lisa Sinclair — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 16:42:05 +0000

Elvis opened one eye. The sound of a lock being buzzed open gained his attention as quickly as a deep-fried mars-bar had back in the old days.

He sat up and looked over at the door to the cell, which had swung slightly open.

A trap? Surely not. They already had him, what would be the point of doing anything funky now?

Of course, those damn Cubists were capable of almost anything; belief was a bitch to circumvent sometimes.

He stood, grabbed his jacket and turned to leave. He turned back and picked-up the sunglasses sitting on the table by the bed.

He slowly pushed the cell door open. It creaked on elderly hinges and he took a quick glance outside.

He crept from the cell, observing the usual things you’d find where cells were involved: a pile of telephone books against one wall and several fire hoses in a disorganised mess in the corner.

Now at the control desk he noted the the lever to his cell had been pulled down, which had resulted in his fortunate escape. He pulled down on the other three levers and glanced over. As each door opened there was an accompanying buzzing sound.

Elvis walked back down to see if there was anyone in the other cells.

‘What took you so long?’ asked Marcus from cell number three. He stepped out.

‘I’ll explain on the way,’ replied Elvis and opened the door of the next cell.

Prime lay sleeping on the bed. Her legs were heavily bandaged and she was clad in an out-of-character white gown. A tube from a blood-filled bag terminated in a ball of bandage on her left hand.

‘Hi darlin’,’ said Elvis as she stirred on the bed.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she replied with a disappointed tone. ‘Where’s Johnny Depp when you need him?’

‘Who?’

* * *

‘You know, I don’t feel too well,’ said Daisy-Donnie.

The surroundings blurred and Daisy-Donnie found the perspectives shifting wildly. They realised what was happening far too late to react.

Daisy-Donnie slowly collapsed to the shiny obsidian floor.

* * *

‘I just want to know where the hell my guns are,’ muttered Elvis, rifling through the storage cabinets and drawers. ‘Nixon gave them to me, for crying out loud. They’re Presidential issue revolvers, man.’

‘I’m sure they’ll turn up,’ said Marcus. ‘Ah, there’s one.’

Elvis had opened a drawer and inside was a pair of handcuffs and one of his guns.

‘Damn,’ he said, irritated to have lost the other gun. He stood and looked at Marcus while checking the gun for bullets. ‘Turn your collar up.’

‘What? Fashion tips from you?’

‘Just do it,’ He twisted the gun in the air and the magazine slammed shut. Then he turned his collar up.

‘I’m back,’ said Elvis.

* * *

Daisy-Donnie opened their eyes. The walls were moving upwards. No, not the walls, the ceiling.

‘Hmmm?’ they said, still unused to the voice. ‘Wassgoin… on?’

They looked up and saw an unfamiliar face. He stared straight ahead.

The trolley bumped through a pair of swinging doors just as Daisy-Donnie fell into unconsciousness once more.

* * *

Elvis, Prime and Marcus carefully and quickly made their way through the facilities, trying to to find a way out.

‘Where’s Donnie?’ asked Prime, still groggy from the anesthetic, sitting in the wheelchair from her cell.

‘Don’t know,’ said Elvis honestly. ‘We’re getting you out of here then we’ll go lookin’.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. Just give me something to defend myself and I’ll be… fine,’ she lulled forwards, then raised her head again. ‘ooo. That felt thing… um.. funny…’

Elvis nodded. ‘Graceland’ll be wondering where the hell we are by now.’

They turned a corner and stopped dead. A man was standing there, dressed in black.

‘You took your time,’ said The Assassin, looking pointedly at his watch.

‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Marcus.

‘Who the hell is who?’ asked Prime. ‘Hey, if I go cross-eyed I have… one… two…three hands.’

She giggled happily.

Elvis stared, then his shoulders dropped.

‘Wait here,’ he said.

‘You know this guy?’ asked Marcus.

Elvis glanced at Marcus then strode over to The Assassin. They stood and conversed in whispers for a few moments. A nod from Elvis and he gestured for Marcus to wheel Prime forward.

‘I haven’t had the pleasure,’ said Marcus brightly and somewhat sarcastically.

‘Be glad that you haven’t,’ The Assassin replied.

‘He’s a friend,’ interjected Elvis. ‘He released us. And now we’ve got to get the hell out of here.’

The Assassin turned and began to walk.

‘This way,’ he said.

* * *

Daisy-Donnie dreamed.

They dreamed of their childhood, spent in the forests of home, playing in amongst the trees and on the grass.

They remembered the first word they said; a child’s hand pointing forwards and two tiny little voices.

‘Look Mummy,’ said Donnie, beginning the sentence.

‘There’s a cloud up in the sky,’ said Daisy, finishing it.

Daisy and Donnie remembered growing up together. Sister and brother born moments apart.

Everything had been new then; the only running was from their friends, both imaginary and real.

The light bouncy memories faded into darkness, and Daisy-Donnie were drawn back to a dark, wet night; a memory like a nightmare, a nightmare that was a memory.

With tears rolling down their cheeks, Daisy and Donnie crouched in the bushes that formed the border between their village and the rest of the forest, they heard harsh whip-cracks of sound, the screams all deadened by the oppressive, wet darkness.

Daisy and Donnie hid. Their friend kept them safe.

* * *

Marcus and Elvis stood just inside the room. Prime sat, but that was okay.

The walls of the huge room were lined floor-to-ceiling with metal boxes, each with strong handles and warnings printed in various languages.

Each had a particular yellow and black symbol printed prominently on its side.

‘Oh my,’ said Marcus with shock.

‘Indeed,’ said The Assassin, turning to face them from the centre of the vault. ‘I thought you’d appreciate this for what it was.’

‘How many of them are there,’ asked Marcus.

‘Enough.’ The Assassin turned to address Marcus.

‘Enough for what?’ asked Marcus.

‘I heard the test-firing went like a dream,’ said The Assassin ignoring Marcus’s question.

Grim realisation hit Elvis and Marcus at once. If it hit Prime she didn’t acknowledge it, but that was okay seeing as she was unconscious and drugged to the eyeballs with pain medication.

‘Tasmania,’ said Elvis.

‘But it was a French nuke,’ said Marcus.

‘The Cubists are French,’ said The Assassin. ‘Not that it matters of course; they have no links to government; other than being the managers of their most deadly weapons.’

Marcus glanced up. ‘It was them?’

‘Oh, man,’ said Elvis, leaning against a wall with one hand flat against it.

‘The bomb that was used in Tasmania was delivered on a cargo plane that flew out of this airport twenty hours ago. It was crash-landed and exploded by remote-control.’

‘Why?’ asked Elvis, still leaning against the wall.

‘Cubists,’ said The Assassin, with an expression of patient frustration. ‘How better to see people at their best and worst, to see things from every angle.’

Elvis closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Damn,’ he murmured.

‘Then why did the French say it was one of theirs,’ asked Marcus.

‘It was one of theirs,’ said The Assassin with a shrug. ‘They didn’t order the bombing of course, but they were truthful when they said one of their weapons had been used to blow up a small island in the middle of nowhere. They omitted, of course, that the nuke had been used improperly.’

Marcus gave him a confused look.

‘The worlds weapons are managed privately,’ explained The Assassin. ‘Like everything else.’

Marcus stared, open-mouthed.

‘The French would have suffered politically if they’d admitted the truth, that the Cubists had taken one of their bombs and used it for their own ends,’ The Assassin explained. ‘And besides, they all knew the government would just roll-over.’

‘Which is why we’ve been pulled into it,’ said Elvis, putting the pieces together.

‘Easier to blame a group that won’t bend to their will than to tell the truth.’

‘Politics,’ spat Marcus.

‘Plausible Deniability,’ agreed The Assassin. ‘It looks good in the press if they have someone to blame.’

‘And they knew they couldn’t touch the ones really behind it,’ said Elvis. ‘Even if they knew it was the Cubists.’

Elvis stood straight now and walked further into the room, turning on his heel to observe the horror that filled it. Box upon box filled the shelves. They seemed to go on forever. It was like walking between two mirrors,

‘And now they’ve got nukes as far as the eye can see,’ he said.

Prime opened her eyes. ‘Wheeee! What’re they darls?’

‘Pain medication’s obviously good,’ commented Marcus. ‘Nasty things, sweetie.

‘Very Nasty Things.’ said Elvis.

* * *

Daisy and Donnie hid in the undergrowth as the stranger approached, knowing he would not find them. It was the game they were best at – for so-long as they remained calm, no-one could find them if they didn’t want them to.

‘Come out,’ he said simply, quietly and without demand.

Daisy and Donnie stayed put, watching as the stranger walked slowly past.

‘He’s a bad man,’ whispered the voice of their friend. ‘You have to always remember that.’

Daisy and Donnie nodded and slowly, carefully rose. The stranger had gone deep enough into the brush for them to avoid detection.

They stood carefully and walked slowly back into the clearing using their secret track. A few minutes later they emerged in the clearing. A giant oak tree stood in the middle of the glade.

All was silent, and the darkness enveloped everything; the environment of every nightmare made real.

* * *

‘We need to get somewhere I can get a clear signal,’ said Elvis, addressing The Assassin.

The Assassin nodded and led them from the room to another corridor.

‘How do you know your way around,’ asked Marcus.

‘It’s a talent,’ said The Assassin bluntly.

He stopped by a ladder which led up to to the roof.

‘Right,’ said Elvis, beginning to climb.

‘Calling in the cavalry?’ asked Marcus.

‘Kind-of,’ replied Elvis, who turned and gave Marcus a worried look. He dropped back to the ground.

‘You’re not fucking serious,’ snapped Marcus, reacting as if stung.

‘We’re stuck, Marcus,’ said Elvis, turning to face him properly. ‘We don’t have the manpower to secure them all.’

‘But… what about–’

‘None of our people can move now. If they do they’ll be held and thrown into

detention,’ said Elvis. ‘You know this.’

Marcus stared furiously.

‘Calling in the BSD and The Sisterhood is the only way left to handle this.’

Marcus stood, mouth open. ‘This isn’t a serious option. You can’t… There has to be someone else.’

‘You’d rather see them in the hands of the Cubists? Or the Government?’ Elvis was annoyed now, but not at Marcus.

Marcus broke the gaze, shoulders dropping.

‘There’s got to be another way,’ he murmured.

‘We’ve already seen what they’ll do,’ said Elvis now referring to the Cubists. ‘They’ll nuke something just to see what’ll happen. That’s what they are.’

‘And no-one will stop them,’ said The Assassin. ‘No-one can.’

‘See the world from every way possible,’ murmured Marcus. ‘They’re forces of Chaos.’

‘No, chaos is nature,’ said The Assassin cooly. ‘The Cubists are forces of destruction. This is only the beginning.’

Marcus glanced up and took a deep breath. He knew he was beaten.

‘The BSD and The Sisterhood are nuts,’ Elvis continued. ‘But they’re our kind of nuts. Manageable nuts. The Cubists have to be disarmed somehow.’

‘We are running out of time,’ said The Assassin.

‘Shut up,’ Elvis rounded angrily on The Assassin.

The Assassin raised his right eyebrow and took a quiet yet deep breath. He stepped back a little and reached into a pocket, retrieving a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

‘Mutually Assured Destruction, Marcus.’ said Elvis, now addressing his Cardinal. ‘They’ll both have the nukes and they’ll both be balanced. It’ll be like it always was.’

Marcus didn’t have an answer.

‘You know it’s the only way,’ insisted Elvis.

The Assassin lit a cigarette and the lighter closed with a flick of his wrist.

The lighter had a design of an Eagle on it.

Porn Free (part 2)

Lisa Sinclair — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 16:28:40 +0000

He decided to risk it.

Locked.

Fuck!

He clicked the gun at it which failed to do anything except pass the time.

He kicked the lock, then hopped around on one foot for a few moments, cradling the foot in his hands.

‘Oh….ouch…’ he gasped.

The pain subsided enough to try another tack.

He placed the injured foot on the floor, backed up a little for the run-up, took a deep breath, and charged, right shoulder first.

***

‘This is getting boring,’ said the man, raising his eyebrows as he watched the screens.

On one, Donnie rolled around on the floor for a while, swearing and holding his shoulder in a vain attempt to make the pain go away.

‘We’ve waited this long,’ said the woman. ‘A few moments more isn’t going to break the bank is it?’

He turned to her.

‘That’s a mixed metaphor.’

‘Hmmm?’ she smiled as she turned her head.

* * *

‘Open goddamn it!’ yelled Donnie.

If wishes were horses, this one would have left enough manure for a market garden.

The door opened and a familiar face stepped out, the accompanying body dressed in bright orange overalls.

‘You!’

‘Me?’ said Donnie.

‘You bastard! You hit me!’

The man grabbed Donnie by the shoulders and pushed him across the hallway, terminating against the opposite wall.

‘Who are—Harold,’ Donnie exclaimed.

‘Yes, Harold,’ said Harold, bruised over one eye and extremely pissed-off.

‘Harold the gimp,’ said Donnie with surprise. This was a turn-up for the books.

‘That really fucking hurt,’ said Harold angrily. ‘And I missed out on my bonus. You owe me a mask too.’

‘Ah. Well, I can explain.’

‘And do you know how hard it is to explain bruises like this?’

Donnie grinned sheepishly.

‘Now it’s my turn,’ said Harold darkly.

Harold removed a hand from Donnie’s shoulder, clenched a fist and pulled back to hit Donnie with it.

One shoulder free, Donnie twisted toward Harold just quickly enough to avoid the fast-approaching appendage. Harold’s fist hit the aluminum wall with a clang!

Donnie twisted further, gripping Harold’s other hand. Neither man was used to fighting; they overbalanced, and toppled over to the floor.

The two men rolled around, Donnie on top – then not – then on top once more. The struggle was hardly one that would have ended up in an action movie starring muscle-bound heroes. A slapstick comedy from the 1920′s perhaps, but certainly not a Hollywood punch-on.

Harold managed to get into a position which would have been extremely compromising had Donnie been Daisy.

He looked down at Donnie with a triumphant expression.

‘Finally,’ he said. ‘I am so pissed-off!’

‘I can understand that,’ said Donnie, well and truly pinned.

‘I had information for you,’ yelled Harold. ‘I was sworn to deliver it. The location of the main CCT base–’

‘Right here,’ said Donnie. ‘I’ve worked it out.’

Harold scowled angrily, then his expression became one of worry. He looked up.

Donnie craned backwards and saw a pair of wet shoes inside which were a pair of scratched and bleeding legs. The pantyhose had seen better days.

Tina lashed out and kicked Harold’s face viciously. His head snapped back and he fell, unconscious onto Donnie.

‘Get up,’ said Tina in a voice that could only have been described as pissed-off.

Donnie pushed Harold off of himself and did as he was told.

‘That looks like it hurts,’ said Donnie, with mock concern about Tina’s injuries. He pointed to his own face. ‘There’s a doctor down there if you’re interested. She’s great with a needle.’

‘Open it,’ she said, indicating the door which Donnie had been trying to use.

‘Can’t,’ said Donnie matter-of-factly. ‘He’s got the card.’

She gave him a look which communicated all that was required, then for the sake of clarity, vocalised her feelings.

‘Get the card or I’m going to use your head to open the door,’ she hissed.

Donnie retrieved then swiped Harold’s card in the lock. The door clicked open.

The door led to a metal gantry, across a vast warehouse-like luggage processing area.

‘You first,’ she said.

‘Thought you’d say that,’ he said with a worried tone. He side-stepped through the doorway, keeping his eyes on her.

As the door slammed shut, Tina shoved him viciously and he stumbled forwards and down onto the metal framework of the gantry.

Beneath the structure was a conveyor belt which carried luggage from one end of the area to the other.

Tina knelt on Donnie’s back and grabbed his head, lifted, and slammed it down hard.

‘Ow! Fuck,’ Donnie exclaimed.

He twisted and tried to dislodge her.

Tina overbalanced enough for Donnie to wriggle free. He tried to stand, but was tripped again.

She pushed him down and dug her fingernails into his neck.

Donnie elbowed backwards, and the random blow smacked hard into Tina’s hip.

They rolled away from one-another, clutching the parts of their bodies that screamed painfully.

Donnie got to his feet, just beating Tina. He ran along the gantry, cradling his elbow. Tina followed, limping slightly.

‘Come back you fucking bastard!’ she yelled after him.

‘Not on your life,’ he yelled back, then fell forwards in response to something hitting his head.

The shoe clanked down on the metal behind him.

Tina was on him again, now pushing him under the guard-rail. She slapped at his hands as he tried in desperation to prevent himself falling.

‘What’s your problem,’ he pleaded, now hanging on with only one hand. ‘I’ve never done anything to you!’

‘Your kind have kept women down for thousands of years! Now it’s time for payback!’

Great.

She slapped his remaining hand hard enough, and with a yelp of pain, flipped in mid-air and landed upon a well-stuffed bag moving along the conveyor belt.

‘Oh, shit,’ he said, raising his head. The conveyor terminated only twenty meters ahead and beyond that came the sounds of something unpleasantly mechanical.

Thumpa-Thumpa-Thumpa!

‘Bye, bye,’ yelled Tina triumphantly.

Donnie stood unsteadily and glanced upwards. There was no way he could get back onto the bridge.

The conveyer belt led into a large metal machine. Donnie ducked down and peered inside.

Hammers and mangles did to the luggage what only the most cynical traveller had hitherto only suspected.

* * *

‘Now perhaps,’ asked the man.

‘He’s got no way out this time.’

The boy began to cry.

* * *

Donnie ran back along the belt, tripping on bags big and small as he went. He abandoned the idea of avoiding them – what was the point anyway – and ran on top of them instead.

* * *

The Cubists rolled their eyes and cradled their heads for a moment in frustration.

The woman stood. ‘I know where he’s going.’

‘Take care,’ said her brother.

She reached into the play-pen and picked-up her son, comforting him while surreptitiously checking his nappy.

‘You’ll be okay with him,’ she asked her brother. ‘I don’t think he’ll need a change for a while.’

* * *

Donnie slid down a side-belt on his backside, bumping past caged animals which were speeding toward another machine. This one made an awful screaming sound and shook like a paint-mixing machine.

At the bottom, he rolled off onto terra-firma on his hands and knees beside the main machine and a small open-topped monorail car, on a rail that led back into the building.

He got back to his feet and ran past a man sitting at a desk marked ‘Quality Control’.

The man ignored Donnie’s passing, concentrating instead on stuffing a big bag of vegetable matter into a suitcase. He reached out for a large knife and slashed, in a bored fashion, at another.

Donnie crashed through the plastic doors and sprinted down another corridor. Soon he emerged again on the tarmac.

Glancing upwards to make sure he wasn’t about to be turned into swiss export-quality fromage, he spied a plane slowly coming into the terminal. It stopped and the door opened.

Marcus climbed out, glanced around and spied Donnie who jogged towards the now stationary plane standing there like a very big white tube with wings.

‘Where are the others,’ asked Marcus.

At the edge of his hearing, Donnie heard a hollow sound and yelped in pain. He pulled a needle from his neck.

‘Oh shit…’ he collapsed.

* * *

Fuzzy light entered Donnie’s eyes. It increased as his eyes opened fully.

‘Whuhhhhh?’ he murmured. ‘Where…?’

The room was dark other than the spotlights which were trained upon his prone body.

He glanced around just as a man stepped forward from the darkness beyond.

‘You are perfectly safe,’ said the man.

‘And that would be because I’m stuck to a table,’ said Donnie with a little sarcasm. ‘So I can’t go anywhere I can get hurt?’

The man smiled. ‘Quite.’

‘Who’re you.’

‘Pardon me for not introducing myself,’ said the man. ‘I am Monsieur Bleu.’

‘And I am Madame Pink,’ said a woman walking forwards from the darkness.

‘The needle slinger.’

She smiled cryptically.

‘What’s going on,’ asked Donnie, for what felt like the thousandth time that day.

‘It is quite simple, Mister Penfolde,’ said Monsieur Bleu.

‘Is it? Oh, that’s good to know,’ replied Donnie with more sarcasm. ‘Pardon me, but I’ve heard that before and it’s never the case.’

They stared without saying a word. The silence became a little unnerving.

‘There’s no running away and instant death around the next corner is there,’ Donnie asked in a more conciliatory tone. These nutters had him in a very prone position. It wouldn’t hurt to try to be more polite.

‘That depends on whether you’re able to release yourself from these bonds in time,’ said Madame Pink.

She smiled cruelly.

Donnie craned his neck upwards and regarded the bonds. Metal manacles held his arms fast to the steel platform. Similar bonds held his ankles.

‘If you will look toward the ceiling,’ said Monsieur Bleu, ‘you will see a nice little device that you will find in most Compact Disc players.’

‘Ours is of a slightly better quality,’ continued Madame Pink, then added, ‘and intensity.’

To prove the point, a beam burst to life, slowly cutting through the platform between Donnie’s legs.

‘Now just– just hang on a minute,’ said Donnie watching the blue beam with eyes wide with surprise and fear. He began to yank at the manacles that held his hands.

‘What do you want from me,’ pleaded Donnie.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu smiled enigmatically.

‘We are Cubists,’ said Monsieur Bleu. ‘We see things from all different points of view.’

‘Like you,’ said Madame Pink.

They stepped back and watched him from a discreet distance. Donnie could only make-out the shape of their bodies at the edge of the darkness; their faces were obscured.

The beam continued its path up toward Donnie’s body. He briefly wondered if one of the manacles wasn’t quite as well fastened as it could be. He pulled hard on it.

The smell of white-hot metal was sharp in his nostrils.

‘You expect me to talk,’ yelled Donnie, glancing up in panic at the manacle once more, then down at the beam.

‘No, Mister Penfolde,’ said Madame Pink.

Donnie gasped as he finally managed to free a hand, bloodied but intact.

Blue-arcing electricity burst to life, separating Donnie and the table from the rest of the room.

Donnie looked downwards and watched as the beam slowly tracked the last few inches towards his body.

‘Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck…’ said Donnie, and reached downwards.

BZORNT!

He woke with a killer headache and instinctively felt between his legs.

He found something unexpected.

He checked once more.

What?

Daisy-Donnie slowly opened their eyes, and saw a familiar device above their head. The beam of light stopped, as did the crackle of electricity around them.

The manacles holding one arm and their legs clicked open.

Daisy-Donnie sat up slowly, cradling their raw and bleeding hand with the other. They breathed shallowly, and their eyes darted here and there in considerable confusion. They blinked much faster than a normal person would.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu stood just outside the circles of light and in partial shadow.

They glanced at each other and embraced.

‘We’ve done it,’ said Madame Pink.

Click to see the next installment: Pornography (part 1)

Thanks to Daniel for the luggage machine

Huntingdale and South Yarra, February 2006

Porn Free (part 1)

Lisa Sinclair — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 16:17:16 +0000

The woman stood and walked across to a playpen inside which a small child was playing.

‘Mama has a couple of things to do,’ she said to the boy.

He looked up at her, tilted his head, then looked down again.

The woman left the room.

* * *

‘Come on,’ said Elvis.

Elvis and Donnie picked Prime up between them and dragged her inside the complex.

‘We have to get her to safety,’ murmured Elvis; his voice full of concern. Unsaid was what was really on his mind: I led them here.

‘Us too, surely,’ said Donnie.

‘Where the hell has Marcus taken that plane,’ said Elvis, ignoring Donnie.

‘He could be anywhere by now.’

Prime stirred.

‘Not a good time, darlin’,’ remarked Elvis.

‘Elvis, my legs hurt,’ she said breathing shallowly.

‘That would be because they’ve got big holes in them,’ said Donnie, stating the obvious.

‘Oh. Seems reasonable,’ she said and passed out once more.

Donnie tried to stem her bleeding, but didn’t have a lot of luck.

‘Forget it,’ said Elvis, and together with Donnie, they lifted her up again, each under one of her arms.

Then they ran, or at least, moved as quickly as they could. Prime’s steel toe-capped boots dragged on the industrial-grade carpet, shining the toes to a dazzling mirror finish.

Above them, they heard footsteps on the metal roof. Panix and his goons had worked out what was going on and were pursuing.

They stopped at at a junction. Donnie took Prime as Elvis reloaded.

Elvis took his other gun from Donnie as the latter began to sag under Prime’s not enormous weight.

Elvis lifted Prime from him and supported her while Donnie stood again.

‘You need to work out, man,’ said Elvis. ‘She’s not that heavy.’

Donnie pulled a Daisy face, a kind-of why do I need to work out when there’s men around look.

Elvis looked from side-to side.

‘So, which way?’ asked Donnie. ‘Left was where we came from.’

‘This’ll do.’ said Elvis, turning right.

After a few moments they emerged in a dark, deserted lounge, just as another person entered, silhouetted against the light from the corridor.

Elvis and Donnie reared up, expecting trouble.

‘Can I help you,’ asked the woman in a shocked but official tone, her voice slightly accented. She was dressed not unlike Tina, but the resemblance ended there. Her hair was cropped short and looked like black velvet against her pale face.

‘That depends,’ said Elvis, pulling his jacket away from one of his holstered guns. Prime’s arm slipped from his grasp and she lolled forward.

‘Is she all right,’ asked the woman with concern.

The wind out of their sails, Donnie and Elvis paused. Their senses of urgency rallied and they spoke.

‘No, she needs a hospital,’ said Elvis. ‘Gunshot wounds.’

‘Or a doctor,’ Donnie finished the sentence.

‘A doctor?’ said the woman. ‘How lucky for you.’

The woman reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a mobile phone, dialed then spoke.

‘Pink here,’ she said. ‘I need a medical team to departure lounge six immediately. Three wheelchairs.’

‘Pink?’ said Elvis, realisation hitting him on the back of the head. ‘Oh, you gotta be–’

The doors crashed open again, and armed men rushed into the room, peeling past a single fat-faced figure standing in the doorway.

‘Going somewhere Penfolde?’ said Panix triumphantly.

The woman ducked behind the doorway.

Elvis turned Donnie.

‘Get her out of here!’ He pulled his guns and started to fire once more, running across the lounge for some cover.

Donnie moved toward Prime, and as bullets ripped into the wall nearby, screamed and ducked for cover behind seats.

He glanced up, trying to work out where he was in relation to Prime.

Prime was left lying prone. Donnie hoped she would be okay, because he couldn’t get to her without being shot to bits.

* * *

‘Merde,’ said the man, watching the action unfold on the screens. ‘When will this become simple?’

Behind him, the boy laughed happily.

The man turned briefly to face the child, his son, with a small smile broke across his black lips.

* * *

Everyone had found cover and waited for someone to make a mistake.

‘What the hell do you want this time, Panix,’ yelled Elvis from behind a group of seats.

‘Oh, the usual.’

‘What, more masturbation?’

‘I have something special in mind for you,’ hissed Panix angrily. ‘It’s getting better every minute you detain me.’

‘Bite me, fatso!’

A hollow sound pierced the silence.

‘Ow,’ said Elvis, pulling a dart from his neck.

He blinked a couple of times, eyes not focussing properly.

‘What…?’ he said, voice slurring.

‘Elvis?’ asked Donnie enquiring as to the nearby thud. There were several more, each preceded by a hollow sound and a yelp of pain.

Donnie chanced a look around the trolley behind which he was hidden. Nothing moved. There was no sound, other than the air-conditioning… except.

Something else he couldn’t put his aural finger upon.

He crawled on all-fours over to where Elvis was and found him unconscious and…

‘You’re snoring?’ Donnie looked at his friend in shock, finally working out the source of the additional sound. He moved to one-side and made an exclamation of pain.

Shit, a poisoned dart,’ he said yanking the aforementioned object from the palm of his hand. That would be what knocked The King out.

‘Not quite,’ said the woman, stepping over one of the bodies behind Donnie. She stopped beside one of the walls, standing still in shadow.

‘You can stand up by the way,’ she said. ‘It’s perfectly safe; all your assailants have been sent to the land of nod. It’s just you and me, now.’

Donnie considered what to do next. He couldn’t hide forever.

He stood slowly, allowing his hand to drag the floor and grasp one of Elvis’s guns. He hid it behind his back.

‘So what’s in the darts?’

‘No poison if that’s what you’re worried about.’

Donnie tilted his head in enquiry.

‘If you know enough about the human body,’ said the woman, ‘you will know that if you press on a specific point with just the right amount of pressure–oh, but I am forgetting myself. Please don’t move.’

She aimed a dart-pistol at Donnie.

‘Oh, threats,’ Donnie smiled drily. ‘What a change from the usual.’

‘This won’t hurt a bit.’

Donnie leapt to one side, raising Elvis’s gun and pulled the trigger. It clicked harmlessly, but it was enough to make the woman falter. The dart ended up in his shoulder just as he hit the ground and rolled.

Thankfully he was facing the doors.

Needles whipped past him as he ran, leaping over another set of seats, toppling, rolling, and getting his feet beneath himself once more.

Donnie burst through the doors and was gone.

The woman stood and stared at the doors as they swung slowly open and shut on their bi-directional hinges. She placed the gun back into her pocket and knelt down next to Prime.

Three men arrived, pushing wheelchairs.

‘Just take the woman and Presley,’ she said. ‘Ignore the others. They’ve served their purpose. Our bargain is at an end.’

* * *

Donnie sprinted back along the corridor, the adrenaline guiding him. After a few minutes he realised he’d become lost in the maze.

He stopped, his breath wheezing in and out from the sudden exertion. He was stuck.

Forward was more unknown. Behind was the needle-slinger.

Oh shit; and Prime. And Elvis.

In his desire not to be put to sleep, he’d forgotten about both of them.

He stood straight, closed his eyes and banged his head against the wall slowly and repeatedly for a few moments, while murmuring profanities.

‘What could I have done,’ he asked himself at last. ‘There’s no way I could have brought both of them; it was hard enough getting out of there on my own.’

It didn’t salve his conscience that well, but it was all he had.

With only a dull pain in his skull, and potential left temple bruising, he glanced down the corridor.

Above him a camera turned to face him and focussed.

* * *

‘Now perhaps?’ said the man.

A door opened and the woman entered.

‘We’ve got Presley and Prime,’ she said, sitting down. ‘I left the others.’

The man nodded, eyes still on the monitors.

‘He’s faltering again.’

‘Patience, dear brother,’ said the woman, glancing over to the boy who had curled up and was now asleep.

She sat down and watched him for a few moments.

* * *

Donnie stood a moment, his hand had moved automatically to his zipper.

He couldn’t though. His friends; Prime was nearly dead, Elvis unconscious… Marcus who knew where?

Damn this conscience of his. Damn it all to hell!

There was something on the edge of his vision. He frowned and slowly raised his head to face the camera above him.

There were four letters on its side:

C C T V

A terrible shiver expanded at the back of his head and rushed down his spine, and his mouth slowly opened in shock.

‘It can’t be…’ he whispered, remembering the conversation from the car:

‘CCT,’ said Elvis.

Donnie cut over him.

‘What, another three-letter-bleeding-acronym,’ he paused. ‘What’s this one for Cretinous Cu–’

‘Cubist Conspiracy Theorists,’ said Prime.

Back in the here-and-now, Donnie’s jaw dropped, and read the first three initials on the camera.

‘C, C, T…’ Donnie breathed.

Donnie’s shocked face was displayed in close-up on the walls of screens

The woman clicked a button and the picture changed from a Donnie on each screen to a single face fragmented over them all.

‘C…C…T…,’ he breathed. ‘Oh, shit.’

The woman turned to the man. ‘Now things get interesting.’

‘He’s alone,’ said the man, rolling his chair next to her. ‘Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. He has to do it sooner or later.’

The woman glanced without turning her head in his direction. She raised an eyebrow.

‘The systems are set-up to catch him in the act?’ he asked.

‘You know full-well they are, dear brother,’ she said, turning and placing a hand against his cheek. ‘You worry too much.

* * *

Donnie now sprinted from the site of his discovery. Unbidden, the words to a Barry Adamson song rose up in his unconscious:

Save me…

…from my own hand

Think! It’s an airport! his thoughts screamed. There’s got to be help around! Another exit, another doorway… another…

He came to a screeching halt.

The answer to his prayers, or at least, his wishes: a door.

The sign on it was clear enough:

Do not open

Danger

‘Has to be better than the alternatives,’ said Donnie.

Click to see the next installment: Porn Free (part 2)

makeup he was wearing

Lisa Sinclair — Sat, 18 Jul 2009 21:00:19 +0000

This is Elvis! You didn’t think for a minute he’d have bloody dreadlocks do you?!

hung on like so many things that shouldn’t

Lisa Sinclair — Sat, 18 Jul 2009 12:34:44 +0000

Such as current affairs hosts, heads of state and even reality television.