Fallen Weapon

fracture_childThu 10/01/08 19:08

Hey everyone,

This is an excerpt from my novel 'Fallen Weapon' which was publlished by Athena Press. It's an SF thriller and fable which includes a prominent role for gay characters.
Hope you enjoy the 'teaser'

Damian

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ground was cold and his body bruised. That much he knew. A vague memory of being attacked flickered in his mind and was gone. He tried to shift his weight slightly and immediately stopped as pain burst through every part of his battered torso. Not yet. Sooner or later he would make another attempt. Eventually he would stand up. But for now he would stay down here, looking up at the stars that glinted indifferently in the sky. Perhaps that was all he had ever done? But…that couldn't be right. There must have been something else, places before this. That made sense, didn't it? But all he could remember for the moment was concrete beneath him and darkness above with no understanding of how he was connected to either.

Fear. That had always been there too. It squirmed in his stomach and soon enough it would turn to terror. He could feel each breath, fast and desperate in his chest. He focused his attention on the brightest of the lights that looked down at him. Tried to banish everything but that distant, uncaring star. It didn't help. The world around him wasn't real. At any moment it would all come crashing down, revealing…perhaps whatever it was he couldn't remember. Even the blackness as he shut his eyes, whimpering like a child, was an illusion. Without realising it, he had curled into a foetal ball, ignoring the shouts of protest from every limb.

Time passed. A minute, an hour, he wasn't sure. Wrapped into the warmth of himself, he almost felt safe. The hollow roar of his own breath blotted out the other noises prowling about him. The sensation was curiously familiar, as though he had experienced it elsewhere.

This couldn't last. He was going to have to confront whatever was outside, however bad it proved to be. Slowly, he forced himself to emerge from the cocoon of his interlocking limbs. For a while, he remained on his back, eyes still shut against the world, enjoying what little safety he had for a little longer. Then he looked.

Everything was still in place, just as before. Vehicles hummed in the distance. Cars, probably. Strange that he knew what a car was but didn't know his own name. Still, that meant there would be drivers. People. Already he was confronted with a choice. Would it be better or worse if he were not alone? Either way, it was time to make a start. He was going to have to get to his feet. Now.



It took a while. His legs were extremely weak and there was no support for him to cling to. First, he rolled over on to his front, wincing as his sore ribs pressed against concrete. Carefully, he pushed himself up on to all fours. I must look like a dog, he thought. Assuming he was right about what a dog was. An animal that was kept as a pet ? He stared down at the floor. There were tiny cracks in the ground and a red stain where his head had lain. His blood or someone else's? Running his fingers through his scalp, he was relieved to find that his hair was dry.

Suddenly, a siren screeched in the distance. Quicker than he'd intended, he forced himself to his knees, hoping he could run if need be. The shrill echo faded into the night. Silence. Nothing to do with him then.

He examined his surroundings. He was kneeling in a wide, stone-paved plaza, bordered on three sides by empty roads and on the fourth by the looming hulk of a large, anonymous building. The only living things were a few withered trees and a cluster of litter strewn bushes. Beyond the roads, shops - he was fairly sure that was what they were - stood in silent ranks.

It was a relief to find he was alone. Taking a deep breath, he stood up. There was a brief sensation of nausea and he thought that he might collapse again. He retched but nothing came. Maybe he hadn't eaten recently. The sickness passed, leaving him empty but a little calmer.

So, here he was. Standing and with a clearer idea of where he was if not why. But what now? He was shivering. Thankfully, he was wearing clothes, but they were gossamer thin. His feet were bare and the ground felt sharp beneath them. A car appeared on one of the roads, moving slowly, as though hunting for prey. Perhaps he could flag it down, see if the driver could help. But that would involve face to face contact and he wasn't ready for that. He decided to make for the building instead.

Walking was difficult. Each step reminded him just how much his body was hurting. Fragments of stone and glass buried themselves in the bare soles of his feet. Nevertheless, he wasn't quite so afraid any more. Moving through the dark was somehow less terrifying than laying in it with his eyes shut. As he drew nearer, he saw that the building was enmeshed with a network of scaffolding. There were graffiti patterned boards over most of the windows and a cloying stench of long ago fires hung in the air. Cracked steps, encrusted with the dried remains of what looked like oil, lead to a pair of heavy, wooden doors. A metal panel hung above them, covered with metal squiggles that he couldn't decipher.

He studied the entrance, wondering how to get in. What little strength he possessed wouldn't be equal to forcing these doors. He would have to look for a back entry or, failing that, a crowbar to rip away the panelling from one of the windows. He gazed up at the building. There were three storeys . He considered the possibility of climbing the wall to look for a way in and quickly dismissed it as absurdly dangerous.

Then he caught a glimpse of something. A window on the third floor, the only one that wasn't boarded up. From it, a pale face was staring back at him. It was too far away to read the expression. The face must have realized it had been seen, because the next moment it was gone.

He had been watched. All this time, as he lay in the dark, as he had struggled to his feet, someone had been observing him.

The doors were open. He hadn't realised before, but they had been forced, not very far, just enough to allow someone to squeeze through. The shattered remains of a lock lay to one side, amongst a coil of chain. He started backing slowly away, trembling.

'Are you alright?'

He turned quickly. Behind him stood two men. They were dressed in light blue suits. One of them had curly brown hair whilst the other sported a bushy ginger bouffant with freckles to match. Both of them were tall and muscular. They were smiling broadly.

The one who had spoken, the curly haired man, stepped forward. He looked concerned.

'Do you need somewhere to sleep for the night? Wouldn't go in there, if I were you. Place is falling down'

'Yeah' added the other one 'You'll not be safe in there. Anything might happen'

He was frozen to the spot, unable to think of what to say. Shouldn't he be the one

asking the questions? Why did it feel as though he were being interrogated?

Curly Hair was very close now. He could see the man's perfect teeth as the grin grew wider.

'Been taking something, sonny? Never mind. You'll be okay now'

Curly Hair grabbed him by the throat with both hands. He gasped helplessly as the man began crushing the life out of him. The grinning mouth filled his vision, laughter booming in his ears

fracture_childTue 15/01/08 18:46

Curly Hair grabbed him by the throat with both hands. He gasped helplessly as the man began crushing the life out of him. The grinning mouth filled his vision, laughter booming in his ears. He struggled feebly against the relentless grip, but it was no good.

'Fucking dosser' Curly Hair spat.

The pressure of the hands was harder, tighter now. He was going to die.

'Dirty, stinking…'

A scream, loud and high pitched. The hands were gone from his neck and he collapsed to the floor, gulping down air. Curly Hair was staggering, gurgling, blood foaming from his mouth, red against the white of his teeth. A boy stood behind him. There was a long shining object in his hand. Curly Hair toppled on to his back with a final, despairing gasp. With a furious yell, Ginger Bouffant charged at the boy, swinging both fists like a gorilla. The youth somehow ducked under the oncoming blows and thrust the blade upwards. A shriek. Ginger was dead before he hit the floor.

Knife still held tight, the boy stood over his victims, panting slightly, a sheen of sweat on his face. It was the same face that had looked down at him from the window.

There was no point in trying to run. There was nowhere to go. So he just looked at the boy, watching as he slid the splattered blade into his jacket pocket. He was about sixteen , tall and painfully thin. His bony, pallid face was covered in spots. Dark roots showed through spiky hair dyed blonde. He was dressed in a black track suit that seemed to hang on his emaciated frame. His hands were protected by white, surgical gloves. The boy smiled, revealing grey teeth.

'I couldn't let them hurt you' he said, almost hesitantly. 'My name's Lee'

The sound of his own voice surprised him as, at last, he spoke.

'I don't know what my name is'

Lee considered for a moment.

'You're Jason'

From Fallen Weapon by Damian Whittle

Published by Athena Press

Available on Amazon