Blacker
Chapter Fifteen: The End of Everything

The noise and chaos of the city was over – for now at least. As they stepped out into the warm sunlight, MacGregor strained to hear violence, destruction and general mayhem. But there was nothing. Hunter guided him past an area of heavy debris, barely touching his arm.

“I told you so,” Hunter said. “It’s done with. I think you might be onto something with this God business though. The nonsense seemed to all begin when we were burying poor Hamish. When I started reading from the bible, even. Yes, I’m sure of it. So whatever this is, it’s aware of us. And I mean specifically aware of you and I.”

“It?”

“Whatever brought the SOD here. Whatever’s responsible for this mess. It knows we’re here.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” MacGregor commented. “I mean, if you’re right then all its tried to do is throw the city around the place.”

“And the bridge. And the railway track,” Hunter said. “You’re right. I don’t know if it is a good thing. Wait a minute. You’re about to walk into some broken glass.”

“Shit,” MacGregor said. “It’s a miracle that I haven’t already.”

“A miracle?”

“Forget I said anything,” MacGregor said. “I don’t want to get into an argument over whether or not miracles are real. Just don’t let me step on top of something sharp.”

“The road isn’t that bad,” Hunter said. “The music store was almost completely untouched. One of the windows is broken. That’s about all. The road’s clear, almost. The building next to mine has collapsed. There’s a fire burning somewhere. I think where the rail track was lifted into the air. Somewhere a little north of here. It might be Queens Street station. There’s a lot of smoke.”

“I can vaguely smell it,” MacGregor said. “We must be downwind.”

“It’s quite far away,” Hunter said, “I think it’s north of the station, actually. Perhaps the bus station at Buchanan Street or the subway. Thick black smoke, but it’s not a big fire. Not yet.”

“I can’t believe the Mini survived this.”

“It’s just up ahead,” Hunter said. “And it looks just fine. Like I said, the damage was a little bit away from here. There’s some broken glass, but not much.”

“I miss my cane,” MacGregor complained.

“We’ll find another one,” Hunter said, “Do you have a spare back at the flat?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, one step at a time. We’ll check out your flat first. It shouldn’t take us ten minutes to get there from here. Once we’ve… well, once we’ve been there you can pick up anything you need. We’ll find you a white cane somewhere – or make something up for you.”

“Then what?” MacGregor asked. “Where do we go from there?”

Hunter’s hand was on his chest, pushing lightly.

“You’re going to walk right into the car,” she said.

“Oh. Thanks.”

She’d left some of the supplies at her flat. Obviously, she intended to return there at some point. MacGregor was happy that she’d brought the lightweight automatic pistol. She asked MacGregor to hold onto it as they got into the car. She closed her door and he closed his. MacGregor wondered why Hunter wanted the gun close at hand, but the thought did not become words.

“Albert Road, right?” Hunter asked. “Just off Victoria Road?”

“That’s right,” MacGregor said. “Across the road from the Victoria Bar.”

The Mini started off slowly. Hunter was obviously avoiding obstacles in the road.

“The commotion earlier was coming from the south side,” Hunter said. “I hope everything is intact when we get there.”

“It doesn’t matter all that much,” MacGregor whispered, “There isn’t anything much waiting for me there.”

“What about Jackie?” Hunter asked.

MacGregor thought about Jackie. She was dead, obviously, like everyone else. It had only been two days since he’d last spoken with her. It was only now beginning to occur to him that he’d never speak to her again. They’d never share moments. They’d never laugh or joke. She was gone, and so was whatever it was they had shared.

“I… I haven’t thought about it.” His voice was hoarse and weak, his throat suddenly dry.

“Okay,” Hunter said brightly, “Well, we’ll worry about all that when we get there. You do want to go back home, don’t you John?”

He knew that he had to say yes. It was unthinkable even to Hunter that he might refuse to finally confirm the obvious and undeniable end of everything.

“You know, I wish I didn’t have to say yes,” he admitted. “I really do.”

Hunter had slowed the car right down. She cursed quietly, steering hard to avoid some obstacle. The engine revved as she accelerated away.

“You don’t have to,” she said, “after all, we all know what you’re going to find.”

He leaned back in the seat and bumped the back of his skull against the headrest a few times.

“Fuck, I don’t want to. But I have to. It’s the right thing to do.”

“In whose eyes, John? Mine?”

“It’s not about that,” MacGregor whispered. “Shit, Eilidh. Have you got a cigarette?”

“Hundreds,” Hunter said. “Literally, I have hundreds. Remember? I have a whole crate or packet or bundle back at my place.”

“Have you got one I can smoke now?”

“Yes, of course.”

She stopped the Mini to light the cigarette. “A front of the building’s come down,” she explained. “I have to be careful getting onto the bridge. The whole road here leading onto the bridge is blocked. The whole road is just about blocked off. It looks like the hotel there collapsed.”

MacGregor dragged on the cigarette. It was a brand he didn’t recognize. “The Euro Hostel,” he said, “is that right?”

“Yes,” Hunter said. “The Clyde Street entrance is… oh dear. Well, it’s intact but there are a lot of bodies there. In a pile. Ten, perhaps twenty people – or what’s left of them.”

“What about the railway track?” MacGregor asked, “Glasgow Central is just behind us. There’s a railway bridge on… on your right. Can you see it?”

“Completely gone,” Hunter said, “The metal parts of the bridge are gone. The rest of it looks like it collapsed, blocking the road. The rest of the track must have been torn away. It looks like it was lifted into the air by some kind of force. And the concrete just fell down on its own. A large part of it has demolished part of the road bridge ahead of us.”

“Can we get across?” MacGregor asked.

“Oh yes, it looks clear enough. A double decker bus broke down right in the middle of the bridge, but the other vehicles were pushed to the side. Part of the bridge has broken away on the right side but the rest of the bridge is pretty intact. The railway bridge running parallel is in all sorts of trouble. I wish you could see this. It’s really quite a spectacular mess. Anyway, I can get us across the road bridge. I just need to drive carefully so we don’t go off the edge.”

The car moved forward tentatively. MacGregor had his window down, tipping ash from his cigarette out onto the road surface.

When the automatic pistol was taken from his hand his first thought was that Hunter had taken it for some reason. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Hi John. I can see you.”

It was a man’s voice. MacGregor didn’t recognize it at first. As Hunter stopped the car, MacGregor realized who it was. But the thing that sounded like Fraser had taken the Sig Sauer pistol right out of his hand.

“Oh shit!” Hunter said.

“Hi John,” the Fraser thing said. “My wife’s name is Susan. We have a son, Matthew.”

“Put the gun down.” It was Hunter, her voice commanding.

“You have no purpose.” Fraser’s voice was without any kind of emotion.

“What are you talking about?” MacGregor said.

“He’s talking to me, John,” Hunter said.

Hunter was getting out of the car. MacGregor heard the Sig Sauer’s slide pulled back.

“Eilidh!” MacGregor called after her. “He’s got a gun”

“I know,” Hunter said. “He’s pointing it right at me. Why are you doing that, Fraser? Why would you want to point that at me?”

“You have no purpose,” Fraser repeated, “You have nothing to do here.”

“Are you going to shoot me, then?”

“Yes,” Fraser said.

MacGregor got out of the car.

“Fraser, for fuck’s sake what are you doing?”

“It isn’t Fraser.” Hunter spoke calmly and deliberately. She was moving around the car, coming towards MacGregor. There was a click. It was the safety catch being released.”

“Fraser!” MacGregor shouted.

“It’s not fucking Fraser!” Hunter was trying hard to control the tone of her voice. “Jesus Christ, John!”

“I’m not Fraser?” Fraser asked. “Can you stay still just a moment?”

Hunter laughed. “So you can shoot me?”

“Yes.”

Fraser’s voice was unmistakably wrong. MacGregor knew that this wasn’t his friend. He approached the voice carefully, both arms outstretched.

“I can see you,” Fraser said. “Eilidh, stop moving now. I don’t think I can do this if you keep moving.”

“You’ve got a lot more to say than the other broken records,” Hunter said. “So tell us what this is all about.”

There was a gunshot. A single bullet. It tore through the air between MacGregor and Hunter. MacGregor heard it crack into the stone wall behind Hunter.

“Bastard!” Hunter snapped.

MacGregor lunged forward, reaching for Fraser. He was short by more than a half meter, but the thing that presented itself as his comrade moved its feet. MacGregor, falling forward, threw himself at the new sound. His hands brushed against Fraser’s arms and then his chest and shoulder drove hard into the imposter’s soft midsection.

The gun discharged a second time.

MacGregor didn’t know what he was going to do next. He was trying to use his own weight to bring Fraser to the ground, but it wasn’t working.

“What are you doing this for?” MacGregor snarled. “What’s the point in this?”

“It’s all about you!” Fraser sounded almost happy, “John, it’s all for you. Hunter has no purpose now.”

“Stop fucking saying that! Of course she has a fucking purpose.”

MacGregor groped Fraser’s right arm, searching for the gun in his hand. He found it and pushed hard against Fraser’s big hand. The hand was impossibly rigid.

“John!” Hunter shouted.

The gun fired a third time. Hunter let out a sharp gasp of pain.

“No!” MacGregor shouted. He had both hands on Fraser’s wrist now, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Get out of the way, John!”

Hunter’s voice was shrill as she charged at Fraser. The gun fired once more. MacGregor felt something warm and wet splash against his face. Thick, disgusting, metallic blood entered his mouth. Fraser’s hand released the gun.

“John, get down!”

Hunter’s voice brought MacGregor to his knees. Blood was spraying everywhere. And now MacGregor heard the sound of the knife. The horrendous, butcher-shop sound of flesh being sliced and muscles torn apart. But there was relief in the hideous, coughing, choking and bubbling sound of Fraser’s doppelganger’s lungs filling up with blood. MacGregor was still holding onto Fraser’s gun hand, but the hand was losing some of its incredible rigidity. He felt the tendons spasm and the fingers were open. The weapon hit the ground with a heavy thump, but did not discharge. Fraser was still coughing and choking and dying. MacGregor released the hand, scrabbling for the automatic pistol that Hunter had already picked up.

“What the fuck are you?” Hunter said. “What?”

MacGregor put his hand to his face. It was covered in blood. He used the sleeve of his left arm to wipe his eyes. Fraser was still gurgling and gushing as his body flopped and thrashed to the road surface.

“Shoot it,” MacGregor said. “I can’t stand that fucking sound.”

“There’s only three bullets left,” Hunter said coldly. “He won’t last much longer. Or rather it won’t last much longer.”

MacGregor continued to clean his face. The thing at his feet spluttered and rolled on the ground. He stepped back, feeling the car against his buttocks. He wished that Hunter would just put the thing out of its misery. After a few seconds, the movement on the pavement began to subside. The gurgles and gasps became quieter and more irregular. Soon, there was no sound at all.

“There,” Hunter said. “It’s dead.”

“Are you alright? Were you shot?”

“The bullet scraped past me, I think. I’ve got a burning pain on my left shoulder. I can’t reach it with my hand. Can you check and see if there’s a hole or not? It feels numb but sort of burning at the same time. I can move the arm, but I’m not sure if the bullet went through or just… scraped…”

“Grazed,” MacGregor corrected. “It’s alright. Guide my hand.”

“Oh shit, you’re covered in blood,” Hunter remarked. “Wait a second. Hold your hand out.”

He did as he was told and was startled when cold water splashed over his hand.

“Do your other hand,” she said, “and your face, as well. It’s… all over you.”

It took two full bottles of water to fully remove the dead thing’s blood from his hands, face and neck. Only then did Hunter guide his hand to the back of her neck. His fingers probed the area about four inches down from her left shoulder.

MacGregor’s fingers touched the wound gently. Hunter did not flinch or react in any way. “Jesus. How did he get you there.”

“I turned away from the gun just before he fired the last shot. Is it a hole?”

“It’s not deep. It isn’t an entry wound or an exit wound. Feels like the bullet just took the top layer off your skin. It isn’t bleeding.”

“That’s something,” Hunter said. “I can’t say that I really liked the idea of having a blind man put my stitches in.”

“Me neither,” MacGregor said.

There was a rumble. The bridge was shaking.

“Look out!” Hunter shouted.

“What’s happening?”

There was a wrenching. The sounds were very close. Not on the road, but just a little away from it. MacGregor wheeled round, his arms outstretched. Hunter was gone from his reach.

“The railway!” she screamed.

There was a terrific clang as several tonnes of metal landed just feet away from MacGregor. The impact made him stumble backwards, his feet slipping as his hands frantically searched for something to grab onto. His right heel caught on something soft. He felt himself losing his footing, beginning to fall. He twisted to the right, reaching for the road surface. He found it with the palms of both hands and scrambled back to his feet. There was a mighty crack. The whole road seemed to jump into the air. MacGregor felt his body flipped like a pancake. He was flying through the air, arms and legs outstretched. He opened his mouth to scream. It was the last thing he remembered doing.

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