Chapter 7: Mark of the Beast by Stephen Simpson
He brushed his long fringe from his forehead as he said, “It
doesn’t feel like it’s a new year, does it?”
Lydia pulled her long, auburn hair over her shoulder and started rolling it between her fingers. “Not at all. When I woke up this morning, my dad was gone. Mum said, he said that he was going for a walk but by the time I left he wasn’t home yet.”
“Do you think?” Liam looked at Lydia with a little frown
between his brown eyes. “Did he go get the barcode?”
“I hope not. We don’t have to do everything the government
tells us to do.”
“What if he did?”
Lydia shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t
go without telling my mum.”
“But what if he did?”
“He was going on and on last night about us not having a
choice if we want to eat.”
“Then he must’ve gone. He’ll probably be home by now,
although, I saw on the news that all over the country the queues are miles
long.”
“Everyone is in such a panic. Do you really think we won’t be
able to buy anything if we don’t have the barcode? I really don’t want it. It doesn’t
feel right to get it.”
“I’ve been reading online and there’s a lot of people who
are planning to go live off-grid so that they don’t have to get the barcode.”
“What’s that going to help? You’ll still need to eat.”
“But, if we go now, like today or tomorrow, then we can buy
all the camping gear we need. Buy lots of food, and seeds and things we could
plant.”
Lydia laughed. “And a couple of chickens, and a cow for
milk. It won’t work. It’s like minus temperatures out there. We’d freeze to
death and starve before the ground is defrosted enough to plant anything.”
“We could get a proper bow and arrow, and a hunting knife.
We could hunt squirrels and rabbits.”
She gave him a squinted look. “You? Hunt? I’d like to see
that.”
“Hey. I could hunt. I’ve watched a lot of survival shows. Probably
all of them.”
“Just because you’ve watched them doesn’t mean that you can
actually do it, you know.”
“I read that there are a lot of young people already living
off-grid here in Outpost Colstand. They say it’s easier to live off-grid these
days because of how much one can learn through the internet.”
Lydia smiled. “Like you’re doing now.”
He grinned. “Exactly.”
Lydia picked up her phone from where it was laying at the
side of her knee. She swiped across the screen to open the phone and looked at
the time. “I better get home,” she said, looking back up at him. “If my dad’s
not home yet, my mum will be in hyper panic mode by now.”
Liam pushed his palms against his knees to push himself up
from the chair. “So? Are you going to think about it?”
She gave him a confused look as she scooted closer to the
edge of the bed, bundling the duvet together in a pile under her.
He reminded her, “About running away with me. To go live in
the wild.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m just taking it one day at a time for
now. I’m still trying to get used to the idea that New Year’s has come and gone
without any fireworks.
He smiled. “Literally.”
“Exactly,” she said.
Liam walked her to the door, and then stood by his door
until she reached her own front door, two doors down. She looked back and waved
goodbye before she opened her door and disappeared into her house.
Her mum called from the lounge, “Bill? Is that you?”
“No,” Lydia replied. “It’s just me.” She walked down the
hallway to the lounge. “Is Dad not back yet?”
Cynthia was sitting on the couch, cradling a mug between her
palms, and staring out the glass sliding doors at the back garden. She did not
look up when Lydia entered the room.
Lydia repeated, “Is Dad not back yet?”
Cynthia shook her head. “I don’t know why he left his phone.
He must’ve been so preoccupied. I don’t even know where he went for a walk to.
I’ve already walked the way he usually tells me he goes, but I didn’t find him.
Where can he be?”
Lydia sat down on the edge of the chair across from her mum.
“Do you think he went to get the barcode? That would take a while for him to
get back home. Liam says those waiting in line have been there since last night.”
“Do you think that’s where he’s gone? Why wouldn’t he tell
me?”
“Maybe because he didn’t want you to convince him not to
go.”
Cynthia looked down at the cup of cold coffee in her hands.
“Maybe he thought if he told you he was going, you’d insist
on going too, and you know he doesn’t want you to get the barcode. He’s got
some superstitious thing about it being the mark of the Devil or something.”
“I know what his concerns are, and to be honest, I agree
with him, and so should you.”
“It sounds too farfetched. Everybody is rebelling now that
they don’t want the barcode, but you’ll see by the end of this year, everyone
will have it. By then it will be strange to see someone with a perfectly
unblemished forehead.”
“God forbid,” Cynthia mumbled.
“I’ve already seen people posting their mark on social media.”
Lydia pulled her phone from her pocket. “Look. I’ll show you.” She lifted
herself off the chair and sat down next to Cynthia on the couch. She showed her
a selfie from a famous actress. “Oh. Look here. She says that there are tents with
beds in them, and she remembers having to lie down on one of them. A big robot looking
machine gave her the barcode and she only woke up the next day.” Lydia looked
sideways at her mum. “So, you see, Dad will probably only be home tomorrow
then. You can stop stressing now.”
“But what if something goes wrong?”
Lydia leaned closer to her mum until her cheek was resting
against her mum’s upper arm. “Nothing will go wrong. Tomorrow he will walk in,
and everything will be okay, you’ll see.”
Just then there was a loud knock at the front door.
Lydia stood up from the couch and walked to the end of the
lounge where she could look down the corridor to the front door. Through the
bevelled glass of the door, she could see two large black shapes. She faced her
mum and whispered, “Looks like two men.” She started to panic. “What if they’re
here to force us to get the barcode?”
Cynthia stood up from the couch. “Don’t be silly,” she said.
“It’s only just started today. It’s next week we’ll have to start worrying.”
She walked down the hallway to the front door.
Lydia followed close behind her.
Cynthia pulled open the door, and said, “Yes. Can I help
you?”
When Lydia saw the two policemen, she felt a strange,
butterfly feeling in the pit of her stomach. An awful feeling of trepidation
filled her entire body, blossoming out from her centre. Suddenly, she did not
want them to say a word. If they did not say what she suspected they were going
to say, then it could not be true.
“Mrs. Murphy? Partner of Bill Murphy?” The shorter of the
two policemen asked.
Cynthia frowned as she looked at them for a second, as if
she had that same feeling Lydia had. She said, “I’m his wife. What’s wrong?”
“We’re afraid we have bad news,” he said as he pulled his
thumb out of the strap securing his body armour to his upper body and removed
his cap from his head. The taller policeman was already holding his cap by the
rim in both his hands and rotating it in a slow circle.
Cynthia took a step back and bumped into Lydia. She cleared
her throat.
The short policeman, his name tag said JONES, asked, “Can we
come in, Mrs Murphy?”
Cynthia shook her head but said in a soft voice, “I guess
so.” They stepped aside to let the two policemen enter the house, and then walked
down the hallway to the lounge.
Cynthia asked, “Please sit. Can I get you anything to drink?”
They both sat down on the edges of the two single chairs.
“No, thank you,” they said to the offer of a beverage.
Cynthia and Lydia sat down next to each other on the couch.
Cynthia reached for Lydia’s hand and held on tightly.
Jones said, “I'm very sorry, Mrs. Murphy, your husband, Mr.
Bill Murphy was in a terrible accident this afternoon. He died while paramedics
were attempting to revive him.”
Cynthia went white in the face.
Lydia squeezed her mum’s hand tightly between both her
hands. “Can we see him?”
Jones looked at the other policeman, and then said, “We’re
afraid not.”
“Why not?” Lydia asked.
“It is an ongoing investigation to establish exactly what
happened, and until the case is solved, I’m afraid you cannot see him.”
“How do you know it’s him?” Lydia asked, with an indignant
tone in her voice.
“He had all his documentation with him. His passport, proof
of address, and driver’s license.”
Cynthia made a low wailing noise from deep within her throat.
Lydia’s eyes started to burn, and she clutched her mum’s
hand harder. “How did it happen?”
“As I said, it’s an ongoing investigation, and we will keep
you informed of any developments.” He started to lift himself off the chair,
and the other policeman followed. “I am really sorry for your loss, Mrs. Murphy.”
The other policeman only gave them a sympathetic look. He
looked like he could not leave quick enough.
Jones started walking to the door of the lounge. “We’ll see
ourselves out.”
Lydia looked at them until they were out of the room and
waited until she heard the front door close behind them before she wrapped her
arms around her mum’s small frame.
Cynthia went weak as she leaned against Lydia. It was as if
every drop of whatever kept her upright evaporated from her body in an instant.
All work created and posted on this blog is the intellectual property of Stephen Simpson.
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