The Levitating Village
Chapter Sixteen - The Socionauts
The sky was overcast, but it didn’t look like rain. The clouds stood motionless in a frieze of grey watercolour above us. The days had melted into one another. For some minutes it felt like we were survivors of a post apocalyptic war, where the streets were empty and everything was bathed in the same greyness of the sky reflected on the land. Our clothes were ripped in strategic places, our skin burred and cut from our escape, dirt in crevasses I didn’t know existed. I was past caring if the Police were to swoop down on me and arrest me. I think I would have found it a blessed relief if it did happen. At least I would get a good sleep in a safe and secure environment with a decent meal and facilities en suite. We hobbled our way in various forms of distress to the gate of the church. The doors were open. Light flooded out and onto the grass and the nearest gravestones.
I saw in the failing light a figure of a man walking the road in front of me. It was thick and heavy, but it moved almost dreamily, like it came from another world. It was my old friend, the plague doctor again. I think it had become something of a talisman now. I knew it was probably a vision of my battered mind, but I understood why it existed. The figure got closer. It was a man, close to my age. I had never seen him before. His movement was direct and steady. Of all the strange sights I had seen in this Village, I have to admit this was somewhere close to the top. He was almost upon me. I stood my ground. I watched as the man was taken by the arm by one Rosemary Trafford. She cooed soothing things to the man. This must be her son, the one who restocks her shop. I was beginning to get that feeling of sinking in the pit of my stomach. What other secrets had this Village left to reveal? Somehow I felt I was going to find out.
“Aren’t you coming in?” asked Dylan Murray.
“Um, we were thinking about it, but we didn’t, you know, want to be bludgeoned to death by several angry or scared Villagers?” I said.
“Don’t be daft.” he smiled warmly, “That’s in the past. Things have changed.”
The Professor, being held up by his wife, pushed past me and headed for the door. What did it matter now? What more could they do to me I hadn’t suffered already? I followed them to the warmth within.
Inside the Church, the Villagers sat on either side of the altar, relaxed and comfortable on the pews. Doris Mortimer walked up to me sheepishly repentant, “See, we thought you were going to die in all this. You seemed so weak when you arrived in the Village. We thought it would kill you off eventually. But you didn’t die. Which I am, for one, glad of. You’re too young and virile to die. We don’t hurt those who don’t deserve it. But then we didn’t know you were an ancestral member of the community. It is why you survived, I think. Bob Quinn informed us all of this turn of events. So we as a community got together and made the exterminations appear as suicide. So the police are no longer after you. You are a free man. You can’t prove anything different, Dougy. Besides, if you do, you only incriminate yourself again.”
#
I woke and washed, and then I quietly left the church without a word.
I pushed the doors open enough for me to slip through and to make the smallest sound possible. Most of the Villagers were asleep and I knew how much noise reverberated around that stone walled church. The shining sun caused me to blink and shade my eyes from the painful rays. For a change, the street was filling up with sharp suited men and women. Some had cameras, some had a pen and paper, others had a thrusting Dictaphone. They were scanning, like animals, for the merest sign of life so they could pounce on it and ask it questions. I was random, unobtrusive. I managed to slip my way practically unnoticed through the mass of press. As I walked, I absently reached into my pockets where I found the Death Certificates I had stashed in there at the Funeral Home - that which I was going to use for evidence. I found in the other pocket the leather bound bundle containing the ancient Village Deed I had procured from the treasure box before I exited the hole.
But I understood it all now. I knew who I was. I belonged - here. I buried the certificates close to the tourist hut at the entrance to the Village, but I replaced the Deed in my pocket. I walked away.
I sensed Bob Quinn over my shoulder, vigilant as he ever was, “So why did Marshall do it? I mean, really?” I asked conversationally.
“Who knows?” Bob concluded, “Money? Power? Revenge? Greed? Megalomania? Love? It could equally be any of them.”
“I guess we’ll never really know.” I agreed.
“I guess not,” said Bob, then he slapped me warmly on the shoulder with a smile, “But does it really matter?”
“No, I suppose not.” I said, resigned.
Bob changed tack, “So what’s for you now?”
I shrugged and chuckled, “Beats me.”
#
After much tussling with mindless reporters and their crew, I took a spot on the next portacabin going down. I walked over to where my car was still parked, now surrounded by vans, trucks and other cars. Suddenly I remembered I had left my keys in a bag in the demolished Hotel. I admonished myself and walked back up to the ever present Old Guard.
“Um, I need to get back in?” I said, gesturing to the portacabin.
He thrust out an old crusty dusty hand, “Pass.” he said, without a hint of irony.
END
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