then dismissed the idea. Impossible. Ridiculous.
Jake knew al about disease. He worked with it day in, day out at the poultry production centre. But people were not chickens. The rules for humans were different. There was no such thing as human disease. There would be another explanation. Maybe he’d exerted himself more than necessary recently.
He eased himself into the bath, sighing with happiness as the warmth enveloped him even as his teeth stil chat ered.
A plague on your people. He remembered the line from somewhere – he couldn’t recal where. Plague. Pestilence. Things man brought upon himself, he found himself thinking. But these were crazed thoughts. There were no plagues now; there were no gods now either. No higher powers – except of course the Authorities. Was this a punishment for refusing to throw out his bath? Was this his penance for being wasteful?
He shook himself. His mind wasn’t his own – racing, darting, seeing things where they weren’t, like a dream where things were movable, where the usual laws of physics didn’t apply. If only he wasn’t so cold. If only he could warm his bones up somehow.
Cul them. If disease is left it wil spread, infect the entire barn. You’ve got to get them early. He imagined himself as a chicken, running from his keeper, stumbling, his large body too heavy for his pockmarked legs, col iding with other chickens, knowing that it was futile, that he was going to die, going to be taken . . .
No, I’m human. Humans don’t get il . Longevity. Did I take my Longevity? Yes. Yes, I took it. Take more. Yes, I’l take more. Now. The water was stil warm; he didn’t want to leave its embrace. Afterwards. I’l take them afterwards. He hadn’t been to work today. Nor yesterday. Had he been missed? What were people saying? He must go in tomorrow. He just needed some sleep. It was fatigue, plain and simple. Or perhaps he’d been bit en by some insect. He looked down at his body and felt his mouth fal open in shock. It seemed to be shrinking, wasting away before his eyes, the skin tightening around his bones as though the water, his blood, his flesh, was leaking out. No, the light must be playing tricks on him. He shook himself, then looked back, but was met by the same horrific image, his skin being sucked into his bones, blackening, shrivel ing up. He was hal ucinating. He had to be. But the pain –the pain was excruciating, his windpipe was constricting, he needed air, needed the pain was excruciating, his windpipe was constricting, he needed air, needed water, needed . . .
He hadn’t heard the front door open and looked up in shock and surprise when two men walked into his bathroom, his mouth open but no words coming out of it. He felt like a fish, gasping for oxygen, splashing fruitlessly in the water.
The men looked at him, their lips curled in disgust – the same look Jake knew he wore when picking out chickens, grabbing them by the legs and breaking their necks in one seamless movement.
‘I’m not diseased,’ he garbled. ‘It’s cold. I needed to warm up. I . . .’
The men looked at each other, shared a raised eyebrow, a wry smile. Then one produced a metal stick and dropped it in the water. Immediately Jake’s eyes opened wide and his body began to shake violently, his lungs expressing air in a loud howl of pain, until there was no more air, until the current had done its work.
Silently, the men emptied the bath of water, checked the body was safe to move, then wrapped it up and took it down to the lorry.
‘You’re a fast learner,’ Jude said appraisingly as Sheila deftly navigated her way through the Underground security network to pick up a message in its inbox. Sheila shrugged but inside she was glowing.
It was a few days later and, in order to make up for his broken promise, Jude had final y agreed to teach her how to use the computer. It had been a struggle – Jude’s computer meant more to him than anything and every time she hit
Jake knew al about disease. He worked with it day in, day out at the poultry production centre. But people were not chickens. The rules for humans were different. There was no such thing as human disease. There would be another explanation. Maybe he’d exerted himself more than necessary recently.
He eased himself into the bath, sighing with happiness as the warmth enveloped him even as his teeth stil chat ered.
A plague on your people. He remembered the line from somewhere – he couldn’t recal where. Plague. Pestilence. Things man brought upon himself, he found himself thinking. But these were crazed thoughts. There were no plagues now; there were no gods now either. No higher powers – except of course the Authorities. Was this a punishment for refusing to throw out his bath? Was this his penance for being wasteful?
He shook himself. His mind wasn’t his own – racing, darting, seeing things where they weren’t, like a dream where things were movable, where the usual laws of physics didn’t apply. If only he wasn’t so cold. If only he could warm his bones up somehow.
Cul them. If disease is left it wil spread, infect the entire barn. You’ve got to get them early. He imagined himself as a chicken, running from his keeper, stumbling, his large body too heavy for his pockmarked legs, col iding with other chickens, knowing that it was futile, that he was going to die, going to be taken . . .
No, I’m human. Humans don’t get il . Longevity. Did I take my Longevity? Yes. Yes, I took it. Take more. Yes, I’l take more. Now. The water was stil warm; he didn’t want to leave its embrace. Afterwards. I’l take them afterwards. He hadn’t been to work today. Nor yesterday. Had he been missed? What were people saying? He must go in tomorrow. He just needed some sleep. It was fatigue, plain and simple. Or perhaps he’d been bit en by some insect. He looked down at his body and felt his mouth fal open in shock. It seemed to be shrinking, wasting away before his eyes, the skin tightening around his bones as though the water, his blood, his flesh, was leaking out. No, the light must be playing tricks on him. He shook himself, then looked back, but was met by the same horrific image, his skin being sucked into his bones, blackening, shrivel ing up. He was hal ucinating. He had to be. But the pain –the pain was excruciating, his windpipe was constricting, he needed air, needed the pain was excruciating, his windpipe was constricting, he needed air, needed water, needed . . .
He hadn’t heard the front door open and looked up in shock and surprise when two men walked into his bathroom, his mouth open but no words coming out of it. He felt like a fish, gasping for oxygen, splashing fruitlessly in the water.
The men looked at him, their lips curled in disgust – the same look Jake knew he wore when picking out chickens, grabbing them by the legs and breaking their necks in one seamless movement.
‘I’m not diseased,’ he garbled. ‘It’s cold. I needed to warm up. I . . .’
The men looked at each other, shared a raised eyebrow, a wry smile. Then one produced a metal stick and dropped it in the water. Immediately Jake’s eyes opened wide and his body began to shake violently, his lungs expressing air in a loud howl of pain, until there was no more air, until the current had done its work.
Silently, the men emptied the bath of water, checked the body was safe to move, then wrapped it up and took it down to the lorry.
‘You’re a fast learner,’ Jude said appraisingly as Sheila deftly navigated her way through the Underground security network to pick up a message in its inbox. Sheila shrugged but inside she was glowing.
It was a few days later and, in order to make up for his broken promise, Jude had final y agreed to teach her how to use the computer. It had been a struggle – Jude’s computer meant more to him than anything and every time she hit
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