“Don’t be a quitter,” said Dave. “This is a chance for you to redeem yourself. You don’t want to be remembered as a murdering scumbag, do you? Wouldn’t you rather be remembered as the man who freed humankind from the menace of the dead aliens?”
“And you seriously think that any newspaper would print that?”
“The Weekly World News definitely would,” said Dave. “And I think it would be a noble cause.”
“Oh yes,” I said. “You think. You said that you’d sorted the alien who manipulated you. How did you do that?”
“Easy,” said Dave. “I told him to sling his hook. I knew his name: Eric had told me. I knew he was in my head. I knew that from listening to Mr Boothy talking to you. So I said, ‘Out of my head, mate. I know you’re in there. Go and screw up someone else.’”
“And it was as easy as that?”
“Not quite,” said Dave. “There was a bit of a fuss. I found myself thinking that I should give myself up to Mr Boothy, and lots of other dodgy things. I almost caved in, almost went mad. But I hung on.”
“Because Sandra save him,” said Sandra. “Sandra know ’cos Sandra dead. Sandra stop Dave, save Dave.”
“Sandra thinks you should atone for all your bad behaviour,” said Dave. “Even if it wasn’t exactly your fault. Which is why she is going to despatch you to Mornington Crescent to destroy the receiving station.”
“The receiving station?” I said. “This is new. What is the receiving station?”
“It’s the line of communication between the dead aliens and us. You know about FLATLINE – it required technology. You can’t just talk to the dead.”
“You’re doing it now,” I said.
“You know what I mean,” said Dave. “To a soul, if you like. I overheard Mr Boothy. The alien dead communicate to the living humans, control them, through the receiving station at Mornington Crescent. The one built for Operation Orpheus. Blow that up and you cut the line of communication.”
“So you do it,” I said. “You’re sneaky; you could do it.”
“It’s dangerous in there,” said Dave. “I might get killed.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, because I did. “You’ve brought me back from the dead so I can get Sandra a new body and then go and risk, what? nothing, because I’m already dead, by blowing up Mornington Crescent and destroying the communications station that allows the dead aliens to control living human beings?”
“Nicely put,” said Dave. “It’s all so simple when you put it that way.”
I punched Dave right in the face. Which probably hurt me more than it hurt him. Which made me aware of just how much pain Sandra must go through, being a zombie. Yes, it was a lot of pain that I felt then. And also afterwards, when Sandra made me do certain things to atone for hitting Dave, which were so humiliating and degrading that I have no intention of mentioning them here.
“So you’re up for the challenge, then?” said Dave. “When you’ve finished doing that, which, frankly, I don’t want to watch any more because it makes me feel sick.”
I just nodded my head to Dave.
Because Sandra had told me to nod it.
And because it’s rude to speak with your mouth full.
26
OK. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that this is all really far-fetched. You’re probably thinking that it’s ludicrous and foolish and that I’m just making it up as I go along. Well, frankly, I don’t blame you. If anyone had ever told me a tale like this, I wouldn’t have believed them. I would probably have punched them.
In fact, I might well have killed them.
But that was then, whenever then was, and this was now. And in this now, here was I, victim of cosmic circumstance, dragged back from an eternity of bliss and rattling along in the back of a knackered transit van in the company of a very great deal of explosive.
It was quite clear to me that a considerable degree of forward planning had gone into this operation. A lot of work had been done on the part of Dave and Sandra, before they brought me back from the dead.
I confess that I was slightly baffled. I’d never had Dave down as anything but dodgy. The thought of him caring a jam tiddly about mankind and wanting to play a part in “saving the world” didn’t seem to fit.
But then, love can do strange things to a man. And it seemed obvious to me that Dave was in love with my Sandra. I don’t know what it was about that woman that men found so attractive. Well, actually, I do because I had fallen under her spell. She was a very pretty girl, or had been while alive. And when it came to impersonating ponies, she was definitely in a class of her own. And I think that, even given everything – her infidelities with Count Otto and probably others – she was a good person.
But, like I say, here I was, rattling along in the back of another stolen van, en route for Mornington Crescent, thinking to myself that I’d rather be anywhere else but here. In fact, everywhere else but here.
At which point the extremely obvious hit me right in the face. And a plan of my own entered my poor dead head.
And, as it was an absolute blinder of a plan, it made me smile very much and feel rather happy inside.
A kind of blissful glow.
Which, of course, due to the nature of things, could not be allowed to continue for long.
“Stop van, Dave,” said Sandra. “She do.”
“She?” said Dave, stopping the van.
“Sandra want body,” said Sandra. “That body.” And she pointed out of the window. “She do for body.”
“Oh no, please,” I said, cowering down in the back of the van. “Please don’t make me. Please.”
“Gary, fetch body now,” said Sandra. “Now!”
I will spare you the details and the horror. And as the horror is always in the details, these two are one and the same.
“Happy now?” I said, ten minutes later, as I wiped the blood from my hands.
Dave drove on and he cast an approving eye over the latest Sandra. “It’s a very nice body,” he said. “It really suits you, Sandra.”
“Sandra know what Dave like,” said Sandra.
I sat and stewed in the back. My wife and my bestest friend. I now really hated both of them.
“You OK in the back there, Gary?” called Dave.
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Never better.”
“Good lad.”
“You’ll get yours,” I whispered. And I meant it.
When we finally reached Mornington Crescent it was around midnight. The good old witching hour. I sat in the back of that van, picking loose bits from my fingers and thinking that my life would have been oh so different if I’d been born someone else entirely. Someone destined to be rich and famous, perhaps. Rather than poor and notorious. But Casey Rahserah, or whoever it is, whatever will be will probably be.
“We’re going down the secret tunnel,” said Dave.
“Oh, good-oh,” said I.
And down the secret tunnel we went.
After a prolonged period of secret-tunnel travelling, Dave brought the transit to a halt, got out, came around and opened up the rear doors.
“We’re here,” he said. “Time for you to do your stuff.”
“And my stuff would be what, exactly?” I climbed out of the van.
“Special mission,” said Dave. “Sandra will tell you all about it.”
Sandra danced into view. She looked exceedingly sprightly with her nice fresh body. “Gary take this,” she said.