Joffre White - Earthland

EARTHLAND

Joffre White

Copyright 2017 Joffre White

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Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with

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ISBN 9781788031547

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

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To the class of 1960
In the blink of an eye, how far we have come.

The world came rushing back on a relentless tide of sound. Screams pierced Savannahs ears. Shrill cries echoed inside her head like sharp fragments of pain. She forced her eyes open, pushing apart her half-drugged lids. Her pupils struggled to focus as the rest of her senses sluggishly kicked in.

A soft heat pressed cloyingly against her face, and a stagnant smell invaded her nostrils; a mixture of rotting fish and bitter salt caught in the back of her throat causing her to retch sour spittle. Hot tears seeped from her eyes and tracked dirtily down her sleep-reddened cheeks.

Warily, she pushed herself up and onto her hands and knees, and a moment of panic made her body tremble, as the soft ground seemed to disintegrate between her fingers. She frantically wiped at the warm, clammy grains, which eagerly stuck to her skin.

All the while above her, the horrific screaming continued.

Suddenly, amongst the cacophony of noise, she heard a voice.

Get up! Get up!

Hands roughly and urgently dragged her onto her feet.

Move it!

Amongst her confused and ragged thoughts, the voice registered no gender. Through damp tears and clinging strands of fine, blonde hair, her blurred vision slowly focused; she blinked to take in stark cinematic snapshots of her surroundings.

Grey sky.

Slate-coloured, foam-crested sea.

Murky and grey sand dunes.

Bleached, tufted grass.

Scattered remnants of shredded and torn clothing.

An old, lace-less work boot.

The face of a childs doll stared vacantly at the sky. Its eye sockets empty and hollow. What remained of its synthetic, golden hair was stained with dark, dried human blood.

Savannah forced herself upright and her legs quivered unsteadily like a newborn calf. She stared out across the banks of an estuary. A shock of confusion hit her, and then a wave of anger washed over it as ragged thoughts assembled a memory that prompted a question.

How could they let this happen to their own flesh and blood? To their own daughter?

The screaming swooped and echoed above her like a discordant chorus of agonised souls. Not screams of distress, but vicious, angry screams.

She looked up. Seagulls, but these seagulls were massive predators. The mutated results of escaped laboratory experiments, crossbred with natures original creations. From beneath grey and white plumage, their sharp, bladed talons snatched at the air like jagged scythes. Oversized beaks, hooked and perfectly made for tearing and rending flesh apart, opened with the sound of each piercing scream. Their wingspans of over two metres beat violently at the air while their black, soulless eyes, stared down at her.

The voice, louder this time, cut into her fear.

Dont just stand there. Get moving! I cant hold them off for much longer. Too many of them.

She turned to face her mysterious rescuer.

Bright green eyes met her dark blue ones. A figure roughly her height stood there. Chocolate brown dreadlocks tumbled down to shoulder length, and framed a sharp-featured face that was distorted by hues of green and brown camouflage paint.

As with the voice, she couldnt quite decide if the person was male or female. Even so, she guessed them to be about her age sixteen, or maybe older. Their attire consisted of rugged black combats and an old flying jacket of brown leather, which bore the scars and creases of previous adventurous exploits. Thick-soled boots dug into the sand. A tattered green, red and orange sash of defiance hung from the waist of the lithe figure. These were the tough, hardwearing clothes of a Diss a dissident, a rebel. Their hands were wrapped in fingerless gloves, one of which held her firmly by the arm; the other gripped a large, dull-metalled catapult.

Who are you? she managed.

Introductions later, thats if we both survive this. Just keep up with me.

Then, without warning, she was pushed aside, and she watched as nimble fingers hastily loaded the catapult with a large, steel ball bearing. The thick, black elastic stretched back in an instant; tension and energy trembled along its length. With a phizzzing! the metal ball launched into the sky.

A strong hand clasped around the back of her overalls, and projected her onwards, almost lifting her feet from the ground.

Run!

Adrenalin coursed through her veins to fuel her into action.

She stumbled, mildly cursing. Her hands scrabbled at the sand, her feet frantically dug into the dune, and she pushed herself forwards and upwards.

Good. Keep going. Dont look back, the voice encouraged.

Savannah had spent most of her life being disobedient, and to be told not to look back was too much of a temptation. As they both clawed their way to the ridge, she turned a glance. The ball bearing had hit its target, and one of the gulls lay convulsing and thrashing on the sand as it desperately tried to stop half a dozen or so of its flock from tearing it apart, adding its own screams of pain and fear to the vicious refrain.

She watched, spellbound, as the creature was engulfed. Beaks and claws ripped at feathers and flesh. Blood splattered out onto the sand like thick crimson raindrops in an otherwise monotone scene. Other gulls hovered overhead; amongst them, one enormous bird caught her gaze. In an instant, it decided she was easier prey. With an effortless flap of its wings, it launched itself in pursuit.

Oh, great, said her would-be saviour. Now weve really got to run.

Where?

There. Head for that clump of dune grass.

She couldnt see what sanctuary the small patch of grass would give them. It nestled about fifty metres ahead, maybe more. The gull, however, was now half the distance behind them, and gaining.

Oooooh! Hell! she screamed as she launched herself forward. Her legs pounded, kicking up sprays of sand.

With about twenty metres ahead of her, she still couldnt see shelter. The cold chill of fear ran down her back as a savage screech exploded overhead. With ten metres to go, the figure next to her let out a loud, piercing whistle, and the ground opened up in front of them; a trapdoor to safety hinged upwards, cascading rivulets of sand in its wake. The head and shoulders of a shadowed figure emerged, a crossbow aimed in her direction.

Jump! commanded a mans voice.

She tucked in her elbows and barrel rolled towards the hole. Just before she fell into shadow, she had a surreal, upside down vision of the pursuing gull; the birds eyes bulged in shock as the steel shaft of an arrow protruded from its throat, and a red stain of blood spread through ruffled white feathers. Involuntarily, the enormous wings folded upwards, and it plummeted towards the sand with all the grace of a collapsed parachute.