I hate shopping
I hate shopping, I hate shopping centres, crass commercial wrapping paper around sweatshop goods. I hate it all.
St. David's Centre is still half empty, even now, but special offers on the units mean small shops open briefly, before the rent goes up again. And that massive cheap ceramic pot is going in my backyard for the herbs. I weave thru the crowds of happy drones with their bags of crap at a fast walk, muzak and chemical smells splattering on my senses, I don't notice at first when the hum of humanity turns into shouting, and then abruptly into screaming and crashing, and frightened people are running towards me, a shop front explodes to my left, and the air fills with dust, strange high singing noises ring out, getting closer, I hear shouting garbled into incomprehensibility, and then I'm alone, I can only see one group of people running towards me now, hear shouts of "Out! Get out! Everybody run!" Then one of them screams and falls, and a group of dark, squat, dome-headed, armoured figures run into sight, shooting at us, I turn and run. The singing sound is their guns, something explodes right over my head, my ears throb and everything starts to sound dull, something grabs me from behind, pushes me round a corner and spins me round, a man in a big coat yells in my face but the words drown in a rushing sound, people push by, then there's a boom that slaps me back and down...
My head really hurts, and it's hard to move, I can taste blood, dust is caked in my nose, on my eyelashes, on my skin, I smell burnt plastic, burnt meat, raw meat and shit, really close by, there's something heavy on my chest and legs and it's hard to breathe, and I'm wet, I cough, and blink, and focus on someone lying next to me, their eyes are open, and blood has drained from their nose and ears, pooled beneath them in the dust. I am absolutely sure they are dead. There is a body lying on me, they aren't moving and my chest is soaked, my left arm is free, haltingly I move to feel their throat, it's cold and still. the jaw slack. On the other side someone is sprawled with their back to me, unmoving. I'm pretty sure they're all dead, tears slide from my eyes. Then I can hear sharp retorts, guns? footsteps? At the end of the arm of the body on me is a gun? I have to pull the trigger guard off their forefinger, I try and free my right arm, the sharp noises are getting closer, but the sound of my own blood in my ears is so loud, my right arm pulls free, the noises change to harsh garbled words, and then a reply. Abruptly I realise the body on me is breathing shallowly, then it jerks, hard, and takes a great deep and noisy breath, I wrap my right arm around them and mouth "Quiet. Still." softly, deep in my throat, then a fat brown face on a squat armoured body walks into my sight and I shoot it, a pulse of light goes thru it, lunging forward I shoot the one behind it, and the one behind that. The body on me rolls off and reaches for his gun, I shoot the last potato-headed murderer I can see and then the man in the big coat tears the gun from my hand, he says something but I can't make it out. He points behind us, mouths "Go!" I crane my head around and scan for movement, but there isn't any, he drags me to my feet, and pushes me that way, I stumble a few steps, but he's heading the other way, he shouts "Go!" and points again. Then he strides off, coat flapping, he's alone, but I have no gun, so I walk unsteadily the way he pointed, behind me the sound of the strange gun reaches me thru my aural storm. There's more dust as I walk, and shattered bits of building, I can feel stuff crunching under my boots, I see a body on the ground, it hurts to bend down, but I feel her throat, cold, still, like his, I realise I've walked thru her blood. I walk unsteadily on.
People with guns and helmets run up the stalled escalators, they grab me, but I can't hear them, they pass me back, there are police at the entrance, and ambulances behind them, and other injured. One of them medics makes me sit down, tries to talk to me, undoes my soaking shirt, on the inside I can see it's completely red, and the shirt beneath, he's talking to me, "It's not mine." I say. He peers in my eyes, dabs at my ears, I cough, he gives me a mask to breath thru. They touch my arm, they want me to get on a stretcher, I sit on it, they want me to lie down, but that hurts my back and my head, I manage to lie on my side, they close the ambulance doors, and the vehicle moves off.
It was several days before I could understand speech, the police came to confirm my identity, but nothing else. Then the man with the big coat came. He strode in, brisk and energetic, to where I lay, stoned off my box on painkillers, he exchanged words with a nurse, then came over to my bed, pulled up a chair and sat. I stared at him, he smiled, big white teeth in a youngish face, black hair with very blue eyes,
"I understand you're recovering." He had a soft American accent. I nodded. "They tell me you'll be out of here in a few days."
I wondered how the hell he manifested neither scratch nor bruise, and who's blood had been washed off me, I wondered where the blood soaked clothes were. I intended to say something neutral, cagey, instead I said, "What were those? Why did they...?"
He stared at me, my eyes were filling with tears again, for the dead.
"They were aliens." He watched me for a moment, then said "Let me get you a glass of water." He turned to the table, turned the jug around with a hand over the top, and poured out a glass, which he held out for me, I was lying on my side, so I just mutely shook my head, after a moment he put the glass down.
"You know, you took quite a whack to the head." he said.
I waited to see where this was going. Aliens. And a man who didn't stay dead. That thought made me shiver abruptly, the expression on the man's face was carefully blank, he has done this before, but that was so obvious I felt stupid, and wished I hadn't taken the pain killers.
"You should take it easy," he said, " you know, this can really mess with your head."
The irony actually rendered me speechless, the universe's joke on me? But he'd gathered himself and was striding out, not looking back. I had an uncomfortable feeling this encounter wasn't over.
Aliens.
And an immortal...
I was very careful over the next few days, until my hearing was back to normal, and then it just felt like my senses had been peeled. Nothing is true, everything is permitted. Was that Hassan-i-Sabbah who said that? But there were aliens, and a strange man in a big coat who couldn't seem to keep an injury long... I might have been mistaken, but in the light of the first revelation? I was pretty sure, in that horrible part of my gut that knows these things, that the man who lay on me in the arcade was dead when I woke. The tv said there'd been an explosion, I sat and watched to see if they'd say who had exploded it, but they didn't. I stared at the floor while the tv burbled, then I cracked a beer, I didn't need painkillers all the time now.
Somebody knocked at the door. Leaning on the porch was the big smiling man in the coat,
"Kate," he said, holding out a hand, "Jack Harkness." He shook my hand warmly, "May I come in?"
My mouth went completely dry, how come only he talked about aliens?
"Who are you, Jack Harkness?" I backed up a few steps, the smile dropped off his face like it had never been there,
"I am who you see." He advanced a few steps like a predatory animal, then he stopped, and relaxing, smiled, "I thought you might like to ask some questions." He waited to see if I'd relax, "Could we.." he waved a hand vaguely, "..sit down?"
I peered down at the (immortal?) sitting on my couch, black hair flopped over the side of his face, he looked 35? The big coat was an army greatcoat, and he was wearing braces and a belt, which was just odd, as was the broad, bulbous strap around one wrist, that is one heavy duty watchstrap- his face was classically beautiful, and I dearly wished he wasn't in my house.
"Are there more?" I couldn't stop the question falling out of my face, "More aliens?"
He hesitated a second, staring intently at me, then he nodded. "Yes."
"And are they dangerous too?"
He nodded again, "Yes."
"Is this new, or have they been arriving here for a while?"
He hesitated again, "Quite a while."
"You make a habit of getting in the way when they do." I said quietly, leaning back against the table,
"Ah, no," he raised both hands in denial, "I'm just a concerned citizen!"
"Sale on light-shooting guns that day in St. David's centre, was there, Mr dead man?" I didn't mean to say the last bit, but I was freaked out, and half a beer up,
"Now, I don't know what you think you saw, Miss Gary.."
"Get out, I don't need your snake oil. And its Ms. Goodbye." I pointed the relevant direction,
"Hold on, hold on," he tried to calm me down, "I didn't mean it like that." Yeah, ya did. "I just think you shouldn't go jumping to conclusions," he stood, running a hand distractedly, pointlessly, through his hair, which flopped back exactly where it was, "people might not understand."
Ah. "Yes, well, I wasn't planning on announcing it." The tv news had circled back to their coverage of the 'explosion' again. We were at impasse for a moment, maybe he wasn't as experienced at this as I'd thought,
"You know," he said, looking at the floor, "it isn't easy keeping the city safe, it's a bit of a thankless job.."
I goggled at him, "What are you, Batman?"
He put his head back and hooted with laughter, he was wiping his eyes by the time he stopped, "You know, Kate, I could use a woman like you." And he flashed me what I can only describe as a lascivious grin. then he grew serious again, "I think you understand the problem we have here, we just prefer to work under the radar, for a number of reasons." For a moment he just looked honestly tired, scratched his forehead, "Look, I gotta go. Things to do." And he turned, walked to the door, and let himself out. I was left standing there, wondering what the hell had just happened. It was some minutes before I wandered across the room and picked up my beer, it was flat, I felt a surge of nausea and spat it back in the can, and caught sight of a still figure standing across the road, wearing a big, long coat, unease crawled up and down my nerves, feeling utterly surreal I swigged from the can without taking any into my mouth, the figure walked off. I stood there with my heart hammering in my ears and then I put the beer down the sink, and leant there, feeling sick and scared, my hands against the cold steel. What kind of mad world had I dropped into -like a stone through a wet paper bag...? On an afterthought I rinsed my mouth, my tongue tingled, just for a second I was dizzy, by the time I made road tar tea, the feeling was gone. News 24 still talked about the explosion.
Feeling idiotic I went to the library and googled the name, after ages and some cheezy sites, I found one reference to a man who fought in the War, a yank airforce man, with a knackered photo of a dark floppy haired bloke in belt, braces , and a big coat. Oh. Well, I suppose inability to die could mean you were around for a while. I'm either sane, or completely cracked. I go back to the shopping centre: boarded up shop fronts, great lumps out of pillars and beams. I'm not crazy.