As The Ocean Bites At Our Rusted Shores

Chapter 2: Goodbye, Sober Day

Russell staggered out the door. His stomach lurched, squeezed up to his ribcage and blood spat from the corner of his lip. Russell reached out to grab something to stop him falling, but all he could catch was the ground. He fell to his knees and hit bronze grass, his hands bunched into fists; he could feel his pulse running through them. The blood drew rivulets between rivets in the bronzed earth. He followed the progress of the bead, heaving, not quite believing what had just happened. A vein twitched in his neck. It was a dream. it had to be. There was no other explanation for it - he would wake up soon, in his stained sofa, junk food collateral damage. Maybe he should pinch himself.

Blood pooled at his knees.

When he woke up he would rouse himself. He'd get right up off that sofa and go check on Melanie. He'd go sit on the bed, in the soft caring moonlight, with his daughter all bunched up underneath her quilt, breathing frost into the air, and he'd look at her with that loving smile a father does, and stroke her blonde hair. Like a good father would. He'd feel the warmth of her cheek, and he would love her. See the damp smile playing around the corner of her mouth, just like Juliet's, and he would love her. Stroke her and for a moment get enveloped in that smile and pretend, make-believe like he was back on the beach. And when morning came, he'd be better. He'd help with homework. Give a friendly hug. That sort of thing. She'd been quiet - too quiet. Maybe it was they both needed.

He was feeling weak and dizzy - his shoulders gave way, buckled his elbows, and he fell forwards, just managing to catch himself before his head made a dent in the ground. His hands scuffed a rusted plate on the ground. Russell swallowed, and looked up.

He was immediately slapped to the ground and held there by a muddy boot, pressed to the side of his face. Dirt trickled past his gritted teeth and he moaned aloud. Behind him, he heard voices and he twisted involuntarily, his head jutting sideways so he could see who was talking. The boot pressed deeper into his cheek. Two voices - an angry, gruff bell-in-a-jar voice spoke first.

"What were you thinking, Sebastien? I told you, nobody else!"

"He followed us, Lester! What were we gonna do, shoot him?"

"Better shoot him than bring him here, the poor bastard!"

Here? Russell ran his eyes over the landscape he found himself looking at. He saw, and could not take in: A rust-red sky, criss-crossed with crackling wires. A rolling field of knitted metal, plates of iron and bronze soldered into a hillock. A clockwork wedge of filthy metal, erupting out of the ground like a boil, stretching into the sky and dangling an enormous lamp from its tip so it illuminated the whole island. As Russell watched it shuddered down a step. Rust crumbled from the boot pressing him into the metallic floor. He could feel bronze bending around his head.

"Well, we have to do something with him.."

All of a sudden he was aware of his daughters quiet sobs behind him, and was strangled by the thought that he had forgotten her for a second, to what - stare at the surroundings?! He strained round so he could catch a glimpse of her.

"You're right, of course."

He heard footsteps behind him, and then a face thrust itself into his line of vision.

"Poor guys absolutely terrified..." it was the first man. He sported a tangle of wrinkles across his forehead, partially obscured by a mat of greying hair and a leather pair of gold-embossed goggles, which strapped his fringe in. He grinned in what he clearly thought was an encouraging way at Russell, who glared back. Lester chuckled.

"I don't think there's anything we can do but to bring him with us. Can't have him wandering round the island by himself, he'd get torn to shreds by needlers," he chuckled, and stood up. The boot receded and Russell span round to find his daughter. He scanned the people surrounding him and saw five muscles, wearing rags and scowls, Lester, who was small but powerfully sprung and a kid further behind. He had a dirty-blonde scrub falling in front of his eyes and an uneasy smile. His arms folded over a teenage pigeon-breasted chest. Then he saw her.