Lurranus Stories: The Boy’s of ‘68 (Part 4)

Jack gradually came to notice the unnatural taste it his mouth, and the strange distorted form his lower body was taking. For a few terrifying moments, he had no sense of where any of the sensations he was feeling where coming from. It was just sensations he was unable to relate back to himself. Then he realised his tongue was tasting the pavement, his legs were being wrapped around each other, and the body of an unknown individual was above him.
As he tried to moved, he suddenly heard a chilling noise. It was the sound of an Empirius soldier whistling, but the audio distortion meant he didn’t sound remotely human. Turning slowly, he looked though out the pile of bodies to see several masked figures looking at the piles of bodies lying unconscious. Several where shifting through the bodies the rest where monitoring for potential threats.
Tow soldiers picked up an unconscious man, this head and legs hanging loosely.
“Harold Sutherland?” One said. It sound like a question.
“A true man of the people.” The other said. Two off the men nodded lightly, and they shoved the man’s bulging apple downwards into the edge of the pavement. Jack grimaced and looked away.
Those two soldiers singled the others and began moving along. One gave the dead man the finger, but the man behind them maintained a professional composure. One even seemed to look down uncomfortably, letting his colleagues passing him before slowly moving onwards. “Jesus, Euan,” he muttered, not loud enough for his colleague to hear.
After a minute, when some fighting sounded out again, Jack slowly pulled his way out of the pile. He stood up, his bag somewhere still on his back, and slowly walked away from the fighting.
It was then he realised he was all alone. No Ryan, no Craig. He looked around instinctively, but the street remained silent. He seemed to be the only person to have awoken. He reached into his pocket but to his dismay, his phone was not there. He looked around the street, looking for some guidance, but saw nothing. Then he noticed the door, the door to a flat opposite, ever so slightly opened, rocking back and forth. He ran over, passing the dead man. He stopped, pondering first if the man had a phone and then whether it was right to take it of a dead man, but not wanting to take a phone from someone who would later need it, reached into his pocket. There was a phone. Was it locked? Yes, but it had fingerprint access. Still uneasy, Jack lifted up the man’s thumb and opened the phone. This arm felt strangely warm, and Jack quickly finished the job and retreated into the house.
Remember the words of his mother, to remember everyone’s number in case of emergencies, he dialled Ryan’s number. The phone began ringing, but Jack was only think of the dead man. He also thought of his parents. He wondered....
“Jack? Is that you?” Ryan said on the other end of the line.
He breathed in, feeling suddenly relieved, and moved to reply.

“No, sorry, wrong...” Jack began, his voice distorted but unmistakable, before giving up on his joke. “Yeah, it’s me.”
Ryan exhaled, his whole body dropping like it had been relieved of an unbearable weight.
“Thank... Where are you, what happened?”
“In some empty house. I... I got knocked out when you started running... Then the Empirius soldiers left and I came in here, cos it was open... Where are you?”
“I don’t know.” Ryan said. Jack sighed.
“Is there someone we can meet?” Jack asked.
“I wouldn’t know. If we go back, maybe...”
“What, to my apartment?” Craig suddenly piped up. “Nah. But I know a place. A bar. The Wholesome Spring. It’s not far from here.”
“Yeah, why not.” Ryan said. “Can you find it, Jack.”
“Possibly. This isn’t my phone but... it’s fingerprint access, and the owner is... outside... unconscious.” Ryan noted the way uneasy Jack said “unconscious”.
“Well done, on remembering my phone number.” He quickly said.
“Thanks.” Jack replied slowly.
“I mean, I can’t even remember mine, let alone anyone else’s.” Ryan continued in a humorous tone.
“Thanks.” He paused. “I need to, um, hang up to access the map feature, so...”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Ryan said. “We’ll see you there.”
“Copy that.” Jack slowly.
There was silence again, bar the low buzz of the phone line to indicate neither individual had ended the call.
“I love you, buddy.” Ryan said.
“I feel a moderate to low amount of affection for you.” Jack replied.
“Jackass.” He retorted, laughing.
“That’s not appropriate to say about your brother. I’m gonna hang up now.” The two laughed. Jack waited a moment. “I’ll see you there.”
With that Jack ended the call. Craig and Ryan exchanged a look.
“Well, as the only one of us who knows the ins and outs of this city, if you wouldn’t mind.” Ryan gestured forward. Craig nodded lightly, not properly looking up, and began walking, followed closely by Ryan.

“Edinburgh. The city of culture, huh.” Ryan mused. “Tell me, are all the bars this shit?”
Craig had, admittedly, been to few bars in his time, and the ironically named Wholesome Spring make a strong case for why he didn’t need to change his ways. The bar might have been pleasant a few hours earlier, a classic bar with orange tinted windows and a calming, wooden decor. Now, the windows had exploded inwards, the chairs and tables were visibly overturned from the outside, and the bottom of the sign had broken off, leading the two to wonder if there was a third word in the name.
“Ironically enough, this is probably the best place to be right now.” Craig said, shrugging.
“Maybe we should go back.” Ryan said, turning around.
An explosion rung out it the distance. Flames shot up into the sky, and the two felt waves surge through the ground beneath them. It was the latest sign of the distance violence which seemed to have escalated in intensity over the previous fifteen minutes. Despite checking obsessively, Ryan had not received a second message from his brother.
“Go back?” Craig said in an amused tone. “Into all that?” Craig shrugged. “Be my guest.” He called out over his shoulder. Craig stopped, and turned around, not looking up. “I’m sorry. Let’s just get a drink, and then, figure something out.” He breathed slowly. “All we can do is hope your brother shows up.”
Ryan turned around and nodded lightly. Craig gave a strained smile, but both men were looking at the ground, so Ryan didn’t see it. The two moved towards the entrance, struggling to open the old wooden door which seemed to be neither a pull nor push door, whilst chaos reigned in the distance. The sound of bullets, fire, and aircraft rung out, whilst the two struggled with this trivial issue. It was almost humorous, Craig couldn’t help thinking, smiling slightly despite everything.
The door finally gave way once Ryan resorted to slamming his shoulder into the door, causing it to start, and suddenly swing inwards with unexpected ease. The two waited for the door to finish moving, and slowly entered.
Half a dozen others sat in the bar, their spirit subdued, the only sound a fast tapping. Half the tables were overturned, half the chairs broken, the other half, in a corner not visible from the outside, remained upright. To the left of the entrance, sat a man with a dark blazer and wild hair contained by an impressive top hat. The man tipped his hat at the two, and in doing so gave a glimpse of an orange jumpsuit beneath his gentlemanly outfit. In the far corner, sat two men, presumably friends, slowly drinking what could be their last pint. One wore military green and had receding blonde hair, the other had a buzz cut and wore a stained dark purple suit. And in the opposite corner, was a deadly silent family, with distant stares that seemed to acknowledge nothing. It was the son who tapped his fingers quickly. It sounded like a rudimentary version of a dance song the two only vaguely recognised.
“Well, this place seems wholesome.” Craig said. “Gentlemen.” He nodded at the man in the top hat, who remained silent, but repeated his prior gesture.
The duo took another step forward, before Craig suddenly stopped. “And, don’t tell me... do I hear that I think I hear?”
Ryan stopped for a second, and sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, that is the sound of two people having sex.”
The two waded up to the bar. “Well I do hope they’re wearing production.”
“What, a condom, or a hazmat suit?” Ryan mumbled dryly, signalling the bartender over. He took of his bag and sat down.
“Both.” Craig said, and Ryan shook his head.
“What’ll it be?” The bartender asked. He was a tall, bald, brutish man. His height dwarfed Ryan. His face was bloody, and he looked like the wrong choice of words would set him off.
“A Guinness, and a...” Ryan turned to face Craig.
“Sprite.”
“Twenty quid.” The man exhaled loudly, leaning in to the table.
“What? Oh, yeah, sure.” Ryan mumbled dismissively.
He smiled darkly, and stared up at the ceiling. “Not bloody later...” His head fell down dramatically to face the boys. “Now.” There were thinly veiled hints of aggression in his voice.
Ryan held his hands up. “Okay, okay.” Ryan turned to Craig, who quickly shook his head. Ryan didn’t know if that meant he didn’t have any money or, more likely, was simply unwilling to part with it, but simply gave him an ugly smile, pulled out the require funds from his pocket and slid it over the wooden bar. The man snapped it up, and disappeared. Both boys stared ahead in silence, observing the limited array of drinks on the wall.
“So...” Ryan began slowly, “you ever been here before?”
Craig shook his head. Ryan register the motion out of the corner of his eye. “My parents liked it for some sentimental reason, I think.”
“They still around?” Ryan inquired, not because he was interested but out of the need to keep himself distracted.
“Somewhere, maybe.” Craig said sadly. “Not here, ‘cos they took of when I was five. My grandad used to say my dad was a “reasonable fellow”, and he had a reason for everything he did. I think it was just an excuse. From what else I could gather, they never wanted a kid anyway.” He sighed. “They probably saw a window of opportunity and... they took it.” He shrugged. Ryan turned to face him.
“So... your grandad raised you?” He asked.
Craig shook his head, slowly turning to face Ryan. “Some overworked, child-hating hag call Mrs Tune. My grandad died when I was ten, not that I’d seen him in years. Instead,” he continued, feigning enthusiasm, “I grew up in the hub of culture called “Barrymore’s Children’s Home”.”
Ryan looked down. “What was it like?”
“It was full of pricks and nut jobs, and at most I liked two guys there. Who are both dead now. But I guess it was still home, for lack of anywhere else. I barely remembered anything else, least of all my actual family. Except for my grandad, although that was mainly after his brain went to shit. I just have this weird scent of car oil I sometimes smell that reminds me of them, for reasons beyond me.” He paused. “Hell, the only reason I’ve pursued my academic career so vigorously was because...” he began laughing, “because god dear I wanted away from that place.”
Ryan smiled sympathetically, but raised his eyebrows inquisitively. “Really?”
“Nah. I also wanted to, um, make a difference.” Craig looked down, the expression of his face a somber one. “Make my name, prove myself, that kinda thing. Prove I was worth something.”
“Don’t we all.” Ryan sighed, before looking up at the bartender.
Craig took a deep breath and opened his mouth to say more, his mouth lightly trembling, but it was at that moment the drinks arrived. The sprite was in a tiny glass, and an excessive amount of beer had spilled down the side of Ryan’s comparatively larger one, nonetheless, there were still drinks and they were thirsty, so after the bartender aggressively dumped both glasses down, the two both took larger gulps of their respective beverages.
Craig exhaled loudly, his next comment both a causal comment and a somber reflection: “This could be one of the last Sprites I ever have. It could be the last Sprite I ever have.”
Ryan took a gulp of whiskey, and looked down sadly, thinking about his brother and his parents. Craig looked at him.
“I’m sorry. About everything that’s happened.” He began awkwardly. “For being a, um... inconvenience earlier. And about your parents and Jack. I mean, in my life people have either been absent, dead or just complete wankers, so I’ve never really considered what it’s like for people who have other people to care for. As soon as you asked about the chemistry, I was bracing for an attack. So, I am sorry. Plus, you look exactly like at least five guys I hate so... yeah. There’s that too.”
Craig couldn’t be sure if Ryan was listening, or was instead thinking of his brother, as Ryan choked back his emotions and tried to smile. “You know, if I die here next to you, well... That would be an underwhelming way to go.”
“I’d say the feelings mutual.” Craig replied, before raising his glass. Ryan reciprocated the gesture and the two had a half-hearted cheers. “I gonna wake up in heaven, and just say to the nearest person... that’s how my life ended? Drinking a Sprite, with some random guy, in my absent parents favourite bar.”
Ryan managed a smirk, and lowered his glass. “If I die, I’m just gonna find William Shakespeare and launch into him for all the years of my life he took from me.” He paused. “Because if I die at the age of twenty, and the only thing I can say for myself is that I know Macbeth’s fatal flaw is ambition, or some shit like that, then honestly,” he sighed theatrically, his voice cracking, “that’s just really depressing.”
Both laughed. “To be or not be.” Craig exclaimed in a mock aristocrat voice.
“That is the question.” Ryan finished, smiling.
Craig looked up. “I’m going after Damian Shell. Not that he’s dead yet, but, I can wait.”
Ryan raised his eyebrows. “Who?”
“The showrunner of James and Co. season 5 and on.”
Ryan looked taken aback. “Why? I love that show.”
“Maybe seasons one to four. Season five and on are utter horseshit. They get the characters all wrong, it’s just not funny, and, in an ultimate “screw you” to the fans, they recast Keith.”
“What? No.” Ryan’s face creased and he leant in. “The bastards. Who plays him?”
“I dunno, some random guy.” Craig shrugged. “I mean, they don’t actually recast him, but he’s written out the narrative, and replaced with some random dude with a six pack.”
“Its always a guy with a six pack, huh?” Ryan muttered. “As a country, we’ve ruined both Irn Bru and James and Co.. We really messed up, didn’t we?”
“Where did it all go wrong?” Craig quoted.
“Yeah. At least I’m only on season three of James and Co..”
Suddenly, a massive explosion cried out in the distance. From where they sat, the boys saw nothing, but felt the deadly power of the energy wave rumbling underneath them. Their seats shook, several glasses smashed on the floor and the family huddled together. The explosion only lasted a few seconds, but for at least a minute after, no one spoke.
Eventually, the mother from the back exhaled slowly. “Was that the parliament building?” The question was quiet, and perhaps was more a question to herself, but the military man replied, giving a curt and serious response.
“I’m afraid so. Those bastards may have screwed us over, but they’re still humans, and they were some good people in there too.” He continued under his breath. “Cowardly little shits.” Craig nodded his head.
Without warning, the door had abruptly begun moving, as an unseen force attacked it from behind. It stubbornly refused to open, before all off a sudden it gently swung inwards. And Jack entered slowly.
“Um, sorry.” He mumbled clumsily. It was unclear to whom he spoke. He walked in uneasily under the weight of his bag. Then he began scanning the room with the steely intent of an hawk. He eventually met his brothers gaze, and the two remained uneasily still. The rest of the room had gone silent, listening with keen ears.
Jack sighed. “You’re not getting rid of me that bloody easy.”
Ryan slowly waded over. “Well... shit.” And he pulled his brother into a huge hug, and the two broke into tears.

Empirius confidential radio transmission:
22:34:09 26/10/2068
(Audio transcript)

Euan Kevil here, lads.
This has gone to shit. These wankers are out of control. You saw what they just did to the Parliament building. I’m not saying I liked any of those people anyway, the idiots, but it’s the intent that counts. They’re a risk to all our good men. All of them.
You know how Damien runs this company. We got a problem, we bloody do something about it. We’ve always prided myself on that. Not being cowards, like everyone else. There a liability to us all. There not going to be useful members of society, like us. Nah. The most they’ve done is come up with some shitty malformed Mars bars.
Say they provoked you. So you had to take them all out. Burn them all.