Blood Water (2 page)

Ten minutes later Sean was sitting in the St John's
Ambulance tent, an oxygen mask attached to his face,
his hair matted to his forehead by sweat. He'd had some
water and cola to drink, but he was still feeling awful.
At his request they'd escorted him to the finish line so
that he could complete the race, but that had just made
things worse. His vision was swimming; he couldn't
focus on anything. His muscles felt stretched and like
jelly, unresponsive. He looked at his arms and legs and
barely recognized them.

He could remember little of the race now, and even
less of what he'd done that morning. His brother and
parents had spoken to the St John's Ambulance man
who'd picked him up in his car. The initial consensus
was that he'd succumbed to heat exhaustion. The insufficient
levels of water in his body combined with the
heat from the sun had starved his brain of oxygen.
He'd dehydrated quickly, and the situation had just gone
from bad to worse. He sat there inhaling the oxygen,
removing the mask every now and then to drink some
more cola. Apparently the sugar would help him recover,
but he had felt like telling the St John's Ambulance man
that he wanted to go to hospital. None of the people
around him had any idea how bad things really were.

Eventually though, after nearly an hour, he agreed
to try walking to the car. Mum and Dad helped him,
staying close in case he felt faint. They stopped by a
mauve Vauxhall Astra, but when it became clear that
this was dad's car, Sean panicked.

'What's wrong?' his father asked, seeing the concern
on his face.

'Is this the car?'

'Of course it is,' Dad replied, almost laughing.

'I don't recognize it.'

'Come on, get in.' His dad opened the passenger door
and helped Sean in. Mum and James got in the back.

Sean shook his head, looking around the vehicle,
at the seats, the dashboard, the radio. None of it was
familiar, none of it made sense. They left the car park,
the other runners, the crowd of spectators and the sound
of the voice over the public address system, encouraging
the late finishers. As they drove through town Sean
tried desperately to remember things, even the simplest
things, but only fragments were clear; it felt as though
his brain was collapsing, falling apart. His vision seemed
stretched, and the sounds he heard as they passed people
and other traffic were distorted, louder than they should
be.
What if I'm going to be like this for the rest of my life?
he
thought.
What if it gets worse and I end up disabled? Th
e
panic rose, but he was unwilling to voice his concerns in
case they became fact.

When they got home Dad helped Sean out of the car
and guided him towards the back door. 'Everything will
be right as rain soon. Come on.' He unlocked the back
door and they all went in. Immediately Sean was hit
by more unfamiliarity. The kitchen felt wrong. The table
and chairs in the small dining area were also wrong
– the tea, coffee and sugar containers . . . the toaster . . .
completely wrong. It was as though someone had sneaked
in while they were out and completely redecorated and
refurnished. What the hell did it mean?

As if sensing his thoughts his brother said: 'Relax,
mate, it's just the effects of heat exhaustion. Your brain's
suffered a kind of attack and needs a while to get back
to normal. This happens to a lot of people who've
experienced what you have. It'll pass.'

'I hope so,' Sean replied, still finding the whole experience
deeply unnerving. Part of him was convinced
he'd been through some kind of time warp and had lost
several months of his memory. That would explain why
everything looked different. But that was crazy.

He managed to get upstairs without help and Mum
ran his bath while he sipped a cool drink his brother
had poured for him. Incredibly he started to feel better.
He sank into the bath, letting his whole body relax,
unmoving for several minutes until he heard his dad's
voice through the door.

'Sean? Everything OK?'

'Yeah, Dad, fine.'

'OK.'

He heard footsteps fading away down the stairs.

Sean's vision was more or less restored, his muscles
were now responding normally and he felt a lot better.
After his bath he went into his room and lay on the bed.
He closed his eyes, counted to ten then opened them
again. Various things were still unfamiliar to him. The
general layout of the room was right – the position of
the door, windows and bed – but the bed seemed bigger,
the duvet was completely foreign to him, as were his
chest of drawers and alarm clock. He sighed, rubbed his
damp brown hair, then turned onto his side and closed
his eyes again. Maybe things would be better in the
morning.

Monday morning came and went, and Sean was
surprised when he opened his groggy eyes to find it was
already five past twelve.

'Bloody hell,' he said, rising onto one elbow; then, at
a loss for anything more intelligent to say: 'Shit.'

He got out of bed, went to the bathroom, then stood
on the landing, listening for any sign of Mum downstairs.
She didn't work at the hospital on Mondays. Sean
waited a moment or two, until he heard a cough and the
sound of a newspaper being shuffled.

'Mum?'

There was a brief pause before: 'Yes?'

'I'm supposed to be at school.'

'I know but I didn't want you going in today,' Mum
said, turning a page of the paper. 'Graham said you'd be
better off resting for a day or two before going back. You
need to take it easy. You gave your dad and me quite a
scare yesterday.'

He thought about it and decided that he didn't
particularly want to argue with his mum's decision.

'Go back to bed. I'll bring you up some lunch in
a bit.'

'Haven't had breakfast yet.'

'All right, I'll bring that up too,' she replied, joking.

'OK,' Sean smiled. 'Who's Graham?'

'He's the man from St John's Ambulance who looked
after you yesterday. I know his wife, Jean.'

'Oh yeah.' He turned and went back into his bedroom,
wondering why nearly everyone Mum knew seemed to
be called Jean.

'And I don't want you out of that bed today, you
understand? You nearly ended up in hospital yesterday.'

'Yeah, I know,' he replied. He knew only too well. He
closed his door before picking up his copy of
Northern
Lights
and getting back into bed. Pulling the covers
over him and pushing the pillows up behind his head,
he glanced at the image on the front cover. He didn't
recognize it at all – it seemed different. He stared at it
for a whole minute, trying to force himself to remember
it, but it was no use. Why didn't he recognize it? Why
was he still having problems with his brain? He tried
reading, but he couldn't get into the book any more.
Besides which, he was now developing a headache. He
decided that since he was confined to his bed, he might
as well sleep. So he did.

He awoke again at around one thirty, to an awful din
outside. It sounded like rain, but if it was, it was really
hammering down. He got out of bed, went over to his
window and opened the curtains to reveal a furious
downpour outside. The density of the rain was incredible;
the ground was already covered in water, tiny explosions
from the raindrops making it look almost alive.

Sean heard his mum's voice from downstairs. She was
talking to someone, on the telephone. When he turned
back to the window he was shocked to see his dad
below him, hands raised to the sky, smiling as though
he was enjoying the deluge. But he should be at work
now, Sean thought.

'What the hell . . . ?' he mouthed. He turned and ran
downstairs to find Mum in the living room, staring out
of the large bay window at the front of the house, the
phone held to her ear.

'I know . . . I know, it's ridiculous. They said it would
be big, but this . . . I know—'

'Mum,' Sean said, interrupting. 'Mum, what's Dad
doing in the back garden?'

'Hang on a second, Barbara. What do you mean
"What's he doing in the back garden"? Your dad's at
work.'

'He isn't. I just saw him out the window. He's
standing in the rain in the back garden.'

'What?' Mum just stared at him for a second before:
'Barbara? I'll call you back in a few minutes – is that
all right? . . . OK. Don't you leave the house again.' She
hung up and headed for the kitchen, Sean following
close behind.

It was hard to see through the window. First Mum
peered out into the garden through the window over
the sink, then through the one by the dining table, but
it wasn't long before she turned to Sean, shaking her
head.

'He's not out there, sweetheart – you must have
imagined it. Now get back to bed.'

'But I saw him, clear as day. It
must
have been him.'

'Well . . .' Mum went to the back door and opened
it – 'Bloody hell!' – and closed it again. 'This rain is
ridiculous . . .' She turned back to look at him. 'Do you
want me to call him, just to be sure?' She went into the
hall and picked up the phone. 'I'm sure he's at work,' she
said as she dialled. 'It wouldn't make sense . . . Ah, Rob,
are you at work? . . . Oh, it's nothing – it's just that Sean
thought he saw you in the garden . . . Yes, I know, I told
him that . . . Yes, I know . . . All right, don't worry about
it, I'll see you later.' She hung up and replaced the phone
in its dock. 'You see, I told you he was at work.'

'But—'

'Get back to bed, now! Come on.' Sean's mum ushered
him back up the stairs, ignoring his protests. 'You
get some sleep and stop worrying. You're just having
hallucinations. You need time to recover properly.'

'I don't want to go back to sleep, I've slept enough.'

'Well, read your book then, or watch television.'
She guided him up to his room and then stood in the
doorway. 'And don't worry about school – you can stay
at home all week if necessary. I'm not having you going
back until you're ready.'

'OK.' Sean climbed into bed and just lay there, feeling
miserable.

'Oh, cheer up, it could be a lot worse. Now what do
you want for lunch? How about some soup?'

He just nodded.

It was nice not to have to go to school, but on the
other hand Sean had the feeling that he was going to
get very bored confined to his room all week. He was
in his last year of school, and was having the best time
he'd ever had. Lessons were more casual, the teachers
were less strict with them – probably because they knew
they'd be out of their hair soon. He hated to think he
was missing out on something.

Outside, the rain had eased temporarily. He picked
up the remote for the TV and turned it on. He found a
weather report and saw a map with several red symbols
indicating severe weather warnings. He wondered how
bad the rain really was, and if they would have another
flood like the one a few years back. The report ended,
and as there were no other programmes on that he
was prepared to watch, he shifted down to the end of
the bed and switched on his games console. He was in
the middle of a game called
Undead Platoon
, in which
the player took on the role of a zombie soldier. His
mission was to help his unit fight their way through a
post-apocalyptic landscape and stop a madman from
unleashing a deadly virus that would kill off all life on
the planet, including the oppressed zombies. The unit
was led by a rather unpleasant character called Sergeant
Maul, who yelled orders and insults at the player if they
were doing particularly badly. Sean loaded up his saved
game and continued playing – until he was killed by a
shell from an unseen enemy tank.

'Damn!' He dropped his controller on the bed
beside him and watched as the ghastly decaying face of
Sergeant Maul filled the blood-soaked screen.

'I did not give you permission to lie down, you maggot!
Damn! Dying once is bad enough . . .' the soldier said,
his voice fading. 'Dying twice is inexcusable.' And then
the familiar words game over appeared on the screen,
sealing Sean's failure.

He sighed and put down the controller. He was bored
already. Maybe he should go back to sleep until Mum
brought his soup up. Maybe when he woke the rain
would have stopped and she would let him go outside
for some fresh air. He wriggled under the covers and
closed his eyes.

The next thing he was aware of was the sound of
bombs, machine-gun fire and the screams of dying men.
He opened his eyes to find that he was lying on the
ground, staring up at a night sky illuminated by flashes
and explosions. The noise all around him was deafening
and made his head hurt. He tried putting his hands
over his ears, but he couldn't seem to move them; all
he could do was lie there, wondering what on earth
had happened. Then, amidst the cacophony, he heard
the sound of heavy boots stomping across the ground
towards him.

'Just what in the hell do you think you're doing,
soldier? Did I say you could take a nap? Get on your
feet before I tear you a new one!' A face came into view.
An angry, ugly face, almost green in colour, pockmarked,
scarred and wasted. There were no lips. One eye was
missing, and in places the skull beneath showed through.
'You're a disgrace to this platoon! I ought to stuff you
into a body-bag myself and ship you back with all the
other lumps of useless meat. You make me sick! You
hear me? You make me sick!'

Sean opened his eyes to find himself back in bed, but
the sounds were still there. Then as his senses returned
to some kind of order, he realized that the noise was
different. It wasn't gunfire or the sound of exploding
shells, it was the rain again, and it sounded just as
insistent as before. He turned over and looked up to see
the decaying, putrid face of Sergeant Maul.

'You make me sick!'

'Aaaaargh!' He closed his eyes and braced himself
for the next shock. He waited for what seemed like
ages, shivering beneath the bedclothes, praying that
when he opened his eyes again the horrible image
would be gone. When he finally summoned up the
courage to look again, the sergeant was nowhere to be
seen.

'Bloody hell,' he said, gazing around the room before
focusing his attention on the downpour outside. 'I
can't take any more of this.' He looked at the clock
– almost four – then got out of bed and headed downstairs.

His mum was sitting on the sofa, a magazine on her
lap, once more talking into the phone. She hung up and
looked at Sean questioningly.

'I thought I told you to stay in—'

'I can't,' Sean protested. 'I keep freaking out.'

'What do you mean?'

'I keep seeing things . . . I just don't want to stay up
there. Can't I just watch TV down here for a bit?'

'I suppose so. At least I'll be able to keep an eye on
you. I brought your soup up earlier but you were fast
asleep. I didn't want to wake you. You can put it in the
microwave when you're ready.'

The only things on TV were boring discussion programmes,
soaps and quiz shows like
Brainbox
, Mum's
favourite, but Sean didn't really mind. He didn't want
to be alone in his room any more. It was having a bad
effect on him. He occasionally turned to the window
to see how the rain was doing; just after five it actually
started to die down.

'Looks like it might be over,' he said.

'Yeah, but they've forecast more for tomorrow,' Mum
replied, her attention on her magazine. 'That's when
we'll get the worst of it apparently. I hope the river can
cope. It's burst its banks before.'

'Yeah, that'd be bad.' But for some reason Sean
actually found the idea of a flood quite exciting. And
if he was off school tomorrow as well, he might be able
to go and take a look. That's if he could persuade Mum
to let him out of course.

Dad arrived home shortly afterwards, and while he
washed his hands in the sink, Sean filled him in on the
strange vision he'd had earlier.

'You saw me in the garden? What was I doing?'

'Just standing there in the rain . . . Enjoying it
from the look of things. It was like that scene in
The
Shawshank Redemption
.'

'Ha ha. Well, that's not the sort of thing I'm likely to
do, trust me.'

'I know, it's just . . . It was so real, you know?'

'The brain can make you believe whatever it wants
you to if it tries hard enough.'

'Yeah, but it's
my
brain. It's me . . . It should do what
I tell it to. It's not some other creature.'

'Well, sometimes it can seem like that. It can rebel,
do things you don't expect, don't want. It's the brain's
way of telling you that something's going wrong, or
that something has happened to it and it needs time to
recover.'

'Mmm, yeah, I suppose. I can't believe all this is
because I didn't drink enough water.'

'Yes, well,' Dad said, drying his hands on a towel,
'you'll know better next time, won't you? Graham said
you were "severely dehydrated" and narrowly avoided
heat exhaustion. People have had strokes after going
through what you did.'

'Seriously?'

'Yep. So you'd better be careful next time.'

'Yes, he'd better,' Mum said, coming in to check on
the status of dinner.