Salby Damned
Authors: Ian D. Moore
IAN D MOORE
Copyright © Ian D Moore January 2015
Amazon/Kindle Edition
ISBN 9781500869922
ISBN 1500869929
The author Ian D Moore asserts the moral and legal right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. This book is a work of fiction with some factual references and based on certain characters very much alive and well. With their exception, any similarity to other persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
This story evolved on a mobile phone with the symbiont bonding of a social media site.
In a telephone conversation with my younger sister, Helen one evening, as I was busy with my full-time position trucking, we began to discuss story books and what we liked. Helen told me that she had read most of her children’s story books and in particular, one about zombies. While the book was very good, Helen hinted that a book for older people along the same lines might be a good idea—would I write one?
At about the same time, local and national news bulletins began to pick up on an escalating concern on the topic of Shale Gas Fracking. The government had duly granted licences for companies to potentially drill under our own homes in the pursuit of hidden gas, to assist the ailing power stations. This gave me an idea as the miles continued to clock up, and, at my next resting place, I took out my phone and wrote the very first paragraph which was posted directly to a social media site. At first, people didn’t really know what to make of my post, there were mixed comments but encouragement to see where it might go. Over the following weeks, the story began to take shape and was, ritually night by night, posted to the social media site in chapters, unedited and as it came from my mind.
It had been my intention to write this book in real-time, posting directly to the site, but it got to be too big and too complex though did amass quite a following. Only after hiding the basic story did my sister then suggest that I try to write a full novel and publish it. That day, Salby Damned was officially born. The book has been a massive learning curve for me, never having written anything as long, or indeed as detailed as this before. In the process of writing this story I have found an outlet for my imagination and in essence, a source of therapy.
My completion of this first novel has since seen me involved in a charity anthology entitled You’re Not Alone: An Indie Author Anthology which is given entirely in aid of Macmillan Cancer Support and features twenty-eight writers from around the world, each writing a short story based upon ‘Relationships’. You will find this listed on amazon in ebook and paperback formats.
With the writing bug firmly in residence, I have other books planned for the future; perhaps even a sequel to Salby Damned—or something along those lines. For now, I sincerely hope that you have enjoyed this work of fiction and I thank you for your purchase. You, the discerning reader, are the most important piece of any novel and your feedback will help to shape the stories from Indie Authors such as myself.
Ian D Moore
My sincere thanks and appreciation to the following without whom, this book would have been much harder and much less fun to produce.
Nyree “Charlotte” Lloyd
- For her eternal love and support, and her initial views on the completed story.
Tom Lloyd
– For being a Stepson of which I am proud, and adding mischief to this tale in his own inimitable style.
Holly Lloyd
– For being a Stepdaughter of which I am proud and giving me the perfect excuse for adding the word “dimples” to the story which, in itself, makes me smile.
Richard Chalkley
MA BA(Hons) of SpiffingCovers.com Ltd – For his professionalism and ability to listen to his customer to create what is, without a doubt, a work of modern art; my sincere gratitude to you and your team.
Stefan Proudfoot
– Designer SpiffingCovers.com – For his hard work in producing the final cover for this novel.
Kelly Hartigan
– XterraWeb Editing Services – For her brilliant guidance in the editing of this work. Kelly is an absolute gem and incredibly good at her chosen profession.
For Helen Moore– my Sister
Ever the voice of reason throughout my life.
This book is dedicated to the memory of two of the greatest men that I have ever known: my father Mr. Sidney J. Moore and Lt.Col. Dr. Gerald A. Batson; both much loved and missed greatly.
May you continue to guide me from Heaven.
Awakening
He stumbled as he rose from the bed, stubbing his toe on the protruding leg which sent a white-hot pain up his right side. His eyes snapped wide open, and he cursed under his breath, glaring at the inanimate frame as if blaming it simply for being there.
Now limping, he headed for the bathroom to answer an urgent call of nature, recalling the previous heavy night. Nathan Cross was a freelance reporter; a vulture to some but highly regarded by a few, in certain circles. He was at a town conference the previous night, organised by the SGFC; they'd picked his patch to attempt extraction.
He'd expected the conference to be a run-of-the-mill story, nothing spectacular, at least until the residents association arrived with their heated views. It sure wasn't front page news, he thought, but he'd make at least a couple of hundred pounds selling the story.
He stood at the toilet feeling like the entire fluid content of his body was draining. After shaking the last few annoying drops free, he headed for the basin to wash and shave. He took a minute, staring at the mirror, examining his reflection. At forty-three, his rugged looks had faired okay, from his biased viewpoint. He’d retained an athletic build, earned during army days of long before and, as yet, middle-age spread had been kept at bay. He’d adapted to country life well, enjoying the relaxed way of living, miles of open space and fresh air.
What was that woman’s name last night?
His mind was slow from the burden of sleep and he tried frantically to remember. Emily. No wait, Evelyn, that’s it! She had been the town council chair, a forthright woman in her late thirties was his guess. She was attractive, with mid-length hair and dreamy chocolate brown eyes. In the meeting, she’d been fierce and bold with a tell-it-like-it-is style. She pulled no punches, but there was something else about her, subtly hidden. Nathan wasn’t sure what it was, veiled beneath her attractive exterior.
She had told him everything about the U.S. owned Shale Gas Fracking Corporation (SGFC) and their practices, and had given him the ring-side seat at the conference. As a freelance reporter, he’d reminded her that he had to be objective and portray both sides of the debate. Nathan went on to remind her that, with government policy being as it was, it was a futile act to try to stop the Corporation because they had already sunk a test well just a few miles towards the outskirts of the town.
After the conference, the parties dissipated and Nathan headed for the local pub; he needed a drink and so, it seemed, did Evelyn Shepherd. The night progressed and the debate was eventually set aside. Nathan remembered sitting and talking to Evelyn, or Evie as she’d said to call her, on a more social level, exchanging business cards when they eventually parted.
Now shaved, taking care to retain the trimmed moustache and short-cropped stubble, he dressed and checked his phone for messages; there were none, which wasn’t unusual. Since the passing of his wife in a car smash three years ago, he’d kept to himself, allowing his work to take over. It dulled the grief and sense of loss that he still felt, and the occasional woodland vermin night shoot would help him to let off steam.
Nathan went through today’s agenda in his mind. It would be to research the SGFC and to type up the story for submission; the bills were due, so the extra income would be welcome. He typed his shorthand notes, sipping a mug of hot, sweet tea as he did; the caffeine would see off the last tendrils of sleep. His phone beeped with a message from a number that he didn’t know, the office would have called.
He looked at the phone screen and tapped the message icon to open the text.
It’s Evelyn Shepherd, call me as soon as you get this, it’s urgent!
His mind raced. Had he forgotten something? What had they done last night? What could he do? He pressed the phone “call” icon, bringing the handset to his ear as the number dialled.
“Nathan hello … ummm, are you busy? How soon could you get yourself to the test well at Salby?” she asked, talking almost too fast for him to understand. Evelyn’s voice betrayed that something troubled her.
“What? Why? Hi, Evelyn, umm, Evie, what’s up?” Nathan blurted, chastising himself mentally and wishing that he could remember better the events of the previous night.
She replied briskly, “There has been some sort of incident at the wellhead site; we could get an exclusive if we’re quick!”
“Whoa! What’s this we business? What’s in it for you, Evie? Huh?” Her voice raised an octave in tone, its urgency spurring him into action.
“There isn’t time to explain, Nathan. It happened in the early hours. They’ll be trying to cover it up by now unless we hurry. Look, I’ll meet you at the pub going into Salby and bring you up to speed there. Right? Bye!” She rang off, not waiting for the reply.
Nathan yanked on his jeans followed by a T-shirt before slipping on his sturdy boots, flipping the quick tie catches. His thick over-jacket would suffice for the rural setting of the wellhead development site. He packed a small bag with a loaded camera, blank film, spare lens, and batteries and slipped it over his head and shoulder.
He headed for his car, gunning the engine as soon as it fired over.
Salby was about ten miles away, and he could make it in around fifteen minutes by cutting through the back roads that he knew so well. Sure enough, as he approached the Swan at Salby, he spotted a sporty looking Ford, out of which stepped Evie. She looked different in casual attire, but certainly worth a second glance.
“Get in!” Nathan shouted, pulling alongside the Ford.
“We’ll take my Suzi up there. It is better equipped for rough terrain.”
The “Suzi” was his abbreviated name for the battered but reliable Isuzu four-by-four Jeep. He looked directly into Evelyn’s oh-so-deep brown eyes.
“Wanna tell me what the hell happened?” Nathan asked.
Evie began, repeating all that she’d discovered about the SGFC, refreshing Nathan’s hazy memories of the previous night. She told him of the Salby project test well and that Salby had been selected because there was a high likelihood of discovering shale gas.
“Yesterday night, they had begun the actual fracking down the borehole. At a depth of just over one mile, they altered the bore angle by ninety degrees so that they could pump a cocktail of chemicals and high-pressure water into the shale rock. This would displace the gas ready for extraction. During the early hours, they’d hit a hard rock face, halting progress. At $15,000 an hour, a decision was made to remove the obstruction using a high explosive charge. They did this and it seems the resulting blast triggered a massive surge of gas and water, back-channelling up the borehole, blasting into the night sky. So far, initial reports are hazy but ten confirmed dead and over a hundred missing.”
“Jesus! I can’t believe I didn’t see that on the early news.” Nathan turned the key and the old diesel clunked into life; it never failed.
“Ready?” He looked at her, and she nodded nervously as they headed for the development site.
As they drew closer, the road narrowed, and they could see that signs had been erected warning of construction traffic, possible explosions, and hazardous conditions. At that point, they had no idea how relevant the last sign would be to them.
As they entered the main survey area, they spotted a number of cars with amber flashing lights glowing in the early morning haze. There was no sign of movement. Nathan pulled up alongside a black Nissan Navara that had the letters SGFC emblazoned on the side. He peered into the cab hoping that someone might be there who could help; nothing moved. Pulling the handbrake of his car, Nathan flipped the catch of his door, pushing it wide with his foot as he stepped out.
He walked over to the Navara, noticing now that the engine was still running. Over his shoulder, he heard the passenger door of his Suzi pop open. Evie came up alongside him and peered into the truck.
“Where is everyone?” she said quietly, asking the obvious question.
“I don’t know, Evie, but I’ve a bad feeling about this. Go back to the Suzi and stay there a bit. I’m going to take a look around.” He ushered her gently back towards his own Jeep
After watching Evie embark, Nathan scoured the bed of the Navara for anything he might be able to use. Under a small tarp in the back of the truck, he found a fireman’s axe, pointed at one side of the head, with a honed blade at the other and mounted on a hickory wooden handle. He grabbed it, taking care not to let it swing down too close to his feet.
This will come in handy
.
***
Nathan headed for the whitewashed portakabin buildings of the site offices. From the corner of his right eye, he caught movement; he stopped, turning quickly to face the motion. A bear of a man came ambling towards him. The man wore an orange fluorescent jacket and a hard hat with SGFC printed in bold, black lettering over the peak. He was well over six feet tall and Nathan estimated at least eighteen stone. The big guy had cropped, silvered hair enhancing his ruddy, crimson cheeks that suggested a life of working outside. His expression was of someone very troubled.
“This is private land! You’re not supposed to be here!” the man bellowed.
“Sorry, who are you?” Nathan asked.
“Garrett, name’s Brin Garrett. I am the chief production wellhead foreman for SGFC,” he retorted.
The booming voice of the imposing figure used his full title to emphasise his importance, and yet struggled to retain his composure as he spoke.
“I’m—” Nathan attempted.
“I don’t care who you are. You need to leave, and you need to leave now. Drop the axe, turn around, and go back to your car!”
Nathan looked at Garrett, meeting his gaze defiantly before letting the axe handle slip through his fingers to fall at his feet. After taking two steps backwards, he stopped. Nathan perceived more movement, but this time from behind and to the left of Garrett.
No, could it be? Looked like a child of six, maybe seven years old, still wearing her bedtime onesie and walking towards Garrett.
Nathan heard the Suzi door open as Evie began to approach. She attempted to walk to the child, but Nathan grabbed her by the arm, holding her back.
“Evie ... Wait! Look at her!” Nathan yelled.
The child was ashen faced with eyes dark and fixed, staring blankly ahead. The onesie was covered in dirt and dust from the site. The kid must have walked two miles to arrive here from the nearest residential area, if that’s where she started.
Without warning, the child ran at Garrett, who turned to his left at the approaching sound and lifted his left arm to waist height, in a vain attempt to fend off the youngster. The girl seized his forearm and fingers with her small hands and sank her teeth deep into the fleshy part of Garrett’s left hand, just behind the little finger, biting down hard enough to penetrate the skin and draw blood.
Garrett winced and without thinking, his huge fisted right hand came crashing down into the temple of the girl with such force that it sent her skidding across the dirt; with her went a large section of Garrett’s torn flesh.
The girl lay motionless with her head at an impossible angle. Blood from the flesh in her mouth stained her chin and onesie. Garrett screamed in pain, clutching his injured hand into his gut and shielding it with his right.
“Garrett, Garrett!” shouted Nathan. The big man had turned and headed back to the site offices, bent over in pain.
“I’m okay, need medibox,” he managed to say through clenched teeth.
They watched him walk slowly towards the small office. He made it only ten paces and then stopped in his tracks. His arms fell to his sides and he stood, just stood.
Evelyn and Nathan looked at one another quizzically, uncertain as to what to do next. Evie only just managed to suppress the urge to scream.
“Guh … Garrett, are you alright?” she whimpered. The words trailed to silence as Garrett turned around to face them.
“Run!” Nathan yelled at her, as Garrett began to walk towards them.
He looked awful. His once purpled cheeks were now a pale grey, eyes as black as night, fixed and penetrating, no emotion, no words, and just a low guttural growl emanating from deep inside him. Picking up his pace, his huge frame came at Nathan, and whatever had happened to Garrett, it wasn’t good.
The training from his army years kicked in. Nathan waited, counting the steps, and with one fluid movement, shoulder rolled toward Garrett, picking up the axe as he rose to his feet. He swung the axe using every ounce of force he could muster. It traced a pendulum curve, down from his right shoulder and up to his left. The pointed head of the axe buried itself deep under Garrett’s chin, entering as far as the handle would allow, snapping the big man’s head backwards as it hit home. Garrett stood still, as if his body tried to work out what had happened.
Evie screamed uncontrollably behind Nathan. He kept his eyes locked on Garrett with the axe embedded, the handle now horizontal to his chest. Garrett began to sway. His knees buckled and he toppled backwards with a sickening thud as he hit the ground, his hands and feet twitching as the electrical impulses of life left his body.
Nathan waited until the twitching had ceased, stepping toward the slain foreman, tentatively prodding with his foot for any reaction. The man, or whatever he had become, was now dead. Turning back to look at Evelyn, he shouted, “You’re okay?” It was more of a statement than a question.