BDCEMF - Chapter Six

6

Jeff was frozen in place. The shock of bursting into the room and seeing himself was too much for him after the stresses of the evening so far. It was only during this pause that he realised this copy of him was too perfect, and that it was surrounded by a gilded frame. Jeff drew his pistol arm up slowly, and the copy of him did the same. He stepped forward slowly and the copycat did the same.

The Roustabout smashed the butt of his pistol into the mirror, sending shards of reflective glass spiralling to the floor. Now in a rage at being fooled so easily, Jeff splintered the gaudy wooden frame of the mirror underfoot and surveyed the room. In the corner he saw a bedraggled looking old man, with unkempt hair, torn & stained clothes, and bandaged hands covering his face. He was dragged to his feet by the enraged Roughneck and held up against one of the sparse walls of the room.
Jeff screamed a silent yell of fury, an impotent gesture given the lack of noise, but it had the desired effect upon the old man.

‘Please don’t kill me! I have food, I have water, and you can have it all!’ babbled the aged gent.

Jeff let go of the man’s dirty lapels and stepped back, still looming over his cowering form. He pulled his sleeve back and revealed a more portable version of the keyboard he had used to speak to Sam. A quick flick of a switch and Jeff was able to communicate with the other man.

‘What’s your name? What are you doing here?’ typed Jeff, the old man reading the text as it hovered in the air.

‘I-I’m C-C-Colm…..C-Colm Lennard.’ stuttered the man as he picked himself up from the ground, dusting himself off in the process ‘T-This is my home. P-Please sir, d-don’t hurt me. I’m an old m-man just t-trying to survive here.’

‘I’m not going to hurt you, not if you keep it quiet. There are Guardsmen out there looking for me and I wouldn’t appreciate it if you drew them here, so keep it down. Now, what the hell do you mean this is your home? It’s…it WAS a train station’

Colm sat down on a nearby chair, groaning as his knees creaked with the effort. He took a deep breath and began….

Colm Lennard had been an engineer for several different rail companies during the years before the mishap. He had been based in Manchester when The Mishap had occurred. However, he’d been out of the city, visiting his daughter, when news struck of what had happened to the city, and to many others like it around the world. By the time the panic and confusion had died down, Colm had lost both his wife and his daughter. Distraught, he had sought refuge and comfort in the only surroundings familiar to him, he had moved into Manchester Piccadilly.

‘..And I’ve been here for six months now’ finished Colm.

‘How the hell have you managed to stay here for this long?’ typed Jeff, a puzzled look on his face ‘Surely the Guardsmen should have found you by now?’

‘Well now, I didn’t say it was easy did I? See, the thing with working in Manchester for so long, it means I’ve gotten to know the city quite well. Even after The Mishap, very little of the city has changed that much.’

Colm saw the expression on Jeff's face, one of disbelief and curiosity.

‘Now don’t be thinking I’m a mad old hermit or anything. I’ve seen the devastation outside & I know about the Borderwall. Manchester has changed, I know. It’s just not all of it that’s changed.’

Colm stood up and walked over to a pot of stew, bubbling away over a small camping stove. He poured a bowl for Jeff and himself and sat back down, handing the extra bowl to the Roustabout. Colm drank a spoonful of the steaming gruel and placed the bowl onto a nearby sideboard. He raised his face to Jeff, looking expectantly.
‘You’d find it easier to eat if you were sat down’ said Colm, indicating to a nearby seat.

Jeff nodded and sat down on the high-backed chair and started to eat the stew hungrily. It had been a while since he had eaten hot food, and he devoured it within moments. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he placed the empty bowl down on the floor and began typing again.

‘Okay, so you’ve managed to stay in Manchester, hidden from the Guardsmen & unaffected by the remnants of The Mishap. I’m curious. How have you managed to do it?’ typed Jeff.

Colm stood, raising a finger in the air like a teacher responding to an eager pupil. He scurried off to the far side of the room where a row of metal filing cabinets stood, silently rusting. He opened one of the cabinets and pulled out several long rolls of paper. He bustled back over to Jeff and dropped the rolls on the nearby sideboard.

‘With these’ said Colm with a glint in his eye.