The Gastropoda Imperative by Peter Barns (parable of the sower read online txt) 📕

Piers took his prizes back to the bothy and kept them in an old fish tank he’d found in the village dump, fascinated by their dark orange colouring, and how they wriggled their bodies through the earth. When they moved across the surface of anything, they left a slight slime trail, like a snail does. Their eye stalks pulled back into their bodies when Piers touched them with the end of his knife, reminding him of slugs. But these creatures were much bigger than slugs, about the size of a fat rat. They were able to elongate their bodies to get into small spaces, and seemed to take some kind of comfort in twisting themselves around one another when not hunting.

Two days later, when Piers checked the tank, there was only one alien left inside. He panicked, searching the bothy for the missing ones, but they were nowhere to be found. The remaining alien lay unmoving, buried beneath the soil, pressed up against the glass. It looked dead to him.

Piers collected some more aliens and dropped them in to the tank. This time he would be more careful and not let them escape. But one disappeared soon after he’d put them in. Piers knew it couldn’t have got out this time, he’d covered the top of the tank with a large piece of glass. So he sat by the tank for hours, watching and waiting, until he finally had the answer. The aliens, who had been quiet up until that point, suddenly turned on one of their own, attacking the creature with such ferocity that it only took a few seconds for its body to be consumed.

Then the aliens settled down again, but a short time later attacked another one of their own that was out on the edge of the group. This happened over and over, until only one alien was left. The last one then wriggled into the soil and disappeared. Piers carefully picked up the tank and studied the bottom. The alien was laying against the glass, for all the world dead. But Piers knew different, the alien wasn’t dead. It was waiting - waiting for its next meal.

Piers experimented with small insects and other creatures, such as mice and rats he caught. He killed the rodents before putting them into the tank after the first one he dropped in screamed as it was devoured. Piers’ nightmares increased after that incident and he wasn’t able to go near the tank for days.

The last experiment he did was to let one of the aliens bite him. Piers had noticed that the rats stopped struggling shortly after being bitten and wondered if the aliens somehow injected something into their prey that knocked them out.

Heart beating wildly, Piers sat on his mattress crossed legged, holding an alien in his metal gloved hand, feeling the creature wriggling in his grasp. It kept trying to bite the chain mesh of the glove, but it was too fine to let the creature reach his skin. Clamping his teeth together, Piers put the alien on the back of his other hand and held it there. He felt a sharp tug as the alien bit him, at least three times in quick succession. Crushing it between thumb and forefinger, he threw its mangled body across the bothy, then looked at his hand.

Three, white edged, wounds had been opened up in his skin. The bites hurt worse than the time he’d been stung by a wasp, the searing pains shooting up his arm. He looked closer, trying to make out why the edges of the bites were wavering back and forth.

Piers shook his head, glancing around the room, discovering that it wasn’t just the wounds that were wavering. The whole room seemed to be on the move, the edges of the windows and door frames shimmering in the dim light.

Piers regained consciousness about an hour and a half later, still light-headed, but able to sit up and take in his surroundings. He’d discovered how the aliens managed to bring down their fast moving prey - a few bites and they’d quickly succumb. What frightened Piers more however, was the fact that whatever concoction it was that brought down their prey, it didn’t seem to dull the pain he’d felt when he’d banged his head on the floor as he’d passed out.

It was then that he promised himself that he would kill every last one of them. He couldn’t allow himself to think of the pain his mother must have suffered when she died alone that night out in the snow.

Piers spent hours with the aliens, trying out various poisons and liquids, accidentally hitting on the right combination of rat poison, table salt and insect dust. A few seconds after eating meat laced with the substance, the aliens curled up and died.

Piers left the poisoned chickens he’d taken from his landlady by the alien’s lair and climbed into a nearby tree to wait for them.

Tonight he would have his revenge. Tonight he would triumph, just as the people in his sci-fi novels always triumphed.

Tonight was Piers’ turn to play the hero, and he was determined to be a good one.

Lyra snuggled down into Troy’s arms and stared up at the sky. The stars wheeled overhead, a myriad pinpricks of sparkling light. The moon was full, its white face washing the rocks with its touch. It was a perfect night.

“Troy?”

“Uh huh?” Lyra felt his breath on the top of her head as he looked down at her.

“Why don’t you like Piers?” she asked.

The question seemed to catch Troy unawares and he was quiet for a long time. “It’s just that he’s strange, you know? Kind off not all there. I mean, look at the way he walks around at night with all those tin cans tied to his legs, talking about aliens all the time.”

“Is that why you told him to keep away from me? Did you think he might harm me in some way?”

“Did he tell you that?”

“He did, yes.” Lyra shifted position so she could look up into Troy’s eyes, but they were shaded and she could only see a blackness there. “He’s been through a lot Troy. His mother committed suicide and his father beat him.”

“Yeah I know. Look—” Troy tilted her face and brushed some loose strands of hair from her forehead. She could see his eyes now. They looked hard in the moonlight, his face serious. “You’ve only known him a few weeks, Lyra. There’s something not right about him.”

“I don’t think he’d hurt me Troy. I really don’t.”

“Even so.”

They both fell silent, lost to their thoughts as the clouds drifted over the moon again. Lyra shivered and Troy pulled his coat around her shoulders.

“Should go and collect some firewood,” he said.

“In a minute,” she replied, burying her cheek against his chest.

***

Fin climbed the old steps until he reached the top. A large flat concrete slab lay in front of him, so big that his torch didn’t illuminate the far side. Tall, rusty lamp standards were strung out around the edge. The big spot lights on the tops were dark, the glass dirty and spotted. They had obviously been out of use for years.

Fin walked out onto the concrete and spun around in a circle. The place reminded him of somewhere he’d seen before, but he couldn’t quite recall where it was. It would come back to him if he left it simmering, it always did. Crossing to the far side, he crunched his way across a gravel infill and found some rocks. Just what he was looking for.

Fin might have been a joker, with a mouth the size of the Eurotunnel, but he was also extremely shy - something only his closest friends were aware of. He’d told Kirsti that he was going for a quick piss, but in fact he wanted a shit, and he didn’t want to take the chance of anyone stumbling across him while he was doing his thing.

Finding a suitable place amongst the rocks, Fin dropped his jeans and pants and got down to work. The stars made a brilliant display in the sky and for a moment he forgot where he was. Wiping off with the tissues he’d taken out of Kirsti’s backpack, he pulled up his pants and stared up at the sky again.

The smell of human excrement worked its way into the tiny crevices of the rocks, wafting downwards through the loose gravel infill between the rock and concrete.

Fin continued to watch the sky, mesmerised by the view, leaning his head far back, unaware of the movements in the gravel a short distance away.

***

Brodie King brought the small helicopter in over the Bristol Channel. Not having lodged a flight plan, he needed to be very careful. He couldn’t chance a slip-up at this late stage.

His orders had been specific. Fly out to the island, retrieve a hard drive from the lab’s computer and destroy the laboratory. Then go to the co-ordinates he’d been given to track down whoever had been tampering with files they shouldn’t have. A little accident would take care of that side of things. A simple house fire, or perhaps a drowning, as they were so near the sea.

The last part of the job was the bit King was really looking forward to though. Getting rid of Conal bloody Mitchell! King still felt incensed at Drewsbeck’s decision five years ago to give Mitchell that PA job. After all the dirty work he’d carried out for Drewsbeck over the years, that job should have rightfully been his.

“Check the radios Jack, we’re coming in over the coast now.”

A short, thickset man sitting beside King in the tight perspex cockpit grunted. King heard him checking the small two-way radios. Another, taller man, sitting directly behind King held out his hand and Jack Payne slapped a radio into his palm. King tucked his own radio into his trouser pocket.

The three men were dressed in black clothing and they all wore high laced, black boots. Payne wore an additional dark navy wool hat - not because it was cold out, but to cover his bald head. There was a high moon tonight, and although it was cloud covered at present, it could break through at any moment. Nothing stood out more than a bald head under the moon on a dark night.

The helicopter flew in low over a wood, then hovered above a large field. Payne jumped the five feet to the ground, rolling over to absorb the impact. Before he’d even landed the helicopter was on its way again.

Digging a small tablet from his pocket, Payne checked his position. Five klicks from the co-ordinates he’d been given. Not too bad. About an hours hike, perhaps seventy minutes if he kept off the main roads. King’s orders had been simple. Find the cottage, cut the land line, destroy any mobile phones, computers or tablets he found, secure the house and wait. Simples.

Even though Payne was just securing the house for his group leader, his old Search and Attack Patrol training took over, and he hunkered down for a few minutes, familiarising himself with his surroundings. Finally satisfied, he spoke a few soft words into his radio and set out.

Piers wasn’t sure how he felt. He was sitting on the quayside staring out at the