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

Finished he went and sat back down again. The whole thing had taken no more than a few seconds. Macey had to check that he really had done what she’d asked before she really believed that he had.

“Oh thank you,” she said in a quiet voice, her heart still beating wildly from the fright she’d had.

The man didn’t respond, just sat looking out of the window like a stuffed dummy. Macey wondered what it was he saw out there. She settled back in her seat and continued to stare at his neck, working at her own bonds. She knew both her and Freda were in a helpless position, but at least trying to get free gave her some hope.

***

”Well it was a long shot anyway.” Conal went to shut the computer down but Lyra placed a hand on his shoulder. Then with a dramatic: “Ta da,” she produced the pen-drive.

“Is that what I think it is?” Conal asked.

“Sure is.”

“But we don’t know the password. And anyway, according to our computer guy, the file on there has been wiped.”

“No, that’s not why I’m giving it to you. Fin gave it to me before . . .” Lyra’s eyes teared up and she angrily brushed them away - there would be time for that later. “Its got the password on it.”

“He cracked the password?” Conal asked in a doubtful tone.

“Not him, someone he knew.”

Conal took the pen-drive and slipped in into the USB port on the front of the tower. The password box was replaced with a smaller window. Conal clicked the ‘Open File’ option, then scrabbling around in the desk drawer, he dug out a ballpoint pen and scrap of paper. Writing down the password he found in the file, he asked Lyra to check him, then shut the file and pulled out the pen-drive. The Password window reappeared.

Licking his lips, Conal carefully typed in the long combination of numbers and letters while Lyra and the others checked his every keyboard strike. They would only get the one try at this and he didn’t want to chance messing it up.

Looking at the others in turn, he waited for each to nod their agreement, then struck the Enter key.

***

King grinned, taking the helicopter up over the rocks forming the larger part of the tear-shaped island. Swinging the aircraft round, he dropped it exactly in the centre of the faded white circle painted on the concrete beneath them.

“Still got the old touch then,” a voice said.

King’s eyebrows rose at the words. Praise from his 2IC was rare indeed. Switching off the nose flood light that had picked out the landing spot, King closed the engine down, unbuckled himself and had a good stretch.

“Okay Watts, go get the stuff unloaded while I have a look around.”

King jumped down onto the concrete and reached into the back of the helicopter, digging out a powerful torch. He set off to check out the area. There was no reason for anybody to be on the island but you never could be too careful.

Walking the perimeter of the concrete slab he found nothing to raise any concerns. A hole had been cut in the fence at the top of the old steps, but he could see that had been done a long time ago. Probably by kids having some fun on the island.

Satisfied, he went in search of the hatch they would need to blow if they were going to get access to the laboratories below. It would take Watts at least twenty minutes or so to get all the explosives unloaded and checked. Once he’d located the hatch, he’d come back and give him a hand. They’d need to drill a series of holes to plant the explosives.

Everything was going to plan and King couldn’t wait to get off the island. He was looking forward to having some fun with Conal when he got back to London.

Macey jumped when a piercing scream cut through the night air. The man jerked to his feet and ran to the window, his chair crashing to the floor. Keeping to one side, he looked out, his face reflected in the glass.

Another scream followed the first - this one louder.

“What the hell’s that?” Crossing to the other side of the window, the man checked that side too. He had his gun in his hand now.

“That’s my pig. Something’s attacking my pig. Can’t you hear it squealing? It’s in agony. Don’t just stand there, do something.” Tears were pouring down Freda’s face.

Three more squeals followed in quick succession, and now that Freda had pointed it out, they could all recognise that it was indeed a pig squealing in terror.

“My God,” sobbed Freda. “What are they doing to it?”

“Who? What are who doing to it?” The man had turned from the window and they could see the worry in his eyes. Pulling a small box from his belt, he held it up to his lips, hesitated, then clipped it back. “I’m going out to check on what’s happening. Stay put. If you go outside, you’ll likely end up getting shot.” Grabbing the keys, the man unlocked the front door and disappeared into the night.

***

Rhys Green hummed along with the CD player, the headlights of his van highlighting the narrow lane he was driving along. Nearing the turning he was searching for, he switched off the headlights and turned on to the track. Making his way up the ruts, he eased the van over the bumps, driving as quietly as the old vehicle would let him. He’d last been here six months ago, banging on doors for scrap metal, and as usual, he’d taken the chance to scope the place out.

Rhys Green made his living from a combination of selling scrap metal - mostly stolen - raiding sheds to relieve owners of small garden tools, and the odd animal rustling. Tonight he was on his way to collect a very nice looking porker.

The old woman living here would be in bed snoring her head off by now. He’d just back his van up alongside the pigsty, whip the porker into the back of his van and leg it. Job done. No hassle.

Reaching the big sheds on the side of the track, Rhys Green reversed his van into position, opened the back and pulled the ramp into position. Then he walked around to the pigsty, a plastic bucket of pig food and apples swinging from one grubby hand.

All went well at first. The pig snuffled when he opened the door and shook the bucket, poking its head out of its pile of straw. He threw it an apple, which disappeared in one greedy gulp. Then he shook the bucket and the pig came over, slavering down his leg as it tried to get its head in the bucket.

Halfway back to the van the pig stopped, head up, ears pricked, as though it had heard or sensed something nearby. Rhys Green shook the bucket again but the pig ignored it, tensing, ready to run. Dropping the bucket he grabbed the pigs back legs and began dragging it backwards towards the ramp. The pig struggled, squealing like someone was trying to gut it alive.

Just another couple of metres and he’d have it in the van. The pig squealed again, kicking out. Rhys Green’s hands slipped on the animals legs and it shot across the garden, disappearing into the night with a final squeal.

It was then that Rhys Green felt something slide around his neck.

***

As soon as the door had closed behind the man, Freda was on her feet. She ran across the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the block beside the hob. Running back she freed Macey’s hands. Then Macey cut Freda’s bonds and they both ran to the window, looking out. The night was dark and they couldn’t really see anything.

“What do you think’s happening?” Macey asked, her heart pounding.

“I don’t know, but don’t worry Macey, the pig isn’t being attacked by an animal. Nettie always makes a hell of a racket when anything she doesn’t like goes near her. It could be a fox or something. Lucky for us that man doesn’t know anything about pigs. Let’s get out of here while we have the chance.”

“We can’t. He took the keys to the back door with him and if we open the front door he’ll see us and he has a gun.”

“He won’t shoot us.”
“You want to take that chance?” Macey was beginning to panic. “Are there any more phones in the house?”

“No, he smashed them all.”

A gun shot sounded and they looked at each other, eyes widening. They waited, holding their breaths. It had gone quiet again outside and Macey just knew that the man would walk back through the door at any moment. They had to get out the back door and run.

“Wait here. Call me if you see him coming,” Freda said, disappearing upstairs.

Macey went to the window and looked out again. The moon was casting deep shadows, making it difficult to see anything. She stared hard, squinting up her eyes. Was there something out there? Was that a deeper shadow moving around out by the shed? Damn, she couldn’t see properly, her breath was misting the glass. Wiping the window with the side of her hand, she looked out again.

Another loud scream made her jump, leaving her feeling light headed and sick. This time it had been a man screaming, and it sounded as though he had been in a lot of pain.

Yes, she could definitely see something moving on the path by the side of the cottage. Macey felt her stomach tighten into a knot and her body began to tremble uncontrollably. She went from hot to cold and back again.

Backing away from the window, she called to her sister. “Freda—” It came out as a squeak and swallowing, Macey took a breath and tried again. “FREDA!”

“I’m here Macey. I’m here. It’s okay. What’s happening?”

“I saw something moving on the path. I think he must be coming back for us. We have to go Freda. We have to—” Macey turned, her eyes widening in surprise. Her sister was standing at the bottom of the stairs, an enormous double-barrelled shotgun clasped in her hands. It was so big that it made her look small, like the older sister that had once accompanied her to school all those years ago. Macey was finding it hard not to burst into hysterical laughter as she looked at Freda. Pulling herself back from the edge, she swallowed hard.

“It was Peter’s gun,” Freda said. “Never did get around to selling it after he died.”

“Is it loaded?” Macey whispered.

“And ready to use if that man ever sets one foot back in my cottage again.”

At that moment something smacked up against the window and both women turned, screaming in unison as a man’s bloody face flattened against the glass, before slowly sliding downwards. The face disappeared for a moment, but then reappeared once more.

It might have been the man who had held them prisoner in the kitchen, but it was hard to be certain. One of his eyes was missing and his nose hung from his face by the barest strip of skin. Teeth glistened through a bloody gap where his cheek should have been, and as he pawed at the window with fingerless hands, he left runnels of blood running down the glass.

Macey whimpered like a puppy in distress, her gaze glued to the bloody window, even though she wanted so desperately to look away. Backing across the room from the terrible sight, they finally ended up with their backs pressed against the far wall and could go no further. They were both gulping in shallow breaths and Macey felt a sudden warmth running down the inside of her legs.

The man’s face was unexpectedly whipped away from the window in an upwards direction, as though some giant hand had plucked him away. Then they heard the sound of his body thumping against the stone wall - the squelching, slapping sounds bringing bile to their throats. Freda gulped and threw up on the