Peaks & Troughs

    Was Colin a success now?  He had made a lot of money after he first initiated this new business arrangement almost six weeks ago but at no point since then did he begin to feel any different.  When you live in a virtually empty city, all concepts of being successful really don’t matter because there is no one to compare yourself to and no reason to even have money because everything was free.
    For some reason, Colin thought about what his mother would think of him now.  He seriously doubted that she would approve of what he was doing but it was the closest Colin could manage to achieve what she claimed she wanted for him.  Most parents just want their progeny to do better than they did in life; this means that each new generation will become even more successful than the last, forever arcing towards perfection.  Colin was now making more money than his father ever did but he had have no idea whether either parent would consider him to be more successful, it was too late to ask them now.
    On the 15th February 2032, nothing special had happened so far that day, there hadn’t really been a chance to, it was still the morning and just like most days.  Colin and Ian were sitting together in the garage, music was playing and they were drinking tea, like there wasn’t even a war going on all around them.
    This serene denial was ruined when Victoria entered and said, “The Army just contacted us, one of their squads got hit during the night and they want the site cleaned up.”
    “Sure,” Colin said.  “We’ll get right on it.”
    Ian and Colin put down their tea and got up, Ian entered the passenger seat of the nearest van and Colin was about to join him when Victoria said something.
    “Do you know what you are?” Victoria said with folded arms.
    “Please tell me?” Colin said, slowly turning around.
    “You’re a psychopomp,” she said.
    “What?” Colin said.
    “A psychopomp,” she repeated.  “It’s my new favourite word, I’ve just discovered it.  It means any supernatural creature in mythology whose responsibility it is to escort the souls of the recently deceased to the afterlife, like the Grim Reaper or Charon.”
    “What the hell are you talking about?” he said.  “I don’t have time for this; I’ve got work to do.”
    Colin began to walk back to the van as Victoria called after him, “Go on then ferryman, what’s one more trip across the river to collect your payment?”
    Colin turned round and walked up close to her, as to stop Ian from being able to hear them.  “What is your problem?  You kept complaining about not making enough money and now we are, you should be happy, this is what you wanted.”
    “I don’t like the way you’re going about it,” she said.
    “I’m a funeral director,” he said.  “It’s what I do; you never had an issue with it before.”
    “It was different before,” she said.  “You weren’t a war profiteer then.”
    “That’s not what I’m doing,” he said.  “I’m just trying to make the best out of a bad situation.”
    “Don’t worry Colin,” she said.  “We all try to convince ourselves that what we’re doing is the right thing to do, you just take it to another level.”
    “You’re worse than me,” he said.  “When we were losing money you wanted me to press relatives into more expensive options.”
    “Well we can’t both be despicable people,” she said.  “At least one of us has to be a good person.”
    “You don’t think I’m a good person?” he said.
    “No,” she said quietly.  “I suppose I never have.”
    “Then why did you ever marry me?” Colin asked just before turning around and preparing to leave, he didn’t actually expect an answer so it came as quite a surprise when he got one.
    “Because I didn’t want to die alone,” she confessed.  That statement hung there for a few seconds before Colin very slowly turned around and once again faced her.
    “What does it matter?” he asked.  “When you die you won’t even know whether you were alone or not.”
    Colin got into the van and quickly drove off.  “Is everything alright?” Ian asked as they sped away.
    “Fine,” Colin said
    The beginning of the journey to their destination was in silence, if Colin didn’t want to talk, Ian decided it was just best to wait for him to start and he knew he would.
    Colin was looked at himself in his rear-view mirror, he certainly didn’t look successful, just tired.  There were shadows under his eyes, his new work kept very peculiar hours, his hair needed a cut and he hadn’t shaved in a while.
    “Why can’t you control your hair growth?” Colin asked Ian.
    “What do you mean?” Ian said.
    “It’s my hair,” Colin said.  “I should be able to control it.  I don’t see why I can’t just have a haircut and never need another one in my life.  I want to be able to tell my hair not to grow any more.”
    “I think you’ve been working too hard,” Ian said.  “You’re starting to go a little strange.”
    “So why can’t I control if my hair grows or not?” Colin said.  “I’m sure that the energy required to make your hair longer can be put to a better use.  Maybe it is possible to control your hair growth; it’s just that no one’s done it yet.”
    “Isn’t hair made of dead cells?” Ian said.  “I don’t think you can control them.”
    “I think I’ll give it a go anyway,” Colin said.
    “What?” Ian said.  “Trying to achieve complete mastery over your rate of hair growth?”
    “I may as well try,” Colin said.
    “Well okay then, tell me if you manage it,” Ian said.  “You really sound like a nice holiday after all this mess is over would do you a world of good”
    “Might be nice,” Colin commented.  “Why don’t we all go together?”
    “No thanks,” Ian said.  “I’ve done enough travelling.  Where are you thinking of going?”
    “I have always wanted to go to Egypt,” Colin said.
    “I’ve been there,” Ian said.
    “Really?” Colin said.  “When?”
    “A long time ago,” Ian said.  “When I was in my teens.  I went to Giza to see the pyramids.”
    “What were they like?” Colin asked.
    “I thought they were alright,” Ian said.  “But I would’ve been more impressed if they built them with the point at the bottom.”
    “That would be a sight worth seeing,” Colin chuckled.
    “You want to hear something that I’ve been thinking about lately?” Ian said.
    “Sure,” Colin said.
    “I can’t get this magazine article that I read years ago out if my mind,” Ian said.  “With everything that’s happening, it just seems more and more relevant.  It said that a survey had found out that people living in Edinburgh had the best neighbours.”
    “Well I’ve got no complaints,” Colin said, looking at all the empty houses and laughing.  “Ours are nice and quiet.”
    “And that’s not all,” Ian said between the laughs.  “The same survey had also found that the Scottish accent was deemed as the most aggressive by the rest of the UK.”
    They both burst out laughing, it wasn’t really that funny, they didn’t know why they were laughing, the only reason Colin could come up with was, ‘just for the sake of it’.
    “It’s a strange world, isn’t it?” Colin said.
    “Yeah,” Ian agreed.  “I saw on the news earlier today that NASA are planning to have the first man on Mars in five years, that’s amazing.  How far away is Mars?”
    “About 78 million kilometres on average, I think,” Colin said.
    “How the hell do you know that?” Ian said.
    “I have no idea,” Colin said.  “It might not even be right, I’m probably thinking of something else.”
    Colin had a serious problem with trusting himself; there were many occurrences each day when he felt like he had forgotten something or couldn’t remember whether he locked the door or not.  It was one of the most important qualities you could have, the ability to trust your own judgement in the past.
    Right now, he couldn’t even trust if the fact he had just said about Mars was accurate, it drove him crazy the way he kept second-guessing himself like that.
    “How do you think Clark is?” Ian asked.
    “I’m sure she’s fine,” Colin said.  “We both know that she’s in a much safer place than we are right now.”
    Colin looked around; it was hard to see a place that hadn’t sustained some damage from this war as drove through by.  He may not be able to understand this war, but Colin didn’t have to, he was just here to clean up, in both meanings of the phrase.
    Disposing of the majority of the soldiers who had died during this war gave Colin a unique perspective on the matter.  He really didn’t fully comprehend why so many people were dying, why this war was even happening.  Colin had spent some time in the Para-militia headquarters now and again when he was collecting their dead and had even spoken to some of them occasionally.  They had told him why they were fighting but Colin could never fully grasp the reasons.  
    Many spoke vaguely of patriotism and defending their country but that didn’t help Colin, who doubted if he would ever truly know why this was going on.  Of all the Para-militia troops he had spoken with, one phrase kept cropping up, virtually all of them, at one point, had said the words, ‘Proud of being Scottish.’
    What a strange thing to say, you could be proud of your own individual achievements but how is your random country of origin an achievement?  There was just as good a chance that you could’ve been born in any other country in the world.  Thinking this, Colin realised that he was not nor would he ever be considered, by anyone, a patriot and he was glad of this.
    Truthfully, even though Colin would never tell this to their faces, he thought the Para-militia were idiots.  They had turned this city into a shell, the fractures slowly increasing with each passing day.  He could very easily tell the British Army where they were hiding and then the war would be over but he didn’t need to.  Colin already knew who was going to win this war, it was just a matter of time and he didn’t look forward to the day when Dominic would be in the back of his van.
    They had arrived at where they were meant to be, it wasn’t hard to miss, Colin could see a medium sized street in front of him with the bloody bodies of eight British soldiers littering it.  Colin had seen many sights like this since the war began, but there was something different about this one, there was someone living among them.
    Being responsible for collecting the dead of a war that was going on in his hometown, Colin thought would’ve been used to anything weird by now, yet it still shocked him as he caught sight of a woman with a video camera filming the corpses.
    Ian and Colin hastily got out of their van and they both ran quickly towards her, she didn’t seem to notice them.  This woman wore very tatty clothing and had golden hair.
    “What do you think you’re doing?” Ian demanded.
    “My job,” she replied without looking up.  “And you?”
    “Same,” Colin said.
    “Stop that,” Ian said and grabbed the camera off her.
    “Hey!” she protested.  “Give me that back; it’s got all my footage on that.”
    “First explain yourself,” Colin said.
    “My name is Hannah Jones,” she said.  “I’m reporting on the war.”
    “Are you with the media?” Ian asked.
    “Not really,” she said.  “I’m doing a documentary.”
    “This is a conflict zone,” Colin said.  “No none military are allowed inside, how did you get into the city?”
    “I snuck in,” Hannah said casually.  “The Army is stretched too thin to properly guard the outskirts.  You two don’t look like soldiers, what are you doing here?”
    “We live here,” Ian said.
    “Really?” she said.  “I thought most people had deserted this place, why haven’t you gotten on one of the refugee trains yet?”
    “We’re the dead collectors,” Colin said.  “So, if you don’t mind, would you please leave?  We have work that needs to be done here.”
    “Oh wow,” she said as she snatched her camera back and began to film them.  “You guys must have seen a lot, what are your names?  Could I interview you?”
    “You want to interview us while we’re standing among all these corpses?” Colin said incredulously.  “No way, get out of here, kid.  And stop filming us.”
    “Why don’t you want to be filmed?” she asked.  “Are you ashamed of what you’re doing?”
    “Of course not,” Colin said.  “Why would we be?  We just don’t like being filmed without our permission.”  Colin placed his hand over the camera lens and she put it down.
    “Fine,” she said, turning it off.  Colin and Ian began to load up the bodies but she didn’t leave.
    “Why are you still here?” Ian asked as they threw a corpse into the back of the van.
    “If you two collect all the dead then you must know some stuff,” she said.  “Can you just answer some of my questions?”
    “That depends on what they are,” Colin said.
    “Who are you two?” she asked them.
    “You don’t need to know that,” Colin said.
    “Okay,” she said.  “How many bodies do you collect each day?  In your opinion, what is the actual number of casualties here?”
    “What do you mean by actual?” Ian asked.
    “I just want to make sure that the media are giving an accurate depiction of this war,” she said.
    “That’s a hard question to answer,” Colin said.  “Sometimes we don’t have any to collect; sometimes we’re working all day.  It depends on how many battles occurred the previous day.”
    “So, on average, how much fighting does occur?” she asked.
    “Like he said, there are peaks and troughs,” Ian said.  “It’s very random how much violence there is each day.”
    “I see,” she said.  “Well, what can you tell me about the phantom vigilante who did this?”
    “The what?” Ian said.
    “The man who killed all these soldiers,” she said as she gestured around where the bodies lay.
    “These men were killed by Para-militia troops,” Ian said.
    “No they weren’t,” she said.  “Look around, they’re all British soldiers, not a single Para-militia corpse among them.  They weren’t killed by their enemy.”
    “Of course they were,” Colin said.  “They were ambushed, it happens a lot.”
    “No,” she said.  “It’s been kept out of the news but I have my sources.  My cousin is stationed here and he said that there was this guy who has been attacking both the British forces and Para-militia troops for almost a month now.  He preys on small groups and never leaves anyone alive; some larger groups have spotted him occasionally.  The rumour is that he’s a really big guy and he dresses as a priest.”
    “That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard,” Ian said.
    “What did you call him before?” Colin asked.
    “The phantom vigilante,” Hannah said.  “That’s what I’m calling him in the documentary; it’s really all about him, that’s why I’m here.  If I can interview this man, I’ll have one created one of the most famous documentaries in history.”
    “You’re crazier than your story,” Ian said.  “If this guy is real, he sounds incredibly dangerous, he’ll probably kill you if you do find him, why don’t you just go home.”
    “No way,” she said.  “There are still some civilians living in the city and none of them have been attacked.”
    “So you think you’ll be safe based on that?” Colin said.
    “He just seems to be attacking combatants,” she said.  “And besides, how do you expect me to make something great if I don’t take a few risks now and then?”
    “I can’t believe you came all the way here, sneak into a war zone and risk your life, all for some vague rumour,” Ian said.
    “I’m glad I did,” she said.  “When I got here I started finding proof that he really did exist.”
    “Like what?” Ian said.
    “Why do I have to convince you,” she said.  “You guys should’ve seen more evidence for his existence than anyone.”
    “Why’s that?” Colin asked.
    “You two must have cleaned up most of his activities,” she said.  “Haven’t you come across any scenes where there were only corpses from one faction?”
    Colin and Ian looked at each other and both began to conjure up several images of such scenes.
    “I thought so,” she said.  “And I bet your not just thinking of incidents involving dead British soldiers that you can pretend were just ambushed.”
    “There was this one time a few weeks ago,” Colin said.  “Apparently, a Para-militia squad stopped reporting in and when another squad was dispatched to locate them, they found them all dead.  That’s when they called us in; there were four bodies inside the flat and one dead guard outside.”
    “No British Army corpses?” she said.
    “No,” Ian said.  “Just Para-militia, some had died of knife wounds and all their weapons had been taken.”
    “You see?” she said.  “That must have been him.  Now, do you know anything more about this man?”
    “Sorry,” Colin said.  “Apart from what you’ve told us, we only just realised that we had been cleaning up his messes.”
    “Well thanks anyway,” she said.  “I have to go now; these bodies aren’t that old so I need to keep going if I’m going to track him.”
    “Well, good luck to you,” Ian said.
    “Thank you,” she said.  “Enjoy cleaning this up, bye.”
    She jogged away from them as Colin and Ian once again began to load up the rest of the bodies.
    “What was her name again?” Colin asked Ian.
    “She said it was Hannah Jones,” Ian said.
    Colin thought about that name, he liked it; it was the sign of a sincere person who fully believed everything she had just said.  Her name was a palindrome, no matter which way you turned it, the name remained the same, there was no dishonesty within it.
    “You shouldn’t have encouraged her,” Colin said.  “She could get herself hurt; she’s clearly mentally ill and in need of help.”
    “She’s not bothering anyone else,” Ian said as they chucked another corpse into the back of the van.  “And I doubt she’ll get hurt, people like her never do.”
    “So just let her do it if it makes her happy?” Colin said.
    “Exactly,” Ian said.  “What’s wrong with that?”
    “I’ll tell you,” Colin said.  “The way I see it, things are going to end in one of two ways for her.  Either she spends a lot of time rooting around a dead city until she finally gives up and goes away, disappointed that she failed.  Or there’s the other possibility, although it seems far more unlikely, but infinitely worse for her.”
    “Which is?” Ian asked.
    “She finds him,” Colin said.