Cleanse Earth, by Anonymous

21/1/15      Dear Mr. Hinks, here is a complete plan. Please ensure it is burnt or kept secure after you have memorised it. For your eyes only.

CLEANSE EARTH

OBJECTIVE: Wipe out 90% of Earth’s HUMAN population. 80% in national and international protected areas of natural beauty.

METHOD: Use Gas 3.6. Release in every country. If population < 100 million fire only in capital of country. If population > 100 million release in three biggest cities. Exceptions Vatican City and Andorra.

GAS 3.6: Developed only to harm HUMAN cells. Results in immediate death when inhaled. It has taken 14 years to develop Gas 3.6 and it has been proven to be successful in 100 cases when tested in lab but it obviously hasn’t yet been tested on the scale of Cleanse Earth.

Agents of CE will release Gas 3.6 in chosen areas at 8:00 am GB time. They will carry Gas 3.6 in lorries disguised to look like those that carry oil or petrol. Gas MUST NOT interact with oxygen before the deep clean and will therefore be carried in liquid form.

When Gas 3.6 reacts with oxygen a small explosion occurs in the atoms and causes Gas 3.6 to travel 8 million square kilometres (roughly size of Brazil) in just 1 hour. We do not know if it will damage buildings but in test the gas did not damage any objects or any of the sealed rooms.

ANTIDOTE 3.6: All workers of CE will be given antidote 3.6. This pill protects the body against Gas 3.6 deadly toxins. It causes long blackouts and will be consumed by all workers at exactly 8:55 am GB time.

SWEET 3.6: This version of antidote 3.6 will be given to FEW children (ages 3-17) by a CE worker. We focus on saving children who live in national and international protected areas of natural beauty and thus this is where most of our agents will be placed. This pill also causes deep faints and, unlike antidote 3.6, amnesia, so the children won’t remember being given the pill. It will look like a small square chewy sweet but will taste salty, like antidote 3.6.

Alibi: Deaths from Gas 3.6 will be blamed on a volcano explosion in Yellowstone Park, USA. There are many super volcanoes there which are currently dormant and are a perfect alibi. The alibi probably won’t be doubted as our audience will be children. Any doubters can be dealt with. Thanks, Rosa Kroni.

CHAPTER ONE

I found our place, in our thicket by the pool faster than I ever have done.

The wind has been battering my ears red for some time now and the pool’s churning water is freezing my toes numb.

I feel too empty to pull them out.

Bea is dying.

Her breathing is so quiet and slow. Fierce wind ruffles her curly hair, freezing sweat onto her dark skin. Eyes shut gently, she looks as though she is sleeping.

Her arms and head are now red with new cuts and scratches from either the fight or the sharp branches of the trees.

Blood pours from her chest.

I never knew how much blood could flow from just one wound or how hot it would feel.

I never would’ve imagined us like we are now; Bea, fitted so loosely in my blood-sticky arms, on the edge of life and me, element-battered, frozen like a Medusa victim.

But it does feel right to die here, with Bea. As I lift my heavy head towards the fells I feel comforted, for here is where both our hearts flow.

It’s time to accept death.

                                                                                ***

In another life, I walked down a brighter pavement, nodding to Arctic Monkeys and dreamily bouncing a ball against wall and fences that held much softer grass.

It felt like it was going to be a good morning until a stranger’s hand caught my ball.

At first I saw his huge hairy hand, twisting my ball in his fingertips. A tree trunk of a body towered over me, fitted with a tight long coat that brushed the concrete and cast a shadow, blocking my view.

When I was young child, I had frightened myself into believing that a man with a moustache was ‘bad’. With no siblings to help me overcome my fear (my mum was always too busy for my “daffy” problems) the phobia stayed, and fate always seemed to place a moustached man in every one of my bad experiences; the worst being my dad.

Coincidentally, this stranger had a moustache.

I opened my mouth to say something but my words dried up.

He fiddled with my ball and grinned a film star smirk that crinkled his face like paper.

“Nice ball son.” His voice was deep and stern, like that of a headmaster’s. It radiated power.

Awkwardly, I smiled, as politely as possible. Boldness towards strangers had never been my specialty despite growing up in Yorkshire.

The tall man looked at my eyes and nodded, breathing in slowly and setting more wrinkles upon his face.

“Where you off t’ tis fine morn, eh lad?”

My hands ran over my school tie – the answer was obvious and his tone made me shiver.

“School, sir.” I kept it short and neat.

Like a pounding drum was his chuckle and he threw back his head as if he was some idol for celebrities. My distrust grew as he silenced the morn’s birdsong that carried my favourite sounds.

Nodding politely I deliberately looked at my ball.

He noticed my gaze and attempted a fatherly smile.

“Here you go son. Thanks for lending me it for a while.”

Huh. Lending.

I jumped in mid-air and caught my ball with one hand.

Chuckling he cried; “try t’catch this too!”

This time a small square sweet plopped into my palm and I thanked him as I popped it in my mouth.

Alex Turner stopped singing.

Deep chuckling pounded into my head.

I dropped my ball as the ground swayed. The pavement rushed up into me and my world blacked out.