Authors: Mark G Brewer
"But we don't know anything yet, let's say she is alive, in what state might she be?" Like Mario, Nelson’s eyes remained glued to the box as if he was afraid it would disappear if he turned away, even for a second.
"It doesn't bear thinking about Nelson. Regan's resilient, we know that."
"Yes . . . but Mario, we need to consider what to do if she's irredeemable."
"We can't leave her there, suffering."
"One of us needs to go in." Nelson said with certainty.
"And if we find she's damaged . . . or gone mad?"
"Then we end the suffering, but I won't let her die there on her own."
"And you think I would?" Mario turned on him sharply.
"Of course not," Nelson turned to him sadly, "I was
always
thinking I, as in us."
Mario turned back to the screen, thoughtful. "We could always play for it, you know, paper rock scissors?" But even as he made the suggestion he didn't look happy with the idea.
The two men looked at each other knowingly.
"You couldn't bear it either could you," Nelson said smiling, "existing on your own, half a mind?"
Mario laughed. "You're a pain in the backside, but you do help me get things done."
"And that hologram was a good idea." Nelson conceded.
Without another word they instantly merged into one again; left and right brain type joining to remake the one whole, the beautiful man.
It was a simple plan, Ham would split himself again into two completes. Two hours would be the time frame; one Ham would search the box, the other would wait. If nothing was heard within the time limit the waiting Ham would know the truth. It would mean Regan was alive, but lost to them; and she would not die alone. They wouldn't leave her to suffer there for eternity; the Ham with her would bring about the end for them both.
* * *
Dark, it was depressingly dark . . .
Ham searched through the gloom, the evidence of attempted and past construction all around him. It was a vaguely familiar place, pine trees, rolling ground, but no depth to the scene, and tacky under foot. Taking his time he wandered through what little forest he could make out, zigzagging through scattered trees, alert and more confident now and feeling all the better for taking action.
There was no sound, not birds or wind, and no evident life, certainly not people. Looking up he saw the trees petered out not far above his head and with no high branches, just murky blackness. His foot caught painfully on a branch and he stumbled, glancing down in annoyance, a chance look that caused his gaze to drift off centre to the faint light of a tent in the distance.
Walking quickly now he tripped several times, the ground underfoot littered with spiky branches and each time he stumbled the sticky surface caused him to falter. He made steady progress and reaching the tent flap he slowed, acutely sensitive to the unstable environment. He paused there, suddenly nervous, not sure how to proceed.
"Regan . . ." He called softly.
"Regan?" He called again . . . with no reply.
Taking the flap in one hand he gently pulled it to the side, flipping it over the tent roof to rest there and then stepped cautiously inside.
It was empty with a dirty sleeping bag bundled in one corner. There was no groundsheet and here there was sand underfoot . . . aah, the old Mahia campground.
About to step back Ham glanced up and noticed small photos stuck to the canvas roof. There was a man he didn't recognize, Kevin, Mary and the twins, Kutch, Steph, Marcus, Mitch; Jean and Jared together and another of Hilary. All the faces were blurry but distinguishable. One photo stood out, of Marin, Leah, Regan and he, the beautiful man. They were laughing, happier times. Ham hesitated there considering what to do next, and then carefully he removed the photos, all of them except that one, and dissolved them in his hands. She won't be back here. Stroking the remaining picture he sharpened the images, taking particular care to enhance Regan's look, almost crying as he did so.
Leaving it there, something for some future artifact hunter to ponder over, he stepped out through the opening and surveyed the surrounding area. Sure enough the signs were there; the faint glow of footprints stretching away in the direction of the beach, like breadcrumbs for him to follow.
Making his way up over the tacky dunes he stood at a crest and scanned the long Blue Bay beach. No waves, only a gently rolling murk, oily in look and disappearing to a near horizon, as if the end of the world were just . . . there. Horrible shapes hung above the water, sharp angled blocks, hovering as if ready to crash and crush, not falling, but ever threatening. He shuddered, what kind of mind . . .
Ham banished the thought and scanned the beach as far as he could see . . . but not far enough. Sliding down the dune and searching the foreshore as he descended he picked up the faint residues of footprint glow and began the long walk toward Mahia township, the beach curving away from him into the distance, the sea to his right.
And then he saw her in the distance. A figure squatting . . . no, sitting on the beach, legs curled under, appearing to pick something from one foot.
Her back was to him and she seemed totally engrossed as he approached. As he walked he gestured with waves of his hand, a god dissolving the hanging blocks behind him, folding the beach in like a cloth and draining the sea.
Her hair hung matted and tangled, and he could hear muttering, cursing as she plucked at the injured foot, thorns peppering the sole.
Ham squatted beside her, unnoticed. It was as if he was something so unexpected and so out of place that her mind wouldn't let her recognize him.
"Do you need a hand?" he asked softly, taking the foot gently, and picking out a prickle before flicking it away.
Looking up with no expression, a face drained of strength and emotion, she licked parched lips, and made eye contact with a flicker of recognition.
"You came for me . . ." she said suddenly.
"I'm so sorry it took so long." He replied.
"You came for me . . ."
"Yes, I came for you, from the ends of the galaxy." He tried to smile.
"You came for me . . ." she said a third time, and then she looked down at her wrinkled hands.
"I didn't hold up so well." She said, looking back into his eyes.
"You held up Regan, I'm so glad you held up."
Kneeling now, he wrapped his arms around her, and to his relief she turned, molding herself to him, eyes closed, nose pressed to his neck, breathing in as if searching for the impossible comforting scent of him.
One by one, the shapes above them disappeared as they sat there and supported each other while the beach dissolved away, soon leaving only the two figures on a small patch of white sand.
"How's my boy Ham, how is Jared?"
He hesitated before answering. "I'm so sorry Regan, I really don't know, I've been searching for so long; it's been almost six years."
"Six years . . ." She said the words slowly, shaking her head, in shock and disbelief.
"Oh Ham, what's happened to my boy?" She asked again. "What's going to happen to him?"
He leaned back to look at her, holding her at arm's length, and wondering . . .
"There's only one way to find out." he replied.
She seemed to grit her teeth at that, and pressed down to the sand with both arms as if gathering strength and then pushed herself upwards. Standing quickly, he helped her upright and she stood there, the most bedraggled waif with an expectant look that almost broke his heart.
"I'm not taking you back looking like that." He said, smiling.
And she broke into a laugh . . .
And he knew . . .
And they disappeared . . .
* * * * *
Other books by this author
Regan's Reach
Orbital Envy
Confluence Point
Avarice will be next in the series, underway at the moment and hopefully coming soon. In my dreams that will be followed by 'Enforcer, the Nature of Evil' as the ideas for it are already flowing. Each book is a complete story in itself and I won't leave you hanging; I hate that myself. Having said that, to really enjoy the books I do recommend reading them in order. Have fun on the journey and may you find your own Ham.
Connect with Mark Brewer
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