[Sticks]

Chapter 2

Reflections, recriminations and desolation

It was still dark when Steve awoke, he checked his watch. Five fifty five. Still quite early, but he could not really guarantee that the man with the tartan hat would still be out. He went into the toilets. There was the stench of stale alcohol, from winos that had previously used this part of the music hall. In spite of the music halls rundown appearance this was one service that was still working. The lights were out, they had been that way for five years, as the power supplies had long since been discontinued. It was only because of good insulation that the rooms were not like the main hall, one giant ice box. Steve had to use an ever-glow lamp, which could double up as a torch, that gave out a moderate amount of light, just enough to shave by.

As Steve utilised the facilities he remembered how he had been to this building in its heyday back twenty five years ago. It had been some church event he had attended. He had acted as an usherette, showing people to seats, handing out leaflets and manning the tea earn. If his church friends were alive to see the place now, it would be a terrible shock, that even this establishment had fallen so low. Was he really responsible for all this decay. Had his experiments really contributed to this, surely not. He fished out of his cycle bag a small black radio and turned it on. Almost time for the six thirty news

The news was much of a muchness, more reports of tension between Western Bloc and Mid Eastern Bloc, had they really been to the brink of nuclear war fifteen years ago. Only the Japanese had saved the world from World War III. More news on the economy, continued slump. A report came on how the town of Scarborough had finally been abandoned to the sea, how Bridlington was on the way out. These news items did not interest Steve at all, he had heard it all before. An item about five star American West Bloc General visiting Edinburgh. The radio blurted out its speculation about the general's possible chance of becoming leader of the Western Bloc alliance. The news ended and went onto the weather. Steve paid more attention. A report of flooding in the Anglia region, advice to travellers to use filter masks travelling through certain towns. Aberdeen was quite a clean city, no masks needed. The weather for Aberdeen was for rain. The met office gave an expected ph value of about five point five for the rain. He had to make sure he had the acid proof rain protection gear and that Katharine was on the coach before the rains came.

It was about seven when Steve went to the room where he had left Katharine. He knocked on the door. No Answer. He converted his lamp into a torch and pushed the door open slightly and played the torch beam into the room, it was another old meeting room. He had been to a meeting before in this room too. As he swept the torch beam through the room he tried to find Katharine. Had she gone already? No. There were all her clothes, spread out to air on an old table. They were all she had as far as Steve could work out. A few feet away she lay on the carpet with the blanket over her, probably the best sleep she had had in some time. Steve stared into the twilight of the dim beam of the torch. He could see that she was still breathing from the movement of the blanket up and down. She was lucky that Steve had selected her the warmest room, since she was obviously having to sleep naked with only his blanket for a covering, she could have said, he could have leant her something for the night.

"Katharine "He called out
Katharine slightly stirred, but seemed to drift back to sleep. Maybe he could let her sleep a bit longer, the coach left at nine. Maybe the effect on the man with the tartan hat of the stun bolt gun could be wearing off. The gun only had two shots or one large one, which he had used. He checked the charge, then realized he had forgotten to put it on charge over night. If he put it on charge now it would be some hours before it was recharged. There was also the coming acid rain to consider, she had no protection. He couldn't risk it. He had to enter the room and wake her up.
He walked halfway across the room and called her name again.
Katharine stirred again then opened her eyes, then used her arm to shield her eyes from the torch beam.
"We need to get moving, just to make sure we are out before that man recovers" Steve said gently. He turned the torch back to a lamp.
Katharine sat up slowly, yawned and stretched her arms, she was still a bit sleepy and inadvertently allowed the blanket to gently slip down from her shoulders to settle just above her naval. Katharine put her hands down on the floor just behind her to lean back on. She made no attempt to cover herself up, and smiled at Steve weakly. She was exposing her bare breasts to Steve's view, as if she had wanted to show them off to Steve for some kind of reward, had she been more wide awake. This caught Steve off guard for a moment and he found himself looking at them with the dispassionate interest that came from his scientific training. They seemed perfectly formed, about the size of two large grapefruits, with delicate pink nipples. They would be the ideal size and shape for breast feeding if she were to be a nursing mother.

Suddenly Steve realised what he was doing. Steve turned around, his face went red.
"Err sorry, I didn't realize you weren't dressed" he apologised
Katharine shook her head to wake up a bit more, then realised why this stranger had turned his back on her. She sat up and crossed her arms to hide her breasts from sight, she went slightly red, she wasn't really that sort of girl.
"That's ok, I shouldn't have embarrassed you like this" she replied sleepily to Steve, she could tell by intuition that this was a man who wasn't really leering, unlike the man in the tartan hat. He seemed to feel safe to her, even if he seemed somewhat old fashioned.
As Steve was not looking in order to protect her privacy, she threw off the blanket and went to pick up her clothes.

Suddenly Steve heard a scream. Instinctively he turned around, to see Katharine standing naked in front of the table which held her clothes, transfixed as a rodent perched on the table sniffing the air. Steve walked across, picked up the blanket and gently put it across Katharine's shoulders. Nervously she took hold of the blanket and wrapped it around herself. Steve could feel that she was shivering violently either from the cold or fear of the rodent.
"I'll get rid of it" He whispered then walked to the table. The rodent reared up on its back legs. It was a rat, and a big and nasty one.
"Get lost" Steve said to the rat. He had to make sure the rat did not feel that it was trapped. A rat bite could be fatal, especially as rabies had finally entered the British Isles. He reached in his jacket pocket slowly; he found an old key chain. He pulled out the key chain then threw it in the direction of the rat. It ran off.
"It's gone now" Steve said reassuringly as he picked up Katharine's clothes. He turned around to hand them over to her, making sure that his eyes met hers and no further down.
"It hasn't touched them he added
"Thank you" Katharine said weakly as she took them with a free hand, trying not to let the blanket drop down again.
Steve turned around, picked up his keys and walked back towards the door, being careful not to let his gaze fall upon Katharine, to try and preserve what dignity she still had left.

Katharine stood for a while holding her clothes, staring at the rat that wasn't there. Who was this man called Steve. She had half expected this stranger to take advantage of her. But he hadn't. She slipped off the blanket and slowly started to get dressed, always switching her gaze between the table and the man. He stood in the doorway, with his back to her. Anyone else would have leered at her as she stood naked and helpless and petrified by that monster rat and they would have watched her get dressed. Maybe there were some decent men left in the world.

"Are you decent yet?" Steve said after five minutes. He had to get this woman out of town, before he continued with his personal mission.
"I'm dressed if that's what you mean" answered Katharine.
Steve re-entered the room and handed her another meal bar. Katharine took it from him gently.
"Who are you?" She asked
"I told you I'm Steve" he replied
"That's not what I meant"
"I'm just a lone stranger, just trying to make sense of what happened to me twenty years ago. I'd rather not talk about it"
"Ok"

The pair made their way down the stairs to the main foyer. Steve looked along the corridor towards the main hall. The other two men appeared to have gone.
"Just a moment" Steve said to Katharine, suddenly he vanished into thin air
"Steve!" Katharine called out.
As suddenly as he had disappeared, he reappeared, grim faced.
"The man that took you from Shetland has had his throat cut" he said, "looks like the others did it. I can't say I blame them"
Katharine looked at Steve in horror. "How can you vanish like that, are you a witch?" She asked, slightly backing away from him. Could she have been wrong about him after all?
"No, its just a gizmo device that has taken fifteen years to complete, I'm as much of a witch as your are" he answered "Now" he added "We need to get you out of here and on that coach, before what remains of the police arrive to ask awkward questions. Now he's dead do you want to return home to Shetland?"

Katharine looked out at the darkened street. She remembered her home on Shetland, how her guardian had been forced to hand her over to the white slavers so that the others could survive. "I can't she said quietly, I would only be a burden to them, and the white slavers would only come back"

Steve looked at her, her only possessions were the clothes she stood up in. He wished he had some more clothes spare that he could offer her, but that was how things went. At least he hadn't taken advantage of her, as anyone else would have done. He knew the coach driver would be a member of one of the last honourable brotherhoods that drove the armoured coaches across the country along the old disused rail network, they would get her to a place of safety, where she could have all the clothes and food she needed.
"Come on. Lets get to the station" he told Katharine as he walked his bicycle out of the building.
Katharine hesitated and then followed this strange man out. Her instincts still told her that she could trust him.

They walked together down Union Street towards the junction with Bridge Street. The traffic lights had long since failed. A burnt out abandoned ground car rusted quietly by the entrance to one of the failed shopping centres. All the other shops in the road had closed down long ago, the windows smashed; some had not even been boarded up. Eventually they arrived at Guild Street. The pair crossed over the railway bridge and passed the railway station, long since closed, and then they entered the coach station, still one place of activity. As the rich and poor divide had widened, the rich moved to the airlines for long distance travel, the poor to the coaches. The railway had then withered and died, leaving behind a large network of abandoned track beds and shattered dreams.
As they arrived at the coach station, Steve looked at his watch. Eight O’clock. There was a small newsagent shop, miraculously it was still trading. Steve took Katharine inside.
"I remember this place from twenty years ago" Steve Told Katharine. He picked up a newspaper. More gloom and doom. "What sandwiches would you like" Steve asked Katharine.
"You don't have to do that" Katharine replied. She gently held Steve's hand and rested her head on his shoulder for a few seconds. Why was this man so kind to her? What kind of man was he?
"Some one has to." Steve answered back "I let some one down once, she never survived. Are you a vegetarian?"
"No"
Steve picked from the freezer cabinet two sets of tuna sandwiches and two cartons of milk. He picked up two king sized Mars bars from the confectionery counter. He then took out the western dollars to pay for the goods. The lady at the till took the money, there was no change due. They left the shop and made their way out to the platform and found a seat and sat down. They were the only ones there.
"How come you never learnt to read" Steve Asked Katharine.
"We never had a school and all the letters seemed jumbled up when my guardian tried to teach me" Katharine replied.
Steve handed her one of the packs of sandwiches, a can and a Mars bar. It would be best not to pry. He picked up his paper and read through the predictable slew of depression, wars, famine and titillation. The one bit that interested him was the forthcoming visit of General Reynolds to Scotland, maybe when he exposed the American conspiracy of twenty years ago, General Reynolds may take action against them, especially as he was running for president.

The coach for Wales arrived at eight forty five. Katherine watched as Steve talked to the driver. Steve was telling the driver where to drop her off. Steve had told her it would be a safe place to stay. Anywhere away from the white slavers in their armed hover-trucks would be a dream. If only the rest of her family could come. If only this Steve would come. If only he would allow her to bear his child. But he was over forty, almost twice her age. It was obvious that there was no future in a relationship. Just before she boarded the coach, she hugged Steve and gave him a quick kiss. It was clear that Steve had not expected this. To him, Katharine was just another unfortunate civilian that needed to be removed from the field of battle. She reminded him of Patricia Nealson, a student whose death he had held himself responsible for over twenty long years.

As he watched the coach depart with Katharine on it he saw her waving to him, tears streaking down her face. Providing that the coach was not attacked, the religious community that he was sending her to would be able to give her a better start in life. Perhaps she might find some one else she could settle down and raise a family with. He felt a slight twinge, as if someone walked over his grave. He could not afford to let anyone else die, as his quest was nearly at a completion, the final pieces of the jigsaw were within days of his grasp.

Steve got back on his bicycle to ride back to the Music Hall, he wanted to see if anyone else had discovered the body of the man with the tartan hat. They hadn't, no one cared. Even a White Slaver had to have a decent burial, after all others would be coming here to dos down and the body would become a health hazard. He looked down the street, there were no working payphones any longer, he would have to report it in person. That he did not want to risk. How could he explain who he was, he was supposed to have died twenty years ago. He was portrayed as the evil scientist from whom the friendly Americans had sought to save the world, by killing him in an overkill manner. He would have to find a way to drop a note in later. He left the music hall and cycled down to the junction of Union Street and Bridge Street.

The weather by now was starting to deteriorate. The wind howled round the old buildings and scattered leaves from the old trees that were left from the old Union Terrace gardens, which had long since been sacrificed to the developers. The Steve stopped at the crossroads and gazed around. The old familiar stores had been boarded up, they were deserted. No one came here to stay. They just hurried through this eastern ghost town. "Is this what is left?" Steve questioned. He turned left and rode along side where the Union Terrace Gardens used to be, before everyone went mad in order to try and save a lame duck of a town. Slowly the figure rode down to a junction. The old city library, which was just opening up for the day, appeared to be the only sign of life he had seen in this part of town. He turned right at the Statue of Wallace and rode over the railway bridge and then he turned left just after the deserted dual carriageway and down another side street. He remembered this was once Blackfriars Street. He stopped at the corner of St Andrew Street and dismounted. He was full of apprehension, he was standing near the site where his friends had been murdered, and he had not been back since.

Specks of rain fell on the road, which increased in size and formed streams in the gutters. Steve stopped and got out his rain shield from his bag, a form of acid proof cagoule, and quickly put it on. The rain shield was specially designed for use in cities, so it had a face mask and an enclosed filter mask. To be caught out in a rain storm nowadays could be quite painful, even fatal because of the industrial toxins that hung above the remaining metropolises. He had got his from the community that he had sent Katharine to. If he ever got out of this alive he would have to return there one day. Steve looked at the sky, it was getting very dark, this rain storm would be quite a heavy one. He turned around to look at the place where once the building that he knew and had at one time been indifferent about had stood. This was where the Robert Gordon Institute of Technology (Known to everyone as RGIT) had had its science and technology building and most of its central student service's, including Steve remembered the very helpful computing advisory section.

Steve chained his bicycle to a street lamp. He had to go and look at the ruins for himself again. There was a wooden fence designed to keep people out and plenty of danger signs. Steve looked around for an entrance of some kind. Round the back in John Street was a hole in the fence that he could just about climb through. He peered through the hole to make sure that it was safe to enter. The Ruins of the St Andrew street building had been almost demolished. The top two floors had been removed now. The library had long since gone leaving a burnt out chasm where the basement section had been. The corridors that ran right around the building were mostly there, except the corridor that ran along side Charlotte Street on the east side of the building, and the corridor that ran parallel to John Street on the north side. These corridors had totally gone.

Steve found a hole in the wall and entered the remains of the west side of the building. This corridor was still standing. He took his torch from his back pack and switched it on to peer through the gloom. The floor was wet and littered with broken glass, burnt timbers and some indeterminate rubble. He shone the torch up at the ceiling. Most of it was sound, but some of it had collapsed. He picked his way carefully through the rubble. Looking around he saw the results of fire damage. A laboratory on his right. Completely gutted. A smashed display cabinet. It seemed as if he could once again hear the feet of students treading the corridors. Possibly it was the sound of gulls, possibly it was the sense of guilt that had plagued him for over twenty years. He was supposed to be responsible for this. If only he had chosen one of the offered subjects for his PhD instead of inventing his own, if only he had listened to some of the concerns that had been aired about his research, if only.

A sound of scurrying further down the corridor interrupted his thoughts of self pity, more rats. Steve continued down the corridor, he came to one of the stairwells, he could see that the rain was coming down heavier now. Anyone not in protective gear in this weather could easily suffer nasty acid burns. He looked along the other corridor that once lead to the library. It had long since been knocked down, so he found himself staring across what looked like a discarded building site. He could see pools of water collecting amongst the rubble. He caught site of an abandoned JCB, obviously the contractors had gone under when RGIT had fallen prey to the never ending depression. Steve kept on walking along to end of the corridor, passing other laboratories, all of them were gutted, but this time it looked like they had been stripped. Here was another stairwell, leading to nowhere. When he was a student he had been up the stairs many times to the top floor that no longer existed. He resisted the urge to climb them.
"Steve have you written up that lab book yet?" came a voice from behind him.
Steve turned around. No one was there. It was just another memory. He tried to remember how it was in his day. He found it difficult. So many memories and he could not picture the place when it was in its heyday. He turned left. The internal swing doors were just about rotting away. Steve found them difficult to open; the hinges had severe rust problems. Only one door had a pane of glass still attached. Slowly it creaked open. A mouse ran past.

This corridor was parallel to St Andrew Street, no lecture rooms or laboratories ran off of it. Steve continued to walk along; on his left was the toilet block he remembered waking up in after it had happened. He could never work out how he got there. On his right were various technician and reprographic rooms. Another two sets of double doors, one in front, and one on his left. The one on his left lead out to where the Library had been. The main wall to the games hall had also gone. Steve could stare right through to where the other toilet block had been. It was just a pile of rubble, just as he remembered it twenty years ago. He was sure that was the toilet block he had used on that fateful day. He had never really solved that puzzle, perhaps the shock and the breakdown that had given him amnesia for three years still clouded his memory. He pressed on through the double doors in front. As he pushed the door fell inwards. Steve jumped back as glass shattered on the floor. His torch picked up the other door further along.

He walked through the doorway into what was once the main entrance. It had held the Janitors room, the entrance to the games hall and of course the front door. The front door had long since gone, allowing Steve to see the other side of the safety fence, just as solid on this side. This foyer was as far round as he could go the rest of the corridor was complete rubble, where the floors had collapsed like a pack of cards. Quite a feat for a granite building. Everywhere he could see the evidence of fire damage inflicted twenty years previously

Steve left the foyer through the hole where the games hall once stood. He tried to remember the building again, in all its glory. This site was the flagship building of the whole of the RGIT organisation. A lump came in his throat when he realized that it was the accepted history that his experiments for his PhD thesis had brought this on, or had they. For five years even he had believed that, now he was not so sure.

The never ending recession, would have occurred anyway, but even with that fact, he felt he had some responsibility for adding to the East West mistrust. The rain was a constant down pour. Steve made his way carefully back to the gap in the fence, picking his way across the assorted masonry. As memories flooded back his eyes were full of tears over what had happened all those years ago. He stopped in the middle of the site. He gazed up at where the laboratory had been up on the first floor. Grey sky and rubble. He looked around the site at ground level. As he stared at the ruins, it seemed as if the place where most of the damage had been done, was where the computer rooms had been. Odd that. He tried again to remember what had happened afterwards. It was all hazy, he remembered a fire. His head hurt, bad and painful memories, or were they ghosts of his friends crying for justice or vengeance, and against whom, him or the persons responsible.

A Helicopter sounded over head. He had to take cover, they were coming back to finish the job. He rushed across to the door to the first corridor he had re-entered. The door was stuck. He was in a worse panic now. The helicopter faded into the distance, it was just an air ambulance for the local hospital. Steve broke down and wept with relief, coming back to the building had been a cathartic process after all these years. This was his reason for carrying on, some one else did this, and blamed him and some of he friends.

The door opened at last. Steve wandered into the corridor. For a moment he thought he saw Patricia, the girl that died innocently with his friends. Staring at him accusingly from the rubble strewn corridor. A shaft of sunlight, the rain shower was passing over. Steve looked back. She was gone, that's if she was there in the first place. Steve had to get out, he had seen enough. He quickened his pace, he had to leave. As he reached the hole in the fence, she was there, an expression of astonishment
"Help us please" he thought he heard
He blinked, she was gone. He climbed out through the hole in the fence. He started to walk back to his bicycle, and tried to remember what had lead up to those events twenty years ago. As he un-padlocked his bicycle the events began to come back to him again, it was just like before his nervous breakdown all those years ago. It was as if it was yesterday