My Bubble is Burst by Jan Dale
1 September 2021 { Crime/Thriller }
Sleeping in the bubble wasn’t that comfortable, I had to say. Although it was rather like the Tardis, the police box of childhood TV (a ‘police box’? It might have figured in my I-Spy books, but I’d never found any of those round my way). The bunks folded neatly away into the curved sides of the ball, and the rudimentary kitchenette took up most of the central space. Kitchen facilities were all very well but you couldn’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, as they say – though a sow’s ear might be preferable to the roast magpie I’d been forced to eat the night before. It tasted disgusting, the nearest I could come to describing it would be raw chicken marinaded overnight in rancid chip fat. But I’d no choice, had I? At least we still had most of a cylinder of gas left. But who knew when Bark would return? ‘Bark’! We’d even been made to give up our real names for these silly aliases on nature themes. I had to answer to the ridiculous ‘Twig’. I’d lost track of the days now; at first I’d been marking notches on a stick but was out of it for a while and must have missed, oh, I don’t know, several days, and then I was weak of course from lack of food, could hardly be bothered to do anything. The relentless temperature drop continued – it would go dark at about half-past three as the days were shortening, making the nights interminable unless I numbed my senses with the whisky, and that was getting pretty short.
Where was Bark? Had he abandoned me? I could hardly tell any more if I was compos mentis or hallucinating, maybe even delirious from the stuff I’d been eating.
Anyhow, eventually I got so desperate I had to go and find something. So I put on as many layers as I could find, took the crossbow and set off. I’d marked some trees along the way on a previous expedition, and luckily the forest was pretty dense so it was easy to follow my route again. I trod softly so as not to disturb any wildlife I might be able to kill and eat.
The branches of frosted birch swallowed me up as I moved towards the centre of the woods. Everything was silent, no birds sang, not a breath of air disturbed the canopy. There would be very little to find here. The berries had long gone over and any creature with any sense would be nestling in its burrow or drey or whatever. Squirrels might be better than magpie but they were quick movers, I can tell you. Now deer, that would be another thing.
Suddenly I heard a crack somewhere over my left shoulder. I swung round only to see the antlers of a stag disappearing into the dark cavern of the woods beyond a clearing. It must have scented me as I had made no sound. I was smelly, certainly, but that was the least of my priorities on the Project.
I was aware it was getting dark. Damn! I should’ve set off earlier but it had taken ages to summon up the strength. This was a stupid idea, I was in danger of getting lost, I mustn’t leave it much longer, best head back for home, such as it was. As I turned, looking to retrace my footsteps, I saw a distant glimmer among the trees. At first I thought it must be Bark returning at last, carrying a torch. But the light wasn’t moving, just steadily burning. I’d been told this area was completely uninhabited, which was why we were doing the Project here, so I couldn’t think of what it might be. Where there was light, there might be warmth, and that was extremely tempting. I was cold to my bones, and Bark had been gone for hours. What right did he have to leave me alone for so long? He was an old hand at this whereas I was merely a raw recruit. Oh, what the hell. I made the decision to track down the source of this light. I was ready for out, I can tell you.
I kept the glimmer visible up ahead, but made sure to mark the trees again, using an arrow tip to carve a rough gouge in the trunks at around shoulder height. Maybe within half an hour or so – by now it was more or less completely dark – the light was distinguishable as coming from a window. There were curtains, but whoever had drawn them had left a gap through which the light escaped, throwing a golden triangle onto the snow. As I got closer I could see that the window was one of four surrounding a front door with a sort of podium in front of it, with two sets of steps leading up to it on either side. A trickle of smoke curled from the chimney – I could just make it out, as it was darker than the sky. Warmth! Light! It was a real house, probably containing real people. I crept nearer. Once I was out of the woods I could move noiselessly as the snow was easily a foot deep here, presumably covering the garden, and I could also see a frozen pond. I managed to peer through the crack in the curtain by going up the steps.
But it wasn’t at all what I’d expected. I couldn’t believe it! There was Bark, holding forth to a rapt audience – I could hear him talking and could see at least three other people, all basking in the heat of a glowing fire. As I watched, Bark put a glass to his lips, drained it and then picked up a bottle of amber liquid. He refilled his glass and then offered the bottle round.
What the …? Bark had told me he was on an urgent mission to rescue the kidnapped agent, Hare. And no, could it be? Yes, I saw the unmistakable figure of the boss, Big Al. How could they do this? They’d obviously not been taking it seriously enough! All those days of painstaking training, PowerPoint presentations and yawn-inducing role play. I’d flung myself into it completely, wanting to make a good impression. I’d left Uni with poor hopes, scraping a measly 2.2 and flabbergasted to have landed the job with McIlvanneys, one of the top companies in their field. All my friends had been envious, amazed –the interview must have swung it, mate, they’d all said. And then to prove myself I’d done 10-hour days for months, on top of volunteering for the training they’d suddenly introduced. On loads of occasions I’d tried to convince myself it had to be worth it. Now everything I’d strived for seemed to have turned to nothing. They’d fobbed me off for two years now, ‘we’re doing so badly we can’t do bonuses’, ‘didn’t you know there’s a recession on, we can’t give pay rises’, if I’d heard it once I’d heard it a thousand times. Like the parents of the child clamouring for the latest toy, it was always ‘next year’ with them. But it wasn’t a toy to me, it was my livelihood! Without the bonus I was just scraping by, and my rent kept on going up.
I just felt empty. Well at least I did for a few seconds, but then the anger kicked in. How could they treat us like this? I was never one for confrontation, but with enough needling I could sometimes go over the edge, and I’d really been needled now.
I pushed against the door. Locked, of course. There had to be another way in, but why bother? I was so angry. The bastards! I’d heard rumours of previous ‘Projectors’, as we were called; they said it had sent Rabbit completely over the edge and she’d spent time in a psychiatric unit. And I’d heard mutters of suicide. But I’d dispelled such ridiculous tales. How could an innocuous exercise in the woods lead to that? Later, I realised how I’d managed to get the job. I had just been kidding myself; it had seemed rather too good to be true. They were probably on the lookout for poor saps like me as they were the only ones who’d be up for such treatment.
That was it. I lifted the crossbow and jabbed it at the window, smashing the glass and knocking most of it from the frame. The chatter subsided as if someone had flicked a switch. They all looked startled. I enjoyed seeing a brief flicker of fear in Big Al’s eyes.
‘Bloody hell! It’s Twig!’
I levelled the crossbow at Bark. ‘Can anyone join the party?’
‘Don’t do anything stupid, Twig …’
I turned the bow to point the primed arrow at Big Al, who was trying to laugh it off, but who ducked.
‘Put that thing away! You could hurt somebody!’
‘What do you think you’ve been doing to us?’ I fumed. ‘It doesn’t look as if you’ve been eating magpie! Or losing weight, for that matter!’
‘Now calm down, Twig …’
‘And you can stop calling me that! Marshall! Adam Marshall, that’s my name, you toerag!’
‘Now calm down, Adam, that’s a dangerous weapon …’
‘You gave us the bloody things! You trained us to shoot and kill, remember? I can handle it!’ I snapped. I’d just about had enough. I let the lock go and the arrow went flying through the air, straight as a die, right to Big Al’s heart. I felt a terrible relief creeping over me, a kind of release after the weeks of hardship. But then someone grabbed my arms from behind, and I dropped the bow on the floor. The next thing I knew, Bark was holding a glass of some strong spirit in front of me. I could smell the sweet fumes of alcohol. I struggled.
‘It’s all right, Twig, just relax.’ He’d reverted to my alias.
‘But the crossbow …’
‘It’s OK, Twig, just stay calm. It’s all over now.’
***
I see Bark every day when I’m cleaning the office. He insists I call him that, of course, and he always calls me ‘Twig’. He usually works late, and although I try to avoid him our paths always seem to cross. He knows he was careless, shouldn’t have left that crack in the curtain, but they know I was actually the murderer, so they’ll always be in the driving seat. It’s a shame really – I could have been a hero, the first person to rebel against the stupid Project, overturning the tyranny of the teambuilding exercises. Instead, I’ve just swapped one tyranny for another.
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