Chapter Nineteen

Gathering painful consciousness, Blake assumed he’d fallen back into the cave.

But, no. He registered, not Oqmar’s cave, but from within, a van, much like the Student Union’s Ford Transit. Night time, judging by the two rectangles of pale yellow light that struggled in through the rear doors. Looked like the inside handle was broken.

Had he drunkenly climbed into the van to sleep off a boozy night and dreamt about Oqmar and his crazy dog, Kur? Again, no. The burn on his right thigh and the hole in his jeans testified to the weird experience he had in that cave. He sniffed. The scorched fabric agitated his nostrils, but another odour brought a taste of bile fighting its way up to his mouth. It was not just the smell-memory of Oqmar but evidence in that strange man’s spittle on the cut on his left arm. His Parka displayed a rip through to the blackened blood. He couldn’t remember how it’d happened. One minute he was walking home in Bristol, all limbs intact. Then a fall, but waking in that cave with a few minor abrasions as added extras. And, after that, the tiny ball he’d found rolling on Glastonbury Hill during the sphere’s dramatic exit, burnt its way out of his pocket.

As he struggled to his knees, the rear door screeched open.

Good, he thought, now I can get home, shower, proper sleep.

The amber street-light invaded the van, blinding Blake.

A male voice, mid-twenties, West-Country drawl, said, “Hey, there’s a fat fucker in our van,”

A deeper voice worried Blake with, “He must be nicking it.” But voicing a denial came out as a stutter as panic sent phlegm up into his throat.

“N-no.”

“Get him out of there.”

“I w-was not s-stealing your—” His voice gave up as he was hauled out. He crumpled on the wet road. Immediately he doubled up as a boot rammed into his stomach. In spite of the extra fat layers, the pain nearly blacked him out again.

Although Blake couldn’t remember when he had his most recent meal, its acidic remains, now agitated, regurgitated into his mouth and he had no choice but to throw up onto the road. He heard raucous laughter, but he dared not look up in case he faced accusations of ‘looking at them’ with increased painful consequences.

He remained curled up, face down, urging his muscles to do their best to squeeze his bulk into a ball.

Another kick to his right side hurt, and he thought a rib might have cracked.

Should he cry out his agony, or would that encourage them? He grunted.

After a minute or so of relative quiet he lifted his head to assess his status. A mistake. At the last-moment he saw a boot head for his face. The impact smashed his spectacles into his nose, which immediately filled with blood. The excruciating pain brought an involuntary scream and a deluge of stinging tears.

Curled up once more, he tasted a mix of snot, blood and salty tears. What had he done to deserve such an ignominious end? His ears malfunctioned as he could only hear their words as mumbles and guffaws. Eventually, they seemed to move away. He heard two vehicle-door slams, and then the engine started, forcing the exhaust to splutter water and diesel residue over his bloodied face. He rolled further into the gutter as the van rattled down the road. Through tears, Blake saw that he was in the grimy back streets of industrial warehousing, a kilometre from his home.

Blake winced, and yet was grateful to his mother for dabbing the abrasion on his face with cotton wool made sodden with clear water, which whitened with the phenol, then reddened with blood.

She’d not believed him, but once he’d uttered about the tiny sphere, she’d called his uncle Derek in Houston, and under penalty otherwise of a supper abstinence, he had to oblige.

“Yes, the ball I found on Glastonbury.”

“That could have been a miniature version of the spheres. It must have emerged from the Glastonbury one. Good God, Blake, that was a vital clue; evidence. Why didn’t you give it to us?”

“I did. You played with it and gave it back.” Typical adult to have not appreciated the importance of little things. Blake, found he could afford a wry smile at that thought, even though he hurt and he hardly knew what day it was.

“Good grief. So where did it take you, exactly?”

“I dunno. Some cave.” His nerves made him shake as he recalled the strangeness of the last few hours but he needed to tell it to Derek. He’d probably believe it, unlike his mother.

“Like at Cheddar Gorge?”

“Yeah, no, it was too hot.”

“There was a fire? Or the weather was hot? A desert? Help me out here, Blake.”

“I never saw the outside—I was being attacked by a mad caveman and his pet wolf.” Was he remembering it right?

“Did he do anything to you?”

“He didn’t bugger me.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but did he touch you or give you something you still have?”

“He put some gunge on the cut on my arm. I must have fallen.” His mother, antiseptic-reeking cotton wool in hand, grabbed his left arm. “Mum, not that arm.”

“Blake, is your mother trying to clean that gunge off your arm? Stop her. I want you to take it to a lab—I’ll give you the addr—”

“Too late, it’s in the dish with the antiseptic now.”

“I was hoping to get it dated. Anything else he gave you, that hasn’t been wiped out?”

“He tried to feed me, but I refused it. I gave him gum.” An automatic grin came with that thought.

“I thought you said he attacked you.”

“Yeah, well. Do you wanna know the rest?”

“Yes. What happened to the miniature sphere?”

“It burnt a hole in my jeans and disappeared up a smooth hole in the cave roof and joined with a bigger one in the sky.”

“Then what happened? Was the caveman surprised—or did he behave as if spheres were normal for him?”

“Oqmar.”

“What’s Oqmar?”

“The caveman’s name. I remember it, and Kur, his dog.”

“Excellent memory. What happened next?”

“I passed out and woke up in a van in Bristol.”

“Blake, I’d like you to write all this down before details fade away. Please keep all your clothes—don’t let your mum wash them. Sorry to hear you were mugged when you returned. I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thanks, Uncle Derek.”

“Bye,

Blake.”

“Don’t you wanna know about the knife Oqmar gave me?”