Like Dipping a Toe in Shark Infested Water
The Department for the Quantification and Utilisation of Luck.
Cassie had come to a decision that morning as she finished dressing, putting on a pair of baggy jeans and a yellow T-shirt with “Myth is the best Ology” in blue lettering on the front: she desperately needed another Callum Cooper, only one who was less of a dick.
Which was why she had everybody working overtime, even those she had no direct control over, and that angered her boss, Benjamin Crowhurst, so much that he came in on a Saturday just to shout at her, so she stayed out of her office and ignored his numerous texts and calls.
As she walked about deep in thought, she came to an unavoidable conclusion and went looking for the army officer in charge, after a few minutes she found herself talking to Captain Simon Abercrombie, a man so devoid of facial expressions that Botox could have sued him for copyright infringement.
"For the umpteenth time, you must see that this is the only way I can really hope to understand what's happening," she said, irritation creeping into her voice.
"And for the," Abercrombie paused to make a quick count in his head, "fifth time I will not be held responsible for your safety, if you insist on doing something this stupid," he said dispassionately.
"I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself," she snapped.
"More capable than my comrades, who are suffering God-knows-what at the top of Arthur's Seat, as I waste my time talking to you when I should be rescuing them?” he snarled, showing emotion for the first time.
"I didn't mean it like that," she moved closer to touch his arm sympathetically, "but, believe it, or not, I'm the best chance we have right now of saving them," he gave her a doubtful look. "Let me put it another way," she said, "you've tried everything your finest tacticians could devise with zero percent success and a lot of people are going to die if we don't come up with something new. If I'm right, then maybe, just maybe, we can put an end to this, but I need to experience what we're dealing with first hand before I can devise a plan.”
"And if you're wrong?"
"Then we're all going to die––including you and everyone you ever loved––think about that for a moment. Depending on our ancestry, we’ll either be herded like animals to the slaughter or become part of her killing machine, eventually falling in battle to bring her glory. If you don’t believe me, take another look at the latest drone footage and tell me if what you can see with your own eyes is any less believable. If she wins, it won't matter if I'm one of the bodies rotting at the bottom of the heap, or a fresh one on top.”
Two hours later she was standing in the exclusion zone in a street full of evacuated buildings at the foot of the Braid Hills, one of the seven hills of power that surrounded the original settlement of Dùn Èideann.
On her orders, no personnel with Celtic ancestry were allowed anywhere near it, a concession they made grudgingly, as the military don’t like civilians telling them what to do.
There were only four soldiers escorting her, which was all Abercrombie said he could spare. A climbing belt was fastened around her waist and between her legs. She was also wearing a full-face crash helmet with elbow and kneepads over the smallest body armour they could find, which was still two sizes too big.
She was standing next to Sergeant major Benjamin Drake, a middled-aged, no-nonsense Geordie who looked like he was born to be a soldier. He closed her visor with the air of a man who had no interest in babysitting civilians. “Pay attention, ma’am,” he said gruffly as he clipped a thick cable onto the back of her belt that was attached to a winch behind her, “I’ve set a one-minute timer after that you’ll be pulled out at a walking pace. If you want to come back sooner just wave, shout or tap dance and you’ll exit so fast you’ll get whiplash.”
She said something that the crash helmet muffled. “What?” The sergeant major said irritatedly as he opened her visor again.
“I said a minute’s not enough.”
“Well,” he said, “we know exposure for that long is safe, although we had one, brave fellow who lasted for nearly two minutes, but he’s currently in a rubber room wearing a jacket that fastens up the back. He was shouting his love for somebody called Morrigan until they had to muzzled him because he kept on trying to bite his way out. Still, I suppose more duration data might help the backroom boys, so, how long would you like me to set the timer for?”
“A minute will do,” she said through gritted teeth as she slammed the visor back down again.
She’d read all the reports made by the volunteers who gone before her but none of them came anywhere close to describing what she felt as she stepped forward onto the grass at the foot of the hill, it overwhelmed her senses as her individuality vanished and she felt she was becoming part of something far greater and infinitely more important than herself.
With every fibre of her being she began worshipping Morrigan, and for the first time in her adult life she was at peace. There was no uncertainty, no ambition, no fear or disappointment. Desire was the only emotion left, desire to please her goddess, or die trying, but it was far more than a simple emotion, it was a biological imperative.
Then something new happened, something none of the accounts had mentioned before: the voice of Morrigan herself whispered inside her head, “Thou art Cassandra the prophesier of mine victories yet to cometh, bringeth Callum Cooper unto me,” the voice slithered into the darkest regions of her brain, the parts that were still ruled by animal instincts, “and I shalt maketh thee a handmaiden at mine court when I ruleth this realm.”
A new emotion of elation flooded Cassie senses on hearing that, it was a greater feeling than she could have ever imagined was possible, tears of joy ran down her cheeks as she dropped to her knees, hands together in prayer, she never even heard sergeant major Drake shout, “Get her the hell out of there!” or felt the cable tighten as the winch burst into life, dragging her away.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” Drake said, helping her to her feet once she was well clear of the hill. He’d already taken her helmet off and unclipped the cable from her belt. She didn’t reply, just turned to stare towards the road.
“What the hell? Alert the medics. Get her back to base!” he said, backing off when he saw she still had the reptilian eyes of Morrigan.
She wanted to find Cooper, but she had no idea where he was and it filled her with a devastating guilt as she realised she’d let her goddess down by releasing him too early.
As two of the squaddies approached her cautiously, the third one covering them. She turned to face them, “Leadeth me unto Callum Cooper,” she said, ignoring their weapons.
“Come along quietly, and you won’t get hurt,” the nearest one to her said nervously.
“Thou art naught but a traitorous slug,” Morrigan’s voice said through her as she struck him with a lightning fast punch that was so hard that it shattered his jaw and sent a whiplash through him that broke his neck and severed his spine.
Then, as if nothing had happened she turned to face the others and said, “Fetcheth Callum Cooper unto me and I shalt give thee a painless death,” a bullet hit her in the chest and she leapt forward, ripping the rifle out of the shooter’s hands. As he jumped back, startled, she swung it by the barrel at several hundred miles an hour. His head seemed to explode as the butt struck his skull. The headless body, still pumping blood, fell to the ground, bits of broken rifle raining down on top of it.
“Where be Callum Cooper?” She said as the third one shot her at point-blank range. She grabbed him by the collar, twisting it until his eyes bulged, forcing him to his knees, “Thou art the most fortunate one,” she said, as he vainly clawed at her hands, gasping for air, “thou hath a chance to maketh thine peace with thine goddess, lest, in mine glory, I judgeth thee and findeth thee unworthy.”
“Hey, crazy lady,” Drake said, he was standing about fifteen feet behind her holding a pump-action shotgun he’d pulled from the armoured personnel carrier.
She turned to face him, an evil grin crossing her face as she dropped the soldier, knowing that she had collapsed his windpipe and he was dying gasping for air.
He looked at her with a calm, controlled rage, and without saying another word, fired. The armour-piercing shell hit her squarely in the chest. She roared in pain as she leapt forward. He pumped the action and fired again, stopping her in midair. He shot her twice more, each round sending her staggering back as she got ever closer.
She fell to the ground when another shot took her legs from out underneath her. As she struggled to sit up, Drake took careful aim and fired one final time.