Chapter 13
Hogan sat down on the edge of the bed and lit another cigarette, idly noticing that there were only three left in the pack. He hoped that he had another pack in his webbing but wasn’t sure.
‘It’s the FoxO gene,’ said the Professor. ‘You know, the Hydra longevity gene that I spoke of earlier?’
The marine nodded. ‘I remember.’
‘Well,’ continued the Prof. ‘Your bloodstream is awash with it. Chock-a-block full of longevity genes.’
‘But, won’t that give me cancer? You said that the FoxO gene grows out of control and creates tumors and cancer and crap. And how have I lasted this long? I should have been dead ages ago.’
The Professor nodded. ‘Well, usually. But that’s a bit of a broad statement because I’ve never seen a case like yours before. The only explanation that I can come up with, is that you are a natural carrier of large numbers of the FoxO gene and that, somehow, the Gamma radiation from the pulse has mutated your FoxO genes in some fashion. You see, sergeant, it’s not simply that your system is flooded with the FoxO gene, the gene itself is mutating. It seems to have attached itself to a virus. This virus is reproducing by taking over the reproductive process of its host cells, you being the host cell. No, the interesting thing is, the virus is living in you in an entirely symbiotic way. In other words, if you die, then it dies. It knows this, so, by using the FoxO gene, it will do its best to prevent you actually dying.’
Hogan thought for a while. ‘So, what you’re saying is…’
The Professor finished the sentence for him. ‘Sergeant, to all intents and purposes, you are immortal!’
Hogan said nothing. What was there to say? There is no social situation or past experience that could have prepared him for such a revelation.
Eventually he settled on. ‘Oh.’
The Prof smiled. ‘Look, when I say immortal, I could be incorrect. You may very well be susceptible to disease. Also I am not sure how you would respond to massive physical trauma, such as losing your head. You could probably still starve to death and I would assume that oxygen is a necessity. Perhaps, instead of the word immortal we should say, Extremely durable.’
‘What, you mean like that bunny in the battery adverts?’
The Prof laughed. ‘Actually, sergeant, more than you know. It actually brings me to the second point that I need to make. Do you remember much about the fight that you had before you were stabbed and we brought you in here?’
Hogan nodded. ‘Yep. Got attacked by a bunch of desperate people. Didn’t want to shoot them so I laid them out instead. Got stabbed. Had to shoot. That’s pretty much it.’
‘Do you remember how many people you knocked out?’
Hogan shrugged. ‘I only had a few seconds. Maybe three. Four?’
‘Twenty five,’ said the Prof.
‘Impossible,’ denied Hogan.
‘Yet you did it. I saw it with my own eyes. You were supernaturally fast. I could barely keep visual track of you. The fact that you were stabbed at all was simply sheer bad luck. And as well as the speed there was the heat. I could see waves of it pouring off you. Like the heat haze from a jet engine. When we dragged you in you were still hot to the touch.’
‘Why?’ Asked the marine.
‘Well, it’s conjecture again but I figure that the virus has an ability to react to any circumstance that puts the host body, you, in danger. It then uses whatever methods it can to combat this danger to you and, therefore, to itself. In this case, I surmise that it increases adrenalin flow into the body at a geometric rate causing an Adrenergenic storm. This will heighten your senses, speed up both strength and reaction time and dull any sense of pain. Usually this would result in an almost instantaneous event of acute myocardial infarction as your heart literally tears itself apart within a couple of seconds. However, the FoxO virus/gene seems to repair your shattered heart microsecond by microsecond, thus allowing you to function at massively increased rates of strength and speed for relatively prolonged periods of time. This, in turn, gives rise to an exothermic release in the form of heat.’
‘So, I’m some sort of Duracell bunny, vampire, human radiator, Hulk-type freak?’
The Professor thought for a while before answering. Finally he said. ‘Yes. That about sums it up.’
‘Could be worse,’ said Hogan. ‘I could be trapped in a foreign country with no way of ever getting home due to the fact that a solar flare has smacked us back into the dark ages and the entire world has gone to crap.’
The marine lit another of his dwindling supply of cigarettes.
‘Would you like a little time alone?’ Asked the Prof.
Hogan nodded. ‘Give me a few minutes so that I can come to terms with the concept of infinity.’
The Prof smiled and left the room.
Nathaniel Hogan simply sat on the edge of the bed and smoked his cigarette. He tried to process what the Professor had just told him but it was impossible. The entire concept simply slid away from him as he tried to pin it down. He wanted to rave. To tell the Prof that he was a bloody idiot. No one could cheat death. No one lived forever…no one survived the injury that Nathaniel had just survived. And especially without even the slightest hint of a scar.
By the time that he had finished his cigarette the marine had made a decision. He would simply ignore the newfound knowledge. After all, what possible difference would it make to his life in the short term? In the immediate future he was still an exile in a strange country in the new dark ages. The possibility that he may be in this position forever did not fill him with a feeling of happiness. Far from it. But forever is another day and today was here and now.
He stood, finished dressing and went to the dining hall to find some breakfast. There were still a few scholars eating, as was the Prof and the groundsman, mister Conradie, a ruddy faced fat man whom Hogan had met the day before. The breakfast was a pot of the ubiquitous oats porridge, sugar and goats milk. Hogan helped himself to large quantities of it and sat down next to the Professor, greeting him and Conradie as he did so.
‘So,’ said Conradie. ‘The Prof says that you may condescend to give us some advice on beefing up the security around here. Says that you fear the mobs might come back.’
Hogan shook his head. ‘No, I said that the mobs will come back. Definitely.’
Conradie smiled condescendingly. ‘Do them no good. High walls. Dry moat. We’ve got weapons and we’re not afraid to use them. No, I think that your fear has got the best of you. And if they do come, I think that you will find that we can handle ourselves pretty well without help from an American. No offense.’
Hogan smiled. ‘No offense taken, mister Conradie. Not your fault that you’re a self important, know all dick head.’
Conradie spluttered into his milk. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘No need to beg, mister, it’s just embarrassing,’ said Hogan as he lent forward. ‘Now listen, Conradie, and listen good. It won’t be long. Days, not weeks, and the mob will be back. And there will be more of them, much more. They will be desperate and more organized than the spontaneous rabble that you had here before. Most likely they will end up storming the gates. But first they will attempt to get in over the walls. Particularly the back wall, behind the armory. The stones are loose and there are trees close to the wall. All that they need to do is fell a couple of trees in the right direction and they get a walkway over the wall and into the digs. Once your enemy is inside your perimeter in strength, then you are well and truly screwed and hung out to dry. Id Est, Conradie, all dead. Or worse.’
‘Sergeant,’ Conradie interjected. ‘I hardly think…’
‘Exactly,’ said Hogan. ‘You hardly think. Fortunately, I do think. And as soon as I am finished my porridge we will take a walk around the walls and I will tell you what needs to be done and you will see that it is done. Correctly and well and all shipshape. Is that clear, mister Conradie?’
The groundsman stared at Hogan for a full few seconds before he replied. ‘Yes, sergeant,’ he said. ‘I understand.’
‘Good. And it’s master sergeant or Mister Hogan. Either or.’
Conradie nodded softly, his head down. Obviously embarrassed. A self-important man brought to bear by a soldier.
Hogan bolted the rest of his porridge down, stood up and gestured with his head to Conradie as he walked to the door. The two of them walked out together. The Prof stayed sitting at the dining table, a look of vague bemusement on his face.
After Hogan had left, the Prof turned to a group of scholars that had watched the altercation and he grinned. ‘Vociferous lot, our American cousins, aren’t they? Still,’ he continued. ‘Nice to see that ass, Conradie taken down a peg or two.’
There was a general ripple of laughter and the Prof helped himself to more goat’s milk.
Hogan strode out towards the back of the monastery walls and Conradie puffed along next to him, his fat wobbling and rolling as he struggled to keep up with the tall, long legged marine. Eventually Hogan slowed down, knowing that he was simply being childish. But the short fat man seemed to bring out the worst in the marine.
‘I’m sorry if you feel that I misspoke back there,’ puffed Conradie.
‘You didn’t misspeak,’ countered Hogan. ‘You simply talked crap.’
‘Steady, old boy.’
The marine stopped abruptly, turned and grabbed Conradie by the shoulders. ‘Conradie, I’m not trying to usurp whatever position you think that you have here. In fact I’m not even going to be staying here for much longer. However, I am a trained master gunnery sergeant with the US Marine corp. I have forgotten more about war and defense and protection than you and everyone within a hundred miles will ever know. I have been outside and I can assure you, it is a complete goat orgy! People are killing for a can of soda. So listen up, all I care about are the children. I will tell you how to seal this place up tighter than a duck’s ass. I will stay until I deem it safe for me to go and then I shall bugger off and you can continue being the self-righteous turd that you are. Comprendez?’
Conradie nodded.
‘Right,’ continued Hogan. ‘First things first. I want ladders up to the battlements on the back walls. The steps are messed up and I don’t trust them. Secondly, get some mortar and seal up the top three rows of stone. They’re crumbling. Thirdly, I need to take a group of strong youngsters out today to fell some trees. The forest has grown far too close to the back walls. You’ll need the wood for winter at any rate so it’s two jobs in one. Also, do you have any twine, lots of it?’
Conradie shook his head. ‘I’ve got a few hundred meters of fishing line. Will that do?’
Hogan nodded. ‘Perfect. Even better.’
After Hogan’s second admonishment, Conradie had developed a much better attitude and, while not brimming with enthusiasm, did seem to be trying to help.
‘Right,’ said Hogan. ‘You get a team of five boys together with axes, wood saws, perhaps some wheelbarrows. I’m going to tool up and I’ll meet them at the gate ASAP.’
Conradie looked puzzled. ‘I’m sorry, gunney, but I didn’t quite get that. You say, tool-up?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Hogan. ‘Get ready to rock and roll. You know, weapons hot and ready to go.’
The marine left the perplexed groundsman and jogged back to his room to get his SAW and body armor. He started putting on the heavy Kevlar jacket and then stopped, smiled, and dropped it on the floor.
‘Bugger that,’ he said to himself. ‘I’m an invincible armor plated long-life mother.’
He slipped on his webbing, lifted the machine gun and headed for the main gates.
Five boys were waiting for him when he got there. Three carrying double handed axes and two had large wood saws and a wheel barrow each.
Conradie introduced them. Hands were shook and names mumbled. Hogan made a point of asking for the name to be repeated if he didn’t get it the first time. A leader always knows his men.
Then the groundsman opened the gate, let them out and closed it behind him.
The group walked slowly next to the walls heading for the back. Hogan took point and discouraged any talking with a look. He could see that the boys were nervous. More so of him than of any alleged nefarious interlopers that may or may not be on the prowl.
When they reached the correct spot, Hogan started them felling the trees closest to the wall. Chopping the trunks opposite to the wall so that they fell safely away from the structure. Two axe wielders would attack one tree, swing at it in rhythm until, after twenty or so swings each, the tree would topple to the ground.
When a tree had fallen he instructed the saw holders to start sawing the logs into two-foot lengths.
The boys were young, strong and fit. But they were soft. City soft. And chopping wood is an extremely rough task. After two hours Hogan called a halt.
‘Well done, guys,’ he said. ‘I’ll get Conradie to send another team out to carry all of the wood back. If you could load up the two wheelbarrows then we’ll call it a day.’
‘Hell, sir,’ said the one boy. ‘What a pity, so soon and you didn’t even get to have a go.’
The rest laughed. Good-natured teasing. Hogan smiled with them, glad that their nervousness has dropped to the point that they could joke around a little.
He put the SAW down and held out his hand.
‘Pass the axe, Johnson. Let me get a feel of it, see what real work is like.’
The boys laughed again and Johnson passed over the two handed axe.
Hogan held it loosely in his hands and walked up to a massive Oak tree. He stood, legs apart. It felt good in his hands. Right. Three feet of polished Hickory and four pounds of English steel.
He picked a spot on the trunk, drew a deep breath and then took a huge swing.
The bottom half of the trunk simply exploded and a hail of splinters buzzed and whistled through the air like shrapnel. The Hickory handle shattered and the four pound steel head punched its way right through the trunk and embedded itself into the tree behind it. And then, ever so slowly, the immense Oak tree crashed majestically to the ground taking four other trees with it on its way down.
There was a stunned pause, eventually broken by Johnson.
‘Gosh. Good strike, sir. Well done.’
The other boys all clapped as if they were watching a good play or perhaps a goal in a soccer match. Hogan raised an eyebrow. It was the first time that he had come across the English Public school ethos. Be polite, be on time and never, ever appear to be taken by surprise. Even if your new guest has just smashed an Oak tree into smithereens with a single blow of an old, blunt axe.
Hogan dropped the remnants of the axe handle to the floor.
‘Well that’s about that,’ he said. ‘Load up and let’s call it quits for today, boys.’
They walked back in silence again. Hogan on point.
And his body shimmered in the heat haze that boiled off him as he walked.