Short fiction: On An Empty Shore VIII FINAL

Only Forward

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

I was stupid to think that things would last. I was a fool to imagine that I would remain the unofficial lord of the city. It had to change, and change it did. They arrived during the late afternoon so I wasn’t around to see the convoy of trucks pull in. I was so sound asleep in my lair I didn’t hear a thing but I knew things were different the moment I got up.

It wasn’t easy to pin what the difference was until I heard a diesel engine and saw the sweep of headlights as the vehicle swung down Buitengracht Street. At first I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was an old Land Rover Defender and it had been heavily reinforced with bars over the windows and big-ass bull bars on the front. The thing was dented and dusty but there was no mistaking the power in its engines.

I got goosies just listening to the growl as it powered past.

At first I was excited. I mean, people! Strangers from upcountry! We were saved. Estelle was really happy. They were packing their things, getting the children ready when I arrived.

“They’re coming to fetch us,” she said. Her eyes were bright with tears.

That’s when it struck me. I’d be on my own again.

“Where are you going?” I asked her and tried to sound casual.

“They have a new city they’ve made, on the banks of the Orange River. There are no zombies there and they can defend it easily.”

Oh my god. That was more than a thousand kilometres away.

“Why there? Why can’t they build closer to home?” I asked.

I don’t think she picked up on my disappointment because she didn’t stop smiling. “It’s a new beginning. There’s water and the place is clean. The children will be able to play because there is a fence.”

I knew then I wouldn’t go with. I didn’t belong there. It wasn’t just the fact that the men who’d come wore military-style uniforms and carried the biggest guns I’d ever seen. I could smell it. These weren’t just survivors. These men were hard. I could see it in their eyes. They’d not ask questions about me. They wouldn't listen to explanations. They’d shoot me.

Part of me wanted to argue with Estelle but I couldn’t. I knew they’d be safer though I worried about the strangers’ motives. They were making a big deal about asking after the women and children. Why would they want the women and children?

I thought about crazy Gerrit Smuts in the Castle. He’d not wanted to open the gates, or so Estelle told me, but when he saw the strangers had bigger guns, he let them right in. I heard then they shot him. Just like that. They went in then one of the guys pulled out his pistol and shot Gerrit right between the eyes.

Then I thought about the lions, how the big males sometimes banded up and went into another male’s territory. They would fight and occasionally the rogue males drove off the older male, killed all his cubs then mated with the females.

Estelle, Betty and the kids didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Or maybe they forgot about me. I hung back when the truck came to fetch them and I think Estelle was so busy trying to round up the last of the little ones she completely forgot I was still there.

The dude driving the truck was a big, dark-skinned man who spoke with a French accent. His companion was as large, but spoke with an American accent and I didn’t like the size of his rifle, so I stayed in the shadows. They noticed a lot of stuff around them, their gazes roaming about so I didn’t want to take the chance that they’d spot me.

A younger couple I recognised from Mouille Point was in the back of the truck already. They were talking and laughing, and helped pull the others’ stuff into the vehicle.

I stood like a statue, hardly daring to believe this happened. Even when the big black guy slammed the tailgate up it didn’t feel real. Then, in an angry roar of fumes, the truck lurched down the road and the last I saw of my warmbloods was their pale faces peering out at the world they were leaving behind.

And now?

Not everyone left with the convoy that went north. There were people, wild ones who never spoke to the others, who decided to take their chances with the zombies. The gangs moved in and I didn’t stop them. I became a shadow again, slipping between other shadows.

I killed a warmblood three months after my people left. He asked for it because he was walking around at night. I stalked him so that he knew he was being hunted. I chased him so that he thought he’d get away. And then I killed him. I ripped his throat out and I drank my fill.

Why?

That’s what vampires were supposed to do. I didn’t feel like pretending to be anything but that anymore. My game had been nice while it lasted, but it had only served to remind me that it was in my nature to hunt, stalk and kill. It didn’t help to dull that horrible ache in my chest, but if I let it take over, I didn’t have to think about why the ache was there.

Sometimes I climbed Lion’s Head when it was full moon. Warmbloods often used to do that in the old days. I guess someone had to continue with the ritual. The moon rose big and orange over the Hottentot’s Holland mountains, like a big eye. To me it was as bright as day. Even warmbloods could see well in this light. How many more times would I climb this mountain to watch the moon rise over a dead city? Would I stand sentinel for five years more? A hundred? Would the warmbloods return?

I didn’t have an answer to these questions but I’d keep climbing that mountain to watch the moon rise. I knew that much.

* * * *

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Five-minute interview with Aidan Whytock

I've had the pleasure of meeting the very talented and charming Aidan Whytock a number of times. He's acted in a few of the short films my husband's worked on with the BlackMilk Productions team. Those of you who're au fait with the South African indie film industry would have seen him in a bunch of films, but notably in Sweetheart, by the Be Phat Motel film company.

Aidan's been an absolute darling and stopped by my blog for a quick Q&A. Catch him while you can, folks, damn right this lad's going places.

So, Aidan, when did you know you wanted to be an actor?

I developed a stammer when I was five years old. It made it difficult to communicate and thus I developed a fear of speaking and especially speaking under pressure. My wise dad once told me to face my fears. So when I was about 15 I decided to get a one-liner role in the school play. I practiced and practiced and I didn't mess it up! It turned out the stage was a place where my stammer wasn't in command of me. It was liberating and became a desire from then.

Who were some of your influences and what were the most influential films you watched while you were growing up?

When I saw The Last of the Mohicans Daniel Day-Lewis became one of my favourite actors. The soundtrack also blew me away and the fiddle theme-tune became an anthem of my youth. The Crow also had a profound impact and my propensity for darker content was born. Again music and imagery's fusion captivated me.

Okay, you've mentioned The Crow, which means I'm probably going to be your undying fangrrrl forever. What I want to know, is it difficult breaking into acting as a career in South Africa?

Very. There isn't a huge amount of work on offer. Theatrical space is there to be utilised but alas it isnt well supported, which makes it tricky to pay the bills. Film work is in short supply and generally the lead roles go to international actors. The supporting roles go to the seasoned SA actors and they, to their credit, have created a captive market for themselves

With that in mind, what advice do you have for aspiring actors in SA?

Do it for the love. Do it for the money and you ll never enjoy your work.

To get where you are now, what path have you followed so far? Tell us a little about some of the work you've undertaken.

I used to be in the corporate world, selling beer. I decided there was more to life than the bottom line and I returned to the passion place from school. After training again I joined a troupe that meets twice a week and honed my ability as a Meisner actor. With a bit of training in LA under my belt I found myself in a position being asked to perform roles I didn't think I could do. That has been the largest lesson: push myself. Because of that I had the privilege of working on the award-winning The Lovers, Safehouse and recently a short action comedy and a heavy apartheid drama, shot in LA.

Thank you for stopping by, Aidan. Dare I say break a leg?

What Sweet Music They Make blurb love

Well, dear friends, I'm pleased to announce that the blurb for my early 2012 release, What Sweet Music They Make, has been finalised. So, without further ado...

Music brought them together, but can it set them free?

Betrayed by those closest to her, musical prodigy Tersia is heartbroken. She immerses herself in her music, turning her back on love. However, when she notices Severin at one of her performances, the serious, pale young man makes her want to risk her heart again.

Severin’s future as a lackey to the vampire Lord Murray has him chafing at his bonds. That is, until he encounters Tersia, whose rare musical talent captivates him. But Severin is not the only one to notice her. Other, darker forces have taken a sinister interest in her potential.

Tersia and Severin can't deny the spark that has ignited between them, but can they overcome the shadows that threaten to smother their trust?

Coming soon from www.lyricalpress.com

Guest post: Jaye Sonia, on Games, Games...

I'd like to thank my friend, Jaye Sonia, the creator of Rhune (go check it out if you're into RPGs) who has graciously offered "reprints" of content he's written for Bazaar magazine. I'll be posting one a week for a few weeks running, just to keep y'all out of mischief. This week, to take a different tack from "just" fiction, it's games. Thank you, Jaye, and over to you...

Games, games, and more games: Your fall review way too early….

This month, I’m talking about console games. If you haven’t been checking the upcoming releases for 2011-2012, let me be the first to say it; “So much awesome…” There are some pretty incredible games headed our way – and not just for adult gamers, either.

First up, something awesome for kids (and I suppose, their parents and caretakers, too) that involves one of the world’s biggest (and best established) franchises revolving around a mouse. Want a hint? It starts with a D and ends with an isney.

But first, let’s talk about Microsoft’s Kinect (released last November). If you’re not aware, Kinect is available for the Xbox 360 (with some hacks for the PS3 floating around on the Internet) and is getting all sorts of wonderful reviews. Much like the Wii did, it’s taking young gamers away from the stereotypical lounging to getting up, mobile, and active about their games. Not surprisingly, most of the games for Kinect have been sports related (tennis, bowling, dance, ect).

Now, however, things are starting to expand. The technology is better established and people like Disney are jumping into the ring. So parents, be prepared for a winter of excitement. Why? Disneyland Adventures, that’s why. Slated for release sometimes at the end of this year, this game is going to mesh everything that’s cool about Kinect with everything iconic about Disney (including customizable avatars).

Of course, there’s also something exciting coming for all of you FPS (first person shooter) enthusiasts, too. So, put down your Black Ops game and get ready for Call of Duty: Modern Combat 3 (WW3), which releases November 8th, this year. Contrary to what The Onion predicted last year, this game actually looks amazing. The storyline of the Russian invasion of America continues, with players traveling the globe in a series of missions aimed at opposing their offensive. Some of the planned areas for combat include England, France, Germany, Somalia, and even Dubai (how cool is that, eh?). Needless to say, if you’re a CoD fan, this game – the 8th of its type – should make this winter an exciting time.

(And if you’re like some of my co-workers, keep you pretty darn busy on Thursday nights! Go Blue Team, Go!!)

Of course, there are more than just mice and machine guns on the horizon, too. If you’re a Nintendo fan, you’ve got a classic returning very soon. The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword is slated for release late this year and looks promising (even if bloggers are attacking Link’s overtly feminine physique). Like many Wii games, this will require gamers to get out of their seats and direct Link’s actions by swinging the Wii controller around, something trendsetter Wii has long championed. He’ll use his sword to do a lot of hacking and slashing, but that’s not all. From what I’ve read online, he’ll even open doors with it. The game has a 3D look to it, but more of a cartoonish perspective.

Along those lines, look forward to, Fable: The Journey (again for the Xbox 360). While it’s aimed for older kids in their 30s, rumors abound that young teens might just enjoy this game, as well. It’s slated for release sometime in 2012, likely in the early summer. I saw the trailer (available online) and was pleased to see that a number of the gestures access various powers and abilities, while still maintaining basic features. So, you can launch fireballs at enemies and cut them down when they rush you. Even if it is a styled after a FPS, this is still very, very cool (and we need plenty of cool for these hot Kuwaiti summers).

Another classic to return this fall is The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim (PC, Xbox 360, and PS3). While I’ve never been a big fan of this intense RPG (role-playing game), it’s still one of the giants in the playground. It’s scheduled for release on November 11th, 2011 and offers gamers a chance to visit Skyrim, home of the Nords. The game’s storyline revolves around the return of dragons (lots of them) and those that would oppose them, namely, the dragon born. This is another title that promises endless high-fantasy action that should carry gamers happily into 2012.

(Don’t believe me? Have a look at some of the trailers online. The graphics are more than pretty…)

Finally, keep your eyes peeled for Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception (PS3) this November. I’m not a big PS3 guy (I’m in Microsoft’s corner with the Xbox, sorry guys), so I haven’t played any of the previous versions of this saga. I have to admit, though, that I wish I had. This game looks pretty amazing and I’m instantly reminded of Indiana Jones when I look at the previews. This, of course, might just be because the game is about an adventuring archeologist (aptly named Drake) that is exploring the Arabian Peninsula in search of the “Atlantis of the Sands.” He doesn’t stop off in Kuwait, but I’m told his adventures are legendary nonetheless. Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception releases on November 11th, 2011 (is everyone capitalizing on this 11-11-11 thing or what?).

So, if you haven’t done it yet, get online – yes, right this minute – and start looking at some trailers. But be warned. There’s a lot of awesome on the horizon!

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Short fiction: On An Empty Shore VII

On an Empty Shore

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Estelle showed me a history book not so long ago. Normally I didn’t bother looking at them but this one was interesting. It was about boats and the history of Cape Town. This place used to be called the Tavern of the Seas and over hundreds of years people used to stop here to pick up supplies.

I didn’t tell her that all I remembered was occasionally helping Korean or Filipino sailors find less than legal narcotics while they were on shore leave. They sometimes helped me out with cash which I could use to buy more heroin.

It blew my mind when I saw pictures of Woodstock that used to be a beach. The area today was just a wasteland of old industrial buildings and no one went there much because of the gangs. Guess some things didn’t change much, with or without zombies. All that land got reclaimed. I had no idea that most of the Foreshore used to be under water. Amazing stuff.

I never went down to the sea when I was a warmblood yet for some reason I was drawn there after my change. Some evenings I’d walk through Green Point to the promenade. There was a slipway that the fishermen sometimes used to launch their boats in the old days. The doors at the bottom were never locked, and the cove was sheltered and a perfect place to poke around in rock pools.

The sea had all sorts of moods. When it was winter, it got really exciting because then the surf would be big and sometimes the breakers would explode against the concrete in a huge wash of foam. I got soaked plenty like that. I didn’t feel the cold but there was something very cool and scary about not knowing whether the next wave would drench me.

The Atlantic was like a hungry beast, big and powerful. I liked playing with the danger that it could devour me, suck me off the rocks. One night the only reason it didn’t was because I got wedged in a crevice. Had to wait between rushes of water before I got to a safer distance from the worst of it. The rocks were like black teeth sticking out of the tidal pools. Death to both warmbloods and vampires if you got mashed on them. Many times zombies washed up there and got stuck and I chopped them into bits just for the hell of it.

At low tide I sat and the rock fish nibbled at my toes or I poked at the sea anemones. It felt weird but kinda nice the way they contracted over my fingers. It made me think of times when I’d been a little kid full of sand, only it was hot and ma made me wear a hat. I could almost taste the ice cream.

But there was one night I walked a lot farther along the rocks to where the sand started. I didn’t know what had drawn me out until I saw the long black shape lying on the sand. It was a whale―a very small whale but still a whale. The first I’d ever seen. Once I’d heard on the radio that they beached themselves and I suppose this was a similar situation.

When I looked I saw it wasn’t just one but seven of them and they lay there on the sand, their skins drying out. I could almost feel their sadness and their pain. They were dying and there was no one to help them.

I didn’t want to leave them there. My eyes felt very tight and so did my chest, though I didn’t need to breathe. Moving them wasn’t an option. They were too big except for one that was only slightly longer than I was tall.

I tried, okay? I really tried. I managed to shift the little one closer to the water. It helped also that the tide was coming in and I loved the way its black skin glistened the moment it got wet.

It was slippery in my arms and started to struggle when the waves broke over it. I don’t know for how long we fought each other and the waves. Eventually I was waist deep in the breakers that kept washing over my head. It’s okay, it’s not like I could drown but it was difficult keeping my footing.

We got out quite far and it was almost impossible for me to hold onto it.

“Go back to the sea,” I told him.

For a while he just flopped about in the water. I had to hold him so his blowhole pointed above the surface otherwise he just sank. Then he started swimming. Wow! I whooped and clapped then a wave knocked me over.

The little whale swam a short way along the shore.

Then I swore. He turned himself back at the beach and another big wave came and he just swam with it to beach himself on the sand again. I screamed at him, tried to tug him back out to the water. I tried another five times and it was close to dawn and I was as cold as the sea when I realised there was nothing I could do. The little whale was as tired as I was.

I couldn’t tell if it was the sea that was so salt in my mouth or if I tasted my tears. I hadn’t cried in a very long time but I got out of the water and stood there for a long while and stared at the terrible scene. Three of the whales had already died. Two were close to death. If I’d a gun I could have shot them so they wouldn’t suffer. Instead I did what I could. I went back to where I’d left my things and got my blade. I finished the whales so that they wouldn’t hurt anymore. Dark hot blood gushed onto the sand and bathed my hands and feet in great, iron-rich fountains.

I couldn’t bring myself to drink it.

* * * *

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My clubbing adventures over for another 365 days

Every once in a while, just in case I grow too stodgy, friends drag me out by my hair and submerge me in mainstream culture. This is a good thing, I think, because it reminds me that I’m not a complete hermit. Or perhaps I can keep telling myself it’s a good thing long enough to start believing it. Especially when faced with fellow patrons who’re possibly half my age, who don’t worry about bond repayments on their homes.

It’s always the morning after the night before that I have to sit down to ask myself why people have this tendency of engaging in certain modes of behaviour in clubs that, in the garish light of day, seems pretty pointless.

But it is fascinating to watch. Clubbing for me now is pretty much like visiting a zoo, where the DJ occasionally spins a tune I enjoy dancing to. That’s if there’s space on the packed dance floor and that big oaf that hovers constantly around me isn’t busy ogling my arse.

My friend B pretty much summed it up: “It’s a meat parade. Just one big meat parade.”

I guess one can meet a life partner when you least expect it. While it’s not something I readily like admitting, I did meet my husband in a club. We’ve been married for more than a decade and I haven’t killed him yet.

But back to a recently past weekend: my friends and I were seated off to one side in the subterranean recesses of a popular Capetonian nightspot, kind of hoping for a gap on the dance floor, something which only materialised way after the witching hour.

But boy oh boy did I have plenty of people-watching to do between waiting for old favourites such as The Cure’s Lovecats or vintage Siouxsie Sioux. That’s when I wasn’t having a good chuckle at folks bopping and jiving to Vanilla Ice’s Ice Ice Baby.

One bright spark decided to show his friends how to juggle beer bottles. And no, I’m not making this stuff up.

Needless to say, said beer bottles shattered on the pretty black-and-white chequered dance floor. Or should I mention the girls dressed in little more than a handkerchief and garters with little gold stiletto-heeled sandals tweeting on their cellphones while they teetered about to the tune of Metallica’s Enter Sandman?

Granted, I’m a fine one to talk. Whenever I felt the need to catch my breath I absconded to what I thought was my safe corner so I could whip out my BlackBerry and offer my friends a running commentary of the sights and sounds courtesy of two of my favourite social networking sites. Times have changed. In the old days I’d probably have drunk more beer and stared glumly into the middle distance, because having a proper conversation in this sort of environment is near impossible.

At least I thought my corner was safe. While the dear husband had at last won a precious spot on the dance floor, the beer bottle-juggling rocket scientist saw his gap and decided to approach me. Only one small problem there – he didn’t see the all but invisible step leading up to the tables.

Said inebriated desperado landed face first in my lap. Too horrified to react, I merely gaped at him while he, unfazed, looked up and asked whether I would dance with him. Fortunately he backed off quickly when I showed him my wedding ring.

Either that or his friends had dared him to chat up the scary-looking Goth chick in the corner and he could now slink away, the ordeal over, the bet won. Go figure.

And I have to add, there’s nothing like the addition of a few poles to bring out males’ inner exhibitionist. I saw more male pole-dancing than I’d ever considered possible.

Later, when I said my goodbyes to a friend who’s a manager at the club, I asked her what the weirdest thing was that had ever been left behind by patrons.

“Oh,” she answered. “Someone left a shoe here a while back.”

“Really?” I asked. “Surely that’s hardly a surprise.”

She laughed and shook her head. “It was a Jimmy Choo.”

This had me raise a brow while I did the maths. Ouch. “What did you do with it?”

“Oh, I threw it out in the trash. It was lying around for ages.”

Righty. Good thing no one’s making me part with my New Rocks in a hurry, no matter how clunky or unfashionable they are. And thus ends my annual clubbing adventures, it can be hoped for another 365 days when I’ve conveniently forgotten the ringing in my ears, the drunk-stumbling weirdoes and the almost indelible stench of smoke in my hair.

Oh, and the pole-dancing men with beer-guts.

David Attenborough never had it quite this good.

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This column was initially published in the Sunday Independent Life section on August 21, 2011

Review: Uneasy Tales

What a lovely collection of short stories to land on my desk. Or maybe "lovely" is the wrong word. Creepy, yes. Discomforting, definitely. Simon Kurt Unsworth delivers a tight collection of macabre tales. There isn't always rhyme or reason why events unfold as they do, but what is certain is that each tale leaves you feeling scratchy behind the eyes.

In Button, Bruno catches a button that adheres to his left hand, with unfortunate consequences. This story still leaves me feeling phantom pains on my palm.

Dog was perhaps the only story that didn't resonate with me. Slightly reminiscent of the Cube films, it left me uneasy for reasons I won't go in that will spoil the tale. It's suitably horrible, even if one never discovers the raison d'etre for the viewpoint character's predicament.

My phobia for hospitals, needles and scalpels were next on the list when I read Excision. What I liked the most about this one was that the horror is implied and the truth ambiguous. Thank goodness for general anaesthetic, is all I can say.

The grim vision of a sterile future for planet earth is explored in Plastic. Once again, Unsworth plays with medical themes gone wrong in this broody and rather tense story.

Overall, Unsworth is a master of mood and suspense. The true horror lies not in the end result but the growing sense of inevitability so often lacking in horror fiction nowadays. Well done with this anthology, sir. You've definitely succeeded in giving me my sick thrills for a gloomy Sunday afternoon.

Buy Uneasy Tales here.