Michael Highway

Prologue​


It’s a dark, wet and all too unpleasant night. I've heard a scream and I’m chasing it down.
It seems to take all my effort just to keep my feet hitting the cobbles as I chase down the source of the noise - now muffled, now hectic, now desperate.
I pound down the street – all the lights have been smashed by the degenerates around here and it’s so dark it’s like being encased in a lump of coal.
My feet are soaked and my lungs are burning – it’s been a long night.
I round the last corner and see four guys crowded around a young woman. Two of them are fighting over her handbag – I don’t like the look in the eyes of the other two.
They haven’t seen me yet. I light a cigar and breathe it in hard. There was a time that I did that to calm my nerves, but that was a long time ago. I just want them looking at me and not her.
Their hair is patchy and their eyes are manic – they are on spires for sure – the new drug that seems to have turned the world into an even worse pile of shit.
The girl gasps with relief when she sees me. They start to notice me slowly, but when they do they fix their eyes on me like bats staring at an owl.
Knives are unsheathed, one of them grabs a big sewer grate lid and they surround me. I can see their breath hanging in the air like rancid mushroom clouds
The girl runs off without a word but I know she’ll thank me for the rest of her life – and I suppose that’s enough…
​
---The Girl---

My heart is still pounding. They were talking about killing me! And now all I can think about is running.
But I can’t just leave that guy alone can I?
He wasn’t particularly big and the way that grey suit hung off him made it look like he hadn't had a good meal in years. I need to go... but I have to see what happens.
I crouch in the shadows behind a huge bin – still trembling.
The monsters have surrounded him and are closing in. He looks so nonchalant, maybe I should leave…
Now a fifth one comes out of the shadows behind my savior and raises a knife to his throat.
The stranger smiles a huge smile and then disappears before my eyes! He instantly re-appeared behind his assailant’s back.
He hits the maniac with the flat of his palm and the force sends out a sonic boom that knocks me off my feet and sends his attacker flying through the air to knock down two of his friends.
The two muggers that are left standing attack him even though their faces look like they want to cry.
Their knives slice straight through him with no resistance and no blood.
He disappears again and then he's suddenly back, this time stood between his two attackers with his hands seamlessly inserted inside their heads.
He tears his hands free and blood splashes all over the ground.
The two thugs who got hit by their friend get up and move to run at him, but he whips his arm up in an uppercut to smooth his hair down and the attackers are crushed against the wall by the gust this move creates.
I realise that I’m crying silently. I don’t even nearly understand this. I thank my savior as I run home, but I hope to god that I never have to meet him again.
​
---
​
I dip my hands under a leaking gutter to clean the brains off them. I look at the carnage and wince – I’m not made of stone. But I take solace from knowing that the world truly is better off without these people.
But how rude of me – you've come in near the end of the story and there is so much that I need to tell you about…

Chapter One

I’m nothing special, in fact I’m a bit of a bore. Don’t worry, I’m not about to start singing Abba songs at you. There’s just no better way to let you know what you are getting into here.
But it is the unfortunate lot of all those in the universe who wish for a dull and uneventful life that they should have excitement and incident thrust upon them.
Only tonight for example - I have been shot, stabbed, crushed, and even set on fire. But I’m getting ahead of myself again.
Let me tell you how it all went wrong.
I am a claims assessor for a large insurance firm. My job consists of trying to guess any way in which someone way actually get any money from claiming on one of our policies and then creating a clause that means we get to keep all our cash – so I guess I’m a bit of a shit too, but a job is a job at the end of the day.
I’ll always be grateful for my job because it introduced me to my beautiful wife.
Emily was the most beautiful woman that I had ever set my eyes on, a cascade of glorious chestnut hair framing her flawlessly pretty features.
I was infatuated with her from day one but the first time I knew that I was madly in love with her was when she had to lean across my desk to collect some files and I ended up face to face with her tight, pert backside. It was like a peach carved out of marble.
An awkward drinks invitation and three more weeks of my nervous attentions later and she was mine!
​
“That was pretty fast.” Emily remarked as she lay back and carefully spread her beautiful hair over my spare pillow.
“I know, we’ve only known each other for a few weeks.” I managed to pant out while smiling like a lottery winner on speed.
“… That’s not what I meant.” she said carefully.
"I had a really big lunch"
I know that it’s not a good excuse and she gives me a 'seriously' look that makes us both laugh. I roll back on top of her and we start again and this time I give her the business.
I reflect on it now and see that my whole life started to improve once she was in it.
I stopped eating completely fried breakfasts all the time, I stopped smoking and my efforts to swear and fart less were rewarded with a promotion and the two of us buying a house together with the extra cash.
We had the usual moving-in arguments about me leaving my socks everywhere, and her leaving all the lights on but otherwise life was about as perfect as it can get for a young guy in the big city.
This lasted for two years before we found out that we were pregnant... well, obviously only one of us was pregnant, but I was more than prepared to share the glory, and I hoped and prayed for a son to follow in my meek, but surprisingly successful footsteps.
Emily and I spent the nights talking about our child to come; colour schemes for nurseries and which type of stair-gate was the safest model.
She laughs when i get too ridiculous. She has a warm heart but also a sensible head on her shoulders.
She loves nothing better than snow and making snow-angels. Her laugh sounds like an imp playing a harpsichord, and she is incapable of saying no to charities.
I know she is going to be the best mother.
​
The time has arrived and we dash into the local hospital It's all going relatively well. I've paid for a private room so that she can have the best time possible.
The doctors are really jovial - they share in our joy to come and assure us that everything will be OK.
It is all OK until the point where the bomb goes off and kills us all.

The first I know of it is when i see an orange glow on the doctor's white coat. I turn my head and see a wall of flame obliterating everything in its path. Emily is in front of me and I try to jump in front of her bed - i try to make a difference but the flames are too quick and I am too small.
​
​
I let out a noise - its not a scream or a roar but it is along those lines and I feel it spread out across infinity and rattle the very fabric of the universe. I feel the noise tear me apart... I shouldn't be able to.
I should be dead.

Chapter 2
​
​
I awake in an infinite blackness punctuated only by a gorgeously voluptuous woman wearing just a tiny black one-piece lacy number. She is wearing the highest heels I've ever seen - she has long shapely legs an impossibly small waist and she has large round, shiny bosoms. I try to take in her face but it seems completely in shadow above her enticing, full red lips.
"Welcome Michael."
I try to talk but my throat feels like it has burst - the pain forces me to my knees. When I look up again she is cradling my head to her enormous chest.
"Don't try to talk baby, you've had quite an ordeal - you nearly didn't even come here but I decided to hunt down a special case like you."
I try to give her a look that indicates i don't know what she's talking about.
Why can I still not see her face?
She drops me.
"My name is Samael, though I am known by many other names - I am here to welcome you to the afterlife."
'The afterlife? Oh my god EEEEMMMMIIIILLLLYYY!! NOOOOOO!!!!!' I'm still not speaking yet I feel the place shake - it feels massive - like if God kicked the whole earth in frustration.
The realisation of what just happened, the explosion and seeing... OH GOD! - it's all too much for me to handle.
Samael hits me with the back of her hand and it feels like I've been hit by an articulated lorry The world becomes steady again.
"No more of that now, this world is my masterpiece and I'll not have it torn apart by the likes of you." She sneers
Pitch black hands reach out from beneath me and pull me into the inky abyss. It feels as though I'm being ripped apart and crushed at the same time. As they drag me under I look at the vicious beauty before me with pleading eyes.
"I expected so much more" she says with heartfelt sadness before turning and sashaying away.
The juxtaposition that the last thing I might ever see is a perfectly round and pert set of buttocks almost makes me laugh - Emily... Emily I will find you if I can.

Life, or whatever this is, becomes a never-ending series of agonies with no other sensory experience - the only way i can explain it is to say its almost like my soul is being tortured and the rest of me has been disposed of.

After what feels like a century I manage to focus my consciousness on Emily - her face, her voice, her laugh - I feel like I can almost see again. The thought of her makes me stronger every day.

I'm coming my love.
​
Two Years After The Bomb...

---A PRIEST---
Its been a long time since I stopped believing in God. As far back as the seminary I would say that I was at least an agnostic - if not a full blown atheist.
My problem with Religion - Christianity in particular, as its my specialty - is that there isn't a scrap of evidence to support a single word of it. Every week people come to praise an eternal father figure that apparently doesn't care about holocausts and genocides, but they feel might care about their lottery numbers if they turn up enough Sundays.
I suppose its different if you feel that magical and wondrous things have happened to you but until now my life had been devoid of anything but probability and coincidences.
Now here I am, having a quick cigarette before I have to go back in that damned church, looking up at what seems to be a disembodied pair of men's shoes hanging in the air.

As the hours fly past, a tramp and a fat drunkard join me in stunned silence to watch the feet grow legs, the legs grow into hips and the hips quickly add a full torso.
The body is not naked and seems to be wearing a pretty snazzy grey suit.
As the neck appears, an ear splitting, deep-throated scream bursts out that sends the tramp running for cover - the drunk and I are too captivated
Is this your work... lord?
The man's head appears and he falls to the ground soundlessly. He spends a little time gasping for air before he takes a good look at his surroundings and then turns to me and the drunk.
"Where am I?"
"Earth" the drunk barks back.
"You are in Seattle my son." I add.
He looks a little too distraught - I don't think Seattle is that bad.
"Shit!" He spits out as he pulls at his wavy brown hair in exasperation.
He tries to run out of the alley but his feet don't seem to be touching the floor.
"What the hell?" he shouts at his feet - more in anger than surprise.
"Why don't you come inside with me my friend?" I ask him. He's making me rethink everything. If something like this can happen then maybe the idea of an all knowing being isn't so ridiculous.
But he ignores me and, with great difficulty, starts to make his way out of the alley.
"Do you think he was from god?" I ask aloud absent-mindedly.
"No, I didn't send him." the drunk answers

---

I'm back! it doesn't seem like a lot of time has passed but it felt like a couple of lifetimes to me. So far all I know is that I cant seem to touch anything - if I concentrate then I can make my feet hit off the ground but that seems to be the best i can manage and it is exhausting.
I've managed to make it to the nearest airport after asking a few people for directions. I have no money and i can't threaten anybody but sheer hope and desperation have gotten me this far and I'm bloody sure I'm not going to let not having a ticket stop me.

I stumble into the airport and see that the next flight to Manchester is leaving in five minutes - that doesn't leave me with too much time to think.
​I yelp as a man drags his suitcase through the back of my legs - the suitcase passes through unimpeded. It feels like the opposite of water flowing over you - as though it just passed straight through you at the points it hits you and drains out of you untarnished.
The man with the case looks back at me in shock and I raise my hand in a friendly gesture to acknowledge that the yelp was weird.
As an experiment I try to touch my hands together and they pass straight through each other.
Oh Crap.
This is not good - but at least it means that I know how I can get home.
I walk forward as nonchalantly as I can muster and I walk straight through the walls to the appropriate terminal. I don't have time to think about how weird it is, or how halfway through the walls it feels as though I'm entombed in wood and plaster.
As I emerge through the last wall a small boy with chocolate covered chops spots me and drops his chocolate bar in open-mouthed awe. The shock of being spotted makes me lose concentration on my feet and i fall through the floor and land on the airfield.
I hate falling. I gasp for air to fill my lungs and it feels right but can I really be breathing if I cant interact with anything but the floor?
I raise an unsteady leg and make my way over to my plane. I concentrate on hopping up the wheel and crawl through the front of the plane. I keep crawling until i reach the luggage and i flip onto my back and lay there in a daze.
I'm coming home.


Chapter 3

The plane touches down in merry old England and I smuggle my way onto a train back to Derby and hide out in the first-class toilets to keep out of sight.
By the time that I get back to Derby it is really dark and I haven’t got the first idea of how to start. Did Emily survive? Is my boy OK?
There is a fire that burns in my soul and Emily and my child are the coal that powered me here from oblivion.

I decide to start with our old house, so I stomp to the other side of town. On the way, I notice that the place is in a terrible state – there is graffiti, smashed windows and rubbish scattered everywhere.

People are playing loud music and any time that I see old people, parents or anyone respectable looking they are almost running at a canter and trying to keep their heads down.

When I finally reach my old home it makes we want to weep. The place looks like it has been ransacked, gutted and then ransacked again.
A light is on upstairs though, so I decide I have to try. I walk through the door-less doorway and into my hallway.
Once lined with jolly family pictures, a jaunty brown coatrack and a sign that read ‘bless this mess’ it is now a series of holes that look like they’ve been punched into the wall, and “NEED SPIRES111” scrawled onto the wall in three-foot high letters – in what looks like a mixture of bodily fluids.
As I walk toward the stairs I spot a man sitting in my living room. He’s wearing only a pair of dirty y-fronts and he is absent-mindedly watching a knife slide in and out of his arm as he stabs himself repeatedly.
I shake it out of my mind and continue up the stairs.
The upstairs landing is looks like a bomb-site in the world’s worst rehab.
I walk toward the light and realise that it’s a fire – a corpse on fire.
I panic for a second but then realise that it’s a male corpse, and as much as I should hate myself for it, I couldn’t care less.
I walk back out into the landing and stumble back as I come face to face with a woman.
At least it was a woman back when it had a single cell of fat in its body.
“wha you want?” it demands with its toothless mouth
“I’m looking for the woman who used to live here.” I ask with little hope of a response.
The toothless crone cackles at me and then stoops to cough for a full minute. From what she is wearing and guessing at her former body-shape I would guess that she was no older than twenty-five. What could have wrought this havoc on her?
“Do you know where she is?” I ask again.
“ca-boom!” the bony wench mouths quietly before cackling again and then whispering “spires”
“spires? Is that a place?”
She snaps rigid with alertness like a drug addled meerkat.
“Spires? You got spires?”
I barely have time to react before a fury like none I have ever seen takes her.
“You got my spires!”
It is then that I notice the large shard of mirror that she is holding in her right-hand. She is now gripping it so hard that blood is pouring onto my carpet.
“Gimme them now!” She wails and launches at me with her weapon. She passes through me and then slips from the surprise.
I turn just in time to see her face-plant on the burning corpse. She screams as her face begins to melt into his chest.
I shake my head and leave the shell that was once my home.

I wander in a daze for a while – where could she be if not in our house?

‘The Cemetery’
I try to punch my own brain for the thought but the hand flies through my head. We are not considering that possibility yet.
I go to the hospital for some possible answers but I’m amazed to see that it’s just a hole in the ground.
A serendipitous copy of The Metro blows in front of my feet and I realise I need to know the date.
I see with wonder that it’s been two years since I… disappeared.
Two years… my son is two years old – at least I hope to god that he is.
I need to find out about the explosion so I set out for the library. When I get there I’m not surprised to find that it’s closed. But thankfully it seems untouched by raiders and such.
I walk in through the doors to examine the records – but then realise that I can’t touch anything. It is starting to get really frustrating.
An idea hits me and I come back after finding the most coherent tramp outside to give me a hand if I can get him some liquor.
“OK Ben, I need you to find me the papers from July the sixteenth two years ago.”
The tramp must be hurting badly for booze, as he flicks through and finds the appropriate papers in good time. He starts to get belligerent after that though, so I take a few minutes out to distract the owner of the local bargain alcohol shop while Ben loads his smelly and tattered leather coat with a king’s ransom in pilfered booze and I make a hasty return to the library.
Ben has laid the articles open at optimum positions for me to read. I settle in and disseminate the facts. I can’t believe what I’m reading.
The hospital was blown up by a terrorist group, but not just our hospital – dozens of hospitals up and down the country were targeted by a group who claimed they wanted to punish the decadent west for treating our most minor scrapes at great expense while we allowed those in the third world to die of easily preventable disease.
Senseless – what bastards. Taking life does not make life more sacred.
I get to the local paper – it details victims. I don’t have to read down very far before I fall into a heap on the floor and cry for hours.
They didn’t make it.
I rise in a rage and thump the cabinet that we found all the papers in. My fists pound the cabinet and smash it to pieces. I am too angry and desperate to care until I see a face the face staring up at me from the front page of one of the national newspapers.
It is a face of malice, spite and madness. He has a huge, braided beard full of wax that frames his snarling grin. His eyes are heavily ringed with eye-shadow and he looks to me to be of half-European and half-Asian stock.
His strong white teeth look like the kind that have benefited from the best dentistry that money can buy. And his hair is in the style of a Mohican that has fallen over the left hand side of his face. It is peppered with vulgar blonde highlights.
Above the picture of this man, who sets me on edge, is a title which simply reads ‘Monster’
The paper goes on to explain that the man, who calls himself Ezekiel, is a schizophrenic who claims to be a fundamentalist for both Christianity and Islam.
It says that he was behind the hospital bombings.
It all becomes clear as I look at the shattered metal filing cabinet.
I am here to kill this man – but not before he has experienced the worst that both of his hells have to offer.