To Be Human

To Be Human

Jonathan Walker

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Jonathan Walker

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is dedicated to my family, most especially of all John and Julie Walker, my parents, Stefan and Richard, my brothers, for were it not for them I would not be where I am today, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.

And to all my friends, whom I feel lucky to have bumped in to on a planet of over 6 billion people, you have all had an amazing effect on my life, and I am honoured to call you friends.

To Woei-Xian and Ruth you will always be remembered for giving me the inspiration to keep going.

To Katie, thank you for taking the time to read my work inspire me to keep going. It is because of you that this work is now complete.

‘Mankind’s greatest tool is the imagination’

You see things; and you say, Why? But I dream things that never were; and I say Why not?

‘Back to Methuselah, part 1, act 1’ by George Bernard Shaw

Man's cleverness is almost indefinite, and stretches like an elastic band, but human nature is like an iron ring. You can go round and round it, you can polish it highly, you can even flatten it a little on one side, whereby you will make it bulge out the other, but you will NEVER, while the world endures and man is man, increase its total circumference.

‘Allan Quatermain’ by H. R. Haggard

BOOK 1

TO SEE THE WORLD IN A GRAIN OF SAND...

Prologue

What do you see when you look up at the stars?

A young girl and boy lay atop a grassy knoll, hand in hand, their fingers entwined. There was no other sound save for the gentle breeze rustling the leaves of a small tree. Far below the grassy knoll, the lights of the town twinkled like the stars above. The night sky was velvety black and away from the town the girl and boy could see the Milky Way and the billions of stars stretched across the vastness of space. The young boy squeezed the girls hand a bit tighter. The young girl squeezed back.

I don’t know replied the boy.

Yes you do, think

The boy glanced over to the girl, and she stared back. Her blue eyes glowed with starlight, with life, and they seemed to shift from blue to green and back again. The boy could not help but smile.

The boy, who clung to that young girl’s hand staring into stars that were so close to home, did not realise that a year from that date he would be stood at the young girl’s funeral. A light drizzle of rain would be coming down from the heavens. A wooden oak coffin slowly lowered into the ground.

As if from some far off place he would faintly hear the solemn voice of a priest saying, Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...

The boy would watch it all, his tears melding with the rain, and as his heart broke he would hear her voice from that long time ago.

What do you see when you look up at the stars?

***

The snow-capped mountains of Norway flew by below. Stars twinkled overhead, millions visible against the clear night sky. The Aurora Borealis shimmered like a thin veil between the mountains and the stars. Travelling down the craggy mountain side as if riding a rollercoaster, and over a stringent forest covered in a white blanket. A few birds twitted and an owl hooted, but visible signs of life could not be seen. The forest gave way to a snowy plain and a slow flowing river. It went on for miles and miles. Villages and icy roads swept past. Still, no living creature stirred.

The city of Oslo grew closer and closer, fire and smoke was drifting up from the ruins. Nearer and nearer, screams and shouts and gunshots ripped the air asunder. Through the shattered streets and past the smoking buildings, what looked like black smoke whisked through the city on the heels of the fleeing survivors. Up close the smoke took shape, creatures from the stuff of nightmares pounded down the streets. Some took the shape of werewolves and vampires, ghouls and goblins. Others became dolls, scurrying faster than cheetahs, over and under the debris, malevolence seeping from their eyes. Some even took the shape of dogs, foaming at their mouths. They kept changing shape, never staying the same, playing on the fears of the human’s running for their lives.

As the city drew away, the screams of the human’s grew dim and eventually fell silent. A steep side of a mountain drew close. A stream trickled down it, the sound soothing to the mind. A small tree grew next to it, thriving on the water and the fresh air. Close by stood a woman, her brunette hair ruffled in the breeze, and her right hand held a man’s who stood facing her, his dark brown eyes staring in to hers. They had been deep in a conversation when a white light seemed to emanate from the man’s left hand. The man whispered a few words to the lady and the light begun to engulf his body.

See you in a few hours, the woman cried, still holding his hand

The man smiled sadly for the woman knew not that he would be less than a memory.

The white light flashed and the world fell into darkness.

Chapter 1

7:30 a.m. Time to get up. The alarm-radio was playing Louis Armstrong’s ‘What a Wonderful World’. Sunlight poured in through the drawn beige curtains, too thin to be doing its job properly. A boy blinked, ignoring the headache he usually got from waking up because of the sunlight. He let out a loud yawn and stretched.

Geez, I hate school, he thought, getting out of bed at a snail’s pace.

Max! Get up! Your toast will be ready in a minute! the boy’s mother shouted from downstairs.

Right, Max managed to call back, grumbling, he slunk off to the bathroom.

Downstairs in the kitchen, his mum was preparing breakfast for not only Max, but his two brothers, Christian and Salvatore, fifteen and thirteen years old respectively. Max was the eldest, seventeen years old, standing at what he thought was an impressive six-Foot two-inches.

Max went about his same old regular routine in the bathroom, finishing with a quick check in the mirror and left in search of breakfast. He stumbled down the stairs, dragging his tired legs behind him. Each step felt like it required too much energy to conquer. He sniffed the air. The scent of toast wafted in to the hallway from the kitchen.

His mother was at the kitchen counter, pouring milk in to bowels holding his brother’s morning breakfast cereal. Upon hearing her son enter, she greeted Max with a smile, so rare to see from people in the morning.

Morning honey, there you are, said his mum, Isabella Alfonso, holding out a slice of toast on a plate. Max grunted his thanks as he usually did in the morning. Isabella Alfonso, like her husband, was Italian and the reason behind Max’s dark hair and Mediterranean complexion. She was on the short side, which was one aspect Max was grateful he didn’t inherit. After Max took the plate of toast from her free hand, Isabella headed back to the kitchen to get his brother’s their breakfast. Isabella Alfonso was an age-old household wife. She had originally graduated from university and worked several years as an IT Consultant before meeting and marrying Max’s father. Max always thought of her as the most wonderful mum in the world, running around taking care of him, his brothers and his dad whilst making sure the house was always in tip-top shape.

Max wandered into the living room and plonked himself down on the free two-seater sofa. His father sat across from him in his old armchair, sipping at his morning coffee.

Good morning, son, Giovanni Alfonso greeted him, his eyes fixed on the television which was currently displaying the BBC news.

Mornin’, Max muttered, chewing on his toast.

Long day ahead?

Uh-huh.

Not very talkative are you, said his dad, chuckling.

Not in the morning anyway, Max said, Too tired.

His dad shook his head, a smile on his face, and stood up to leave.

Here, Giovanni said, handing Max the remote, You can watch what you want, I’m done. Have to go get ready to send you three to school. All I am is a bloody chauffeur to you lot these days.

Thanks, Max mumbled through a mouthful of toast.

Max enjoyed watching the news. He was always fascinated by the idea that no matter what he was doing at that point in time, someone, somewhere else in the world was doing something completely different, experiencing things that Max would probably never get to experience. Watching the news Max was also glad that he sometimes never had to experience any of what he saw. The news was reeling off one story after another, each spinning a more woeful and terrible tale than the last.

Someone watching this would think that the world was a mess, thought Max, and they’d be right. Hmm, and people wonder why no extra-terrestrial life has contacted us, I mean they’d take one look at the way we live and turn in the other direction.

What annoyed Max most of all, whilst watching the news, was the way religion seemed to be playing a major part in most of the bad press. Max wasn’t religious and his dad may as well have been an atheist. Yet Max could appreciate that religion gave people hope, gave them a sense of purpose, that there was a point of trudging to work every day or sacrificing their lives. No, the problem Max found was that given the billions of star systems overhead and the billions of planets around those and the likelihood that some of them were populated, if most of the confusion is over which religion is the right religion on Earth, what happens if one of those other species had a totally different belief system from the next? At which point Max usually chuckled to himself at the absurdity of it all.

Ain’t life on Earth grand?, he thought as he finished off his toast, turned off the telly and hurried to get ready for school.

Max hated school, what kid didn’t? But lately it’d been getting a lot worse. The work needed for A-Levels was piling ever higher the closer the summer holidays drew near. He never had time to go out with friends; usually he was piled under with homework. Sometimes he managed to catch the odd glimpse of something on television and if it wasn’t for that he would swear he’d lose his mind.

His parents were always telling him that he should be revising. Max kept arguing that he was doing as much as possible. As great as he thought his mum was, Isabella was always remarking that she expected top grades from him. Max never made that promise; only ever promising that he would try his best. If there was ever anything Maxwell Alfonso was good at, it was keeping his promises.

Max looked out the classroom window. It was a warm day at Whitby Community College. The radiators had broken and were pumping out heat, so the windows were open. He could see the clear, blue sky and not a single cloud. Sometimes Max would look up and watch the odd seagull or bird fly by and wish that he was up there, flying, the cool summer breeze in his face, laughing at all those trapped on the ground. How he wished he could fly, the ultimate form of freedom.

With regret he turned his attention back to the classroom. You really realise how prison-like school feels after looking outside, thought Max, I wonder if it’s more cruel having windows than none at all.

Right, so who can tell me the attitude’s and values of The Scarlet Letter? asked his teacher, Ms. Medina.

Several hands were raised and Ms. Medina chose the lad at the back of the room.

Well you see Miss…

Max sat and listened to his classmate reel off a whole list of attitudes and values that he had garnered from the book. Of course the whole class knew them, this being a revision session a couple of weeks before the exams. Max himself knew the answer, but didn’t put his hand up. He rarely did. Max wished he wasn’t as shy and as quiet as he was. He knew he was quite smart and wished he just had the confidence to back it up. What bothered Max most of all was the times when another pupil answered a question to which Max knew the answer and could have answered had he raised his arm. But he remained silent, watching and listening as his classmates gave out answer after answer.

When the school-bell finally rang for lunchtime, Max was glad to be able to get out of the classroom - and English was his favourite subject. Max walked through the bustling corridors of the school, jostling to get past the student in front of him. He could feel his stomach growling away at him, demanding to be fed. He just hoped that no-one else could hear it. Max finally made his way out of the corridor and through the doors leading to the sixth-form common room. The room was full of people, some he knew, others he didn’t. Max was a shy and quiet guy, but he did his best to talk to people around him, especially if it was just a one-to-one encounter as he hated uncomfortable silences.

The funny thing was Max was never like this at home. There he was always bubbly, charming, completely over-the-top, a side of him that Max sometimes wished he could express in school. Now and again he found that that side of him would break through the surface, but for whatever reason it usually remained suppressed.

Finally he spotted someone he did know and talked to occasionally.

Hey Don, greeted Max with a smile.

You all right, mate?

Yeah I’m good, you?

Not bad, but god History was boring. I have no idea why I ever took up that subject I keep falling asleep in class, laughed Don, If it wasn’t for Sebastian I’d never get through it.

Well I’ve got it later this afternoon, grumbled Max.

Don chuckled and slung his backpack beside the pile of everyone else’s that was building up in the corner of the room.

So where’s Anthony? Don asked.

No idea, not seen him yet, said Max.

Max had known Donald for the last four years. He was the first friend Max had made since his family moved to Whitby from Italy. It had taken Max a long time to get to know anybody in such a close knit school community, but was glad when Don introduced himself. Donald Davidson was a rather short fellow standing at least a Foot or so lower than Max. He was good-looking, as far as Max could tell, all the ladies seemed to love him. Donald was also the athletic type, in to football and also in to girls. He was good-hearted and loved a laugh. Although sometimes Max saw a darker side to him. If you got on the wrong side of Don it could get nasty. He also had a bad habit of smoking. Donald Davidson was what one might call a proper ‘lad’.

Don finally spotted Anthony coming through the common-room doors, who greeted them both with a big grin on his face.

All right lads, waiting for me? Anthony asked.

Ant-man we’re always waiting for you, replied Don.

Don, I’ve told you since we were kids to stop calling me that, said an exasperated Anthony, dumping his bag alongside everyone else’s, Ant-man not only sounds lame, but is quite possibly a terrible name for a superhero

I’m only messing.

Ah ha ha, laughed Ant, sarcastically.

Before Don could defend himself Ant had launched over to Don and ruffled his brown hair

Ge’off, yelled Don, stumbling backwards.

Max and Ant laughed as Donald vainly sorted his hair out. Of course, Anthony was much the same. Max had long ago realised it seemed to be a growing affliction amongst men, they didn’t want people touching their hair in case it got out of shape. Every strand of hair had to be in its place, less a lady think you looked like a mess and were unfashionable. Max didn’t particularly like this sort of attitude, reflected in the way he kept his long dark hair.

Anthony Hendrikson was similar to Donald in many ways, which probably explained why they got along so well. They had been friends since they were ten-years old. Anthony was an only child, whose parents travelled on business often. Donald was like a brother to him. The only difference between the two was that Don enjoyed football whereas Anthony loathed it. Ant had staggeringly bright, blond hair and deep blue eyes. The girls were always fawning over him but Ant was spoken for. His girlfriend, Emily Watson, was a beautiful brunette. She was confident and well-spoken. Secretly, Max held a deep affection for her. He had never met another woman like her in a very long time. Emily Watson, reminded Max so much of someone very dear to his heart.

After Don had finally got his hair back in to the style he wanted, the three of them set off to grab some lunch from town. By now Max’s stomach was growling so loudly it felt like it was eating itself.

Ant and Don walked ahead of him as they usually did. Maybe it was a confidence issue, Max wasn’t sure. Sometimes he’d try and walk side by side with them but most of the time he walked behind. It was the same when they were talking. It was a rarity for Max to ever start a conversation, often only throwing his two cents in and letting Ant and Don talk.

The two of them were always chatting about cars, girls, music, anything and everything. It was only ever on the subject of film’s or game’s that Max decided to join in. His brother’s often called him a geek, not like they could talk. Christiano and Salvatore played as many games as he did and watched the same films he did.

It’s not my fault that I seem to be able to remember stuff about films or games, thought Max, and so what if I take such an interest in this geeky stuff. The whole world is being taking over by geeks anyway. You could be a sports geek, car geek…there’s loads of types.

And you’ve just made yourself sadder by trying to reason. Smart, Max, real smart…

Shut up.

Oi Max! shouted Ant.

Max snapped out of his trance.

They were standing before a fish and chip shop, the smell of battered fish wafting out in to the street. Don was standing by the door a cigarette in one hand, the smoke, thankfully, blowing downwind and away from Max. Ant was standing in the doorway of the shop waiting for Max to reply.

Yeah? asked Max.

Finally, bloody hell, what do you want from the chippy?

Uh, just a portion of chips with gravy

Right, same as Don then, said Ant, and disappeared in to the shop.

You all right Max? asked Don, tossing his cigarette to the ground before stubbing it out with his foot.

Yeah I’m fine, replied Max, You know you shouldn’t smoke those.

Yeah, yeah so you keep telling me, said Don, waving away the remark.

I can smell it on you, you know. It doesn’t smell good.

Max guessed at that point Donald had stopped listening as he was busying himself with a gum wrapper. Max took the hint and decided to shut up about Don’s smoking habit. Max leant himself up against the wall, content to watch the locals and tourists walk by. He found he usually did that, even sat in cafes Max would stare out the window watching the people and the world go by.

He found it fascinating watching all this life. Each person that passed was unique, each one heading somewhere completely different from the other. It was a shame you’d never really get to know most of them. A lot of encounters you do make tend to be completely random.

Here you go, Max, said Ant, appearing with a portion of chips and gravy.

Thanks man, I’m starving, said Max, taking the chips from Ant greedily.

Yeah, I know. I could hear your stomach rumbling from inside the chippy, laughed Ant, handing Don his portion, before disappearing and reappearing with his own.

Come on then, said Don, through a mouthful of chips.

They walked steadily, Don and Ant chatting over the Bugatti Veron and the Aston Martin DBS. Max listened intently, eating his chips and making sure not to walk in to anyone as they headed down the street.

Max had no idea where they were going, but he wasn’t too bothered. The sun was shining overhead, the seagulls were only beginning to amass, and there was a slight breeze in the air.

Whitby wasn’t busy yet, the usual seasonal influx of tourists had only just started. It would be crowded in a couple of weeks. At which point the locals tended to disappear. Max’s parents themselves hated that time of year, preferring not to venture in to town when the tourist’s arrived.

They walked past Whitby’s famous swing-bridge, which had opened to let several boats out of the harbour. People lined up by the side, watching the boats sail past, some waiting with fascination for the bridge to swing shut. Max smiled, you could always tell the locals from the tourists. The tourists always crowded around with cameras to watch with fascination, whilst the locals stood impatiently waiting to cross or just ignored it completely.

What do you reckon, Max? This idiot here thinks the Aston pales in comparison to the Bugatti, said Don, as they walked towards the west pier.

Have you never watched Top Gear? exclaimed Ant, The Bugatti is clearly the superior car! It beat a plane from France to England, hands down.

Yeah, but Ant, the Aston is Bond’s car. I mean you just have to look at it and it oozes class.

Well, what do you think? Ant asked of Max, tossing his remaining chips in to a litter-bin.

Before Max got a chance to answer there came a cry from up ahead.

Ant! shouted a lady from across the street.

Ant looked around for the source of the voice.

Over there, Don pointed, It’s Emily. Oh, and Sarah

Emily waved them over. Her beautiful smile accompanied the wave. Her dark brunette hair was being blown by the breeze, and along with her clear blue eyes, it made her look angelic, at least to Anthony – and Max, who felt his heart skip a