Authors: Wayne Andy; Simmons Tony; Remic Neal; Ballantyne Stan; Asher Colin; Nicholls Steven; Harvey Gary; Savile Adrian; McMahon Guy N.; Tchaikovsky Smith

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Vivisepulture (46 page)

He thought he was probably close enough to Jenny but at the same time didn’t want to risk dragging the kid on his other side along as well, so when he lunged he did so directly at Jenny…

…And he was lying on his back. Something constricted his throat. He wanted to lift a hand to find out what but couldn’t; in fact, he couldn’t move anything. He was tied down; his wrists, arms, midriff, legs, ankles and throat were all tightly secured. Even his head was clamped in place. Apart from the restraints, he was stark naked.
What the hell is going on here?

He tried to move a leg but was rewarded with nothing more than a slight squirm.
Christ!
How was he supposed to make a sudden movement now?

He felt panic stirring in the depths of his bowels. He’d been in scrapes before, but had always been able to jump to somewhere else when the going got really tough. Would the twitch of a finger be enough? He already knew the answer to that one: no.

“Ah, so you’re avake?” said the voice of a woman who had clearly grown up watching too many old Marlene Dietrich movies.

By rolling his eyes to the side, he was able to see… Jenny! But a Jenny unlike any he’d ever encountered before.

She was dressed in black leather, complete with spike-studded collar, her hair braided into a ponytail, lips painted a bright red, and a half-smoked cigarette held elegantly between fingers, nails as scarlet as her lips.
Jenny smoked?
She did here, evidently.

He couldn’t decide whether she looked comical, scary, or hot, and concluded that she was probably a bit of all three.

“Jenny…”

“Silence!”

In a creditable display of athleticism, she lifted a leg and slammed a stiletto-heel down onto the couch a fraction away from his naked thigh. Black leather boots and fishnet stockings, he noted fleetingly. Then the leg was gone.

“Now, let’s see how much pain you really enjoy…”

She took a long drag from the cigarette, its tip glowing vividly in the subdued light. Smoke leaked from her nostrils as she brought the cigarette down towards him, towards his waist, towards…

She paused and favoured him with a malicious smile.

“Jenny, don’t, please.”

“I said silence!” With that, she stabbed the smouldering tip of the cigarette onto his exposed penis.

Declan screamed, and presumably must have jerked
something
, because…

…They were a couple on the deck of an ocean liner, laughing as they watched dolphins frolic in the ship’s bow wave…

…shovelling thick snow from the driveway in order to get the car out…

…working in a charity shop, not quite yet octogenarians but both well on the way…

…new recruits sitting beside one another at a rousing induction lecture…

…working beside one another on a factory’s production line…

…queuing in a sandwich bar to buy lunch – Jenny was immediately in front of him, with no one behind. He jumped straight away, before anyone could come to stand against his back and risk getting dragged along…

…at the movies watching a sci-fi flick Declan didn’t recognise. Slick, hi-tech effects and a gorgeous heroine he’d never seen before. They hung around for a while in this reality – he was enjoying the film too much.

Finally, after several more small hops and a narrowing of discrepancies which required ever smaller refinements, they were once again two colleagues walking to work.

“So, what do you reckon about Eddie’s leaving do on Friday?” Jenny asked.

“Dunno, hadn’t really thought about it. You?”

“The same, I suppose. It might be fun.”

“You reckon?”

While they talked, Declan was surreptitiously looking around, checking for anything anomalous – their clothing, the shops they passed, the type of cars on the road… It all looked normal, but the devil was in the details. Not that he would have done anything about it even had he spotted something out of place. There came a point where the required adjustments were too delicate to justify the effort, where he’d invariably make things worse by trying to effect a correction. ‘Near as dammit is near enough’ had become his personal motto.

Over the years, Declan had learnt to roll with the punches, to be adaptable. He’d gained a dog once, on returning to a reality that seemed identical to the one he’d left in every other regard – a two-year old golden Labrador called Bella. He’d never considered getting a dog before, but he soon adjusted to having one and came to love that great doe-eyed beast in the three years until she disappeared during another unpredictable shift sequence.

His ability had taken some getting used to. The first time he jumped it had scared him witless, and it took him an age to find his way back. He sometimes wondered how many others could do what he did but had never returned from that first traumatic trip. As far as he knew, he was the only one that had come home again. Science finally caught up with the ability, at any rate. When he first started jumping, alternative realities had been the province of outlandish fiction, but now physicists spoke of membrane theory and different branes.

Of course, they had no idea, not really. According to the scientists, if movement between different branes – different realities – ever became possible, it would require a tremendous amount of energy. Like hell. All it took was a flick of his wrist.

The thought reminded him vividly of cigarettes and being tied down so that he
couldn’t
flick his wrist. His genitals in this reality might not carry the scars but his memory still did, and it was all he could do to stop himself from walking bandy-legged.

Declan began to relax. As far as he could see, this was the exact same reality he’d woken up in that morning. None of which ruled out the possibility of there being the odd discrepancy, but he was confident he could take any such minor anomalies in his stride.

Jenny followed him in as they headed for their respective offices. Same carpet, same walls, same windows, same old faces – yup, it was all looking good.

The same office junior came scurrying towards him as well. Now here was one detail he wouldn’t have minded changing. Oh, Joshua tried his best, no question, but the lad’s nerves and his own inherent clumsiness caused mishaps to follow him around like a malignant shadow.

“Hello, Mr Worthington,” Joshua said, ever keen to make a good impression.

“Morning, Josh,” Declan acknowledged.

“I hope you and Mrs Worthington had a good walk in today.”

Mrs Worthington? What the hell?

“I’ll see you at lunch, dear,” Jenny said, leaning forward to place a slightly tacky lipstick-fresh kiss on his cheek.

Declan stood stock still, not making any sudden movements and not knowing what to say. He stared after Jenny as she continued on towards her department.

A new dog was one thing, but this…?
Shit.

vivisepulture ii...

coming soon

Anarchy Books release its first magazine publication - December 2011.

ULTIMATE ADVENTURE MAGAZINE is a FREE DOWNLOAD

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The main aim of ULTIMATE ADVENTURE MAGAZINE is to explore and celebrate the

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Published in digital format by ANARCHY BOOKS 2011

© Neal Asher, Tony Ballantyne, Eric Brown, Richard Ford, Ian Graham, Lee Harris, Colin Harvey, Vincent Holland-Keen, James Lovegrove, Gary McMahon, Stan Nicholls, Andy Remic, Jordan Reyne, Ian Sales, Steven Savile, Wayne Simmons, Guy N. Smith, Adrian Czajkowski, Jeffrey Thomas, Danie Ware, Ian Watson, Ian Whates, all 2011.

Each author asserts the moral right to be

identified as the author of his or her own work.

A catalogue record for this book is available

from the British Library.

Mobi ISBN: 978-1-908328-20-5

ePUB ISBN: 978-1-908328-21-2

PDF ISBN: 978-1-908328-22-9

ARTWORK by Vincent Chong.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, now or yet to be invented, without the prior permission of the publishers.

This novel is wholly a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed herein are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, and to events or places, is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Vivisepulture

Dedication

INTRODUCTION by ANDY REMIC

PLASTIPAKTM LIMITED by NEAL ASHER

PRETTY TEETH by TONY BALLANTYNE

BUKOWSKI ON MARS, WITH BEER by ERIC BROWN

THE EVISCERATORS by RICHARD FORD

ROTTEN CUPID by IAN GRAHAM

YOU ALWAYS REMEMBER YOUR FIRST by LEE HARRIS

TORTURER’S MOON by COLIN HARVEY

CAUGHT IN THE SHADOW by VINCENT HOLLAND-KEEN