Read Marcher: The Author's Preferred Text for Free Online Page A

bristling, red-haired man with a sunburned face the colour of brick.
    ‘Not from this Bristol,’ he said. ‘You know bloody well I don’t come from this Bristol, mate, or you wouldn’t be here.’
    ‘So how did you get here?’
    ‘Slip of course.’
    ‘These seeds, yes?’
    Charles held out one of the plastic bags. For a moment Wayne’s dull eyes smouldered like the seeds themselves. Then he shrugged.
    ‘I ain’t bothered, mate. There’s plenty more out there.’
    ‘Did you swallow one when they picked you up?’
    ‘That’d be telling, wouldn’t it?’
    ‘It would.’
    ‘Well I’m not going to.’
    ‘Okay. Fair enough. Do you mind telling me a bit more about where you come from?’
    The shifter shrugged.
    ‘The place I come from is shit. This place is just as bad. But it don’t matter. I won’t be here long. I won’t be here long at all.’
    Charles nodded. There was a certain cockiness about the man that made him pretty certain that Furnish had swallowed a seed. If so, Charles’ task was simply to collect as much information as he could while Wayne and his friend were still here. He took the standard checklist out of his briefcase and started to go through it: What was the Prime Minister’s name where Wayne came from? Was there a king or queen? Was there a Thurston Meadows there? What was currently in the news? Who was the manager of the England football team?
    The idea was to build up a sort of map of the different worlds, the gradients of difference, the routes along which the shifters moved.
    ‘None of this shit matters to me,’ Wayne said after a bit. ‘Know what I mean? None of it matters. I’m a warrior of Dunner, I am. That’s why I got this hammer on my arm. I’m a warrior of Dunner and my home is the Big Tree. And if you want me to answer any more questions, mate, I need a cup of tea, a packet of cigs and a burger.’
    ‘No problem.’
    Charles went to the door and asked the PC outside to send for the things Wayne had asked for.
    ‘Three sugars!’ Wayne Furnish called out, enjoying his power.
    ‘So how many of you are there in this Zone?’ Charles asked him. ‘Apart from you and Jacob, I mean?’
    Furnish’s face became a parody of knowingness.
    ‘Why would I tell you that? And who’s Jacob?’
    ‘Oh go on, Wayne. What have you got to lose? You told me yourself you won’t be here for long.’
    ‘I’m not the only one, and that’s all I’m saying.’
    ‘So is there one more, or two, or ten, or…’
    ‘That’s for me to know, mate, and you to find out.’
    Charles waited. Silence was powerful. Like a vacuum. And sure enough, Wayne couldn’t help himself from telling a little more.
    ‘Okay, I’ll tell you one thing,’ he said. ‘You people had better watch out because some of the others aren’t quite as nice as me, if you know what I mean.’
    Charles said nothing, knowing from past experience that it was a mistake to seem even slightly eager.
    ‘I reckon there’s people in this office here who are in for a bit of a surprise,’ Wayne eventually said. ‘Let’s just say that. A bit of a nasty surprise.’
    Charles shrugged, as if this information was of no interest to him at all.
    ‘So who was the President of America in your world, Wayne?’ he asked.
    A little scene came into his mind. It was like a memory, and it had appeared unbidden as memories often do, but wasn’t a memory. It wasn’t anything he’d ever actually done or a place he’d ever been, though he knew where it was and had seen it in the distance many times. It was a memory of standing in the dark on top of a hill. There were three other people with him and they were all standing in a row with their backs to a concrete radio mast. The mast had a single red light to warn aircraft of its presence, and something on the side of it was banging and clanging in the wind.
    ~*~
    ‘All right there Tammy?’ asked Jaz, as Tammy climbed into the car and huddled down, scowling, into her seat.
    ‘No,