boy.’ He said until Semilion could watch it no more. ‘You’re grandfather wanted you to believe that there was nothing but death out there, but look. See? It’s much worse than that.’
Semilion had believed him. He had never wanted to leave the comforts of Mortehoe if the world outside was nothing but roads of bones and carrion birds.
More footage, Semilion had shrank back from the projection on the wall, and although his father put his arm around him in comfort the grasp was too strong and forced him to look forward. It showed an alleyway from the vantage of a helicopter, it was full of dogs feasting on corpses in some ceramic-coloured Mediterranean town. They pulled at flesh and bone, filling their mouths and stomachs without hunger and vomiting when they could take no more. Military troops filed towards them, crouched and hesitant, before firing canisters from from squat guns, plumes of smoke arching lazily toward the grotesque feast. The canisters burst open in the alleyway, instantly consuming it in a cloudy yellow avalanche. Dark shapes could be seen writhing within the haze, and though this reel was silent Semilion could hear their desperate howls. The military advanced, filling the alley with grenades and rounds of shells.
His mother would find them and switch the projector off before screaming at his father that the reels were giving Semilion nightmares.
‘He has to know, for God’s sake.’ His father would always retaliate. ‘Your pa always told him the world was dead. But dead is safe. The world isn’t safe!’
‘These are seventy years old! This is news footage from the past. You’ve both lied to him.’
He returned to the present with a jolt as a book slid from the pile and slapped squarely on the tiled floor. He picked it up and looked morosely across the table of books. The Copper Cipher, The Robinson Codes, Astronomical Morse, The High Tide Symbols, there were scores of codes for every scenario Semilion could ever think to imagine, and the thought of wading through all of them made his morbid recollections seem almost attractive.
The Cloud Guide, for example, listed the entire range of clouds – from the low lying stratus to soring altus, each labelled with their own significance from ‘all clear’ to ‘imminent danger’. Then came assemblages, altostratus, stratocumulous, cirrostratus, and scores more, also containing their own individual meaning. Next were clouds that form only during certain times of day, in certain weather conditions, in certain localities etc. Each of these was allocated their own value, until it was possible to say almost anything by mentioning only cloud forms.
Beneath the books was the small piece of paper upon which he had scribbled Dr. Camberwell’s last message. It seemed insignificant beneath the strewn books, though Semilion kept referring to it before flicking through pages and jotting down notes.
How did Camberwell know about all these? He wondered. Did he know them off by heart? It seemed impossible, and yet he was slowly re-writing the original transmission with the aid of these books he had never heard of.
He had been reviewing the books for several hours. At first he had only been interested in the codes relating to Britain, though he soon discovered that the entire broadcast had been an encrypted message. In five hours he had managed to transcribe the following.
“ Dublin compromised. Broadcast compromised. Stranger intercepted .”
He looked at the word stranger and flipped through several pages of The Copper Cipher, before scribbling it out and replacing it with enemy. Again he ran his fingers across his head and sighed. He didn’t have time to translate the entire text himself, and yet he didn’t want this news spreading throughout the community.
‘Am I disturbing you?’ Priya said, and Semilion turned around angrily.
‘What are you doing down here?’ He stood and meant to bar her from coming any closer into the council
Semilion had believed him. He had never wanted to leave the comforts of Mortehoe if the world outside was nothing but roads of bones and carrion birds.
More footage, Semilion had shrank back from the projection on the wall, and although his father put his arm around him in comfort the grasp was too strong and forced him to look forward. It showed an alleyway from the vantage of a helicopter, it was full of dogs feasting on corpses in some ceramic-coloured Mediterranean town. They pulled at flesh and bone, filling their mouths and stomachs without hunger and vomiting when they could take no more. Military troops filed towards them, crouched and hesitant, before firing canisters from from squat guns, plumes of smoke arching lazily toward the grotesque feast. The canisters burst open in the alleyway, instantly consuming it in a cloudy yellow avalanche. Dark shapes could be seen writhing within the haze, and though this reel was silent Semilion could hear their desperate howls. The military advanced, filling the alley with grenades and rounds of shells.
His mother would find them and switch the projector off before screaming at his father that the reels were giving Semilion nightmares.
‘He has to know, for God’s sake.’ His father would always retaliate. ‘Your pa always told him the world was dead. But dead is safe. The world isn’t safe!’
‘These are seventy years old! This is news footage from the past. You’ve both lied to him.’
He returned to the present with a jolt as a book slid from the pile and slapped squarely on the tiled floor. He picked it up and looked morosely across the table of books. The Copper Cipher, The Robinson Codes, Astronomical Morse, The High Tide Symbols, there were scores of codes for every scenario Semilion could ever think to imagine, and the thought of wading through all of them made his morbid recollections seem almost attractive.
The Cloud Guide, for example, listed the entire range of clouds – from the low lying stratus to soring altus, each labelled with their own significance from ‘all clear’ to ‘imminent danger’. Then came assemblages, altostratus, stratocumulous, cirrostratus, and scores more, also containing their own individual meaning. Next were clouds that form only during certain times of day, in certain weather conditions, in certain localities etc. Each of these was allocated their own value, until it was possible to say almost anything by mentioning only cloud forms.
Beneath the books was the small piece of paper upon which he had scribbled Dr. Camberwell’s last message. It seemed insignificant beneath the strewn books, though Semilion kept referring to it before flicking through pages and jotting down notes.
How did Camberwell know about all these? He wondered. Did he know them off by heart? It seemed impossible, and yet he was slowly re-writing the original transmission with the aid of these books he had never heard of.
He had been reviewing the books for several hours. At first he had only been interested in the codes relating to Britain, though he soon discovered that the entire broadcast had been an encrypted message. In five hours he had managed to transcribe the following.
“ Dublin compromised. Broadcast compromised. Stranger intercepted .”
He looked at the word stranger and flipped through several pages of The Copper Cipher, before scribbling it out and replacing it with enemy. Again he ran his fingers across his head and sighed. He didn’t have time to translate the entire text himself, and yet he didn’t want this news spreading throughout the community.
‘Am I disturbing you?’ Priya said, and Semilion turned around angrily.
‘What are you doing down here?’ He stood and meant to bar her from coming any closer into the council
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