Torchwood: Exodus Code by Carole E. Barrowman, John Barrowman Page B
Authors: Carole E. Barrowman, John Barrowman
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into the rock.
The sensation was wonderful, yet Jack heard himself thinking that this was not a good wonderful. It was a bad wonderful. It was the wonderful at the end of a thrilling journey . It was the wonderful after intimacy. It was the last hurrah, the final chapter, the kiss goodbye, the beginning of the end.
Jack lifted his arm and tore it away from the wall, snapping the threads.
He heard a sob. It tasted like ginger.
Maybe this was a good thing after all. He let his arm fall to his side again. The threads slithered over his hand instantly. Jack’s body had never felt so warm, so wholly satisfied, so welcomed, so at peace.
‘Jack, move!’
Closing his eyes again, he saw himself closing his eyes again, and closing his eyes again, and closing his eyes, his mind in a fun-house mirror of its own making. He spoke out loud, he yelled, he howled, the sound of his own voice keeping him aware, forcing him to be aware that he was not ready for the end.
He was inexplicably conscious and unconscious at the same time. Self-aware, trapped in a chamber, somewhere underground, and more than a little freaked out.
‘The time of the prophesies is at hand.’
Jack glanced up. Not his voice. The opening in the top of the chamber was widening. Jack could see the full moon. Jack liked the moon. He smiled at the thought, the veins pulsing as they tightened their grip on his legs, his thighs, his cock, thousands of them now like thin threads of electricity pushing and probing through his hair, pouring out of the black rock, engulfing Jack, absorbing him. Suddenly the veins were wrapping his body, mummifying him, swarming and slithering, engulfing Jack’s shoulders, his neck, his head.
A low growl, seductive, echoed in the chamber. Jack licked his lips. He tasted mint. His hands tingled. Jack’s head was almost fully covered in silver threads, and he could see in front of himself, behind himself. The universe floating around him. He was in the stars. He was home.
‘Hey! Hey! Are you OK?’
‘Wait,’ shouted Jack. He felt hands pulling his head and shoulders from the soft rock. ‘I’m not ready.’ They were his hands.
Jack watched the silver veins retreating, screaming, into the granite.
Looking down, Jack could see a school of blue fish with bulging marble eyes and spiny scales gliding in and out of his line of sight.
The growls were louder, less seductive, angry and feral.
Jack stared at the fish, mesmerised, a memory from his childhood playing out before him like a hologram inches from his eyes. Jack was a teenager, running into the Boeshane Sea with his brother, Gray, trying to catch blue anchoa. An almost impossible feat, but if you caught one when its eyes were open then you could see your future.
Had we caught one that day? Am I still a boy and this is my future?
Jack looked down. The fish were gone, and Gray, and their past too.
The growling became a word, ‘
Fall!
’
The word pulsed from the veins shooting like electricity from the granite again, attaching to Jack’s head. A thunderous roar erupted from beneath him.
‘
Come on, Jack. We’ve got no time left.
’
The roaring was getting louder and as it did the taste in Jack’s mouth was intensifying, ginger and lemon and eucalyptus.
‘
Fall!
’
Jack stood and took a step towards the precipice, staring down at the three rings of fire, all circling in unison, chasing each other, the end of one the beginning of the other.
‘
You must fall together
,’ howled the voice, animalistic, deep, and not human. Like Jack was hearing an electrical charge, a sound wave, a force of nature.
The veins throbbed brighter and pulled tighter around Jack, even as he stood on the edge.
‘No!’
Jack tore himself from his cocoon and when he did the entire chamber began to crumble around him. Jack threw himself across the ledge as a massive rock crashed down from the wall behind him. Jack rolled from its path, but as soon as he did, the rock raised itself up on
The sensation was wonderful, yet Jack heard himself thinking that this was not a good wonderful. It was a bad wonderful. It was the wonderful at the end of a thrilling journey . It was the wonderful after intimacy. It was the last hurrah, the final chapter, the kiss goodbye, the beginning of the end.
Jack lifted his arm and tore it away from the wall, snapping the threads.
He heard a sob. It tasted like ginger.
Maybe this was a good thing after all. He let his arm fall to his side again. The threads slithered over his hand instantly. Jack’s body had never felt so warm, so wholly satisfied, so welcomed, so at peace.
‘Jack, move!’
Closing his eyes again, he saw himself closing his eyes again, and closing his eyes again, and closing his eyes, his mind in a fun-house mirror of its own making. He spoke out loud, he yelled, he howled, the sound of his own voice keeping him aware, forcing him to be aware that he was not ready for the end.
He was inexplicably conscious and unconscious at the same time. Self-aware, trapped in a chamber, somewhere underground, and more than a little freaked out.
‘The time of the prophesies is at hand.’
Jack glanced up. Not his voice. The opening in the top of the chamber was widening. Jack could see the full moon. Jack liked the moon. He smiled at the thought, the veins pulsing as they tightened their grip on his legs, his thighs, his cock, thousands of them now like thin threads of electricity pushing and probing through his hair, pouring out of the black rock, engulfing Jack, absorbing him. Suddenly the veins were wrapping his body, mummifying him, swarming and slithering, engulfing Jack’s shoulders, his neck, his head.
A low growl, seductive, echoed in the chamber. Jack licked his lips. He tasted mint. His hands tingled. Jack’s head was almost fully covered in silver threads, and he could see in front of himself, behind himself. The universe floating around him. He was in the stars. He was home.
‘Hey! Hey! Are you OK?’
‘Wait,’ shouted Jack. He felt hands pulling his head and shoulders from the soft rock. ‘I’m not ready.’ They were his hands.
Jack watched the silver veins retreating, screaming, into the granite.
Looking down, Jack could see a school of blue fish with bulging marble eyes and spiny scales gliding in and out of his line of sight.
The growls were louder, less seductive, angry and feral.
Jack stared at the fish, mesmerised, a memory from his childhood playing out before him like a hologram inches from his eyes. Jack was a teenager, running into the Boeshane Sea with his brother, Gray, trying to catch blue anchoa. An almost impossible feat, but if you caught one when its eyes were open then you could see your future.
Had we caught one that day? Am I still a boy and this is my future?
Jack looked down. The fish were gone, and Gray, and their past too.
The growling became a word, ‘
Fall!
’
The word pulsed from the veins shooting like electricity from the granite again, attaching to Jack’s head. A thunderous roar erupted from beneath him.
‘
Come on, Jack. We’ve got no time left.
’
The roaring was getting louder and as it did the taste in Jack’s mouth was intensifying, ginger and lemon and eucalyptus.
‘
Fall!
’
Jack stood and took a step towards the precipice, staring down at the three rings of fire, all circling in unison, chasing each other, the end of one the beginning of the other.
‘
You must fall together
,’ howled the voice, animalistic, deep, and not human. Like Jack was hearing an electrical charge, a sound wave, a force of nature.
The veins throbbed brighter and pulled tighter around Jack, even as he stood on the edge.
‘No!’
Jack tore himself from his cocoon and when he did the entire chamber began to crumble around him. Jack threw himself across the ledge as a massive rock crashed down from the wall behind him. Jack rolled from its path, but as soon as he did, the rock raised itself up on
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