Part 26 (1/2)
”Nqobile. I'm the record holder.Some c.u.n.t's going to shoot me in the head in forty nine days.”
Timothy got up. ”One hundred and one here; just like the Dalmatians. I'm going to die in a fire while trying to save another.”
”What?” Isma exclaimed.
”What's wrong?” asked the Reverend.
She spoke slowly; she was visibly trembling. ”I'm going to die in one hundred and one days as well. In a fire.”
100.
Later Timothy and Isma sat outside on a bench. Isma's hands clenched and unclenched, clenched and unclenched.
”Meeting you, it makes me feel like a puppet on strings.”
”It suddenly feels more real, doesn't it?”
She looked up at the crucifix above the doorway. ”He has a sense of humor doesn't he?”
”When did you find out you were an ED?” Timothy popped a cookie (stolen booty) into his mouth.
”Six years ago after hearing a war hero talk on television. He said to the press that he wasn't courageous; he admitted he had used a Death Machine and he knew he was going to freeze to death on a mountain. As long as he was posted in a desert, jungle, or urban warzone he felt no fear. When watching that broadcast, I realized for the first time that a forecast could be a gift. I arranged a session. I thought that if I knew how I was going to die I could stop being afraid of everything. I didn't expect to find out when when.”
”ED's a b.i.t.c.h isn't it?”
For years many had been sure the only reason no one had changed their fate was Death Machine forecasts were too vague. They were proved wrong when the first Exact Date spat out. For the first time, a man knew not only how he would die, but knew when it would happen. The first ED knew he would die in a bus crash on the 6th of March 2032. He prepared for that day. No matter what happened he would go nowhere near a bus on the 6th. He booked himself on a yacht cruise; no way could a bus crash happen while at sea. A week before his predicted death he was. .h.i.t by a car and put into a coma. On the 6th the hospital was forced to transfer him to a private clinic. En route, a bus slammed into the side of the ambulance.
”How about you, how did you find out?”
”British Airways has all prospective pilots do a compulsory forecast just in case the Death Machine spits out 'plane crash.' They told me I couldn't get the job because I was an ED and I had seven hundred and eight days left. I wish they hadn't told me. Ignorance was bliss.” Timothy reached into his pocket and retrieved another cookie. ”You want one?”
”No thanks. I'm on a diet.”
Timothy's right eyebrow rose.
”I know. I'll be dead in a hundred and one days. Why the f.u.c.k am I dieting?”
Timothy glanced at his watch. ”A hundred days now.”
”I just thought of something. You're not going to die in a plane crash. Why didn't you get the British Airways job?”
”No one would insure me because I only had two years of life left.”
”Isn't that illegal?”
”Of course it is; prejudice is just a reality.”
Isma stuck her hand into Timothy's jacket pocket, an action that struck him as surprisingly intimate. She fished out a cookie and took a tiny nibble, a bird bite. ”I was part of an Arab student a.s.sociation in Uni,” she said. ”Every week we met and complained about the way we were discriminated against and treated like we weren't real British citizens. That made it hurt all the more when they found out I was an ED and started treating me differently. Not that they called me names or anything like that. They just started tip-toeing around me.”
No one knew why exactly, but for every thousand people who used a Death Machine, it only spat out an Exact Date for two or three.
”I hate the b.l.o.o.d.y pity,” Timothy said.
”I had an abortion last year,” Isma said suddenly. ”I wouldn't have lived to see my child's first birthday.”
”I...I don't know what to say.”
”I wanted to mention it in there but the reverend...I wanted him to like me.”
”Shamus isn't a cliche. He doesn't judge.”
”I'm glad I didn't. It feels easier to just tell you. It's weird, but I feel connected to you.”
Timothy smiled humorlessly, ”Linked by fate and all that.”
”How can you be cynical about fate, knowing what you do?Isn't that proof enough?”
”I don't believe in fate, G.o.d or anything. It's all random. Sure, the Death Machine can punch a hole through time and can predict the result of the randomness. That doesn't make it any less random.”
”So there's no G.o.d, no life after death?”
”Zip.”
”How can you stand living like that?”
”Same as you, one day at a time. One hundred now, ninety-nine tomorrow.”
”Look at me,” Isma said.
He turned and their faces were only a few inches apart. ”Do you think we'll be together?”
He shrugged.
”Don't do that.” She sounded angry. ”I can tell your 'I don't care' stuff is an act.”
He almost lashed out with a ”f.u.c.k you” but it was harder to do so while staring into her eyes. It was too dark to see their colour. ”I don't want to die alone.”
”Me neither.”