Joe2stories

Stories from a Dublin Scientist

Category: Fiction

The Right Stuff

Bob looked at the scrawny lump of nerves sitting on the couch in much the same way he would a piece of dog’s business on the sole of his shoe. That his daughter, Jane, had her arm tightly around this one’s did not help matters.

“So!” He asked, “You are the man..” you could taste the sarcasm in that last word, “I have heard so much about?”

The Wretch mumbled something in assent  and nervously answered more of the questions that Bob threw at him. 

“Where are you from?” 

“Berkleyville”

“Hmmm. We can’t all be from the nicer parts of the city now can we? What do your parents do?”

“My mom raised me on her own. She’s a cleaner.”

” And you made it this far despite that! Well done! What is your major?”

“I’m thinking either literature or philosophy.”

“You can’t decide? With either one you’ll end up in the same coffee shop…. So no stress there then. Sooo how long have you been sleeping with my daughter?”

At that, Jane, who had been squeezing the poor guy’s hand harder and harder at each question, shot up out of her chair, shouted “Oh God! I can’t take any more of this!” and ran from the room. Before Bob could get up, the boyfriend was out the door after her. “What did I say?” He asked himself. And set off after them.

Bob checked the kitchen, the hallway and Jane’s old room. All were empty. It was only when he went back down the stairs did he hear the retching from the back garden.

Jane, bless her soul, had a weak stomach and any amount of stress was liable to lead her vomiting up whatever she had eaten in the previous hour or two. Bob tried to figure out what could have set her off this time and realised that for all his attention on the boyfriend he hadn’t paid any attention to how Jane had taken any of his “brisk” questioning. He was going to get hell for that when the missus finds out. But first things first, his daughter needed him.

Bob shuffled through the house and came out the back door only to stop as if he had intruded on something private. There was Jane, bent over the flower beds, shivering as she had so many times and with his hands around her, carefully holding back her hair, was the new boy, in the exact same pose as he had so many times, for exam jitters and sports final stress. He was saying something softly to her, something comforting. Bob couldn’t hear, but he sure could guess.

Bob went back to the sitting room, thought for a second and made a detour to the den to grab two beers from his stash. He placed the beers carefully behind his chair and sat down in wait. When Jane and the boyfriend, Russel he thought his name was, were done outside, Jane would come in to shout at bit at him as to how he was a jerk if she had the strength and then go up to bed for a rest. That would mean Bob and the boyfriend would be alone for a while.

The twenty minute grilling hopefully would not have left any permanent scars, maybe they could work around them, back to an understanding. Bob knew he had to, for Jane’s​ sake. After all, this new one had proven himself, as far as Bob was concerned, as having the right stuff.

Traitor

He thought he was a hero as he marched off to war, marching to fight for king and country.

Everyone else thought he was one too, cheering and clapping as he went by.

He thought he was a hero as he turned the guns of the ship against the buildings of his own

city. Sure; the rebels were the ones who started the fight. Weren’t they at war? Didn’t they

know who the enemy was?

Then he came home, home to a changed land, with new myths, new heroes. They didn’t call

him hero anymore. They called him Traitor.

Embrace

It was to be a long term art project; the artist was to be long gone when it reached its full

potential. But that was the idea. It was a project for the ages.

Called “Embrace” It consisted of two figures, animatronic but moving so slowly it took years

to move appreciably, hugging. They were placed under a dripping hard-water source. Every

time the water hit the figures, a little bit of stone would be deposited until, eventually, both

figures will be encased in stone, unable to move anymore. Hidden, trapped in the stone, but

still embracing, together, forever.

 

A New Age

In the seventh reign of the Age of Blood, Marqoc the Defiler roamed freely about the Earth. He was a demon, the greatness of his power matched only by the depths of his cruelty. He destroyed, he enslaved, he consumed and no Earthly force could hope to stop him. He was master of the world, and boasted that all of mankind would stay under his iron grip for eternity. They were dark times and death and misery stalked the land. But no matter how deep the darkness, hope, the tiniest flickers of hope found its way into the hearts of men. Wise men, brave souls who risked greater torments than Earthly pain, sought the hidden secrets that sympathetic gods had left across the globe for their creation’s darkest hour. They learned the ways of unnatural forces, of the powers that bind the cosmos and that dwell within the hearts of all men, they learned the many arts that men commonly call magic and they learned it well. In time; Marqoc was beset by powerful attacks by men wielding these new powers, he was assailed by fire from archmages, struck at by magic swords forged in volcanic forges, and trapped by magic spells cast by warlocks. He was weakened by the sheer strength of the onslaught, reduced to a non-corporeal state, and so he fled, as fast as he could to the edges of the world, to the redoubt that he built high in the endless mountains but even there he was not safe. His assailants massed around them, preparing their reserves of power, readying themselves for the final blow.

But Marqoc did not give them the opportunity to strike. Summoning all his remaining strength, he wrapped himself in a shell of time, freezing himself, isolated from the rest of the world. For Marqoc, it only was the slightest instant, but for the rest of the world a thousand generations passed by. When Marqoc opened the shields of his redoubt, there was no wizards, no warlocks, no pursuers of any kind. He was safe and free to take on the world again.

Marqoc travelled the length and breadth of the world. A lot had changed; it was truly a different age from the time he had once ruled. This world was filled with wonders made by the hands of man. Great cities, rivers’ courses changed, great boxes of metal moving on their own through streets of black pitch, flying through the air and even above the air amongst the stars. But for all those wonders, Marqoc could not feel the tell-tale sign of the powers beyond nature, there was no magic in this world. For all their knowledge, the teeming masses of mankind in this new age had no defence against the demonic powers of Marqoc. He could stomp upon this world even more thoroughly than before. No one would have a chance of stopping him. He swooped down on the world and chose his first victim.

Marqoc always had a taste for the innocent and when he saw a young mother struggling with a wailing child the vile wastes of his soul lit up with the thought of impending satiation. He approached the woman, unheard, unseen, unfelt, except for a slight feeling of unease that she may have noticed had she not been so occupied. Marqoc, came up right behind the woman and with a shift through the magical dimensions entered into her mind.

Though, in his mind, it had only been mere weeks since he had last taken over the body of an innocent, he could feel the ages in real time since he last had the pleasure. He could feel the movement of her body, her breath, the sun on her skin, the hint of the carnal in the way her clothes touched her body. It was a feeling that he well remembered.

But he did not invade this woman’s body to relive old times. He was there with a purpose. He made her shake the child and look it in the eye. It stopped crying, young children have a sense for the other worldly, and just stared at her, as if probing. As they stared at each other Marqoc made the woman lift the child and with a surprising burst of strength for someone so tired, throw him out into the traffic, right into the path of an oncoming truck. He noticed with satisfaction that the child was lying on the asphalt of the road just long enough for a wave of terror to fill his mind before it was crushed into oblivion. He exited the woman, who promptly broke down screaming at the realisation of what she had done. Then; from his vantage point beneath reality, Marqoc sat back and waited.

Within a minute there was already a sizable crowd around the scene. Several of the onlookers had already seized the woman, whose cries of grief had weakened to wretched sobs and were waiting for the police to come and deal with her. There was a lot of murmuring, questions about “why?” and “what could have made her do that?” There were some tears and gasps of shock, all of which Marqoc approved of. The feeling of loss and sadness penetrated the aether, as well as a strong sense of anger. Marqoc could feel it swimming around him, could feed off the emotions. But something was missing, something odd. There was no fear.

That was not how things used to be. When Marqoc made people do the unspeakable, others knew that what had just happened had been his work. They knew that he was about and they also knew that any one of them could be next. But this world had no knowledge of Marqoc, they did not recognise his work when they saw it. Instead, as he watched, they began to rationalise what had happened, they blamed mental illness, stress, confusion caused by the noise of the traffic. Some even blamed the driver, who was still recovering from the shock of what had happened, even though he would have had no chance of reacting in time.

No one even hinted at the occult, or demons. When the police arrived, they had already made up their minds that the woman had been driven mad by something, a position that had been reinforced by her ravings that she had had no control over her actions. She was carted away and the news media who arrived not long after reported it as a tragic accident based solely in reality.

This was not what Marqoc wanted, he wanted people to think of him, and he wanted people to believe that he was there to make their lives a misery. Above all; he wanted people to fear him. This would not do.

Marqoc decided to double his efforts, but wherever he went the same problem followed him. He went to New York and made a train driver derail a subway carriage, killing dozens. The citizenry blamed excessive workload and demanded a shorter working week for drivers.

He went to India and made a infantry colonel order shelling of a Pakistani position, the resulting minor conflagration killed hundreds. In the aftermath, the governments of both countries blamed hawkish politicians and signed a peace treaty.

He entered the mind of a teenager in a Midwestern town and made him enter his school with his father’s shotgun. It was barely mentioned before something new came along to talk about.

He even infected a father of three in France and made him butcher his children in a demonic sacrifice. The French authorities reported it as the act of a deranged man and banned all heavy metal music on the radio for a year “just to be safe”.

He infected mind and mind all over the world and made them do unspeakable things but they barely made an impact in a world already filled with evil acts and hideous suffering. While he could make an impact on the local level, to individuals, there was never enough to enter the popular consciousness. It took him a while to figure it out but in the end Marqoc realised that in this age, because no one believed in magic, no one believed in him, so no one feared him. Fear, was where he got his real power. Without the fear of the people he could never regain corporeal form. He had no chance, despite the powers he had, of truly dominating the world.

He mulled on that for the better part of a week. In the end he was so upset that he made a pair of newlyweds strangle each other, which made him feel a little better until that act, like all the others he did, faded into obscurity.

With no hope of influencing an age without even the ability to appreciate the evil he could bring upon it; Marqoc decided that there was only one thing he could do. He went around the world, seeking the right kind of person, the kind of person who could change the world, if given time. In their minds he placed, not a command, not a list of instruction, but simply an idea, an idea that in the fertile soil of their thoughts could hopefully bear fruit, magic is real. They were slow to burn. Maybe an article here, a book there, the occasional modern day hermit playing with the occult in his basement, but it is such small seeds that grow into the mightiest trees.

With those seeds planted, he returned to his redoubt high in the hidden mountains, he cast his spell and again time stopped for Marqoc.

And so there he waits, frozen in an instant, waiting for magic to once again to fill the beliefs of Mankind, and when it does, Marqoc will return, to bring fear and despair. A new age where he can truly rule.

Plan of action

What we have here is an enigma gentlemen. Our target has gone and fallen off the face of the Earth. We know that he wants to go to the other side but we also know that he hasn’t got to them yet since the world has not blown up yet. So there is still time.
Whatever scruples you have, dispose of them.
We have to get him.

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Written for Grammar Ghoul Chimera 66 #17

Picture it and Write: Budget Projections

Hi there! This is my offering for this week’s picture it and write by Ermilia’s blog here. Once again, the picture is not mine it is by Juanfer Penagos, I am only using it for inspiration. Anyway, Enjoy.

Budget Projection

So what would be your lunar wish list for the next ten years?

Some more orbiters would be nice. Maybe a lander/rover too.

Are you sure you don’t want something a little more ambitious?

Like what?

Anything manned?

Well sure. I would want a whole series of manned missions. Expeditions to multiple sites, as many science objectives as we can, from the seas to the poles. Not to mention a permanent base.

Are the cosmology guys still interested in the observatory on the dark side?

You mean far side? They’d give their left nut for one. Cuts out all that interference from here.

Why don’t you ask for that?

What? You mean the observatory?

No. I mean all of it. Manned. Unmanned. Base. Everything.

Are you kidding? The cost would be immense.

Give me a figure.

Off the top of my head. 500 Billion over the ten years. And that is a conservative figure.

Are you including using the private companies as much as possible?

Not sure if it would be appropriate but I guess they could only shave five to ten billion off that figure at most. We’ll be using most of that money developing the new hardware we’re going to need.

Hmmmmmm. Fine. We’ll ask for that.

You’re mad. You’re seriously Mad. There is no way that congress will agree to that much money.

They will if you frame it right.

What do you mean?

How is the Chinese program coming along?

You know as well as I do that everything they do is under tight security.

They landed a rover on the Moon didn’t they?  

Yes.

They announced plans for another one as well didn’t they?

They did.

So it would be reasonable to assume that they have further plans for the moon, manned program, base, all that stuff?

Reasonable… But by no means certain.

Keep certainty out of this. Isn’t it reasonable?

Yes.

Well that is what you tell people then.

Why should I do that?

Think about it. You just ask for the science package what do you get? Nothing but hmmms and hawwwws about how we “Cherish Science” But all the time cutting the budget. But if you say “Oh my God! The Chinese are going to be on the moon within the decade!” What do you think we will do. They’ll barely open the purse strings for science but if you start talking about beating those godless heathens. Well, that is a completely different story. They might as well sign a blank cheque.

But. But. It feels like lying.

What are you lying about? You said it was reasonable. You said the Chinese program was very secretive. If we supercharge our program we may very well beat them. Not to mention getting all of this good science and infrastructure built. Won’t it be worth it?

I guess.

Good! You should get some of your guys to write online about the “Chinese Threat” and what it will take to beat them quickly. Make sure they clear it with the press office first though.

Ummmm. Okay.

Good! Now if you will excuse me, I have to talk to the Mars guys next, then the gas giant people. If we share the heavy lift programs we might be able to get this all done for less than a Trillion. Won’t that be a thing?

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Vengence

GET UP YOU CRETIN

Mark sucked in a giant gulp of air and started coughing. He could feel the moss against the flat of his back, its moisture seeping through the fabric of his tunic.

I SAID, GET UP.

There was an electric surge through his whole body, practically throwing him up into the air. Mark came to his feet, still disorientated.

OK! NOW THAT YOU’RE UP, WHAT DO YOU REMEMBER?

Mark was shaking all over. The bright light of the clearing hurting his eyes. His mind was fuzzy. “I’m not sure. We were after the succubus. Did we find her?”

DID WE HELL! SHE JUMPED DOWN ON YOU FROM OVER THERE

Mark turned. One of the trees, thicker than a horse’s thigh, had been snapped in too.

REACHED RIGHT INTO YOUR HEART AND SUCKED OUT YOUR SOUL

“You mean I?….”

THAT’S RIGHT BUDDY. YOU DIED. OUT COLD. GOT YOURSELF SENT TO THE UNDERWORLD.

“But I…”

I HAD TO GO IN AND GET YOU BACK. I HOPE YOU APPRECIATE THAT, THE AMOUNT OF PAPERWORK WAS INSANE. TOOK ME A GOOD HALF AN HOUR

“I don’t know what to say… Thanks.”

DON’T MENTION IT. ARE YOU GOOD TO GO?

Mark didn’t know what to say. He had been dead, out cold. He did know one thing; he was glad to have his companion, demon, spirit, whatever you wanted to call him, he could be annoying, occasionally brash, but he just came through for him. Without his companion, mark would be a goner.

I LOST YOU FOR A SECOND SONNY. ARE YOU ALRIGHT?

“Yeah! Yeah! I am fine. Do you know where she went?”

THAT’S THE SPIRIT. BACK FROM THE DEAD AND OUT FOR REVENGE. I’M GETTING GOOSEBUMPS JUST THINKING ABOUT IT. NOT EXACTLY SURE, I WAS SAVING YOUR HIDE, BUT THERE IS A PRETTY FRESH TRAIL HEADING NORTH.

“What do you think I should do now?”

LET’S TRACK THIS BITCH DOWN AND SEND HER DOWN TO THE PITS OF HELL.

Mark nodded in agreement. Sure not to be caught again he summoned all of the power his mage training could muster to surround himself with protective spells. Filled with new life, a man reborn, seeking revenge, he was ready.

COME ON KID. LET’S DO THIS.

He took his first step.

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Written for The Light and Shade Challenge for Wednesday January 7th.

Picture it and Write: All that remains

Hi there! This is my offering for this week’s picture it and write by Ermilia’s blog here. Once again the picture is not mine it is by Daimblond, I am only using it for inspiration. Anyway, enjoy.

The sheriff sat sullenly in his office, staring at the wall, as if pondering something deeply depressing. He had been there all night and was close to exhaustion. He was ready to pack it in and go home when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!”

It was Fitzgerald, his deputy. “Sheriff. Billy Wilder is at the desk. He says he found something interesting.”

The sheriff sighed. Billy was one of those crackpots who was always calling in about one conspiracy or another. He didn’t have the patience to deal with him now. “Jesus Lucy! Could you send him away until tomorrow?”

“I tried to fob him off Sheriff but he insists. Says it is for your eyes only. Sorry.”

“Fine! Tell him he only has a few minutes. I’m late for dinner.”

Fitzgerald went out and a couple of seconds later in came Billy, he was skinny and unkempt with a wild beard and head of hair that the sheriff distinctly remembered having pulled backwards through a hedge on several occasions. He had the wild eyes and excited manner of the zealot. Something had tripped his fancy and it would be a simple manner to calmly and succinctly identify whatever piece of “evidence” he came with and send him on way.

“OK” the sheriff said, with was much distain as he could manage, “what do you have this time.”

Billy removed a cloth bag from his coat and stuck his hand within it. “I was out ‘coon hunting went there was a meteor shower out over the swamp. You must have been able to see it from here. It was a little over two hours ago. It was spectacular.”

The sheriff nodded, he remembered.

“Well, with all the lights in the sky, something came all the way down and crashed into the creek. I ran over, about thirty feet to where it hit and I could see some bubbling in the water.”

“So it was a meteorite?” the sheriff asked. They could be valuable, Billy might have been requesting for him to lock it up until he could contact a buyer.

“I thought so first. But when I went into the water to see what it was, it didn’t look like any space rock I’ve seen before. It was square.”

“Square?” Asked the sheriff, suddenly interested.

“Yeah Sheriff! Square! It must have been at least four feet on each side. It had gotten pretty busted up in the fall, there was a hole on one side. I stuck my hand in and found these.” He pulled something out of the bag. The sheriff stood to get a better look. They were three ceramic rings, each about an inch and a half in diameter. There were gold flecks in the purplish color of the material. The Sheriff glazed one with his finger.

“It feels cold. Doesn’t it?” Billy asked. When the sheriff nodded he continued “It feels like metal but it looked like plastic. I have never seen anything like this before. I think it may have come down of some government satellite, or maybe the Russians or even the Chinese. Whoever sent it. I think the papers are going to want to know about it.”

The sheriff put up his arms to stop Billy. “Listen Billy, before we tell anybody anything we are going to need more information. The first thing you are going to have to do is take me out to where this thing came down. Are you sure you can find it again?”

Billy nodded “Sure Sheriff. I know that place like the back of my hand. I could find it with my eyes closed.”

“Good! You go to Lucy and get yourself a cup of coffee. I need to check something before we go.”

With Billy out of the room the sheriff took the three rings in his hands and stared at them intently. He then put them down carefully on his desk and walked to the wall. He shifted his hands with practiced ease and found the hidden latch opened the compartment hidden behind an innocuous picture. He looked in and surveyed the contents. Inside were a couple of books, some strange looking equipment and five similar rings.

The sheriff took the three rings and placed them carefully with the others. Closing the compartment he thought of the feeling of despair he felt as he saw the lights in the sky. That was now gone, Billy’s find could change everything. After years of waiting things were finally ready to fall into place.

For the sheriff knew for a fact that those rings came from far further than Russia or China, that inside each of those rings was an individual, not even remotely human, but close enough to pass unheeded on these primitive streets, and that right now in the swamp thousands of his brothers and sisters were waiting to be revived.     

As the sheriff put on his jacket he took his gun from its holster and checked it over. Billy and Fitzgerald may cause problems but they could easily be dealt with. All that mattered now was getting to the rings.

Stage two was about to begin.

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One Last Hope

Everyone cried when the world ended, when the heat went out from Sun, when millions left their homes in the rapidly freezing Mid-Latitudes for a stab at surviving on the hopefully still livable equator. Not me. I was one of the intransigent few, the die-hards to were convinced that this was just another false alarm, that nature would soon right itself and that leaving would simply open up our hard earned possessions to the looters.

We weren’t wrong. With the police and army all gone South to protect the refugees the first few weeks were a near constant assault of opportunists seeking to strip the bones of our former society. While many simply went elsewhere when they found our hamlet occupied, a deranged few thought themselves lords of their new world and that we should pay homage. We showed them a thing or two.

But the cost was high. Almost half of our little band were lost in those hectic weeks. But, in time, the snows fell ever heavier and not even the most determined looters could make it through. As soon as the roads finally closed, we found that the enemy was no longer without, but within.

With ever colder temperatures, we found that some of the homes we stayed to defend were no longer livable. We were forced to huddle together, conserving our resources to pull through. Needless to say, this did not live well with the mindset that had lead us to stay in the first place. It only took a day for tempers to start flaring up, only two weeks for temper to turn to tragedy.

For each murder, the loss was double because of not only the dead but since as a group we also banished the perpetrator, sending them off into the snow with a backpack of precious supplies. Many of them went willingly, some fought to the end and had to be dealt with.

In the end; only a dozen of the most stable of us were left and a period of calm descended. Every day we ate meagerly, tended the fires that sustained us, and prayed that God would bring Spring back to us. If he ever listened to us, we never found out. The long winter continued, month after month, year after year.

As conditions gradually worsened we lost more by attrition. In knife-edge conditions even simple mistakes can be a disaster. A cut in your heavy coat can let enough cold in to bring frostbite, which without antibiotics, leads to infection and your end. Our food was plentiful but bland, we had even located a stash of vitamins in the drugstore  to supplement the nutrition but the cold kept us ever hungry. Every empty larder, ever scavenging expedition that came back empty, told us our plight. Some couldn’t take the strain, we would hear the door open in the middle of the night and all that would remain would be a neatly folded set of clothes and a note asking to remember his or her sacrifice.

In the end, only I remain. I do not know how long it has been, I spend so long indoors that the change of day rarely effects me. I have enough food for maybe a month, if I am lucky. The body of my last friend was left in the outer room, preserved by the chill. I was considering the unthinkable, but I don’t think it will be necessary. The fuel will run out long before the food. Perhaps I will burn her, it would be fitting, warming me once again, like when we used to huddle together in life.

Perhaps not yet, there is still one last thing I want to try, one last hope to cling to. Today looks like it is going to be a clear day. I think I will go down to the river, It is as safe to walk on as, concrete now. I found something in my son’s things, a smoke bomb, bright red. On a day like this it should be seen for miles. Maybe, just maybe, someone will see it, someone who can help.

It is my last hope. After this, I have nothing. 

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Image from Anton Ginzburg’s Hyperborea series.
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Written for The Grammar Ghoul Press Writing Challenge number 10.

Camels

“Hey watch out!” Screamed Jake as he rode through the centre of the camp. He was on his latest toy, a camel, decked out in the coloured blankets and ribbons of the desert tribes who had set up camp a half mile down the valley from the university expedition.

“That’s It!” shouted Marcus, the expedition leader, “If anyone else brings back anything from the neighbours without my express permission. They will have to spoon the spoil back into the trench single-handedly.” He did a quick check over the precious equipment that was carefully laid out amongst the tents then went back to glare at the young research assistant who had the temerity to grin back at him.

“Ah! Don’t be like that.” Jake implored, “He won’t be any trouble.” he paused a second, bending over to look between the camel’s legs, “She won’t be any trouble.”

Marcus looked up to heaven, as if asking the gods of academia just why he had to put up with this. Not getting an adequate response, he sighed exasperatedly and looked back at Jake and the camel. “Fine! But you have to look after it and if it causes one problem, it and you are out of here.”

“Thanks boss!” Jake cheered, taking out a carrot he likely snatched from the kitchen and giving it to the slobbering beast, “You won’t regret this.”

Leaving the camel and the general hurl burly of the camp site behind him, Marcus walked a few score of meters to the twenty meter trench that his team had dug into the desert soil. They had spent weeks mapping the site with ground penetrating radar since the Egyptian park officials were accounting for every square meter that they were digging. So they were confident that this was the place were something interesting would show up.

So far however; nothing of interest had shown up, save for some shaped stones and tools. They were running out of money and time and Marcus was getting antsy. He wasn’t sure what he could do.

Suddenly there was a loud bellow from behind him followed by Jake shouting “Come on! Get back here!” Marcus looked back to find that the camel had run out of the camp site with Jake in hot pursuit. “Please stop!” Jake shouted brandishing a bushel of carrots in his hand. Marcus fought back the urge to laugh at Jake and instead shouted out “If it doesn’t want to stay you can’t force it! Come back here and do some work.”

Jake began to show down but then so did the camel, when stopped be started to paw at the ground with its hooves. Jake went over to grab it and looked down at what the camel was digging up. “Boss get over here!”

Marcus rushed over and looked at the depression that the camel had made, there was a figurine in it, almost intact, a very rare find, the making of the whole expedition. After all the thousands, spent on the latest technology it was the camel that did it.

Jake patted the camel’s side “Good girl” he whispered to it, “See boss! Not so useless after all!”

Marcus patted the camel too. “Jake.” He said “Those tribesmen over there. How many more camels do they have?”

This was meant to be for the Grammar Ghoul Press Challenge number 9 but I was late. Oh well!