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  ‘You’ll never make it to your hundred strong if you have such ridged guide lines about who can join.’

  Chris nodded, Cameron made some sense.

  ‘Alright then.’ Chris turned around, Cameron wasn’t sure what for, but something in the pit of his stomach said it was bad.

  ‘Perhaps you could introduce them to some of the members.’ Steph spoke up, after seeing a congested look on Cameron’s face.

  ‘Yeah, I’d like to meet a few of them, before I sign up.’ Mary spoke out in agreement.

  Chris huffed, he didn’t like processes like this to be dragged on, it would make getting the one hundred harder.

  ‘Fine, we’ll go see, Booker,’ replied Chris before turning.

  ‘Not Booker, he’s always drunk, how about Benji.’ Steph interjected.

  ‘Haven’t seen Benji in days, he went off with that guy they thought they’d found where Bishop was hiding out, he’s dead I’d say.’

  ‘Benji’s dead?’ Steph spoke but held her mouth straight after.

  ‘NO Bishop, been dead for years I’d say, he shot himself in the face, I’m not one for believing in conspiracy theories.’ Explained Chris, which set off Cameron in a giggle.

  ‘I only used that forum to find people who may be in the same boat as me.’ Chris explained, there was a slight pause while Cameron stared at a poster of the grey headed man, with its stick thin body, the irony was almost radiant.

  Cam guessed conspiracy theorists didn’t believe in other people conspiracy theories’, which made some sense, if you believed everything people told you, that’s how you ended up in unsavoury political groups.

  ‘When was the last time you saw him.’ Cameron’s outburst wasn’t uncharacteristic, but to Chris it was startling.

  ‘I believe he means, if Steph things so highly of the fellow, why haven’t you reached out to contact him.

  ‘When Jesus lost some of his sheep did he chase after them or did he allow them to come back on their own.’ Chris explained, Cameron had given up on looking at each other in a way which said, this man is crazy. They both had bad heads from doing it so often.

  ‘I don’t think Jesus had mobile phones, and I think you’re missing the point here.’ Steph pointed out.

  ‘Yeah, you and the Manson’s should start a bowling team.’ Cameron joked, either Chris didn’t understand the gag or he wasn’t sure who Charles Manson was, Cameron guessed he wasn’t sure, at the age of twenty-seven, Cameron had started to think like his father. Nobody knew nothing anymore, Steph giggled, least she got it Cameron pondered to himself. Daughter or not, she was a good kid, could he call people good kids?

  ‘Right, you group,’ read cult, Cameron rose, hands on his knees, he was getting annoyed with all this waiting and messing on. He was dying and only him a Mary knew it, but he felt the second hand of his life, move with more and more edging speed.

  ‘Go?’ Mary’s eared perked up, she had no idea where they were going, neither did Cameron if he was honest.

  ‘Get on the phone, get a few of your mates, I mean members, and we’re having a party.’ There was an air of Cameron, a skill he could always turn on and off. He could suggest something, even if it was a terrible idea, Cameron could convince them otherwise.

  ‘Give me half an hour.’ Chris had given up, with very little work from Cameron.

  Cameron Bishop gave him fifteen minutes, on the dot, an old carriage clock told him that, the type with the spinning glass balls in the centre. At the end of that fifteen minutes he’d gotten up to leave, everybody just simply followed him.

  Chapter 15

  There was a glint in Chris’s eye when he saw the two fifty GT.

  ‘Day off, that’s amazing.’ Chris’s glint turned green with envy,

  ‘This is the same car Bishop had, replica?’ Chris couldn’t sense the truth with that green visor over his eyes.

  ‘Replica,’ Cameron barked, just in case Chris had the smarts to connect the dots, he didn’t.

  ‘I’m an impersonator, the car seems to help with the work.’ Lying would have to become second nature to him, and quickly. He looked over at Mary who hadn’t said much in some time, she was being shy and coy for some reason. Mary gave a small smirk without teeth, and Cameron knew, she wasn’t equipped to lie, even though her life was a lie, she just didn’t see it that way.

  ‘Just get in.’ Cameron opened his door and pulled a seat with a jolt, it came loose at a hinge and slid forward.

  Chris scurried into the back.

  ‘Maybe I should be in the front give directions.’ It was too late, he was in the back of the car, he hadn’t really noticed he was doing it, he just got in and sat down.

  Steph did a little grin, as if to say it’s okay, and got in behind Chris who seemed to struggle with placing his legs behind the chair in front. By this point, Mary had made it over to the front of the car, this was the first-time Cameron really saw her hair, it was raven black as it was in Somnus one, but now little lines of grey had speckled their way through, like a barcode. Cameron pushed the chair back which clicked like a rollercoaster and got in.

  ‘There’s a map.’ Sharp tongued, Cameron had only known this woman for days but he knew she was brilliant, her husband and creative thief crack pot, had gotten to know her a serious time longer and did nothing but cripple her, metaphorically of course.

  Mary scurried around her feet, feeling about with her hands, there was a soft crumple and she pulled out a folded map.

  It was beaten, Mary tried to unfold it, and found it had turned to confetti. Seconds later a tiny screen was pushed forward from the back seat, Steph’s miniature phone was pushed forward displaying a tiny map, which was handy being Chris and Steph couldn’t read a map.

  A grey blob, that’s all it looked like on the tiny screen, a little grey blob the size of a piece of corn, but grey. It was a bit of gristle in the red of the town, next to it a lush blue, this was obviously near the old docks of Arbeia, a under used and un-kept part of town. Although the roads looked different, they still followed the same straight veins that the romans had developed years ago.

  ‘Would you hold it steady’ this was a statement and not a question, Cameron had developed rough patches in his normally meadow esk voice.

  Celebs were never known for their relaxed demeanour and for not being demanding, when you don’t know somebody is famous, more so when you don’t know they are your idol of sorts, being so short makes you come off as a bit of a dick.

  ‘This is it.’ Chris said, as the car came to and uneven stop, his head shaking like a tambourine with the G-force the car halted at.

  It didn’t look like much. Even from this angle it was two grey blobs, although now they were more blocks of grey.

  Two shipping containers sat side by side, neither of which seemed large enough to house five people, never mind fifteen, even if they were using them to escape from a dictator or a war.

  ‘Looks like shit.’ Cameron said leaving the car, too late for Mary to elbow him. It did look like shit.

  This time Mary was the one who released the chair, allowing Chris’s spider like legs to escaped first, will a little shaking of his foot too loosen it from the chair in front. Cameron had already slammed his door and was eying up the big grey containers, they had rust and flakes of old paint where they’d rubbed on other containers, nothing seemed strange. When Cameron had gone on tour to Japan they’d hired a similar block to move their instruments, that one was red, everything in Japan was red.

  Bishop reached his arm out and placed his hand gently on the handle which opened the crate. There was a mumbling coming from inside. Within seconds Chris was stood in front of cam, blocking is movement forward.

  ‘Wait, there’s some ground rules.’ Chris loved rules, his whole family did, it came with the military background, a background which Chris emulated but failed to follow in.

  He’d failed not just one but several psychological reviews, considered unstable, and there for not able to join. Ch
ris was the kind of man you wouldn’t trust with a photo of a gun, never mind an actual gun, he did find an incredibly welcoming home on the Internet, who’d of guessed?

  Chris hadn’t actually made any rules up, nothing in writing at least. He just liked the idea of rules, he wasn’t great at creating them, nor was he great and sticking to them when they were forced upon him.

  ‘Before we enter you must where these,’ Out of nowhere he brought out two pillow cushions covers, it seemed sacks were a little more than Chris could spring for.

  ‘Not even hessian sacks?’ Mary asked, taking the sack off Chris and gently sliding it over her head, she’d done well so far. Keeping her hair neat, from tying it to letting it down, it stayed well maintained.

  They were cheap sacks, Cameron felt his own, rubbing it between his finger and thumb it had a nasty plastic quality about it, not something you’d want to sleep on really. Without care he put it on his own head, the grey of the pillow cushions lay a thick grey over the world but didn’t block it out. Two silhouettes moved around before him, the shorter of the two mouthed something, he presumed it was Steph and estimated she was mouthing the word sorry.

  Then the shadows were gone, before they were clasped by the sides, Steph had grabbed Cameron by the forearms. There was a tiny squeak from his right, which he guessed was Mary being grasped in much the same way.

  ‘Rules?’ Cameron probed, his mind inched wanting to know what rules cults had.

  ‘Do not touch your sack.’ Chris spoke as clearly and militant as he could, trying to sound like the man who claimed to be his father, who actually was his father, but had disowned him when he failed the most basic psychological test. Most people in the army were pathological, it was half their job to hide it.

  ‘Once the sack is removed to not look other members in the eye.’ These rules were well thought out, they covered the bases.

  ‘Do not, I mean, do you?’ this had turned to shit.

  ‘Want to know what love is?’ Cameron mocked, a small giggle from behind him told him Steph was still there.

  Silence fell for a few seconds like thick snow. Then there was a crash of noise followed by a long overbearing creak, Chris had opened the large metal door, then without warning a large hand pushed Cameron in the spot between his shoulder blades, he fumbled forward, step by step walking towards the large dark gap which must have been the inside of the crate.

  ‘Do you mind.’ The hand must have been pushing Mary also, she barked behind her.

  It was dark, made darker by the hoods, pulled over their faces. Then there was a click, it echoed around their heads like it was a bouncy ball.

  A low hum followed by a warming orange light filled the room as if they were placed in a freshly turned on oven. The orange grew and grew in strength, until it shone though the masks Mary and Cameron wore.

  There was a ruffling, as if thunder had past inches away from their ears, then the lightening. The lights which had been pinned around the walls of the container. It seemed as if this crate wasn’t one crate but to, welded and cut to make a huge space inside, rails and rails of Christmas lights, all in white were used to brighten up the shipping unit.

  Cameron’s eyes lowered the lighting, adjusting to its blinding gaze and dimmed the space around him till he could see what surrounded him.

  Eight people, excluding himself, Mary, Steph and Chris, all dotted around, in what he guessed was meant to be even spacing, but due to the odd shape of the container were all in small groups.

  ‘Couldn’t get everyone here on such short notice? What type of religion are you running here?’ Cameron jested, he eyed around, all the people were wearing large hoods, not robes or gowns, just hooded they’d pulled deep over their face.

  ‘Little short on supporters?’ he giggled to himself, trimming to mask his caution. Chris stepped back into line with the others, he pulled his own hood over his face.

  ‘Nice to see you.’ He smirked. Mary and Cameron just stood, still in the centre of the sort of circle. There was another odd hum. This time not coming from the lights but coming from the hoods around him.

  ‘Could you stop that now?’ Mary sounded distressed, like she’d seen all of this before. Cameron tried to move closer to Mary but had found himself stuck to the ground, the feeling of the ground coming loose as if it was quicksand ran up Cameron’s legs.

  ‘Could you put a few more lights on, maybe light a candle? Get rid of the smell.’ Cameron hid the feeling of his sinking soul.

  ‘Brother Brian.’ The hood which must have been Chris spoke. A hooded figure stood, this must have been Brian.

  ‘Hi Bri.’

  ‘Please welcome Brother and sister, sorry I didn’t actually get your name.’

  ‘Cameron,’ answered Cameron.

  ‘Shit.’

  Chapter 16

  When you do something, or say something wrong, the whole world can feel like it’s about to end. Seconds feel like minutes and minutes feel like hours, you get the idea. This is how Cameron felt, saying his name out loud to these cultists felt like claiming you were Jesus in a church.

  The droning had changed in pitch, gotten louder, something felt wrong in his head. Having somebody say that name should have silenced them.

  ‘Brother Raman Shin, welcome.’ Brother Brain said, pulling in Cameron for a hug, he was in a mild state of shock, the deep humming had obviously made it hard to hear.

  ‘I’m Mary!’ Mary yelled, over the huge din of the music which was the group.

  ‘Sister Mary.’ Brother Brian moved forward towards Mary, he was a huge mammoth of a man, at least six foot two, he tumbled forward. Like a pregnant hippo his stomach touched Mary before his arms could.

  Brian was warm, as if he had a vat of boiling hot iron in his gut.

  The humming ended suddenly, as Cameron thought it would have when he said his name.

  ‘That it? A hug?’ Cameron seemed a little disappointed. He had to admit he was a hugger, but a cult should be more difficult to join.

  ‘I expected a few more hoops to jump through.’ Cameron spoke to the spike of beard which hung from Brian’s hood, this was the only thing that gave an indication of a face.

  ‘You expected something different brother Raman?’ Chris asked stepping forward in full cult mode, he waved his arms around a little to make his speech more mystic.

  ‘Raman we’re in their gang, don’t ask any questions.’ Mary mumbled to his shoulder, she was immediately on board with Cameron’s silly name, she was simply glad they didn’t hear.

  ‘Brother Raman, what did you expect. Some fight club shit?’ Chris pulled his hood from his face and blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the light.

  ‘What’s fight club?’ asked Cameron there a mumble from the crowd then the other nine removed their hoods. Obviously not knowing what fight club was, rattled their cages.

  ‘I’m making a guess that it’s a club you fight in.’ Mary Suggested

  ‘It’s a movie.’ Brian said, he’d made his way back to the circle, Brian looked about forty, Cameron struggled to age him properly because of the huge beard he’d cultivated.

  ‘It was a book first,’ a young girl pointed out, she had a purple streak in her hair and thick framed glasses. The rest of her hair was a dirty blond which she’d tucked behind her ears.

  ‘I don’t know what kind of cult your running here. But back in my day, cults were awesome and metal, they weren’t for getting hugs. I like your container thing, that’s awesome but the cult inside is lame.’ Cameron analysed out loud.

  ‘This isn’t a cult.’ Steph spoke up, as little as she could, she had a soft voice.

  ‘This is a cult.’ Chris began humming, it was a gentle jaunty hum, the tune from some kids cartoon Cameron barely remembered.

  ‘Steph this is a cult.’ The girl with the dirty blonde hair joined in. Cameron had to raise his voice.

  Brian said sorry, well he never actually used the words, but it was in his eyes. That crystal-clear look when
somebody who is truly sorry, and is holding back the tears. Brian began to hum also, he was a little slow and silent but caught up and grew his hum to a loud roar.

  Steph looked confused, the droning noise of those around her, those she called brother and sister, didn’t help. The knowledge that everyone around her spoke nothing but lies sat on the surface of her brain. By this point all of them were humming this child’s tune. It was an unbeatable jumble of off pitched grunts.

  ‘Will you please stop humming Thomas the tank engine at me.’ Cameron screeched trying to get over the noise of the group. They just continued, although a couple of them had lost rhythm, they soon caught up again.

  ‘Steph, come here now!’ Cameron held his hand out to Steph, who’d pulled tight on the string of the hood she wore. It gathered up behind her, in a cluster at the nape of her neck.

  She looked petrified, her face all pail, her eyes moving from left to right and back again, then back to Cameron, fear had taken over her face and locked her body from moving. Then without warning or thought of her own she grasped hands with Cameron, pulling her close, he grabbed Mary by the waist and she joined him also. This is when Cameron was stopped, his daring escape falling flat.

  ‘Excuse me, where’s the exit?’ inside the crate all walls looked the same, a dull painted grey, corrugated metal hid the entrance and exit. The droning continued, it seemed relentless, as if those humming didn’t need to breath.

  ‘Stop this silliness now.’ Mary yelled. It did stop, all of them, almost at once, the thing about a group of people who joined a cult for people who thought their father was a dead rocker who was known for dealings with the fairer sex, they respected their mother.

  As their mother was the only person they could give respect to. Mary wasn’t much of a mother figure, being she never mothered anybody before, but the ability to control a crowd wasn’t only in her DNA but in her gender.

  ‘Now that is over, will you be so kind as to answer us a few questions.’ Mary barked, once in her mothering mode, she found it difficult to shake from it. Mary didn’t know if there were questions, she hoped Cameron had one or two, or this would have been a hell of a waste of time, what time they all had.