The Big Game

The Big Game

  By Ian Hillbeck

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  PUBLISHED BY:

  Copyright © 2012 by Ian Hillbeck

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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  The Big Game

  Jerry and Mal were best friends. They’d been best friends as long as each could remember. Their Mum’s had met in the delivery room and people who knew them said they were the nearest thing to twins you could get without being twins. It therefore wasn’t surprising that when Jerry arrived to call for Mal that morning, Mal was already there putting his jacket on at the front door, as if he could sense Jerry’s approach.

  As usual Jerry was carrying his old battered leather football under his arm. They had both received an identical ball for their tenth birthday, which they had celebrated together as they always did. They were both keen football fans but to the amazement of all who knew them, they supported different teams. After a few years of regular use Jerry’s football bore all the scares of the playground. Mal’s football on the other hand was still pristine and had pride of place on a shelf in his bedroom. It bore the signatures of United’s cup winning team that same year and it had never been kicked.

  Jerry and Mal lived on opposite sides of the same town. Where Jerry lived, everyone including his Dad followed “City”. Mal would go and watch “United” play with his uncle Dave. This Saturday was going to be one of those special days that the young men always looked forward to. A derby match at United’s ground. The two would sit together in the neutrals stand and enjoy their friendly rivalry. The town was alive with excitement and anticipation during the run up to the big game and Jerry and Mal had arranged to meet for a kick-about before the big game.

  They were just heading off when Mal’s Mum came to the door. “Don’t forget to come back for some lunch before the game boys”, she called after them. “We won’t Auntie Sheila”, Jerry replied. The boys always referred to each others parents as Aunt and Uncle even though they were technically just friends, but the bond between the two boys was so strong it had brought the two families together as tightly as any natural bond could.

  The boys wandered onto the “pitch” and began to stab at the ground with the toe of their trainers. The early autumn air was crisp and the ground was firm underfoot but would easily take a stud. With the sun shining brightly the conditions would be ideal for the game that afternoon.

  The boys “pitch” was the only level area of grass for miles. It was bordered on two sides by Mal’s estate, while a large shopping and leisure complex spread out from the northern edge, which included United’s stadium. The best feature of the area was what the local kids referred to as “The Wastelands”, a vast area of scrubland and trees stretching way out to the East. It had once been a hive of industry and mining but all this had gone long before the boy’s were born. The area remained undeveloped because of subsidence from the mining and over the years the area had been reclaimed by nature. It was now protected as a wildlife reserve with paths and trails that you could follow for miles and hardly see a soul on your travels.

  A breeze blew across the wastelands carrying nothing but the scent of grass and the sound of birdsong, cooling the boys as they lobbed the football back and forth. Their banter was flying just as quickly as the ball. “We’re gonna stuff your lot today” said Mal as he lobbed the ball high. “No way, we beat you at ours and we’ll beat you again”, retorted Jerry as he headed the ball back. “That donkey you call a striker got lucky last time. You won’t be so lucky again”, shouted Mal volleying the ball back to towards his friend, forcing him to stretch out a hand to prevent the ball heading towards the road and into the traffic streaming in and out of the complex.

  This is how the morning continued. No one really noticing the boys engrossed in their game, and they were certainly unaware of anything else around them. They didn’t notice the perfectly triangular shaped shadow, which past over them travelling against the direction of the breeze. They didn’t notice the faint whine, which had replaced the sound of birdsong. The birds had noticed it though, and had anyone been listening, they would have also noticed the Wastelands had fallen deathly silent and still.

  Creatures which live close to nature have a fine sense of danger. The wildlife that lives among the wastelands is no different. Birds had taken to the sky. Rabbits that were normally teeming over the area were all huddled safely in their burrows and the fox which normally pursued them took to the nearby back alleys to scavenge away from the area. Even the insects had either taken to their wings or hidden themselves in the undergrowth. The only movement, the only sound on the wastelands was the breeze as it gently found its way through the trees and scrub.

  Mal picked up the ball and casually tossed it back towards Jerry. “C’mon”, he said. “Let’s take a breather” and headed off towards a bench at the far end of the pitch overlooking the nature reserve. Jerry followed and sank onto the bench beside his friend. There was an old information board nearby which had once displayed a map of the wastelands and pictures of the wildlife that awaited any intrepid explorer. Nowadays it just read “Utd 4 eva” written in blue spray paint. Although you could just make out the head of a Lapwing peeking out from behind the “U”.

  For the first time since they had arrived, the boys fell silent and even though the traffic behind them was still within earshot, the silence from the wastelands hit them. “Something feels weird”, said Jerry. “You’re weird”, said his friend with a grin. “No really”, insisted Jerry sitting up, “listen!” They listened for a while until Mal broke the silence, “I can’t hear anything”, said Mal. “Exactly!” said Jerry. As if on cue there was an eruption of smoke and dust way off in the distance on the far side of the wastelands. A few seconds later a faint boom was more felt than heard by the boys as they watched the distant dust plume already settling back to earth. Even the breeze had now deserted the wastelands.

  “What do you think that was?” asked Mal, “Do you think it could be a plane crash?” asked Jerry, simultaneously.

  “Perhaps we should call someone”, Jerry suggested, reaching for his mobile phone. “Hang on”, Mal said grabbing his wrist. “Remember that time we reported that bloke breaking in and the police turned up. That window cleaner was well pissed off. Never mind the plods. Let’s go see what it is first, we can take the bike.”

  The two boys ran back to Mal’s house and into the garage. They each grabbed a helmet and leapt onto Mal’s bike. It wasn’t really built for two and the rear springs sank so low his “L” plate nearly touched the road as they sped off back towards the wastelands.

  Jerry gripped Mal’s belt as the bike bounced over the undulating ground as they followed one of the trails which led deep into the wastelands. Bikes were specifically banned from the paths but there was rarely anyone around to enforce such a rule and this could be an emergency. Neither of them had ever been all the way to the far side of the reserve and occasionally they would stop atop one of the many mounds to get their bearings and agree the best path to take. There was no sign of any smoke and the dust plume had settled so the urgency of their journey faded, a plane crash or similar would have still been smoking but there was now nothing to guide them.

  When they got close to where they believed the event had happened they stopped the bike, removed the helmets and listened. The wastelands were still quiet and now far from the nearest road, the silence was so complete as be almost tangible. Neither spoke nor moved, wary of breaking the eerie hush. Then on the edge of their hearing they heard a faint crackle and hiss followed by a voice like the annoying chatter you get from someone
else’s earphones on the train.

  They left the bike and crept towards the sound, climbing up the side of a mound that had once been a spoil heap from a nearby mine. It had been planted with small shrubs protected from the wind by lines of green netting which had begun to fall apart, allowing the boys to remain hidden as they crawled towards the ridge and peered over the top.

  What the boys discovered beyond the mound was beyond anything they had imagined and they both struggled to hold their voices. They looked at each other for a moment’s reassurance that the other was still there, before staring back at the scène unfolding before them.

  The mound was one of several surrounding a wide area of level ground almost crater-like in appearance. The earth at the