Black Static #54 (September-October 2016) by 2016 Sep-Oct (retail) (epub)

Author:2016 Sep-Oct (retail) (epub)
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Dark Fiction and Film
Publisher: TTA Press
Published: 2016-09-13T00:00:00+00:00

***

“If you ask me,” said Graham, of whom no one had asked anything at all, “they should ship them all off to an island somewhere. Only real way to be sure.”

He glanced up over the top of his copy of the Daily Mail and nodded towards Gil. “No offence,” he added.

“None taken,” Gil said. “Just make sure you get me something with a sea view. Or a penthouse. I’ll have one of those.”

There was a murmur of amusement in the hut, but Graham frowned. He was the oldest of the labourers, salt and pepper hair trimmed to an even fuzz over his scalp and chin. He didn’t really have a face suited to smiling, so the frown was hard to judge. “I’m not joking,” he said.

“To be clear,” Miro said, “would this be the same island where you want to put all the gays? Or would that be nearby?” He grinned, his façade of innocence falling with a clang. “And where would you put all the gay werewolves? Would they get dual passports?”

Graham scowled unambiguously and clambered to his feet, slapping the paper down on his chair. “Fuck you, you gobby gypsy cunt,” he said. He jammed a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and barged out the door, sparking the lighter he held in his fist.

Miro sat back in his chair, beaming. He was a stocky figure, a wide eyed face beneath spiky black hair. His grey sweatshirt was printed with the album sleeve of The Sex Pistols’ God Save The Queen. He only wore it because he knew it pissed Graham off.

“You know, on second thoughts,” Miro said, “if gypsies get their own island too, I might see if I can sign up. Although my mother would never speak to me again. When it comes to gypsies she’s worse than he is.”

On the other side of the room, Otto bobbed his head in agreement. He was slimmer than Miro. His patchy hair shaved tight so it looked like the shadows of continents mapped on a tall, distorted globe. “Well, they are all thieves,” he said, studying the tea swirling in his plastic cup.

“Otto.”

“I’m not joking either,” he said. “Where I come from, they’re all thieves. You see them coming into to town, you lock your door. Don’t give me a look like that. You don’t have them here. But everyone has someone to lock the doors to. What do you have here? Scousers? The Irish, am I right?”

“Rumanians,” Gil said.

“Fuck right off,” said Otto. He aimed a kick at Gil’s shin, but Gil shifted out of the way.

Still grinning, Miro picked up the paper Graham had left behind and refolded it to the front page. There was another blurry picture of a monster. It still surprised Gil how few decent photographs there seemed to be of the event. Most were low resolution mobile phone shots, or unspecific security footage. The most famous one was the businessman in the empty tube car, slumped on his seat, his now-enormous head awkwardly jammed against the partition beside him.

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