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  FOREVER DARK

  SUNSPOTS BOOK II

  Gary Martin

  Copyright © 2019 by Gary Martin

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without the express consent of the author.

  Cover artwork by Gary Martin

  for Cheryl

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks to everyone I managed to rope in as test readers, and The Brown Fox Bureau for the final proofread and fine tune.

  1

  Why am I back here?

  Again, we’re moving. The third, no fourth time so far this year. The boot of the car and the seat next to me are packed full of our belongings, leaving me wedged uncomfortably against the door.

  I’m used to just upping and leaving, but it always hurts not having the chance to say goodbye to my newly made friends. This time it feels different. This time there’s a sense of urgency that I’m not used to. I don’t know where we’re going, or why. The first I knew about it was when I was woken up late last night and we just left. The car was already packed. Usually my parents are open and honest with me, but my father hasn’t said a word the whole journey and my mother keeps looking back at me and asking if I’m okay. I’m not sure why I shouldn’t be.

  All I can do is stare out of the window and watch the trees zip past at dizzying speed. We’re off the second level of the motorway now and deep into the countryside. The auto-drive has been off the entire journey; my father seems in an awful hurry to get somewhere.

  Finally, after hours of travel we pull off the road and into a large carpark. I open the door and get out, a couple of small bags falling out with me. I stretch myself as wide as possible and then watch as my parents slowly get out of the car, grab two bags from the boot and walk up to me.

  “Okay, Johnny, I’m not sure how to say this, but this is where you’re going to live for the next four years,” my mother says. This is news to me. I look at the forbidding gates at the edge of the carpark, the big grey building beyond it, and look back at my mother.

  “What is this place?” I ask. She looks at me, smiling, but her eyes seem sad.

  “It’s your new boarding school, Johnny,” she says.

  “But I like my old school. I’ve never been to a boarding school before. I don’t want to stay here; I don’t know anyone. Where are you going? Why can’t I just go with you?” I plead, still confused by the whole situation.

  “Because your education is very important, and you can join us in our quest when you’ve finished. Your father and I are doing important work as you know, but it’s quite risky now that it’s illegal to protest. We wouldn’t want to put you in harm’s way,” she says with an apologetic smile.

  I look at my father but he’s still looking away, avoiding all eye contact and saying nothing.

  “Then why don’t you just stop it for now and raise me like a normal family would? You can start your hippy bullshit again when I’m grown up and out of your hair,” I say.

  “Because our work is too important. We’re finally starting to make a difference, Johnny. The conditions for the labour force at the Wolark mines and shipyards on Mars are getting better, but there is so much more to be done,” she says, sounding proud, idealistic and, to me, idiotic all at the same time.

  “So, I’m an inconvenience. Someone to be palmed off on others when I get in the way of your plans,” I say, hoping that being blunt might make them realise how selfish they’re being.

  “This is a very expensive school, Johnny, we’ve put most of our money towards getting you in here. I’d hoped you’d be more grateful,” she says sadly.

  “Grateful? I just want to live with my parents. Is that too much to ask?”

  My father finally speaks and snaps my heart in two in the process. “I’m sorry John, but yes, it is. You were an accident. None of this was planned, you are an inconvenience to us and our cause,” he says, still not making eye contact.

  My mother looks mortified by what he’s just said. Then I realise this school was his idea.

  “Johnny, I ...”

  There is nothing she can say now to come back from that blow. Just one line from my father has crushed me. I look at him but he’s looking toward the main road. I then take my anger out on my mother.

  “You should have had a fucking backstreet abortion then and saved yourself the trouble!” I shout, grab the two bags and stomp off through the gates. I hear her calling my name, but I don’t look back. I’m hoping that they’ll come after me, apologise, say it’s fine and take me with them. I crunch along the gravel of the pathway that’s between two huge manicured squares of grass towards the gothic black doors of the main building. When I get to the doors, I finally look back. My parents are gone. I’ve been abandoned here. I fucking hate them.

  2

  My wrists are burning.

  The receptionist is staring at me through her thick rimmed glasses. On the left lens, a constant stream of tiny backwards text is running down it. I stare back, but don’t say anything, and stay sitting down.

  “We have four new starters today, so far you’re the first. If you give me your name we can get started with your induction,” she says.

  I stay silent.

  “It’ll only be a matter of time before I’m able to work it out. You may as well tell me.”

  I have no intention of telling her, or anyone for that matter, who I am. My parents will come back for me. This is a mistake. It may take an hour or so, but they will realise it and come through the door.

  There’s a beeping sound and the receptionist touches the side of her glasses.

  “Yes … yes … okay, I’ll tell him.” She presses her glasses again and looks back in my direction.

  “John Farrow?” she asks.

  I look up at her, then down to the floor.

  “The headmaster has spoken to your parents; they were just boarding a shuttle. Not far from here, actually. They said they would be back to visit you in about six months, and they are sorry that they didn’t tell you in advance.”

  I then realise that they chose this school because it was on the way to where the Martian shuttle launches from. On. The. Fucking. Way.

  “Pricks,” I say.

  “We won’t have that language here young man. Anyway, a guard, sorry, a campus security official will be here soon to show you around, so don’t get too comfortable.”

  Within a few minutes, a burly man in an ill-fitting light blue uniform comes through the door. He looks at the receptionist, who then points at me. I fold my arms and look away from them. When I look back, the man is standing right in front of me.

  “Come with me please, young sir,” he says in a way that makes me think he’s had months of training to sound as polite and friendly as possible.

  “Fuck off,” I say.

  “No swearing on campus. Consider that your first and only warning.”

  “I’ve already warned him once,” the receptionist says. “This will be his second.”

  I stand up and look over the security official’s shoulder at the receptionist.

  “Really?” I ask, dumbfounded. I look back at the guard who smiles at me while pulling what looks like a torch from his belt clasp.

  “Really,” he says. He then jabs the torch thing into my stomach and a surge of electricity passes through my body. Not massively painful but all my muscles in my body seem to contract at once and I fall to the floor. Hard.

  “If I do that again, you will soil yourself. That’ll make a good impression as you walk through the campus. Teenagers never let that stuff go. You’ll be branded from day one. Do you really want that?”

  I shake my head. He gives me his hand and pulls me up.

  “Now come with me.”

&
nbsp; I pick up my bags and follow him towards the door. He then stops and looks back at the receptionist. “They never learn, do they Beatrice?”

  3

  Can that be right? It feels like someone is drilling into my temple.

  After a brief tour of the grounds and buildings, which at the moment remind me of what I’d imagine a concentration camp would look like, but in colour, the campus security official finally takes me to where I’ll be living for the next four years. Across the inner quad and through a long thicket of trees that could almost pass for a small wood, are six shitty looking pre-fabricated dorms, each one rammed with bunk beds. Three are for the girls and three are for the boys. Being an only child, and unaccustomed to boarding schools, the thought of sharing a room with up to forty other kids is pretty terrifying.

  The security official shows me to my bed in the mainly empty bunkhouse and then heads toward the door. He opens it and turns around.

  “No swearing,” he says and walks out. I guess walking out and having the last word must be his thing. I look at the bed. Thankfully, it’s a bottom bunk at the far end of the room, closest to the wall. At least that means there’ll only be people to one side of me. I dump my bag on the floor and look down at the mattress. The colour of it makes me feel queasy. I think it was once meant to be white, but it’s now a patchwork of yellow and small dark brown stains. I start to think the only reason this bed is now empty is because the previous occupant must have masturbated themselves to death on it.

  I grab the sheets that are folded neatly at the bottom of the mattress and start to make up the bed. The bottom sheet is so threadbare that I can still make out the stains through it. I’m just going to have to sleep above the covers, I think.

  There’s a hard tap on my shoulder. I turn around.

  “Hello,” I say to the three older boys who are standing a little bit too close to me.

  “So, you’re taking over from sketchy Eric then?” says the tallest boy, who then scrapes his blonde fringe out of his eyes.

  “I don’t know who that is I’m afraid. I’m John,” I say and hold out my hand, as I’d been taught to do so many times by my father. Blonde just looks down at it. He then looks at his two friends, smiles, and looks back at me. I slowly pull my hand back, feeling awkward that I’d offered it in the first place. Another reason to hate my father.

  “I don’t think you understand. We’re here because Eric was our plaything. You are now our plaything.”

  I’ve had a lot of experience being the new kid. Never being at any school for more than a few months at a time, I’d learned long ago that always being the new kid meant I was going to constantly have the shit kicked out of me.

  I hold my hands up.

  “I don’t want any trouble. I just wish the mattress was a little less, you know, covered in jizz,” I say, hoping that maybe a little humour might go a long way.

  “You’re funny, John,” Blonde says, who then moves in close and whispers in my ear.

  “One night, when you’re all alone, and least expecting it, the three of us are going to find you and enjoy you like we did Eric.” He then spits into his hand and wipes it on my face. Instant red mist hits me, and I push him back with as much force as I can. He almost falls to the floor but his friends stop him.

  “Fuck you!” I shout. Blonde just laughs, blows me a kiss and the three of them walk off.

  I sit down on my bed, shaking with fear and rage. I breathe slowly to calm myself down. Great. The threat of being beaten up is one thing, I’ve learned to deal with it over the years, but the threat of being raped? This is a new one on me and a lot more terrifying. Fucking boarding schools. Fucking parents.

  “You’ll have to stay out of their way, or let it ‘appen. Don’t wanna end up like sketchy Eric,” a distant voice says from behind me. I turn around and can see that the voice belongs to the only other person in the room at the moment, four bunks down from me.

  “I fucking well won’t let it happen. They’ll have to knock me unconscious first. What do you mean, end up like Eric?” I ask, hoping that he’s just changed schools.

  The boy sits up and stares at me with his pale eyes. He looks to be about fourteen or fifteen, and his feminine face is framed by longish brown greasy hair.

  “Found ‘im hangin’ in a wardrobe,” he says bluntly. That’s not a good start.

  “Really? Holy shit, that’s horrible. It got that bad he killed himself?” I ask, shocked.

  “Maybe, but unlikely. He had his cock out. Asphyxi-wank gone wrong we reckon,” he replies, completely matter of factly. I simply don’t know how to respond to that.

  “Those three, do they threaten all the new kids?” I ask.

  “Nope. Just poor Eric. And now, I guess, you.”

  “Any advice?”

  “Already given it. Keep out of their way, or jus’ take it, I’m sure they’ll eventually get bored.”

  “Not going to happen. I’m at school, not fucking prison.”

  “There ain’t much difference, way I see it. I’m Joe by the way. If you need anything, and I mean anything, come see me,” he says, winks, then stands up and exits the dorm, leaving me alone to think about this horrible situation.

  4

  My arms can’t take the weight. But I don’t know what the weight is.

  After a shit first day, and then half a day of settling in and getting myself familiar with the layout of the campus, the classes start proper. My first lesson is History with Mister Jelvus. I like him straight away. He’s bald and wears small round glasses, very friendly and has a laid-back way of teaching. He also doesn’t point out that I’m the new guy. Instead, he pulls me aside at the end of the lesson.

  “I hear you’ve been dumped here by parents who have more important things to do,” he says in a way that, oddly, doesn’t annoy me.

  “Yep. Absolute dicks,” I reply.

  “Shh. You know the swearing rule. The gestapo guards take it very seriously. Any reason to make a student soil themselves and they’ll take it. It’s a sad situation you’re in, John. I’ve got some friends who are fighting the same cause. Lovely people, but they don’t have the tiniest bit of common sense between them. The way the world is going, they’ll end up in trouble. You can’t just protest anymore.”

  “I know, but they’ll never listen,” I say.

  “No, they won’t. Hopefully I’m overreacting. If you ever need to talk, my door’s always open.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “You best go, or you’ll be late for your next class.”

  He closes the door and the bell rings. Too late, I am late for my next class. Not that I really mind because it’s mathematics. I can’t do numbers. I get to the answer eventually, but I’m no good in a quick-fire way. Even the simplest of equations.

  I get to the classroom and slowly open the door. Luckily, the teacher doesn’t seem to notice me come in. She’s writing on a monitor and has her back to me. I quickly move to the back of the room and take the first free seat I see, while trying my best not to be noticed. It doesn’t work. She finishes what she’s writing, turns around and looks straight at me.

  “Nice of you to join us, Mister Farrow. Lost, were we?” she says.

  I look around the class and everyone is now staring at me.

  “Yes,” I manage.

  “You know where the room is now, so it better not happen again.”

  Miss Clarke spends the rest of the lesson asking me every question first before asking the room.

  “John, what’s the square route of blah blah? John, what’s blah times blah? John, what do you get if you times blah by blah, and then subtract blah?”

  I can’t answer and the class laughs every time. By the end I feel sick and completely embarrassed.

  Maths is the last class of my first half day and it pretty much sums up my feelings for the place.

  I’m feeling very low as I begin to walk back to the dorm. I look up and see Joe walking across the quad. As he’s the only st
udent who’s talked to me in a vaguely friendly manner, I decide to catch up with him.

  “Hey Joe, what do we do now classes have finished for the day?” I ask as I get alongside him.

  “Many choices. But none with me. I’ve got my mates. Don’t need no more.”

  “Oh, okay. Kind of rude, but okay,” I say, dismayed.

  “Nothing personal, like,” he replies.

  “Look, as we’re both heading back to the dorm, I’m going to keep talking at you until you give in,” I say and smile my stupidest smile.

  “Keep talking then. I may listen, but probably not,” he says with no expression.

  “What music do you listen to?” I ask, always a good starting place.

  “Nothing. Music is stupid.”

  Not the answer I expected but each to their own.

  “What films do you enjoy then?”

  “Only ones sanctioned by the government.”

  “Well, that’s kind of obvious. That’s all there is. Anything we see has to be sanctioned first. What I mean is, what genre?”

  “Films are stupid and pointless.”

  For fuck’s sake.

  “Is there anything you do like?”

  “I like being left alone,” he says.

  “I can see that. Well, you said you can get me stuff. Can you get me some paperbacks to read and maybe a torch?”

  “I can get you anything. What books do you want?”

  “Anything fiction.”

  “Consider it done. I’ll speak to my supplier tonight.”

  “Thanks.”

  We continue back to the dorm in awkward (for me at least) silence.

  After a shower, I sit down on my bunk and stare at the wall; at the pattern of hundreds of drawing pin holes where hundreds of posters over the years have been. I wonder if I’ll be here long enough to put posters up. And what will I put up? The music I like is two hundred years old and has been passed on to me by my parents. At the moment, I want nothing to do with them or the things they like. My life has been a constant upheaval because of their cause or causes. Anytime there was a protest, or anything to be rallied against, we were gone. I’d get pulled out of school and we’d move to a different part of the country. It was a life I’d gotten used to. It could be very lonely but I enjoyed the adventure. Now, I’ve been dumped here because they wanted to go on an adventure to Mars by themselves. I want to go on an adventure to Mars. Why can’t I go? I’m still furious with them. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive them.