Omega (50) "Why hello again!" Interrupted Zitha, who had spotted us and jumped off the bonnet of the range rover to chat. She was wearing a wax jacket and green wellington boots. Her hair was stuffed inside a chequered cloth cap. "Still looking for the Truth? How jolly! That's what we're here for. You haven't seen it, have you?" "No," I admitted. "But then, we haven't really been looking very hard. We've been more worried about avoiding trouble." "Don't blame you! Don't blame you! And there's a lot of jolly trouble here. We've seen some absolutely dreadful things. If it weren't for our bodyguards I don't know where we'd be!" She indicated the two gorillas. "Some frightful monsters tried to attack us! Very badly bred! But our bodyguards shot at them - killed one or two I think - and they scattered very sharply. No monster can withstand a cartridge of hot lead. But since we've been here, we've not seen this flipping Truth at all! And some of our company's got lost. We don't know where they've got to! One of them was Sir George. You've not seen him have you?" "Sir George? The giant grasshopper?" Asked Anna. "The same. Friend of yours, is he? I don't know where he is! He got jolly upset when the Red Party won the General Election. He just wouldn't stir for hours. He just sat in the opium room, moaning about how much it would affect his shares. Not that it's helped my father's investments any, either. And now we don't know where he is. He came with us to the Suburbs for the diversion. I don't think he was bothered about finding the Truth. I take it you've not seen him yourselves?" We shook our heads. Zitha regarded my companions. "Well, you do have some absolutely wonderful friends, I must say! Are you from the City?" Xenana nodded her head. "I wish I was there now." "And don't we all! Coming to the Suburbs has been a ghastly mistake! It's vile here! No jolly fun at all! I don't think we've got enough 'poo to keep us going for much longer." She looked at Xenana and Anna approvingly. "Hey. Do you want to stick around? We'll be setting off soon. You can come with us if you like." "That sounds an excellent idea!" Said Anna. "I don't mind if we do! What do you say? Shall we stay here?" Xenana nodded eagerly. "You don't have anything stronger than champagne, do you? And has anyone got any ciggies? I'm just dying for a puff! I don't think I've ever needed a smoke more in my life!" "'Course we have, my dear! We've got everything! And if we've not got it here, then we'll have it back at the Party!" Beta and I left Anna and Xenana with the relative security of Zitha and her friends by the range rover, and pursued our quest along the dark forbidding Suburban streets. The sun had fully set, but none of the lamp-posts had come on. Neither were there any lights coming from the houses on either side of the road, although a menacing orange aura emanated from far off. The devastation and chaos meted out in this district surpassed all that we had seen before. Hedges were pulled down, windows and doors were ripped out of the semi-detached houses, cars had been upturned and a trail of water-logged garbage was blown along the streets by the persistently strong gusts of wind. I shivered in the evening chill, and grasped Beta's hand as much for my own comfort as for hers. There were no people wandering about the streets now: it was eerily and uneasily quiet and empty. Occasionally, we passed dark mounds slumped out on the ground which could have been garbage, but could just have easily been people's bodies. We were disinclined to find out for sure, principally from overwhelming helplessness. What could we do if they were corpses? When we heard the sound of clicking mandibles and raised voices, we dashed behind the shadow of a garden wall, in amidst a pile of torn and sodden magazines, with such titles as My Knitting Weekly, New Car Review and The Suburbs Advertiser and Courier. We saw a group of ants and termites, each about two foot long, like those I had seen in Endon. In amongst them was a couple of giant earwigs and buzzing menacingly overhead were a few flies, each as large as myself. They were shouting and bawling at each other, more in a state of drunkenness than organised malice, and those words we caught were more to do with just how drunk they were and how annoyed they were that no pubs were open. The procession took a tortuously long time to pass by, and we were terrified that one of the flies that buzzed backwards and forwards would examine the shadows behind the garden walls and distressed hedges with more attention. A bottle shattered against the windscreen of a car, one ant paused opposite to vomit loudly into the gutter and an empty beer can was thrown over our heads to bounce off the double-glazing of an upstairs window. Eventually, the sounds receded enough for Beta and I to re-emerge, which we did with caution, and walked on, keeping to the shadows in case there should be more stragglers. Our caution was justified as we came to the smashed windows and discarded wares of a small row of shops. There was a chaotic mess of broken television sets; scattered, damp and now inedible chocolate bars; neon tubes torn loose from the windows; cans of beans and plastic bottles of washing-up liquid; and torn open cardboard boxes. In amongst all this were two or three ants sitting on the ruins of a freezer drinking from the bottles of cider and wine they had taken from the smashed wreck of an off-license. From their boisterous, incoherent ramblings it was obvious that they were far too drunk to concern themselves with us, but, nonetheless, we crept by stealthily. We hadn't walked very far from these shops until we came to the grounds of a small chapel, where extraordinary damage had been wrought on the small tombstones in the cemetery and the weather-cock, shaped like a pig with large wings, was dangling down the cracked steeple. Whoever had expended their wrath on the building had clearly relished doing so. I spotted a strange cylindrical object lying on one side in one of the deeper puddles left by the downpour. It was a green top hat now much darker where the water had soaked itself into the fabric. "I think I know who that belongs to," I remarked to Beta. "You do?" Asked Beta. "Who could that be?" "Someone I met a few days ago. Someone that Zitha said was lost in the Suburbs somewhere. Perhaps he's around here." "Who's around here?" "Sir George. A giant grasshopper." "Oh! Another monster!" Exclaimed Beta. "Everything you could ever imagine is loose in the Suburbs. Giant flies! Hideous termites! Did you see those horrid mouths of theirs? Just like shears. And now a giant grasshopper!" "He's a very wealthy businessman. A bit like Lord Arthur. Perhaps we'll see him here. I hope he's alright!" I wandered off the road, through a great gash torn into the hedge enclosing the church, and searched about the toppled and defaced tombstones. Many had graffiti sprayed over them: some of a political nature, but just as many of a vulgar or obscene character. There had certainly been an exhaustive outbreak of desecration. My hope, or more accurately fear, of finding Sir George proved to be true. He was lying in the shadow of a tomb, above which was the statue of an angel's torso, her wings and head lying in fragments all about the ground, and graffiti reading, amongst other things, BEES SUCK! and RED PARTY BOOT BOYZ RULE, OK! His head was resting on the angel's marble arm, his antennae twitching near the remnants of the marble cloth clutched in chipped white fingers. His body sprawled out in a chaos of spindly limbs, clothes torn and soaked in blood, his thorax split open, blood spreading out from under his long waistcoat and a rear limb bent in a very curious and disturbing angle. His face was battered and bloody, blood intermixing with the lenses of his eyes and several antennae broken or even severed. He was, however, still alive and moaning piteously and defiantly. I bent over him, leaning my knee against the base of the tomb and gazed into his ruined face. "Sir George! Are you alright?" The grasshopper groaned and turned his multifaceted eyes towards me. "Uurrghh! Wass ... look like? ... The Damned ants! Ants! They ... did it! ... Aaagh! ... They attacked me! ..." Beta knelt down beside me. She examined the blood seeping through the fabric of his coat, and drew in a deep appalled breath. "You're losing a lot of blood! We've got to get you to a hospital!" "There aren't many ambulances about," I pointed out. "And the phones don't work. And I don't know any hospitals around here." "There must be ... ughh! ... There must be ... some help. I can't be left like ... argh! ... like this. Not Sir George Greenback! Not me! There ... argh! ... must be an ambulance. What'd I pay my ... ugh! ... premiums for? People like me don't ... uh! ... they don't ... Those Damned ... Damned ants! And termites!" "Why did they do it?" Beta asked. "Why did they attack you?" "For nothing!" Groaned the grasshopper angrily, releasing a stream of invective despite his obvious agony. "The damned lower orders! ... Aagh! ... It's the Damned Red ... The General Election has ... They've been emboldened ... Aagh! ... They attacked me. For nothing! For nothing!" "For nothing at all?" I wondered. "I told them to ... urgh! ... I told them ... 'Get out of my way!' I said ... urgh! ... Blocking my way, they were! Lower orders have got to know ... aargh! ... got to know ... their place. Insects like me are not supposed to ... shouldn't need to ... aargh! ... ugh! ... The Damned insolence! And they attacked me ... ugghh! ... There were too many of them! I killed one of them! ... argh! ... Maybe more than one! ... They didn't stop! ... Too many of them! Too ... argh! ... Too many!" "Perhaps they were the insects we saw earlier," Beta commented. "They were awfully drunk and disorderly!" "It's the ... ergh! ... It's the fault of the Damned Reds! They should never have been allowed ... ughh! ... Never allowed to win the Election! See what's happened! ... Aagh! ... It's the rule of the mob! ... Anarchy! I hate them! ... Argh! ... I ... I ..." The grasshopper agitatedly twitched his antennae, and tried to stir one of his legs. The effort cost him a great deal of extra pain. He shouted out loudly, the sound deadened against the damp night air but still prominent in the uneasy silence. He looked at us mournfully. "I'm not ... aagh! ... I'm not dying, am I? ... ughh! ... Those Damned ... ergh! ... Damned ants haven't ...? ... Not Sir George Green ... Not me! It can't be happening! ... It doesn't happen to ... I've paid my ... agh! ... There must be some help ... aagh! Oh! Aaaghh! God In Heaven! ... 'Swounds! ... aarghh! ... The pain ... The pain ... Aghh! ... Some relief ... I can't! ... The Reds! ... Aaagghh! ... Those ants ... and termites ... and ..." "We must get some help!" Said Beta urgently. "We can't just let him ... die. We've got to do something!" It was then that we heard the sounds of some people wandering through the cemetery. They were not making any threatening noises and from what we could see of them they appeared to be no cause for apprehension. They were dressed in heavy black hooded gowns, looking far more like monks than monsters. They were examining the damage caused to the church with apparent disgust, and two of them were kneeling in front of a marble cross above a tomb which had escaped the worst of the vandalism. One was crossing himself with veneration at the spectacle of torn up gravestones and shattered marble. We couldn't see their faces or hands in the dark of the cloudy night, but after the traumatic sights we had seen so far that evening, they were a welcome if sobering sight. "Perhaps they can help," I whispered to Beta. She nodded. "I'm sure they can extend the hand of Christian mercy and charity to Sir George. I'll look after him while you talk to them." "Yes, you do that. I'm sure I won't be long. I'm sure they will want to help in some way. They look so pious." I walked towards the hooded figure who had been crossing himself and stood in front of him, palms facing out to indicate that I offered no threat. He turned to face me, and, even as close as I was now, I could not see his face. I noticed for the first time that he and his companions all had submachine guns slung over their shoulders, but decided that they were probably not meant aggressively. After all there were some dangerous monsters and fanatics in the Suburbs, and it was just as well to be prepared. I told him that a friend of mine had been badly wounded and was in urgent need of medical attention. I said that if he didn't receive any attention soon he would probably die. The gowned figure said nothing at first, while his companions gathered around him, their faces hidden by their hoods, and stared at me with what I imagined must have been suspicion. His first comment rather surprised me. He told me that he was frankly rather appalled to see me dressed so immodestly in consecrated ground, showing such little respect for Christian souls. I repeated my own news, adding that I hoped he and his friends could express their Christian charity and help my friend in his time of need. The figures said nothing, and I was feeling rather embarrassed and uncomfortable. At last, the first figure expressed his wish to see my friend so that he and his companions could assess whether he was worthy of salvation, and that, if he were, there would then be no trouble, no inconvenience, too great in the saving of a Christian soul. Reflecting on Sir George's assertions of his Christian beliefs, I felt sure that they would have nothing to worry on that account, and led them through the dark shadows of the tombstones to where Sir George was lying with Beta by his side. Sir George faced me. "Are they ... ugghh! ... Will they? ... Aaghh! ... It hurts so ... so ... I don't know if ..." "Are they going to help?" Asked Beta, looking at me with anxiety. I nodded. She looked at the gowned figures and told them that she was glad to see them and she was sure that Sir George would show his gratitude too when he was able to do so. The first gowned figure did not respond with quite the same civility. He told her that she was a slut, a whore and a jezebel, who was thricely damned for her immodesty in a place of the Lord, but as a human, and therefore of the chosen species, was not to be harmed as long as she left consecrated ground, dressed herself modestly and asked forgiveness, although her palpable sin had already damned her to an eternity of torture.
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