***

  Extract from conspiraciesbusted.com

  Hold onto your hats, sane people, it’s getting worse...

  Topic started by conbustEditor

  If you read my blog last week, you’d have seen how I debunked this ‘Hell Exists’ bullshit as nothing more than a Derren Brownesque mind-trick delusion. I’ve lost count of the number of celebs who’ve cottoned onto this publicity stunt like flies around a bloated corpse. Let’s face it, you aren’t anyone without the spectre of John Wayne Gacy or fucking Goebbels ‘talking through’ you, darling. Katie Price showing a surprising level of sophistication when, at her latest ‘book’ signing, she went off in the voice of one of Mugabe’s henchmen, apparently assassinated in 2007. But like the others, she still showed the same lack of imagination when she described her ‘vision’ of hell – the usual blah blah burn baby burn shit. Let’s face it, people, the celebrity version of hell is every bit as stereotypical and dumbed down as a Disney theme park exhibit. YAWN.

  At least most of the schlebs have had the decency to only ‘channel’ evil-doers, but now we’ve hit rock-bottom. At his execrable girlfriend’s press conference last night, UK Big Brother 15 winner, Jed ‘I rock!’ Thorne, said that he had been ‘taken over;’ by the voice of Mother Theresa, who, he claimed was speaking through him from where she was burning in hell for all eternity. Within seconds the twittersphere went crazy, with religious fundamentalists and new religious converts alike panicking and flooding the airwaves with paranoid bullshit.

  That said, let’s play devil’s advocate here. Let’s say it’s all true. That hell does exist and that Jed, who admittedly has the IQ of a particularly rancid potato, hasn’t hatched this as a plot for five more minutes of fame. What does this mean? If hell does exist, and if Mother Theresa, who spent her whole life doing nothing but good and helping people is there, what does this mean for the average Joe? Are we all destined to go to hell, no matter what we do?

  ***

  Comments under the YouTube video of ‘Mother Theresa’ talking through Big Brother 15 Winner Jed Thorne

  1901778 comments This is FAKE dont believe it just trying to get publicity like his stupid girlfriend

  Steviepee 1 minute ago OMG Jed’s got lady hands

  Nellylk 1 minute ago @pinky5 U R disgusting you will burn in hell with them all she wuz a grate woman GTFO

  Shoshana60 2 minutes ago Do u get sandals in hell huh huh hope so for her sake

  Pinky5 5 minutes ago It means we’re all going to hell dumbass

  Lolbuckets07 7minutes ago I looked out the window and saw my neighbour watching me she noticed that I’d seen her and hid behind a bush. Wot this mean??

  Porkypie 8 minutes ago Go fuk a watermelon asswipe this is serius

  Peekaboo93 9 minutes ago How cn you say that? She gave her life for others which is more than you’ve ever done stupid youtube troll

  Shoshana35 10 minutes ago Maybe she was evil you dont know for sure

  Aliensexist 11 minutes ago It’s all bollocks. Anyone who believes that we are all going to hell no matter what we do has lost it. If there is a hell, there has to be a heaven.

  Itsallbollox69 11 minutes ago If you’re an atheist does this mean you’re also going? Are animals there to

  Catlover99 12 minutes ago But that’s the point? Maybe we are all going to hell.

  Realist22 13 minutes ago Let this be a warning to all yous have not taken the lrd to your hearts this is it is the rapture you were warned but u didn listen

  Righteousguy100 14 minutes ago Great designer handbags at bags4u.com excellents discount for all customer who buy lots of good brand we have Gucci prada fendi gabbana burburry buy now don’t be disappoint before it is too late

  76h66Yox 15 minutes ago

  ***

  Extract from ‘Sharp drop in tobacco, alcohol sales’, first published in the Guardian

  ...Kenneth Levinson, spokesperson from Phillip Morris International, one of the five major tobacco firms operating worldwide, said that sales have dropped more than eighty percent in the last quarter. ‘Naturally we’re very concerned. The tobacco industry provides thousands upon thousands of jobs throughout the world, and with this radical turn-down in our profit margin, it’s just not sustainable.’

  And while pubs, breweries, massage parlours and tobacco plantations are struggling, other businesses are thriving. Not only are churches, synagogues and temples showing an almost epidemic number of new religious converts, but gymnasiums throughout the world report that membership is up 700%. Leonard Welsh, CEO of the GymFit consortium says, ‘People are trying to hang onto to their health for as long as possible. I mean, if all you have to look forward to is burning in hellfire for all eternity, people are in no hurry to die. Most of our new members seem to want us to help them live forever.’

  ***

  Sky News Live Broadcast from London, two hours before global media blackout

  Melissa Stewart (studio anchor): Our top news story this hour. Martial law has been declared in New York, Washington and Los Angeles. We’ll have more on this at the top of the hour. We’re now going live to our correspondent, Jonathan Williams, who I believe is at the scene of the latest outbreak of violence in central London. Jonathan?

  Jonathan Williams: Thank you, Melissa. As you can see behind me the riots and violence are increasing. We’ve heard reports of widespread looting, buses being hit with homemade Molotov cocktails and vigilantes taking to the streets armed with makeshift weapons, desperate to protect their possessions. Here with me is Police Reservist Stephen Okefor, who has been—

  [Camera wobbles, off-screen sound of glass smashing and a male voice shouting ‘Fuck you, pig’]

  Stephen Okefor: Watch out, mate! That was close.

  Melissa Stewart: Is everything okay, Jonathan? We lost you for a moment there.

  Jonathan Williams: Like I was saying, Melissa, it’s getting very hairy out here. [Shakily turns back to Stephen Okefor.] Constable Okefor, can you tell us what it’s been like for the members of the police who are trying to deal with this sudden outbreak of violence?

  Stephen Okefor: Well it’s the worst we’ve ever seen, innit. And it’s not just the youth, know what I mean? It’s everyone. Saw an octogenarian raiding the Apple store in Regent Street an hour ago and the rioters are fast outnumbering us lot.

  Jonathan Williams: Many reasons have been given for why this is happening now. What are your views?

  Stephen Okefor: Fabric of society breaking down, innit. People got nothing to live for. It was when they got those final messages that the fuckers kicked off. [Ignores interruption from Williams.] You know, the ones from Nelson Mandela and Gandhi. That’s when they realised for sure that it didn’t matter what you did or how you behaved, there’s only one place you’re going when you die.Straight to hell.

  [Williams dodges out of the way as a burning driverless taxi rolls past the shot.]

  Stephen Okefor: But you gotta ask yourself. How can it be worse than this?

  * * *

  S.L Grey is a collaboration between South African authors Sarah Lotz and Louis Greenberg. Sarah is a screenwriter and die-hard zombie fanatic who loves collaborating but also writes thrillers under her own name. As well as being a novelist and editor, Johannesburg-based Louis has a Master’s degree in vampire fiction and a doctorate on post-religious apocalyptic fiction. Their latest novel Under Ground is out now.

  “OMG GTFO” was previously published in Pandemonium: Stories of the Apocalypse (2011) by Jurassic London.

  Free Fall

  by Carolyn Jewel

  CHAPTER 1

  11:40 AM. Lobby of 101 California Street, San Francisco, California

  He was here. Telos Khūnbish had come. Relief nearly demolished her, it hit so powerfully. He was here, and now, improbably, she believed everything was going to be all right. Her life was irrevocably screwed, but she believed. She ignored the noise of the lobby and the man standing beside her. He was irrelevant. What a damn sad commentary it was that after nearly ten years in the city, Khūnbish was the closest thing she had to a friend. Maybe even a real friend, because he was here, and she believed she’d get through this.

  Her heart kicked up a notch when she got a clear view of his black BMW turning onto Front Street. Now, of course, she wondered if she’d made a mistake involving him. She didn’t make a habit of asking for help. She wasn’t good with people. She wasn’t even sure she’d asked right. Seems she had.

  The BMW was definitely looking to park. Good thing. In less than ten minutes the lunchtime rush would start, and she’d be in real trouble. Even now there were too many people around.

  “My ride’s here,” she said to Jack, the man standing beside her. She didn’t make eye contact because that would be dangerous. Instead she stared at his tie, but that turned out to be a mistake. The dark red silk looked like blood streaming down his chest. She focused on the shiny marble floor and the tips of his Oxfords. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Let me carry your things.” Jack reached for the moving box that contained the personal contents from her office. He knew Michael, and that meant she couldn’t trust him. Simple fact. She couldn’t trust anyone who knew Michael Ford.

  “No.” She gripped the box tighter and looked at the street again, as if Khūnbish could help her from afar. The BMW was waiting for a van to pull away from the curb. Khūnbish had never met Michael. That was part of the reason she’d called him. That, and she didn’t know anyone else.

  “Lys.” Jack was thirty-ish, good looking, and in line to make partner in the next two years. He did good suit. He was a competent lawyer and a decent litigator.

  She faked a smile and looked at Jack without directly meeting his eyes. Over the years she’d gotten good at faking contact normal people never thought twice about. She lifted the box an inch. “Hardly weighs a thing.”

  Jack smoothed a hand down the river of blood that was his tie. She held her breath, half expecting his palm to come away smeared red. He reached for her moving box, and she jumped back, heart slamming against her chest. Either Jack didn’t get it, or he was in league with Michael and meant her harm. He kept moving toward her.

  “Don’t.” The word came out sharp and loud. The security guard at the lobby reception area looked over. She was close to losing it. Way too close. Blocking shouldn’t be this hard for her, but the last several days had been…difficult. Not enough sleep. Not enough to eat. Too much caffeine. Far too much stress.

  “Lys. Come on.” His tie vibrated at the edges of her vision. Blood red. A river of red. He reached for the box again. “I’m only trying to help out.”

  She risked a look at his face. His smile was hesitant, a little irritated, but that would be normal if he really just wanted to help. Just a regular person trying to be nice. Part of her didn’t believe it. He knew Michael, and Michael had tried to kill her. “Don’t touch me.”

  Jack lifted his hands palm out and backed off. She regained a bit of her calm. It didn’t last long. The minute she relaxed, he moved into her personal space again. She made the mistake of assuming he meant to take the box. She swung her torso to one side, and by the time she realized he meant to touch her, she couldn’t avoid the contact. His hand landed on her shoulder, and her control shattered into a million pieces.

  “What’s—”

  Her immediate surroundings blinked out. She dropped the cardboard box, but maybe she didn’t because she didn’t hear it fall. From experience she knew not to move. Her sense of where she was in space disappeared along with her vision. The bitter taste of iron coated her mouth and oozed down the back of her throat to burn in her stomach.

  He ignores the first symptoms; the sense of something off, the clammy sweat, the pinch in the left side of his rib cage. Pain crushes his chest, and he can’t get enough air. His knees give out, and he falls to the concrete.

  By sheer dint of being terrified about what would happen if she went into free fall, she got her blocks back in place.

  The normal world boomeranged back.

  Sound, sight, scent, all of it crashed around her. Fire streaked along the left side of her face from just behind her eye through to the back of her head. She was present in normal time, out of free fall, except dozens of lives continued to thrum in her head, out of rhythm and out of control. The blowback would pass eventually, but in the meantime she was fucked up every which way. So was Jack.

  Her surroundings came into focus, first in a grainy monochrome, then with increasing detail. Her spatial awareness returned with her depth perception. There were more people in the lobby than before. Too many. The noise shredded her nerves, and her head hurt like a mother. She remained on her feet. That was good. Her hands were empty, though, and that was bad. She didn’t see Jack anywhere, and that was really bad.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  It took her a minute to locate where his voice was coming from. Jack was crouched at her feet, putting things back in the box she’d dropped. He looked fine. He was fine.

  Thank God.

  Her relief that she’d somehow managed to stop things in time made her go limp. The fact that she could even tell she was relieved meant she was probably going to be okay. She worked her tongue around her mouth until she had enough acid-tainted spit to moisten her throat. She needed to get the hell away from Jack and all these people, because next time she might not be so lucky. “Clumsy. That’s all.”

  “Your mug broke.” He held up a shard of her coffee cup that included half the handle. He looked at her like he expected her to say something. Well, she didn’t. She’d already said all the words she could dredge up.

  She dug in her purse for her sunglasses because, damn, her eyes hurt, and her skull was in a vise and about to fracture. Dark glasses or not, her ability to insulate herself from other people continued to erode. She hadn’t lost it this badly since her college days.

  “Maybe you can glue it back together?”

  From where she stood, just inside the lobby doors, traffic noise was a rumble that hurt deep inside her ears. She took the shard of porcelain and dropped it into the box. It broke into two more pieces and slivered what was left of her nerves.

  Jack, still crouching, stared into the box. “Or not.”

  She wished he wouldn’t talk. His voice hurt. At least now the metallic taste in her mouth was duller. Her vision continued to recover with her other senses. Jesus, that blood-red tie vibrated as if it were alive. She could feel her skin again, judge the temperature of the air. She stared down at Jack still helpfully, and rather sweetly, picking up her things. He didn’t deserve to die. She needed to get away from him. For both their sakes. If he ended up thinking she was a bitch, fine.

  “Go back to the office, Jack.” He stretched to pick up a pen that had rolled out of easy reach. “You shouldn’t be down here.”

  He threw the pen in the box and winced.

  Oh, damn.

  Any minute her heart would burst out of her chest. He glanced up and pressed the side of his ribs. She almost didn’t look away in time. If she landed in the hospital again, she’d need a cardiologist instead of an ER doc. “Leave.”

  Office workers streamed from the elevators, holding briefcases, purses, paper bags with lunch in them, bottles of water or soda. The lunch rush was starting. If she didn’t get the hell out of here, she was screwed. Jack was screwed. Three or four people stopped in the lobby, each with a cell phone to an ear, talking away without the least privacy. Who knew? Maybe one of them was screwed. Two with Bluetooth enabled devices looked like psych cases, ranting to invisible people. Voices hammered at her, pounding at the barrier. She cut herself off from everything until the words might as well be Swahili.

  An elevator swallowed a mass of people, but more appeared. Panic set in. Enclosed spaces weren’t good for someone like her. Not when she was seconds from a breakdown she might not be able to stop. She ignored Jack. Let him think she was a cold-hearted bitch. He wouldn’t be the first.

  She took her box, peering inside to avoid eye contact with Jack. Her mug was now six pieces of brown-and-white porcelain. Her frog stapler was intact. Good. That was good. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He put a hand to his ribs again.

  She slid her gaze away, still avoiding his face. The maneuver was awkward and rude, but what else could she do? “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Too late, she realized how brusque she sounded. She tried to look elsewhere without actually looking. More people came through the lobby. With more effort than she liked, she softened her next words. “Call a doctor.”

  “Nah. Too many lat pulls at the gym this morning. Been bugging me ever since.” He smiled sheepishly. She ended up staring at the knot of his tie. It had stopped vibrating but the color still reminded her of blood. Would he just leave her alone already? “You’ll keep in touch, right?”

  “Sure.” Where the hell was Khūnbish? She looked toward Front Street. The BMW was still waiting for a brown delivery van to pull away. She didn’t know how much time had passed since she’d nearly blanked out. Probably not long. Maybe only a minute.

  The van bulled its way into traffic, and the sleek black car slid into the vacated space. She headed for the lobby door, the heels of her pumps clicking on the marble floor. Jack followed. “In a couple of weeks they’ll be begging you to come back as of-counsel.”

  “Not happening.” In her peripheral vision, she saw him smile. He took a quick double step to open the lobby door for her. He winced when he did. She hoped it was really too many lat pulls at the gym. Outside, the blast of foggy air made her head pound.

  Jack let go of the door and caught up with her. “Trust me, the partners will make it worth your while to come back. You’re too good a litigator to let walk out the door.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He chuckled. “Maybe I should quit, too.”

  Lys risked a sideways look at him. She wondered if he was, for all practical purposes, dead already. “No. You shouldn’t.”