Infinity Wanderers 10: Infinity Wanderers

By Grey Wolf

Infinity Wanderers 10 is the Summer 2024 issue of the magazine, celebrating the publication breaking into double figures in the numbers of editions that have been published. The cover is a special feature from Allister Nelson.
The lead story is Slow and Low by Katie Holloway. Other stories include The Wheel of Time by Susan Dean, The Gold Line Express by Matthew Spence, Bob's Full House by E.F. Hay, The Calling by William Quincy Belle, The Soldier and the Dragon by Julius Fish, If Else by Rebekah Sicari, Take My Place by Nicholas Woods, The Ministry of Thought by Jaden Cohen, and Pale Green Eyes by Elwyn V.J. Roth.
The travel feature is a look at a holiday in the Ironbridge Gorge region from 1986. History comes from Jon N. Davies with the second part of the life of Richard Douglas Gough (1797-1886), squire of Ynyscedwyn in Breconshire. L. G. Parker provides his usual fantastic feature with "Words and War", along with a fictional piece, Kalinin.
Poetry comes from Brian G. Davies and Katarina Pavičić-Ivelja, and Grey Wolf's serialised story The Wounded Eagle reaches Chapters 3 and 4. The magazine reviews 'Napoleon in America'. an alternate history book by Shannon Selin, and 'Parked In' by L.C. Lupus.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grey Wolf
• Release date: Jun 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227631718

Grey Wolf

Grey Wolf began writing as a teenager, and has remained consistent ever since in the genres he writes in - Alternate History, Science Fiction, and Fantasy. A poet since his later teens, he now has several published collections and his work has appeared in a number of magazines.  Living now in the South Wales valleys, Grey Wolf is a keen photographer and makes use of the wonderful scenery and explosion of nature that is the Welsh countryside. 

Book preview

INFINITY WANDERERS

#10

EDITED BY GREY WOLF

Infinity Wanderers issue 10

Edited by Grey Wolf

Cover Art by

Fiction, Poetry and Artwork: Copyright remains with original authors

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author or from the publisher (as applicable).

Cover image: Green Mushroom Fairy by Allister Nelson

INFINITY WANDERERS

ISSUE 10

CONTENTS

Slow and Low - - - - - - - - Katie Holloway

Take My Place - - - - - - - - Nicholas Woods

Words and War - - - - - - - - L. G. Parker

Poetry - - - - - - - - Brian G. Davies

If Else - - - - - - - - Rebekah Sicari

The Ministry of Thought - - - - - - - - Jaden Cohen

Book Review – Napoleon in America by Shannon Selin

The Gold Line Express - - - - - - - - Matthew Spence

The Soldier and the Dragon - - - - - - - - Julius Fish

The Calling - - - - - - - - William Quincy Belle

Bob's Full House - - - - - - - - E. F. Hay

Travel Diary – Ironbridge 1986

Pale Green Eyes - - - - - - - - Elwyn V. J. Roth

The Wheel of Time - - - - - - - - Susan Dean

Poetry - - - - - - - - Katarina Pavičić-Ivelja

The Wounded Eagle – Chapters 3 and 4 - - - - - - - - Grey Wolf

Book Review - Parked In by L.C. Lupus

Kalinin - - - - - - - - L. G. Parker

Richard Douglas Gough – Pt 2: 1843-1886 - - - - - - - - Jon N. Davies

DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY

OF

TERRY CARTER

(December 1928 - April 2024)

Colonel Tigh to my generation

in 1970s Battlestar Galactica

Slow and Low

By Katie Holloway

What are we going to do? Jemima squinted against the harsh early morning sun while her mind leapt from problem to problem. She shook her head as if that might rearrange their dilemmas into order of priority, stamping her feet to warm them. A mound of ash from the previous night’s campfire got dislodged and she kicked it into dust.

Josh stood up from the rock he’d been squatting on and moved closer to her. We grieve, he said.

Yes, I… Oh. Of course. Jemima pressed her lips together and took a step away from him. Josh was wearing his blue jumper, the soft one that Jemima knew would be so welcoming if she were to put her cheek against it. No.

She allowed herself to look at the body. Keith had been a good leader. She couldn’t believe he was gone. He’d always been so careful, so calm. But that hadn’t saved him this time.

Jemima took a full breath and slipped two fingers inside the cuff of her fleece, which was rough and bobbled and a little ragged at the edges. As she drew out her exhale, she felt for her pulse and began to count. Her next breath rose like smoke; she held it as it reached its peak and controlled it as it soughed out. Sixty-nine, seventy, seventy-one. She counted with each throb of her pulse whilst she followed the second hand of her watch. There. Not too bad.

Dawn had leaked into morning proper and the five of them – just five now – were sat on damp logs and rocks round the camp, staring at their boots, their packs, anything but each other. Raff had found Keith at daybreak, cold and wide-eyed inside his tent, but it was Josh who’d peeled back the canvas to check the body. Nobody had asked it, but they’d all been careful with their breathing until Josh confirmed the absence of those all-too-familiar marks. The eight bloody indents round the skull each of them knew too much about.

Natural death, Jemima repeated to herself like a mantra. But it didn’t feel natural. What were they going to do without Keith? Breathe. Slow and low. One, two, three…

We’ll have to bury him, Josh said.

We can’t! Jemima protested before she’d even thought about it, her heart giving a worrisome jolt.

We can. Josh’s voice was so steady, his tone so final, that Jemima sat down. She looked round at Raff, Marnie, Tania. Nobody said anything. It’s the right thing to do, Josh said, We’ll be careful. Raff, can you help? If we go slow? Raff nodded and stood up. Jemima could see his jaw pulsing.

Slow and low, she told herself. Slow and low makes them go.

She’d been an adult by the time the Spyders™ were invented, but hadn’t invested in one herself. They’d given her the creeps from the start. After the initial sellout, when there’d been a second, much larger, production run of that First Generation, her parents had bought one each. They lurked in corners, never far away, and Jemima began looking for excuses not to visit her family home. Whenever a work alert or troublesome news item pinged through for her mum or dad, a hand-sized Spyder™ would scurry up and onto their heads, an eight-legged metal massage claw.

Supposedly designed to soothe temples, loosen jaws and stimulate the vagus nerve, Jemima had been convinced they were manufactured to freak her out, even then. It wasn’t long before they were everywhere: solar charging on commuters’ shoulders on trains and dashing onto harassed checkout workers in supermarkets. Even hopping from head to head of children during spelling tests.

The first time Jemima had felt the cold metal scratch of someone’s Spyder™ up her leg, she’d panicked so much it’d run faster, reaching her cranium before she’d had a chance to pull it off. It had taken nearly an hour, and a lot of coaxing from a colleague, before she’d been able to lower her heart rate enough for it to unclamp itself. The things were supposed to be single-user only. The fact that they were attracted to any raised heart rate should have been enough to stop production.

Josh and Raff were ten strides or so away from the tents, digging – if you could call it that. They weren’t used to shovelling anything so large or deep. Nothing that required this much exertion. And exertion was fatal. They all knew that.

Fifty-six, fifty-seven… I’m OK.

The grave took all day for Josh and Raff to finish, with Josh imposing rests every few minutes, insisting on small movements and controlled breathing. It wasn’t a particularly deep grave, either. But it was the right thing to do. Jemima did agree with Josh. He was down to his T-shirt, which she knew was a dangerous sign. His muscles stood out, tight with the effort of exerting so much control. Jemima looked away. Low and slow.

When the men stopped their work, their breaths visible puffs against the lengthening shadows, Jemima clenched her fists and turned to fetch some water for dinner. This was a good camp; clearly it had been cultivated not too long ago: there were beds of squashes and onions, plus a good well. Jemima didn’t let herself dwell on why that previous group was no longer here, or how long ago they’d left… or…

Marnie stepped into Raff’s usual role of cooking the meal, producing a passable vegetable stew. But the lumps of pumpkin were claggy in Jemima’s mouth and the barely-flavoured water sloshed inside her stomach like it was storm-tossed. They ate in silence as the fire grew and the world shrunk to what its glow showed them. Jemima was always careful at mealtimes: kept herself a little apart, only smiled what bare politeness required. The others were free with their conversation, though, usually. Keith used to be able to tell a story that transfixed them all. Josh made the others laugh. Reckless.

A usual mealtime in their camp reminded Jemima too much of her family dinner table. Of course, nobody here was related, either by blood or marriage (Jemima had made sure of that), but a fondness had woven itself between them, those other five, over the last eighteen months. How Marnie remembered which food each of them liked best, the way Tania laughed with her eyes, Raff’s rapt attention to any anecdote… It was too much. And now Keith was gone.

Jemima launched onto her feet and began clattering tin bowls and pans, heating water over the fire. Growing up, she and Ben had taken turns to do the washing up but whenever it was her turn, her brother would come and join her at the sink anyway, jumping up to sit on the counter and making jokes. Once he’d done an impression of their Body Management teacher that was so accurate, with his nasal speech and long, drawn-out words, that Jemima had laughed ’til her sides hurt.

Slow and low. Jemima plunged her hand into the hot water, glad to be scalded out of her thoughts.

Let me help, Josh said, right behind her. She hadn’t noticed him approach.

Don’t do that! You could have startled me!

Easy, it’s OK, he placed a hand on the small of her back. She took a large stride away from him.

You can dry, was all she said, before finding her pulse. One, two, three…

Do you think we should move on? Josh asked, wiping a spoon with a rag. The others were all moving about within the ring of the firelight, scraping boots or rolling out bedding inside tents. Josh seemed to have stepped into Keith’s shoes as the next leader. He was a natural fit, though almost forty years younger than Keith. He was well up to the task.

I think we’ve got to, Jemima replied, not looking him in the eye. Not looking over her shoulder in the direction of Keith’s grave. Trying not to notice the way the flickering glow danced across Josh’s face.

Slow and low makes them go.

Everybody stop! Tania’s call cut through the smoke and darkness. Jemima could hear how hard she was attempting to keep the panic out of her voice. How she was fighting to breathe deeply, get her heart rate below one hundred. Tania gestured with her head, barely moving, indicating a spiny shape scuttling across the dirt towards her.

The Spyder™ was slowing, though, weaving this way then that, less sure of its target now that Tania’s heart rate must have been dropping closer to normal.

Josh stepped up onto one of the rocks and instructed, In: one, two, three, four. Out: one, two, three, four. In: one, two, three, four…

Jemima followed along with her own breathing, steadying herself, looking away toward the treetops, which she could just make out pointing into the night’s sky like accusing fingers. The image of her mum’s face that day snuck into her mind: she’d told her husband to stop, to breathe, to be calm, while his panic had risen further and his own Sypder™ had mounted him, clamped on his head and jabbed those eight legs into his brain in less time than it had taken him to read the report that’d caused his heart to gallop in the first place.

The moment his heart rate had dropped off to zero, the thing had unlatched itself and made its way to Jemima’s mum who was frozen, open mouthed, gaping at her dead husband. Jemima had crept backwards, telling her mum to do the same, to breathe – slow and low.

Keep yourself safe! Promise me! her mum had wailed, her voice rising in pitch and volume.

Breathe, Jemima had told her, Calm down. All whilst grounding herself with long, deep breaths.

Promise!

I promise. Breathe! But it hadn’t worked.

But Tania hadn’t loved Keith. Not like that. Her grief was more manageable. She followed Josh’s instructions and, bit by bit, the Spyder™ wandered away in search of more panicked trauma.

Seventy-six, seventy-seven, seventy-eight, Jemima counted with her pulse. That had been too close. She’d been with this group too long. She knew what she had to do.

Jemima waited until she was sure the others were asleep, then unzipped her tent as quietly as she could, before hoisting her backpack and slipping away, further into the forest. Twigs scratched at her face, reminding her of those spindly legs. No. Breathe. Low and Slow. One, two, three…

She’d thought it would be safer to stick with a group: more eyes on the lookout, the division of labour and shared skills. But she knew now that getting close to anyone, even a group of strangers, was dangerous. Perhaps heading to the remains of a town would be a good bet, now, on her own. They were obviously only sparsely populated these days and most businesses had shut down, so they weren’t the attraction to Spyders™ that they once were. Jemima could find a quiet spot. If nobody else came, she may be able to stay there indefinitely. Take over an abandoned garden, have her own well maybe, lay some traps. Alone would be best.

Jemima! Josh was coaxing, solemn as he called towards her from the edge of the woods. The beam of his torch swung round; there was no chance she could hide from him. Her heart thudded. Slow and low, she chastised herself, stopping her stride.

I’ve got to go, she told him as he approached her. It’s the safest thing to do.

Jemima, he repeated, look at me.

She did. Sort of. Jemima locked her gaze on Josh’s nose. He was too close to her now. Slow and low. She breathed in, held, and out.

Jemima, her name sounded different from him, compared with when anybody else said it. You’ve got the most control out of anybody I’ve met. Your heart rate can’t have gone above 85 the whole time I’ve known you. Not even when you found out about your brother. Was he trying to stress her out?

Not above 82, Jemima snapped.

That’s incredible. And teaching that used to be my job!

Good for you.

Why are you so afraid?

I’m not afraid. My heart rate is slow and low. Always.

That’s not the only indication of fear… You must know that… His brows furrowed, she could tell he was trying to read her.

She shrugged, staring at her boots. I promised I’d keep myself safe.

Tell me about them.

No. I can’t. How could I? That Spyder™…

Is not the end of the world, Josh finished her sentence quite differently from how she would have done. There are worse things than death, Jemima. Other things to keep yourself safe from.

Like what?

Loneliness, for one…

Jemima noticed the chill in the air for the first time. She shivered. Not enough to raise her heart rate, but enough that Josh apparently noticed. He stepped closer. Jemima lifted her gaze and met his eye. There was only his wind-up torch to give them light; the moon was obscured by clouds and trees, the campfire long extinguished. Had his eyes always had those brownish flecks in them? She’d forgotten how warm it was, standing this close to another person.

Jemima thought of her mum and dad, the way they used to hold hands as they walked along. How they would roll their eyes at each other but smile anyway. The way they could make each other laugh with a single word. She closed the gap between herself and Josh.

And then, their lips