Jack in The Green

They never found a body. The local news ran the obligatory 'Police worried for safety of missing man' story, and mentioned that colleagues had reported him to be increasingly obsessed with the threat posed by global warming, and frustrated at the lack of action taken to address the issue. With no close family that anyone was aware of, his disappearance wasn't even noticed for several days. Not until his manager, unable to contact him by phone, had decided to visit his house and found it locked and seemingly empty, that any sort of alarm was raised. By then he had been dead for some time.

He'd chosen some scrubby woodland a mile out of town as the place to make his self sacrifice. Sitting with his back to an ancient oak, and driven by a fanatical belief that something must be done, he offered himself up to save the earth from humankind. Then he slit his throat and fell forwards into a deep drift of autumnal leaves.

That night it rained, and the cold wind drew leaves over the body like a mother pulling a blanket over a child. Neither animal, insect or bird would touch the cadaver as it lay, now partially concealed. Drawn by the smell of blood and death, a rat approached the body. It's whiskers twitching, beady eyes wary as it approached, it suddenly stiffened and then turned and fled.

Three days the corpse lay both undiscovered and undisturbed. On the third morning tendrils of fungal growth spread rapidly, enveloping the deceased. He was mummified in a winding cloth of pallid, slimy mycelia.

Unseasonably warm sunlight brightly illuminated the base of the oak. The air began to vibrate with the heavy drone of flies, and slowly a vast swarm accumulated above the dead man. The leaf pile began to writhe and stir as an army of beetles, centipedes, worms, and slugs moved en masse to engulf him as the swarm descended with a roar.

Twilight faded into darkness, a heavy rain fell, quickly drenching everything. The muddied ground beneath the oak seemed to boil and churn. Slowly a figure rose, detaching itself from the ground. It stank of decay and wet vegetation. Pushing himself up onto his knees the newly formed Jack in the Green used the trunk to pull himself erect. Turning full circle in a slow deliberate manner he stopped abruptly, as if sensing the direction he sought. Stiff legged at first, he strode through the trees and towards the town.

There were no thoughts, but there was an awareness that he wasn't alone. There were other Jacks, and there were Jills too. There was also purpose.

Keanu Prentiss kept his foot down. He knew this route well, knew that there was nowhere for a cop to lie in wait for the unwary driver. So he pushed the engine, relishing the feel of his fat-ass car as it swung into the curves and bends, tires squealing. The road was dark, slick and wet in his headlights, which only served to add piquancy to his drive.

The last stretch to enjoy before even Keanu needed to slow down and drive at more appropriate speeds, and he meant to make the most of it. Flooring the accelerator he watched his speed display mounting rapidly. Could he do it? Could he manage 100 mph before having to slow?

Slamming into the figure that lurched suddenly in his path Keanu felt rather than heard the impact. Instinctively he viciously applied his brakes, producing a squealing. protesting, and above all, abrupt cessation of motion. His hands squeezed the wheel so tightly it hurt. He could actually hear his own breath in the sudden silence, coming out in short, sharp gasps and sobs. In his chest, something was hammering urgently to be let out. With a sense of unreality, Keanu realised that the sobs were keeping pace with his accelerated heartbeat.

Should he get out? Go look? The guy must surely be dead, or dying. No one could survive a collision like that, could they? Many hours passed in the few seconds it took for Keanu to make his mind up. Pushing the car into gear, he drove off, already plotting the way he'd take to avoid main streets. He hadn't checked his car, but there must be evidence of damage, he'd take it to Voss' place. Voss was a good friend. Voss had a garage that Keanu could put his car in till it could be fixed or disposed of.

Keanu cursed the moronic twat who'd stepped in front of him. Wasn't his fault. Keanu reasoned that he would have hit the guy hard, even if he had been driving within the speed limit. Served him right, served the lousy fucker right. Christ, my car, What's it done to my car. Got to get to Voss' place, get off the road.

At the side of the road, the Jack lay unmoving for several minutes. Then it dragged itself to its feet, a bioluminescent green haze, surrounded the damaged body. Glistening black eyes reflected the light, and the Jack hissed as it swung around and headed down the road Keanu had taken into town.