by Andy Graham
“Can you wait?”
She shook her head.
Ray bolted the door again. “Better?”
She nodded.
He peered out of the window to the small clearing housing their shelter. “When the men get here, there may be some shouting. Stay here, understand? I’m going to try to lead them away, then I’ll come back to get you.”
The boy nodded.
“And you?” Ray asked the girl.
“I need to poo.”
“What? Why couldn’t you do that before?”
“I didn’t need to do a poo then.”
“That was two minutes ago!”
The little girl stuck her bottom lip out. “You’re stupid.”
Ray rolled his eyes. “In the name of all the gods that never lived. Why?”
He stuck his head outside the door. The clearing was quiet. He stepped out of the enormous barrel that someone had converted into a shelter — his guess was that it had been the site of an illegal still at one point — and checked the woods.
“Quick,” he whispered.
The girl shuffled out of the barrel, tights and knickers already down by her ankles, T-shirt held up over her head. She disappeared behind a tree trunk that looked wide enough to hide an army.
Ray looked away. “Can she . . . uhhhh . . . clean herself?” he asked her brother.
The boy shook his head.
“Oh, for the love of— The army recruitment vids never spoke about this.” He rooted through his belt pouches for a tissue.
Orr held up a clenched fist. Nascimento sank to one knee.
In the clearing beyond the thick trees was a large wooden barrel. Shod in copper bands, it lay on its side facing a ring of blackened stones. Wedges jammed under each end secured it in place. A boy, a mop of brown hair plastered to his head, leant out of the doorway. He was looking over at a tree. Ray Franklin stood next to him, holding a scrap of white paper in his hand.
Orr gestured for them to move out. He stepped into the open. A stick snapped as he moved.
A stick cracked. The boy disappeared behind the tree after his sister. Ray spun round, knife raised. Two legionnaires were advancing towards him, rifles raised. “Don’t do it, dude.”
Orr slid to one side, flanking their quarry. “You got any more of those booby traps set up here, Franklin?”
“Drop the knife and come quietly. No one needs to get hurt,” Nascimento said.
Ray dropped into a crouch, moving in front of the tree the kids were hiding behind. “I was right. I thought I recognised you two lurking in the shadows when I grabbed the kids. Was it you who had the idea of using the fireworks to get me to the preacher tree?”
Nascimento nodded. “We convinced the Unsung you’d never fall for a straight-up ambush. Thought this would give you a head start, at least.”
“Thanks, I guess. How’s life in the Unsung treating you, boys?”
“It’s shit,” said Nascimento. “Give me the 10th and our old unit any day. I’d have died for anyone of you people.”
“You almost did.”
“Maybe, but I got orders, Ray, and the orders are we take you in or out. I’d rather do the former.”
Orr’s radio crackled. He held it up to his lips and mumbled into it.
“No can do, Jamerson. I’ve come too far to back out now. Too many people have lost and sacrificed too much for me to back down. Captain Aalok was one of them.”
Orr clipped his radio to his collar. “Aalok’s dead. He got killed under the mountain by that monster.”
“Another lie. Aalok survived that attack. He sacrificed himself to get me out of Substation Two.” Prickles ran down the length of his spine.
“Run, Ray,” the bullet-ridden image of Aalok whispered in Ray’s memories.
“Why would he do that?” Nascimento’s slow advance stopped.
Ray lowered his knife. “We were in Substation Two for what was supposed to be a training exercise. Aalok was mortally wounded by an Unsung. He realised that the government was playing games with us. He died to get me out. He had a message for both of you, he said—”
“Enough, Franklin,” Orr cut in. “You could be lying. You want this done easy or hard?”
“I’m not lying, Baris,” Ray said to Orr. “Why would I?”
“So we feel sorry for you and let you go.”
Nascimento stepped closer, rifle hanging by his side. “You’re hurt.” He pointed to Ray’s ankle. “You need help. Those kids need food and their parents.”
“After they were used as bait to get me, I’m not sure the government is that concerned with these two kids.”
“Not your call to make.” Nascimento circled around Ray towards the tree he was protecting.
“Please,” Ray said “Do you have any idea what these bastards are doing? I saw it with my own eyes in that camp. They’re experimenting on people, trying to recreate diseases that are long dead. Separating twins to use them as lab rats. I was one of those twins, my brother’s dead.”
“We were told your mother killed your brother,” Orr said.
“Easy, Baris,” said Nascimento.
“Did she, Franklin?”
“Yes, but it was an accident.”
“That’s fine, then. We’ll just let it slide, shall we?”
“You don’t get it, Orr. The VP’s planning an all-out war on Mennai, too. He got Lind, the guy running that camp, to develop some kind of genetic dirty bomb to target the people from that country. You’re from New Town, that town used to be part of Mennai.”
“New Town got wiped off the map when you were a rookie,” Orr said. “You were on that mission. Got something you want to own up to?”
“I was in the trucks, not the van, Orr. I promise.” Ray moved towards the tree.
Orr’s radio crackled. Wings snapped through the air as a solitary bird fled. “Yeah, well, I got no home now,” Orr said, “so seeing as the Unsung claimed me, I’ll keep doing what I’m told and that way I get food to stuff in my stomach.” He pointed to the ground with his rifle. “On your hands and knees.”
Ray shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet. The knife hilt was sweaty in his grip.
“Don’t be stupid, Ray,” Nascimento said. “Come with us. You really want to help those kids of Swann’s, give up. They’re cold, wet and hungry. Let us take them in. I’ll look after them.”
There was a small sob from behind the tree, cut off by hurried shushing noises. The two legionnaires were closing in on him from opposite sides. Uninjured and one-on-one, they were evenly matched. But with a sprained ankle and armed with only a hunting knife, taking on two legionnaires with rifles was stupid.
“You promise you’ll look after those kids?”
“You have my word,” Nascimento replied.
Ray tossed the knife at his feet and straightened up out of his crouch.
Nascimento relaxed. “Good call, thanks, man. Where are the kids?”
“Behind a tree.”
“Dude.” Nascimento rolled his eyes. “We’re in a forest. Can you be a little more specific?” A grin spreading across his face, he stretched out a hand. “It’s good to see you.”
“You, too.” Ray grabbed his hand.
“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Franklin. It’s your round, by the way. Orr’s too tight to buy.”
“Sorry.”
“No worries, dude. He’s always been a tight-arse.”
“No, sorry for this.”
Nascimento’s eyes widened. Ray grabbed his jacket. With both hands, he tugged him off balance, cracking his knee into Nascimento’s body. Nascimento staggered. Ray stamped on the back of his friend’s leg. He collapsed in a heap to the floor. Ray twisted, dropped one knee into the other man’s belly and rolled over him. As he stood he yanked the rifle out of Nascimento’s hand. He spun, raised the weapon and aimed at Orr.
Orr’s rifle was up, the black pupil of its muzzle glaring at Ray in the morning light. Ray forced his breath to remain even.
>
“You’re a dick, Franklin. Now it’s gonna get messy.”
“Would have at some point, whatever happened.”
“You gonna shoot me?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then we got us a problem.”
A gentle breeze washed through the clearing; waves of shimmering grass bent in its wake. The two men stood immobile, black-clad statues clutching rifles. Nascimento groaned on the floor behind them. A bead of sweat stung Ray’s eye. He concentrated on the rise and fall of his rifle sight, matching it to the swell of his chest with each breath.
“Captain Aalok sacrificing himself for you not enough?” Orr asked. “Hamid died on your watch. Your lovely Brooke’s gone. You hurt Nascimento here, and now you’re gonna shoot me? You’re running out of friends fast.”
“Walk away, Orr.” Ray’s finger curled around the trigger.
“Not a chance. Wha’cha gonna do, hero?”
Nascimento rolled to his feet. He pulled his pistol from his belt.
“He’s going to drop the weapon and come with us or the girl loses a finger.” The hulking form of Corporal Seth stepped out from behind the tree.
A high-pitched scream was bitten off. Seth clutched Stella Swann’s squirming daughter to his chest. The boy stumbled after them and kicked the man in the shins. Seth backhanded him away. The boy fell to the floor dazed, blood streaming from his nostrils. The legionnaire howled as the girl sank her teeth into his ear.
Seth grabbed a handful of the girl’s hair and yanked her head backwards. “I’ll rip you in two, you little bitch.”
The boy lunged at Seth and was grabbed from behind by Brennan. “Drop the weapon, Franklin,” Brennan said. “You’ve had a good run but it’s time to come back into the fold.”
The girl squealed. Seth clamped his hand over her mouth. She bit him again. He threw her onto the floor and whipped out his knife.
Ray exhaled and squeezed the trigger. The retort thundered through the air. Seth jumped back, eyes wide. Leaves floated to the floor, spinning down from where the bullet had cut them from the tree.
Nascimento was gripping Ray’s rifle in a shaking hand, pointing the weapon harmlessly up into the canopy. “I can’t let you do that, Ray. You kill him and it all goes to shit, big time. Give it up.”
The kids were huddled together on the floor, a mess of snot and defiant tears. Seth loomed over them, knife drawn. The blood was flooding back into his pale face. Orr stepped closer.
“Please,” Nascimento whispered.
Ray let his old friend take the rifle. His hands thudded limply into his sides. Nascimento, mouth pressed into a grim line, gave him a quick nod.
“Good choice, Franklin,” Brennan said as Nascimento bound Ray’s hands behind his back. “Move out. Orr take the boy. Seth take the girl. If Franklin tries anything, start by cutting her hair off. Where you go from there is up to you.” He pulled his radio out. “Sir?” he asked. “Affirmative, good news. We got him.”
Seth wrestled the little girl up from the floor and slung her over his shoulder. “You bite me again,” he warned her, “and I’ll bite you back.”
She pushed herself back. Her blue eyes fixed on his face. “I. Need. To. Poo.”
11
The Church Above the Ward
Through the holes in the old church walls, what passed for fresh daylight spilled onto the floor. The angular spotlights highlighted the detritus left since the Silk Revolution. The VP stepped into one of those beams of light. The warmth soaked into his neck. That, he thought, was a bonus. The main reason was to put the early morning sun behind him. The woman in front of him went to great lengths to try and dazzle her flock with her parlour tricks. Now it was his turn to dazzle her.
It had been a good night. His carnal urges were satiated, and Ray Franklin had been captured. He was not going to let this woman spoil the start of the day. He focused his multicoloured eyes on his companion, still unable to reconcile her two different physical presences.
The Famulus, the leader of the secret society that had fingers in every mental pocket of society, plucking out both sense and reason, was an imposing woman. Though slight, her body was distorted in a way that it seemed to take up more space than it should. Her voice was full and resonant. This woman, however, was tall and wiry, going on scrawny, her voice as thin as the thread veins on her hands. Her straggly hair fell in unkempt waves down to her shoulders. The contrast made his head ache.
“It’s the adrenaline, the expectation, the placebo effect. You want her to look different during the ceremony, so she does,” he whispered. The sentence sounded like the pseudo-intellectual rubbish flung around by people who could barely spell the words in order to bolster their self-esteem. Not that having a rational explanation helped him; if anything, it made his irritation worse.
The Famulus stepped over a fallen beam out of the blind spot, spindly legs tottering atop her clumpy shoes. “Impressive, isn’t it?” She gestured around them. “Can you imagine the church when it was in its youth, not broken by old age and life?”
He only half heard her. The Famulus, for some inexplicable reason, fascinated him. Though, he conceded, that interest was akin to a child who had just learnt that spiders’ legs could be pulled off. The VP’s eyes trailed up a body made of straight lines. Surely a self-styled Earth Mother should be more voluptuous: full of rounded hills and plunging fertile valleys? Not this flat, barren desert.
She eyed him, absent-mindedly scratching at her head. “Or do you think me that rigid in my beliefs of nature’s supremacy that I cannot appreciate anything else?”
“Intellectual fundamentalism has that reputation.”
“I think of it as normal rather than extreme.”
Had all these extremists read the same books as children? Or were their brains wired the same way? “Look,” he said. “I have no more news for you. I’ll keep you posted, but please don’t contact me unless you absolutely have to.”
She laid her hand on his forearm. He resisted the temptation to put his hand over hers. The habits of years in politics were hard to break but he was not going to dignify her with the effort.
“Thank you. And I appreciate you coming this early, truly. I know you’re busy putting the world’s problems to rights.”
He mumbled something noncommittal in reply as a shadow cloaked the church. Grey clouds spat drizzle through the remains of the roof. The mist clung to his coat in a sheen of tiny spheres. She stood tall, trailing a hand through the mist. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
“Too much drizzle.”
“Water washes, water quenches, water cleans and cures. Drizzle is water.”
“Please, spare me the tedious quotations. I hear them enough as it is. Your meetings at the Ward are entertaining. That’s why I come,” he said to answer the questioning eyebrow. And they have an occasional bonus, he thought. The VP thrust his hands into his pockets, searching out the tin of mints that was always somewhere on him.
“Did you know another woman has been disappeared?” she asked. “It seems more appropriate to put it that way than the language your reports use. I’m not sure these young women wanted what happened to them. It’s terrible. The young lady with the fisher gull tattoo on her neck last year, and now this. I’m beginning to think this serial killer doesn’t like what we stand for. The red-head with the fisher gull tattoo was an acquaintance of yours, I believe?” Her question hung in the air.
Goosebumps prickled along his arms. He didn’t answer.
“Was this newer one left like the others?” she asked.
“Yes. Shaved from head to toe and throttled. We’re making enquiries, but there are certain diplomatic considerations which prevent us from taking a more direct route.” He raised his hands to stop her question. “Let’s just say that not everyone in your Ward would appreciate the attention of a full-blown enquiry.”
“That’s seven in total, all taken from my Ward.”
“Six.”
The line
s in her face grew harder. “Seven. Poor Lena, she showed so much promise.”
Ice slid through his veins. “Lena?”
“Yes. Lena, big brown eyes, long hair, a cute spotting of pox scars over her right eyebrow. It was a very distinctive patterning. The police used it to double check her DNA ID, seeing as someone appeared to have used a pair of secateurs to remove her fingertips. Such a shame. She’d only been to my society the once, but I had already marked her as one to be initiated into the higher mysteries.”
“Lena’s dead?”
“I did say another one has been found. They found her not an hour ago, on a private wharf on the banks of the River Tenns.” She looked at him askance. “Just down from the Brick Cathedral. You live there, I believe?”
“There must be a mistake.” His head was reeling.
“How so?”
Because I was deliberately shocking her with the truth about my parents not that long ago. Because she was in my bed not three hours ago. Because she was escorted out of my flat with tears on her face before the sun rose. That’s why there must be a mistake.
He plucked his coat open, letting the air cool the heat soaking up from his stomach. “How do you know about this when I don’t?”
“My position gives me access to privileged information. Though in this case that privilege is a curse.” She fixed her scratchy blue eyes on his. “Seven women dead. One for each element I venerate. Do you think it will stop?”
The VP grabbed his phone out of his pocket and punched in a call to his assistant. As he hissed commands at her, he could feel the Famulus’s eyes on his skin: measuring, probing. Judging.
She picked her way across the floor, away from the blind clock face towering above them, away from him.
“This isn’t a problem,” he whispered once his call had finished. “I’m the VP. I can make this go away. I can make anyone go away.”
The sun limped out from behind a cloud. A soft, bedraggled light shone through what was left of the stained glass windows. A jagged kaleidoscope of colours washed onto the debris around them, tracing the Famulus’s path.