by Kolin Wood
Now, with the majority of the inhabitants silent and static, unnoticed movement was proving difficult. Doyle was unable to support himself, and the likelihood was that every able member of the capital was out searching for them. Any attempt to escape out through the main exit or any of the main checkpoints would have been suicide. The situation was made worse by the fact that morning was fast approaching, meaning that there would be no darkness to hide them. Every passing minute also allowed the guards the chance to become more organised.
At the top of the treacherous iron staircase, damp and rotting wooden pallets had been sketchily arranged to create a platform about six feet wide, from which the refuse from the city could be more easily discarded. To either side of the podium, the once-grey aluminium of the bus roof lay black and green with weather, dented in places, oily and perilous to step on.
Once on the platform, Juliana stopped, allowing Doyle to drop from her shoulders with an unceremonious bump, while mumbling an out-of-breath apology as she did so. Even though he did not trust him, Tanner let him go more graciously, checking he was stable before turning back the way that they had just come.
“I think we are clear, for now at least,” he said, after a few moments of silently scanning the darkness.
At the end of the street, occasional shadows moved as the odd, crazed drunk skulked about and people brave enough visited the latrine, but there were no torches, no raised voices. A shoddily erected, plastic guttering system ran the whole length of the street, feeding from several main points at the edge of the camp. The guttering ran under the front of the bus, tight against the wall. From there, it cut through the dumping ground, eventually feeding into a far larger, semi-circular pipe which linked with all the other smaller systems before eventually it seemed to disappear under a panel at the main fence about fifty metres away from where they stood now.
With a grimace on his face, Tanner looked over the edge of the bus, down into the sewer and across the spider web of guttering and rubbish-strewn wasteland.
“I’ve put up with some sick shit in my life,” he said. “But that’s rank.”
Juliana lifted herself off of her haunches and walked over to stand beside him. “But it’s safe,” she added.
The frown on Tanner’s face was sarcastic as he looked at her and then lifted his eyebrows as if to say safe?
“Perhaps,” he said. “I believe you, millions wouldn’t.”
Juliana ignored him as she craned her head, looking for a way down.
“He’s gonna have to jump too,” Tanner added, looking over at Doyle. “Either that or we will have to throw him over the side.”
This time it was Juliana’s turn to frown. Her old jailer really was in a bad way. Since his liberation from the blood-soaked cell, his condition had deteriorated to the point where now he was almost cathartic and unresponsive. He not only looked like a zombie, he moved like one as well. What had they thought? Even if he had been a man eating psychopath, quite what they had expected him to do in the state he was in, thrust into the cage against Tanner, God only knew. Perhaps they believed that he would simply come alive, like a half-dead, cornered animal when poked with a stick.
Right now, all she needed from him was the ability to move; just a bit more.
She reached into the bag and pulled out one of the bottles of brown, gritty water that she had brought with her from the house. Then without warning, she unscrewed the lid, knelt down so that the bottle was pointing directly into Doyle’s face and squeezed hard.
The stream of water hit him directly between his eyes. The shock worked as intended and he jolted backward as though he had hit by a jolt of electricity. He swung his arms up, narrowly avoiding landing a punch on Juliana’s chin.
“No!” he screamed, as the water ran in rivulets of blood from his face, exposing a patch of pale skin beneath. “No more!”
Juliana was quick to kneel down beside him.
“Shh, Doyle,” she hissed in an attempt to control the volume of her own voice. “It’s me; Juliana. You’re safe for now but we need you to wake up.”
His eyelids flickered for a moment or two but remained closed.
Behind her, she could feel Tanner’s eyes boring down with disdain into the back of her skull. She knew too well how he felt about bringing Doyle along with them. As far as Tanner was concerned, it didn’t matter whether he had helped her to escape or not. He’d voluntarily joined the General’s sick little band of his own fruition. Nobody had coerced him to stay. He was therefore guilty and instrumental to the terrible things that went on there. The late turn of conscience didn’t warrant this much of a reprieve—especially not when it put their own lives at so much risk.
Juliana shook Doyle hard, desperate for a response.
“Doyle, I need you to focus. It’s me; Juliana. We are running out of time!”
This time something registered and Doyle’s eyelids flickered again, opening just a fraction to reveal a heavy tangle of bloody stems and broken capillaries. A low, groaning sound escaped his mouth.
“That’s it,” Juliana said with relief. “Come back to me.”
His eyeballs rolled like marbles in their sockets. He sucked in huge lung fulls of cold air which caused his entire body to shudder. Finally, after a few moments of confusion, the slightest hint of a smile cracked the edges of his mouth.
“I can’t believe… you made it,” he said with a grimace, as if merely saying the words was painful to him.
Juliana breathed out heavily.
“In part, thanks to you,” she said, now with her own smile.
She slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him upright to lean against her.
“Can you move?” she asked.
Her fingers felt sticky as she tried to wipe back some of the bloody hair from his face.
With every passing second Doyle seemed to find more focus and strength. His head looked slack on his shoulders as he nodded, taking his own weight on his arms with a grunt. “I, I think… so. It feels like I’ve taken… something… It’s like I’m on… drugs.”
“It’ll wear off,” Tanner said from behind them.
Juliana looked up at him, wondering how he knew but said nothing. She watched as Tanner suddenly and surely pulled the gun up to his shoulder and focused his eye down the barrel.
“And I suggest that you shake it off quick,” he said. “Because I think we got company.”
Juliana snapped her head around, just in time hear somebody shout.
More than one shadow had gathered at the end of the alley. There were far too many people there for it to be a random encounter.
Desperately, she stood, scrabbling on the slippery surface. Then, once on her feet, she bent over and grabbed Doyle under his armpits, dragging him up with her.
“We need to get off this bus,” she said urgently, while casting a nervous look back down the street.
Tanner nodded from behind the gun. “Quickly, they’re coming,” he said.
Without another word, Juliana turned, pulled Doyle over to the edge, and jumped.
31
They’d been searching for hours and so far had uncovered nothing, much to Cole’s frustration. The Capital was large but the lack of usable or occupied buildings meant that the space was far easier to control; or at least, should be. The boarded up building fronts and extortionate rental rates had been something of a masterstroke by Farringdon. People were kept on the edge of destitution, living like hobos in the park at the centre of the square. Only those of means or positions of responsibility were granted access to the bricks and mortar surrounding their ramshackle shanty town. Not only did this act as a lever for control—it offered something in the way of aspiration; a level one could aspire too—it also kept the miscreants out of the dark corners and from behind locked doors.
His eyes were on constant stalks as he walked. After all, One Six Four was missing. Nobody had seen the monster since before the fight. Cole had racked his brain trying to think of plausible reasons
as to why Tanner and the woman might have freed the monster. The only one that held any water was that maybe the girl was trying to make history repeat itself? That by freeing the monster it might go on a rampage and destroy the Capital from the inside out. The plan had certainly worked before. It had been something of a master class in tactics if not slightly suicidal in application.
Whatever the reason for its liberation, the idea that the thing was out there somewhere, unchecked within the city limits, unsettled him greatly.
“They’ve headed into the sewer!” a sudden shout sounded from a few streets away.
“Well, follow them!” Cole shouted back, as he changed direction and ran in the direction of the noise. “Don’t let them escape!”
Voices whooped and hollered as those in earshot followed the order, each of them driven by Teddy’s promise of a grand-style recompense.
The mud made running difficult. At the end of the narrow, tent-filled walkway, the street opened up. Without checking, Cole burst from cover, crossed through the pungent mire and ducked into the narrow street leading down toward the main sewer. The sheet-black sky sat thick with dark cloud leaving no trace of a moon. It left the alley like a faecal minefield, almost unnavigable. To one side, a constant trickle emanated from the guttering, its never-ending flow guiding him ever deeper into the dirge. Cole’s left boot scuffed through something vile, almost causing him to lose his footing but thankfully he managed to stay upright. Ahead, the black shadow of the side of the bus loomed.
The cold night air burned in his lungs, and by the time he was standing in the wake of the huge bus, he was panting and severely out of breath. His eyes had made some extra adjustment and now compensated for the darkness of which there was very little respite. The group of guards had congregated at the bottom of a shoddily-erected and malformed staircase which led up to the roof of the bus. The banister was made of scaffolding but closer inspection showed the stairs themselves to be wooden.
He set down a boot and the first slippery step creaked ominously under his weight.
“What are you waiting for?” he yelled. “Get up there!”
One of the men stepped forward and continued up the steps. With every step, the creaking progressively worsened until the man was out of sight. After a few moments, a voice called down to confirm that he’d made it.
Satisfied enough, Cole and the others followed. At the top, however, the sight caused him to hold fast. Some fifty metres away, the huge metal fence of the Capital rose up, a tangle of razor wire crowning its top. The ground between the bus and the fence however might as well have been the gateway to Hell itself; a black, seething pit of horror. The smell from the pit reminded him of the courtyard at the back of the prison, the one where they had burned the bodies of the dead and infected—years of dumped rubbish, bodies, and bodily waste. Images of Harold, his face and arms black with smoke, breathing in the fumes as they burned the dead, played in his mind with such clarity that it surprised him.
“Get some lights!” he shouted back down the stairs behind, again at anybody. “And get me more men… Tell them to cover any other alleys and routes that lead in or out of this dump… and bring a ladder!”
He could follow the fugitives down there without handing over an unacceptable advantage. They would be like sitting ducks climbing into that oblivion without lights. Anybody with even half a brain would understand the tactical advantage that they possessed and from what he had witnessed, Tanner more than qualified.
“Hurry UP!”
Two men turned and scurried off back into the Capital while the other three remained beside Cole. He noticed with some dismay that none of the men were armed properly armed. No guns, just hand-held weapons, a couple of bats, and a rather evil looking machete.
The four of them began to search in the dark space for any sign of movement.
“Who saw them go in here?” Cole asked, unbelieving that anybody would voluntarily commit to enter a place of such filth.
“I did, sir,” the machete-wielding guard said, looking back nervously.
“You sure?” the tone of Cole’s voice a tell-tale sign of his scepticism.
“I’m sure. Saw them climb the ladder and then jump in.”
“How many were there?”
The man shrugged, dropping his eyes to the floor. “It was dark, but three… I think.”
Cole assessed the man for a moment or two more and then looked away. Having already searched the rest of the Capital there were not many other options. Besides, the woman had been captured in the sewer, had she not? Made sense that she might try to escape the way that she had come in.
Suddenly the clouds broke above, momentarily bathing the space before him in a sharp swathe of silver light. Cole snatched his chance. He scoured the site, hunting between the split bags and glistening waste, all of which seemed to shimmer and seethe before him.
A movement caught his eye a few metres in front of the bus, and he watched as three dark shapes broke from the cover of the mound that they were hiding behind and ran in the direction of the fence.
“There!” he shouted, raising up his gun. But he was too late. The clouds refilled in the gaps in the sky and the whole area was plunged into darkness once more.
Cole swore loudly. Frustrated, he fired off three rounds in the direction that he had seen them running, hoping for a lucky hit. He stopped and listened, hoping to hear some cries of sorrow or pain. But the sounds of the bangs were still ringing in his ears, covering over anything else.
“Get in after them,” he said, turning to the guards,
Now that he had actual proof the fugitives were indeed down there, there was no time to wait for advantages. After all, he had the men to sacrifice. He could not afford to lose sight of them now.
One by one, the three remaining guards—their faces betraying their fear—lowered themselves from the edge of the bus, each of them hanging until the last minute before letting go and plunging down into the dump. The groans and swear words from below told of their discontent with the nature of their landing; Cole could only imagine what nasty’s were festering at the base. He turned back briefly, willing a swift arrival of the ladder and more men.
“Come on,” he said to himself.
He needed lights. Lots of lights. Then they’d be like rats in a field.
One thing troubled him though. He had seen three shapes—three people running together. But the idea that One Six Four had joined them was so far from ludicrous as to seem impossible. So if this third person was not the cannibal, then who were they? And why were they helping?
32
The bullets had only narrowly missed, thudding with a dull impact into the muck around them. Surprise at the gunshots had sent Juliana diving forward for cover. Doyle too, had gone over with her, and now the two of them were lying face down in the filth. Slime covered her arms and something lumpy and soft had clogged itself between her fingers. A vile taste crept into her mouth and she vomited painfully.
Thankfully, the cloud cover had returned, granting them a few moments reprieve. Tanner had remained on his feet and was barely visible in the dark above them.
“We have to move, now,” he said, as he reached down to grab hold of her arm.
At that moment, Juliana felt like she had nothing left to give. Her energy, like the filament of a light bulb, suddenly just popped and vanished. Her arms shook under the weight of her body. The pressure in her shoulder as Tanner pulled on her felt like he might tear her arm clean out of its socket at any moment. Desperately, she pushed with her legs, at last finding purchase with her feet once again. The pain immediately subsided.
Tanner’s strong grip was reassuring as he slipped an arm around her waist causing a quick flutter to her stomach.
“Thanks,” she said, flashing her eyes up at him coyly.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his face hidden in the shadow of the bus and his voice hard but caring.
She nodded, unsure as to whether or not he could see the respo
nse.
Next to her, Doyle was still down, floundering like a fish on a mud flat. Juliana swallowed hard to settle her heaving stomach then reached down to help him up, this time receiving no assistance from Tanner.
It was a struggle but after two attempts he managed to make it onto one knee, where he remained, panting for breath, head bowed.
For a few moments the three of them remained, quietly catching their breath.
Juliana squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her firsts so tight that her nails might draw blood. She had been so close. From where they had been hiding at the base of the bus, she had been able to see the General, stood directly above her on the roof, starkly silhouette against the swirling grey clouds. If she had been holding the gun she would have shot him then and there, as easily as she might have shot a rat; with no hesitation or shred of conscience. Had the clouds not broken when they did and forced her hand, she may have tried to take the gun from Tanner, but now it was too late.
A crash sounded, followed by another, and then another.
Somebody or something had just followed them down into the filth from the top of the bus.
Juliana pulled hard on Doyle’s arm, much as Tanner had done to her, offering him little choice but to respond. But Doyle was a thick and heavy lad and his weight was too much for her to lift. Eventually, after a moment of resistance, he pushed himself upright, wobbling on his legs as he stood.
Without letting go of him, Juliana turned back to face Tanner, but he was gone.