Prosper Snow Series

by Shaun Jeffrey

  A ringing sound jerked Prosper out of his sleep. It took him a couple of seconds to realise that it was the phone. He reached across and fumbled for the receiver in the dark – noticed the red digits of the alarm clock: 1:37 a.m.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled.

  “It’s Brundle. Get dressed I’m coming to pick you up. We have a job to do.”

  Prosper rubbed his eyes. “Job! It’s one thirty in the bloody morning.”

  “The shit hasn’t just hit the fan, it’s smothered it. More prisoners have escaped.”

  Prosper dropped the receiver, scrambled for the bedside light switch and turned it on.

  “What is it?” Natasha asked shielding her eyes from the bright light.

  “I have to go into work.” He swung his legs out of bed, stood up, felt shaky.

  “At this time?”

  “Something’s happened.”

  “Well if this is what your new job’s like, I don’t know whether I like it.”

  “Sorry.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

  Prosper dressed in the clothes draped over the back of the dressing table chair, a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt. Then he turned the light off and made his way downstairs.

  The heating had gone off hours ago and the whole house was cold. He shivered and grabbed a jacket from the cupboard under the stairs, along with a pair of boots. Once dressed, he waited outside, pacing up and down the drive, chewing his fingernails to the quick.

  Five minutes later a car pulled up. The passenger door opened as Prosper approached and Brundle leaned back across to sit behind the steering wheel.

  “So what’s happened?” Prosper asked as he jumped inside and pulled the door shut, glad to be out of the cold.

  “I don’t know exactly.” Brundle started driving, “but something’s gone down at the research centre and more prisoners have escaped.”

  “What sort of a fuck up operation is this?”

  Brundle shrugged, the streetlights throwing pools of light and shadow across her face.

  “Where’s Williams?”

  “He’s going to meet us there.”

  “And what about Lester? Is he coming too?”

  “I think everyone and their mother will be there. This is a bad one.” Brundle indicated and turned left at the end of the road.

  “You’re going the wrong way. The research facility is that way.” He hooked a thumb to his right.

  “Yes, but we need to pick up our weapons first.”

  “I’d rather just go and see what’s happened.”

  “Believe me, if it’s as bad as they say, you’ll thank me later.”

  Prosper sat back and fastened his seatbelt. He had a feeling this was going to be a long night.

  Once they had signed out their weapons, Brundle drove them to the rundown area where the research facility was located.

  The road was blocked by a couple of cars, beyond which lights had been erected and people were darting around.

  Brundle drove up to the cars, lowered her window and flashed her ID at the man standing guard. He nodded and waved to someone sitting in one of the vehicles and it pulled aside to allow them through.

  After parking the car, Brundle jumped out. Prosper followed. He could feel the gun clamped underneath his arm, and he felt uncomfortable about it; remembered a saying that ‘guns don’t kill, people do’ which couldn’t be any more apt as without someone to pull the trigger, a gun was just a lump of metal and plastic.

  Prosper looked around, saw lights flashing through some of the surrounding buildings as people swept through them with torches.

  “Brundle, Prosper.”

  At the sound of his name, Prosper swirled around and saw Lester walking out from underneath the archway. Klement and Rogers followed in his wake.

  “What’s happened?” Brundle asked.

  Lester shook his head. “Someone broke into the facility.”

  Prosper frowned. “Broke in? What for?”

  “I don’t know, but he planted smoke bombs to make it seem the building was on fire, so everyone had to be evacuated. In all the confusion, some of the prisoners escaped. It’s mayhem in there.”

  “So how many have escaped?” Brundle asked.

  “We’re not sure yet,” Klement said. “Quite a few.” He wiped sweat from his brow.

  Prosper glanced at a couple of medics rushing through the archway. “Well how many prisoners were there inside?”

  “Fourteen,” Klement said.

  “And how many have you rounded up?”

  Klement licked his lips. “Ten.”

  “So there are four missing.”

  Klement nodded. Rogers grimaced.

  “Well why didn’t you just say that?”

  “We need to recapture them Mr. Snow. They’re outside the test environment. God knows what will happen.”

  “So what about this person who broke in? Do you know who it was or what they wanted?”

  “The person has been … apprehended,” Rogers said.

  “Then can I talk to him?” Prosper asked.

  Rogers shook his head. “It’s a little late for that.”

  Before Prosper could respond, the two medics walked out of the archway carrying a stretcher covered with a sheet. Blood seeped through the material. “Is that him?”

  Rogers nodded.

  Prosper held his hand up. “Hold on a minute.” He jogged across, braced himself and then threw the sheet back. It took a couple of seconds to realise that he wasn’t looking at a chunk of pizza, but a face. The eyes had been pushed back into their sockets, short brown hair ripped out by its roots. Gashes and cuts covered the man’s face, a face Prosper immediately recognised despite the devastation wreaked upon it.

  Samuel Rivers. He took a deep breath, the thick stench of blood in the air making him gag.

  Prosper turned away, looked at Rogers, Klement and Lester. “What happened to him?”

  Klement stroked his chin. “Our test subjects did what they were trained for.”

  “You mean the prisoners killed him?”

  “It looks that way. They were probably panicked in all the confusion.”

  “Jesus.” Prosper rubbed his hands along his thighs as though he had blood on them. What the hell was Rivers doing here? How had he known about the place? The only explanation Prosper could come up with was that Rivers had somehow followed him. And the only reason he would have broken in was to find out what was going on.

  Because of him, Rivers was dead. How many more deaths did his shoulders have to bear the weight of?

  He felt suddenly warm and light-headed. He tugged at the neck of his t-shirt.

  “Are you alright, Prosper?” Lester asked.

  “Fine. Just fine.”

  “We need to find out who that man was, but before that, perhaps you and Brundle would like to help track down the escapees before they can get very far. And remember, you’re licensed to use extreme force, but only as a last resort. We want them bringing back alive.”

  Brundle nodded and pulled out her gun, checking the action. She turned to face Prosper. “You see, I told you that you’d thank me.”

  Prosper swallowed to rid his mouth of the taste of bile. “You have my undying gratitude.”

  Brundle sighed and shrugged. “Well don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “How much head start do they have?” Prosper asked.

  “Little over two hours,” Lester replied.

  Prosper saw the medics loading Rivers corpse into an ambulance. His stomach sank, made him feel nauseous. He couldn’t admit to knowing Rivers, as it would launch a barrage of questions he didn’t want to answer.

  The whole point of wanting to find out about Lester and what he knew about Prosper’s nefarious deeds now seemed unimportant – especially now that he knew the extent to which the government were prepared to go in the name of science. What Prosper had done paled in comparison. Like it or not, he had signed on with a new boss and now he had a lot of shit
to clear up.

  But that didn’t stop him from feeling guilty.

  “They could be anywhere after two hours,” Prosper said.

  “Well you’d better get a move on. You can join the search of the buildings. There are torches in the back of that incident wagon.” He pointed towards a large truck parked further along the road.

  Brundle nodded and jogged away. Prosper followed. A set of steps led up the side of the incident wagon, the back thrown open. Two men and a woman sat inside, coordinating the search. They spoke quickly into microphones and then punched keys on the keyboard. A large monitor screen on the wall showed an overhead view of the area. Some of the picture was highlighted in transparent blue or red squares

  “We’re here to help with the search,” Brundle said.

  The woman stood up. She handed across a couple of torches and two headsets. “We’re combing the area in an expanding circle. You can start with that building there,” she pointed at a red squared point on the monitor. “Report in every five minutes. If you declare the area clear, we’ll tick it off the list.”

  Prosper pulled the single speaker headset on and adjusted the microphone so that it was to the side of his mouth.

  “Just hold the transmit button when you want to contact us,” the woman said. “Your call sign is Ogre.”

  “Got it,” Brundle said. She held her torch in one hand, gun in the other, then jumped down the steps.

  Prosper followed. Across the courtyard, he saw Rogers and Klement deep in conversation. Rogers kept waving his arms around in an angry manner. After a moment he barked orders at a couple of the other guards and they nodded and ran back inside the prison.

  The building Brundle and Prosper had been designated to search was four stories high. It sat in darkness. Like the surrounding properties, many of the windows had been smashed.

  The entrance was a set of double doors leading off the pavement. Prosper turned the handle. He expected it to be locked, but the door opened. He switched on his torch and shone it inside.

  Metal columns held aloft the ceiling. The torchlight threw fleeting shadows around the room. Prosper’s pulse increased and his grip on the torch felt a little sweaty.

  He swallowed and then entered. The room stretched the entire length of the building, which was about one hundred feet wide by fifty feet long. Its unoccupied state made any sounds echo between the columns. The air smelled damp and there was an aroma like that of rusting metal.

  Prosper shone the light around the room, taking his time to check each column, which was the only place anyone could conceivably hide. Satisfied the room was deserted, he started walking towards the far wall where there were three doors. Brundle walked at his side, the gun an extension of her arm.

  Prosper approached the first door.

  “One room at a time,” Brundle whispered. “Starting with this one.” She braced herself, and then pushed the door open. The wood groaned as it scraped across the concrete floor.

  Prosper shone his torch around from the doorway, illuminating a small box room.

  “Empty,” he whispered.

  Brundle moved to the next door and went through the same procedure. That room was also empty.

  The next door led to a set of stairs. Prosper started up but Brundle grabbed his arm and held him back. She shook her head, then stepped past him to lead the way.

  “This is Ogre, nothing to report so far,” Brundle said into her mouthpiece.

  The stairs zigzagged up, with windows visible on each landing. The wind whistled through the broken glass, sounded like a ghostly groan.

  When they reached the first floor, Prosper trailed Brundle along the short hallway, watched as she eased the first door open. She shone the torch through to reveal a room the same as the one on the ground floor.

  Brundle moved further into the room, shining her light into the far corners.

  “Clear,” she said.

  Prosper nodded and headed back out to the stairs. He allowed Brundle to go first and they proceeded to the next floor. The door at the top was ajar. Brundle edged closer and pushed it open with her foot. The door swung inwards, came to rest.

  Prosper licked his lips. Glanced at Brundle. Her features were shadowed in the torchlight, teeth gritted making her cheekbones more prominent.

  He followed her through the door, finding himself in a corridor. He had a momentary memory of the abandoned building where he and his friends executed Mack Taylor and goose bumps mottled his arms.

  Quelling the fear with deep breaths, he walked forwards, saw doorways to the left and right. He approached the first door. Brundle stood on the other side of the doorway. She eased the door open and stepped through.

  The room on the other side was partitioned off by another short corridor formed by a waist-high wall, above which were window panes, all the glass of which was smashed. The walls that were once white, now dirty and streaked with rust coloured water stains. Through the windowpanes on the left, Prosper could see a wood panelled room with cupboards attached to the walls. Everything looked grubby, dirt stained.

  Prosper walked through an open door into the room, crunching through glass that twinkled in the torchlight. He noticed yellowed, curled newspaper pages taped to some of the walls, featuring topless page three models like Samantha Fox and Linda Lusardi. He was showing his age by recognising them, as the papers must have been twenty years old, and in today’s politically correct environment most workplaces wouldn’t allow the pictures to be displayed.

  They shone their torches around, chasing shadows out of the nooks and crannies. Windows opposite looked out on the building the prisoners had escaped from.

  Prosper walked across the room. Floorboards creaked.

  Once he reached the window, he put his hands on the sill and looked out. People were running around down below and he saw Lester talking to a small group of people, waving his arms to emphasise whatever it was he was talking about.

  A slight breeze blew through the broken windows. Prosper inhaled deeply.

  “We need to get a move on,” Brundle said.

  Prosper stood up straight and started walking back across the room when he heard something. He halted, shone his torch where he thought he’d heard the sound. It hadn’t been loud, more a soft bump.

  He shone his torch at Brundle to get her attention, but she must have heard the noise too because she was aiming her gun in the direction of the sound.

  There was a low panel opposite that formed a partition wall, which was a mirror of the one in the hallway, with broken panes of glass above it.

  Prosper started tiptoeing towards it, wincing as more glass crunched underfoot. His heart thundered in his chest, fingers tingling. He tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. Despite his reservations about the gun, he withdrew it.

  Once he reached the partition, he braced himself, then darted forwards and thrust the torch through one of the broken windowpanes, shining the light down on the other side of the panel.

  But there was nothing there. He shook his head and exhaled loudly. “Probably just the building settling.” He stood up straight.

  A loud bang made him spin around and he saw a flash of white flying across the room. He brought his torch around, illuminating a pale man in white clothes charging at Brundle, a dagger of glass in his hand.

  “Look out,” he screamed.

  Brundle started to turn, but the man was too close, the improvised dagger held aloft, ready to strike.

  Working on autopilot, Prosper raised his gun and fired in one fluid motion, his finger repeatedly pulling the trigger, the gun dancing wildly. The reports echoed around the room, deafening. Some of the bullets smashed through what little glass remained in the windows, but one or two hit the figure, punching him backwards, arms flailing in the air. Without a sound, he hit the window and crashed through the frame.

  Prosper ran across and looked down at the road where the figure lay sprawled, a growing pool of blood seeping out around his body like a shadow.
/>
  “Thanks,” Brundle said. “I’m glad some of that training paid off, but we’re going to have to practice your targeting. Thirteen bullets!”

  Prosper slumped to the floor, knees raised, head bowed. He fought against the growing nausea in his stomach; let the gun drop to the floor with a clatter.

  Guns don’t kill, people do.

  CHAPTER 34

  Bright lights illuminated the windows in the multi-storey building along the road, making them look like vacant squares in a giant crossword. The killer watched as people moved between rooms, searching. They were slowly increasing the search radius when they didn’t find who they were looking for.

  Goose bumps decorated the killer’s arms. Having other potential killers on the loose gave him a challenge as they would make more worthy opponents – he only hoped that he found them before anyone else.

  He concentrated on the lights.

  Bright

  Light

  Heavy

  Water

  Liquid

  Blood

  Now where would they run to? Where would he run to if he were in their shoes?

  Trying to think too much hurt, so he relaxed, knowing that his subconscious would supply answers if he just allowed it time to unravel things. But time was against him. The searchers would deploy more people, casting their dragnet further and further.

  He sank down on the balcony out of sight and closed his eyes, concentrated on his breathing, tried to clear all other thoughts.

  “It’s busy out there.”

  The killer looked up at the brown haired woman standing beside him, pointing into the distance. He hadn’t heard her approach – sloppy – even though she was pushing a pushchair.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” She pulled some hairs out of her mouth.

  The killer shook his head. He imagined pushing the woman over the balcony; imagined dropping her baby first just to see the expression on her face when it splattered on the ground.

  “Probably be on the news later.” She continued on her way.

  The killer watched her go. She would never realise how lucky she had been tonight. If he didn’t have bigger prey on his mind …

  He closed his eyes again, concentrated on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out.