Twenty-Five Percent (Book 3): Vengeance

by Nerys Wheatley

  “Are you trying to bargain with me?” Boot said, looking amused. “Because I don’t think you’re in much of a position for making demands.”

  “It’s me you’re after. Just leave them alone and I’ll come with you without a fight. That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

  Boot’s eyes flicked to the group behind him. “Clarke too.”

  “No,” Alex said. “I know you could just let the horde tear us to pieces, but I don’t think that’s what you want. You’ve made your point, you’ve won. You’re better than me. But you don’t want a slaughter, you want me. So I won’t fight, I won’t try to escape. You can kill me yourself and I won’t try to stop you. But it will be just me. No-one else.”

  Boot shook his head. “Clarke is far too dangerous to leave to his own devices.”

  “He will give you his word he won’t interfere with anything you do, as long as it doesn’t threaten the lives of the people here in Sarcester.” He turned to look at Micah. “Won’t you?”

  Micah stared at him, shook his head slightly.

  Please, Alex mouthed.

  Micah left the group and walked up to Alex. “Don’t do this,” he said quietly.

  “I have no choice. We will all die here, you know that. Our luck has finally run out.” He smiled slightly. “To be honest, I’m surprised it lasted this long.”

  Micah looked beyond him to Boot. “He’ll kill you.”

  “Either I die here now and take you and everyone else with me, or I die later with Boot. Either way, I end up dead.”

  “Then let me come. With both of us, maybe we can...”

  “No. I won’t risk it. One of us needs to stay alive. One of us has to stop Boot.”

  Micah stared at him for a couple of seconds and then raised his gaze to the sky, looking at nothing. “How can you ask me to just let you go off and be killed?”

  “Because I have no other choice.” Alex swallowed the bubble of anguish rising in his chest. “Please. If I know you’re still here, it will make it easier.”

  Micah’s eyes lowered to his, shining in the early morning light. “Don’t give up.”

  Alex gave a small smile. “I haven’t.”

  Micah released a heavy breath and moved his gaze to Boot. “I give you my word I won’t go against you, as long as you don’t try to harm the rest of us.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you,” Boot said.

  Micah stepped forward, jabbing a finger at him. “Listen you psychotic little prick, I hate you and everything you’ve done to us and if I ever get the chance, I will tear you apart limb from limb. But if Alex is willing to give up his life for us, then I have to be willing to do this for him. I don’t make promises unless I mean them. And I mean this one.”

  Boot studied him for a few moments then nodded slowly. “I think I believe you. Alright, I accept your offer. Mr MacCallum, come with me please.” He turned and climbed back into the helicopter.

  “If you can,” Micah said softly, “find a way to live.”

  Alex tried to speak, but all he could manage was a nod.

  Micah continued to stare at him for a moment longer, then turned away, walking quickly back to the group. Alex strode to the helicopter before he could change his mind. When he reached Frobisher the big man slapped a pair of handcuffs onto him without speaking. Alex climbed in, taking a seat next to Boot and another of his gorillas. Alex remembered him from the Omnav headquarters. Baxter. Raging anti-Survivor. No help there.

  He moved his wrists apart and strained at the cuffs, just in case they’d made a mistake and given him the regular ones he could break. They hadn’t.

  Frobisher got in last and pulled the door shut as the engine noise built, preparing to take off. The guard sitting beside the pilot glanced back and Alex was startled to see his eyes were white. Then he remembered what Hannah had said about a guard being the first to undergo the cure. He wracked his brain for the man’s name. Something beginning with J... Jessup, that was it. Or maybe the man was one of the guards to whom Boot had given the ‘gift’ of becoming a Survivor. Whoever he was, Alex wondered how he felt about what had been done to him, if there was any chance that, faced with a choice, he would offer Alex some support. It was barely a pinprick of hope, but it was all he had.

  He felt a slight wobble as they left the ground and he looked down, watching his friends as Boot’s helicopter rose into the air. Micah was shouting something, but he couldn’t hear what it was. From the enraged look on his face, it was probably some choice words for Boot.

  Once above the buildings, they flew away from East Town. The second helicopter stayed in position above Alex’s home.

  “You said you’d leave them alone if I came with you,” he said, rounding on Boot.

  “And I will, but for now my army will stay there to ensure you don’t try anything stupid.” He gave Alex a smug smile that made him want to pound his fist into Boot’s face over and over until every bone in his skull was crushed.

  Biting back his reply, Alex turned away and looked down at the city.

  Seen from above, it became horribly clear just how many eaters Boot had brought in with him. Thousands surrounded East Town, with no way through the writhing mass, the only thing holding them back the unreliable fake pheromones.

  If something went wrong, if Boot changed his mind, if one single eater decided to break away from the crowd, his friends would be overrun.

  43

  Micah kept looking into the sky, even after Boot’s helicopter had disappeared from view.

  He’d stopped shouting promises that he would find Boot and kill him in the most painful way possible if he harmed Alex. He knew Boot couldn’t have heard him anyway and probably wasn’t even aware he’d been screaming at the top of his lungs. But he needed to say it.

  He was quiet now though. The sound of his voice was drawing too much attention from the horde surrounding them.

  Hands clenched into fists so tight his fingernails dug into his palms, he stared into the clouds. Why did his friend have to be so flipping self-sacrificing and noble?

  Don’t you dare die, Alex. Don’t you dare leave me to do this without you.

  He moved his gaze to the remaining helicopter where it hovered forty feet overhead, its weapons trained on them. The engine noise was loud, but he could still hear the horde around them. Sometimes it felt like he’d never stop hearing eaters. Even in his dreams, whatever they were about, there was the constant sound of moans, shuffling feet, or rasping breaths. It was the only thing he remembered of his dreams nowadays when he woke up. Good or bad, nothing else stuck with him. He really needed some down time.

  Right now the horde wasn’t moaning, they were breathing. Breathing shouldn’t have been so loud, but the air moving in and out of eaters’ lungs always rasped as if they had a bad chest infection. A result of the Meir’s virus perhaps. He’d have to ask Hannah about it when they got out of this. If they got out of this.

  The worst thing about the eaters’ breathing now, however, the thing that was making his spine crawl, was that they were all breathing together. In, out, in, out, each breath perfectly synchronised throughout the entire horde, sounding like he was inside some giant monster’s lung. It was almost creepier than the moans.

  It reminded Micah of the first time he saw Star Wars, when he was four. He’d huddled on his mother’s lap because Darth Vader’s breathing terrified him, wishing he’d never begged her to let him watch it in the first place.

  He walked slowly back to the group, keeping an eye on the eaters in case any decided to rebel and come at them, triggering the others to do the same like they had during their escape from the Omnav headquarters. Not that he’d be able to do anything about it if that happened.

  “We have to get out of this,” he said quietly.

  “Good idea,” Bates said. “Any suggestions?”

  Micah looked around. They weren’t completely hemmed in, yet. The horde was gathered in front of what was left of the barriers at both ends of
the road, maybe a hundred feet away on either side. A good twenty seconds, by eater run. They could still make it to Alex’s building if they didn’t have to worry about dodging bullets.

  “We need to take that helicopter down.”

  “I thought you promised Boot you wouldn’t try to stop him,” Scott said.

  “I was crossing my fingers in my mind.”

  Micah studied the group. They still had their guns, but unless one of them got in a very lucky shot those were useless against the helicopter and the noise would probably wake up the horde. Then they’d be dealing with more than just freaky breathing.

  His eyes paused on the staff strapped across Janie’s back. It was really just a four foot length of steel pipe, but she’d been using it as a weapon. She said she enjoyed the feeling of smashing it into skulls. He’d hoped she was joking, but it was hard to tell with Janie.

  He looked back up at the helicopter, a plan forming. The pipe weighed a good three kilograms or more, too heavy for him to do it. But not for someone with super human strength.

  “Any one of you Survivors good at throwing?” he said.

  “I used to play cricket at county level,” Scott said. “Other teams hated my spin bowling. Of course, my club threw me out after I got infected.”

  “Think you could hit the stabilising rotor on the chopper from here? Hard enough to disable it?”

  Scott looked up. “Maybe.”

  “You’d only have one try and our lives would kind of depend on it.”

  Scott’s expression turned to mild panic. “Oh. So no pressure then.”

  “You can do it, Babe,” Penny said, taking his hand and smiling up at him. “I know you can.”

  At the word ‘babe’, Bates flinched.

  Scott gazed down at her and smiled. “Okay, I can do it.”

  The man was obviously crazy about her. He was a braver man than Micah.

  “Alright,” Micah said, “I’ll try to distract them and get them to turn so you have a clear shot, you throw Janie’s pipe, we all run for Alex’s place since we have it set up to defend. Okay?”

  “Sounds insane,” Bates said. “There are a dozen things that could go wrong.”

  “You have anything better?”

  Bates’ shoulders dropped as he huffed out a breath. “No.”

  Angling to face the helicopter and hide what she was doing, Janie slipped the pipe free behind her back and handed it to Scott. He hefted it, feeling the weight and balance.

  “This isn’t too bad,” he said. “I think I can get some power behind this. Yeah, I’m ready.”

  Micah nodded. “Wait until it turns to face me, then do it.”

  Scott sidled to the periphery of the group to give him room to move. Micah edged to the other side, waiting until Scott was in position. At his surreptitious nod, Micah began walking away from the group.

  Heart rate climbing, he circled to his left towards the horde, watching the helicopter as he moved. Through the windows, he could see those inside watching him back. He glanced quickly behind him to check the horde.

  Still there.

  Still breathing in unison.

  Still creeping him out.

  Reaching the spot he’d chosen, he reached beneath his jacket and pulled out his pistol, swinging it up. The helicopter rotated towards him.

  Now, Scott, do it now.

  The machine guns mounted beneath the hull of the great beast spun towards him.

  Now!

  The pipe hurled into the air so fast Micah barely saw it. There was a crash, screeching and whining, then the sound of ripping metal. The whole aircraft lurched and spun around, out of control.

  “Run!” Micah yelled, launching himself towards the building and away from the flailing helicopter. He could hear the over-revving of a straining engine behind him, the sound of the rotor blades uneven, struggling. He didn’t dare look back.

  Then another sound joined the cacophony. Moaning.

  Micah reached the door into Alex’s building and yanked it open, holding it in place as one by one the others reached him and ran in. Only now did he take a moment to look back into the street.

  Attracted by the noise and activity, the eaters were beginning to move, rousing from their trance-like resting state. Pieces of the helicopter’s tail rotor were lying on the ground and the machine itself was in serious trouble, destabilised and squealing, spinning in a circle lower and lower. The tail hit one of the steel cables they’d strung across the street. The mooring driven into the building opposite ripped free.

  “Down!” Micah screamed as the tension in the thick cable whipped it straight at them.

  Those still outside dropped to the ground, looking around them in fear. The end of the cable snagged on the helicopter as it flew past, tangling in the rotor. It jerked onto its side and smashed into the ground, the blades twisting and squealing as they dug into the asphalt. One tore off completely and spun at the horde, slicing a bloody path through their ranks.

  Finally, the wreckage came to a juddering halt. The street settled into the relative hush of a thousand eater moans.

  “Get in,” Micah said, standing and waving everyone to the door. When they were all inside he joined them and pulled it shut.

  The fastest eater reached the helicopter, falling as shots fired from inside the devastated shell. Two more arrived to take its place.

  The men inside were still alive. They would be slaughtered. Without stopping to consider the consequences, Micah pulled the door open and ran back out.

  He had to shoot several eaters in his way as he sprinted for the ruined chopper, switching to skull-spikers when he reached the cluster around it. Rifle fire erupted from those back at the building, keeping any more from getting to him as he cleared the immediate vicinity.

  As he ducked beneath the arms of an eater and stabbed up beneath its jaw, he shouted, “Get out.” Unnecessarily, as the first of the guards inside was already scrambling through the shattered windscreen.

  The man swung his pistol in Micah’s direction and for one moment Micah thought he was going to shoot him. Then he took off towards the building, not even glancing back at the other three left in the wreckage.

  “Simmons!” one of those still inside shouted.

  “Leave him,” Simmons yelled without looking back.

  One of the guards in the helicopter was unconscious, only held in his seat by the belt across his chest. The other two were struggling to free him, throwing panicked glances at the bulk of the horde seventy feet away.

  “Use your knife,” Micah said, leaning in through the window.

  One of the men’s eyes widened as if he’d forgotten about his weapon. He pulled it from beneath his jacket and slit the seatbelt and the unconscious guard dropped. They hauled him up, feeding him through the window to Micah. The man was tall and very, very heavy. When one of those inside let go Micah fell over backwards, the comatose man landing on top of him. He struggled to pull himself free.

  The horde was fifty feet away.

  Micah heard footsteps running towards him. The weight lifted from his body and he looked up to see Scott throwing the huge guard over his shoulder as if he weighed no more than a small child. Micah scrambled to his feet as Scott jogged back towards the building.

  One of the remaining two guards climbed out of the helicopter, one arm hanging uselessly by his side and blinking away blood from a gash across his forehead. He looked back at the man still inside.

  “Go, Ian,” he said. “I’m coming.”

  Thirty feet.

  As Ian ran for safety, the last of Boot’s guards climbed through the window. His back foot caught and Micah darted forward, grabbing him to stop him falling.

  The guard grunted in pain. “I think my ankle is sprained.”

  Micah grasped him around the waist. “Ignore it.”

  Fifteen feet.

  They ran for the building, the limping guard leaning heavily on Micah’s shoulders.

  Ten feet.

  M
icah took out a spiker with his free hand, not breaking stride as he impaled a short, balding eater in their path.

  Five.

  Micah let go of the guard and shoved him through the doorway, leaping through after him, slamming into his back and throwing them both to the tiled floor. Behind them, Janie pushed the door shut. A second later, the horde crashed into the glass.

  Janie and Bates slotted wooden boards into the fittings they’d attached days ago, covering the door and surrounding glass. In front of that they pushed a heavy sideboard.

  Micah climbed to his feet and offered his hand to the guard he’d landed on top of. “Sorry about that.”

  The man accepted the help and stood, keeping his weight off his left ankle and not looking Micah in the eye. “Thanks.”

  Some of the group were already heading up the stairs, making more room in the small lobby. The unconscious guard was lying on the floor.

  Ian looked up from where he knelt beside him. Someone had given him a handkerchief and he was holding it to his forehead with his good hand. “You okay, Tom?”

  The guard Micah had saved glanced at the door and swallowed. “Yeah.”

  Bates crouched next to the man on the floor. “We’ll take him upstairs with us.”

  Ian looked at the door. “What about the horde?”

  “We’ve got it covered,” Janie replied.

  Micah spun round at the sound of a yelp. Simmons, the guard who had abandoned the others to save himself, had his arm wrapped around Penny’s shoulders, holding her back against his chest. The barrel of his pistol rested against her temple.

  “And what about us?” Simmons growled. “I’m not staying with a bunch of white-eyes. Let me out of here.”

  Bates rose menacingly to his feet. “Get your hands off my daughter.”

  Scott took a step towards them.

  Penny grabbed the hand holding the gun, pushing it up at the same time as she rammed her elbow back into Simmons’ torso. The pistol fired and a chunk of ceiling plaster went plink on the floor. Penny followed up with a hard stamp on his foot, a knee to his groin and an uppercut beneath his nose.