A Few Words for the Dead

by Guy Adams

  I punched him as hard as I could, knocking him out, slung him over my shoulder and carried on the way I had been running. I figured that if the host was unconscious then the problem was – at least for the moment – solved.

  But of course, the forest was filled with potential hosts. It could have chosen that moment to leap back into me, surely the simplest response. Perhaps, like me, it was wired and high on the chase. Perhaps it just decided the alternative was more fun.

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Jan as I approached the homeless camp. ‘You found him, then?’

  Kurt stared at him, clearly having his suspicions proved with regards to how Jan had really earned his money from me.

  ‘I did,’ I replied, stumbling into the camp and dropping Lucas to the ground, ‘and I’m still trying to help him. I need something to tie him up.’

  ‘Why bother?’ said one of the other homeless, a young woman, head shaved but for a thin strip of bleached stubble that ran down the centre. ‘I’ll only untie him.’

  ‘Or I will,’ laughed Karin.

  ‘Or me,’ said another, a cheap tattoo of a rose blooming across his cheek.

  ‘Maybe I’ll do it,’ admitted Kurt.

  ‘And if they don’t,’ added Jan, ‘then I certainly will.

  It was leaping from one of them to the next, hopping between host bodies at the speed of thought. I had surrounded myself with potential enemies.

  I held up the gun.

  ‘Again?’ Karin laughed, though the rest looked frightened. ‘Even if I thought you would be willing to shoot an innocent you’ll have to ask them nicely to line up. You only have three bullets left.’

  ‘And I can move like lightning!’ said Jan, hopping into the air like a ballerina, much to the surprise of the others.

  ‘And you’ll always be too slow,’ said Rose Tattoo, snatching at the gun with his left hand and punching me with his right. I fought him off but only because the controlling power had already moved on to the skinhead, who was now behind me, choking me with her arm. I dropped forward and threw her over my shoulder, straightening up just in time to receive a kick to the cheek from Karin. This time I did lose the gun, my head sparking with white light as her boot connected with my face.

  ‘And I’ll always win,’ said Lucas, awake now and picking up the gun. He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out more cartridges, reloading the pistol.

  ‘Because…’ shouted Jan.

  ‘I…’ added Karin.

  ‘Am…’ said the skinhead.

  ‘Better…’ said Kurt.

  ‘Than…’ offered Rose Tattoo.

  ‘You,’ finished Lucas, turning the gun on each of them in turn.

  He shot Jan, then Rose Tattoo. The skinhead tried to run but she got hers in the back, crashing face down into the fire. Karin wailed, stumbling back over her small pile of belongings before a bullet took out one of her few remaining teeth en route to more vital areas. Kurt just stared, old and weary enough to see there was no point in running. He sat back on his bench and awaited the inevitable. But it didn’t come, because then Lucas turned the gun on me and pressed the trigger.

  THIRTY-THREE

  I lost consciousness again for a while, coming around to a blurred vision of the trees above me. All black. Jagged lines and shadow. A searing glimpse of white poking through, tiny pinpricks of light.

  My belly felt cold and, when I tried to sit up, I found it impossible.

  Slowly, I touched my stomach and felt the wet blood from the stomach wound. Touching it was remote and confusing, as if it couldn’t possibly be me that was lying on his back in the snow, dying by degrees. It was, of course. A part of me knew that, but the rest of me couldn’t countenance it. It couldn’t accept that all this would finish with Lucas running away and me a freezing corpse beneath East Berlin trees.

  Had Lucas run? I tried to look but I could barely move. The most I could manage was to turn my head a few degrees to either side. One way, there lay Jan, his young face a dumb model of vacancy, spittle on his lips and nothing behind the eyes. Looking the other way, I saw Kurt, sitting on his bench drinking from a bottle of vodka. I wished he’d share.

  ‘He’s gone,’ Kurt said, answering my question. ‘Took off into the trees. Laughing. Bastard.’ He took another drink. ‘I don’t think much of that friend of yours. Knew he was trouble.’

  ‘Not my friend,’ I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. ‘Just someone wearing his body.’

  Kurt stared at me for a moment then shook his head. ‘And I thought I’d seen some crazy shit.’ He looked at his bottle. ‘See all manner of things when the drink’s on me.’

  ‘I don’t suppose…’ I stared at the bottle. He looked at it, judging how much he had left. He sighed, not really wanting to part with it but not willing to refuse the last wish of a dying man either. He nodded, moved over to me, lifted my head slightly and poured some into my mouth. ‘Cheap shit,’ he said. ‘That’s the best in this weather.’

  The alcohol tore through me and I coughed, dimly aware of a pounding response in my stomach. Kurt stared at the wound and I realised it had probably spurted as I’d coughed.

  ‘Maybe that’s not a good idea,’ he said, with an element of relief. He returned to his bench, wiped the neck of the bottle with his filthy hand – the absurdity of which was not beyond me, even then – and took another good mouthful himself. He didn’t cough – Kurt was immune to the fiery ravages of cheap vodka.

  ‘I won’t lie to you,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think you’re going to be leaving this place.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed, ‘I think you’re probably right.’

  ‘Sorry about that, but you’ll not die alone. It’s a crowd of you that are taking the trip today.’ He looked around at the dead bodies of his friends. ‘I didn’t like them much but they were better than nothing. Sleeping out here on your own is no good, no good at all.’ He took another drink.

  I may have passed out again then. My memory is vague, I wasn’t at my best. The next thing I knew was that Kurt was smiling at me. Except, of course, it wasn’t Kurt.

  ‘Just thought I’d see how you’re doing,’ he said. ‘Still with us, then?’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be keeping your eye on Lucas?’ I asked.

  ‘Where’s he going to go that I won’t find him? I have plans for Mr Robie but they can wait a few minutes.’

  ‘Just long enough for you to watch me die. How nice.’

  ‘I enjoy it,’ he admitted, scratching at his beard. ‘This one is full of life. He has whole nations thriving on him.’ He tried the vodka and smiled. ‘I see why he drinks. You nearly dead?’

  I couldn’t really see the point in replying, but then half an idea occurred to me.

  I said before how the really good ideas often never occur to you in time to be of much use. I’ve had my moments, I certainly wouldn’t still be here otherwise, and some of my ideas can be very good indeed. This wasn’t one of them. It was, however, better than nothing, though I’ve come to wonder about that since. I think, on balance, what I did was for the best, however much I’ve since regretted it.

  ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘you could probably stop me dying.’

  ‘Really? How do you figure that?’

  ‘Just a guess. You obviously have a degree of control over your hosts. Grauber should never have been able to stay alive as long as he did, his body a ball of flame. And how about Anosov? How many bullets did it take to finally drop him? Too many. I think it more likely that he went down only because you were happy to allow it.’

  He nodded. ‘Meat is easy,’ he admitted. ‘I have my limits: I can’t raise the dead, but I can fix a fair bit. Yes, you’re probably right. I probably could heal you. Here’s the more important question though: why would I want to?’

  ‘Because only an idiot doesn’t have a back-up plan,’ I said. ‘You’re pinning all your hopes on Lucas, but what if he never agrees to let you have his body?’

  ‘He will.’

  ‘But
what if he won’t? Why take the risk?’

  ‘Be clear. What are you proposing? You don’t have long enough to be longwinded.’

  ‘Heal me,’ I said. ‘Make me live, and I’ll promise you my body.’

  ‘Just like that? What would be in it for you?’

  ‘Well, obviously, you couldn’t have it straight away; we’d have to come to an agreement as to when you could take it. Let’s say the next time I’m mortally wounded.’

  ‘Make a habit of that, do you?’

  ‘I do enjoy a risky lifestyle. I’m not fixing a time on it – you’ll have to take the gamble. But the next time I’m in this position, with no more chance of survival… well, I’m going to die anyway, so why not? You can jump in, make me better and keep the body for your trouble. What have I got to lose?’

  ‘Not much,’ he admitted. ‘It’s not a great deal for me.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose it is. But it’s a gamble, isn’t it? I could be on the brink of death this time tomorrow or years from now, who’s to say? Why not? It’s not like you’re losing on the deal, either. You have a guaranteed body at some point in the future: mine. Considering Lucas has flat-out refused you, it’s the best offer you’ve had so far. And if you do possess Lucas then…’ It was getting difficult to speak now, the cold seeping into me and making my teeth chatter. ‘Well, if you do, you do. You still win.’ I decided there was no harm in pandering to his ego. ‘Of course, if you’re worried that I’m a threat?’

  ‘A threat?’ he laughed.

  ‘Well, that’s the only reason I can think of for why you’d refuse. You must think that if you let me live I’ll be able to stop you. Perhaps I will. Yes… I suppose that’s what it is. You want me out of your way.’

  ‘Out of my way?’ He was suddenly furious. ‘You? You’re nothing to me! Any of you! How can you even dream of being better than me?’

  Well, I might have said, you do seem to be going to a lot of effort to become like us. But that would hardly have helped my cause. I remained silent.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, crouching down next to me, ‘I’ll take your deal. But a deal is a deal, understand that, yes? This is not something you go back on. I will have you one day. I will wear your body as my own. That is the agreement.’

  ‘Yes.’ I could no longer say any more than that, I was fading now. If he wasn’t quick about it then the whole conversation was going to be redundant.

  ‘And if you think you’ve got what it takes,’ he said, and, in the disorientation, focusing on his words made the world spin, ‘come and find me later. We’ll be at home.’

  I closed my eyes and I felt the cold become total. First the darkness, then nothing. In that moment I believed he had left it too late. I honestly thought that my fading consciousness was death. But then life returned, and by God it hurt. I couldn’t imagine what the sensation would have been like had I been in my body when he’d worked his magic – this was the aftershock, the tail-end of creation, and it was more than I thought I could bear. Nerves firing in confusion, rebelling at the new flesh.

  I screamed and screamed until my throat was so hoarse all I could do was push out pained air.

  I felt someone grabbing me and I realised it was Kurt when he spoke.

  ‘Just go!’ he was shouting, assuming I was in the middle of a death agony. ‘Christ Jesus, let him just go!’

  I managed to open my eyes a fraction, just in time to see him pick up a rock. Dear God, he meant to try and put me out of my misery. With considerable effort, I forced out words: ‘No! Wait…’ Extending my hand towards him, not able to fight him off but hopefully enough to give him pause.

  Suddenly the pain became nausea and I found I was able to move, rolling in the dirt and vomiting. Time and again my guts rebelled, contorting and spewing bile into the leaves beside me. Then, finally, it passed and I was left, utterly exhausted, drained but alive.

  I lay there for a few minutes more then found the strength to sit up, if only to make sure Kurt didn’t try and brain me with a rock again.

  He was sat on his bench, crossing himself.

  ‘Drink?’ I said, wiping my mouth.

  He tipped the empty bottle up. ‘You kidding? You made me drink it all.’

  I made him. Yes. Just by having the audacity to survive.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ he said, getting up and moving over to where Karin lay dead amongst her belongings. ‘Maybe she had…’ He moved her out of the way and began ferreting through her possessions, rising triumphant with a small bottle of whisky. I suppose, for Kurt, principles were all well and good until you got really thirsty. He took a long drink and then offered the bottle to me, at which point I proved myself as bad as him by taking it.

  The whisky was foul but, conversely, one of the best drinks I’d ever had. Kurt, having now realised the potential upside to a reduction in camp numbers, was checking everyone else’s stuff, so I took another drink. It cleaned my mouth and I felt the heat of it sink all the way down to my impossible, intact belly where the burning sensation expanded. I can’t really tell you how reassuring that felt. To know that the part of me that had been destroyed was now whole again and filled with heat.

  Kurt returned with an opened can of beer and a third of a bottle of vodka.

  Part of me wanted to do no more than stay there and share the lot with him if he’d allow it. Hell, if not, I’d have suggested we go to the nearest off-licence and buy more. But, of course, I had something far more important to do. If you’re going to make a deal with the devil then you damn well need to make it count for something.

  I got to my feet.

  ‘You going?’ he asked, not without a hint of hope.

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied, steadying myself against one of the trees for a moment, my legs quivering beneath me. Slowly I managed to get them moving. ‘I need to find my friend.’

  ‘We’ll be at home,’ the presence had said. I could only think of one place it could have meant. Lucas’s apartment. Why there? Time would have to tell.

  I cut across to the closest path and headed straight out towards the road and civilisation. I didn’t know how much of a head-start Lucas had on me, but my body still felt weak and unresponsive. As fast as I tried to move, it took me longer than I would have liked to escape the forest. I began to speed up a little once I was on Dammweg and en-route to the S Bahn. Moving, as painful as it was, seemed to help. Every now and then my muscles would spasm and cramp, responding to alien signals, but the further I walked the more my body felt my own again.

  I was crossing over towards the station when a familiar car pulled up alongside me and my heart sank. I really didn’t have time for this. The driver wound down his window and leaned out, a smile sitting strangely on his cauliflower face.

  ‘Good afternoon, Herr Shining,’ said Ernst Spiegel, the KGB officer who had followed me from my arrival at Gatow. ‘I’ve been looking for you all over the place. How good to have finally found you.’

  Behind him a car beeped its horn. He showed no anger, just waved at it to drive past, never taking his eyes off me.

  ‘Get in,’ he said. ‘We can have a nice long talk.’

  THIRTY-FOUR

  I considered making a break for it. I really didn’t have the time to delay. It showed on my face.

  ‘Don’t run, Herr Shining,’ he said. ‘I have no wish for this to be uncomfortable. Besides, you may be surprised to hear what I have to say.’

  I didn’t see that I had much choice. It was unlikely that I’d be able to outrun him. At least he was on his own, so I didn’t discount the possibility of being able to overpower him and take his car.

  I climbed into the passenger seat.

  ‘Good man,’ he said. ‘Which way were you aiming?’

  ‘Mitte,’ I told him, which was true but general enough to give me some leeway as and when I made a break for it.

  He nodded and headed north.

  I stayed silent. If he wanted to talk it was up to him to pick the subject. Apparently, it was to be
my potted history.

  ‘August Shining,’ he began. ‘Brought into the secret service direct from Cambridge University. Eventually given control of Section 37, a department whose reputation could hardly be more of a joke.’

  ‘Break it to me gently, why don’t you?’

  He laughed. ‘It is the truth. I know all about it from Gavrill, a friend of mine. He is in the same business as you.’

  Gavrill Leonin, my Russian counterpart. In a few years I would handle his defection to the UK, his department having been pulled out from underneath him. Back then he was still in operation, albeit in an even more limited capacity than Section 37. The KGB simply didn’t have any interest in his work.

  ‘And just as respected,’ I told Spiegel.

  ‘Just as respected!’ Spiegel laughed again. ‘Because nobody likes to believe in such things, is that not so? Even when they find one of their own men going mad and shooting his fellows. Or a petty smuggler setting fire to himself and jumping off a balcony.’ He looked at me and winked. ‘Or an old film star jumping to her death from the Ferris wheel.’

  ‘You sound like you have lots of problems,’ I replied, refusing to be led.

  ‘Problems shared, I think. And problems that my bosses are not willing to consider. They do not listen to me. They ignore what is happening because it does not make sense to them.’

  ‘And it makes sense to you?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but I am not a man who believes in ignoring what he does not understand. It is not a risk to security, I think. These are not people with access to important information.’

  ‘You can add four homeless to your list of deaths. They weren’t in possession of state secrets either.’

  He shook his head sadly. ‘People are dying and I do not know how to stop it. Do you?’

  I decided to take a risk. ‘If I did, what would you want to do about that?’

  ‘I would find a way of letting you do so that did not betray my country. You are not important to us, Herr Shining. Your government doesn’t want you and neither does mine. I could take you in, but for what? They would laugh at me as if I’d brought home a stray dog. “It can’t stay here!” they’d say. “Put it back where you found it.”’