Monster Republic

by Ben Horton

  And if they’d known how Tinker got his ‘condition’, Cameron wondered, would they have stared then? Would people behave any differently if they knew Tinker wasn’t the victim of a disease but of the man Broad Harbour thought of as a saviour?

  Cameron didn’t expect he’d ever find out. For the twentieth time he reminded himself that today wasn’t about making an announcement to the world about Dr Fry. Today was only about saving the Prime Minister. Getting the job done and getting away as quickly and quietly as possible.

  It was now 10.23. They had only a matter of minutes before the ceremony was due to start. The four monsters finally reached the spectator stand. It was the obvious place for an assassin to lurk – directly opposite the podium, with a clear line of fire. But the stand was almost full now and a fast scan with his electronic vision told Cameron all he needed to know.

  ‘She’s not there,’ he muttered to Rora. ‘Carla isn’t in the stand.’

  She cursed, then led the other three monsters out of sight round the corner of the structure.

  ‘Where else could she be?’

  Pulling up the plans of the area that Tinker had uploaded, Cameron zoomed in on all the spots where a sniper could hide. He flicked through the spectrum – normal vision, high-definition, infra-red, ultra-violet.

  Nothing.

  ‘Looks like Smarts was right,’ muttered Rora. ‘Fry’s not going to risk Carla being damaged by the Prime Minister’s bodyguards.’

  ‘Well, then we’re missing something,’ grumbled Slater.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Rora. ‘Like an extra half-hour to search.’

  Cameron shut out the bickering voices. He needed to think.

  Maybe Carla wasn’t going to wait for the Prime Minister openly. Maybe she was hiding away until the crucial moment. But where? Cameron did a 360-degree scan of the marina, on the lookout for inspiration.

  His sweeping gaze took in the broad expanse of sea for which the town had been named. Out beyond the cleaner waters of the harbour itself he noticed a few dark streaks on the surface. Patches of flotsam – junk and litter that had clumped together to form temporary landing platforms for the seagulls – were bobbing out to sea, against the tide.

  ‘That’s it …’ he said slowly. With a carefully directed thought-command, he called up another blueprint. The picture flashed up in his mind and appeared as an overlay on his HUD. ‘The main clean water outlet drain from the power plant runs right under the marina.’

  ‘So – what does that tell us, exactly?’ Rora demanded.

  ‘It tells us we should be looking down there.’ Cameron nodded to the manhole cover at his feet. ‘We’re not the only ones who can hide underground.’

  ‘Of course!’ said Rora. ‘Fry’s not going to run the risk of Carla being discovered. He’s keeping her out of sight until it’s too late to stop her.’

  ‘So what d-d-do we d-d-do?’ gulped Tinker, his tongue working against his front teeth.

  Cameron smiled tensely. ‘I’ve spent so much time in sewers lately, I should have realized I’d end up going down a drain again sooner or later.’

  Rora laughed quietly as he hoisted off the manhole cover and listened to the rush of water below.

  ‘L-l-looks like the man of the hour’s arrived.’

  Cameron glanced up and followed Tinker’s gaze.

  A sleek black limousine was pulling into the square. A small crowd of journalists flocked around the vehicle, hoping to get a snap through the heavily tinted windows.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Rora. ‘That has to be Fry, all right.’

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Cameron.

  ‘Who else would turn up in a more expensive car than the Prime Minister?’

  Cameron grimaced. Fry’s arrival could only mean time was running short. But then, he knew that already.

  ‘OK. You guys keep an eye on things up here. I’ll take a look down below.’

  Slater shook his head, tugging on Rora’s arm.

  ‘You aren’t seriously going to let him go off on his own, are you?’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ she fired back. ‘We can’t be a hundred per cent certain that Carla is down there. The rest of us have to be ready in case she appears up here.’

  ‘I don’t trust him!’ growled Slater. ‘He could be going to rendezvous with her. They could be in this together!’

  ‘You don’t trust Cameron? Well, I do.’ Rora’s tone was ice-cold. ‘And you can either accept that fact, or you can walk away. But whatever you’re going to do, do it now.’

  Slater’s face contorted with fur y.

  ‘Have it your way!’ He stepped away from the group and vanished into the crowd.

  The fox-girl stared implacably after him.

  ‘Rora—’ began Cameron.

  ‘Forget it,’ she said briskly. ‘Some things are worth fighting for, right?’

  Cameron nodded.

  ‘So let’s fight. Tink and I will take care of things up here. Just – report back soon, OK?’

  ‘Soon as I can,’ Cameron assured her.

  Rora glanced back at the limo, watching it cross the square at a slow but steady crawl. It had almost reached the guests’ platform. ‘Now get going.’

  Dropping into the hole, Cameron landed thigh-deep in fast-flowing water. Above the roar of the current in the tunnel he heard the scrape of metal as Rora and Tinker slid the cover back into place overhead. The beam of sunshine in which he had been standing, like an actor in a spotlight, disappeared.

  Cameron’s eye switched to night vision, this time with barely a hint of dizziness. Now, which way to go? He strained his hearing. There was a faint sound further up the drain, in the direction the water was coming from, and his HUD was registering a slow, regular electronic pulse, like a heartbeat.

  Carla?

  Cameron took a deep breath and trudged off upstream. It would have been tough wading against the current if it hadn’t been for his supercharged legs. He smiled ruefully. It was ironic that Fry had given him all these abilities that would, ultimately, make it that little bit easier to defeat him.

  Thirty metres along, Cameron spotted a glow. As he cautiously sloshed closer, the light of an LED display stood out brightly in the gloom – flashing in time with the electronic pulse he had been picking up. Maybe it wasn’t anything to do with Carla at all.

  Confused, he hastened forward into a larger chamber. He could see no sign of Carla. What he could see was the huge stack of plasticine-like bricks set in the middle of the chamber. A tangle of wires connected them to a small round box with an LED display that sat on top of the pile, counting down the seconds. Cameron had seen enough movies to recognize what this combination meant.

  The bricks were plastic explosive. The box was a detonator.

  It was a bomb.

  Cameron looked up at the ceiling. Daylight filtered down, and through the bars of a grating he could see the tip of the silk-wrapped memorial pointing at the sky. The bomb was right under the square, just in front of the Prime Minister’s podium.

  Cameron felt a wave of fear wash over him, goose pimples crawling across what was left of his skin. He could almost hear the roar of the explosion that had ripped through the power plant. Fry had nearly ended his life completely that day. At the very least he had ended life as Cameron knew it. Now he was trying to do it again to the Prime Minister and countless innocent bystanders.

  He crouched down to examine the detonator. The digital display glowed helpfully at him, ticking down the numbers in red. The device was timed to go off at precisely 11 a.m. The end of the two-minute silence.

  Smarts was right again.

  The sound of splashing footsteps had Cameron on his feet and spinning round.

  There, hands on hips and blocking the tunnel behind him, stood the dark and shapely figure of Carla.

  ‘Hello, Reilly. Dr Fry didn’t think you’d come. He didn’t think you were that stupid. But I told him I knew you better. “This is Reilly we’re talking about,” I said. “He�
�s stupid enough for anything.”’

  ‘This is a bomb, isn’t it?’ Cameron said.

  Carla smirked. ‘Did you work that out all by yourself, or did you have help from your freaky Reject friends? Of course it’s a bomb. A special present from Dr Fry to the Prime Minister to make sure no one falls asleep in his boring speech. Boom!’

  ‘I’m not going to let that happen,’ said Cameron firmly.

  Carla cracked a grin, clean white teeth gleaming in the gloom.

  ‘I was hoping you were gonna say that.’

  She bent into a crouch and stalked towards him. Cameron circled warily backwards around the bomb, bracing himself against the flow of water against his legs. He raised his fists, ready to fend off the first attack. Ready, he hoped, for anything. Carla followed hungrily, looking for an opportunity to strike.

  Then they lunged at each other like two rival lions.

  Back above ground, Rora was getting agitated. The fact that they were a man down since Slater had left wasn’t helping her mood. Neither was the way Tinker kept looking at his watch between twitches and muttering the time under his breath. Rora could feel the seconds ticking away without a spoken reminder.

  All the local dignitaries had taken their seats and there was an air of expectation as Dr Fry went to greet the Prime Minister. The two men were standing slightly apart from the rest of the crowd, far enough for their conversation to be inaudible.

  To anyone without fox-tuned hearing.

  ‘Welcome to Broad Harbour, Prime Minister,’ said Fry smoothly. ‘So glad you could make it to our little memorial service.’

  The Prime Minister beamed back at him, making a show of greeting Dr Fry with a friendly pat on the shoulder as they shook hands. But even from a distance Rora could hear that his voice was anything but friendly.

  ‘I couldn’t exactly miss it, could I?’ he hissed between smiling lips. ‘But don’t think this means you’re off the hook, Fry. I know you’re up to something.’

  Fry smiled thinly. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Prime Minister. Please, come this way.’

  Now the pair were making their way to the stage, passing along a line of bereaved parents, shaking hands and offering condolences.

  Rora was amazed at how a cold-hearted butcher like Fry could pour on the charm.

  There was no sign of Carla, but that was a mixed blessing because there was still no sign of Cameron either, and Rora was under no illusions about her own chances in a one-on-one scrap with Fry’s monster. Slater would have improved the odds somewhat, but even together they wouldn’t have stood much chance. For all his brilliance with machinery, Tinker was next to useless in a fight.

  Finally, the Prime Minister shook the last set of hands. He turned towards the VIP stage and extended an arm, inviting Fry to take a seat. Fry shook his silvery head, though, and began walking over to the public spectator stand instead, a humble look on his face.

  Rora frowned.

  ‘Why is he going to sit with the plebs?’ she muttered, scanning the rows of faces again. There was still no sign of Carla. ‘It’s as if he doesn’t want to be too close to the Prime Minister. He’s definitely up to something.’ She eyed the unmoving manhole cover. ‘What’s keeping him?’ she hissed.

  There was no more time to wonder, though. The Prime Minister had reached his seat, and a black-clad priest was making his way towards the podium to open proceedings.

  The ceremony was about to begin.

  * * *

  Cameron was experiencing a serious case of déjà vu.

  Once again he was fighting it out with Carla – and once again he was getting the stuffing kicked out of him. The violent splashing of water seemed to be the only difference between this and their last two encounters.

  They spun and lashed out with punches and kicks, grabbing each other in wrestling holds. As he fought, Cameron tried to do two things: stay close to the bomb – he was going to need to deal with it fast when the fight was over – and keep repeating the name ‘Carla’ over and over in his head. He knew that if he was going to win this fight, he would have to forget the girl that used to be Marie. Forget, even, that she’d ever been alive.

  It was that heartbreaking thought that lent him an extra burst of rage, and he went at his opponent with a flurry of savage blows, driving her back against the wall. For a moment he had the heartening sense that this time, against the odds, he was going to win. As Carla ducked and dived and tried to sidestep his fists, Cameron started thinking ahead. Could he disarm the bomb himself or would he have to call Tinker down here?

  Taking his mind off the task in hand, though, was not a good idea. Suddenly Carla ducked under his arm, and his right fist crashed into the wall. The mechanical hand sent brick-dust flying. But although he couldn’t feel pain in his knuckles, the damage was done elsewhere: Carla came up on his left and drove in with a punch that slammed into the soft part of Cameron’s face like a truck into a rabbit.

  Cameron spun and toppled backwards, splashing into the water. Dazed, he tried to shake off the blow and get back into the fight. He threw out his arms to lever himself up, but before he could do anything more, Carla was on top of him, sitting on his chest and pinning his arms down with both knees. Cameron writhed and thrashed, but she had him securely held down. Stupidly he opened his mouth to cry out – and water flooded in.

  Carla planted a hand over Cameron’s face and pushed his head down under the surface of the water. He tried for a kick, but she was too far up on his chest. Thrashing wildly, he glimpsed Marie’s blurred face through the slosh and swirl of water. She was smiling down at him, but it was a cruel, laughing smile as she watched his vain struggles. Cameron felt a burning pain growing in his chest as his lungs cried out for air, and he tried to fight harder, but by now his heavy coat was completely waterlogged and pulling him down.

  As Carla continued to laugh at him from above, the sight of her through the churning water grew murkier and more distant, and Cameron realized with a sick feeling that he was finished. There was nothing more he could do to fight, and he was going to drown.

  chapter nineteen

  zero hour

  To a round of subdued applause, the Prime Minister tugged on a black velvet cord and unveiled the memorial. It was a simple black marble obelisk, a plaque affixed to one side with the names of the deceased children etched in brass. No one could read it from where they sat, of course, but they didn’t have to. As the Prime Minister made his way to the podium, the priest solemnly listed the names of the dead.

  ‘… Marie Lyons, Carl Monkton … Cameron Reilly …’

  The irony of the list didn’t escape Rora – especially that Marie and Carl came next to each other in alphabetical order. She and Tinker had moved closer to the spectator stand in case Carla should make a sudden appearance there, but had picked a spot where they could still keep an eye on the drain where they had seen Cameron disappear.

  ‘Four minutes to eleven,’ said Tinker, so nervous he seemed to have forgotten his stammer.

  ‘It’s been too long,’ replied Rora. ‘Carla must be down there. I’m going to help.’

  As she spoke, the manhole cover moved. The sigh of relief was halfway out of her when her heart froze solid in her chest.

  Instead of Cameron, the athletic figure of Carla was hoisting herself easily out from the drain. Quietly replacing the manhole cover, she stole a surreptitious glance around. As the monster’s gaze swung towards them, Rora and Smarts turned away and tried to look inconspicuous.

  ‘D-d-did she see us?’ breathed Tinker.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Rora, slowly raising her head.

  Carla had vanished.

  ‘Damn!’ Rora’s head snapped round. ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘I c-c-can’t see her,’ said Tinker.

  ‘If Smarts is right, she’s going to make her move at the end of the two-minute silence. That means we’ve got four minutes to find her. Maybe we can cause a panic, a distraction, anything.’

 
; Tinker’s jerking head nodded. ‘What about C-C-Cameron?’

  Rora swallowed hard. As much as she didn’t want to believe it, there was nothing else she could say.

  ‘If he was down there with Carla, he’s dead.’

  Cameron floated in a world of green. The burning pain in his chest had been replaced by a hollow, leaden ache that seemed to get more distant by the second. Everything was very peaceful, his mind drifting like his body.

  Suddenly a penetrating chime sounded in his head and flashing words burst across his vision: BACKUP OXYGEN SYSTEM ACTIVATED.

  Instantly Cameron’s mind seemed to snap back into gear. There was an over whelming taste of salt in his mouth. He was still under water! His arms thrashed about in immediate, reflexive panic.

  It took him a moment to realize that there was air in his lungs. He wasn’t exactly breathing under water, but oxygen was being pumped into him from somewhere. He stopped struggling and tried to calm himself. It looked as if he had another thing to thank Dr Fry for. Although, he reminded himself, if it wasn’t for Fry, he wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place.

  One look was enough to tell Cameron he wasn’t inside the outlet pipe any more. Daylight gleamed down through the water above him. He kicked upwards and swam towards it.

  Cameron popped his head above the surface and spat out sea water, before drawing in a deep breath and taking a swift glance around.

  The marina was behind him. He was out in the harbour. After he had stopped struggling, Carla must have left him for dead, to be washed down the pipe and out to sea. He hadn’t drifted far, though. He could still make out the crowds of people gathered on the marina. There were no screams, no sounds of panic. It looked like the bomb hadn’t gone off yet. There was still time.

  Checking his HUD to see that the breathing system was still operating, Cameron ducked quickly back below the surface. With powerful strokes, he swam back towards land, his eyes searching around for the pipe outlet.