by Ben Horton
As he swam, he wondered why Carla hadn’t thought about the emergency oxygen system. Surely she must have been fitted with a similar device? Arrogance – and ignorance – had to be the answer. Even in his own body, Carl had had more than enough of both before the modifications. Now that he was rendered superhuman, the arrogance would only have got worse. Enough to blind him to such little details.
Cameron had to be thankful for small mercies.
What he was more thankful for, though, was the cold, hard lesson he had learned. Finally he knew beyond all doubt that the monster he was facing was Carl. Nothing to do with Marie at all. Her body was only a shell, the disguise or costume in which Dr Fry had dressed his champion. Her body had probably been chosen for the Divinity Project because she was fit and strong. But Marie would never have delighted in violence the way Carl had – he’d always enjoyed inflicting pain and shoving people around. And so Fry had selected Carl’s brain for its brutal, thuggish mentality. The combination had made for a formidable soldier. Marie could never have been that.
Kicking strongly through the water, Cameron made a promise to himself never to make the mistake of confusing the two again. It was time to take on Carl – Carla – and her alone. And although he knew now that he couldn’t be drowned, Cameron had realized something else too. He was never going to be able to beat Carla in a fair fight. He was going to have to out-think his enemy.
But first there was the small matter of defusing a bomb.
Reaching the outlet, Cameron pulled himself into the pipe, battling against the flow. Soon he was able to stand, breaking the surface to race back along the pipe to where the bomb was still ticking down to zero hour.
Cameron swallowed as he saw the timer: 10.58.
He had been out of the picture far too long.
Frantically he set to work on the detonator as the seconds bled away.
Rora shoved her way through the crowd, panic rising in her chest. There was no time – and no sign of Carla. But she was here somewhere. Getting ready to strike.
On the podium, the Prime Minister spoke.
‘And now I ask you to join me in two minutes’ silence to remember the children who lost their lives in this terrible tragedy.’
Silence fell like a shroud. Hands were joined, heads bowed, lips moved in soundless prayer. With Tinker at her side, Rora strained her eyes and ears for any trace of movement or noise.
Nothing.
She sought out Dr Fry in the spectator stand, hoping against hope that Carla would be with him.
There she was! At his right hand, just where a loyal bodyguard should be. Beside her, Fry sat stock-still, his hard, bright eyes never straying from the Prime Minister. Then he smiled. A cold, heartless smile that turned Rora’s blood to ice.
It was about to happen.
Desperately Rora started to barge forward, elbowing her way towards them, but she knew she was too far away. Tinker snatched at her sleeve.
‘D-d-don’t, Rora! We’re too late.’
At the same instant a tall figure leaped out of the crowd towards Fry. Rora caught sight of a flash of dark hair and sharp features.
‘Slater!’ she screamed.
In the distance, the town hall clock could be heard chiming the first strike of eleven. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Rora could see everything unfolding in slow motion.
Carla unwinding from her seat to intercept Slater before he could reach Fry …
The Prime Minister peering over at the disturbance with obvious confusion …
Fry’s gaze sliding away from the wrestling monsters next to him and back to the podium, excited expectation still written across his face …
The clock chimed again and again.
Slater and Carla grappling, the girl forcing Slater down to his knees …
Fry rising to his feet, his hands gripping the back of the seat in front of him …
The clock chimed one last time. The eleventh hour had come.
And Fry’s face changed.
The triumphant smile was wiped away. And in its place was frowning confusion and thinly concealed frustration.
Carla struck Slater a blow that sent him sprawling to the ground. She pointed her arm directly into his face. Even from a distance Rora could see the gun barrel protruding from her wrist.
The world snapped back into real time.
‘Time to die, Reject,’ snarled Carla.
Rora raced forward, but there was no way she could reach them in time.
She didn’t have to.
Dust and cobblestones exploded into the centre of the square as Cameron erupted through the ground. He was streaked with filth and bare-chested, and with his various mechanical extras in plain view, he looked like some hideous creature from the bowels of the earth.
‘Time’s up, Dr Fry!’ he announced as he landed, crouched and ready for action.
The stunned crowd stood aghast. Too shocked even to move.
Slamming Slater’s head into the ground, Carla stepped forward into the square.
‘You just can’t stay dead, can you, Reilly?’
‘It’s the way I’m made. Here, take a closer look.’
Cameron swung his fist, and Carla threw out a blocking arm, smiling.
‘Let’s dance.’
The two monsters spun across the square, Carla giving a two-for-one deal on kicks and punches. It was only to be expected: she was Fry’s champion; Cameron was one of his Rejects. She was faster, quicker, stronger. She had every advantage.
And this time round, that was what Cameron was counting on.
Carla’s grin spread millimetre by millimetre as her attacks slammed into him. For once, she was silent as she fought, doing all her talking with her fists. Cameron fell back towards the centre of the square, drawing Carla away from the crowds, who still remained motionless and dumb, staring in disbelief at the fight – and the monsters who were battling it out.
A flurry of punches sent Cameron staggering backwards. Almost losing his footing, he quickly bent his knees and turned the tumble into a spring, somersaulting through the air onto the top of the marble memorial obelisk.
With the grace of a panther, Carla leaped up to join him, treating him to a spinning kick as she landed. Nearly toppling backwards off the memorial, he crouched to steady himself – and that cost him heavily. Standing over him, Carla pounded Cameron with a rain of punches. No style, no finesse, just pure brute force hammering down on his head and shoulders.
He could feel every blow beating down, noisily bashing dents in the metal sections of his upper body and threatening to cave in his reinforced skull. There was no break, no letup in the punishment, and it was all he could do to get his mechanical arm up to shield himself from the onslaught.
The move bought Cameron a split-second to look around. The Prime Minister had vanished beneath a scrum of bodyguards, who were dragging him off the podium towards safety. The crowd had finally recovered their senses, and were backing away towards the edges of the square. The only people any closer were a few photographers, holding their cameras high and snapping off picture after picture.
It was time.
Before the next punch could fall, Cameron slipped a small object out of his pocket. Then he sprang up from his crouch with every scrap of strength left in his motor-driven legs. He sailed clear over Carla’s head, spinning in mid-air, to land halfway across the square, facing his opponent. The crowd fell back further, muttering fearfully. Cameron ignored them.
Carla turned to face him, curling her lip in a sneer.
‘Fancy aerobatics won’t save you, Reilly.’
Cameron stared back, taking one last look at Marie’s gorgeous face.
‘Talking of aerobatics,’ he said, ‘reckon you can fly, Monkton?’
He nodded at Carla’s feet. She glanced down.
There, on top of the obelisk, was a small round box, trailing wires. An LED clock display had stopped at the time the box had been severed from its power supply: 10:59:53.
&
nbsp; The detonator.
Cameron clicked the mechanical fingers of his right hand and Carla’s dumbfounded expression disappeared in a ball of flame.
chapter twenty
in memoriam
Pandemonium erupted.
The crowd had seen enough. More than enough. The occasion wasn’t about remembering the dead any more: it was about fleeing for their lives. As a billowing cloud of dust filled the air, people ran everywhere at once, in a panic to get away from the explosion and the monsters that had caused it. Police officers already struggling to move in were now met head-on by a stampede in the opposite direction.
On the other side of the square, through the flying grit, Cameron could just see Rora and Tinker helping Slater to his feet. They had thrown off their disguises and their terrifying appearance was keeping the chaotic crowd at bay. Rora waved to Cameron, pointing towards the place where the van was parked. He was about to run over to join them when he saw a familiar figure slipping round the side of the spectator stand in the other direction.
Dr Fry was heading for his black limousine, clearly hoping to get away unseen in the confusion. Cameron broke into a run, ducking and weaving past the milling people – or barging them aside where he had to. Launching himself into a final high-jump, he spun in the air and landed expertly between Fry and his car.
‘Hello, Cameron.’ Lazarus Fry had the gall to look at his watch. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have time to stop and chat. But if there’s anything you need to discuss, feel free to call my secretary for an appointment.’
Cameron glared, advancing a step towards the doctor, poised to spring in either direction if he decided to make a break for it. Fry didn’t move, though. He eyed Cameron coldly.
‘You may have thrown us out with the garbage,’ Cameron said, ‘but we’ve scrapped your precious plans, good and proper.’
He didn’t know what reaction he was expecting from Fry. Anger? Frustration? Fear? But he certainly wasn’t expecting the doctor to throw back his head and laugh.
‘I don’t remember enhancing your ability to kid yourself. But maybe I should have concentrated on building up your brainpower as well as your muscles.’ Fry gestured around at the chaos. ‘Take a good look, Cameron. You and your friends have done a far better job at sowing terror and panic than I could ever have managed with a bullet or a bomb. I can already see the headlines in the papers tomorrow: MONSTERS RUN AMOK AT MEMORIAL SERVICE. Gosh, with headlines like that, I shouldn’t be surprised if we make the national news. TV crews will be flooding here to try and capture one of the Broad Harbour monsters on camera. How long do you think the good citizens of this country will support a prime minister who allows all these disasters to happen? He’ll be out of Downing Street before the end of the month – thanks to you and your ragtag band of Rejects.’
Cameron scowled murderously. ‘Maybe you’re right. But no matter what happens after this, at least nobody else has to die.’ He threw out a hand and clamped his fingers around Fry’s throat. ‘Except you.’
Fry didn’t move a muscle. Even with Cameron’s hands at his neck, he maintained an infuriating air of superiority, his nostrils flaring as he eyed Cameron contemptuously.
‘There’s still Marie,’ he croaked, forcing the words up through his constricted throat. ‘I could bring her back.’
Involuntarily, Cameron’s grip weakened.
His mind slipped back to that moment when he was drowning: through the swirling water all he could see was Marie’s blurred face. Only this time, he was recalling her smiles, the real her.
‘I have her brain stored safely,’ whispered Fry. ‘In a secret and highly secure location, of course.’
The words wormed their way beneath Cameron’s skin. He had said his final goodbyes to Marie. Now Fry was taunting him with the possibility of seeing her again. But how could that ever be? The detonator had destroyed her body completely. Surely not even Fry could patch her together again?
‘Yes,’ continued Fry, as if he was reading Cameron’s thoughts, ‘I could bring her back. Even in a body very much like the one she used to have. And I could show you the true extent of your powers too, Cameron. Show you what you really are. There’s really no end to the miracles I can perform.’ He smiled tightly. He could see that Cameron had taken his bait. The hook had worked its way in to stay.
‘I could do all this. If you came over to my side, that is. But if you kill me, you’ll never see her again. Is that what you want? Think quickly, Cameron – we have company.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Cameron glimpsed several police officers heading towards them. He gritted his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to apply the final pressure that would squeeze the life out of his enemy, his tormentor. But the thought of Marie refused to go away. It was as if she was standing beside him, whispering in his ear, holding him back. His fingers slipped from Fry’s neck.
‘I can see you need more time to think about it,’ said the doctor reasonably, adjusting his tie. ‘Well, when you’re ready to know what you really are, you can come and find me.’
‘I know who I am now,’ Cameron retorted. ‘But if you try to hurt any of my friends again, I will come and find you. And you’ll wish I hadn’t.’
Lazarus Fry favoured Cameron with a parting smile. ‘We’ll see.’
Then he turned and walked briskly to his car. As the limousine pulled away, footsteps rushed up to Cameron. He turned, expecting to find a policeman. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of a young photographer shoving a camera towards him. Cameron threw up a hand, his boosted reflexes making sure he had shielded his face before the flash went off.
Still, better not leave anything to chance. Snaking out his right arm, he snatched the camera from the guy and crumpled it in one hand like a Coke can. Pieces fell between his fingers and dropped to the ground.
The photographer looked on, stunned, as Cameron turned and loped away. On the other side of the car park, the Republic’s old van was waiting, engine running. Inside, Cameron could see Rora and Tinker holding the doors open for him.
‘Wait!’ called the photographer. ‘Who are you?’
Cameron didn’t look back.
‘I’m a monster.’
THERE, BURNED AND TATTERED, LAY A
HUMAN ARM – WITH NO BODY ATTACHED.
THE FIGURES SEEMED TO BE SOME HIDEOUS HYBRID
OF MAN, MACHINE AND ANIMAL.
HE SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED IT
BUT THE SIGHT WAS STILL A SHOCK.
WITH A DULL CLANK, THE DOOR OPENED…
SHE WAS SMALLER THAN HE HAD REALIZED,
TINY AND LITHE, WITH DARK, ELFIN FEATURES.
Cameron looked down at his arm. He could see metal. Mechanical components exposed through tears in his skin. The emotionless O of the mouth of a gun barrel.
There was no pain.
There was no blood.
His head swam as he watched strange mechanisms snick neatly back into place like the blades on a Swiss Army knife. He felt sick. Maybe it was the smell of gunsmoke, but he didn’t think so.
What had been done to him?
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title
Content
Copyright
About the author
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Plate Section
Excerpt
Ben Horton, Monster Republic