by Andy Remic
Carter nodded. Glancing at Roxi, who stood with her back to him, Carter followed The Priest away towards a huge bank of computers. They both sat down on stencilled crates and Carter explained what had happened.
When The Priest had finished with his questions and drifted away towards Mongrel, who was drinking his soup from his huge burnt pan, Carter glanced around at the men and women preparing for the night. Many of them had brews simmering in pans and kettles, and had unrolled bedding mats and sleeping bags on the warehouse’s stone floor. Rogowski was oiling a rifle, Bob Bob was scrubbing at a custard stain on his combats, and Simmo was playing cards with several other men and smoking a big fat cigar, These were true Spiral; these were the hard core, the survivors—the ones who had refused to be stomped and ground into the dust under Durell’s mighty boots.
I have come home, Carter realised. And a weight greater than anything he had ever felt descended to wholly smother his heart and mind and soul.
Carter had set his bedding roll—kindly lent to him by Mongrel—away from the others. Always a solitary creature, he felt even more alone now with the great burden he carried—the guilt for the destruction that he would soon unleash with the MicroNuke weighed heavily on his mind, thoughts of betrayal chewing at him constantly.
I cannot do this, he thought. Over and over again.
I cannot do this ... But I must. Shivering, Carter pulled on a thick jumper and sat down on his improvised bed. Many of the Spiral people were already asleep; Simmo was snoring loudly, and occasionally farting in rhythm with his great throaty rumbles.
Outside it was dark, leaving no illumination inside the warehouse other than the occasional firefly glow of a soft blue NightCube or a purple hexiblock. Out of this gloom came Rogowski who stood gazing down at Carter with a strange look on his face.
‘You OK, mate?’ asked Carter.
Rogowski nodded—and realisation hit Carter like an iron bar. Rogowski dropped to a crouch, his stare locked on Carter’s face. ‘You have the bomb?’ came his soft whisper.
Carter’s expression hardened. Here was the traitor, the betrayer of Spiral. Durell’s contact. The man who would lead Carter and the MicroNuke to the detonation point; the man who would arrange the convergence of Nex and Spiral for the ultimate confrontation; the man who would exterminate Carter’s friends.
‘Why, Rogowski? Why?’
Rogowski gave a strange little smile. ‘You would never understand, Carter. Never. And we haven’t got time to discuss this fucking situation, so just answer my fucking questions—or the little kid finds himself without a head, and without a fucking dad. In that order. Understand?’
Carter’s stare burned into Rogowski. ‘Yeah, cunt, I have the fucking bomb.’
‘Good. Tomorrow there will be a call for a gathering of Spiral agents. For such meetings we have an old munitions depot called the Concrete Arena—which I’ve recently discovered contains the GRID HUB. It’s a couple of miles from here. We’ll all troop along, smiling and happy, and I will show you where to plant the MicroNuke. When we detonate that fucker it will destroy the HUB and the SpiralGRID will be unusable.’
‘Won’t we all die in the nuclear explosion?’
‘Spiral will. But you and I have other plans,’ said Rogowski. ‘Don’t worry, Carter—we have an exit point.’
‘You think I give a fuck about a fucking exit point? Rogowski, man, what are you doing? You would turn against your friends and comrades? You would betray them all?’
‘Friendship is all a matter of perspective,’ said Rogowski coldly. ‘In a world like this ... well, shall we say, that I’m just willing to let that friendship slide.’
As Rogowski walked away quietly Carter’s stare burned laser-like into the man’s back, focusing an intensity of hatred. But there was nothing he could do. He was imprisoned by kindred.
Nothing he could do ... if he wished to save his little boy’s life.
Hours had passed, flowing by like a slow dark river. Carter lay awake, riddled with exhaustion but still unable to sleep.
Something moved close by, then a finger was placed against his lips—and Roxi was there, the scent of her skin a natural perfume invading his senses as she slid beneath his blanket and pressed herself close to him.
‘Do you mind?’ In the darkness, her voice sounded suddenly young; far younger than the rough and tough killer Carter knew so well.
‘No, I don’t mind,’ he replied.
Roxi pillowed her head on one arm. Carter sensed that her face was close to his. Strangely, he felt soothed. Relaxed. Her scent, her proximity, calmed him.
Finally, she said, ‘If I die tomorrow, will you remember me?’
‘I will remember you,’ he said.
‘Will you light a candle for me?’
‘What kind of talk is this, Rox? You sound like you think you only have hours left! Don’t be so defeatist ... the woman I knew was never so despondent, she was an optimist. She would laugh in the face of danger.’
‘I have a mission to perform,’ she said softly. Her hand came up and stroked at his hair. ‘A dangerous mission.’ Her finger traced a line down his jawline, and on impulse he reached forward and kissed her.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘No. It is something I have to do alone.’
They kissed again. Carter’s hand stroked her flank through the thin cotton T-shirt she wore, and she groaned, a low and husky animal sound. He could feel her need.
Pulling away, Carter smiled in the darkness. ‘Don’t be getting any ideas, madam. I have a long day tomorrow—and by the sounds of it, so do you.’
‘Make love to me, Carter. Fuck me like you used to fuck me.’
‘Not tonight.’
‘Is it because of Natasha?’
Roxi felt Carter freeze beside her, then slowly sink into her embrace once more. His breathing was harsh, laboured, but gradually it returned to normal and she whispered, ‘I’m sorry,’ in his ear.
‘No, it’s not your fault. It’s me.’
‘Natasha was beautiful. Natasha was my friend. I miss her as well, you know.’
‘I know,’ sighed Carter.
‘She would have blessed us.’
‘I know that, as well.’
‘Well, you awkward bastard, make love to me!’ Roxi pressed herself harder against him, and they kissed once more, passionately this time. Carter felt himself falling into the uncontrollable embrace of red velvet lust; Roxi’s hand dropped, stroking slowly at his belly, then down to tease and taunt his penis which hardened until he thought he would explode under the squeezing of her long strong fingers. Roxi lifted her leg over him, then leant forward to kiss him again, her hips lifted tantalisingly over him as he groaned and the whole world descended into a blood red sea swirl of want and need, of love and lust and a howling need for sex and his hands grasped at her, pulling her writhing gyrating hips onto him and her cunt was warm, and wet, and soft and willing and they slid together perfectly, a puzzle clicking neatly into place. She ground her hips down with an animal moan and she fucked him as Carter lifted her T-shirt free of her long brown hair and her breasts were highlighted in the gloom of the old stone warehouse. Roxi suddenly arched backwards, and locked together in the act of fucking, Carter’s hands found Roxi’s and her nails gouged his flesh as they became one, lost together, falling together. She toppled forward across him, hair in his face, her breasts pressed against his chest as her eyes gazed into his and they slowed to a mechanical grinding rhythm. Her hips lifted again, lifted from him this time, a tease as his teeth nuzzled at her neck and she plunged herself suddenly, painfully around him, forced herself onto him and they remained locked together for long, long moments and Carter was lost in a maelstrom of emotions and the rushing pounding smashing thrust of—slow—hard—sex.
When he awoke in the ghostly witch-light of dawn, Roxi had gone.
And Carter felt bad.
‘That was entertaining,’ said Kade smugly.
‘You’
re a cheap voyeur,’ snapped Carter. ‘Why don’t you fuck off and spy on the ladies’ toilet?’
‘A dark twin needs to get his amusement somehow.’
Carter could smell Roxi on his skin, but at least something made him feel better: the knowledge that Roxi had headed out on a mission. She would not be there when he detonated the MicroNuke. So she would not know of his terrible, ultimate betrayal. And, more importantly, she would not be there to die in the blast.
‘You’re a whore,’ said Kade.
‘Get to fuck.’
‘As far as you were concerned, my friend, you’d fuck her and then kill her and her friends with a bomb up the arse. You are worse than any animal, Carter; more deadly than any virus; more lethal than any fucking machine.’
Carter realised that Kade was right. Carter could not kill Spiral. But if he didn’t that would condemn his son ...
I need help, he thought.
‘Yeah, I realised that a long time ago, fucker,’ chuckled Kade in his head.
‘We need to talk,’ said Mongrel soberly.
The Priest had spent the previous thirty minutes briefing the forty men and women present. He’d told them that they were shortly going to travel to the Concrete Arena, GRID HUB side, and meet up there with a huge group of Spiral operatives to plan a series of coordinated attacks on Durell’s WarFacs; and to discuss the feasibility of bringing down the Sentinel HQs—from within.
Carter nodded, pulling tight the laces of his boots. He followed Mongrel towards the toilet block. Looking shiftily left and right, Mongrel ushered Carter into the toilets and Carter wrinkled his nose at the stench.
‘I hope you’re not looking for romance,’ he said testily.
‘Time for comedy over,’ said Mongrel softly. ‘I have something important to speak.’
‘Important? What, you dying or something, you old cunt?’ laughed Carter.
‘Yes.’
Carter’s stare met Mongrel’s. The big man’s expression was deadly serious, then Mongrel did something that Carter had not seen for a decade. He flashed a coded hand signal. The signal said: I know about the bomb.
Carter and Mongrel stood there in the stinking toilet block beside the stained and cracked urinals.
Carter said, ‘What’s the matter with you?’ as he flashed a signal, fingers working quickly through the complex sign language: They have my boy. They will kill him if I do not blow up SpiralHUB.
‘I was having big toilet problem,’ said Mongrel, speaking slowly, clearly. ‘I started lose lot of weight—ha, which I know you think is good thing for fat old Mongrel, hey? But I started needing toilet, sometimes ten times a fucking day! It not comfortable when you on mission with machine gun and keep needing a shit, I tell you, boy-o!’
He gave the signs: I have sent a squad to lift your boy from New York. You must trust me—and detonate the nuke only when I give the signal.
‘What are you telling me?’ said Carter softly. ‘You are dying from terminal excessive toilet exposure?’
I will trust you, Mongrel. Just don’t get my fucking son killed!
‘No. I have the cancer,’ said Mongrel gently. Your boy will be fine. I have sent Roxi. She is the best in the business. And we have our own people infiltrated into the Nex. We will get him out, Carter. I promise you.
Carter’s mouth gaped in amazement at both revelations. OK, came his flickering hand signals. But the cancer story is just a cover, right?
Mongrel shook his head sadly. ‘No, Carter, I really do have cancer. Just a few months to live, doctors tell me. It is too far gone to cure: a man can’t live without a fucking stomach, or entire fucking bowel—or so old Mongrel been told.’
Carter was stunned. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t even fucking think about Get Well? Mongrel grinned and slapped Carter on the back, his eyes gleaming. ‘Don’t worry, Carter. Everything turn out just fine—you will see, laddie.’
Carter nodded, breathing slowly, and allowed Mongrel to lead him from the toilet block. ‘Come on,’ said Mongrel over his shoulder. ‘It’s time to move out. We’ve got job to do.’
Outside, the snow had stopped falling. A cold, bitter wind was sweeping across the city, piling the snow in drifts.
The Spiral operatives left the buildings in staggered groups of twos and threes, walking swiftly down deserted roads beside the Thames which was crusted with a layer of ice.
Carter, Mongrel and Rogowski walked in silence, guns hidden in their packs and long coats covering their military clothing. Additionally, Carter carried the heavy MicroNuke.
Wintry sunlight shown down from a clear blue sky. Carter, with his collar turned up against the cold, his breath steaming, followed Mongrel who was in the lead, and Rogowski, who was coming up close behind. Rogowski dropped back a little, out of earshot of Mongrel who pretended not to notice. ‘You ready for this, Carter?’
‘I’m ready.’
Rogowski sneered nastily. ‘Don’t fuck this one up, boy. A lot rides on it—including the lives of your child and yourself. Don’t be a dick—just do the job and do it right.’
Carter grinned. ‘You need to shut the fuck up, Rogowski. Or maybe I’ll shoot you in the fucking skull and detonate the bomb without you. I’ll still pacify Durell, keep my kid alive—but you’ll be fucking worm food.’
‘Big words from the big man. You have a reputation Carter, but I have the experience. When this is all over, I would like to dance a slow waltz with you.’
‘The pleasure will be all mine,’ growled Carter. ‘Anybody who turns traitor against his friends, condemns them all to die—well, he deserves everything he fucking gets. I am going to fuck you up bad, compadre. You can rely on that.’
Rogowski sneered again, then jogged forward to catch up with Mongrel.
The Browning felt good, holstered against Carter’s hip. And for the first time in a long while Carter felt cautiously positive. Yes, everything might turn to rat shit—but he would give it his best shot. And he would be strong. He couldn’t ask more of himself than that.
The groups were travelling to the Concrete Arena via different routes, some on foot, some by SmutCar, some by the GRID. Mongrel had elected to lead his tiny entourage on foot—and they moved through narrow alleyways and back streets, occasionally making a dash across major roads.
It took them an hour. All three men were rosy-cheeked from the cold as Mongrel led them through a series of large yards surrounded by abandoned tower blocks, and deeper into a complex of yards and large concrete sheds, warehouses and low buildings. There were old cranes reaching for the sky, and high metal walkways stretching between towers and buildings. Some, though, ended in—nothing.
‘What is this place?’ asked Carter.
Mongrel shrugged. ‘We use it as munitions depot, and to store FukTruks. Mongrel think it once used to build first-generation tugs, in the infancy days of ChainStations. Now it long derelict; it good meeting place, hey?’
‘Why’s it called the Concrete Arena?’
Mongrel gave a nasty smile. ‘When two Spiral men of bad reputation have an old falling-out, then this is place they sort it out.’
‘What, with guns?’
‘With fists,’ said Mongrel, eyes gleaming. ‘Good old-fashioned way. Guns never solve problem, Carter; guns only good for putting something down. No, no—guns have no pride, no honour. They are like GPS—only for pussies. A real adventurer, he not need these machine aids ... This is about living, Carter, about striving... This honour must be earned with real effort, and blood, and pain. And nobody die as a result. Well, not often. You see?’
‘I see, all right,’ said Carter, rolling his shoulders under the pack.
‘You OK, Carter?’ asked Rogowski. ‘You want me to carry that for you? Take the weight for a while?’
‘I’m just fine, Ro. You leave it with me. I carry my own burdens.’
‘Ooh,’ said Mongrel. ‘Bit touchy, aren’t you, Carter? You two girls been fighting? Well, we in the right
place if you need to settle something, that for sure, or Mongrel not like fat women with cheese feet!’
They entered a small side alleyway, and as they advanced along it Mongrel disappeared behind a pile of metal grilles. There came a grinding noise and behind them the alleyway was blocked by a wall of steel which descended from screeching pulleys overhead—huge thick slabs of metal dropped into place, each with a pitted and slightly rusting surface.
‘Wouldn’t want to get followed.’ Mongrel grinned. ‘Bombproof to HighJ rating of 3.7. Take moron long time to cut through that baby with blow-torch!’ They moved out into a vast yard. Buildings circled them. The brickwork looked old, almost Victorian, with many bricks sporting black and crumbling surfaces. The place had a heavily industrialised look.
To one side of the yard was a huge steel structure, vertical girders rising from deep under the concrete. Flimsy-looking ladders were bolted to rust-streaked struts, and high above the men—perhaps two hundred feet overhead—several gantries straddled the huge concrete yard. Some were crane supports, others braced huge iron H-sections whose purpose was not immediately evident.
Mongrel got to work getting an enormous pan of water on for brews as more and more Spiral men and women started to arrive. Some came through the SpiralGRID, sideways-shifting into shimmering existence in a blur of silver and pink. Many of them looked queasy as they stepped from the SpiderCARS and gratefully accepted Mongrel’s huge mugs of sweetened tea.
Carter sat down, balancing the MicroNuke across his knees carefully and sipping at the hot and incredibly sweet brew. It was then, from inside the pack, that he detected a barely audible click.
The MicroNuke had been primed.
A terrifying thought then occurred to Carter: what if Durell detonated the nuke automatically? What if they had used Carter merely as a delivery boy and had decided to cut him out of the loop?
‘Then we’re all dead,’ came Kade’s crackling laughter.