All or Nothing

by Stuart Keane

  As if to confirm this, the pair of killers placed their weapons next to their fallen comrade and backed up. The plan was working. So far.

  “Good,” Rupert approved. ”Now, your men. Get them to back up to the house. They have to stand on the porch. I’ll know when they get there, as I will hear glass crunch underfoot.”

  Another hurried discussion followed, then there was a pause. Footsteps crushed the wet grass. Seconds later, Rupert heard the crunching sound of glass being trampled underfoot. So far, so good. Rupert wondered how far he could push his luck. He intended to find out.

  “Good,” he called down. ”Now, I’m going to come out. If anyone raises a weapon, I shoot them. Got it? I already killed two people tonight, and I’m willing to kill more.” Rupert slid the screwdriver into his belt and prepared himself. Appearing to be empty handed was the best plan, so as to avoid being shot. His gun was back in his waistband, hidden by his coat. He edged across to the side of the shed. The painkillers had taken effect and the drowsiness had dissipated. He collected his katana and looped it over his shoulder. Holding his hands up, Rupert took a deep breath and stepped out.

  John was standing alone in the centre of the yard. He’d also backed up a few feet. Rupert stopped and surveyed the area. He looked at the two men on the porch, standing still, arms crossed. They looked calm. He couldn’t detect any anger. He stepped beside their fallen comrade. He bent down and took the magazines out of the man’s weapons. He threw them across the garden into the vegetable patch and dropped the guns back onto the sodden grass. Content, he walked over to John. His enemy smiled.

  “My my, time hasn’t been good to you,” John said. “You look a mess.”

  Rupert said nothing.

  “Going to ignore me now, are you? Fine, have it your way.”

  Rupert stared back at John. He kept his front facing his adversary. “What do you want?”

  John rubbed his hands together. “I want us to have a conversation – man to man – like this.” John swung his finger back and forth, pointing at each of them.

  Rupert grinned. “Man to man? And you bring an army. Shame on you. I think that defeats the object of your plan.”

  “True. And it can be easily rectified.”

  “So rectify it. Now.”

  John said nothing. “Okay. But don’t panic. I am going to take something from my pocket, okay?”

  Rupert’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, do it slowly.”

  His enemy placed his hands in the air to show he wasn’t up to something. Then he carefully removed his Colt pistol from its holster and held it out, behind his back, raising both hands into the air once more. He looked as if he was being crucified on an invisible cross.

  “Boys,” he called out over his shoulder. “Come over here and take my gun. I won’t be needing it.”

  The two men didn’t move at first. They looked at each other warily, as Rupert wondered what John was up to. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  John smiled. “What needs to be done.”

  The two men approached John slowly. They moved cautiously, stepping off the porch and starting to cross the grass. Rupert kept his eye on John the entire time. The two men appeared in Rupert’s peripheral vision.

  John stared at Rupert. “Now it really is man to man.”

  All in a flash, John spun around and flipped the Colt into his hand and shot his man, Connor, in the face. Without pausing, he fired at his other man, James, shooting him in the face too. Blood whipped into the air as the bodies dropped like stones to the ground, crumpling together in a heap, dead before they hit. John turned back and levelled the gun at Rupert. Then he lowered it and returned it to his holster.

  The killer laughed. “Happy now? You see, Rupert? You play the psychopath, using your act against me in my own fucking game. But the thing is, I am a psychopath – there’s no need for me to pretend. I’ve done things that would seriously bring into question my career as a member of the church. You know this, it was you who nearly ruined it for me. Which is why I ruined your life in return. You see, I have money, wealth, not a care in the world. You had very little and you lost it all. We’re two human beings cut from very different cloth. We don’t belong in the same universe, let alone in a game like this. But that’s the reason why I picked you.”

  John paused. His hand slipped into his pocket and he took out a cigarette packet. He tapped the box and held it to his lips, and the box came away, leaving a cigarette between his lips. He lit it and blew out a stream of smoke.

  “You were the perfect Choice for The Game. A perfect contrast. I don’t believe many weak-willed characters are worth watching. But when they evolve in front of your very eyes, as you have, into something you can have complete control over, well, that’s something to be proud of. A boy becoming a man, literally, in the space of mere hours. You came here a snivelling, cowardly, spineless piece of shit. And because of me? Your life finally has a glimpse of hope. You’re a guy who could actually become someone during his remaining years.”

  Rupert said nothing.

  John smiled again. “Seriously. I’m paying you a compliment. The least you can do is thank me for it. You’ve earned your stripes here tonight. You killed two of the deadliest men I personally knew, and it doesn’t even bother me. You know why? It’s my fault is why. I drove you to this, I made you a real man. Now. Thank me for it!”

  Rupert remained silent. He flexed his neck muscles and continued staring at his enemy. His hand gripped the handle of the small sharp-bladed screwdriver that was tucked behind his belt. John took another drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out immediately, so that it billowed out through his nostrils and lips, spreading all around.

  The smile disappeared from John’s face, replaced by a furious glare. “You disrespectful piece of shit. After all I’ve done for you? This is how you repay me? I made you a man, something your peers and your bitch of a mother could never do.”

  Rupert swung his left arm so that his hand came against the side of John’s head. The other man ducked, but it was too late. The hidden screwdriver did its worst, as Rupert slid the small blade along the side of John’s head, slicing deep into the skin below his hair. Blood started to well up from the wound as John placed his hand over the gash, throwing his cigarette to the ground. “What the fuck was that?”

  The other man remained silent. He glared at John. “Don’t you ever speak about my mother.”

  When he took his hands away from the wound, they were coated in a thin layer of blood. He smiled again. “Okay, fair enough. I deserved that.”

  Rupert threw the screwdriver to the ground. “You didn’t create this. This has always been me. You just never saw it. My faith was my love for so long, it guided me, made me a better person. It prevented me from becoming this – which is a by-product of many years of social rejection, bad parenting and general angst at a pathetic world that benefits no one. It took an extreme act of violence to bring my inner self to the surface…and maybe I should thank you for it. But it doesn’t undo everything you’ve done to me before today. I never noticed it before, but I’m no longer restricted by my faith. Which means that you, John, are fucked.”

  John grimaced. He drew the Colt from its holster and aimed it at Rupert. Rupert didn’t move or flinch. “So. You think you are a big shot, do you? You think a little episode like this makes you a force to be reckoned with. No, I saw it happen, your transformation was down to me. Not God, not your mother, or anyone else. I made you the beast you are now. Go on, admit it for all the world. I made you.”

  Rupert said nothing.

  “ADMIT IT, DAMN YOU!”

  Rupert shook his head. “No.”

  The other man cocked the gun’s hammer back and aimed the weapon at Rupert’s head. “You admit it or I’ll kill you right here. Do you know that you nearly ruined my life—?”

  “—and you did ruin mine. You expect me to thank you for everything you’ve done to me? Go fuck yourself. You will never get me to thank you in any
capacity. Shoot me if you have to, but I still won’t do it.”

  John’s hand shook. He lowered the gun.

  “That’s a big mistake.”

  Rupert lunged for John and knocked him off his feet, causing him to drop the gun. They landed in a pile together on the grass. Rupert was on top of John, pinning him down, trapping his arms against his body. Rupert leaned back and punched John in the face. Once. Twice. Three times. Blood spurted from John’s nose on the third connection. Rupert leaned in close and head-butted the other man. He punched him once more and rolled off him. John was on his back, coughing. Rupert stood up. He reached down and grabbed John by the collar, scooped him up and kneed him in the ribs. He pulled him face-to-face with him, observing John’s groggy, bloody features, spitting out the words: “You will pay for—”

  “—I ain’t doing shit.” Rupert punched John once more and dropped him to the ground. John rolled around on the grass. His clothes were wet. Blood caked his face and chest. It was pouring from his nose and the wound on his head was oozing steadily. John sat up, coughing. “You’re…” he coughed. “You’re a dead… dead man.”

  John rolled over onto his front. He tried to push himself up, but his unbalanced frame toppled a few times before he managed to push himself up from his knees to a standing position. Finally he spun around to face Rupert. He spat blood onto the grass. John patted his pockets and belt, finding that he had no gun.

  The Colt laid on the ground in front of Rupert, quite a distance from the other man. Rupert flicked a glance in the gun’s direction, but John was staring at it like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

  Neither man moved.

  John laughed. “Look at us. What are we fighting about? Some religious nonsense that happened nearly a decade ago? Really? We’re men. This sort of thing shouldn’t be an issue.”

  Rupert cut him off. “I don’t give a shit about that, not anymore. What I’m doing now is for a personal reason, nothing else. You organised the hit on my mother. An innocent old lady who wasn’t even involved in anything I did to you. But you had her killed anyway. For the sake of a fucking game.”

  John smiled. Blood coated his teeth, one of which was missing; blood was oozing up from the gap. “That isn’t exactly true. I didn’t organise the hit on your mother. I did that myself. Since we are being honest and everything, I may as well tell you that she squealed like a stuck pig. You should have seen the life drain out of her face – poor bitch.”

  Rupert said nothing.

  He took a step forward. Then another. He was a few metres away from John.

  “Touched a nerve, did I?”

  Rupert smiled. “What makes you think you can have an effect on me?”

  John stopped smiling. “You mean, this beating the shit out of me stuff was all a joke? C’mon. That’s Jeremy Kyle shit right there. Repressed emotions and all that.”

  Rupert stood before John. A full minute of silence passed.

  Then Rupert pulled his hand from behind him to reveal his katana sword.

  John’s eyes widened. “Okay, no, come on, I was kidding. Banter, you surely know the meaning of the word?”

  “You killed my mother. You ruined my career. You did this. This is your fault.”

  Rupert swung the sword around in an arc. It sliced through John’s jugular vein with ease. Blood spattered, spurting out at pressure, covering Rupert’s face and chest and legs. He didn’t care. He hardly noticed. John made a choking noise and fell to his knees. Rupert kicked him in the chest, hard, and John fell onto his back. He landed in the vegetable patch. His body was shaking, violently.

  A minute later, he was dead.

  His killer stood still for three long, quiet minutes.

  He blinked twice.

  During the fourth minute he turned and walked back to the house, picking up the discarded weapons on the way. He placed them on the porch, stepped into the house and walked upstairs.

  He showered, the water running pink. He changed into new clothes. He discarded the tool belt, knowing that now he wouldn’t be needing it. He grabbed a duffel bag. He removed some weapons from the tool belt and placed them in the duffel bag. After twenty minutes, he stepped back onto the porch and made his way across to John’s body. He collected the magazines he had thrown there earlier on. He placed the weapons he found there in the bag. He patted John down and found his car keys.

  Excellent.

  A minute later, Rupert was in John’s BMW. He turned on the GPS and found a record of his most recent destinations. He tapped a few keys and it was set. The destination didn’t have a name. The last time John had visited the place had been two hours ago. He turned the key in the ignition. Checking that his bag was safe on the passenger seat, Rupert smiled. For the first time in days, this was a genuine smile.

  Three minutes later, Rupert was driving John’s BMW to his destination.

  According to the GPS, it would take him thirty-four minutes to reach it.

  John’s office.

  Rupert wanted to see what The Game was all about.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Kieran peered out from behind his makeshift cover. The route forward was clear.

  Heather stayed silent. She was listening for any noise, any indication that they weren’t alone. The day’s events were not normal by any stretch of the imagination. Kieran and Heather, both as a couple and as individuals, were not entirely sure how to process the information.

  Paranoia became natural in the circumstances. Who knew what might come along next?

  Kieran let out a sigh of relief. “I think we’re clear,” he said, sitting down next to Heather. They were both sweating, the room was as hot as a sauna. The walls were solid and had no windows. Kieran took a bottle from his pack and swigged. After a moment, he took the bottle from his lips and handed it to Heather. She nodded and finished the bottle in two huge gulps.

  For two minutes they sat in silence.

  Moments previously, they had entered a nondescript room. The temperature was scorching. Much like the previous storage room, it was full of boxes of all shapes and sizes. There were fewer of them, but the muted chaos of isolation occupied the room. It looked unused. Kieran, once again, noticed a layer of dirt on everything. However, there were some footsteps left in the floor’s dust. It was hard to be sure in the dim light, but Kieran was pretty certain that they had been made by bare human feet. Most likely made by one of the clones who had got lost. Judging by the pattern, it looked as if the person had run through the room, moving several boxes out of the way.

  Shortly afterwards Heather and Kieran found the dead clone, who’d been crushed by a fallen box. The wooden crate had cracked over his skull and split his head open. The body was face down, below the broken timber pieces. The soles of his feet appeared to be covered in dust. He had obviously wandered through and been killed.

  Kieran ran the events through his mind once again.

  Then Heather spoke suddenly, taking Kieran by surprise: “What the hell is going on here?”

  Kieran shook his head. He said nothing.

  “Clones. Okay, I can get that. It’s been a taboo topic for some time. Yes, they exist. It’s been scientifically proven it is possible to make clones of animals. But humans? Has science became that dark and desperate that they have to replicate the human race? Are humans so dispensable that they can just, on a whim, create fake humans to replace them?”

  Kieran looked up, wiping his brow. “You heard Abel. Where there’s money, there’s a will. He was spot on. The government would pay top dollar if they could stop paying people wages and send, for want of a better scenario, an army of clones into war. No casualties to speak of, no families crying, no horrific faux pas in the news. Think of the international incidents that could be avoided by doing such a thing. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even have to tell anyone about it. If no families have missing loved ones, then who is to know anyone’s been killed? And heaven forbid, if they should clone a political figure like the President
of the US, or a prime minister of a country. For all we know, they already have—”

  “—No!” Heather protested. “Don’t say that. Look, Kieran, think about it. This can’t be happening. This kind of thing doesn’t exist, this is science fiction, the work of a Hollywood scriptwriter. Either that or this is a dream, a sick, vivid dream. This sort of thing can’t be real.”

  “But it is. You saw it yourself. There’s no way of explaining it. I don’t have any knowledge of genetics, but whoever was the mastermind behind this is going to be stinking rich within a matter of months.”

  Heather nodded. “To think this is happening, under the radar, as it must be. There is no way any government could even sanction this. Aren’t there some laws that forbid this kind of thing?”

  “Probably. But no law can stop a government from feigning ignorance. Who is to say that they couldn’t just pretend it doesn’t happen, or doesn’t happen to their knowledge, anyway? You hear stories all the time of cover-ups, conspiracies, all sorts of things. Who is to say we aren’t just caught up in one of the biggest cover-ups yet?”

  Heather gave Kieran a long cool stare. “Why were we chosen, do you think? I don’t have a specifically amazing job, I work in a damned office. What did you do before you came here?”

  Kieran lowered his head and sighed. “I was an auditor, like you, nothing special. I went to schools and colleges and audited their financial risk and processes. Boring really, you might say a menial job. It hardly qualifies me for a job in genetics. We could just be random selections off the street. Maybe we didn’t need a specific skill set. Who knows what the selection criteria was?”