IMPACT_A Post-Apocalyptic Tale_The Complete Series

by Matthew Eliot

  Moore nodded uneasily.

  Dimwit tugged at Ana’s shoulder. “Ana… what are we doing here?” he asked in a low voice. He was looking at the ex-prisoners, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Shouldn’t we be fighting?”

  Paul watched as Ana sighed, trying to find a way to break the news to the young ’wraith. “Listen, Dimwit… we’re not fighting. We’re getting out of here, with them.” She waved her hand towards the others.

  “Getting out of here?” Dimwit echoed her words, as if they were in a foreign language. Again, he eyed the others. “…with them? What about the Queen, the war…?”

  “Listen, young ’un,” Ana said patiently. “I know that’s important for you, I do. It was for me, too. But now… I think it would be nicer to be far away from all this, you know? The blood, the death. Paul has a plan. We’re getting out of here. We’ll all be safe, okay? Trust me.”

  Before Dimwit could add anything, someone else spoke.

  “I knew it, you treacherous little bitch.”

  Mojito was standing in the doorway, his lips twisted with hatred.

  * * *

  Neeson ducked down next to the passed-out guard, going for his weapon.

  “No, no you don’t,” Mojito stopped him. He aimed his own gun at Ana. “Pick that up, and she’s dead, sir.” Neeson cursed, slowly raising his empty hands in the air.

  The ’wraith smiled. “Good job. Stand up now, keep your stupid hero hands where I can see them.”

  “Shit,” Ana said, gritting her teeth. They all just stood there, at the mercy of the ’wraith. He glared at them with disgust.

  “What a bunch of cowards we have here,” he said, smirking. “Fleeing the war to save their pathetic little arses.” He tutted with mock disapproval.

  “Mojito, listen,” Ana began, her voice desperate. “We’re just trying to–”

  “Oh, I don’t care what you’re trying to do, whore.”

  He cocked his gun.

  Chapter 23

  Atlantis

  Hacking was more powerful than caffeine, for Sean. It had always been that way—it just took away the need for sleep. The challenge kept him going.

  But now, maybe because of the build up of stress, he was starting to feel a slight drowsiness seep into his mind. After all, they hadn’t slept since arriving at the base. It felt like weeks.

  His fingers tapped relentlessly on the keyboard in front of him. On the seat beside his, Checkmate was doing the same.

  Although Ivan’s codes gave him full access to the Russian nuclear arsenal, he had to show Jeremy he was doing the breaking in by himself, so he’d had to hack his own separate way into the Russian system. Luckily, Jeremy’s people in Ivan’s base had done most of the work for him. A few more keystrokes, and the crazy old hippie would have what he wanted.

  Sean resisted the urge to look at Walscombe, try to find support in his eyes. He couldn’t risk being caught, not now.

  He typed out a final line of code, then sat back. Holding his breath, he announced, “There. We’re in. We have full control.”

  “Ah, excellent job, my boy,” Jeremy said, clapping his hands.

  “Me too!” called out Checkmate, who had been working on the US arsenal. Making a grand show of it, he struck one last key, the way a pianist perhaps would, bringing his musical performance to an end. “Good timing,” he said to Sean, flashing him his wide, gormless smile. His suspicions about Sean and Walscombe seemed to have faded.

  “Good, good.” Jeremy nodded his approval. “Now, unless I’m very much mistaken, it’s time for our friend Walscombe to do his bit.”

  “Yes,” Checkmate confirmed. “All we need is his voiceprint.” He turned adoringly to Jeremy. “After that, Atlantis is all yours, Jeremy.”

  The old man chuckled. He was in control, and he liked it. Turning to his prisoner, he said, “Come and join us, Walscombe. We won’t bite.”

  Walscombe was still sitting on his bed with hands and ankles tied. “Fuck you, asshole,” he hissed.

  “Come on now,” Jeremy said placidly. “No need to take that tone, is there?”

  Sean knew Walscombe was going to give in. It was part of their plan—everything had to seem to work out fine for Jeremy until the very end. But he appeared to be having a hard time doing it.

  Grinding his teeth, Walscombe got to his feet. It was slow, awkward work because of the ropes that bound him. Jeremy didn’t step in to help him, and they just stared as the prisoner clumsily hopped towards them. Sean gritted his teeth. It was painful to watch.

  When he finally reached them, Jeremy said to Checkmate, “Please stand up m’boy, let him use your seat.” Checkmate complied, and Walscombe dropped into the chair. It was nice to have him close by, thought Sean, drawing some comfort from having his co-conspirator beside him.

  “Good man,” said Jeremy. “See? It was easy. Checkmate, please run the voice analysis step for Mr. Walscombe.”

  The other young hacker issued a few quick commands, and a window popped up on the screen. They all watched, as a security algorithm generated a random string of letters and numbers. When it had finished, a crude message announced: READ ALOUD SLOWLY AND CLEARLY.

  With another hateful glance at Jeremy, Walscombe leaned into the mic, and enounced the alphanumeric characters. Then, he dropped back into the chair. After a handful of seconds, the computer emitted three long beeps. A new message appeared, informing the users that full access to the arsenal had been granted.

  “There. Done, you piece of shit,” Walscombe said to Jeremy. “You can launch your insane fucking nuclear strike now.”

  “Oh,” the hippie said, shaking his head. “That privilege isn’t going to be mine. Nor should it be. It belongs to my leader. Speaking of which–” He turned to Sean and Checkmate. “Please forward the access credentials to this computer, lads.” He pointed to an IP address his men in Russia had shared with him. “It’s back at home, in good old Blighty,” he told Walscombe with a grin. “Oh, what I would give for a full English breakfast, now.” He let out a melodramatic sigh, then laughed.

  “Okay, done,” said Checkmate.

  “And you, Sean?”

  Sean had just finished. “Y-yes.” He cleared his throat, wondering what kind of monster someone who Jeremy considered his leader could be. “The device at that IP address has full control of the Russian arsenal too, now.”

  Jeremy patted him on the head. It didn’t feel nice. “Don’t be nervous, Sean. What you’re doing here should fill you with pride… Now, one last thing.” He pulled out a scrunched-up piece of paper from a chest pocket. It was divided into two columns, one labelled USA, the other RUSSIA. Below each one, a list of numbers.

  Sean recognised them. They were coordinates.

  “Enter these. You take the Russian column, Sean. Checkmate, you go with the American one.”

  Jeremy laid the sheet of paper on the desk, between their two keyboards. Sean and Checkmate studied it. “Okay,” said Checkmate simply, and began working.

  Sean started entering the coordinates.

  I’m literally pointing nuclear missiles to cities all over the world, he thought with a shiver.

  For a fraction of a second, his eyes met Walscombe’s. The older man nodded imperceptibly.

  Now.

  Sean swallowed, but found that his whole mouth was perfectly dry. It was like trying to stuff sand down his throat. Trying to act casually, he rapidly opened another window. It was Ivan’s message to Walscombe. Sean copied the account details, the ones that could override the whole procedure on the Russian end, then began entering them into the system.

  Almost done… almost done.

  “Sean… what are you doing?”

  The question turned his stomach to stone. Checkmate was staring at his screen, a deep frown across his forehead.

  “What? Nothing,” Sean said lamely, desperately trying to hide his monitor.

  Checkmate gasped. “Jeremy!” he called out, pointing at Sean’s screen, �
�Jeremy, look!”

  Before Sean could switch back to the coordinates’ window, Jeremy slapped his hand off the keyboard, shoving both him and Walscombe out of the way. He glared at the screen, reading Ivan’s message. Piecing it all together.

  When he slowly turned towards Sean, his look was incredulous.

  “But… but I trusted you, boy,” he said. For the first time, Jeremy looked vulnerable, genuinely vulnerable, not in control. The utter disbelief in the old man’s eyes was so strong that Sean felt an odd pang of guilt.

  Walscombe leapt out of his seat, arms raised in the air. But Jeremy was faster. He dug the muzzle of the gun into Sean’s temple.

  “Don’t. Fucking. Dare,” he growled at Walscombe. “Or I’ll blow this little shit’s brains out.”

  * * *

  Walscombe halted his charge. He stared incredulously at Sean, the gun, Jeremy, the computers. The old man had been way too fast.

  Fuck.

  “Sit,” Jeremy said, gesturing towards the bed. He was breathing heavily through the nose, like a rabid dog. He suddenly appeared huge, his panting body taking up the whole room. “And don’t fucking move.”

  With no other choice, Walscombe obeyed.

  “Has he locked us out?” the hippie asked Checkmate.

  After fiddling around with the computer for a beat, the boy announced, “No. We’re good.”

  “Okay.” There was a hint of relief in his voice. “Now, you finish entering the coordinates. I’ll keep an eye on these two.”

  They waited in silence. The only noises in the small room were the clacking of the keyboard and Jeremy’s low, furious breathing.

  Fuckfuckfuck, thought Walscombe. Sean looked terrified, but it was even worse than the kid thought. Walscombe knew that the way the system was set up, they only had fifteen minutes from his voice input to interrupt the procedure. He’d bet that, by then, he’d have overcome the old bastard.

  Dude. Turns out you suck at betting.

  “There, done. I’ve fed it all the coordinates,” said Checkmate, straightening his back.

  Jeremy nodded towards the young man. “At least we have one person, here, who isn’t a backstabbing piece of crap.”

  The hippie observed them all, deep in thought. No one dared talk.

  He slowly removed the gun from Sean’s forehead, and Walscombe hoped that perhaps the old man would forgive him, let him live.

  Show some good ol’ peace and love, man, come on. You’re a skunky hippie after all, right?

  Jeremy held out the gun in front of Checkmate. “You watch that one. If he moves, shoot him,” he said, pointing towards Walscombe. Checkmate took the gun, aimed it at him.

  Easy, kid. Walscombe felt his heart pounding in his ears.

  “W-what are you going to do?” Checkmate asked Jeremy, without taking his eyes off Walscombe.

  “Me?” Jeremy asked, turning his rage towards Sean. “I’m going to take care of this fucking traitor.”

  Walscombe watched powerless as Jeremy wrapped his powerful hands around Sean’s neck.

  And squeezed.

  Chapter 24

  Bately

  Mojito steadied his weapon.

  They all stood motionless, the clatter of the battle outside suddenly very distant.

  “Listen, Mojito,” Ana began, trying to inject some authority into her shaky voice. She considered trying to grab the rifle that hung from her shoulders, but she doubted she was fast enough. “Please, we’re just–”

  Mojito ignored her. He squared his shoulders and announced, “In the name of Her Majesty the ’Wraith Queen, I sentence you to death, Ana, for high treason.”

  There was a collective gasp, as the ’wraith tightened his finger around the trigger. Ana winced, instinctively twisting her head sideways. As if it would help against a bullet.

  A shadow shifted behind Mojito. An instant before firing, the ’wraith noticed and spun round on his feet. But he wasn’t fast enough to avoid Mathew’s charge, as he drove his shoulder into the ’wraith’s abdomen.

  They fell to the floor, locked in a tangle of wrestling limbs.

  “Mathew!” It was Lucy. She was running towards them. Everyone crowded round the Mathew and Mojito, eyeing the gun. The young man was trying to disarm him, but despite his gaunt appearance, Mojito was strong.

  There was a bang, and Mathew let out a howl of pain. In the commotion, Mojito dropped the gun. Edward and Lucy sprang forward, followed by all the others.

  While Edward did his best to pin the ’wraith’s arms down, Mathew rolled over, back against the floor. His face was twisted in pain.

  “Mathew, stay still,” said Cathy, as she knelt beside him, to inspect the wound.

  Lucy had picked up the gun. She stared at it, then at Mojito. Her eyebrows were pinched together, and her chest rising and falling heavily. “You hurt my son,” she said in a low, menacing voice.

  Mojito grinned. “Yup. Think he’s going to die, lady. Shot him good.”

  Lucy got on her knees, as Mojito squirmed, trying to get out of Edward’s hold. She pointed the gun at his head. Mojito’s eerie grin grew wider. His gums had retracted, making his few teeth look like long fangs. “I’m not afraid to die,” he said.

  “Lucy–” Edward began.

  “Good,” Lucy said. And pulled the trigger.

  This shot wasn’t as loud, muffled by the tissue of Mojito’s brain. She didn’t linger to examine the horrific spectacle of the ’wraith’s exploded head, and rushed over to her son.

  “How is he?” she asked Cathy, who was still shocked by the gunshot.

  “It’s a superficial wound. Here,” she pointed, “on his leg.”

  Lucy’s lips compressed into a thin line. She stroked her son’s hair. “He’s bleeding a lot.”

  “I can stop the bleeding. He’ll be okay.” She tore a long piece of cloth off her shirt, and wrapped it tight above Mathew’s wound.

  Edward gripped his son’s hand. “You saved us.”

  “You did,” Ana said. She couldn’t help but feel guilty about Mojito’s arrival. It wasn’t her fault, of course, but he had clearly decided to find her, and that had led him to the others. Now, this boy was wounded.

  “I’m fine,” Mathew said as he sat up. “We have to go and get Alice and Adrian.”

  “Wait a second,” Cathy said, shaking her head. “I said you’d be fine, but there’s no way you can go off on a rescue mission with your leg in this state. No, we have to get you out of town immediately.”

  Mathew began to protest, but Edward, Lucy and Cathy interrupted him all at the same time. Him going after the kids was simply out of the question.

  “We have to split up,” said Ana.

  Paul nodded gravely. “I’ll go to the castle. To Alice.”

  Neeson dipped his chin. He grabbed the guard’s rifle. “I’ll come with you, you might need some help.”

  Cathy was standing to one side of Mathew, Lucy on the other, both helping him get on his feet. “Everyone else will go with Mathew, Lucy and Edward. He’s a tall boy, we’ll need to carry him.”

  “What about Adrian?” Paul asked.

  “I’ll fetch him,” Cathy said, resolutely. “Once Mathew and the others are at a safe distance, I’ll come back for him.”

  But Neeson shook his head. “No. I’m the best fighter here, I need to come too. Once we’ve got Alice, we’ll meet outside town, where we dug up the explosives. Then, I and whoever wants to come will return for Adrian.”

  Cathy didn’t appear too keen on this prospect. But, as Ana saw it, it made sense. This Neeson guy looked like a soldier. He was the best suited to get the boy back to safety.

  “Okay,” Cathy conceded. “You’re right.”

  Ana peered at the small gathering. She didn’t know these people, but she imagined it must’ve been difficult to separate so soon, just as they’d finally gathered again.

  “No point hesitating,” Paul said. “See you at the meeting point.”

  He believes it, Ana th
ought. He really believes we can pull this off.

  They formed a clumsy line towards the exit, with Lucy and Edward on either side of Mathew, arms wrapped around their son, helping him along.

  Outside, the battle was raging.

  “Let’s go! See you later,” Paul shouted above the gunshots and explosions. Before turning, he hesitated. His eyes paused on them all, perhaps a little longer on Cathy. “This time tomorrow, we’ll be safe, on the boat,” he said. Then he bowed his forehead, bidding them farewell, and ran off, followed by Neeson.

  Ana and the others scanned their surroundings, trying to find a safe route that would lead them out of town. Cathy jerked her chin towards a small side street. “That’ll take us around the castle, out of town. It’s our best chance.”

  As they gathered and started off, Ana felt a tug at her sleeve. It was Dimwit.

  “We gotta hurry, Dimwit.” She was about to turn around and keep going, but something in the boy’s eyes made her pause. “What is it?”

  He looked around, the lights of the battle dancing on his face. “Ana…”

  “Yes?”

  He swallowed. “I want to stay.”

  She sighed, frustrated. “Oh, don’t do this to me now, kid. Come on, we have to go.”

  Dimwit was serious. He spoke softly. “No Ana. Really. I want to stay. I belong with them.” He gestured towards the ’wraiths.

  She was about to grab him by the shoulders, shake some sense into him. But his eyes, usually so timid and insecure, shone with determination.

  Ana hung her head, rubbing her fingers over her tired eyes. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded firmly. “I am. I want to fight for the Pack.”

  Cathy spoke up, pointing towards the side street. “We have to move, Ana.”

  “Coming,” she said, wishing they had more time. She pulled Dimwit towards her, held him tight. “Okay, young lad. The Pack is lucky to have you on its side.” She meant it. As they drew apart, Ana reached for her rifle, and slipped it off. “Here, have this. A brave fighter needs a weapon.”

  Dimwit’s eyebrows arched upwards, joy spreading on his face. “Thank you, Ana.”