Her eyes widened at the sight of it. ‘You think we’re going to need it?’
‘Best to be prepared, eh?’
She swallowed nervously then nodded. ‘OK. Let’s go find her.’
CHAPTER 51
2001, New York
Sal was running as fast as she could amid the rubble and blocks of crumbling masonry, long ago collapsed across forgotten streets. She kept stumbling, losing her footing, barking her shins, scraping and cutting her hands.
Behind her the creatures – there seemed to be dozens now – kept pace with her easily. There was surprising agility in those frail and pallid bodies. They were small like undernourished children, but with faces that were lined with age… or grief. They followed her, keeping a wary distance, not closing, not falling behind… just intensely curious.
For now.
She glanced up at the street ahead, little more than an undulating bed of shattered blocks of concrete and protruding spars of rusted metal. The frames of buildings either side were the only visual clue that this had once been a street.
If this was Broadway… once, then she knew she needed to turn left at some point, left on to East 14th Street. That would take her east towards the river and the Williamsburg Bridge.
If it’s still standing.
Another glance over her shoulder and she saw one of them had closed the distance between them and was right behind her, a long pale hand reaching out ahead of it, its bald head cocked to one side, eyes curiously regarding her long black hair.
‘Oh God!’ she screamed. ‘Leave me alone!’
She suddenly stopped dead in her tracks and spun round to face it.
The creature drew up short of her, the others coming to a halt behind it. They fanned out either side, all of them studying her silently with eyes wide, a burning curiosity written on all of their faces.
Sal reached down for a length of rusty metal piping. Lifting it up, flakes of rust crumbled away. She wasn’t entirely sure the thing wouldn’t crumble to dust the first time she swung it at something, but all the same it felt good in her hand.
‘Stay back!’ she snarled, her voice shrill and high.
The creature closest to her stayed its distance, standing low, crouching almost like a primate. The silence was filled with her ragged breath and the mournful wind; she had time to look at it more closely.
A pair of expressive eyes. Clearly a human. But it seemed such a pitiful-looking human. If she wasn’t so terrified, she could almost imagine feeling sorry for it.
The creature nearest her took a careful, measured step forward, extending one hand towards her.
‘No! You stay back!’ she barked, brandishing the crumbling pipe.
She heard the thing whine, a keening sound, like some pitiful dog behind bars in a rescue compound. The pale skin – stretched across lean arms and legs, stretched across ribs and a pelvic bone that protruded unpleasantly – was so ghostly white it was almost translucent. She could see the faint lines of violet arteries beneath. Its mouth, eyes and nose oozed a bloody mucus.
The thing wanted desperately to come closer to her. The hand stretching further forward, wanting to make contact.
‘No! I’ll hit you!’ she screamed again.
It cocked its head again. The almost completely toothless mouth opened and closed with a wet snapping sound.
‘Oh! Ahhh-iiittttt-oooooo,’ it uttered.
It was attempting to mimic her.
‘You… you… you can speak?’ she managed in response.
‘Ooo… ooo… ooo-annng-zbikkkkk?’ it gargled.
She noticed something in its face. Intelligence. Perhaps a long-faded memory stirring behind those milky boiled-fish eyes. This thing was human, or at least it had once been human, she was sure of that.
‘My… my n-name is Sal,’ she said loudly, for the benefit of the others behind it, gesturing at herself. When she had introduced herself for the first time to Bob, he had cocked his head curiously, his lips trying crudely to repeat her name. These creatures, on the other hand, cowered at the sound of her voice. Their dead eyes seemed less curious than Bob’s. They mewled and whined among themselves.
Is that their language? The whining noise?
‘Sal,’ she said again, encouraged that her talking seemed to be holding them at bay for the moment. ‘I’m Sal.’
‘Annng-aahhhh.’
‘That’s right.’ She smiled. ‘Sal.’
The hand, still reaching towards her, was now only a few inches away. She wondered whether to swing her pipe at it or let it touch her. There was no way of knowing whether these things wanted to communicate in some way or were just attempting to test how much of a threat she posed to them.
If I hit it…?
Then she suspected some kind of pack instinct would take over. They’d be upon her in the blink of an eye.
Let it touch. Let it make contact.
She swallowed nervously as the tips of its fingers eagerly stretched out and brushed lightly against her hair.
‘Hair,’ she said.
The fingers curled through the strands, flicked at them, played with them.
‘It’s hair,’ she said again, softening her voice, trying to steal the fear from it.
The thing’s mouth seemed to widen, stretch, exposing a few snaggled teeth emerging from bloody gums.
My God… is that a smile?
A soft sing-song humming vibrated up from the creature’s narrow bony chest into its throat. It became an almost childlike cooing. Like the contented noise of a baby suckling a bottle.
Sal found her hand stretching out towards it. Copying the gesture, showing the same curiosity seemed like the right thing to do. Her hand brushed against the thing’s forearm. She expected it to be cold and clammy… but it was warm and dry. Just like any human’s skin should be.
And she returned the smile.
‘Pleased… pleased to meet you,’ she said.
‘Eeeeee… eeeee-ooo-eeeee-oooo.’
It was then she heard the clatter of rubble disturbed behind her.
‘You should keep very still!’
It was Maddy’s voice. Not a shout, but a coarse whisper echoing across the stillness.
‘No sudden moves. OK?’ That was Foster’s voice. ‘Keep your eyes on that thing, Sal. Do not look away. Do you understand?’
She nodded.
‘All right, Sal, you should take a slow step back now.’
She wanted to look back over her shoulder. To see where her friends were, how far away they were.
‘Don’t!’ hissed Foster. ‘Keep your eyes on it as you back off.’
‘W-why?’ she managed to whisper.
‘Just do it!’
She did as instructed, taking one careful step at a time, feeling her way across the uneven ground with her feet, keeping her eyes locked on the thing in front of her.
The Gollum frowned. The humming quickly became a frustrated growl as it shuffled forward, reaching again for her hair.
‘It’s – it’s not going to let me g-go,’ uttered Sal. ‘Ouch! It’s got hold of my hair again!’
‘Just keep coming, Sal… Don’t stop,’ said Maddy. She sounded a little bit closer.
The creature was holding tight to a lock of her hair, winding its claw-like fingers through it to get a better hold. And then she saw something in its face, innocent curiosity vanishing, replaced by some dark instinct. It opened its mouth and let out a cry that almost sounded human, but certainly didn’t resemble anything like a language.
The other creatures suddenly surged forward.
‘Oh no!’ cried Maddy.
There was the deafening blast of a gunshot. The creature holding her hair was suddenly hurled on its
back, spattering dark blood across the rubble.
‘Sal, quick!’
She turned and saw Maddy and Foster ten yards beyond, a blue veil of gunsmoke clearing as Foster pumped another round into the gun. She scrambled on all fours towards them, clattering noisily over a mound of loose bricks and masonry, expecting at any moment to feel claws in her hair again, yanking her off her feet from behind. Instead, a moment later, she was stumbling into Maddy’s open arms.
‘Oh God! Sal! Are you all right?’
She was too frightened to answer.
‘Run!’ she whispered. ‘We – w-we should run!’
Maddy stood her ground, held her tight. ‘It’s OK, Sal… it’s OK. Look.’
Sal turned to look over her shoulder to find the creatures had gone. Every last one of them except for the twitching corpse in front of her had… simply vanished within the space of a few heartbeats, as if they’d never been anything more than mere wisps of smoke, carried off by a gusting wind.
‘The noise of the gun scared them off,’ said Foster.
Maddy looked anxiously around at the dark husks of ruined buildings on either side of them. ‘They’re hiding in there. We should head back while they’re still spooked.’
Foster nodded and waved them past. ‘Come on.’
The girls stepped around him quickly and backed away. Foster followed, his shotgun still shouldered and ready to fire.
CHAPTER 52
1956, New Jersey
Feldwebel Johan Kernst rubbed his hands to warm them as he watched the distant truck approaching the east entrance to the prison camp, Gefangenenlager 63. From this distance it seemed to be approaching them far too quickly.
‘Wake up, lads,’ he barked at the men manning the barricade.
He shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun on the snow-covered fields either side of the rutted gravel track. He sensed something wasn’t quite right.
‘Ready the M96,’ he snapped.
Two of the guards shouldered their carbines and manned the heavy-calibre sentry gun – four high-velocity barrels that could chew up an un-armoured vehicle in a matter of seconds, mounted on a sturdy tripod and sandbagged for stability.
The truck was still showing no sign of reducing speed as it rolled down twin ruts in the road, splashing fans of slushy mud up on to the banks of snow on either side.
Kernst took several steps forward in front of the vehicle barrier and waved his arms, indicating to the driver that he should slow down, stop and have some papers ready to show. That, or risk being fired upon.
He cursed under his breath as he heard the rumble of the truck’s engine increasing in pitch.
He’s speeding up.
The German sergeant stepped out of the muddy ruts in the middle of the road to one side and nodded at his men to fire a short warning burst. The M96 buzzed for a second, spewing a small cascade of steaming shell casings on to the ground. Divots of slush and mud danced into the air several dozen yards in front of the closing vehicle.
But it showed no sign of slowing down.
Kernst shook his head. The stupid fool driving that vehicle was no doubt some hot-headed American kid trying to break in and rescue a relative, a loved one. Well, the fool was about to die.
As the truck closed the remaining distance, only fifty yards away now and picking up further speed, Kernst nodded to his men once more. They levelled the M96’s thick barrels at the truck itself, aiming at the windscreen.
And fired.
The windscreen exploded. The metal grating at the front of the truck began disintegrating amid showers of sparks. But momentum was still carrying the heavy four-ton vehicle relentlessly forward.
Kernst found himself diving out of the way at the very last moment into a deep bank of snow as it cannoned past him, careering into the M96 gun emplacement and through the barrier beyond. The vehicle flipped over on to its side and slewed on another ten yards, pulling down a good fifty-yard stretch of chain-link perimeter fencing as it ground to a halt on the snow-covered courtyard in front of the first row of the prison camp’s huts.
Kernst pulled himself out of the waist-high snow bank and unslung his carbine. He cautiously approached the vehicle, now utterly still… except for a solitary wheel still spinning and a plume of smoke and steam issuing from the jagged and twisted remains of the truck’s front grille.
The driver’s-side door suddenly burst open and a man emerged, pulling himself out and dropping off the side of the cab on to the ground with surprising speed and agility.
Kernst fired a dozen rounds at the man. Most of them missed, but (he’d swear later on in the afternoon when asked to recall what he claimed to have witnessed) at least a couple of his shots hit the target square in the chest.
The man was large, muscular and apparently utterly fearless. He didn’t go down screaming and clutching at his wounds. Instead, his head calmly swivelled round and spotted Kernst. He brought up both his arms, each hand holding a heavy pulse carbine, and fired.
The German found himself head first in the snow bank again as a hail of bullets zipped over, mere inches above him. Kernst decided he was probably best staying right where he was for now.
The muscular man strode across the open space, eyes scanning the long squat wooden huts in front of him. A moment later doors began creaking open. From within the dark interiors, faces peered out. Dozens of them.
[Scanning]
His eyes locked on each face one after another for a microsecond.
Nothing.
No Liam O’Connor.
Bob strode towards the nearest hut just as an alarm went off across the camp. The shrill sound of orders being barked in German echoed in the air.
He kicked in the nearest door and pushed his way into the dark interior, his eyes adjusting instantly to the gloom inside.
[Scanning]
None of the pale and frightened faces within were that of his mission operative.
‘Have… h-have you come to f-free us?’ a frail voice cried out from among the shivering cluster of prisoners.
Bob cocked his head thoughtfully. ‘Negative.’
‘P-please… h-help us. Help us.’
[Tactical assessment]
Bob could see that the confusion of escaping prisoners would help him rather than hinder him. Standing out there alone, if he attracted too much fire, took too many hits, his genetically enhanced body would struggle to repair the damage done. Even though he was an artificial human, he was still just blood, bones and organs. It was a body that could be killed.
With hundreds of people fleeing in all directions, the guards would be confused; their fire would be divided, turned on the fleeing prisoners as well as him.
Bob looked down at them. ‘You are free to leave,’ he uttered in a monotone voice.
Fifty-four huts. Bob proceeded to each one in turn, ushering out those brave enough to make a run for the flattened section of perimeter fencing. His eyes quickly and systematically scanned the faces of the prisoners huddled inside.
Outside, the camp courtyard was thick with chaos. People scrambling towards the downed fence, the snow scuffed and flattened with footprints and stained pink with blood. The air was full of screams and crying, the percussive rattle of shots gunning prisoners down, barked orders, vengeful shouts.
He observed half a dozen guards, taken by surprise, overrun, beaten and then shot as they pleaded for mercy. Bob, himself, had casually tallied thirty-six kills by his own hand, a number that would be taken into account when his silicon mind later evaluated his mission performance.
As he followed the fleeing crowd of people out of the camp, his eyes momentarily logging each face and coming up with a negative, a small, lean man jogged across the sno
w to join him.
‘Hey, you!’
Bob turned to look at him.
‘Yeah, you, big guy!’
A gun rattled in the distance and several rounds zipped by his head. Bob swung his carbine round, levelled the weapon and fired a short burst in one swift reactive movement. Fifty yards away, a guard doubled over amid several puffs of crimson.
The small man’s jaw dropped open, revealing a mouthful of tobacco-yellow teeth.
‘Jeeeez, man… now that… that was some shot!’
Bob continued quickly striding towards the downed fence. ‘Information: the standard accuracy of this firearm is effective at up to one hundred yards,’ he explained crisply.
The man shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, sure… but you just kinda swung that thing up an’ just fired without even aiming –’
‘This tactical situation is hazardous. Reinforcements will be deployed here soon,’ Bob announced, stepping across the twisted and crumpled remains of the chain-link fence. ‘You must leave the vicinity immediately.’
‘No kidding,’ replied the man. ‘Those guys are going to be mighty annoyed when they arrive. I sure ain’t stickin’ around for that!’
Bob was already over the fence and jogging across the snowy field beyond. The small man caught up with him again, panting already as he struggled to keep pace with him.
‘Hey! My name’s Panelli. Raymond Panelli,’ he gasped. ‘But I let my friends call me Ray, ’cause it’s… Ow!’ He stumbled on a rock buried beneath the snow, cursing as he hopped and cradled his foot for a moment before struggling to catch up again with Bob.
‘So… so, what about you?’ he wheezed. ‘What’s your name?’
‘My name is Bob.’
‘Bob?… Bob? That it?’
They jogged in silence across the field for a while, heading towards the cover of a treeline. Panelli was rasping like an asthmatic old man beside him.
‘So, Bob?’
Bob continued in silence. Eyes scanning the faces of other prisoners streaming across the snowy field. Inside his skull, the computer was busy assessing his mission’s performance score, evaluating the tactical situation. Meanwhile his body was already hard at work dealing with five gunshot wounds sustained during the raid, congealing the blood around the wounds, white blood cells already coalescing to combat any infection.
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