Going Underground

by Denison, L. N

  ‘Myron, can you lend me a hand? She’s gettin’ heavy, an’ I’m not as young as I used to be,’ Jonah groaned.

  Jen was insulted. ‘What are you trying to say, that I’m fat or something?’

  ‘Lighten up, girl,’ said Jonah. ‘You’re as light as a feather, and you’ve got a perfect figure. Why, if I was twenty years younger I’d set my cap for you myself. But it ain’t no easy trick draggin’ your dead weight around, so shut your gob and quit being a pain in everybody’s arse!’

  Stifling a laugh, Myron came to Jonah’s aid, and took hold of Jen’s left side. ‘Let’s get you in bed,’ Myron said, setting Jen off yet again.

  ‘Myron, I’m not a bloody child, so please stop treating me like one!’ she snapped. ‘I will get into bed, but in my own sweet time!’

  Jonah sighed. ‘There’s no taming this one, lad.’

  ‘You’re right, Jonah, but I rather fancy a saucy wench.’

  ‘I heard that!’ Jen grouched.

  *

  Oscar’s senses were overcome by an eerie stillness upon his return to the Charing Cross network. Everyone was gone! A sudden and terrifying reality hit him: either he had been left by the wayside, or the group had been captured and taken into custody. The second scenario was unlikely, as the network was devoid of patrols. Oscar became agitated at the thought of being mistrusted, as that is what it amounted to: a lack of trust on Myron’s part. Stop jumping to conclusions! he rebuked himself, but it was the only explanation he could think of at that moment.

  What could he do to make things right? Myron hadn’t really tried very hard to dissuade him and Jen from making the newsletter drop. It was apparently only after they’d left, that he’d decided it was a bad idea. If that were the case, why hadn’t he gone after them and stopped them? So many questions nagged at his fragile mind, and it was beginning to eat him up from the inside out.

  Oscar turned back and headed towards the underground station exit, with the intention of returning to the warehouse on the outskirts of Hyde Park. It was the only refuge he had left. Yes, it was cold and damp and at risk of collapsing around his ankles at any moment, but he had called it home for the past two years. It was now the time of day when he could move freely, but the risks were still too great to ignore; he had to be vigilant.

  He looked to the right, he looked to the left; he had to be doubly sure his journey would start off safely. All was quiet and tranquil at seven in the morning, and no one but he, trod the streets of the Charing Cross district.

  Exercising the usual precautions, it took him thirty minutes to make the journey. Oscar was suddenly overcome with a sense of foreboding; he paused before entering. He had a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that some calamity was about to befall him.

  Oscar was also convinced that something terrible had happened to him during his time in custody, but the memory was vague and unfocused. Ever since the rescue, his temperament had slowly begun to change. Paranoia had set in, and it was beginning to eat away at any rationality that may have remained. He had taken little things, like Myron shooing him away so he could tend to Jen grossly out of context. He was sure his cohorts in The Independent Mind would never forgive him for his indiscretion, and had abandoned him for good.

  Oscar stumbled through the warehouse, heading back towards the print room. Out of nowhere, a shooting pain in his head brought him to his knees. The memory of someone standing over him in the medical wing suddenly appeared. An evil visage was leering down at him, cackling maniacally, and a black-gloved hand was lowering—then nothing. His mind had blocked any further images.

  *

  Jen was beginning to feel helpless just lying around like a side of beef. Myron told her in no uncertain terms that if she moved from the bed, he would be forced to restrain her. It was to speed up her recovery, he reiterated time and again, but she didn’t see it that way. She nursed a strong desire to go against Myron’s wishes, even under the threat of being tied down.

  As a precaution, Myron had posted Lonny to watch over her and make sure she did as she was told. That didn’t stop her from thinking of ways she could overcome the gentle giant. Lonny wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, however, and he had guessed what was going on in Jen’s crafty mind. The way-too-innocent look on her face alone told him she was planning something.

  ‘Don’t even think about it, Jen,’ he said sternly. ‘You are not budging from that bed, so you can remove any crazy ideas from that pretty head of yours!’

  Jen flopped back into her pillow and groaned. “I feel so restricted—I want to be a part of the plan!” she griped.

  ‘And you will be, but if you move and aggravate your wounds, you won’t be any use to anyone!’

  ‘I know, but I feel a lot better!’ she explained. ‘I could contribute a little something to the group, couldn’t I?’

  Lonny shook his head. ‘Myron wants you fully recovered before he will allow you to participate. I suggest you do as he asks, because I don’t want to have to carry out his threat of tying you down.’

  Jen grunted again in reply, as her frustration mounted. She knew that no amount of begging and pleading would get her out of that bed any quicker. She also realised she wasn’t much use at only half strength.

  Myron came into Ryker’s back room to relieve Lonny.

  ‘Thanks, Lonny, I’ll take over for a couple of hours. You go and have a break. I dare say you need it!’ he quipped.

  ‘What was that supposed to mean?’ Jen snapped. ‘Are you trying to say I’m a difficult patient?’ Myron sniggered, which irritated her no end. ‘Jen, you are far from easy to get on with, and you have so far made your recovery a chore for everyone,’ he said bluntly. ‘You’re kind of like a bear with a sore head, and everybody has to walk on eggshells around you to avoid setting you off.’

  Jen sighed; she knew he was right. ‘What you are trying to say is, I’m a major pain in the arse, and the sooner I get well, the better it will be for everyone.’

  Myron smiled. ‘That’s about it.’

  He came over to the bed and sat down beside her. He could see in her eyes that she needed to talk.

  ‘Talk to me, Jen,’ he said softly.

  Jen’s emotions had hit a high, and she could no longer contain them. She began to sob uncontrollably into her pillow. Myron knew why, but waited for her to open up to him. The experiences that she had been forced to endure over the past weeks had taken their toll—none more so than the revelation that Besson was of her own blood.

  ‘There, there! Let it all out of your system—it will help in the healing process,’ Myron murmured compassionately.

  Jen rolled over to face him, her face stained with the sting of her tears.

  ‘What have I done to deserve this, Myron? I can’t keep going on like this!’ she screamed. ‘You have to help me get rid of Besson. I can’t—no, I won’t—rest until he is out of my life for good. If you don’t do it, I will!’

  Her sadness quickly turned to anger at the thought that her father turned out to be the last man on earth she ever would have suspected.

  Myron collected his thoughts and said, ‘When you have thought it through rationally, Jen, then we will talk about killing him. You need to clear that thought from your mind for now. He will get his, rest assured.’

  The strong note of confidence in his voice calmed Jen down, knowing Besson would eventually be punished, but it still wasn’t soon enough for her. She didn’t say this to Myron, as she knew he would say, ‘These things can’t be rushed; they have to be thought through.’ Which was all well and good, but it wouldn’t make her feel any safer. Besson was still at large, and she knew their mutual vendetta would only end when one of them was dead.

  ‘Okay, but I don’t want to wait too long for that day!’ Jen said, making no attempt to hide her exasperation.

  ‘Roll onto your stomach, Jen, I want to check your back,’ said Myron, quickly changing the subject.

  Jen complied, and Myron peeled away t
he lint bandage Jonah had placed over her charred skin earlier that day. He pulled on it slowly, trying not to get it caught on the scabs that had begun to form.

  The lint bandage was soaked in pus and small traces of blood, but the wounds themselves appeared to be drying out nicely.

  ‘Looking good, Jen! One more day and the bandages can come off,’ Myron reported, recoating her skin with the burn ointment that sat by her side. As for her shoulder, that would take a lot longer to put right—Myron estimated around two weeks for the joint to heal completely. Then Jen would be able to re-join the others to formulate the New Year’s Eve plan. Victory was nigh, and the people they had been fighting for would at last be free.

  ‘Myron?’ said Jen, a strange light in her eyes. ‘I’ve never properly thanked you for rescuing me.’

  ‘No need, Jen, I —’

  Suddenly her lips were on his, and they lingered there until, for a magical moment, both of them forgot all their earthly cares.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ten days remained before the New Year’s Eve celebrations began. Jen was almost at full strength, and work had begun on the plan. Lawrence had informed Myron of John Howard’s secret stash of weaponry within the rafters of the Parliament buildings, and Myron aimed to loot as much of it as they could carry. This is where Gerick’s intimate knowledge of the buildings would come into play.

  Gerick had kept a low profile since the rescue, concentrating his forced efforts on readying the new clone army for the impending Christmas revelries. He had successfully injected the ricin mix into each individual cell without anyone’s knowledge; when the time came for their deployment, it would only be a matter of time before the streets were awash with the blue residue that constituted the clones’ blood.

  Security within the Parliament buildings had doubled after The Independent Mind’s infiltration of its boundaries. As a result, Gerick found himself under even heavier scrutiny. When Dr. Besson and members of the hierarchy asked what he had been injecting into the cells, Gerick kept his cool and supplied an answer that was both scientifically and militarily sound: the compound was a strength booster that all but guaranteed success. Nobody questioned this logic, but Besson had his doubts about Gerick. It had become clear to him that Gerick knew more than he was letting on, ever since their brief encounter in the canteen.

  With the work he had been charged with now complete, Gerick was at loose ends with nothing to do but wait for the hundreds of cells created to generate into a human-like form. The whole acceleration process would take around two hours to complete in the specially designed cryogenic tubes.

  Gerick desperately wanted to contact The Independent Mind with the developments, but with no way of communicating with them apart from physically ploughing through the tunnel network, he was going to find it difficult.

  Gerick began to shuffle a few papers around on his desk, for the sake of appearing busy for the cameras. No sooner had he started than the door to his office flew open. Gerick nearly jumped out of his skin as Besson slunk inside.

  ‘Gerick, I’m watching you,’ Besson said, with a hint of menace. ‘If you step any further out of line, I will have to teach you a lesson!’

  Gerick bit the inside of his cheek to stop his head from trembling at the threat. He gulped slowly but remained silent.

  ‘Cat got your tongue, Gerick? How are your wife and daughter, by the way?’ he added, pausing a moment to let the query’s sinister significance sink in before he left the office.

  Gerick’s eyes widened with terror; Besson was more than capable of causing them harm. His sadistic nature had no bounds as far as inflicting pain went.

  Security had witnessed the confrontation via the cameras situated in Gerick’s office, but the unsympathetic guards did nothing but snigger at his misfortune.

  *

  Besson entered the observation room and walked over to the security monitors without acknowledging the guards. He looked upon Gerick to see if he would respond to the veiled threat against his family, but the scientist did nothing further to arouse his suspicions. Besson was disappointed by Gerick’s apparent calm, as he watched him continually shuffling papers over and over again. Besson was beginning to suspect that Gerick’s placid demeanour masked a secret.

  ‘Why is there no digital time readout on these monitors?’ he snapped in frustration.

  The two guards shrugged their shoulders lazily. A swift kick from Besson, that sent their chairs crashing into each other, roused them from their daze.

  ‘There has never been one set up on this system, sir,’ one guard replied.

  ‘Then reprogram the system, man, or there’ll be hell to pay!’ Besson stormed, and stalked out, making his way back to Gerick’s office. He pushed his way through the door, but his suspicions were unfounded as Gerick still sat at his desk, innocently shuffling papers. What he thought Gerick might have been up to was not quite clear. Gerick was puzzled by Besson’s reappearance.

  ‘Back so soon, doctor?’ he said. ‘What can I do for you this time?’

  Besson paid little notice to the strange tone of Gerick’s voice, chalking it up to the scientist being cheeky. He spun on his heels and left the office for a second time. Little did Besson know that he was speaking not to Gerick, but rather to one of his clone creations.

  Gerick had spent the intervening time formulating his own clone, using one of the first batches of contaminated clones that he had prepared for John Howard’s Christmas culling. It didn’t matter that the clone wasn’t fully formulated, as it was only needed long enough to deceive Besson. No sooner had he left the office than Gerick’s clone began to dissolve.

  *

  Gerick had to get to his wife and child before Besson could do anything to harm them. It would be a difficult and timely journey, as Jane Meyer and their beloved daughter, Louise, still resided within the boundaries of the armoury. Gerick thought it best that they stay put, as the Kentish countryside was still rife with rebel cells that were bent on destroying the armoury and everything inside. Gerick had found out how dangerous it could be when he was summoned to London eight months earlier by John Howard, who needed everybody involved in the cloning programme within a close proximity.

  Rumour had it that the cells had disbanded shortly after the reforming of The Independent Mind, but Gerick wasn’t foolhardy enough to take this for gospel.

  Gerick had resigned himself to the fact that carrying out his intentions would mean that he would never be able to resume his position within the Parliament buildings. Before he could consider making his drastic move away from London, he needed to consult with Myron. Beyond the network, Gerick had no idea how to find him. He was beginning to wish that he had gone a bit further with them. The chances of him being able to find them again were slim, but it was a chance he would have to take for the sake of his family’s safety.

  Gerick set a link on the security cameras remotely for fifteen minutes—just enough time for him to crawl through the grate in his office, and get a safe distance away before anyone realised that he was no longer at his post. Gerick was thankful for his wiry body. Not only did it make snaking through the narrow grate a snap, it would also allow him to run hell-for-leather to his family’s rescue. A larger man would collapse from exhaustion on the long trek.

  The time had come; the loop was set and the grate was opened. Gerick climbed down quickly, a sense of trepidation creeping in as he replaced the grate to cover his tracks. From that point on, he had to work as speedily as possible.

  On making it to the other side, Gerick pushed out the grate that led to the tunnel network and cursed himself when it landed with a mighty crash. Gerick grimaced and hoped that nobody had heard it in the offices above. Fearing the arrival of security, he replaced the grate urgently and hoped no obstacles would hinder him in the journey to come.

  *

  The information that Lawrence had provided Myron was to be an integral part of the plan that The Independent Mind had in progress. Myron had begun to
draft an outline of the role of each person within the cell. Jen was now fit enough to participate, and at every opportunity she put her (not always constructive) stamp on the proceedings—it was one of Jen’s many exasperating traits that Myron did his best to find endearing, usually without success.

  ‘Jen, please, could you just let me get on with what I need to do?’ he begged. ‘And for your information, we are not going to use the “all guns blazing” approach. We are going to react with dignity, and as quietly as possible. We don’t want the wrong people knowing our intentions!’

  Jen huffed indignantly, which seemed to irritate Myron further. As usual, Jen took her leave of him so that he could concentrate on the plan of action. Myron now had the back room at Ryker’s all to himself. Despite feeling vaguely lonely, he could concentrate fully on the objective at hand.

  Jen scoured the bar to find the others, who had hidden themselves away from prying eyes in the farthest corner.

  ‘We need to find Oscar,’ Lonny said as Jen came up. ‘He would want to be a part of this.’

  Jen nodded in agreement as she took a seat. ‘He’s in the warehouse, trying to fix that bloody printing press of his,’ Lonny commented gloomily. ‘I really can’t see the point of him doing that. Hell, there’s no paper left for newsletters! He’s just avoiding Myron, that’s all it boils down to. The poor sod’s convinced that Myron hates him, and no amount of reassurance on Myron’s part is going to change that.’

  Lonny had nothing to add to his comment, and neither did anyone else. They all knew that Myron did not hate Oscar. They also knew how unstable Oscar had become. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that he hadn’t been the same since the rescue, but they didn’t realise the severity of their friend’s psychosis. Whatever was messing with Oscar’s head was telling him that everyone was against him—trying to coerce him into turning his back on The Independent Mind and selling them out at the first opportunity.

  ‘We’ll go to him tonight to try and get him to come back with us,’ Lonny suggested.