End of the End

by Paul Kane, Simon Guerrier

  “We’ve hardly had an hour,” protested Singhar as the others got to their feet. “It won’t help anyone to arrive at the reactor exhausted. We’re likely to need our wits when we get there. Isn’t that right, ma’am?”

  He addressed the question to Jane, who hadn’t expected it. “Yeah, um, we don’t want to over-do it on the first day.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Jaye. “Of course she’s going to say that. She and her boyfriend hardly want to rush anyway.”

  “What?” said Jane.

  “Sure,” Jaye went on. “The longer you put it off, the longer you live. And the more chance you’ve got to escape.”

  “I am not—”

  “But you would—”

  “How dare you fucking—”

  “No one is escaping,” said Barnden—the first time he’d spoken since they set off. He didn’t smile. “I’ll kill you first. Any one of you.”

  They stood in silence for a moment. “And I’ll kill you,” said Jaye to Barnden. “I mean, if you try and run yourself. Just to be fair, you know.”

  Barnden nodded. No one looked set to say anything, so Jack thought he’d better step in.

  “Well, there we are, then. We get moving. The more ground we cover today, the less we have tomorrow.” They gathered up their things and were soon back on their bikes.

  IT LOOKED AS if Nina had got it wrong: there was no sign of a turning to the M25. They pedalled on, feeling all the more exhausted for having stopped. Jack gave up trying to get his bike into a lower gear and opted for brute stubbornness, swearing under his breath at every step he planted down. Sweat dripped from his nose and chin. His breathing was ragged and his lungs ached.

  The rest of the gang seemed just as knackered. Nathaniel and Alice led them, Alice calling out when she wanted Nathaniel to lean over and change her gears—something she couldn’t manage with the hook on the end of her arm. Flashes of light kept catching on Nathaniel’s glasses as he continually looked right and left, watching out for danger. Yet there was nothing to see: the wide road walled off to their left, and on the right looking down on the surrounding land. There were trees and foliage where bandits might be hiding, but surely they would have to step out into the open to try anything—and then they’d be lower than the road, so Jack and his gang would have the advantage. Wouldn’t they?

  No one else seemed troubled. Heads lowered, gritting their teeth, they concentrated on the ride.

  All except Singhar, at the back of the group, clearly exhausted but trying not to show it. He rode his racer straight-backed, head up, a benign smile on his shining face.

  He saw Jack looking and rolled his eyes. Then he fell over sideways. Singhar and his bike hit the road with a horrible crunch.

  The others stopped to see what had happened. Singhar wasn’t moving, tangled up in his bike.

  “Fuck,” said Jack, dumping his own bike and hurrying back to the old man. There was a pulse, and Singhar was breathing. “Hey,” said Jack. “Can you hear me?”

  “Is he okay?” called Jaye. And there was another sound that made Jack look up. He saw Alice and Nathaniel running toward Kit and Nina.

  “What—” said Jaye, and the side of her face exploded. Jack threw himself at the ground, pulling the pistol from the holster at his hip. Alice and Nathaniel bundled Kit and Nina into a gap between two rusted cars.

  There were more bullets, though Jack couldn’t tell how close they were landing. He struggled to look round without lifting his head. A bullet smacked the tarmac about a metre from Jane as she crawled on her elbows towards the cars sheltering the others—and was soon lost from sight.

  Jack was on his own. There was no way he’d reach the cars. He cast around desperately for cover. It would help, he thought, to know the location of their attacker—or attackers. A bullet spanged off the side of a car door, leaving a small pock-mark. From the angle of the dent, they were somewhere out in the plain on the right. A raised position to shoot at them on the road. Possibly up a tree.

  There was a car blocking his view—but it might be giving him cover and keeping him alive. He didn’t dare move, but then if the sniper had a good, raised position to shoot at them, he or she couldn’t move either. Stalemate.

  Jack heard a sound behind him.

  He turned slowly to look back the way they’d come. There was no one on the motorway behind them—or off the road, for that matter—but a few metres away from him Singhar’s body twitched.

  Fuck, thought Jack. There was no way he could get to the old man without leaving his tentative cover.

  “General,” he whispered. “General!”

  Singhar seemed to hear. Slowly, he turned his head to look up at Jack. Bits of gravel protruded from the blood on his face. Another bullet hit the road a couple of lanes to one side of them. Jack pointed in the direction he thought the sniper must be, and Singhar slowly nodded.

  “Others?” he mouthed.

  Jack pointed again, towards the cars sheltering their friends. Again Singhar nodded, then he started to move. The bike scraped against the road loudly as Singhar tried to free himself. Jack mouthed, “No!” but Singhar wasn’t looking. He had to lift the bike to free the leg trapped under it. Then he let the bike fall with an almighty crash.

  Jack watched horror struck. But Singhar was on his hands and knees, arse too high in the air as he crawled towards Jack. Any moment a bullet would strike him. Any moment—

  But no, Singhar reached Jack and collapsed down beside him, panting. Blood poured from a gash in his cheek.

  “That was stupid,” whispered Jack. “They could easily have shot you.”

  “Already did,” said Singhar.

  “Shit,” said Jack. “Where?”

  Singhar shook his head. “All that matters is the mission. So, what are we going to do?”

  “Right,” said Jack. “Well, they can’t get any closer without us having the advantage. So we’re stuck like this. Unless the others...”

  “The others can’t help us. They’re hemmed in.”

  Jack nodded. “Right. Then it’s you and me.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll get very far,” said Singhar. And then, more firmly: “I can give you covering fire.” Painfully, he shifted round and took the pistol from his hip. “What are you going to do?”

  Jack considered. “We need to get to whoever is shooting. I’ll use the cover we’ve got to reach the verge. When I signal, you try and draw their fire for as long as you can. I’ll get down the side of the road and into cover. Then make my way towards them. If I can at least distract them, the others have a chance to come help.”

  Singhar nodded. “Good plan.”

  “You’ll be all right?”

  “Don’t worry about me, Your Majesty. Good luck.”

  Jack ran, keeping low, towards the car providing him cover. He reached it without a bullet coming his way, and grinned back at Singhar, who gave him a thumbs up, then raised his gun, ready to go to work.

  Jack edged towards the far side of the car, not sure at what point the sniper would see him. He felt sick with fear. Fucking hell, this was ridiculous. He edged forward, almost out into the open. Beyond the tarmac at the edge of the road was a strip of grass and a rust-speckled crash barrier that he could easily leap. Then there was a steep drop down to sprawling brambles. He’d be in the open for a matter of seconds. If he wasn’t shot and didn’t break his neck, he would be okay.

  Jack readied himself to make the leap. Three, two... He turned back to Singhar to check he was ready.

  Singhar had followed Jack round the back of the car—he couldn’t offer covering fire. Yet his gun was raised, and he bore an expression that only meant one thing.

  “But—” began Jack.

  Singhar shot him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JACK HURLED HIMSELF backwards, trying to twist his body—but there was no way he could dodge a bullet. It punched him, hard and burning hot, just above the right breast. God, it hurt. He’d been shot before, but it didn’t less
en the shock.

  Something slashed against his calves. He was already falling before he realised he’d hit the crash barrier at the edge of the road. Shit. Fuck! And there was Singhar, readying another shot...

  Then Jack lost sight of him. For a moment he arced gracefully through the air, escaping his assassin. He’d got away!

  He hit the steep incline with his head and shoulder and tumbled over and over down, trying to use his legs and arms to catch hold of anything to slow himself down. He did—his arm caught on a branch and his whole body seemed to explode, flaring from the hole in his chest.

  Next he knew, he was tumbling again. He couldn’t breathe, the blood from his gunshot wound spattered in his face and eyes. Then he crashed through brambles that caught and cut at him, and he slid the rest of the way down the hill, head first, on his back. Stunned and in agony from the wound, he lay in an undignified heap at the bottom of the slope, looking back the way he had fallen.

  Singhar stood up on the motorway, behind the crash barrier, gun pointing down at him. Jack felt a sudden fury. This wasn’t how he’d planned to go out. He wanted to shout something, he wanted last words. He managed a strangled squeak.

  Then Singhar let go of the gun, letting it slide down the slope to where Jack lay.

  Jack thought about reaching for it, but the slightest movement meant blazing pain across his chest. So he lay there, watching as Singhar raised his hands.

  Barnden stepped up behind Singhar and pressed a gun into the back of his neck.

  “Jack?” called Barnden. “You dead?”

  Yes, thought Jack, as everything faded to darkness.

  ALICE HEAVED HERSELF up the side of the concrete wall on the other side of the road from the sniper. A van provided cover; she hoped she hadn’t been seen. She hauled herself through the dense thicket of branches at the top of the wall, then started running, following the line of the road back the way they’d come—away from the shooter.

  She should have brought Kit and Nina, she thought. They would have been safer here in the foliage. But it was too late now. She’d just have to be quick.

  Alice kept running, and at last found the old farmhouse she’d spied as they passed it. A strip of road led down and under the motorway—or it had done once. She used her hook-hand to push through the foliage blocking the old track and found herself in stale-smelling darkness. Light peeped from somewhere in the distance—the other side of a tunnel under the motorway. She couldn’t see anything else and her instincts screamed at her that it wasn’t safe, but she hurried on.

  Her boots echoed loudly in the confined space. She splashed through foul-smelling muck, then fell over something right in her path, ploughing headlong into the concrete floor. Her hook hit the ground with a loud, metallic crack and shockwaves flailed up her arm.

  But no one shot her. Alice got quickly to her feet. She still couldn’t see much in the dark. Whatever she’d fallen over—she wasn’t going to investigate—had badly scraped her shins and knees. She hobbled on towards the light.

  Again, the foliage had grown up round the mouth of the tunnel and she had little choice but to force her way through. The splitting, snapping branches deafened her, the daylight was blinding, and as she plunged through, a branch thwacked her head. She lay in the muck on the concrete outside the tunnel—and still no one shot her.

  Alice got to her feet and dared a quick look round. Back along the ridge of the road, she could just make out the overhanging stick Nathaniel had positioned to show the way to the sniper. It pointed away across the overgrown field to a line of trees. And yes, she saw something glint high up in one of the branches. What were the odds that whoever had shot at them would be on their own?

  Carefully, Alice headed straight ahead, then made a wide arc around the edge of the field, watching and listening all the way. A snort made her drop to the ground.

  She edged forward—and found two horses tied to a tree. A crude tripwire had also been set in a ring around the horses to catch anyone approaching. Alice traced the wire to a couple of grenades, which she quickly freed from the apparatus. Might come in handy.

  She went on more cautiously, and now she saw the man in the tree. He sat about ten metres up, a rifle nestled in the nook of a branch ahead of him. She noted the mask and hood: not a Ranger, but perhaps trained in their methods.

  Then a footstep crunched behind her. Alice whirled round and caught the other man in the face. She punched again and broke the fucker’s nose. The man had a gun and fired, but the shot wasn’t even close. Alice struck again, right in the throat, with the outer curve of her hook. Then she ducked round the man and grabbed him, using him as a shield, the point of her hook now pressed against his throat.

  “You drop your weapon,” Alice commanded the sniper. “You drop it to the ground, or I slice open this fucker.”

  The fucker she was throttling said something a little like, “glurk.”

  “I haven’t got all day,” said Alice.

  The man in the tree left it another moment. Then he let the rifle fall. “Please,” he said, his hands raised. “Don’t hurt her.”

  “You got any other weapons on you?” Alice asked him. He produced a pistol and a penknife, and let them fall. “You sure you’ve got nothing else?”

  “Nothing,” said the man. “We surrender.”

  “You’re not bandits,” said Alice. “Crack shot like you is ex-military. And you’ve got good kit. Who sent you?”

  The man didn’t answer, so Alice pressed the hook against the woman’s throat.

  “Ask Singhar,” said the man quickly. “You’ve captured him anyway—your friends did, I just saw.”

  “He hired you to shoot him? Come on.” The man hesitated. “I’m not fucking about,” Alice told him.

  “If I tell you everything, will you let us go?”

  Alice smiled. “So you know everything, do you?” She dragged the hook across the woman’s throat, releasing a great spurt of blood. The man in the tree cried out in horror. The woman gagged and fought, and Alice simply stepped back, letting her flail about. She tried to reach for a pistol in her belt, but Alice took it from her—and shot the man in the tree. The bullet hit him in the leg, and sent him toppling off his branch.

  The woman on the ground was gasping and spluttering as blood pumped from the gash in her throat. Alice stepped around her, making her way to the screaming man by the tree, trying to drag himself to his rifle. She got to him first and kicked his wounded leg. He howled and swore at her, and shouted to the dying woman behind them. It turned out her name was Daphne.

  “Daphne’s dead,” Alice told him. “But we’re on a mission to save the bloody country and I could do without this shit. So you get on with telling me everything, then I’ll let you join her.”

  “THIS IS WHY they insisted I come along with you,” said Jane, as she pulled the bandage tight.

  Jack winced. His right arm had been lashed to his chest in thick layers and something had been clamped round his neck, restricting his movement. Not that he wanted to move.

  They were sat on the road, just the two of them but for the horses Alice had taken from the snipers. Kit, Nina, Barnden and Nathaniel had gone down the slope to bury Jaye. Alice was with them, guarding Singhar, making him watch.

  “He wanted me to run,” said Jack.

  “He wanted you disgraced,” said Jane. “Shot in the back for cowardice. Leaving your friend to complete your assignment. That’s why they only supplied us with one protective suit—they knew there’d only be one of us.”

  “Well,” said Jack. “Now you can go home. You should go home.”

  “Yeah,” said Jane. “Well.”

  “But Lee.”

  “I explained about Lee. But Barnden has his orders. If you or I try to get away, he is going to shoot us.” She smiled. “Singhar told him you would do a bunk. That’s why he came looking for you before, and caught Singhar in the act.”

  “Jane,” said Jack. “While they’re all down there. You�
�d get away.” She didn’t say anything, finishing with the bandages. “Jane.”

  “I know,” she said. “And I want to. But what if there’s more trouble on the road?”

  “Did Singhar say there would be?”

  “He hasn’t said anything. That’s why they didn’t just shoot him.”

  “They think he’ll repent?”

  “Or at least try to explain.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Jack. “He’s played us since we met him. All that stuff about how loyal he was. Appealing to my vanity. And I completely believed him.”

  “You thought you had a friend. Well, that’s why I have to stay.”

  “No. I mean it, please.”

  She didn’t say anything. But after a moment she got to her feet and walked towards the concrete wall on the north side of the road. She put her foot on the crash barrier, ready to haul herself up. Then she turned on her heel and hurried back to Jack, checking again on his bandages.

  Kit and Nina clambered over the barrier on the far side of the road, soon followed by everyone else. Kit and Barnden had both been crying. Singhar looked about a thousand years old.

  “Still here?” said Nathaniel.

  “No, we’re in France eating cheese,” Jack said. He let Jane help him to his feet. “So, all done?”

  “Not quite,” sniffed Barnden. “There’s still him.” He indicated Singhar.

  “What do we do with him?” asked Kit.

  “Isn’t that obvious?” said Nina, bitterly. “We can’t let him go.”

  The words hung in the air. Singhar looked down at his feet, as if embarrassed.

  “Fuck it,” said Alice, raising her gun.

  “No,” said Jack.

  “Fuck off,” said Alice. “The girl’s right: we’re not letting him go.”

  “No,” said Jack. “But I’m the one who’ll do it.”

  Alice glanced around the others. “Why you?”