by Jo Zebedee
Catherine smiled over at Josey. “You’re doing really well.” She looked down at her notes. “So, he took you outside, and then what?”
“It was really dark, and –”
The sound of ringing made her jump. Peters pulled his phone out. The ringing kept going and he swore, patting down his pockets. He pulled out a different phone and answered in a low voice. “Who?” He glanced back at Josey. “Do you know a Sean?”
She nodded, remembering Carter giving him his number. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine.” Peters lifted the phone again. “Where are you? Right. Don’t go anywhere near the GC, stay off the main roads and find somewhere to hole up.”
He closed the phone and Catherine raised her eyebrows. “What is it?”
Peters came over and crouched in front of Josey, and he looked serious. “He said that there was an accident – a fire – and they had to leave the house.”
Josey’s hand went to her mouth. A fire? She thought of the bright room, its blue walls and Sean’s guitar propped against the wall. Of the kitchen’s range, and flickering lights.
“The house?” And then his words really sunk in. “Paula?” she asked. “And Sean’s da, are they okay?”
“Aye.” Peters glanced up at Catherine. “But the boy thinks it was deliberate. More than that: he says it was the Barath’na.”
“The Barath’na? How can it be the Barath’na?”
Peters shook his head. “I don’t know. And he might be wrong... but the thing is, he knew who Josey was, and they knew she’d talked to him.”
The silence held in the room. They’d tried to kill Sean, just because he knew her name. She hadn’t told him everything, not like she’d told Catherine and Carter, all the names and the whispers. She pushed her hands against her tummy, pressing her skin until it was sore, and scrunched into her seat. It wasn’t just Gary who wanted her now. She wasn’t safe. Not at all.
“Henry!” Catherine said. “We have to warn him. If they’re bold enough to do that, they won’t be worried about him. Not anymore. He needs to be careful, Phil.”
Peters held up the phone. “We can’t reach him.” He took his own phone from his pocket and punched a number. “I’m going to talk to Downham, and see about getting her somewhere safe. He needs to know about this – it goes way above my pay grade.”
He walked out to the hall, and Catherine gave a weak smile. They sat in silence, listening to Peters’ deep voice, not able to catch any of it. A few minutes later, he came back into the living room. “We’re going. Now."
“Why?” Catherine stood up. “What’s wrong?”
Josey watched between the two adults, nervous. Peters reached for her hand. He was gentle, not hurting her, but he pulled her to her feet.
“The colonel knows Carter had Josey. He says Carter told him she was with me and wanted to know where we are.”
“So? That’s what we wanted: to let the colonel know.”
Peters paused just a moment too long. “Why didn’t Carter tell him where we are? Or send a squad car.” He rubbed his chin. “Downham was very insistent that I should bring her directly to him. When I asked to speak to Carter, he hung up.”
Catherine’s face changed, crumpling a little. “Phil, we can’t leave him, we have to go and get him...”
“Not until this little one is safe.” Peters marched Josey to the front door and opened it. He pointed at the car. “Over you go, love.” Catherine followed, protesting, and he cut across her. “Catherine, they know you worked with Carter. They’ll come here. They might try my place first, but th–”
“Sal and the boys?” asked Catherine.
He shook his head. “They’re at Sal’s mum. I didn’t want them in the middle of any more riots. I think I aged ten years last time, worrying about them.” He unlocked the car, its lights giving a flash.
“Peters, we can’t leave Henry,” said Catherine. Both she and Josey climbed in. “We could drive past the station and pick him up. It would take seconds...”
Peters started the car. A soft click echoed as the central locking activated, and he pulled out and down the road. The rain was heavier than earlier, running in streaks down the windows, and the mist was thick enough to obscure the houses. It felt like they were driving through an empty world.
“Catherine,” he said. “I’m sorry. It’s too late to warn Carter.”
They drove out of the small estate and into the darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
John jerked as his restraints gave a little, and glanced up to see his line had moved to a soft amber. Bollocks, he’d almost fallen asleep.... He forced his hands into fists and dug his nails into his palms, waking himself fully. It was dark in the empty dining hall. He opened his mouth to shout but his lips were dry, and the scab from earlier tore away. His yell changed to a hiss of pain. He forced his mouth open and croaked, “Come down here, you bastards. I have a request.”
Nothing except blackness, the tightness holding him up, the numb cold of his fingers and toes. He blinked tiredness from his eyes and spent a satisfying few minutes imagining what he would do to the governor if he got his hands on him. His line deepened to red, the restraints tightened and he half-smiled; he could wait them out. He had fuck all else to do.
“I want,” he yelled, and it came out only a little stronger. He tried again. This time it carried. “I want to see the governor!”
Nothing. His eyes started to close and he tried to work out how long he’d been standing here. Hours, anyway, and he’d already been knackered after the fight. He stood, half-dreaming of flying over Inish Carraig like a bird, looking down at himself pinioned, the soft clicking of a Barath’na the only noise in the dark room…
His eyes shot open. The clicking noise didn’t go away, but came closer, claws scraping on the hard dining hall floor. John looked up at the tiers of cells: they were all closed, keeping their own secrets. Neeta and Taz were up there, waiting for the same click of claws. Fear pierced him, and the wall tightened. A sudden light made him blink and try to turn his head.
“The wall is linked to our control room,” the governor said, coming closer. “It changes shape. Today a prison, tomorrow, who knows? A ship, a transporter, a body-harvester. An ark? We control its shape and movements.” The alien stepped into the pool of light around John. “The restraining programme has parameters for safety built in.” Its muscles bunched under the thick fur, as if ready to pounce. John swallowed, determined not to show his fear, but the breath he took was ragged.
“Those parameters include ensuring breathing orifices remain clear.”
The metal at the edge of John’s eyes moved. He blinked. The idea of it flowing over his eyes and blinding him…
“Apparently you’ve shown considerable determination in wanting to see me,” said the governor.
Now the metal was drawing closer to his mouth. He tried to shake his head, as if that would dislodge it, but was held too firmly.
“I’m worried about my friend,” he said. “He isn’t well.”
“Your friend is ill. Shock, psychosomatic, from whatever happened in Belfast. You are related to that incident; it isn’t in his best interest to interact with you.”
“He was getting better.” It wasn’t his imagination, the metal was oozing over skin that had previously been clear, a slow flow that threatened to push him into panic. He tried, on reflex, to bring his hand up to wipe his face, but it couldn’t move. He licked his lips and imagined he could taste sharp metal. “Please, the metal. Don’t…”
“Unfortunately, he took a considerable turn for the worse earlier.” The governor’s voice cut John’s off. It gave a pointed gaze at the third floor. “He is being moved to the medical wing tonight.”
Fear surged through John. “You can’t – I’ll report it.”
“To who? Your police ally has had his visit. He won’t be back.” The governor snarled and leapt forward. Its teeth were inches away from John’s face. Saliva dripped the length
of sharp canines. “I’ve heard he’s already been taken care of.”
John’s stomach sank. “What will happen to me?”
“I think you’ll find that you’re about to encounter a regrettable malfunction of our security systems, Mr Dray.”
The governor turned away. The metal oozed, touching John’s lips and spreading under his nose.
“You can’t do this!” John shouted. It echoed around the room. He stuck his tongue out, trying to reach the metal, as if he could lick it away, but the steady flow kept going. He closed his eyes as the metal touched his lids. He couldn’t let it cover his eyes, he’d go mad. He stood, barely breathing. No one he cared about would know what had happened, how he’d tried to get the word out of the prison and tried to save Earth from the Zelo’s fate. How he’d done the right thing at the end.
***
“Who has her? We know she left Coleraine with you.”
Carter opened his right eye – the one he could – at Downham’s voice. At least they hadn’t worked out where Peters was. Either that, or the sergeant had remained one step ahead. He was smart enough to.
Downham crouched in front of him. The door of the office remained closed; if anyone had heard Carter’s yells, they hadn’t interrupted. The openness of the attack chilled Carter. One of the Barath’na moved forward and he flinched away, but it extended its claw and set it against his unmarked cheek.
“You don’t understand,” said Downham. “We need to stop this now, before it goes further, and brings more people in. I mean, that poor family in Coleraine....who knows what fabrication the child told them?"
Oh, God, I should have told that lad to run and keep running. Carter tried to get up, but the claw dug into him. He sank back.
“She told them nothing, she ran before she had a chance,” he said, his words exhausted and drawn out. “It’s in her testimony. You don’t need to hurt the family.”
“So you can speak,” said Downham. “Tell us what we want to know. I don’t want to hurt you. Hell, you’re a police officer, a good one...”
He looked like he meant it. Carter’s heart jumped with hope. “I don’t kn–”
A claw raked down his cheek, making him shout out at the sharp pain. Blood tracked to the side of his mouth and tasted of salty iron.
“Where is the testimony?” Downham asked, his voice tight, almost desperate.
Why did it matter? He looked at Downham, saw the sweat beading his forehead, and it clicked. “Knew McDowell well, did you, Downham?”
The Barath’na tugged the gash on his cheek, pulling the skin back. Carter yelled and tried to move his head, but the alien held him. It moved its claw to just under his eye.
“Don’t,” said Carter. “I really can’t hel–”
The claw moved closer, so that it sat right at the very corner of his eye, where he could see the shadowed length of it.
“The testimony,” said Downham. “Where is it?”
“Safe.” This was only going to end one way; they’d never let him go. He opened his mouth and found he could squeeze out the words. “You’re not getting it, so go fuck yourself.”
The colonel looked up at the Barath’na, nodded, and the claw raked down Carter’s cheek. Carter screamed and writhed, trying to get away.
“We won’t stop until you tell us. Best to make it easier on yourself.” Downham nodded at the Barath’na by the door. “If you don’t talk, I’ll get someone to fetch her kid brother and sister. That should encourage her to come in.”
“Don’t.” Carter’s voice rose. “What the hell happened to you, Colonel? Using kids? You fought to keep the kids saf–”
Sweat broke across his chest as the Barath’na ripped his claw along Carter’s shirt, tearing it down the middle. Carefully, Downham pushed the material back and neatened the edges.
“I knew you were anal, you bastard,” muttered Carter. His teeth were chattering, and he doubted the colonel could understand him.
The colonel laid his hand on Carter’s knee, stopping it from shaking. “We’ll work from the top down, until you manage to remember exactly what Josey Dray knows.”
Carter moaned as the Barath’na reached for him, and closed his eyes. Dear God, let this be over quickly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Peters’ fingers drummed on the steering wheel, and Josey realised he didn’t know what to do. She bit her lip. If he didn’t know how to help, and he’d been the one Gary was worried about, who did?
“What about O’Brien?” Catherine asked. “Can she be trusted?”
Peters glanced in the mirror. “I don’t know. She was standing with the colonel earlier. I don’t think we can take the chance.”
They turned to the left and street lights passed, quick blurs in the night. Catherine glanced at Josey and managed a smile. “You okay?”
“What will happen?” asked Josey. “Will I still be able to see the kids?”
Catherine sat up straighter. She ran a hand through her hair. “The kids. Peters, if Downham wants to bring Josey in...”
Peters’ eyes met hers in the mirror. “Shit.”
“Do you know where they are?”
He shook his head. “Carter set it up with Downham.” Peters tugged a cigarette from his top pocket and punched the lighter into the dashboard.
Josey looked between the two adults. Her stomach felt like it had dropped from the car. She grabbed Catherine’s arm. “You have to stop him.”
“Let me think,” said Peters.
“You should pull over,” said Catherine, but he shook his head, keeping the car moving, and Josey understood why; it felt like if they stopped, it would be the end of everything.
Peters tossed Carter’s phone back to Catherine, and lit the cigarette. He took a long drag. “Start going through his mail; see if you can find anything to tell me where Sophie and Stuart are.”
Catherine started to search. She looked up after a few minutes, her eyes frantic. “There isn’t anything.”
Josey let out a small yelp, one she didn’t mean to. She leaned over, scanning the phone.
“Keep looking,” said Peters. “Carter dropped the kids off. He’ll have a record of it somewhere. He’s the messiest person I’ve ever worked with; he won’t have wiped it. He won’t.”
He wound down his window and flicked the cigarette out, so that it flew away in the wind, sparking. The rain made big splotches on the glass, and he put the wipers on full. On another night, in the warm car, their thrum-thrum would have been comforting; tonight, it seemed to mark every minute that passed. Catherine went back to the phone’s menu. “Emails, websites, maps, games, an app for the Guardian,” she muttered.
Josey pointed at the phone. “My da used to save the last map he used.”
Catherine opened the app. “Yes!” She reached the phone forwards. “Peters.”
He took the phone, balancing it on the steering wheel, and tried to read it. The car swerved. He pulled over. “Date’s right. The kids were moved about a week after the Galactics arrived. The area looks okay, too – Carter went past his parents’ place on the way home. He brought me a brace of pheasants from the estate.” He spun the car in a tight circle. “Let’s go get them, shall we?”
Josey’s head spun, dizzy. Stuart and Sophie. She was going to see them. She squeezed her eyes closed. It was going to be all right. It had to be all right. Please God, let it be all right. She sent the prayer with all her might.
***
“Stop.” Downham’s quiet voice cut through the pain. The alien took its claw off Carter’s chest, pulling at the latest tear, more for fun than anything more serious, it seemed. Carter bit down against a scream and dipped his head, exhausted, but Downham pulled it back up by the hair. “Tell me about the boys’ bots.”
Carter blinked; the bots? Downham already knew about the bots. He tried to speak, but his lips were swollen and thick. He licked them and mumbled, “Wha’ about them?”
Downham pushed his head further back, sending a spi
ke of dull pain down Carter’s spine. “What were they designed to do?”
He didn’t answer. Someone – or something – lashed out, catching him square on the balls. Carter screamed, loud and long.
“Their security function: what was it?” Downham demanded.
Carter gulped air. The pain raced through him, and he needed to double over or throw up. The colonel held his head back and he could do neither. “I dunno,” he gasped. “Just ... act’vate if the boys in danger.”
“Keep going.”
“Tha’s it.” Christ, it hurt. “I didn’t think they would work.”
Downham let go and Carter’s head fell forward. He panted against the pain. Dimly, he heard the colonel telling the Barath’na to go out and get the transport ready, they’d go up to the prison and see what it meant for themselves. The Barath’na left and Downham turned to Carter.
“Wha’s gonna happen...” Carter licked his lips.
“You can join McDowell and his gang.”
This was it. He’d never get the truth out, and Peters had no chance, not buried in Downham’s command. The Zelo’s dead baby, the image of the virus creeping over his parents’ estate, cut through the pain. He managed to lift his head.
“Why?” he rasped. “Wha’ do you get from the Barath’na? You’re not immune?”
“What are you talking about, Carter?”
“The virus.” Downham bleared in front of him, coming and going. “They’re gonna release it. On Earth. Do the same to us as ... Zelo.”
Downham swore and reeled back. “You’re wrong.” He started to pace, coming and going from Carter’s vision. “The Barath’na assisted us in removing the Zelotyr.”
“It’s them.” Carter tried to follow Downham, but was too tired. His eyes drooped. “The Barath’na did it. The boys – there’s proof in the prison, I think.”
Downham shook his head. “You’re wrong.” He sneered. “You’d say anything to get out of this mess.”