by Cavan Scott
“I bet you do. But why?”
“I told you.”
“Because you need drugs.”
“That’s right.”
“To numb what exactly?”
This was getting uncomfortable. It was time to deflect the spotlight.
“What about you? Why do all this?”
“All what?”
“Playing general.”
“I’m not playing.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. But how—”
“How did I end up with this lot?”
“She got lucky,” Fenton piped up, behind us.
“Or I was very bad in a previous life,” Brennan shot back.
Fenton laughed with something that almost resembled camaraderie.
“There’s nothing much to tell. I was a kid when the world went to crap. Joined a gang to survive life on the streets, and soon learnt to use my fists to survive.”
“Until you’d beaten everyone else into submission?”
“For a man who doesn’t like talking about himself, you sure ask a lot of questions.”
That shut me up. I laughed it off. I liked this woman. She was quick and smart, and told it like it was. It made what I was trying to do easier.
Get your contact on side, soldier. Feign interest, ask questions. Get them talking about themselves. Never fails.
Except when it does.
We marched on, our boots scraping on the concrete, until the doors appeared in the torchlight.
I felt my mouth go dry.
I must have slowed up, Brennan immediately picking up on my subconscious hesitation.
“What’s wrong?”
“They’ve redecorated,” I replied, raising my hand to stop the group.
“What do you mean?” Beck asked, coming to a halt.
“There used to be double doors here.”
We all looked ahead. A solid metal plate barred our way.
“They upgraded their security,” Brennan said.
Fenton wasn’t so subtle. “I knew it! I fucking knew it!”
“Knew what?” Beck snapped.
“This is what happens when you trust jokers like him.”
I didn’t respond to the insult. I didn’t have to.
“Stow it, Fenton,” Brennan ordered. “You’re not helping.”
“And he is? Standing there gawping at the fucking door? What are we going to do? Use this?” He slapped the battering ram on Curtis’s back, drawing a glare from the giant.
“It would have taken down the old doors, no problem,” I admitted. “This... well, I guess we’ll have to improvise.”
Fenton wasn’t giving up the argument. “Improvise? What are you going to do, knock on the door and hope one of the little piggies let you in?”
“Enough,” Brennan bellowed, her voice echoing down the corridor.
“Quiet,” I hissed, raising a hand. “We need to keep our voices down.”
Fenton scoffed. “Worried they’re going to hear us?”
“Not yet,” I replied, turning and marching towards the bloody door. “But they will in a minute.”
Brennan took after me, rushing to catch up. “What are you thinking?”
I reached the door and rapped lightly on the metal.
Little pig, little pig, let me come in.
It was solid, too solid. Resting my hand on the cool metal, I looked up, running a beam of light around the edges.
“It must slide down,” I muttered, mostly to myself. “There isn’t room for it to swing open, not if they want to drive vehicles through, so it has to come down from the ceiling, on hydraulics.”
“So, what? We blast our way through?”
“And bring the roof down on our heads?” Fenton spluttered.
I crouched down and slapped my palm on the concrete floor. “It wouldn’t work anyway. These things are built to withstand most explosions...”
“But...”
I swung the pack from my shoulder, unzipping the main compartment. “What time is it?”
Beck shone her light over her wristwatch. “Six forty-nine.”
“We haven’t got long.” I started unpacking what was left of my plastic explosives.
“I thought you said explosives wouldn’t work?” Fenton pointed out. I briefly fought the urge to stuff the C-4 down his stupid whining throat.
“Not against the door,” I replied. “Now shut the fuck up and let me get to work.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CURE
MOORE GROWLED AT Lam as he stalked into the Ops rooms. “What are you doing here?”
I raised a hand. “He was trying to access the computers. The system’s in lockdown.”
“It’s what?”
“We’re shut out,” Lam told him. “None of the passwords work.”
“What about the cameras?” the chief said, barging the technician out of the way to get to the security controls.
“They’re on a different system. Everything else seems up and running.”
“But for how long?” Moore asked, pulling Lam’s chair towards him and sitting down. He jabbed at the CCTV control console, cycling through the feeds, the grainy images switching from one camera to another on the screens.
“What are you doing?”
Moore peered up at the central screen. “I’ve established patrols around the perimeter.”
“Patrols? Chief, I said two guards, max—everyone else is supposed to be confined to quarters.” Couldn’t anyone follow a simple order today?
The chief glared at me. “And you’d rather we were left unprotected?”
How many times would I have this argument today? “Until we find out—”
“The medical staff are contained, as are technical support”—the security chief scowled at Lam—“at least, most of them are. I’ve only got a few men out, a handful; the ones I can trust.”
“Can we trust anyone?” Olive asked by the door. I raised a single finger to silence her. Not a fight worth having.
“So, what are we looking at?” I asked.
Moore manipulated a joystick, the image on the screen zooming in to focus on a section of fencing illuminated by floodlight.
“The east perimeter. Team Three called it in.”
“Called in what exactly?”
“Movement, beyond the fences. In the bushes.”
The picture continued to zoom in. There was nothing there, save for blurry, pixelated images of overgrown shrubs.
“Isn’t that where we were attacked this morning?” Lam asked.
Moore nodded, sitting back in the seat. “Yes. I wouldn’t have expected them to come back for more, not so soon.”
“Could it have been an animal?” I asked. “A dog, or something?”
“My men know the difference between a dog and a human being.”
Still the screen showed nothing.
“Well, if there was anyone there, they’ve gone now,” Olive added unhelpfully.
Moore snatched the walkie-talkie from his belt and opened a channel. “Control to Team Three. Come in.”
“Team Three responding, chief.”
“I’m in Ops. There’s nothing on the camera.” He flicked along a line of buttons, scrolling through corresponding feeds. “On any of them.”
On screen, we saw three guards cautiously approaching the wire mesh, torches mounted on their rifles. Circles of lights swept across the no-man’s land between the two fences.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked.
“They know what they’re doing,” Moore insisted, before bringing the walkie-talkie back to his mouth again. “Well?”
“There’s nothing, sir,” came the distorted reply, the lead guard raising his own handset on screen. “It might have been kids, mucking about?”
“Remind me of the last time we saw kids?” Moore’s eyes flicked up to the top row of screen. “Outside the perimeter, I mean.”
“There was definitely something there, chief, but it’s gone no
w.”
The three men stood their ground, swinging their gun-lights along the perimeter.
My stomach was in knots. This was like those old movies we used to watch before horror became an everyday occurrence, the hero creeping into an empty house, the soundtrack dropping away to nothing; no music, no dialogue, just the poor hapless bastard inching forward. You were yelling at the screen, knowing what was coming. Get the hell out of there! What are you doing? Haven’t you seen these films before? And then the monster would strike.
My nails stabbed into the palms of my hands.
Moore had seen enough. “Okay, pull back. There’s nothing there. Continue your patrol.”
“Roger that, Control. Three out.”
I relaxed, placing my stinging palms on my hips.
“I’m not sure how much more of today I can take.”
Moore swung around to me. “It was better to make sure. If there had been something out—”
A rumble reverberated through the building.
Above me, the lights flickered, a siren sounding in the corridor outside. “What the hell?”
“Was that an explosion?” Olive yelped.
On screen, Team Three whirled around to face the direction of the blast, their backs to the fence. There were flashes of light in the darkness, and the guards hit the ground hard.
“Jesus!” Moore’s walkie-talkie was back to his lips. “Team Three, come in! Team Three!”
They weren’t moving, shadows appearing in the bushes beyond the perimeter, men and women, guns in hand.
“Definitely not dogs,” Lam stammered, as the would-be invaders started climbing the fence.
Calls were coming in from all over the complex.
“Control, explosion at the main gates. Guards down.”
“Chief, intruders scaling the north perimeter.”
“Fire near Neighbourhood Three.” The sound of breaking glass came through the tinny speaker. “God, they’re throwing petrol bombs.”
On the screens, all hell was breaking loose. One of the front gates hanging askew. Liquid fire rippling out from smashed bottles, bushes and shrubs already ablaze. One of Team Three was trying to crawl away, dragging a ruined leg. Behind him a girl had made it over the first line of defence. She raised her gun and dispatched the guard with a single shot. His body jerked and lay still.
Moore yelled into his handset. “All teams, stand your ground.” He was up out of the seat, charging towards the door.
“Where are you going?” I called after him.
He stopped at the doorway. “I need to get out there.”
“But what about Control? Surely you need to co-ordinate—”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” he replied, before disappearing out of the room.
I sank down into the seat he had surrendered, staring up at the screens, not really knowing what to do next
Flames spread.
The murderers at the east perimeter scaled the interior fence.
Get the hell out of there! What are you doing? Haven’t you seen these films before?
They were coming from all angles at once. So many. So fast.
“The chief was right,” I said, as Lam audibly whimpered by my side. “They were testing our defences, preparing for a full onslaught.”
“Why don’t you call him up and congratulate him?” Olive suggested, but before I could yell at her to get out, Moore’s voice crackled over an open channel.
“All guards to positions. Code nine, I repeat, this is a code nine.”
“There he is,” shouted Olive, pointing at a screen to the right. Moore burst out of a door, gun in hand, running towards the east perimeter.
I pulled the walkie-talkie from my belt. “Chief, what the hell do you think you’re doing? I need you back here.”
He ignored me, running off-camera on one screen to appear on the next, ducking behind a barricade. He never made it. One minute he was running, the next he was spinning on the spot as something hit his shoulder, dropping him to the ground.
“Moore!”
A boy dashed into shot, a teenager, wearing a leather jacket and jeans. He ran behind the barricade, pointed down at the floor and fired once, twice.
“Oh, God,” burbled Lam. “Oh, God; oh, God.”
I switched channels, addressing anyone who could hear. “All guards, this is Doctor Tomas. Fall back. Secure the Neighbourhoods.”
The first raiders made it safely over the gate.
A guard’s voice cut through the channel. “Ma’am, are you sur—”
“That’s an order. Fall back. Now!”
“Have you lost your mind?” Olive squawked, gaping at the screens. “You need to take the fight to them.”
“No, we have to secure the children.”
The raiders were on every screen, swarming over the fences, through the gates. There were even inflatable dinghies crossing the moat, paddles strafing through the water.
I stood up, making a decision. “Lam, you’re in charge.”
The technician’s eyes stretched wider than ever, and he shook his head frantically. “No. I can’t.”
I slammed my walkie-talkie down in front of him. “Use this. Just make sure everyone gets inside, and seal the buildings. We can use the tunnels.”
I ran for the door.
“Where are you going?” Olive called after me.
I was out of the room before I answered, “To get the kids.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
KILL
“RIGHT ON CUE,” I said as a distant siren sounded. “I have to say, Brennan; your guys are punctual, if nothing else.”
“‘If nothing else’?” Fenton said. “I’d like to hear you say that to them up close.”
“Wouldn’t be a fair fight,” I said, reaching out to Garret. “The poor sods wouldn’t know what hit them.”
Garret almost cracked a smile as he handed over his axe. I weighed the weapon in my hands, noticing the notches and stains on the blade. It had seen a lot of action, and hadn’t been cleaned as often as it should. I didn’t want to ask too many questions.
I bent down, running my fingers across the concrete in front of the door, finding a hairline crack. That would have to do. I put my torch down on the floor, so its beam shone across the imperfection, and rose to my feet.
“You’d better stand back.”
Raising the axe above my head, I brought the blade down onto the crack. The impact shot up my arms, the metal clanking dully against the floor. I crouched, running my hand over where I had struck. The concrete had chipped; not excessively, but I knew it would work.
Brennan and the rest watched as I set to work, slamming the axe into the floor, grunting with the exertion.
Once.
Twice.
Each strike like a thunderclap in the tunnel.
Four.
Five.
Chips flew from the widening crack like shrapnel, bouncing against my legs.
Seven.
Eight.
I began to lose count.
Fifteen?
Sixteen?
I had no idea any more. My arms felt like lead, my elbows stiff.
I stopped on what felt like the hundredth blow, breathing hard, sweat running down my nose.
“Do you need any help?” It was Beck, hovering behind me.
“It’s fine,” I huffed, punctuating my words with further blows. On the final strike, the blade slipped and I dropped the axe, dancing out of the way before it could take a chunk out of my leg.
“You sure about about?” Fenton asked.
Trying to control my breathing, I knelt down, exploring the shallow crevice I had opened. It wasn’t great, but would have to do.
I stood, handing the axe back to Garret, who ran a thumb against the blunted blade.
“Don’t worry,” I panted, running the back of my hand across my mouth. “It’ll still cleave heads, or whatever you have planned.”
Rubbing my shoulder, I walked over to the backpa
ck I had leant up against the tunnel wall and carefully lifted out a rectangular block wrapped in tight, green plastic. As the others watched, I peeled the wrapping away to reveal a milky-white block that looked for all the world like modelling clay.
I wouldn’t advise anyone to throw pots with this stuff.
Kneeling, I pushed as much of the explosive as I could into the crack. When I was a kid, the war novels I read always insisted that C-4 smelled of almonds. That was crap. If anything, the stuff reeked of tar or pitch, but I wasn’t about to stick it under my nose.
Without looking up, I raised an expectant hand. Beck stepped forward, handing me the reel of detonator cord and blasting cap I had given to her for safe keeping.
I zipped my backpack shut and passed it to the tall woman. “Take this, will you?”
“Your wish is my command, sir.”
I smiled, pressing the blast cap into the explosive. “Careful. I could grow to like that.”
“In your dreams,” came the gruff reply.
“Just shut up and let him work,” Brennan said, peering over from what she presumably hoped was a safe distance. She was an intelligent and resourceful woman, but obviously didn’t have much experience with half-a-kilo of C-4. By the sound of the muffled thunder high above our heads, the rest of my stash was being put to good use.
I connected the detonator cord to the cap and retreated along the corridor, unreeling the spindle. I went slowly, carefully; the last thing I wanted to do was slip and end up on my backside. We walked all the way back to the shaft and beyond, the cord trailing between us and the blast door, the sounds of gunfire drifted down the shaft as we passed beneath the grille. I wondered who was winning.
I stopped when the cable ran out.
“Is this far enough?” Brennan said, looking over her shoulder; we were rapidly running out of passageway, a set of heavy double doors blocking our way.
“It’ll have to do,” I said, fishing in my jacket pocket for the detonator itself. “That’s got to be around sixty feet. I’d rather have more, but you play with what you’re dealt.”
“Sixty feet?” repeated Fenton. “What’s that in English?” Jesus. He must have been younger than he looked.
“Nearly twenty metres,” Beck translated, holding her torch up for me so I could attach the detonator. It occurred to me that I had left my own flashlight by the doors. I could wave goodbye to that, then, unless Fenton wanted to go back and fetch it. No-one would blame me if I pressed the detonator at just the wrong moment, would they?