Fractured: The Fracpocalypse Book 1

by D. S Mac

  “Can you see her?” Hannah said as she tried to peep past Drake.

  “I can. She’s bound and being held at gunpoint by the helipad.” Amy was on her knees, her blue nurse’s gown scuffed and dirty where she had been shuffling. Tears streamed down her puffed-out red face. She wasn’t a big girl, curvy, with her cheeks swelling from the fear.

  “How many guards?”

  “I can see three.” The mechanical whirring of a helicopter blade resounded. It flew in closer quickly and began to hover down to the helipad. The wind picked up on the roof, and dust particles were sent into a frenzy. “Shit! Helicopter’s here.” Drake shielded his eyes from the helicopter’s downdraft. “What do you think? Rush them?”

  “I can’t see a better way. They have the upper hand.”

  “On the count of three, I’ll take left, you right.”

  Hannah pulled out her gun and nodded at Drake, who did the same.

  “Three… two… one.”

  Drake burst through the door, Hannah beside him. They both took cover behind a brick lip as they were met with a firing squad. The brickwork behind them was torn to shreds, and red dust was kicked into the air. They made the mistake of firing simultaneously, so when the firing stopped, Drake and Hannah propped themselves on the wall for stability and took them down. Hannah shot the guard on the right with two shots to the chest, which made him hunch over and fall to his knees. The second shot buried itself through the top of his skull, causing him to crash down face first.

  In that time, Drake had fired three shots at the guy on the left. He had dived behind cover, so the first two shots missed, but the third connected with his mouth. He flopped back; a mixture of teeth, bone and blood sprayed out around him. Drake had worked his way closer to the last guy. He had Amy in a chokehold with his gun to her head. Amy’s face glistened from the tears falling from the corners of her eyes. Her eyes spoke volumes of fear.

  Her captive’s arm bulged from the pressure of holding her tight, and his knees shook from bracing against the draft. All four were locked tight in a squat, each gun raised, ready for someone to make a move. He was shouting at them, but his voice wasn’t audible over the helicopter’s blade. As the helicopter came lower, almost ready to land, Drake tried to find a suitable way to proceed. His eyes searched for anything they could use to their advantage, but there was nothing. Firing at the guard was extremely risky, especially with the downdraft. Hitting Amy was not an option.

  The helicopter was now a few meters above the helipad, the side door was yanked open, and two more gunmen let off a hail of bullets. Hannah and Drake dove back behind cover, both avoiding being shot by the skin of their teeth. Hannah looked over to Drake with a look that said ‘what the fuck?’ Drake shrugged and peeped back over the wall. Another hail of bullets met him and tore up the top layer of bricks. Fragments rained down over Drake’s head.

  Meanwhile, Hannah had a risky idea. It was a terrible option but seemingly the only option. She got Drake’s attention and shouted, “Cover me.”

  Drake nodded, stood up, and sent several shots toward the helicopter. He dived back into cover when they returned fire. Hannah used this distraction to look over. She aimed her gun at the pilot and waited. She needed the helicopter to bank right so that, hopefully, the helicopter would veer out of control away from them when she shot. With her shot lined up, the right time revealed itself. The pilot was banking right to lean out of the helicopter, she fired, and time seemed to slow. Her gun kicked back as the bullet launched itself at the pilot. It pierced the window, which cracked like a broken mirror, then buried itself right into the pilot’s cheekbone. His face smashed into the other side, blood sprayed up the window, and his body took the controls over with it. The helicopter was pulled to the right viciously; a loud bang followed. Its blades connected with the opposite wall that led down to another stairwell, the sound of grinding metal as they sheared off completely. Its body landed heavily and caved in on itself from the impact. The blades flew off the roof and landed in the car park with an awful clatter.

  Several car alarms were set off, all piercing the quiet night. Along with the pilot, two gunmen had been crushed beneath the wreckage. The guard who had Amy in a chokehold had thrown himself to the ground away from the crashed helicopter. He was getting back to his feet when Drake put his boot hard into his face. With a loud crack, the guard flew onto his back, blood seeping from a cut to the corner of his eye. Drake raised his gun and executed him. Amy screamed. She was a few meters away on her hands and knees, shaking like a leaf. Hannah got to her before Drake and leant down.

  “Amy… it’s ok. We’ve got you.”

  Amy looked up; terror and tears filled her face.

  “I’m DI Hannah Chasey. It’s ok.”

  Amy looked at Drake and tried to speak. “Yo-you…” She used her sleeve to wipe away her tears. “You were the guy on the phone?”

  “Yeah, Amy, that was me. Let’s get you back to Peter.”

  Amy broke down into Hannah’s arms. “Thank you, thank you.”

  Chapter 19 - Stitches

  “I need to call my chief. What’s happened here is fucked up, with Jason and you and…” Hannah let out a long sigh. They had jumped into Hannah’s car, Hannah had opted for the passenger seat, so Drake drove. Amy sat in the back, still shivering from the shock of her ordeal at the hospital. Drake took a left turn and glanced at Hannah. It was probably one of the worst times to be attracted to someone, but she was attractive, not beautiful. She had perfectly rounded cheekbones, a sharp chiselled chin with her glowing pools of bronze for eyes; she was hard not to look at. Her long brown hair was wound into a loose ponytail at her nape; the edge of an angel tattoo peeped round the back of her shoulder blade.

  “Focus on the road, will you.” Hannah had noticed Drake staring and gave a tight-lipped smile. Drake cleared his throat from the awkwardness and focused back on the road.

  “Amy, you alright back there?” Drake peered through the rear-view as she looked up. Tears still glistened on her cheeks, but at least she was calmer.

  “Yeah, I need Peter.” She sniffed. The build-up of snot gargled as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, which was now sodden.

  “Almost there, love.” Drake took the next right onto Regency Street and pulled up outside Peter’s house.

  Peter must have been waiting because he came barrelling out the front door. He ran to the back, yanked open the door and pulled Amy into his arms. They held in a tight restrictive embrace for several minutes while Drake and Hannah looked on awkwardly. Hannah tapped her phone to show she was going to make a call and walked off. Drake was the one to break them from their embrace when he asked, “Sorry, Peter, but how is Fergus?”

  “Shit! Yeah, sorry, we need to go fast. He’s been unconscious for about ten minutes.” He looked at Amy and grabbed her shoulders. “Are you able to suture?”

  “Erm, yes, I’m shaking, but I’m sure I can.”

  Drake led the way indoors. There was a tight corridor that ran straight through to the kitchen. The walls were painted a dulling magnolia, with a set of uncarpeted stairs on the left and two doors to the right. He opened the first door but quickly noticed it was a toilet and proceeded to the next door. The stench of copper and salt hit Drake’s nose the second the door opened. Fergus was passed out on the couch with bloody rags against his wound. He ran over and felt for a pulse, it was weak, but it was definitely there. Amy came over next to Drake and started to remove the bloody rags. Blood seeped from the wound the second the pressure was released. Drake noticed some fresh rags on the arm, snatched a few up and handed them to Amy.

  “Thank you, does anyone know if there is an exit wound?” She looked around at Drake, then to Peter. “I’ll take that as a no. Drake, can you roll him slightly so I can look at his back?”

  “Of course.” He did as Amy asked and tucked his right arm under Fergus’s left shoulder and heaved him up slowly. Fergus emitted a weak groan.

  “Right, there’s no exit woun
d.” Amy sighed; her eyes radiated worry. She realised she was significantly under-equipped to deal with this. “Put him back slowly, please, Drake.” Amy put pressure back on the entry wound and looked at Drake. “I’m not sure I can do this. I’m only a nurse. He needs surgery.”

  “I understand, Amy, but we can’t take him to the hospital. Forrest will catch up with us there, not to mention St Thomas’ is probably swarming with police and whatever else now.” Drake stood up to relieve the strain from his thighs. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  Amy put her head in her hands, rubbed her eyes, then turned to face Peter. “Pete, can you grab me more towels, my suture kit, the small cooking tongs and vodka, please?”

  “On it.” He ran out the door. The sound of clattering drawers soon followed.

  Peter returned with everything Amy had asked for. She cracked open the vodka and took a large gulp. She noticed everyone looking at her and grinned sheepishly.

  “For the nerves.” After placing the bottle down and removing Fergus’s towels, she poured vodka from the bottle directly over the wound. Fergus writhed in pain. He was still unconscious, but that didn’t stop his back from arching, his body tensing up. “Hold him down, please, Drake.”

  Drake braced down on Fergus’s shoulders as Peter ran over to hold him down at the hips. They shared a look and nodded. Hannah used a fresh towel to pat down the area to clear up some of the blood. She wiped her brow and poured vodka over the tongs. Luckily, the bullet wasn’t too deep and could be seen. She carefully pushed the tongs into the wound, followed by Fergus kicking out. He would have screamed had he been conscious. Drake and Peter struggled to regain control as Amy pushed down farther.

  “I think I’ve got it. Hold tight.” With a bit of a wiggle, she managed to latch onto the bullet and slowly pulled it out. Blood bubbled up to the surface, so she placed another towel and applied pressure to stem the bleeding. “Right, I don’t think it has hit anything important. I’ll stitch him up, and we’ll have to keep an eye on him.”

  Drake put a hand on Amy’s arm. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” It took about half an hour for Amy to stitch the wound up entirely. After cleaning it with another douse of vodka, she went and found a pad and bandage and wrapped him up. Drake wiped Fergus’s forehead and turned to walk out of the room. Hannah was so silent coming in that Drake hadn’t noticed her until he almost walked into her.

  “Hannah, sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  She waved a hand to say it was alright; all the while she was staring at Fergus. “How’s he doing?”

  “Amy got the bullet out and stitched him up nicely, but he’s not out of the woods yet.” Drake offered Hannah a slight smile and motioned her to follow him to the kitchen. “How did the talk go with the chief?”

  Hannah sat down at the marble-effect breakfast bar and placed one elbow on the surface to hold her head up. “I’m not sure what to think. He told me to drop the case.”

  “That sounds strange, and I don’t even know the bloke.”

  “Hmm, I’ve got a gut feeling he’s up to his eyeballs in this.” Hannah stretched back and placed her hands behind her head, crisscrossing her fingers.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. Forrest has almost had us at every turn.” Drake stood up and fetched two glasses of water. He placed one in front of Hannah and drained it like it was a fresh cool pint.

  “Well, suffice to say I cannot trust the PD after… Jason and now the chief acting shady.” A kiss of her teeth amplified her disgust towards her ex-partner. “What is our next move? How do we stop Forrest?”

  “We need to get to Forrest Futures and stop him before he runs a negative antimatter proton beam.” Drake caught Hannah’s confused look and smiled. “Yeah, I don’t understand the science either, and with Fergus out”—he shrugged—“we have to find a way to stop it.”

  Hannah stood up, pulled out her phone and scrolled to a number in her phonebook. “I think I know someone who may be able to help. Hold on, I’ll give him a call.” She walked off as the phone line connected. “Hey, Dad…” That was all Drake heard before she went out of earshot.

  Peter tapped Drake on the shoulder, which made him jump. He must have zoned out and didn’t hear him enter the room, which wasn’t surprising considering he was shattered. Drake couldn’t even remember the last time he had slept because he had been skipping through time for so long, with no goals, no idea, and no friends or stability. Now here he was, trying to save the world with many random people who knew nothing about time fractures, antimatter and proton beams.

  “Sorry, Drake, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “No worries, I was in my own world then.” He grabbed Peter’s hand and shook it firmly. “Thank you, Peter, I can’t apologise enough for what I’ve brought your family into.”

  Peter held up a hand.

  “Stop, Drake, none of this is on you. Amy’s gone for a lie-down, but we spoke beforehand.” As he passed Drake, he pulled out a stool and sat down. The metal legs screeched as they ground against the floor. “I want to help in any way I can.” The front door slammed. Drake was on his feet in seconds, ready to defend his new friends. Hannah walked into the kitchen and saw both men gearing for a fight.

  “Only me, boys, put ’em away.” With a dainty little smile, she winked at Drake. “My dad will be here in the morning. He was a physicist… well, still kind of is, albeit a little crazy.”

  As Drake sat back down, he laughed, which came out as more of a snort. “He sounds like the type of person we need right now. I think we should get some rest. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m done in.”

  Chapter 20 - Split

  Numb, every fibre of Brendan’s being was numb. He sat at the edge of Parliament, staring into the space that was filled by fractures since the two men had vanished and took the way home with them. Time had passed, but he was completely unaware of even a second of it. A cool breeze had added a sharp chill to the air, and goosebumps protruded from every inch of his exposed skin.

  A million bolts of lightning crackled in the sky and gave life to the orange wasteland. The strident screams of nearby creatures couldn’t even penetrate his morbid withdrawn state. Warmth trickled down the backs of Brendan’s legs, and the stench of undiluted piss rose through his trousers, yet still no reaction. With his trousers soaked, his body freezing, and his mind elsewhere, he sat there for a long time.

  Two warped grotesque beings had been juddering past, looking for their next victim, when at first they smelt something. Their heads snapped at impossible angles while their deformed noses searched for the source. One of them abruptly screamed, the hairs on the back of Brendan’s neck stood up, but he still did not move. The pounding steps of the two disorganised beings tapped and scraped along the broken tarmac, the cracks of which projected morsels of nature fighting back against centuries of human oppression.

  They rounded on their prey. The acrid stench of their halitosis encompassed Brendan. No more than a foot away, their jagged teeth gnashed, each bite clacking when the two rows collided. Snarling from their malformed throats, they outstretched their bent arms; unnatural blades reached out, each talon grinding on another like nails on a chalkboard.

  All of a sudden, Brendan leapt up, spun around and dived at the first creature. His eyes were like dark pits, emotionless… soulless. They smashed into the ground with a hard thud. The creature’s back cracked and groaned from the impact. Brendan reared his head, bared his teeth and tore through its throat. Blood spurted out like water from an unattended hose. Within seconds, Brendan’s face was covered in the creature’s rich coppery blood. It writhed on the ground in agony, sending arches of warm liquid spraying across the tarmac while choking gargled screams.

  Brendan stood up. His crazed bloodshot eyes were the only contrast among the claret. Strings of neck skin and muscle dangled from his teeth as he lunged at the other creature. This one was straddled on all fours with its head above its front shoulder blad
es as if it were some fucked-up splicing of humans and horses. It swiped out with large sharp talons but missed as Brendan leapt over its reachable area. He landed on its back, which instantly snapped in two under his weight. The creature folded in on itself and let out an ear-piercing wail. Brenan placed both hands under its neck and pulled as hard as he could, his arms strained and bulged under the pressure, but eventually, it gave, and with a sickening crack, the head went limp, the creature’s body became still, and Brendan sank his teeth into its floppy neck.

  The creature was torn apart and consumed by a grunting, snorting, red-faced, sweaty shadow of the former Brendan. Most of the meat had been sacrificed to his insatiable hunger. As he stood while hunched, with his shoulders sagged, the beginnings of a malevolent sneer spread from cheek to cheek. The rage constructed by the eternal loneliness and hopelessness had boiled over. He reached to the sky and erupted with a malicious throaty scream that morphed into manic laughter.

  A switch had been flipped. The strong, no-fucks-given Brendan from his mind was now in control. Anything and everything that got in his way would be destroyed. Brendan ran off in search of more to feast on, cackling as he bounded up rubble and onto car bonnets. Now and then, he would release a roaring scream, hoping to attract more of those vile beings. Nothing could stop him now.

  It wasn’t long until he was met by a small gang of twisted beasts, each with their distinctive distortions. Some were more humanoid while others more animal-like, and a handful were like nothing he had ever seen. After leaping onto another car bonnet and staring them down, they spotted him and announced their hunger with husky screams. Brendan raised his arms, growled back at them and sprinted in for the kill.

  Pungent vinegar odours waved through the air when beast after beast had their throats torn open. Showers of blood rained down upon everything, giving the dusty orange surfaces a wet red sheen. Creatures’ teeth ground and snapped while their talons sliced through the air. Not once did either hit their target. Brendan ducked and weaved through the small army, bringing one down at a time and tearing it open. The guttural roaring emanating from Brendan was beastlike, more so than the creatures. Limp mutilated bodies cluttered the tarmac, and Brendan rounded on his last victim. Brendan hunched over and clutched his knees with panting, ragged breaths from the exertion, his eyesight never straying from his target. He waited for the creature to make its move.