Serial Killers Incorporated
Page 30
Eventually, they neared the road and Sophie pulled free a gun. She led the half–blind, mumbling figure of Callaghan onto the deserted highway. Tracks showed in the road. Sophie cast about, but could not find the body of Vladimir.
‘Shit,’ she said.
‘What is it?’
‘Vladimir. He’s gone.’
‘I thought you shot him?’
‘I did. In the fucking head,’ she said. ‘One of his cronies must have found him. Taken the body.’
‘Can we get out of here?’
‘Are we waiting for Volos?’
Callaghan gave a shudder. ‘No. Leave him. Let him die up there. It’s what he deserves.’
Sophie fired the Mercedes, and Callaghan clambered shivering onto the back seat. He put his head down. Closed his eyes. Pain sent waves rushing through him. Nausea was his Master. Exhaustion was his Mistress.
Sophie wheel–spun the car in a u–turn of billowing exhaust, then slid down the narrow road and away, away from the mountains, away from the murder, away from Mia’s dead body lovely Mia how could these people do this to you and Callaghan cried himself to sleep in which darkness threw him into infinity and dreams, good and bad, did not dare rear their ugly heads.
It was daylight. Callaghan awoke feeling instantly sick. The car was stopped in an anodyne lay–by. Sophie crouched over him, and the open rear door of the Mercedes allowed a cold, fresh breeze to ruffle Callaghan’s hair.
‘That’s a nasty wound. We need to get you to a hospital.’
‘No. No hospital.’
‘You need to get it strapped up. If it heals wrong...’
‘Fuck it healing wrong!’ snarled Callaghan. He rubbed his jaw. Bizarrely, his toothache was gnawing him again, the pain biting his skull. ‘I’ve got bigger things to think about. Bigger problems revolving in my brain!’
‘Like what?’
He struggled into a seated position, groaning with a hundred agonies. He stared into Sophie’s opal eyes.
‘He said... Volos, said... he said I was his apprentice.’
Sophie remained silent.
‘What does that mean?’ Callaghan’s eyes were pleading.
Sophie shrugged.
‘Well?’ he snapped.
‘It was what we feared. What Ryan feared. Why we were watching you.’
‘And it means, exactly?’
‘That you have been Chosen.’
‘By Volos?’
‘No. By Morana.’
‘So... Volos will train me? To be a killer? A hunter, or something?’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘What, Sophie? I don’t fucking understand? So, I’ll be his little fucking pet to run errands and etch serial killers’ bones?’ Callaghan started to laugh. It was a laugh tinged with hysteria.
‘Yes. Sort of.’
‘Well I want none of it,’ hissed Callaghan. ‘He – all of them – they can keep this bullshit. I don’t want it; not now, not ever. I’m going to pack up my stuff and leave this place. A bit of tropical sun won’t do me any harm. Anyway, Ryan’s well and truly dead. So, I expect that means I’ve got the sack from Black and White. Shit.’
‘He’ll come looking for you.’
‘Volos? Fuck him.’
‘He’ll find you?’
‘Not where I’m going.’
‘You underestimate him. He’s resourceful.’
‘Yeah, I’ve seen his resourcefulness.’
Sophie shrugged. She stood, slammed the door, got back into the driver’s seat. ‘You want me to take you back to London?’
‘Yes. Please.’
Callaghan curled up on the seat again.
Pain washed over him.
Nagged him, in rhythmical, pounding waves.
He felt the car start, the engine thrumming, felt it pull away and accelerate. A chilling breeze blew in from the hole in the rear window. Callaghan snuggled down as best he could. He tried to ignore the pain. But couldn’t. It wouldn’t let him be.
And – worst of all – the bastard toothache seemed to take precedence. It flooded him. Hammered his head. Beat his skull with a lump hammer. Pounded his brain with a rock. ‘Ouch,’ muttered Cal, pushing two fingers into his mouth, towards his back teeth which seemed, suddenly, to have usurped his entire lower jaw with their agony. ‘You little little bastard fuckers.’ He probed around for a while... as sleep came swiftly once more.
Idly, he wondered why his back teeth felt so thin.
Hours passed.
Sophie pulled gently into the side of the road. Tyres crunched old snow. Above, huge towering trees swayed in the wind, their creaking branches bowed heavy under icy burdens. Shadows from a low–slung winter sun sent patterns across the Merc’s hull.
Sophie rolled her neck, turned, and stared down at Callaghan’s sleeping form. He was battered, bruised, cut, broken. His face looked troubled in sleep; as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Sophie smiled tenderly. She reached out, and brushed a stray hair from his forehead. She smiled again. ‘Callaghan?’ she muttered. He did not respond. She stroked his cheek...
and lifted her free hand, glancing down at the short, gleaming blade in her fist.
The smile fell from her face, and she sighed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
THE END.
ANDY REMIC is a larger–than–life action man, sexual athlete, sword warrior and chef. His exploits have garnered him acclaim in the Guinness Book of Galactic Records, and he once worked as a biomod technician pioneering illegal nano–tek for underhand government agencies. His writing has picked up numerous esoteric awards for visceral hardcore action, clever plotlines, black humour and a willingness to push the boundaries of science fiction and sexual deviancy, all in one twisted whiskey barrel.
When kicked to describe himself, Remic claims to have a love of extreme sports, kickass bikes and happy nurses. Once a member of an elite Combat K squad, he has retired from military service and claims to be a cross between an alcoholic Indiana Jones and a bubbly Lara Croft, only without the breasts (–although he’d probably like some). Remic lives in Lincolnshire and enjoys listening to Ronan Keating whilst thinking lewdly about zombies.
You can find out more about ANDY REMIC at
www.andyremic.com.
PRAISE FOR ANDY REMIC
“Hard–hitting, galaxy–spanning, no–holds–barred, old–fashioned action adventure.”
The Guardian on War Machine
“Loud, brash and so in–your–face that it’s actually
gone right through and is stood behind you, giving
you a good kicking when you least expect it.”
Graeme’s Fantasy Book Review on Biohell
“It’s been so long since we had Robin Hood, or Conan the Barbarian floating around, and Gemmell – he updated them with class. For me, Gemmell revived my favourite heroes and gave them a good kick in the pants… Mister Remic looks like he could do this, too.”
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“Violent is really not the right word for this spare–no–detail fantasy monstrosity. Insane? Maybe. Really, the only way to describe Remic’s Kell’s Legend is with a phrase: a bloody, violent, fantastic journey through carnage, terror, and a downright epic tale that makes Underworld and every zombie movie look bad… Remic is the Tarantino of fantasy, and if that isn’t a compliment, then I don’t know what is.”
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“My favourite science fiction novel of the year. Yes, you heard correctly: Peter F. Hamilton, Neal Asher, Richard K. Morgan... War Machine topped them all, and no–one is more shocked than I am! I loved every testosterone–fuelled second. And the sequel is easily one of my most anticipated new releases...”
Fantasy Book Critic on War Machine
“Fun characters, hard–wired combat, character traits that many authors would not dream of touching... It’s these touches that leaves you wondering if he’s a madman or a genius, for the sheer scope an
d depravity that he manages to inject in his tightly bound pages.”
Falcata Times on Hardcore
“I mean really top quality fight scenes. One of Gemmell’s most redeeming qualities as an author was his ability to write about fighting and war to such a degree that you almost felt like rushing through his novels to get to those bits. Kell’s Legend fight scenes live up to this quality and elevate the novel way above the standard fare. Kell’s Legend is a novel of power and scope, able to stand as a worthy successor to the Gemmell crown. 5*****”
Science Fiction & Fantasy Books on Kell's Legend
“Kell’s Legend is a rip–roaring beast of a novel, a whirlwind of frantic battles and fraught relationships against a bleak background of invasion and enslavement. In other words, it takes all the vital ingredients for a good heroic fantasy novel and turns out something very pleasing indeed. If you can keep an open mind then you may get a real kick out of one of the most surprising novels of the year.”
Speculative Horizons on Kell's legend
“At the heart of this novel is a very good hack and slash but, instead of just getting blood and guts you get a fairly decent story with a really great main character and a interesting supporting cast… If you love Gemmell you will love Remic.”
State of Review on Kell's Legend
ALSO BY ANDY REMIC
The Killers
Serial Killers Incorporated
The Clockwork Vampire Chronicles
Kell's Legend
Soul Stealers
Vampire Warlords
The Spiral Series
Spiral
Quake
Warhead
Combat–K
War Machine
Biohell
Hardcore
Cloneworld
Links:
www.andyremic.com
www.anarchy–books.com
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SERIAL
KILLERS
INCORPORATED
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First published by ANARCHY BOOKS 2011
Copyright © Andy Remic 2011
Andy Remic asserts the moral right to be
identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available
from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-908328-04-5
Mobi ISBN: 978-1-908328-00-7
ePUB ISBN: 978-1-908328-01-4
PDF ISBN: 978-1-908328-02-1
RTF ISBN: 978-1-908328-03-8
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, now or yet to be invented, without the prior permission of the publishers.
This novel is wholly a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed herein are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, and to events or places, is entirely coincidental.