by Matt Stark
He cut off the call before Peter had a chance to answer.
Sam’s jaw and fists unclenched.
Craig looked at Sam. “It’s time for you to pick a side, my friend.”
***
“Join us, Sam,” said Craig.
Sam was still processing what he’d seen on the laptop. He knew the government ran secret experiments – although many of them, like the smallpox tests in Portadown, weren’t that secret anymore. So what he’d seen could be real. But he couldn’t be sure, not a hundred percent. And he still couldn’t accept that Peter and Suzie knew about it. They’d lied to him about New Dawn’s being a post-human group, but covering up this butchery was a completely different level of deceit. And that brought him back to square one. Did it really happen? So far Sam only had Craig’s word and a video – one that could easily have been faked. Maybe Karl was in his bedroom somewhere playing Mortal Combat on his PlayStation? Sam had to be sure.
He blew out a breath. “I can’t.”
“What?”
“I can’t.”
“For fuck’s sake, why? Doesn’t what you saw mean anything to you?”
“Shit, yes. What you showed me was evil.”
“So why can’t you join us?”
“Firstly, because I’m not sure it really happened.”
Craig’s jaw dropped. “You’re fucking kidding me…”
Sam held up his hand.
“Hear me out, Craig. You’ve got to understand I’ve been away for ten years. Until about an hour ago I had almost no personal memory. You’ve shown me a video and claimed it proves the government are chopping post-humans’ brains up, but I need more than that. I need to be one hundred percent sure. And even if it is true, blowing up half of London won’t fix it. Craig, you’ve killed hundreds of people. You’re threatening to kill the Prime Minister of Great Britain. You are a terrorist.”
Craig shook his head, utter contempt on his face.
“I can’t believe you’re still siding with the norms, against your own people.”
Part of Sam agreed with Craig. But he had too many unanswered questions, and too many personal conflicts, to join Craig now.
“We need to talk to the government,” he said. “Show them your evidence.”
“What difference will that make? It’s the government who are doing this.”
“Have you asked Buller?”
“He says he knows nothing about it – but what else would you expect?”
“Look, Sam, you need to join us. Forget all this crap about getting around a table. We’re long past that now.”
Sam shook his head, “I’ve told you. I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t,” said Craig, his voice shaking with anger.
Sam blew out a breath, “Okay, I won’t.”
Craig glared at him. “Didn’t you just see a lobotomized kid? A fucking lobotomy, Sam. That’s right out of The Planet of the Apes.”
Sam looked away from Craig, ducked his head and ran his hand through his hair. Was he making the right choice? Craig was right; what he’d seen was inhuman. If it was true it couldn’t be allowed to continue. He looked back at Craig.
“If I agree will you let the PM and the hostages go, and stop the attacks?”
Craig shook his head slowly. “No, Sam. I won’t.”
Sam sighed. “Then I can’t join you, Craig. You might be right. They may have persecuted us. They may be terrified of us. Everything you said may be true, but I didn’t spend ten years in a Chinese prison to come back and butcher innocents. All those people you killed in Leicester Square, and at Wembley – they’re weren’t to blame.”
“You just don’t see the truth, do you?” said Craig, the muscles in his jaw bunching. “It’s us or them.”
“It’s you that don’t see. What you’re doing will only make things worse.”
Craig guffawed.
Sam ignored him. “Release the hostages and the PM, then we can sit down and try to work this out. If there is any truth in this, I swear I won’t rest until those responsible are brought to justice.”
Craig’s eyes bulged like they might pop out of his head. “We’ve gone way beyond that now. We’re talking about survival. Them or us. You have to choose a side.”
“I told you I can’t.”
“Do you want Karl and scores of your people to suffer?”
“No, but assuming this isn’t some great hoax, the best way to help Karl is to show the government proof.”
Craig grimaced. “Hoax? You still don’t believe after all you’ve seen?”
“I just…”
Craig threw his hands up in exasperation and turned away. He ducked his head – looking at the floor. When he turned back his face was set like he’d made a hard decision.
“I’m going to have to show you one more thing, Sam.” There was a hint of sympathy in his voice.
Jean looked at Craig. “He’s not ready.”
Craig went back to the desk and hit play on the laptop. “He needs to see, Jean. There’s no other way.”
Chapter 26
10.15 a.m. Sunday 1st February; Number 10 Downing Street
Thwack thwack thwack.
Sam, Craig and Jean were sitting at Buller’s desk, watching another video nasty on the laptop.
Thwack – “Aeeoow” – Thwack – “Aeeoow.”
They were in JIS medical in Vauxhall House – back on that ward. The cast from One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest still occupied the thirty or so beds lined up either side of the ward. But Sam knew now they weren’t psych patients, but post-humans, like him.
“Aeeeeoow!”
What the hell was that noise?
The camera turned to the left, bringing into shot a grey-haired woman wearing a filthy pink floral-print nightie. She was kneeling on her bed, slapping one of her shoes against a picture hook on the wall. Every time she missed she howled with annoyance. Sam watched her hammer that hook for another thirty seconds before she suddenly stopped, and turned to face the camera.
His stomach clenched up like a prune.
The woman’s toothless mouth hung half open, under a squat nose and dead eyes. Along her shaved left temple ran a livid scar. Bile spurted into the back of Sam’s throat. The old lady stared straight at him for a long moment. He knew her horror-show face would be a permanent fixture in his mind for the foreseeable future. Then the camera turned away, the old woman disappeared and they left the ward. Now they were in a long featureless corridor. They followed it for a few seconds, then turned right to face a door with Strictly No Admittance in large red letters above it.
They went in. As the door banged shut, breath steamed up in front of the camera, misting up the lens. Jean’s voice mumbled, “Sorry about that,” and the lens was wiped clear, revealing a dimly lit room. Sam couldn’t make out anything more than shadows.
As they moved forward a table lit by a spotlight came into focus. Something was on the table. Sam couldn’t see what, but his mouth was suddenly dry. When they reached the table Sam realized it was a body covered to the shoulders in a white shroud. Above that was a girl’s face. She couldn’t have been more than ten.
Sam felt Jean shift in her chair beside him. Craig cleared his throat. The girl’s face was white, her lips grey, contrasting starkly with her red hair. A nail-varnished hand appeared on screen, moving toward the girl. Sam held his breath, as the hand pushed the girl’s head to one side. A raised pink scar ran from the crown of her head, across her shaven skull, to her ear. Sam gagged. She’d been butchered. Just like Karl, the old hag on the ward, and God knows how many other poor sods. Why had Craig shown him this? Hadn’t he seen enough video nasties for one day?
Swallowing more bile, Sam turned to Craig.
“Why the fuck are you showing me this?”
Jean had her eyes anywhere but on Sam.
“Look again, and you’ll see why,” said Craig.
Something in Craig’s tone stopped Sam from telling him to go fuck himself. He turned
back to the girl’s ghost-white face. His mouth was so dry now, he could hardly swallow. He felt like he was going to start bawling, but couldn’t understand why. This girl had suffered the same as Karl and the old hag, but she had affected Sam a lot more. Maybe because she wasn’t even a teenager yet.
As he stared at the girl Sam realized Craig was telling the truth about the surgeries. Some bastard had sliced this poor girl’s skull open, and dug out part of her brain. He didn’t know why she was dead. Harelip obviously wanted living but compliant post-humans, but maybe she’d fucked up like Karl and paid the ultimate price. Sam realized his hands were shaking. He took a deep breath, and blew out slowly through pursed lips. It wasn’t just that this girl had suffered. There was something else. He leaned closer to the screen – his eyes tracing over the features of her face. Red hair, a crescent-shaped mouth. What was it? Craig and Jean were silent, but Sam could feel tension emanating from them.
He heard Craig take a deep breath, then felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Sam,” said Craig. Something about the way Craig said his name made Sam’s stomach shrivel to the size of a raisin. Then he said it. “This is your daughter, Lucy. She was killed by Peter Stone.”
***
Sam stared at the flickering pale face on the screen, his jaw slack, his mind empty. Then he shook his head as he realized Craig was bullshitting him. Sam knew Craig was desperate, but nothing made a stunt like this okay.
“I don’t have a daughter you sick bastard,” he said, turning to face Craig.
Craig looked down. When he looked up his eyes were red.
“You had a daughter, my friend.”
He’d gone way too far; even if everything he’d said about Vauxhall Cross and the post-humans was true it didn’t justify this.
“How could I have a fucking daughter? I’ve been in prison for the last ten years.”
“She was ten when she died, Sam. Suzie got pregnant just before Budapest. She was going to tell you when you got back – but you never did.”
A bead of sweat ran down Sam’s back. “Bullshit.”
Craig pushed the laptop closer to Sam. “Look at her. She’s your daughter.”
Sam’s stomach clenched. He didn’t want to look at the screen but couldn’t help himself. There was something familiar… but it was impossible.
“The proof’s there if you need it,” said Craig, producing a piece of paper and laying it on the desk.
Sam’s eyes locked on it. It was a birth certificate. He read it, his heart hammering.
Name: Lucy Barrick
Sex: Female
Born: Fifteenth of January 2015; Central Middlesex Hospital, London.
Father: Sam Barrick; Occupation, Civil Servant
Mother: Suzie Chiltern; Occupation, Civil Servant
He’d been in prison exactly six months on the 15th of January 2015. Suzie would have been three months pregnant when he left for Budapest. Could it be true? No, why would she hide something like that? And this certificate didn’t prove anything. It could have been faked just like the videos, he thought, forgetting that a few seconds ago he’d been sure they were real.
“If you’re thinking this isn’t genuine you’re overestimating us.”
“Of course it’s not fucking genuine.”
“How many things do you think we can fake? Videos, birth certificates, what next? Sure, it would be easy for JIS to put this whole package together to pull the wool over your eyes. But you have to remember I’m not in JIS now. We’re a bunch of renegades with no resources.”
“You don’t need resources to put together a video, and a birth certificate.”
Craig blew out a breath.
“Shit on a stick, Sam, you’re stubborn.”
Then he raised his hands. “Okay, maybe we could have faked all this. But we didn’t. Look at her, Sam. Don’t you recognize your own daughter?”
As Sam turned back to the screen something caught his eye. He grabbed the laptop and pulled it closer. A silver necklace, embedded with blue stones. He hadn’t noticed it before because… well, his eyes had been on her face. It was an odd thing for a ten-year-old girl to be wearing. But there was a very good reason for that. It didn’t belong to her.
He felt a pain in his chest. It was the necklace he’d bought for Suzie on their anniversary. His vision went black. How had Suzie’s necklace ended up on that girl’s neck? Suzie had been over the moon with it. She wouldn’t have given it away to anyone… except maybe her daughter.
Sam felt dizzy. The pain in his chest was getting worse. Craig stole the necklace and planted it on this girl. That was it. He’d faked it, just like everything else. But inside, Sam knew Craig hadn’t faked anything. The dead girl lying on a slab in JIS Medical was his daughter.
As the truth hit home he clenched his fists and craned his neck back. “No!”
***
Sam was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, eyes unfocussed. He’d accepted the truth. He’d had a daughter. He’d missed her birth, her first steps, and her first words because he’d been in a Chinese prison. She’d never known him, and now she never would.
Grief washed over him, through every pore of his body. Suddenly he had to get out of the room, away from that picture on the laptop. He stood up, but his legs buckled. Strong hands grabbed him, guided him back to one of the chairs by Buller’s desk, and sat him back down. He slumped, letting his head fall onto his chest.
“Now, shall I shoot him, Sam?”
Sam hoisted his head up, and squinted through wet eyes. Craig was standing next to Buller on the other side of the desk. He had the Glock pushed up against the PM’s forehead. Buller was in a bad way. The dark rings under his eyes were black now. His saucer eyes were bloodshot, and the bruise over his temple seemed worse than ever. The shirt gag was tied so tightly it had cut into the corners of his mouth. Sam stared at Craig, but didn’t answer. He didn’t really care. The picture of Lucy’s dead body on the mortuary slab burned in his mind. Nothing else mattered.
Craig slid the Glock down the PM’s face and pushed the barrel into his cheek until he groaned.
“Sam, just say the word.”
Jean went over to Craig, and put her hand on his.
“No, Craig, Sam has suffered enough.”
Craig pushed her away. “We’ve all suffered. Suffering is what we have now.”
“Sam has lost his daughter,” said Jean. “Don’t make him do this.”
Craig blew out a breath.
“Buller has to die. Violence is the only language the norms understand.”
“But what about Sam?”
Sam jerked at his name. He’d heard Craig and Jean talking, but their words had seemed distant, like they were on the other side of a thick fog. Much more real to him was the bone-crunching grief flooding through his body.
“Sam needs this. It’s the only way he’ll get closure.”
Craig walked around to Sam’s side of the desk, grabbed his shoulder, and held out the Glock.
“Sam, do it for Lucy.”
He blinked at Craig. Lucy… he’d lost her. He’d never known her and now she was gone. He heard a low moan then realized it had come from his mouth. He just wanted to die. Craig gripped his shoulder hard, pushing the Glock toward him.
“Sam, take the gun.”
Chapter 27
Sam’s tongue felt thick and clumsy.
“What?”
“Take it and shoot the son of a bitch for Lucy.”
Sam took the Glock. He’d had a Glock for years, but it felt odd in his hand now. He imagined shoving the pointy end in his mouth, and pulling the trigger. All this pain would stop. He’d be with Lucy. But before he could, Craig jerked his arm up so the Glock was pointing at Buller’s wide-eyed face.
“Do it, Sam.”
When Sam didn’t respond Craig took the gun from his limp hand and put it on the desk, before turning away in disgust.
Sam stared at th
e Glock. It could take him to Lucy. Robotically he grabbed the Glock off the desk, and turned the barrel toward his face. As his finger found the trigger Craig yanked it from his hand.
“Sam, you stupid son of a bitch.”
Then he grabbed the back of Sam’s head, and shoved the Glock’s barrel into his slack mouth.
“Is this what you want?” he whispered into Sam’s ear. “Shall I blow your fucking brains out?”
Sam grunted a yes, and closed his eyes waiting for the end. Soon he’d be with Lucy. But instead of finding paradise, he felt the Glock’s sight drag along the roof of his mouth as Craig yanked it out.
“You’re too important to die.”
Sam opened his eyes in time to see Craig walk around the desk, drag Buller into the centre of the room, and shove the Glock in his face. Craig’s eyes fixed on Sam.
“This is for Lucy.”
Rage flared in Sam’s chest. How the fuck could Craig say he was killing Buller for Lucy? He was using her name to justify murdering him, when he was going to kill Buller anyway. Lucy had already been used enough. He stood up and faced Craig. The hostages hunkered against the wall behind him like rabbits caught in headlights. Jean stood beside him, her fists clenched.
“One day you’ll thank me for this, Sam,” he said.
“No!” Sam threw himself at Craig. He didn’t know why he was protecting Buller. Some instinct just told him the son of a bitch couldn’t die – not yet. Before he got two steps a searing pain shot through his jaw, bringing him to a sudden stop. Jean was pointing the Glock at his head. Its barrel was red with blood. She’d blind-sided him. She took a step forward.
“Craig was wrong to ask you to kill Buller. But Craig isn’t your enemy, he is,” she said, nodding at the PM.
Sam’s mind was all over the place. Jean was right, Buller was his enemy. So why couldn’t he let Craig kill him? While he was thinking it over Craig nodded a thanks to Jean and shoved the Glock deeper into Buller’s cheek. The PM grunted through his gag, and his eyes expanded to the size of plates.