Better Than Human

by Matt Stark

  He squeezed back, grateful – ignoring the obvious contradiction in what she’d said. Because Peter might very well have already hurt Lucy. He might have cut her skull open and…

  The carriage rattled again and Sam looked up to see the sign for Camden Station disappearing as they headed into the blackness of the tunnel. Five stops – about ten minutes to Highgate.

  A few minutes later Sam noticed Craig checking his cell phone. It was the fourth time he’d done it since they’d set off from Downing Street. Sam still didn’t trust Craig, and if he was in touch with someone Sam wanted to know who. But before he could confront him the train pulled into Highgate Station. Sam didn’t have time to mess around with Craig now or wonder why they’d gotten into Highgate so quickly. He was at the carriage doors before the train stopped moving, and squeezing through the gap before they were halfway open. He jumped onto the platform. Then, following the exit signs, he sprinted down corridors before racing up the escalator three steps at a time – pushing startled commuters aside as he did. When he reached the main road outside Highgate Station he stopped dead.

  No, No. I don’t want to go with you.

  Lucy’s voice was so ear-splittingly loud, for a moment Sam thought he was having a stroke. He pressed his hands against his temples. Not because he was trying to control the pain. Right now he didn’t give a damn about his own suffering. He just wanted to reduce the damn throbbing in his head so he wouldn’t miss her next words.

  Daddy!

  Sam felt like a bomb had gone off inside his brain. Breathing out through pursed lips he closed his eyes and sent back a thought – hoping he still had the ability to communicate with her.

  Lucy! Lucy! I’m coming!

  He stood motionless – listening, eyes closed, forehead screwed up in concentration – for a long painful moment. But his mind was silent. He opened his eyes, cursing. Lucy hadn’t heard him because his fucking ability was still off. He’d known it had been off since Downing Street but hoped he might still have been able to communicate with Lucy. He would have given anything, including his health, but what he wanted seemed to have little bearing on it.

  Sam pushed a shaky hand through his hair and looked up to the dull grey London sky. He felt like screaming in frustration. But he knew that would be as futile as any attempt to turn his telepathy back on. He pinched the bridge of his nose hard between his finger and thumb, using the pain to focus.

  Somehow Lucy was able to transmit to him, but he couldn’t communicate with her. That was a fact. But it didn’t help him. His only option was to get to the safe house before Lucy was moved.

  “Sam?”

  It was Jean’s voice. He spun around. Jean and Craig faced him, a little out of breath.

  “Where’s the safe house?” said Sam.

  Craig pointed up the road. It was lined with run-down Victorian terrace houses, and full of commuter traffic.

  “It’s number 323 on the other side of the road.”

  Sam started running before Craig finished his sentence, with Lucy’s screams echoing around his mind. Peter might need her alive but that didn’t mean the son of a bitch couldn’t hurt her.

  Sam sprinted across the road dodging an HGV truck and a black cab. On the other side he ducked his head and pumped his legs and arms as hard as he could, but felt like he was running through treacle. He had to reach the safe house before Lucy was moved or he’d be fucked. Peter wouldn’t use another JIS safe house after this one had been compromised. And Sam would have no idea where to start looking. He glanced at the house numbers as he ran past – squinting because he didn’t want to slow down.

  300, 302. Almost there.

  No! Lucy’s voice screamed in Sam’s head – so loud he almost vomited with the pain.

  Shut up, brat, said a harsh cockney male voice.

  Sam’s heart was thrashing about in his chest. His throat felt like it was in a vice.

  Let me out! Let me out! cried Lucy.

  Before the meaning of Lucy’s words sunk in Sam was at the house. There was no point messing around with the door. It wasn’t like the movies, where you could just kick it in. These old Victorian properties had solid hardwood doors, deadlocks and safety chains. They wouldn’t just collapse if you gave them a couple of kicks. He jumped over a wall bordering a tiny unkempt garden, and ran to the front window.

  He broke the glass with one heavy blow from his elbow, then reached through the hole and opened the latch cutting himself because he hadn’t bothered to clear away the glass properly. It took three attempts to hoist up the old sash window. It finally gave way with a loud crack like it hadn’t been open in decades.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” said Craig’s panting voice from behind Sam. Sam didn’t even bother to turn around. He only answered in case Craig was so worried about making a covert entry he’d try to stop Sam.

  “They’re moving her,” he said, as he climbed into the house. “No time to be quiet.”

  Sam jumped into the front room, holding onto the top of the sash beam as he did. He landed with a crunch on some paper carrier bags and quickly surveyed the room. Worn leather sofa, Indian takeaway boxes, stained carpet and a widescreen TV. One door: closed.

  As Craig and Jean climbed through the window behind him, Sam forced himself to stand still and listen. He wanted to tear through the house until he found Lucy. But rushing into a bullet wouldn’t help her.

  The house was silent. He couldn’t hear Lucy.

  Sam clenched his jaw.

  Fuck.

  He raced forward, flung open the door, pelted up the stairs and found a bedroom with wire ties left on the bed, but no sign of Lucy. He must have missed her by seconds. Breathing hard now he ran back downstairs into a narrow galley kitchen, facing onto a long thin strip of garden. The kitchen door was open, as was the gate at the bottom of the garden path. Cursing he sprinted out the kitchen, down the garden path, jumping over piles of crap blocking it, through to the alleyway beyond and stopped.

  The alley stretched fifty yards in each direction. A chest-high wall bordered rows of strip gardens leading to identical houses much like the safehouse. There were plenty of escape routes. Even with Jean and Craig he’d never cover them all.

  He slammed his hands against his head. “No!”

  Lucy was gone – and without her voice in his mind, he had no way of finding her. What the fuck was he going to do?

  Craig and Jean ran panting into the alley, stopping dead when they saw Sam.

  “She’s not in the house,” said Craig.

  Sam flicked a glance at Craig. He didn’t have time for this shit now.

  “She was here. Moments ago.”

  For once Craig didn’t argue. He just nodded. Maybe he believed Sam now. But Sam was past caring whether Craig Glaser believed him.

  “We have to find her before Peter does,” he said.

  “How?” said Craig.

  Sam looked down the empty alleyway, and then over the endless rows of gardens. There was only one way. Telepathy. Problem was, his ability was switched off and he had absolutely no idea how to switch it back on.

  He pushed past Craig and Jean back into the garden, trying to gather his thoughts. His ability had been strongest when he was angry. When Craig used Lucy to justify killing Buller he’d gone apeshit, and that had woken his damn ability up big time. Then his power had fed off the mental image of Lucy’s dead body in the mortuary until he almost brought down Number Ten. He clenched his fists. Rage. That was the key. If he wanted to talk to Lucy – he had to get angry. Very angry. He might not be able to control his power once he’d triggered it. But right now he didn’t give a shit.

  Craig and Jean had followed him into the garden, and were looking at him with a mixture of pity and caution.

  “What now?” said Craig.

  Sam shoved Craig in the chest.

  “Hit me.”

  “What?”

  “Hit me.”

  “Why the fuck would I do that?”

&nbs
p; “It will help Lucy. Just trust me, okay?”

  “How the hell…?” said Craig, shaking his head.

  Jean touched Craig’s shoulder. “I think I understand. Do it.”

  Craig gave Jean the goggle-eyed what the hell are you talking about? look Sam had so far only seen directed at him. Sam tensed, hoping Jean could work her magic on Craig like she had in Number Ten. Jean rubbed the back of Craig’s neck and spoke into his ear like she had in Buller’s office. Then, shaking his head, Craig stepped away from Jean toward Sam, and punched him in the nose. Sam’s head rocked back but he easily stayed on his feet. It was a short jab, accurate but with no power. Sam didn’t need to check if his ability was back on. He wasn’t angry enough. Not even close.

  “Again,” he said. “Harder.”

  “Okay,” replied Craig, shaking his head again. “If that’s what you want.

  Craig must have thought Sam had lost it but he diligently punched him in the mouth – another jab, but he got his shoulder into it this time, and knocked Sam back a step. But Sam’s ability was still very much off. He wiped blood off his lip, and stepped forward into Craig’s range again.

  “Harder.”

  “Come on, Sam. What’s this all about?”

  “Just hit me, you bearded son of a bitch. And I don’t mean another one of those woozy arm punches.”

  The next one, an uppercut, knocked him flat on his back. He’d forgotten how good a right hand Craig had. When he opened his eyes Craig was standing over him.

  “That’s enough, Sam,” he said. “This ends here – until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Sam looked up at Craig. It wasn’t enough. He still couldn’t hear Craig’s thoughts.

  He sat up.

  “You know I’ve always thought Jean was a great piece of ass,” he said slowly, through a blood-filled mouth.

  Craig’s brow furrowed. He looked more confused than angry. Not the reaction Sam wanted. So he pushed his face into what he hoped was a convincing leer.

  “I’d like to bend her over and stick her – right here.”

  Jean was shaking her head. “No, Sam, please.”

  Craig’s jaw clenched. He loved Jean, and had always been very protective of her. Sam hoped he still was. He looked directly at Craig.

  “Like I did before we went to Budapest.”

  Craig’s face reddened.

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you know? Jean and I had a thing going. We were at it for years – every chance we got – washrooms, the backseat of my BMW, your Alfa Romeo. Jesus, we must have broken the world record for alfresco sex.”

  Craig’s eyes were jumping out of his head. His face was beetroot red, his jaw grinding.

  Sam pulled himself to his feet and lurched toward Jean. Craig’s boot hit his gut before he’d taken two steps. Then he was on his back again, with Craig on his chest, raining blows over his face.

  “Fucking bastard,” he screamed in a frenzy.

  It must have been thirty seconds before Jean pulled him off. As Sam lay on the ground trying to breathe through bloody nostrils Jean touched his face.

  “Sam, I’m so sorry. “ She didn’t ask him why he’d lied. She was a smart cookie.

  He smiled. “No need to be sorry.”

  And there wasn’t, because at some point during Craig’s attack Sam’s ability had switched on. He could feel it now, coursing through him.

  He sat up and closed his eyes.

  Lucy, can you hear me?

  Yes, Daddy!

  He blew out a very big breath. She was alive. Now he had to make the most of this chance. He had no idea how long the link would last.

  Where are you?

  I don’t know!

  Something was wrong. She sounded groggy – like she’d just woken up.

  What can you see?

  Nothing. It’s dark.

  Sam ground the heel of his hand into his forehead. Jean was asking him if he was okay, but he ignored her, and sent back a thought to Lucy. He had to know if she was nearby.

  Are you moving?

  No, I’m lying down. It’s dark. Sam tensed at the panic in her voice. He was trying to keep a lid on his feelings. If he could sense her emotions, she could probably sense his. And he didn’t want to scare her any more than she was already.

  Daddy, the air feels wrong.

  What do you mean?

  It’s kind of stale… like smelly socks.

  Then Sam realized something was wrong with Lucy’s breathing. It was way too fast. It could have just been fear, but he had a bad feeling it wasn’t. He didn’t know what made him ask the next question.

  Lucy, stretch your hands up above your head and tell me what you find.

  After a brief moment Lucy’s voice came back fast and loud.

  Daddy, there’s something hard. It’s …wooden – like a lid.

  A cold ball of fear formed in his stomach. He knew where she was now. He’d heard rumours back in the day that Peter had taken “extreme measures” to deal with a particularly nasty New IRA cell. In late 2016 the New IRA kidnapped Peter’s sister-in-law. They took her to an isolated spot in the middle of the Brecon Beacons, and buried her alive in a pine coffin. She’d taken six hours to suffocate. Afterwards they found gouges half an inch deep in the soft wooden lid. Peter tracked down the six cell members, including Paddy Burke, a Brigade Commander. But there were no long court cases or prison sentences. Not even a bullet in the back of the head. Sam heard Myther Tydfil’s oldest undertaker had an unusual order for six identical pine coffins, picked up by a middle-aged man with a crumpled face and a receding hairline. He had been wrong about Peter. He wasn’t worried about keeping Lucy alive. And right now she was suffocating somewhere in a pine box. Sam fought to stop the panic overtaking him.

  Lucy. It’s okay. I’m going to get you out of there.

  He opened his eyes and pushed himself up on his feet. Jean and Craig were staring at him like he’d gone mad.

  “Sorry about your face,” said Craig. Jean must have told him Sam was playacting. But Sam didn’t have time to mess around with Craig’s guilty conscience.

  “Lucy’s alive,” he said, his mind frantically trying to work out how he was going to find her before it was too late.

  “But…?” said Jean.

  Sam couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice.

  “She’s been buried alive.”

  It took a heartbeat for Craig’s expression to go from confusion to disbelief then fury.

  “We’ll find her,” he said, “and make Peter fucking Stone pay.”

  Before Sam could answer Lucy’s voice hit him again like a freight train.

  Daddy. I’m scared.

  He sent back a reply.

  Hang on, Lucy. Daddy’s coming.

  But first he had to work out where she was. Lucy couldn’t help him now, but there had to be something in the house that would. Something the cockney bastard who’d been holding her had left behind. He ran back to the kitchen, Craig and Jean in tow, knowing he had to ignore the almost overwhelming urge to go running after Lucy. Once inside he scanned the scruffy galley kitchen, forcing himself to be slow and methodical. Unwashed dishes sat in the sink along with the remains of several Indian takeaways and empty bottles of Stella. On the tiled floor Cockney Bastard’s size 11 footprints traced a path to the garden.

  Sam stood at the sink looking out over it. His gut told him the information he needed was here… somewhere. For some reason he was drawn to the garden. A ten-yard strip of dirt, divided in two by a concrete path, which led through a gate to the alley beyond. The garden earth was khaki brown near the house, but dark – almost black – near the far wall. A black plastic wheelie bin sat to the right of the gate by the wall. On the left of the path was an old wooden shed. Two shovels and a rake leaned against it.

  Daddy, I’m scared.

  Her voice knocked Sam out of his trance. He took a deep breath in and let it out very slowly, trying to ignore the pain in his chest.


  I’ll be with you soon, darling. I just need you to stay calm for me. Can you do that?

  I’ll try.

  Good girl.

  Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Come on, Sam, the answer is here in front of you.

  His eyes ran feverishly back and forth over the garden – what was he missing?

  Daddy! My breathing is funny.

  Jean and Craig joined Sam in the kitchen but he ignored them. Swallowing hard he forced himself to stand still and study the garden. A shed, shovels, a concrete path leading to a gate… his eyes darted back to the shovels. There was something about… One of them was covered in dark black earth the same as... Sam’s eyes ran over the garden, stopping at the black soil near the wall. His face went slack.

  You fucking idiot, Barrick.

  He’d been blind to the obvious because he was sure Lucy had left the house. But she never had. She’d been here all along. Frantically Sam pushed past Craig and Jean into the garden and grabbed the dirty shovel.

  Lucy, I’m coming, he sent to her.

  But this time she didn’t answer.

  “Shit shit shit.”

  He sprinted to the black earth near the far wall and the wheelie bin, selected the darkest patch and dug the shovel in. Then he dug like only a soon-to-be-bereft father could – his eyes burning with tears.

  Lucy, stay with me, stay with me.

  Chapter 32

  Peter powered along Camden Road in his Jaguar. He hadn’t driven himself for years but hadn’t wanted to risk anything about today’s proceedings getting into the public domain. Everything that happened today had to be contained – at all costs.

  He’d done things he wasn’t proud of. He hadn’t necessarily agreed with the methods or liked what he’d had to do, but everything he’d done had been necessary to protect humanity. He’d known about the post-human experiments, and he’d told Sam nothing. But he’d made sure the surgeons kept away from Lucy, and she hadn’t had the same drug treatment as all the others. Guilt had made him do that at least. And of course he hadn’t moved Lucy to the safe house. That had been Craig Glaser – not him personally but one of his goons.