Extracted

by RR Haywood

  ‘FUCK YOU,’ Konrad roars. ‘FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK—’

  The hiss of air is lost under his booming voice that cuts off as the bullet goes through his heart. He slumps down as the pistol is put to the back of his head and fired. Malcolm screams under the hand over his mouth. Pain in his guts. Pain in his knee.

  ‘What’s on the other side?’ Alpha asks.

  Malcolm closes his eyes. Konrad is dead but Harry and Safa were both dead and Ben got them back. This is not the end. They will come. He jerks sharply, yanking his mouth free to scream out. The gun fires. He slumps dead.

  The assault is coming. She knows that. They are professionals. They move like professionals. They cluster round Konrad and Malcolm like professionals and although she cannot hear the words, she can guess at what is being said. Polite at first, soft and earnest. Threaten death while offering wealth. Play to both fear and greed at the same time.

  Now they have blown their cover. They have assaulted two men in a public street. She looks past the cluster of seven men to the junction and spots more operatives. Men and women looking oh-so-casually in every direction except down the back road. She watches as the long truck slides across the mouth of the junction, blocking any passing motorists’ view. She nods in a show of respect. That was very well-timed. Getting a truck through a city to arrive the second you need it is no easy feat. That tells her they are big. They have resources. She knew they were here. She knew they were watching the warehouse. She watches as the operatives go to a side compartment of the truck and start drawing long-barrelled assault weapons. More operatives converge. More men. More women. She flicks back down to the cluster of seven and tuts sadly at the sight of Konrad shot dead and Malcolm squirming to break free. He too is executed. Time to go.

  Alpha and his four wait. The truck is in position. Operatives come down to scoop the bodies up and carry them back to the truck. Workmen at both sides of the junction unfold huge screens that are fixed from the building line to the sides of the truck, effectively sealing the back road and shielding it from sight of anyone passing.

  Alpha takes his submachine gun and works the parts to check the weapon. Bravo, Charlie, Delta and Echo do the same. They strip their tourist outer jackets off to reveal tight black clothes. Balaclavas are tugged from side pockets and pulled down over heads. Holsters fitted. Pistols slid in. Magazines checked. Stun grenades taken from the truck. They work fast and in silence.

  Alpha steps away to look down the road towards the warehouse. His men gather round him. The extra operatives brought in make ready, tugging down balaclavas in preparation for the assault.

  Bravo looks round. Checking each is in position and ready. He pats Alpha on the shoulder. Alpha raises his right hand and motions ahead. As one they move down towards the warehouse.

  She goes back through the warehouse and down the stairs to the ground floor. She stops to collect what she left earlier then moves along the corridor to the door. She stops, slides a thin metal file from her pocket and bends over with a groan at the stiffness in her lower back. She fiddles with, pokes and works the lock. She stands up, twists the handle, pushes the door open with her foot, picks up the two heavy objects and goes inside. She closes the door with her foot, grimacing at the dull pain in her hips. She waddles down the room, swaying side to side from the weight in her hands.

  She tuts at the blue light bathing the room. She tuts at the objects left scattered everywhere. She tuts at the metal shelving units bolted to the walls filled with diving equipment, black clothes, grey tracksuits, lamps, furnishings, rugs, food, toiletries and everything else five people need to live in a bunker. She is amazed they haven’t put a sign outside saying ‘Time Machine in Here’.

  Alpha leads. Bravo and Charlie right behind him. Delta and Echo out to the sides. They go steady but swift. No point in running now. Move carefully and approach with caution. Not that they need caution. The people who run this place have no security awareness. They have no surveillance awareness. They have no right to be in possession of such a thing.

  That thing is the target. The device must be secured. Above all else, it will be secured.

  She is too old for this. She moves round the room, focusing on the shelves then on the stacks of goods next to the portal. She moves steady but swift. No point in rushing. Move carefully and work with caution. She finishes the first and lifts the second to work into the crevices, the nooks and crannies. Do a thing right. Get it right first time. She lifts her head at the dull clunk reaching her ears and starts moving back towards the blue light.

  Alpha glares at the operative working the lock on the main door. The dull clunk was a schoolboy error. The operative swallows. He has just secured himself a punishment when this mission is over. It’s not his fault though. The lock is really old. He hasn’t done a lock this old for years. He nods and moves back. Alpha nods at the next operative, who pulls the door open as the operatives aim inside the corridor. Not that anyone will be there, but they have skills for a reason and precautions count.

  The outer door is breached. She looks round the room then unzips the compartment on the small black holdall. She reaches in and pulls the weighty object out. She throws the bag through the portal and moves closer to it. She leans through to quickly glimpse the room in the bunker then pulls back into the warehouse. She gains position. One foot through. One foot in the past and one in the future. She tuts again at the analogy that sums up the last few years of her life. One foot in the past. Always one foot in the past. She presses a button on the object in her hands and makes ready.

  Alpha points to the inner door then at the method of entry operative. Alpha motions what will happen if the MOE operative fucks this one up. The operative nods and moves to the door. He drops to a crouch then opens a leather pouch to select the picks he needs. He pushes them into the lock, and barely a click is heard as the lock is undone.

  Barley a click heard, but it’s enough. She smiles and throws the object. A second later she is in the bunker picking up the tablet, which she swipes to break the connection. As the signal is sent and the blue light flickers off one flame comes through, dying the second the light ends.

  Alpha hears the charge being dropped on the floor. Bravo hears it. Charlie hears it. Delta and Echo hear it. They hear it, which is why they are paid more, why they are the elite, why they are selected to do the things they do. They drop as the others move forward towards the door and the room beyond that detonates from the plastic explosives on a timer that ignite the fuel splashed from the cans the woman brought with her. Flame scorches out. The pressure wave is huge. The sound, the heat, the sensation and the vortices created by the explosion kill the other operatives outright. The five move fast. They scrabble to stagger out through the main door as the front wall of the warehouse blows out. Glass and brick flies across the road. The air feeds the flames that roar up into the sky.

  She sighs and looks round. Not a tremor of excitement in her manner. Not a flicker of adrenaline. She moves out to the corridor then up towards the doors to the main room. She came here two nights ago. Roland brought her while everyone was asleep. She saw the bunker and listened to what he said. She showed no reaction. She told Roland to go home and stay away. Then she worked out, as Ben did, how to use the tablet to operate the device. She went home and got the charges she had stored. She also got the nine-mill pistol now held on her hip in the holster. She came back and spent the rest of her time monitoring and assessing. She wanted to see for herself. It is always best to see for yourself. What she saw did not impress her. She was not appalled, as to be appalled you have to have an emotional range, which, after the life she has led, she does not have. She prepared and made ready. It was obvious what was going to happen. Using one staging area was a ridiculous idea, but at least that entry point is now negated.

  In the main room she nods at Doctor Watson and heads to the big table, where she takes an apple and bites down. She chews methodically as the doctor stares wide-eyed and shocked.

&n
bsp; ‘They awake?’ she asks.

  He nods. He spots the pistol on her hip and wonders if he should do something, say something.

  She clocks what he sees and swallows the mouthful. ‘On your side,’ she says, her voice deep and very American. Doctor Watson nods quickly. Rendered silent by the sight of her. She is of average height and average build. She looks tanned and healthy but jaded and worn. She could be anywhere from fifty to sixty-five years old. Dark blonde hair streaked with grey pulled back in a simple ponytail away from a face lined from a life lived. Cold grey eyes stare out, but the intelligence is deep.

  ‘You the doc?’ she asks.

  He nods again. Still unable to find his voice.

  ‘Sciatica,’ she says, patting her hip. ‘Shrapnel . . .’

  He lifts his head. ‘Right,’ he says.

  ‘Age is a state of mind,’ she says, more to herself, as she moves to the door. ‘That’s what they told me.’

  She goes through to the corridor and up towards the door, following the sound of their voices. She goes slow, listening to absorb the conversation. When she gets near she stops.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Safa asks.

  ‘Yes,’ Ben says. ‘From the supermarket. Genetically modified, steroid-injected, DNA something fruit . . .’

  ‘Urgh.’ Safa’s voice carries from the room. ‘Don’t know if I still like it now.’

  ‘And the water we thought was super-nice?’ Ben says.

  ‘Oh, don’t tell me,’ Safa moans.

  ‘Tap water. They run a pipe and fill tanks.’

  They did, the woman muses to herself, taking another bite of the apple.

  ‘German tap water?’

  ‘Er, yeah,’ Ben says. ‘It’s just water though.’

  Three voices tell her they are all inside one room. She resumes walking and swallows the mouthful as she stops to stare in.

  The three rise fast. The three rise as one. The three freeze at the sight of the woman eating the apple and the pistol on her hip.

  She nods and bites into the fruit. She chews and takes them in. ‘Hey,’ she says with a mouthful of apple. She swallows and looks at them. ‘I’m your new boss . . .’

  About the Author

  RR Haywood is a long-standing and highly successful Amazon author. He is the creator of the bestselling series The Undead, a self-published British zombie horror series that has become a cult hit with a readership that defies generations and gender.

  Living in an underground cave, away from the spy satellites and invisible drones sent to watch over us by the BBC, he works a full-time job, has four dogs and lots of tattoos. He is also a certified, badged and registered hypochondriac, for which he blames the invisible BBC drones.

  Should you not have a drone to hand, you can find him at www.rrhaywood.com.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Contents

  Prologue

  2046

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  About the Author