by Phil Hurst
“Time for a fight?” he asked.
“You had better believe it,” Lana said, and the Unjudged gathered around. “The arrows will keep the drones busy. We get close to their base, and we trigger the pulsar.”
“The tide’s out,” Ben said. “We should be able to get quite close before we have to get wet.”
“Let’s go,” Lana ordered. She dug the pike into the sand and held the pulsar above her head. The Unjudged around her cheered and started to run towards the pier.
Most of them appeared to have upgraded their weapons upon reaching Cromer. They had a combination of firearms from various historical periods, no doubt borrowed from local residents’ houses. Some fired into the air as they ran, momentarily lighting up their faces with the flash of their weapons. Lana slowed slightly as she dodged the debris of the previous night’s bombing. One of the Unjudged tripped on a piece of wood and fell into the wet sand. Ben pulled the man to his feet and slapped him on the back, continuing his charge.
As they got closer, three drones took off. They turned in the air and flew towards the onrushing squad. There were three of them, each armed with a small rotating machine gun in its underbelly and a small searchlight, checking for targets.
The drones fired a warning round, and the bullets hit the beach in front of them, creating a wall of disrupted sand. Before the sand had fallen to the ground Lana and the others had passed by. She wiped her forearm across her face to clear her vision and screamed. The others did the same.
Behind the drones, the next volley of arrows slammed into the pier. In a stroke of good fortune, one errant arrow landed on one of the drones. Lana heard the cheer from the top of the cliff. The drone shook under the impact. It hovered for a moment as if it were unsure of the damage it had sustained. Fire bloomed across its back. It tried to move forward but instead plummeted to the beach and exploded, sending another cloud of sand into the air.
The other Buzzards moved back to the burning pier as their programming recognised an immediate threat to their home base. They deployed their fire extinguishers again to stop the pier from burning further.
Lana and the others reached the water. They waded in and pushed against the tide. Waves splashed against their legs, slowing their progress. Lana saw a metal support that had an old maintenance ladder attached to it and shouted at the rest of the team. Two Unjudged reacted quickest and pushed ahead of everyone else.
They reached the intact section of the pier. Lana knew that she could fire the pulser now, but they were still not close enough to the auditorium to stop all the drones. There could be more, in backup, waiting to take the places of the ones they had seen.
With a buzzing they could barely hear, the two remaining Buzzards dropped down on either side of the attackers, having completed their fire-fighting duties from the pier above. They hovered as their tactical AI assessed the situation. Then the searchlights locked on to the two Unjudged leading the way. There was a clatter as the guns fired, and the two attackers threw their hands up and screamed, red patches spreading across their back. For a moment, they continued to move forward, wobbling but carried by the momentum of their charge. Then they fell face first into the water. Lana had to push them to the side as she moved past them.
Now up to her waist in the sea, Lana continued charging towards the maintenance ladder. Ben had kept up with her. One of the attackers had stopped running, shin deep in the water, and he was aiming his gun at the drones. His weapon was loud, and he fired constantly. But he couldn’t hit anything with it, and Lana winced as she heard the drones fire again. The noise of the revolver stopped. Lana didn’t dare turn around.
“Fire the pulser,” Ben said. “None of us get out of here otherwise.”
“Not yet,” Lana panted, still pushing through the water. She knew they had no response to the drones, and as the water got deeper, they were only going to become easier to hit. She felt her finger slip over the activation button on the pulser but kept it still.
There was a respite as arrows hit the pier again. The drones vanished to fight the fires. Embers fell between the cracks in the planks in front of them, but with a burst of CO2, Lana heard the Buzzards put out most of the fires. Ben stopped running.
“Lana!”
She carried on wading.
“Lana, push the button!”
The last of the flames went out above their heads. The maintenance hatch was still 30 yards away. They were sitting ducks. Lana dived into the water in front of her and started to swim.
“You’re killing us,” Ben shouted. “Press the button!”
Lana looked back.
“Push the button, Lana,” Ben repeated. His voice was strained, scared.
“Keep moving,” she shouted back. “I have to get close to the auditorium before…”
Behind Ben, Lana saw the drones swoop down. Once again, they took a moment to assess the situation. The searchlights both locked on to Ben. Then they tilted from left to right and started firing. Ben shuddered as bullets cut through him, appearing out of the front of his chest. The water kept him suspended upright, and in the light from the drones, Lana could see him accusing her with empty eyes. Then he fell forward, the waves pushing him towards her.
Lana turned and swam as quickly as she could. She had to make the ladder. If she didn’t then she wouldn’t get close enough to the auditorium and all the pulser would do would be take out the drones around her. The other Unjudged would have died for nothing. She had to get there.
She put her hand on the first rung of the ladder. As she hauled herself out of the water, she looked behind the support and saw the two drones. They had flown over the pier and approached from in front of her. Her proximity to the metal support had confused them for a second, but now they had her firmly in their sights.
Lana stared them down as they moved closer. Then she glanced at the bodies lying in the water between her and beach. When she turned back, the drones were in firing range and the guns beneath their bodies had moved to point at her. The searchlights blinded her. She knew she was too far away from the theatre to damage any backup drones. The mission would be a failure.
She pressed the button on the pulser.
The invisible EMP wave spread out, disabling the drones just as they began to fire. The one farthest from her got a bullet away before its circuits were fried, and Lana felt a sharp pain in her left arm as it whizzed past. Both drones’ engines stopped almost immediately. The machines fell into the water below.
She threw the used pulser into the water and began to climb the ladder. It was time to take the fight to the reckoners. Above her, an arrow smacked into the pier’s decking. It caught fire, covering the hatch she could have used to get up to the top. She tried to climb higher, but the arrow had been coated with oil, and the dry wooden pier was consequently burning at a high intensity.
There was an explosion, and the hatch was shredded. A booby trap. Lana had to cover her eyes from the falling debris. The heat became too much, and she had to let go of the ladder. She fell back towards the water, with her face momentarily warmed by the fire above her. She landed on Ben’s body, and her weight pushed him under the sea. When he resurfaced, his eyes were open, staring at her, still accusing her.
She lay on her back and swam to the shore. The whole pier was alight and burning intensely. She could feel the heat from it even from the water. More arrows thudded into the structure, this time closer to the auditorium.
She was confused. Why weren’t the reckoners putting out the fire? Why weren’t they ordering the other drones to return to help? She reached the shallow water and started to wade back to the beach. More burning arrows slammed into the pier. One missed and hit one of the dead Unjudged. Even though he was soaking wet, the oil made his T-shirt burn.
The archers had taken it in turn to fire and move closer to the shore. Now almost all of them were standing on the beach next to the hut, gleefully loading their weapons and firing as quickly as they could. Lana crawled on to the san
d and watched the pier intently. At any moment, she expected to see the large drones head back and put the fire out. At any moment, she expected to see the reckoners make a break for freedom.
There was no movement from the pier. The fire spread and devoured the bar and then the theatre. Still, there was no movement. Then with a massive creak, the structure began to fall into the water: first, the walkways closer to the shore, then the shelters and then the buildings. They all crumbled under the weight of the fire before falling into the sea. Steam billowed into the sky, joining the plumes of smoke that were illuminated by the light of the flames below.
Lana felt a hand on her shoulder. “We got them,” Marie said. More loud groans and crashing noises heralded the ongoing death of the pier.
Lana shook her head. “Something’s not right,” she said. “Why haven’t they tried to escape?”
“The fire went fast. Maybe they didn’t have time.”
“No,” Lana watched as a burning Unjudged body floated towards the steam. “We missed them.”
Jules
T he hatch to the basement opened, and a shaft of light broke through the gloom. Jules and his team hid in the shadows and watched as a drunk Unjudged man half-climbed and half-fell down the steep stairs. He reached the floor, looked around for a light switch and flicked it.
Nothing happened. The reckoner team had been quick to disconnect the lights when they had crawled into the Hotel de Paris’ basement. They wanted the advantage of better night vision than anyone who stumbled upon them before they were ready to act. Artur was the exception, as he was controlling the drones until they ran out of power from a small display. They had hidden him in an alcove and covered his head with a sheet to stop the light from spreading. He’d told them about the destruction of the pier, and the four of them had enjoyed the thought of the Unjudged undertaking a fruitless search for their bodies.
The man clicked the switch twice more before giving up. He walked into the darkness with his arms outstretched for protection. He shuffled his feet as he walked, splashing through the stale puddles that had collected on the old stone floor.
When the drunk had moved far enough away from the shaft of light from the hatch to not be seen from above, Udan grabbed him. With lightning-fast movement, he wrapped his arm around the man’s waist, trapping his arms by his side. With his free hand, he covered the man’s mouth. For a second, the Unjudged didn’t seem to understand what was going on. Then his eyes went wide and he started to struggle.
Jules emerged from his hiding place. He leaned forward and grabbed the man’s hair, holding his head upright. He stopped struggling and looked at Jules with terror in his eyes.
“What’s your name?” Jules asked the man. Udan moved his hand.
The man started to shout, but they had been ready for that. He threw a strong punch into the man’s chest. There was a crack. At least one of his ribs broke. Udan covered the man’s mouth again so his cries couldn’t be heard in the hotel above. It took their prisoner a while to regain his composure. Jules waited patiently and then grabbed his hair again.
“What’s your name?” he repeated. Udan moved his hand.
The man whimpered: “Dave.”
“Dave. Good. I’m Jules.”
Jules pointed around the room: “There are four of us down here. Even if you were somehow able to get away from me and Udan, there are two other men here who are able to break a man’s neck with one hand.”
A slight exaggeration but not too far-fetched to be unbelievable. He’d never seen Artur kill anyone with anything other than a drone, but he didn’t doubt the man’s ability.
“Do you understand?” Jules asked.
“Yes,” Dave said. Jules felt tension in his hand as his prisoner tried to nod.
“Dave, you know who we are?”
“If you let me go, I’ll not say anything. I’ll…”
Jules pulled Dave’s hair to the side. Dave moaned in pain.
“Answer the question, Dave.”
“No,” Dave said, practically spitting the words. “I don’t know who you are.”
“Fucking hell, Dave. Don’t you know anything?”
He shook his head again. Jules laughed.
“I’ll give you a hint.”
Jules held up his arm. The URC tattoo contrasted against his skin.
Dave’s eyes widened: “I just watched the pier burn. You’re dead.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Jules said as he hit him in the stomach again. As much as he could in the forced embrace of Udan, Dave leaned forward after the impact, coughing.
Jules was impatient, desperate to get out of the hotel’s basement as fast as possible. It had not been a pleasant place to hide. It appeared that, among the beer kegs, every rat in Cromer had gathered to give the reckoners, all of whom were still drying off from their swim, an uncomfortable night.
Jules had argued against the order to relocate when it came through. He had tried to tell command it wasn’t possible, that they should stay where they were. He tried to explain to Commander Titus that he was in control of the situation and that the pier was a perfect hiding spot. He explained the defensive strength of the position and how they had fortified it. Titus insisted and threatened them all with tagging if they refused. He had also given them a new wild goose chase: looking for a machine that sucked up souls.
Jules felt he was being made a fool of. It all seemed like a conspiracy to get him and his men killed.
Nevertheless, once night fell and as the waves of high tide had reached their zenith, the four reckoners had attached breathing apparatus, cut a hole in the floor of the theatre and one by one dropped into the freezing water. They left almost all their weapons behind. All they had was a head torch each, a set of wire cutters and a small display to maintain a link to the drones, which were set to operate on autopilot until Artur could get somewhere safe.
They found the outlet pipe with ease. It was ancient and had just enough room for them to fit through. Jules had never suffered from claustrophobia before, but after the experience of being in the pipe, he was certain he would for the rest of his life. It was pitch black, and their head torches barely cut through the thick air. It was slimy with moss and seaweed and crawling with shrimp and other creatures he couldn’t identify. Every time he put his hand down to pull himself along, he thought he felt something crawl over his fingers.
Halfway through the tunnel, everything around him started to smell like metal. He didn’t like to think what banned substances were being used in old pipes like the one he was crawling through. In front of him, the massive bulk of Udan occasionally stopped to squeeze through a gap. Behind him, Artur blocked his retreat. At one point, Udan stopped for almost five minutes, and Jules was certain that he was going to run out of air. Then they started moving again, and after cutting through the wire barrier that had caused the delay, they were able to find a maintenance room used to check the sewer, with access to the street above.
Artur’s display showed they were a two-minute walk from the Hotel de Paris. They didn’t meet another soul as they walked, dripping wet, to the hotel. Once they reached the delivery hatch for the hotel bar, it only took a minute for Udan to prise it open and let them all drop, unseen, into the basement. They had been waiting a while for their first catch. And now they had one.
“I’m not telling you anything,” Dave said.
“I’ve barely even asked you anything yet,” Jules responded before striking him across the face. A trickle of blood appeared from Dave’s nose. Jules watched it run down across his pursed lips. It started to drip on to the floor. Dave looked up.
“Go to hell,” he said, spitting blood in Jules’ direction. Udan squeezed him harder, and Dave gasped for air.
“I think you should seriously consider answering our questions. Wix, what do you think?”
From Dave’s left, Wix appeared out of the shadows, offering: “He looks like scum.”
“Well, yes,” Jules agreed, and he punched Dave in
the stomach again. “That goes without saying. But what do you think I should ask him?”
Wix grinned: “I know what I’d ask him.”
“By all means.”
Wix stepped between Dave and Jules. Jules stepped backward to allow the man some room.
“Do you enjoy steak?” He asked.
Dave glared at them: “Go to hell.”
Jules moved quickly and punched him in the face, catching him on the left cheek. Wix did the same, catching him on the right. Some of Dave’s teeth fell from his mouth. They had smashed his jaw.
“I hope he didn’t like steak,” Wix said, stepping on Dave’s teeth and grinding them into the ground beneath his shoes.
“I hope he can still talk,” Jules replied. Wix stepped to the side, and Jules leaned back in. “I need to know where the soul-catching weapon is. I’m just telling you what I need. And if I don’t get what I need, I’m going to have to start breaking fingers. Do you understand?”
Dave spat on the floor. Blood spattered across the wet floor. A few more teeth also escaped his mouth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dave said. Suddenly the look of defiance on his face had turned to one of fear. Jules’ training allowed him to recognise how the shift in people’s attitudes could end an interrogation before it had begun. Therefore, he understood that the fearful look on Dave’s face wasn’t anything to do with the potential pain Jules and his team would inflict. The fear came from his not knowing the answer to the question and thinking he was about to die. Slowly.
Jules reached into the air above Dave’s head and smashed his fist down on to the top of his head. This time, Udan let go and Dave buckled under the impact, collapsing on to first his knees and then his face. His hands reached up to the back of his head as he tried to protect it from any more attacks.
Jules knew he could have ended the interrogation there and then. Given the amount of time his team had spent in the basement, a low-level Unjudged with no information was an uninspiring return on investment. Jules knew he would have to change his approach. He asked Udan to pick Dave up and hold him against a rack of kegs.