by Phil Hurst
“What are you going to do now?” Paige asked.
Lana tapped her neck: “They gave me an implant.”
“Welcome to the civilised world,” Paige said.
Lana grunted.
Paige swung her legs out of the bed. Lana reached over and clicked on a small lamp on the bedside table. Her face was bathed in an orange glow from the old-fashioned light bulb. Paige looked at the wound on her hand, turning it over as if it were an alien creature.
“What happened here?” Paige asked, holding the hand up to Lana.
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember Jules shooting you.”
Lana’s leg ached despite its absence, a problem she found ridiculous. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk.”
She opened the door to the bedroom. Behind her, Paige stood up and started to put on the backpack.
“You’re taking the backpack?”
Paige looked over her shoulder. “Oh,” she said, confused by her own action. “I guess I am.”
They left the bedroom and made their way out of the stately home. As they passed each room, Lana saw a mixture of hope and despair in the body language. Some of the Unjudged were packing, hoping to head to unreckoned lands overseas. Helsinki was popular. Malta was more difficult to get to but a more pleasant place to stay during the resistance.
They passed the historic armoury. It had been cleaned out by the Unjudged before they had occupied Cromer. Those who chose to come back had returned some of the weapons, but the collection would never again reach the numbers its previous owner had accumulated.
Lana held the door for Paige, and they walked into what had once been perfectly manicured gardens. Recently, the Unjudged had let weeds take over, but the collection of plants was still impressive in full bloom.
Below their feet, roses snaked across the gravel path towards a small fountain. Underneath the cascading water, Oliver sat, head bowed, in great meditation. He was drenched, and his long dark hair and clothes were stuck to him. Paige stopped walking when she saw him.
“He almost killed me,” she said.
“Oliver knows more than he should,” Lana said. “And it is taking its toll. But he will control it one day.”
“What happens then?”
Lana didn’t have an answer. Their conversation had disturbed Oliver. He stood up and walked through the fountain towards them. He stepped out of the water and stood in front of them, dripping wet but without shivering.
“Paige,” he said. “Thank you for seeing me. I thought, before you left, that I would wish you luck.”
“Before I left?”
“You understand that you must,” he pointed to the backpack. “What you have discovered has great power—far too great to fall into the hands of the reckoners. And we, here, in these grand surroundings, are on borrowed time.”
Paige shook her head: “I’m no one important. And my mother…”
Oliver smiled sweetly: “Your mother is safe. For the moment.”
“How do you know?”
“Please believe me,” he said. He turned his body and lifted the hair around his neck into a ball. Beneath his right ear, there was a huge scar that twisted around his body and continued down his spine.
“Tumi has plans that we have not yet started to understand.” He pointed to the bag. “Whatever the head is, whoever it is, could change the course of our war. Please. Help us, and we will get your mother back safely.”
Paige closed her eyes: “Do I have a choice?”
“I’ll get your mother back, Paige.”
The voice came from behind them. Lana saw Ed walking towards the fountain. He was no longer the man he had been when she had first met him. Something had changed in him. When they first met, Lana had been going through the bins outside his apartment. She had expected to be chased off, shouted at or even hurt. But the retired reckoner had just squatted next to her and asked her name. He had been gentle, calm and considered. That softer edge had gone with Takhir’s death.
Lana saw Paige’s eyes fill with tears.
“I should do it,” Paige said.
Ed put his hand on Paige’s shoulder.
“I know their weapons, I know their tactics and I know their weaknesses.” Ed’s voice was deep and unsettling, even to Lana. “I’ll find your mother, and I’ll get her to safety.”
An explosion echoed across the gardens. They turned towards the noise.
“We held them back as long as we could.” Oliver said. “But they are determined to finish The Unjudged.”
Lana took a deep breath. More people were dying because of her. “We’re running out of time,” she said.
Oliver took a soaking-wet display from his pocket. Somehow, it still turned on. He flicked the screen, and an image of an attractive young man with a thick red beard appeared.
“This is Henrick,” he said. “He is brilliant and has studied the work of Maximus Tumi his entire life. He claims to be able to reverse-engineer any reckoner technology. Take him the head. Test his claim.”
“Where is he?”
“Helsinki.”
“I can’t go to Helsinki,” Paige protested. “How would I get there?”
“You’re not going alone,” Lana said.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to my wife Emma, who first listened to me talking about this idea ten years ago. I wouldn’t have got the book to where it is without you.
Thanks to every single member of my family for their support.
Thanks to everyone who read early drafts of the story and gave me constructive, honest feedback.
And thanks to Cal Gildart, who agreed to proof-read this book for me! Anyone prepared to work through the millions of mistakes I made is deserving of a medal.
About the author
Phil Hurst lives in Colchester, England, with his wife Emma and cat Luna.
The Unjudged is not his first book, but it’s the first he’s published on Amazon.
When not writing novels, Phil blogs on www.writewithphil.com, helping writers be more productive.