by Perrin Briar
On ‘out’ Jordan felt excruciating pain, like someone had driven a bodkin into his brain.
“Painful, isn’t it? I feel that every second of every day.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Jordan said through gritted teeth, “but I don’t know anything. Really. You’re going to be very disappointed.”
“And you know what is of value to us? It varies with each person. Everyone has something worth knowing. It’s a worthless piece of information to you. Let me have it.”
“I told you, I don’t know-”
“You don’t need to know. I would not burden you with it.”
“Why would I ever let you have my memories?”
Tim smiled.
“Because I can give them back to you, Jordan. Rachel… Mia… Even Stan. You just have to grant me access to your memories, that’s all I ask. Would you like to see them? Did you ever watch that show, ‘This is your life’? I loved it. The sight of all those happy loving people being brought together… families. It never failed to bring a tear to my eye. Well, tonight is your life.” Tim clicked his fingers and squeaky wheels creaked from the darkness. “He’d become like a father to you. You thought you’d left him behind on the empty farm plains of Norfolk, but here he is… Stan!”
Jordan gasped, his hands gripping the chair, as Stan rolled into the light in a rusty wheelchair, the wheels creaking like the metal might snap. Half his face was scorched black. His torso had been stitched back together with crude staples, his entrails half-hanging out of his exposed ribcage. One half of one leg to the top of the knee had been reattached, hanging useless and immovable. Something leaked from a hole in the seat that smelled like excrement. Saliva dripped from the mouth of his lobotomised expression.
“Oh, Stan,” Jordan said, eyes filling. “Stan… No…”
“How does it feel to be reunited?” Tim asked, imaginary microphone at his mouth.
“This is how you knew, isn’t it?” Jordan said in a small voice. “This is how you knew where we were headed… How you knew we would go to the compound for help. Stan’s chill pill didn’t work either. You read his blood. Somehow you beat the pill.”
“Yes, we beat it,” Tim said, momentarily dropping his TV host persona, “though through no success on our part, but thanks to human weakness. Frank switched your pills for his sweets. Remarkable how similar they look, isn’t it? What Stan here ate – and what I suspect you ate earlier – was a small candy.
“Warm blood is so much easier to read than cold. The memories lose all their vitality. But I ascertained enough about your plans from Stan. You took your sweet time in returning to your boat, I must say. I was beginning to worry you had changed your plans. Thankfully that didn’t prove to be the case.” He grinned, and his TV host persona was back. “And now, the loved ones you thought you’d abandoned, leaving them to their fate…”
“No,” Jordan said. “Don’t. Please.”
“It’s Rachel and her beautiful daughter… Mia.”
They stepped out of the shadows. A cursory attempt had been made to stitch their faces back together. A matching scar ran from eye to lip. Maggots wriggled in the open wounds. They were both naked, their bodies crisscrossed with lacerations.
“I found her, Jordan. She is here. She can be yours again. I can give her back to you. You desire them, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes. Let me have what I desire. I can bring them back – make them them again. You can be with them, Jordan. Just let me have what I need.”
Rachel and Mia were blurry through Jordan’s shimmering eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I was so weak… I didn’t mean… I didn’t think.”
Rachel and Mia stared with dead eyes.
Tim moved in close. “Remember the Christmases you spent together, Jordan? Those happy moments? You don’t need to lose them. They can be yours again. You could do it again. Do it forever. Relent, Jordan. You have nothing left to fight.”
Jordan shook his head. “Not without knowing what you want.”
“Isn’t it obvious? Let me give you a clue. Tell me at which camp you trained.”
“Burgh Castle.”
“But that wasn’t the first time you’d been there though, was it?”
“No.”
“When were you first there?”
Jordan’s mouth fell open.
Tim smiled. “Now you’re getting it. Tell me what it is I’ve gone to all this effort for.”
“You want me for the memories I have of Burgh Castle when I was a boy.”
Tim nodded, eyes shining. “And why would I want those memories in particular?”
“Because I explored. I climbed over the walls. Went underground. Went into the restricted areas with my father…” Jordan looked Tim in his shiny eyes, black as night. “I know where all the secret passages are.”
Tim nodded. “Yes! No matter how many times I attack the compound, I can never seem to breach their defences.” He smiled. “Today, that all changes. Thanks to you.”
“You’ve attacked compounds before?”
“Of course. I’ve become quite adept at cracking them open. They’re often badly defended, led by inexperienced have-a-go heroes.” His expression turned dark. “But this latest compound was proving difficult. When we discovered a weakness, they strengthened it. No single soldier knows about more than a section of a single wall’s defences, and only a handful of them know about any of the secret entrances and passageways, and are prevented from ever leaving the compound. And many of the soldiers corrupt their own blood with their pills before we get to it. We need to know the strengths and weaknesses of the compound if we’re to overrun it.”
“To kill them.”
“To free them.” Tim tutted. “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been saying?” He turned to the map on the wall. “This compound’s commander shall be amongst my greatest minds. All subsequent compounds will topple with his knowledge. No one will be safe. The old adage, ‘knowledge is power’ is more true today than ever before. The more information I acquire, the more powerful I become.”
He put a finger to his temple.
“I feel others like me out there pushing against me, their knowledge growing. I feel their minds against my own, influencing me, and me influencing them. The greater our colony, the greater my power. I must have this compound, do you see?”
“What happens if one of you dies?”
“The victor absorbs the other’s knowledge.”
“When does it end?”
“There is no end.”
“What about when all humans are dead and you and your kind are all that remain?”
“Then we fight. And the remaining man shall know all, shall be all. And he will build and reach for the stars. For more knowledge, in a relentless search for truth. Nothing can resist us because all things must die.”
Jordan shook his head. “Why do you hate people so much?”
“I don’t hate them. But they must be controlled. They are monsters, capable of the most debasing of crimes.” Tim’s voice had grown loud, and echoed in the dome.
Queenie and the others whimpered.
Tim calmed himself. He moved away, hands behind his back. “Crimes such as the murder of a young boy’s mother. Casting him from the only loving arms he had ever known. And then the violence against an adopted son. They are the monsters. Not me. Not us. Them. You.”
“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” Jordan said sincerely, “but you can’t blame the people in that compound. They have done nothing wrong. They are good people.”
“You don’t know that,” Tim said with haunted eyes. “You don’t know the evil people carry inside them. I do. I see it every day. And it sickens me.”
“I’ve seen what they are capable of,” Jordan said. “I’ve seen war. I know. But what you’re doing here… It’s not right.”
“That was during war. They felt they had cause. But what about when there is no cause other than desire? I will not allow that world to return
. I will not! We are the future. We are the next step in human evolution. A shared consciousness.
“And so for the last time, I make you this offer: I will grant you your freedom – along with your family’s – if you willingly allow me access to your childhood memories. You can live the rest of your life with your family or I can force the information from you, causing significant pain, and hand you over to Queenie to do with as he pleases. What will it be, Jordan?”
Jordan looked over at Rachel and Mia.
“Rachel, Mia, if there’s any part of you still in there, know that I love you and I always will. But I can’t let them do this. Not without a fight.” He turned to Tim. “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept your offer. These are but shadows of the family I loved. To accept them as they are now would be an insult to their memory.”
Tim’s eyes turned hard. “This is your final decision?”
Jordan looked at his wife and daughter one last time. “It is. I have a family. They are in the compound, and I will not let you harm them.”
“I can ensure their survival-”
“No.”
Tim’s expression softened as he approached the chair. “You know, after everything you put me through, I’m rather glad you made this decision.”
Tim hit a button. There was a loud clanking sound as the backrest tipped back, and the seat and footrest pulled up, creating a bed. “Now hold still, this will only hurt a little…”
Tim made his first incision. Jordan grunted through gritted teeth.
“This, however, will hurt considerably more.” Tim put his lips to the cut and sucked.
Jordan screamed. He didn’t stop until he passed out.
172.
A semi-conscious Jordan was tossed into his cell. The door slammed shut. The darkness was quiet and almost welcoming. Something dripped on him, stinging his open wounds. He heaved breath in through his teeth. His entire body was crisscrossed with bloody lines, like a tiger had scoured him with its claws. He was pale and light-headed at the loss of blood.
Jordan dragged himself to the back wall and pressed his hand to the cold damp stones. He had no idea if this wall was the closest to the ocean or not, but instinctively it felt right. He wasn’t much farther away from the Indian Ocean than he was yesterday, but it certainly felt like he was. The Indian Ocean had become a fantasy that could be desired, but never attained.
Screeches echoed down the tunnel as an army of Lurchers marched past his door like a runaway freight train. Jordan put his hands over his ears, muffling the sound. Then there was silence.
The door opened, admitting Queenie. He was armed with a vicious-looking serrated knife. Jordan tried to stand, but his weak legs failed him.
Queenie dragged him up onto his feet. “You follow me.”
Queenie stuck his head out into the corridor, checked both ways, then led Jordan into the tunnel, empty save for a few stragglers, who took no notice of them. Every time Jordan slowed Queenie thrust him forward.
They emerged into sunlight. It was blinding, brilliant, beautiful. Jordan breathed in the unsoiled air, felt the sunlight warm his face.
Queenie approached with the knife.
Jordan shut his eyes, unable to defend himself. Weak with blood loss he fell to his knees.
Queenie moved up behind him.
“I’m ready,” Jordan said. Then more assertive: “I’m ready.”
Shink.
Jordan felt his arms go slack. He moved them easily, without restraint.
“You go now,” Queenie said.
Jordan got to his feet, shaking with the effort. “Why are you doing this?”
“You go. Now.”
“You’ve been chasing me all this time. Why let me go now?”
“It not me want to catch you. Master want.”
“Doesn’t he control you now?”
Queenie shook his head. “He think big now. He concentrate. He no see me.”
“He’ll kill you for this.”
Queenie smiled. It was lopsided. One corner drooped down, but it had a certain charm. “Me dead already.”
173.
Anne found herself in a sparsely furnished room, a blanket over her shoulders and a cup of untouched cold tea in her hands.
“Are you feeling better now, dearie?” a voice asked. A rumpled old lady called Doreen sat before her, folding washing. A Jack Russell yapped at their feet, hopping like a wild rabbit. The room was fairly large, packed full of furniture at least as old as Doreen. A grandfather clock’s pendulum swung at irregular intervals.
“Where am I?” Anne asked. “Where’s Jessie?”
“Don’t fret. She’s outside playing with the other young ‘uns. You look like you’ve had a tough time of it.”
“We got stranded and had to make our way back to the ocean. We were almost here when one of us was taken.”
“I heard. Tragic. Bloomin’ tragic. No doubt you’re considering all kinds of rash actions, but trust me dearie, they too will end in tragedy. I hope you forgive my pessimism, but no soldier has ever returned from the sewers alive.”
“There has to be a first, right?”
“There surely does. And he might just be the one.” Doreen smiled. It was warm and comforting, her face wrinkled like tree bark, but Anne sensed foreboding in those creases.
The door banged as Jessie came into the room, hot and sweaty, with mud stains on the knees of her dress. “Anne! You’re awake! We were so worried.”
“We’d best get you sorted out for your stay at the compound,” Doreen said, setting aside the washing. “I assume you’ll be staying with us?”
“There’s nowhere else for us to go,” Anne said. “Just until Jordan gets back.”
“That might be days, even weeks,” Doreen said. “I’ll arrange for Ron to give you a tour round the place.” She hobbled to the door and spoke to someone outside.
When she returned, Anne said, “Thank you. Who would I need to speak to to arrange a rescue for my friend?”
“I told you-”
“I want to at least try.”
Doreen sighed, shaking her head of grey curls. “You’ll want to see the commander. Though God knows he’s difficult to see at the best of times.”
There was a knock at the door. “Come,” Doreen said.
An unfortunate red pimple-faced young man entered. He took his flat cap off, wringing it in his hands. “You wanted to speak with me?”
“Ah, Ron,” Doreen said, approaching the youth. “Please show our guests to their accommodation. Take the scenic route, if you would.”
Ron looked up and saw Jessie. His voice became a shade more confident. “Yes, ma’am.”
174.
The compound gave the illusion of a sprawling mass, but in actual fact a soldier could stand on one wall and, without squinting, make out the silhouette of another on the opposite rampart. With the lack of space, everything was compact and built on top of each other, cobbled together with new additions made quickly, without flash or flourish; the primary school sat above the bakery, and below the laundry, the butcher was sandwiched between the gym and munitions store. The side alleys were dark, their light blocked by tall buildings on either side, consisting of scrap salvaged from outside the compound, their walls hunched over, almost touching at the top. People milled about from place to place with purpose, the dirt streets compressed by the passing of a thousand busy feet.
Anne’s senses were overloaded by the frantic hammering at the blacksmith’s, the steam rising from a vent in the side of a wall, smelling of freshly baked bread. A large-breasted woman wiped a hand across her sweaty brow, and then smacked Ron’s hand as he made a grab for a cake that sat cooling on a window sill. Anne felt claustrophobic. She couldn’t remember the last time she was surrounded by so many people.
As Ron led them through the compound and gave them a worn-sounding spiel, he cast glances toward Jessie like a fisherman checking the weather.
“There are more than five thousand people in this ca
mp, and it’s increasing all the time. Every one of them has a job – many have more than one. Every man, woman and child is trained with weapons. We have a medicine centre with doctors and surgeons, sports and exercise facilities, even a selection of ethnic food.”
“When was the last time a Lurcher got in here?” Anne asked.
“Must be six months now.”
“That long?”
“A fella cut his finger on a piece of corrugated iron we’d brought in from outside the compound. Everything is sandblasted, but you can never get every last spot. Anyway, he cut his finger and the virus must have got into his body. He never hurt anyone though.”
Their accommodation was one of the few brick buildings in the compound. “A remnant of the RAF onsite accommodation,” Ron said. It was a short squat building with a regimental bearing, everything arranged in symmetrical lines.
Inside were two single beds, a bedside table, a desk with swivel chair, and two small armchairs. The bags they’d dropped outside the compound had been deposited at the foot of each bed.
“Thanks Ron,” Anne said. “Do you know where I can find the commander?”
“The commander’s official location is at the Command Centre, only he isn’t often there. He makes a lot of random inspections along the walls. He’s probably at one of them right now.”
“So where’s the Command Centre?”
“In the centre of the compound. It’s the biggest building. You can’t miss it. I could take you to it, if you like.” He was looking at Jessie as he said it, but she was busy fingering a small radio on the bedside table.
Anne interjected. “That’s very kind of you, Ron. Thank you. Give us five minutes to wash, and we’ll join you outside.” Anne closed the door behind him, and turned to Jessie.
“What?” she said.
Anne shook her head. “Get washed. We need to speak with this commander, and we have to look presentable.”