by J. D. Weston
“No, it was true,” said Frank. He gave a large exhale. “She was one of the unlucky ones.”
“Sorry, sir,” said Melody quietly.
“What are you sorry for, Mills?”
“For pushing,” she replied. “For your loss.”
“It’s the world where we live in, isn’t it?” said Frank. “It’s a cruel, cruel world. We spend most of our days saving up to retire, then when we’re finally ready, things have changed so much we don’t want to anymore. Not here anyway. There’s no freedom and too many memories.”
“And if you could change it?” asked Melody.
“I’d take freedom over comfort. Security over choice. And friends over memories, Mills.”
Melody heard the words and let them roll around her mind. She looked across at him, and he gave her a smile that said I know how you’re feeling.
“Okay, I have Melody’s jacket turning off the M11 motorway heading toward Stapleford,” said Reg from the back.
“We’re ten minutes behind them,” said Melody. “It’s going to take some doing to catch them up once they’re on the back roads.”
“Open her up, Mills,” said Frank.
“Go big or go home, sir?” said Reg.
“Something like that, Tenant.”
The team made the turning off the M11 in six minutes. “Stimson is five minutes out from the airfield, we are eleven if we maintain speed,” confirmed Reg.
Melody slid the Audi skilfully off the exit ramp and wound the engine back up as fast as the A-road would allow. The smaller roads in the village of Abridge meant the team had to slow for a brief time. But, as soon as they had passed through it, Melody slammed the car into third gear and wound the engine back up.
“Stimson is in the airfield. We can only assume the plane is ready for takeoff, and that she’ll park nearby,” said Reg.
“How fond of this car are you, sir?” asked Melody.
“Why?” asked Frank.
“They’re on the runway, and we’re not. I’m just-“
“Airfield entrance is coming in five hundred metres,” said Reg.
“Do what you need to do Mills,” said Frank.
“Copy that, sir,” replied Melody. She touched on the brakes, eased into third and let the gearbox slow them down a fraction. Then, dropping into second, she span the wheel and popped the clutch as the car started to turn out of the bend. The rear end slid nicely out. The front smashed the gates open and tore one of the wing mirrors from its hinges. Melody straightened the car up and found third.
“Reg, be my eyes, there’s a hundred planes here,” said Melody calmly.
“One o’clock, eight hundred yards,” replied Reg without hesitation.
“That's the runway,” said Frank.
“I have a visual,” said Melody. “They’re taxiing for takeoff. Reg, pull the back seat down and grab the Diemaco from the boot. Sir, care for a drive?” Melody didn’t wait for an answer. She hit the cruise control button on the steering wheel and pushed her seat all the way back.
“Mills,” said Frank “What are-“
“Left foot first, sir.”
Frank moved his left leg over to the driver's side. “For God's sake-“
“You got the wheel?”
“I have it, I don’t know what-“
“Okay, all yours sir,” said Melody. She hit the button on the rear door and lowered the window. Frank climbed fully into the driver's seat and pulled it forwards. The car veered slightly as he took control, but he brought it back on course.
“Get me alongside them, sir. I’ll take the tyres out,” shouted Melody over the rushing wind from the open window.
“Let's try this my way first, Mills.” Frank gave a dab of brakes to turn off the cruise control, then dropped the car into second and spun onto the runway. The little Cessna was three hundred yards ahead.
“They’re leaving,” shouted Reg. The little plane sat at the end of the runway and worked up its engine.
“Two hundred yards,” called Reg.
The pilot released the brakes, and the Cessna began to accelerate along the tarmac.
“One hundred yards.”
“Sir,” said Melody, “whats the plan here? I can take the tyres out before they get airborne.”
They drew level with the plane and Frank guided the car under its wing and sounded the horn. The pilot refused to heed Frank’s call.
Melody ditched the rifle onto Reg, reached out the window to hold the roof bars and pulled herself up to sit on the door.
“Closer,” she shouted. Frank eased the Audi in closer until Melody could reach the wing support, made up of two circular bars connecting the underside to the fuselage. Melody gripped onto the bars and stood on the car door. Her arms were wrapped around the wing support. She pushed off with her feet and swung her legs up over the bars just as the wings began to get lift. The wind against Melody’s body froze her hands and threatened to rip her off the wing, but she locked her legs in place and tightened the grip of her left arm. Reaching behind her, she pulled her Sig from her waistband, levelling it at the pilot and gesturing for him to take them back down.
The pilot turned away and spoke to Stimson. Melody saw her gesture for him to continue.
Melody fired two rounds into the fuselage near the back of the plane. The pilot began waving one arm at Stimson, who was leaning forward, telling him to continue.
Stimson stared in disbelief out of the window. Then she turned to the pilot and started shouting. He argued back. Melody could make out the conversation but heard nothing. It was clear he was simply stating that there was a woman on the wing with a gun.
The plane banked sharply, and Melody had to hold on with both arms, but the gun stopped her from gripping the tube. The pilot pulled back on the yoke. Melody was hit by extreme G-force. She fought to hang on, her legs were holding tight, but her gun arm was slipping. Her hands were frozen, and the blast from the propeller deafened her.
Then the pilot eased the plane forward. Melody wasn’t ready for the change. She slid around the wing support, reached to grab the other support, and saw her Sig fall to the ground below.
The pilot saw the gun fall and eased the plane back into a steady flight. The little Cessna began to climb.
With the plane stable, Melody was able to adjust her position and began to kick the window of the plane. She tried hard to smash the perspex so she could get inside. She had no doubt that once inside, she could take control.
But before she could settle in for another kick, the door was heaved open. Stimson stood in the doorway, her long coat flapping around and whipping against her body. She looked angry but determined. Holding on with one hand, Stimson reached out to Melody. For a brief moment, Melody thought she was going help her in and was grateful. Then Stimson’s hand turned from an open palm to a fierce, well-manicured claw that stabbed into Melody’s hands.
Stimson dug in deep and broke skin. Melody gave a yell and gripped with her legs. Her left hand fell from the support, and with each attempt to reach for the tube, the wind and Stimson blocked her. She was forcing Melody off. Her right hand was slipping, she couldn’t hold much longer. The wing support was too fat for her hands to grip properly. One of Stimson’s feet came at Melody’s legs, long heels dug into her shin, but she gripped tighter and her strong thigh muscles held the supports. Then Stimson made a mistake. She lunged at Melody’s flapping hair, grabbed it and pulled Melody’s head towards her.
Melody let go with both hands. Arching up with her burning core muscles, she took hold of Stimson’s jacket and heaved backwards. She felt the jerk as Stimson’s grip was pulled from the passenger handle inside the cockpit, and felt the stroke of soft fur slip past her face. Then she hung upside down by her legs and watched as Stimson plummeted to the earth below. Her arms and legs flailed as she grew smaller then hit the ground in a cloud of dust.
Frank and Reg met the plane when it had finished taxiing. They stood beside the Audi side by side as equals, and wel
comed their remaining team member back to the ground with open jaws and arms.
Melody stepped away from the wing quite dishevelled, but not shaken. She reached back into the aircraft and held out her hand. Angel jumped down. She’d been crying but was quiet. She wore the same pink pyjama bottoms with a red coat, and carried the same little pink backpack.
“That was insane, Melody,” said Reg.
“That was above the call of duty, Mills,” said Frank.
Melody breathed out long and slow, bent and picked up the little girl.
“The buddha?” asked Frank.
“Adeo,” said Melody.
“The Porsche has gone,” said Reg, looking at the line of cars outside the quiet airfield offices. “It was there when we came in, I’m sure of it.”
Melody let her head fall back and closed her eyes.
“It wasn’t for nothing. You did a brave thing, Melody,” said Frank.
“It feels like it was for nothing, sir,” she replied. She moved closer to Frank. “This little girl’s mother just died.” There was compassion in Melody’s eyes.
Frank moved in closer to Melody. “This little girl’s mother just caused the death of two of our team and countless others,” he said, then pulled back and looked directly into her eyes. “You’re a hero, and I’m damn proud to have you on my team, Mills.”
“So would Harvey be,” said Reg. “I don’t think even he could have pulled that stunt.”
“Thanks, boys,” she whispered.
Angel clutched onto Melody’s leg and buried her face in her cargo pants. Melody looked back at Frank, who raised his eyebrows, but didn’t make any attempt to pull the girl way. Melody smiled then gave a little laugh, which made Reg and Frank smile.
“I’m sorry to ask,” said the pilot. “I was hired for the day, will I be needed?”
Frank’s smile grew into a full laugh, hearty, from his chest. The pilot looked shocked at the reaction after what had just happened.
“Go, while you can,” said Frank. “If we need you we can pull your name from the office, right?”
“Yeah, they know me, I fly here every week,” said the pilot. “The name’s Lord, Jason Lord.”
24
The Beast Reborn
The fall to the water was just eight metres but it felt like Harvey had landed on concrete. He released the zip on the explosive vest as soon as he hit the water, before he’d stopped spinning in the water’s turbulence, before he’d thought about breathing and before he’d looked for Al Sayan.
Any second now.
He pulled the vest off and pushed it below him. He didn’t stop to watch the current take it away. He just swam for his life.
He had to get away from it.
The explosion rocked his very core down to his internal organs. His bones felt as if they would snap. The sound of the river went quiet, and the searing pain through his head cast a black shadow over everything.
The fast flowing current rushed him away, washing him free of the place and the memories.
Harvey Stone surfaced two hundred metres down the river. The cold wind that rushed across the water woke him from death with a start, and he coughed up brown water. He felt as if his body was broken. He was unable to move his limbs and just lay on the surface taking in air.
Several minutes later, he’d travelled a mile down the river and began to shiver. Shock and the cold set in, which caused a severe reaction within his body. He shook. Not just his fingers or his hands, but his entire arms violently and uncontrollably fought to keep the circulation going. His lower lip trembled, and his lungs stung with each cold breath.
Was this the end? Had it happened already? The world glided past silently. Had it been that simple? After everything he’d done, it was over in seconds. Harvey knew he was alive. He also knew that all he had to do was close his eyes and all the pain, all the memories and all the lies would go away.
Nobody would remember him five years from now. He played a part in the game and his time was up. Could be up.
Do I have a choice?
Can I fight this?
Surely not, I can close my eyes and drift away.
I’m drifting already, it’s easy. I don’t have to try.
But what if there’s more?
Harvey tried to stretch his arms out wide, but his joints ached and told him so by sending electric pulses along his nervous system.
My body is broken. How can I try?
He filled his lungs with air to keep him afloat.
My insides are damaged, I can’t go on.
I can go on.
I don't want to go on.
You haven’t tried.
But I have suffered.
You need to try. Take a step.
He began to flex his fingers.
You’ll need more than fingers. One more step.
But I can close my eyes.
You’re strong.
Not right now.
You’ve always been strong.
Let me sleep.
You can bend your arms.
Harvey slowly bent one arm beneath the water, then the other.
It’s not over.
Have I made my choice?
I can do it.
There’s no going back.
I’ve made my choice.
You’re Harvey Stone.
I’m Harvey Stone.
Harvey found the movement in his limbs painful as thoughts of giving up washed over him and were taken out to sea. Though painful, his legs moved freely. He began to bend his arms back and forth. He moved his toes inside his wet boots and lay on his back to stretch his muscles. But he still shook. The water was viscously cold.
He’d come close to death, and he knew it. Harvey felt that when death held him in his hand, he was warmed. He couldn’t remember the shivers, the biting cold or stinging skin. He had let death pass through him then banished him, and now suffered the penance.
Harvey watched the sky pass by above him, unsure if the sky was moving or if he was moving. Perhaps both. He wondered how far he’d travelled, but didn’t recognise anything when he turned his head to see. There were no tall buildings, just factories and warehouses.
How far did I float?
That was when his head hit a rock.
The dull thump sent white light across his eyes, and he scrambled in the water. Blood trickled across his wet face, mingling with the water. He felt stones beneath him. He heard footsteps on the stones.
Harvey span and his vision caught up a second later, then a wave of blood ran through his bruised mind. Harvey focused on the stones beneath his hands. He brought a leg up and dug it into the gravel. He slowly raised his head.
Nobody was coming.
But a man was walking away.
Al Sayan.
He survived.
Harvey pushed his body upright, bringing his head slowly up. His legs were trembling and his fingers shook. He squeezed his hands tight then flexed his fingers.
He took a step.
He’s getting away.
Another step.
Come on, Harvey Stone.
Harvey’s wet boots sank into the gravelly beach. His bruised thigh pumped dull aches through his leg and his muscle tensed with every step. He pushed hard. He wasn't looking at Al Sayan who was moving fast now away from him. Harvey focused on the next step, then the next. He built a rhythm. Slowly, each step came with a short, sharp exhale of used air, spent. He sucked in more, took another step, let the pain run through him. Then more until the pain was pleasant. He welcomed the dull ache. He welcomed his body’s rejection of movement. He forced his legs to move and his arms to pump, then he reached the grass. Soft, muddy grass.
Al Sayan was a distant shape two or three hundred metres away. Harvey didn’t care, couldn’t care. He had to keep moving away from the beach. Harvey could take long steps. They got faster. He looked ahead. Another man with Al Sayan. A small white van beside them both.
Heat.
The man we
nt down. Harvey saw Al Sayan raise a rock high above his head. Harvey ran. The feeling was alien at first. A slow jog, but faster than the slow stumble.
Al Sayan brought the rock down on the man.
Harvey stepped faster. His legs trembled like he’d ran a marathon but his arms pumped.
Al Sayan opened the van door.
A dog barked and ran from nowhere, passing Harvey.
Harvey ran on. The dog leapt at Al Sayan and caught his leg as he was climbing into the driver's seat. Harvey heard a yelp, then the dog launched again.
Not far.
The dog snapped at Al Sayan and pinned him to the seat. Small, sharp bites on his legs and fingers. Harvey began to hear the frantic screams of Al Sayan from inside the car. His legs lashed out at the dog, who relaunched his attack.
Harvey stepped up to the fight and surprised the little dog. It took one look at Harvey and moved to sit beside his owner's body.
Al Sayan tried to straighten himself up and pull his legs into the van, but Harvey stood on his foot, took hold of the door and swung it hard against his leg, again and again. The Afghan bent double and reached for his leg. He didn’t cry out. In Harvey’s experience, men who know that death is coming rarely do. As Al Sayan reached forwards, Harvey grabbed hold of him and wrenched him from the vehicle onto the mud. The man tried to crawl away but found himself being dragged backwards.
Harvey hoisted him up into the van and slammed the doors.
The dog looked at Harvey with flattened ears, his head cocked to one side. His owner was dead. There was nothing Harvey could do. The dog was a collie. A white stripe ran the length of its nose between his eyes and ears, and finished on top of his head. The rest of his face was a mix of black and brown.
“What do you say there boy?” said Harvey lazily. “You staying or coming?” The dog looked at his owner. The back of the man’s head had been caved in. “You getting in?”
“Good boy,” said Harvey and opened the passenger door for the dog, who jumped in and sat down. The keys were in the ignition, and the engine was still warm. Within one minute, Harvey had warmth on his feet and legs and some semblance of human feeling returned to him.
Harvey found first gear and took the little diesel van along the bumpy track that led away from the river towards the road. Road signs told Harvey where he was and he made his way through the town of Rainham, then Hornchurch, then Romford. The sights became more familiar, the trees seemed greener, and the fields of Essex soon replaced the dirty buildings of London.