by S. T. Boston
* * *
Shaking the memories aside, Taulass left the summer house and padded across the manicured lawn which was home to a well-maintained pond. The Glock seemed ridiculously heavy in his pocket and he kept having to haul the material up, in order to prevent his joggers falling down around his ankles.
Kneeling by the water's edge, giant golden fish began to surface from the depths of the dark water, their scaly bodies revealing an odd flash of dazzling orange, despite the lack of sunshine. As the fish grew braver and hunger took over, they got closer to the surface, until the first brave, hopeful diner stuck his mottled orange and silver head above the water and opened his mouth, as if he expected a tasty treat to be dropped right in. Fish were one of the few species Earth had in common with Arkkadia, although the variations were vastly different. It was a fascinating evolutionary quirk that appealed to Taulass' meticulous desire to understand and learn.
Feeling bad because he didn't have any food for the hungry creatures, he cupped some cold water into his hands and washed his face. He was hoping to avoid seeing anyone until he could make himself presentable, but the blood on his face would have anyone racing to call the authorities at first sight. As it was, with blood-soaked clothing and a Glock which was too large to fully hide in his pocket, he looked like a maniacal killer on a relentless spree, stalking around in search of his next victim.
Using the dark water to catch a glimpse his reflection, he saw his pale complexion staring back, displaced by the gentle ripples lapping across the pond's surface. Blood still tinged the tips of his dark brown hair, but the worst was gone. Crossing the garden, his feet cold on the wet grass, he reached the back door. Gripping the handle, he was met with a resistance that confirmed the door was locked. In frustration, he paced down a small path between the red brick wall of the house and the matching brickwork of the garage. Halfway down, the garage had a door, which was positioned directly opposite the house's side entrance. He tried the property's door first – locked. He turned his attention to the garage, and to his delight the handle depressed with a well-oiled fluidity and let him in.
The painted grey concrete was chilly beneath his bare feet, and when his eyes adjusted to the gloom he located a light switch and flicked it on. The presence of electricity confirmed it was past six AM. Scanning the garage, he realized it was more of a utilities room than a garage, which could prove beneficial. On the far wall was a sink, beneath it a washing machine and dryer. He went straight for the dryer. Much to his frustration, the first few items he found were feminine. Panties and a small pair of jeans, a pink blouse with delicate roses embroidered on the front. Shaking his head in frustration, he reached deeper into the drum and heaved the full load out onto the concrete floor. Scanning through the items, he located some things that were designed for a male, and on first appearances, looked as if they might just fit. Shaking some of the creases from a pair of grey Chinos, Taulass removed his own blood stained joggers. The gun made a dull metallic clunk when it dropped onto the floor. He wriggled his way into the clean trousers, they were a size too big, but looser was better than too small in his book. Next, he did his best to smooth the creases out of a white Polo shirt. The emblem on the left breast was a man on a horse, the label in the collar read Ralph Lauren. He slipped it on, discovering the shirt was a tiny bit tight under the arms but the freshly laundered cotton felt good on his skin. He needed a shower, but that would have to wait until he reached the safe house. Turning his attention to a rack of shoes, he found some dirty, off-white, Nike trainers that were a good match to his feet. He used a stiff, blue towel which hung over the sink to dry between his toes and dust away some of the damp grass which clung to his heels before slipping them on. Above the shoes, he saw a dark green jacket hanging on a hook, it bore the same emblem as the shirt and was heavily lined with soft fleece. Heat started returning to his chilled skin as soon as he slipped his arms into the sleeves.
Returning to his ruined clothing, he removed the return tab from the pocket of his joggers and the half-exposed Glock from the left, secreting both items into the deep pockets of the padded jacket. Standing at the sink, he turned on the hot tap and held his hand under it until the water turned from cold to tepid, then warm. For a few seconds, he kept his hands under the torrent of water, until it was so hot it almost scalded his skin. He didn't care; the heat felt good. Aware that time wasn't on his side, he filled the steel sink with water and rinsed his hair and face, watching as the water quickly turned from pink to red. He pulled the plug and repeated the process twice more until the water stayed clear. Grabbing the same towel he'd used on his feet, he ran it over his face and hair before tossing it to the floor and slipping out of the building.
Out on the pavement he doubled back and with some trepidation, followed St. Austell Road to its junction with Eliot Park, where he took a left and walked back toward Oakcroft Road, where the house was. Standing at the junction of the two roads, he could see blue and white police tape, cordoning off half the street. Crossing over, he could just make out the burnt-out shell of the four-bedroom house which had been his home for the past two years. He suffered a pang of grief when he thought about Rhesbon and Bliegh, and wondered if their charred bodies were still inside, waiting whilst investigators pawed through the evidence and tried to figure out what happened. They never would.
After a few long minutes of silent reflection, he turned around and left the scene. He had fifteen miles of London streets to navigate in order to get to the safe house; he needed to get moving.
Chapter 23
The scream momentarily froze Sam to the spot, and he knew instantly it was Lucie. Hurriedly he squeezed down the side of the Nissan Juke, which was nosed into the driveway, its bulbous rear end level with the aging, lichen-mottled concrete gate posts. Sam squeezed through the gap, the spiny branches of the hedge scraping the back of his jacket. Staying low he rushed to the lounge window, his ill-fitting patent leather shoes practically announcing his arrival as he crunched over the pea-shingle. Drawing the dead pilot's gun, he checked the safety, confirming it was already released and ready for action.
The bright morning sunlight fell on the dirty, single-glazed windows. Reaching the ledge, Sam peered into the building, discovering the front room was empty. He could hear voices, the speech undistinguishable but one of them was Adam's. Scooting around the crumbling brickwork he passed the RX7 and pushed the gate open, wincing when it creaked on its rusting hinges.
Overgrown grass, weeds and brambles filled what he remembered as once being a picturesque display of flowers, set off by a well maintained and mown lawn. Gun in hand he ducked down again, creeping under the kitchen window. He could hear another female voice screaming, but with adrenalin thundering through his veins, and a horrible feeling that if he didn't act now something unspeakable was about to happen, he couldn't make out what was being said. He grabbed the cold, terracotta-tiled ledge and risked a glance inside.
The sink and drainer were situated in front of the kitchen window, and his view almost completely blocked by the back of a slender, dark haired woman he didn't recognise. She had her left arm fixed tightly around another female, and this one he did recognise. It was Lucie. The stranger's held a knife, and it was pressed tightly against Lucie's neck. Fear and fury washed over Sam simultaneously. Directly in front of the two women was Adam, who appeared poised and ready to strike out, but he was unarmed. Sam was sure there was another body in the room, too but with his restricted view, he couldn't identify if it was friend or foe. Clarity came when he heard a rapid exchange of words from inside the kitchen.
“If you harm either of them, I will kill you with my bare hands,” he heard Adam shout. Sam admired his spirit, but unarmed and facing a knife-wielding maniac, he didn't much fancy his chances.
“Enough of the chatter,” the dark-haired female screamed. Beneath the rage, Sam picked up on her accent, it was a direct female equivalent of the two who'd come for him in France. Not stopping to think he stepped back from
the window, confident he was out of everyone's field of view. He watched, his heart hammering in his chest like a drum, as the dark-haired woman adjusted Lucie's position and held the knife high above her head, in an angle that would drive it deeply into his wife's throat. As the knife curved its way above Lucie's head, Sam settled his feet into a shooting stance. The window was filthy, restricting his view but he was confident from this angle he could take the back of her head off and not hit Lucie. Praying he'd gotten it right, his breath caught momentarily in his throat when he squeezed the trigger.
* * *
Time seemed to slow down, as if the very fabric of the universe wanted Adam to witnessthe death of his sister frame-by-frame. He lunged forward in a futile, involuntary reaction which his brain ordered his limbs to attempt before he really knew what was going to happen. Then came the blood, and the blood brought the nightmarish scene spinning back into real time. Somewhere in the confusion, there was the sound of an explosion and breaking glass. When his brain caught up with his eyes, he saw the crimson liquid was flowing not from his sister, but from Lilith. Her head snapped violently to one side, contacting with Lucie's as she twisted free of Lilith's grasp. His brain processed a gaping wound in Lilith's neck which she clawed frantically at with the hand that not a second ago had been gripping his sister. With his focus entirely on his quarry, Adam reached Lilith and with a fury unlike anything he'd experienced before, he snatched the knife from her other hand. The wooden handle was warm in his grasp when he brought it up rapidly and buried the blade deep in Lilith's head, penetrating her skull at the softer part of the temple. For the briefest of moments her skull offered up resistance before it gave way with a nauseating pop. He thrust the blade home until his fist, still clutching the handle, stopped against the side of her head and grew sticky with blood. With his chest pressed tightly against Lilith's body, Adam felt her spasm as a gurgling, chilling cry spewed from her lips. She twitched a couple of times, her eyes filled with fear and anger, before her weight slumped against him. Leaving the knife where it was, he stepped back and let her body fall to the faded linoleum floor.
Slightly dazed and more than a little confused, Adam's stomach churned. Bile rose in his throat and he grabbed the roll-top edge of the aluminium sink, vomiting up what little food remained in his belly. Before he finished retching, the back door came crashing in.
* * *
Sam heard the shot leave the chamber, but the sound of the bullet penetrating the glass was lost to the ringing in his ears from the discharge. Through the dirty glass he saw the dark-haired woman's head snap to the left. He'd missed the perfect headshot he wanted, , but the slug had found its mark in her neck. Rushing toward the back door he glanced at the window once more and saw Adam was on her, locked in a struggle. Sam hit the door like a freight train, smashing the lock free of the woodworm riddled frame. He hadn't expected it to give quite so easily and spilled into the kitchen, grabbing the counter to prevent himself sprawling across the floor and crashing into Oriyanna as she jumped in alarm.
“Oh my god! Sam!” he heard Lucie cry, and before he had to chance to steady himself she threw her arms around him, clinging so tightly he could hardly draw breath. He stumbled under the extra weight but kept his feet. “I thought they'd caught you, or you were—”
“What, dead?” he asked, grinning. “I'm a hard bastard to kill, you know I have more lives than a cat, right?” Sam planted a kiss on her head and noticed her eyes were welling up with tears. One escaped and ran down her pale cheek, and he scooped it away with his forefinger. “How many times am I going to have to save your arse?” he joked to Adam, as Lucie continued to cling to him. He glanced down at the woman's body which was lying face down with a knife buried into the side of her head. “Nice work, though,” he added, turning his attention back to his friend who was wiping vomit from his lips with the back of his hand. “But you're still soft as shite!”
“Fuck you very much,” Adam replied, without a hint of malice. His mouth tasted like a sewer, and Lilith's blood coated his right hand, slick and warm on his fingers. Gripping the tap he turned it on and washed his hands, although he suspected that just like Macbeth, no amount of water would clean the blood away.
Sam managed to prise Lucie from around his waist and planted a kiss on her lips. They were chilled, probably from the shock of her ordeal. He glanced at Oriyanna. “Well, I see the gang's all here – which probably isn't a good thing.”
“It's good to see you too, Samuel Becker,” Oriyanna smiled. Sam's quick wit never failed to amuse her and it was good to have him back. Despite the danger and drama they'd experienced during those days when they'd struggled to save humanity last time, she'd enjoyed their time together.
“Sam,” he corrected. “How many times do I have to remind you?” He shook his head and laughed. “I'm guessing by your presence and the hellish few hours I've just had, that the shit has hit the proverbial fan. I don't imagine you've dropped by on a planet-hopping holiday for tea and cake.”
“Don't you take anything seriously?” Adam asked as he refilled the glass he'd used earlier with cold water and rinsed his mouth out. The liquid still tasted metallic, but it was better than the aftertaste of puke.
Sam chuckled and glanced once more at the body on the floor. “You can start by telling me just who the fuck this is, and how she managed to get here?”
“Her name is Lilith,” Oriyanna answered before Adam had a chance to reply. “She was on the team which was sent for Adam, but she killed them in order to help him escape.”
“So, she saved your arse and then turned on you? Now I am confuddled,” Sam admitted.
“It's a long story,” Adam cut in. “She told me she was an Earth-Breed who wanted out, but turns out she was no such thing.”
Oriyanna crossed the kitchen, and avoiding the pool of blood on the floor, put a comforting arm around Adam. “She was Buer's daughter and had her own agenda. She'd gone rogue to accomplish her own goals.”
“Shit,” said Sam, shaking his head in utter disbelief. “You'd better hope she's the end of his family line, or they might all be after you.” He smiled at Adam, who shot him a dirty look. “Let's get her body out of here, it's making the place look untidy. Once that's sorted, I think we need to sit down, preferably over some grub, and tell each other what we know.” He unwrapped Lucie's arm from around his waist, and placed his pack on the benchtop before bending to Lilith's body and searching for a pulse. “I'm guessing she has the Gift?” he asked, looking to Oriyanna.
“That's what gave her away,” Lucie answered. “She was opening a can when she cut herself, and I saw her heal as I was helping her to wash it clean.”
“And that's what put you in the firing line,” he speculated, nodding. “I wonder just when she planned to show her true colours?” He stood and wiped some dust from his hands. “Well, she's a goner alright. I guess a knife into the head works just as well as a bullet.”
“Yes, it will have the same effect,” Oriyanna agreed. “Anything which kills the electrical signals from the brain disables the nanobots and renders them inactive.”
Sam stepped over the body and opened the back door fully, it had bounced back against the wall and partially shut again. He turned back to Adam. “You take the legs, I'll take the torso. I don't want you chundering again if you get a bit of blood on you.” He shot his friend a wicked smile. “I don't suppose you've checked to see if the boozer is still in business?”
“Not yet,” Adam replied, bending down and grasping Lilith's legs under his arm.
“I passed the sign on the way in and it looked,” he paused, “maintained. Let's hope, as they've always done a good fry-up. I don't know about you guys, but I'm famished. I have a few bits in my pack but nothing I'd class as breakfast.” Sam picked Lilith's body up beneath her limp arms. “And those tins on the side musta been here since we last came up.”
“We'll clean up here,” added Lucie, opening drawers and searching for a rag. She was only too aware
of the trade her husband worked in, but from the safety of her own home she always felt detached from its ugliness. Seeing just how easily he could brush off the sight of a dead body slammed the reality home. She was under no illusions that she'd been in a situation where Lilith would have killed her, but Sam's nonchalance was still hard to swallow. While she respected and almost envied his blasé attitude, it also chilled her. Finding an old threadbare tea towel in a drawer, she watched the two men heave the body up into their arms, and navigate it out of the kitchen. As soon as it was gone, she felt better.
“So, that hulking sack of shit had a family,” Sam said, careful not to fall over the doorstep. “I guess she must have studied that fucking book you wrote, and knew exactly who was to blame for her father's death.”
“I think on that particular day,” Adam began, almost losing his grip on Lilith's legs, “that it was me who did the arse-saving by shooting him, although it was more luck than judgement. And that book needed to be written – how was I to know this was going to happen?”