by S. T. Boston
“You'll need to direct me,” he said as they entered the London district. He set the wipers on the Mazda to intermittent, as light drizzle dusted the windscreen.
“It's on Oakcroft Road,” she replied, staring intently out of the front windscreen and trying to get her bearings. “I think it's off Lewisham Hill, do you know it?”
“Yeah, I think so. One sec.” Adam had a good idea where the road was, it was a main route through the area, and living relatively close by he'd used it several times. He swung the car left and slowed down. “Anything look familiar?”
“Yes, the large beech tree.” She pointed to the landmark, the beech was on a camber which hung it slightly over the road, and as a chillier and earlier than usual autumn set in, its leaves had dropped onto the tarmac in an almost perfect outline of the canopy above. “Take a right here!”
Adam followed her instructions and crept along Eliot Park. In a few hundred yards Oriyanna pointed out another right turn, which he took. As they drew level with the junction of Oakcroft Road, he saw what he'd been expecting; about a hundred yards down, near the larger detached houses was a line of blue and white barrier tape. He couldn't read the single word printed repeatedly on it but he knew it would say 'Police'. Scanning the road for somewhere to park he spoke. “Nice area this, not cheap, or it wasn't before the virus.”
Oriyanna was leaning forward, trying to understand what she was seeing. “Oh, no,” she gasped as Adam reversed into a space just down from the road closure. “That can't be possible.”
“What?” he asked, leaving the car's nose poking precariously out into the street as he looked to see what she was staring at. The ground floor window glass was gone, leaving gaping holes that revealed the foreboding dark interior. In the top two windows, which Adam guessed would be bedrooms, one had a pane of glass semi-intact, although it had been punctured by what he knew, from Oriyanna's account, was automatic gunfire. The glass had somehow held, but was spider-webbed and stained smoky brown from the fumes and flames. More police cordon tape ran the length of the front wall and closed off the driveway, just to get the message home that there were to be no visitors today.
“That looks bad,” said Adam, not quite sure what he should say.
“I don't know how it happened, why would they burn it down?”
“To get rid of evidence?”
“I doubt it,” she answered, her eyes wide and drinking in every detail. “I'm sure they wouldn't be worried about that.” She paused for a moment and said, “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
There were a few long, drawn out seconds of silence which ticked by slowly. Finally, Oriyanna spoke. “Taulass.”
“You said he'd been killed.” Adam took his attention away from the burnt-out building and parked the car properly. The two uniformed police officers, one burly looking male and a female who looked far too small to be in a position of authority, paid him casual attention before returning to their conversation. They were both soaking wet and pissed off, it appeared to have been raining for a good few hours and Adam wondered just how long they'd been left on post. He knew it wasn't unusual for people to rubberneck a scene of destruction or tragedy, and as long as they didn't pay too much attention to it, the cops wouldn't be interested.
“He looked dead, I mean, he was covered in blood – but…”
“We don't know yet, don't torture yourself over it.” Adam placed a reassuring hand on her leg.
“We need to get inside, there's one way to know for certain.” Oriyanna cracked open the car door and stepped out into the light drizzle, Adam followed suit, and taking her by the hand he walked away from the scene.
“What are you doing?” Oriyanna protested.
“We can't just walk in, the place is a crime scene. We need to get around the back and hope they don't have an officer in the rear garden.” He spoke in a low voice, leaning toward the side of her face.
“I can get us in, remember?” she grinned at him.
“Far too risky, what if it goes wrong? Do you want to spend the day locked up in a cell? I sure as hell don't. If we have no other option we'll have to try, but just for once, let's try and fly under the radar.” Adam knew she was more than capable of influencing the two PCs on the front door, but it was a risky move, and a skill they might need to fall back on if they were caught. “We'll garden hop,” he explained. “The house is…” he counted the buildings from their position, “six down.”
“I imagine it should be obvious,” Oriyanna smiled. “Once we reach the burnt-out shell, I'd say we are there.”
“That's why you're the superior race,” he said, flushing red with embarrassment.
“I've told you before, not superior, just a little more evolved.” She offered him a joking smile.
“Many of these places are empty now,” Adam explained. “That aside, they all have massive back gardens, you can tell from here.” He pointed to a line of trees at the rear of one of the properties. “If we're careful, we won't get seen.” He gestured to the house sitting opposite them; in its day, before the virus it would have no doubt been home to some London professional earning a hundred thousand euro a year. Now it looked abandoned. The metal boarding on the windows was decorated with graffiti, the unreadable purple and yellow tags filling the aluminium boards as if they were canvasses put there for the sole purpose of street art. In a few places, the paint had strayed from the boarding and encroached onto the painted rendering. There were numerous examples of these now-ownerless houses scattered across the city. For many unlucky families, the Reaper had taken them all, leaving no one to inherit their prized worldly possessions. The long-range plan was that these abandoned houses would be renovated and sold cheaply to people in need, or taken under council ownership. The utopian idea was that now, in a population reduced nation, no one need be on the street or homeless. It was a nice, idealistic plan, but Adam knew it was still many years from coming to fruition. They hadn't even managed to lift curfews yet, or have a 24/7 power supply.
He took Oriyanna by the hand and led her down the unevenly paved side path. The faded cedar panel gate was closed, but with a tug it opened, the swollen wet timber offering up resistance as it ground its way across the brindle paving blocks. Slipping into the rear garden Adam lifted the gate, to make its passage easier, and closed it engaging the latch. The garden was almost a carbon copy of his grandfather's, overgrown and unloved. At the far end a greenhouse was losing its battle with the grass that now climbed halfway up every wall. The building was also being attacked from within, plant life filled its interior, pushing against the dirty wet glass as if eager to join its kin outside. In the centre of the garden an old rigid swimming pool held back the vegetation, one side partially collapsed when a ladder had fallen over and into the pool. Stagnant, foul smelling water filled it to half depth, a variety of autumn leaves in various states of decay floating on the surface, and where the light rain hit the manky water, tiny rippling circles radiated out from the point of impact, setting the leaves to bobbing up and down.
Turning away from the pool, Adam battled through the long grass and tested the fence at the far end of the garden, which still seemed quite sturdy. He guessed it belonged to the house next door, which appeared to be inhabited. Reaching the end of the garden he gave Oriyanna a boost and she scaled the larch lap panel with the grace and speed of a feline. With much less grace, and a little more struggle, Adam heaved his body over and joined her on the other side.
“Only five more to go,” Oriyanna encouraged.
“Maybe you can give me a boost next time,” he suggested with a wink. “You might also want to take care of that.” He pointed to the gun and holster which had been tucked under her long-sleeved top; the climb had exposed the gun for any prying eyes to see. Oriyanna pulled her top down to conceal the weapon before heading across the lawn. This property was definitely occupied. Although it would never win any awards for best garden, a little care had been taken, the grass was cut and a few toys were
scattered here and there. Whoever lived here had been one of the lucky ones.
It took them a couple of minutes to reach the final fence, which thankfully was a good foot shorter than the previous ones they'd scaled. Crouching down, to avoid any police who might be in the garden, Adam gingerly poked his head over the top and surveyed the scene. “The back door's open,” he said in a hushed voice. “I can't see anyone on point at the rear, come on!” He used his right hand as a pivot and vaulted the low panel in one jump, Oriyanna following closely behind.
“How long do you need?”
“A minute, two at most,” she whispered, studying the soot-black interior. “The device is in the safe, it's fireproof but it is up on the first floor.”
Adam gave the building a surreptitious once over and said, “I hope the stairs are intact, then.”
“Only one way to find out.” Oriyanna kept to the fence line and rushed the length of the garden, not stopping before she entered the kitchen. Adam followed behind, praying that no police would be inside.
The housed stank of ash, burnt timber and water, the combination nauseating. Adam followed Oriyanna through the kitchen and she paused by the breakfast bar. People, likely scene examiners, were working in the front room. Between bursts of quiet conversation, Adam could hear the sounds of a camera snapping photos.
“Any identity on the two who were in the lounge yet?” a softly spoken female asked the question, her voice slightly muffled by the face mask she wore.
“Nothing, nada, zip,” a male voice replied. The rapid click of a camera taking pictures followed. “It's a fooking mystery alright. Even the guy we have ID for, Richards – he's a yank. What was he doing here?” More rapid shutter clicks interrupted their conversation.
Adam had waited for the camera sounds to start up again. Moving quickly he drew Oriyanna up the stairs to the first floor, using the camera sounds to mask their footsteps on the damaged stairs, and praying there would be no one up there. On the landing, he surveyed the damage. Bullets had blasted the bannister rail into splinters, and the walls were peppered with bullet holes. “These guys really did a job here, didn't they?” he whispered as Oriyanna passed him and hurried into her room.
Adam watched as she rounded the bed, which apart from being smoke damaged, appeared unscathed. She crouched down and went to work on the safe at the bottom of the built-in wardrobe, its mirrored door hanging precariously from the runner.
“It's gone,” she said, louder than he would have liked. “The device is gone.”
Adam held a finger over his lips and hoped the symbol for shut the fuck up was a universal one. Oriyanna came back to where he was standing, by the door. “Taulass must be alive, the safe wasn't forced.”
“Where the hell is he then?” Adam hissed.
“We need to go to Kingston upon Thames,” she announced, bounding down the stairs as if she'd completely forgotten the scene examiners in the lounge. Adam followed her, expecting to hear voices challenging them at any moment. He peeked around the wall and into the lounge, discovering it was empty. He hoped the two examiners had gone out via the front door and weren't taking five in the back garden. Oriyanna was waiting for him in the kitchen, and Adam signalled for her to stay put. Deftly, he moved to the door and peered into the garden, which thankfully, was empty. He signalled her to hurry and they left the smoky-smelling kitchen. Staying low, they covered the length of the garden and vaulted the fence.
Crouched in the wet grass in the neighbouring property, Adam caught his breath before he spoke. “What's in Kingston upon Thames?”
“The safe house. It's where we planned to meet if things went wrong. Unless he's been caught, that's where he will be.”
“Best we get moving then,” said Adam, glad to be out of the crime scene. He stayed low and crossed the lawn, eager to reach the car.
Two minutes later, Adam cleared the final fence and found himself back looking at the dilapidated swimming pool. With Oriyanna following behind, he made his way down the side of the house and out onto Oakcroft Road. Reaching the safety of the car he finally allowed himself to relax. The windows immediately steamed up, affected by the combination of wet clothing and the warm cab. Adam cracked his window open and turned the fans on full. “Well, that was intense,” he laughed. “Why can't we do things that normal couples do?”
“I don't think we could ever be classified as normal,” she said, running her fingers though her long blonde hair and flicking excess water into the footwell. “Let's get moving, I'll direct you once we get closer.”
Ninety miles away. a dark grey Volvo XC90 pulled into the small visitor's car park at Netheravon Airfield. The passenger in the front seat checked a handheld computer and smiled.
* * *
Steam gradually built up in the small bathroom, fogging up the mirror on the glossy white medicine cabinet and taking some of the chill out of the air. Feeling rather proud of herself, Lucie dipped her right hand into the deliciously warm water and stirred. Satisfied with the depth and temperature, she shut the water off. Making her way through to the bedroom she checked on Sam; he'd hardly moved in the last two and a half hours, and was still flat on his back with his arms spread either side, breathing deeply. Almost looking like someone who'd come in from the pub after have a few too many beers. On her way back to the bathroom she cracked open the boiler cupboard door and checked the pilot light. A bright blue flame was still burning away happily, emitting a steady and satisfying hiss. It hadn't taken much work to get the old girl burning again. The gas had been switched off at the main stopcock, a problem that was easily fixed. Then she just had to re-ignite the pilot flame, which had proven simple, once she'd found the ignition switch on the base of the unit. In the airing cupboard she'd also discovered a couple of blue towels and a matching dressing gown which she seemed to recall had belonged to her mother. Taking it from the slatted shelf, Lucie had buried her face into the material, hoping to smell her mother's perfume still on the robe – but it just smelt a little stale.
She'd also discovered an old bar of Dove soap, still in its wrapper, in the medicine cabinet. Sure, the stuff was a little dried out and cracked, but as soon as she put it in the water it created a lather which would make her feel a whole lot cleaner than she did currently.
Lucie placed one of the light blue towels and the dressing gown by the bath, both within easy reach. She stripped off, quickly realising the steam and the warm water hadn't taken quite as much of the chill from the air as she'd thought. She shivered and glanced down at her flat tummy. Well, I guess pretty soon that's going to be a thing of the past, she thought, running her hand over her bare skin, still not quite believing there was a tiny life growing inside her. Climbing into the water, she did her best to relax. As soon as Sam woke she'd tell him about the baby; she hated the idea that he was the last to know, but things didn't always turn out the way you wanted them to. Working the soap in her hands she washer her face, body then took her long brown hair out of the ponytail, placing the hairband to one side so she could use it again later. Hand soap wasn't the best thing in the world to wash hair with, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Having built up a good amount of lather, she worked it into her hair.
Satisfied that she'd cleaned her locks as best she could, she slipped down in the bath and submerged herself completely.
At first, she thought the figure which suddenly loomed above the tub was Sam, until a strong hand reached into the bath, grabbed her freshly cleaned hair and heaved her upwards.
It wasn't Sam – and the stranger was grinning.
* * *
The small country cottage was uncared for when compared to the image Namtar had seen on Google Street View, but it stood to reason. Watching the building from a safe distance in the sawmill car park, Peltz had explained that imagery on Google was out of date, taken way before the Reaper had swept its scythe over the land. Now the place looked abandoned, and there wasn't even a vehicle in the driveway.
“Are you sure this is the pla
ce?” asked Peltz, not hiding his uncertainty.
Namtar passed him the tablet computer, revealing that the green dot blinked steadily in the same position, right over the aging building. “We passed the wrecked plane back there, didn't we?”
“Yes, but – what if he found the device and this is a trap?”
The thought had crossed Namtar's mind, but he didn't want to tell his subordinates that. There wasn't a back-up plan. He'd hoped to arrive at the building to discover either the small sporty car they knew Adam Fisher used, or the Mini Cooper that his sister and Sam Becker owned. Finding neither was a little disconcerting.
Croaker fidgeted anxiously in the rear seat, using the gap between the two front headrests to watch the cottage. “So, how do you want to play this?” he asked, keen to get on with the job. Namtar had explained Asmodeous' threat to proceed with the plan, whether they returned or not. “The clock is ticking.”
Namtar was about to speak when a steady flow of steam emitted from a vent pipe on the side of the building. He stared at it in confusion. “What's that?” he asked pointing it out.
A grin was forming on Peltz face. “Someone is home,” he announced, glee threaded into his speech. “That's either the heating, or hot water being used. I doubt the place has central heating, so someone is there.”
It was all Namtar needed to hear. He opened the car door and strode around to the boot, unzipping a bag and taking out the tranq-gun. It was loaded with one dart, and he helped himself to a further five, stuffing them into his deep pockets. His fingers touched the small disc that could strip the Gift away from anyone in an instant, a useful tool which he might well need to stop Becker or Fisher from thinking they should attempt any heroics. Beside him, Peltz zipped up his favourite tactical vest, his usual weapons of choice affixed to the front, each within easy reach if needed. By his side, Croaker did the same.