by Chris Ward
Carl grabbed Ishael’s arms and pulled him up. Jess and Marta pulled Ishael away from the back as Carl crouched there, holding on to the side with one hand, the other gripping a knife. The Land Rover started to jerk away, just as something arced through the air and clanged against the metal floor just inches wide of Jess and Marta.
A metal pole, about the length of a man’s arm, sharpened at one end into a point.
‘Holy crap, they have weapons!’ Carl shouted as the Land Rover pulled away, the nearest creature leaping after it. Its claws caught the back of the Land Rover and a screeching, ape-like face gnashed at them. Carl thrust his knife into its maw and ducked back, relieved as the creature fell away, taking the knife with it. For the first time in what felt like hours he let himself breathe.
His respite was momentary. ‘There are others ahead!’ Reeder shouted back. ‘Hold on!’
Marta, Jess and Paul ducked low as the Land Rover smashed into something and bounced. Carl used one hand to steady himself as he reached for a rifle.
‘We need to clear the road,’ Ishael shouted.
Carl pulled himself to the front of the Land Rover and stood up behind the cab, Ishael hauling himself up beside him, holding Owen’s handgun. Several Mistakes rushed towards them down the thin road. Hitting them was unavoidable, but the Land Rover wasn’t built like a battering ram; eventually something would break, leaving them stranded.
Standing shoulder to shoulder, Ishael and Carl fired at the approaching creatures, trying to clear a path through. Blood sprayed from the Mistakes’ bodies as their bullets found targets. Some collapsed into the road or fell into the verges, while some came on unaffected. One or two just stopped running for no reason, and slumped down into a crouch like the first creatures they had seen.
‘We’re clear!’ Reeder shouted, as they swung round a bend in the road and sped down the remains of a slipway that joined on to a wide highway, the Land Rover bumping through potholes and bashing through tall weeds grown up through the cracks in the tarmac. There were no other Mistakes ahead of them, while behind them their last pursuers had lost interest and turned away.
Reeder drove hard for a few miles then slowed the Land Rover down, picking his way more carefully through the potholes as before. In the back, the others crowded round Owen.
Paul, his face bloody, cradled his brother’s head. Owen had a gash on his forehead which Marta wiped with a piece of rag.
‘Is he all right?’ Ishael asked.
Paul looked up at him. Paul’s eyes were distraught, his face tight with worry. ‘Come on, Owen,’ he said.
Without opening his eyes, Owen smiled. ‘I’m waiting for you to cry, big brother.’
There was a gasp of relief from the others as Owen opened his eyes. ‘What the hell happened to you?’ he said, at the sight of Paul’s face. ‘You look like I just kicked your ass in a bitch fight.’
The others moved away to give them some space. Carl sat down at the back of the cab beside Ishael as Marta helped Jess into the front.
‘We were pretty lucky there, weren’t we?’ Carl said.
Ishael nodded. ‘Yeah, I think we were. We’re almost out of ammunition now. If we get attacked again we’ll have problems.’
One glance told Carl how scared Ishael had been. The man’s bruised and swollen face was pale, and his top lip trembled.
‘They were human, too, weren’t they? Just like the Huntsmen.’
Ishael pulled his knees up to his chest and rubbed at a tear in his trousers on his thigh. ‘I keep telling myself that they have to die, that it’s the only way to save the lives of others. If we get across to France –’
‘They might do nothing. They might send us back.’
Ishael grimaced. ‘With each additional bullet I feel less of a man and more like one of them. If we ever get there, who will we be?’
Carl had to think for a moment. He understood what Ishael meant, but he had no answer. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I guess we’ll have to worry about it when we get there.’
‘If.’
Carl looked at him. ‘When.’
Ishael stifled a laugh. ‘The confidence of youth.’
‘The pessimism of late middle-age.’
‘I’m barely thirty!’
This time they both laughed. It was a welcome sound. Owen looked over, wondering what all the fuss was about. Even Paul smiled.
The soft thump of the plastic partition window sliding back broke up their party. ‘Sorry,’ Marta said. ‘Reeder says we’ve got another problem.’
‘What?’ Paul said.
‘It seems the battery of the Land Rover is running down. Reeder says we have to find a settlement and try to locate a recharging station or find another battery that works.’
‘Aren’t we close enough to walk yet?’ Owen said. ‘How far is it?’
‘About fifty miles,’ Marta told him.
Ishael shook his head. ‘They’d run us down. Tell him to look for a small settlement, maybe the remains of a highway service station. We can maybe switch a battery from an abandoned car and bump start it.’
Marta nodded and turned around.
Carl looked around at the others. ‘Not getting the rub of the green, really, are we?’
Owen stared at him. ‘What the hell are you on about?’
Chapter Fifty-Three
New Order
‘Here. You may need this.’
Dreggo looked up. Hands as huge and pale as dinner plates held out a glass of water. She took it gratefully, finishing it in one swallow. She looked up into the Governor’s expressionless face. ‘I thought you might need these too,’ he said, indicating behind him.
What she saw there was like something out of a mirage. A large plastic container filled with steaming water, beside it a small fold-out table holding a fresh set of clothes. She had no doubt they would be her size.
Where did you . . . ?’
The Governor smiled. ‘I anticipated certain situations. Now, let me leave you a few minutes, and then we will talk more.’
The Governor disappeared around the side of the truck. Dreggo turned back to it and slammed the rear door shut, cutting off the horrors of her past, maybe. Karmski was dead now; she had faced up to all the nightmares that had plagued her and dragged her through the bloodiest days of her life. She felt the murderous strength of revenge flooding through her, and her mind felt vital, clear and invigorated. She slipped off her bloodied clothes and let them fall to the floor.
She used a ladle to take the worst of Karmski’s blood off her, plus the blood of others accrued over the last couple of days. It felt good to be clean, though it hurt her to see the extent of the damage to her body, the metal plates that had replaced great areas of flesh torn and gashed by the Huntsman in St. Cannerwells Underground station. Tears filled her eyes, but she washed them away with a handful of warm water.
The Governor was waiting after she had finished toweling herself dry. The clothes he had left for her were similar to those that Clayton wore, but sized for a woman and with a crest on the right chest that surprised her, a black circle with a pair of crosses in the centre.
It was a Mega Britain military rank. The crest on Clayton’s uniform had a black circle with just one cross. Dreggo frowned. That little second cross meant Dreggo was officially Clayton’s superior.
She looked around for the Governor. He was standing in the shade near the truck, his back to her, arms folded. She waited a moment, unsure what to say, but he seemed to sense her and turned. There was a smile on his face.
‘Does it fit?’
‘Yes, perfectly. But . . .’ She wanted to say, I’m a prisoner. I’m not here by choice.
‘Dreggo, I trust you,’ the Governor said. ‘I have delivered you a gift as a token of respect. Karmski was a great scientist, among Mega Britain’s best. That he was in possession of a heart as black as coal was his undoing, as were the secret cameras that only higher government officials knew about. But still, due to his brillia
nce, his death weighs heavily on my heart. That, though, is a weight I am prepared to bear, if it brings me your trust, your respect.’
Dreggo had a million things to say. They clamored at her, refusing to form a queue. She blurted, ‘I was taken in the first place because of you. I’m a . . . a monster because of what your scientists did to me!’
The Governor lifted a hand. ‘I admit we have research facilities. But the programs were supposed to be voluntary. I was never aware that anyone was being taken against their will, or of the atrocities. I can guarantee that a full investigation will be carried out once this terrible business is over with. I lead a large country, Dreggo. My eyes cannot see everywhere at once, and I trust few to see for me.’
She held his gaze a few seconds and then looked away. Can I trust him? His arguments made sense, but it was difficult to break the shackles of torture and abuse that had surrounded her all her life. She no longer feared him, but could she bring herself to do his bidding with willingness?
The Governor spoke. ‘How did it feel, Dreggo? How did it feel with your hands around his neck?’
So he had watched her. She’d suspected he might. She held his gaze steadily. ‘It felt necessary,’ she said.
‘The power of revenge,’ he said, nodding, a small smile on his lips. ‘I never did go for all that turn the other cheek business. Think about how you felt before, and how you feel now. Do you not feel free?’
‘Freer than I’ve ever felt,’ she admitted.
‘And now imagine that you’re still carrying that weight around your neck. Feel the years, the decades pass. How do you feel?’
She thought for a moment. ‘Suffocated?’
The Governor nodded. ‘I’ve helped you destroy some of the demons of your past. The demons of mine are a lot harder to find, but will you help me? Will you be on my side?’
Dreggo thought for a moment. She looked at the Governor, her eyes moving slowly down his face, past his neck, to his chest. She stared hard, concentrating, until she was sure she could hear the low thud of his heart. She stepped forward, lifted one hand, and touched him.
His own hands closed over hers and he pulled her closer, the strength she could feel in his hands and arms astonishing.
With her face just inches from his, she whispered, ‘Yes.’
‘Then Dreggo,’ he replied, his voice a low rumble, ‘Welcome. Now you lead this operation. Find me the Tube Riders, and let’s bring this unpleasant matter to a close.’
#
Clayton knew something was amiss from the moment he saw the Governor and Dreggo emerge from the trees. Behind him, the cacophony from the dump and the scrounging Mistakes had begun to burrow into his skull, while the stench filled every pore of his body.
Opening the gate had been easy. The checkpoint guards, dulled over years of putting up with the smell, had not questioned his authority once they had seen his rank, and the gate was duly opened. Clayton’s convoy now waited on the other side, the men and the Huntsmen all boarded and ready. It was just Dreggo and the Governor who were holding everything up.
Clayton looked around uncomfortably. A few hundred feet down slope, the grotesque carnival of rubbish clearing continued, the howls and groans of the Mistakes filling the air as they scrabbled for scraps of rotten food and anything that could be of use. It scared the hell out of him, watching the zombie parade, but he found the way they just switched off without warning at any time even worse. Dozens of them littered the slope, on their knees, heads slumped forward on to their chests. The closest was not twenty feet away, its back turned to him, head hung forward. He had considered having his agents clear it, but the checkpoint guards had warned him that disturbing one Mistake might set off the rest of them. So, as he waited for the Governor and Dreggo, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder every few seconds just to make sure that the Mistake hadn’t moved, that it hadn’t come any closer. His fingers rested on his gun just in case.
They’d been gone more than two hours. Clayton had sent an agent off to find them, but he had returned with terror in his eyes, babbling that the Governor did not what to be disturbed. The agent’s uniform had scorch marks on the chest and long bruises ran up the agent’s arms. Clayton hadn’t asked for details; he didn’t want to know. He’d sent the agent away to find medical supplies and now waited by the gate, alone besides the two checkpoint guards standing a few feet away, who were eager to get the gate closed and the electrification back on.
He noticed Dreggo’s change of clothes immediately. The black DCA uniform was a stark difference to the bloodied trousers and ripped up shirt she’d been wearing before. Blood, also, had left her hair a matted mess, hair which was now cleaned and tied back behind her head.
If it wasn’t for the metal plate that covered half her face, he could almost have seen her as a woman.
As they walked towards him Dreggo chatted amiably with the Governor, smiles and even laughter passing between them. Above them, rising up from behind the trees that topped the rise, was a plume of smoke.
They stopped in front of him. ‘Good work,’ the Governor said. ‘Are we ready to move?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The Governor turned to Dreggo. ‘Send two Huntsmen south along the fence to pick up the trail. It seems fairly straightforward to me where they’re heading though.’
‘Land’s End?’ Clayton asked. ‘If they can get out to the Scilly Isles they might be able to find a boat to take them down the coast of Brittany. There are rumours of pirates out there.’
The Governor shook his head. ‘Again, Mr. Clayton, you underestimate them. They’ve led us this far. They could have turned south at any time, tried to find a port where they might have found someone willing to risk trying to smuggle them across the Channel. But they haven’t, because they know it’s futile. They know they’re no way out of Mega Britain by sea. So they’re going underground.’
‘The tunnel at Lizard Point,’ Dreggo said.
Clayton opened his mouth to say something to her. Then he noticed the rank crest on her uniform. So, he’d been relieved of power, replaced by this half human bitch. His anger boiled, but he said nothing. He felt the bulge of the remote in his pocket pressing against his arm. In her smugness she appeared to have forgotten about it, but he hadn’t. And he’d use it before she ever got a chance to take it from him. They’d both go down together.
‘Lizard Point is around three hours from here over uneven terrain,’ the Governor said. ‘We had best get moving.’
‘I thought the tunnel was sealed,’ Clayton said.
The Governor smiled. ‘It is. But the Tube Riders don’t know that.’
Clayton nodded. So, it was soon to end. Within a few hours they would all face their fates, his and Dreggo’s undoubtedly among them.
He let his hand brush against the bulge in his pocket one more time.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Community
The land had begun to level out towards the coast when the engine began to choke. The Land Rover bumped a few times and then the engine cut out. Reeder frowned and dropped it into neutral to free-wheel a few final feet before coming to a stop by the side of the road.
‘That’s it, I guess,’ Ishael said. ‘How far is it from here?’
‘From the map I’d guess about ten miles,’ Reeder said.
Marta sighed. ‘We walk from here?’
‘There should be the remains of a town just over that hill,’ Reeder said, pointing at a rise ahead of them. The old weed-strewn highway angled up and over, a stand of trees on either side. ‘It might be worth a try to see if there are any old vehicles lying about. We might find a spare battery, or even another usable vehicle.’
‘I’ll go with Reeder,’ Ishael said. ‘The rest of you should stay here.’
‘To hell with that,’ Marta said. ‘We stay together.’
‘Live together, die alone,’ Jess muttered suddenly, and the others looked at her. ‘That’s what Simon would have said.’
Marta put a hand on Jess’s shoulder. ‘Jess –’
‘He would also have wanted this seen through to the end.’ She brushed a hand through her hair, matted and caked with dirt. ‘His death won’t be for nothing. We all go together, and if necessary we carry on to this tunnel place on foot.’
Marta looked at the others. ‘Are we agreed?’
Ishael and Reeder both nodded.
‘Okay.’ Marta looked over at the back of the Land Rover. There, curled up in a huddle, Paul, Owen and Carl were sleeping soundly. ‘I’d better wake them then.’
Five minutes later they were all standing on the road, the Land Rover emptied of its supplies. They all had bags slung over their shoulders. Marta, Paul, Owen and Jess still had their clawboards. Carl and Ishael carried the last of their guns, and Reeder held the map.
‘If we see any Mistakes keep your voices down and give them a wide berth,’ Reeder said. ‘Chances are there’ll be some in the town over there. What we don’t want is to be attacked again, because we can’t outrun them.’
The others nodded. With Reeder and Ishael in the lead they set off.
Owen walked close to Carl as they walked in a thin line down the side of the highway, staying as near to the hedge as possible. ‘Do you reckon they still have baguettes in France?’ Owen said. ‘I’m bloody starving.’
‘What’s a baguette?’
‘It’s like a long stick of bread. They put ham and cheese inside. I saw them on a DVD about France at school once.’
‘You mean bread rolls? About this size?’ He indicated with his hands. When Owen nodded, he smiled. ‘We have those in the country,’ he said. ‘Mother used to give me one for lunch on schooldays. Cheddar and bacon was my favorite.’
Owen grimaced. ‘Just shut up. You’re making me hungry!’
‘Yeah, I’m making myself hungry too.’
They were silent for a few minutes, and then Owen said, ‘Do you think about your mother a lot?’