by Andy Remic
... And all were as inconsequential as a single snowflake.
Snow hissed by, and below him Carter could feel the board; it was a part of him - they had become one. Carter felt his speed increase and the wind howled past his goggles. He crouched lower, and as the ice trail descended through wind-swaying pines the world suddenly opened up to Carter’s right. The mountains fell away into a vast open canyon where far, far below icy waters crashed through narrow rocky pools. Carter veered right, hit a low hump of snow and kicked himself into the air with the board raised in the vertical. Again, everything was silent, but this time with the whole world of ice and snow opening before him, there came a panoramic explosion of blinding white and blasting air ...
The snowboard slid along the edge of the precipice and a devastating crevasse opened up in front of Carter’s eyes. There came scraping sounds, rocks slicing the underside of the board at high speed and leaving deep grooves. But Carter was oblivious to this. Sunlight glinted from the ice and snow and distant peaks and he did not glance down at the far distant sharp serrated rocks or landlocked lakes. The board veered left, hissing away from the edge of the sheer drop in a shower of snow and Carter allowed himself to breathe once more.
The faster he went, the more peace settled over him.
Adrenalin brought him serenity.
But then— He felt something: a splinter in his soul, a hot needle drilling through his mind. The bulk of the Browning pressed against him reassuringly beneath his jacket but the other feeling, uncomfortable and real and nestling in his stomach like a cancer, made his head twitch as it came up, his eyes scanning his surroundings in a sudden panic born of experience and a life spent in deadly situations. It was almost a vibration, deep, subsonic, beyond normal hearing and it made him feel suddenly sick to his very core.
Carter licked at his dry lips behind the mask.
And then the feeling was gone ... as quickly as it had come.
The board and its rider flashed beneath more conifers, adrenalin pumping Carter to even greater speed. Left and right he zigzagged down the insanely steep incline - more treacherous than any black run that a slope designer could dream up - until, finally, it levelled out and Carter’s racing raging heart started to calm as the board straightened and he sped left, away from the cliffs and lethal terminal drops.
‘You’re still a pussy,’ whispered Kade.
Carter smiled grimly, his face darkly demonic behind the mask.
‘I must get it from you,’ he muttered.
Reaching the outskirts of the hotel grounds, he snapped free of the snowboard and clipped a strap to the carrying D-ring; the hotel, the Coeur des Alpes, loomed ahead of him, an example of fine Swiss architecture constructed from smooth stone and beech, huge beams fronting finely sculpted gardens. Beyond, down snow-laden paths and cable-car tracks, sat the distant town of Zermatt, huddling under a winter shawl of cloud with curls of smoke reaching like grey fingers into the sky.
Carter walked slowly down the winding path, boots crunching fresh fallen snow, between decorative trees and a variety of winter flowers, splashes of colour from edelweiss, lilies and anemones. He stopped before he reached the entrance; a small group of people had arrived in a horse-drawn sleigh and were excitedly disembarking, carrying skis and sporting loud colourful jackets and louder voices. Zermatt was the ‘village without cars’ and Carter found some of the alternative modes of transport almost magical ... another time, another world.
He slung his board over his shoulder and pulled free a cigarette, staring dolefully down at the crumpled weed.
‘Last one?’ He laughed, a gravelly bitter laugh battered by a thousand battles and too many wars. Placing the cigarette between his lips, he grimaced as he lit the old friend and blew a plume of smoke into the soothing cool air.
Sitting, Carter watched the world go by, turning occasionally to stare up the slopes; he could make out the holiday slopes, just starting to bustle at this early hour of the morning. But he looked - no, he searched - beyond this facade, this mask, this replication of normality ... searched for something - else.
‘You’re imagining things,’ snapped Kade.
Carter snorted. ‘Like your fucking voice, perhaps?’ He turned and smiled up gently at a face blocked out by the dazzling sun.
‘You OK?’
‘Yeah,’ sighed Carter. ‘Just relaxing.’
‘I was starting to get worried.’
Carter winked. ‘Just, y’know, enjoying a secret cigarette. The wife thinks I’ve given up and I thought I’d try and sneak one in while she’s back languishing at the cabin, doing all the cleaning and ironing. She’s a bit of a dumb ass, thinks she can get her man - secure her victory like Alexander the Great - and then seek to change him by stopping his bad habits.’
Natasha sat down beside him, huddling close and linking arms. Sunlight bathed her beautiful, finely chiselled features, and her dark eyes surveyed Carter with casual violence as her hand curled around his steel bicep. ‘So, this dumb-ass wife, what would she do if she caught you smoking out here?’
Carter shrugged, reached across, and gently pecked Natasha on the cheek. ‘Probably beat me senseless,’ he sighed, rolling his eyes.
‘And you would let her abuse your body in this way?’
Carter grinned. ‘Yeah, I’ve always loved the violent abuse of a woman.’
They kissed, lips moist and warm as a cool Swiss breeze blew from the mountains, and they drew closer until Natasha’s bump pressed against him. Carter pulled away, met her gaze for a moment, then glanced down. ‘You’re definitely getting bigger. Turning into a right little porker.’
She ignored his jibe. ‘I wonder, do you think he’ll look like you? A mad little Carter running around, hair stuck up in all directions, cut-off combat shorts and podgy little face all screwed up as he searches for his plastic Browning 9mm?’
Carter’s laugh burst free, a sudden explosion of sound. His hand moved over Natasha’s belly, gently, protectively. ‘I’m sure he’ll be a little bastard, just like his father.’
‘I can guarantee it,’ snapped Natasha. ‘Now, are you coming back to bed to warm the covers for me, or what?’
Carter scowled. ‘What do I get in return?’
Natasha reached forward, dark eyes fixed on his, and flicked the end of his nose mischievously. ‘We’ll just have to see what I can come up with,’ she crooned huskily.
Carter lay naked on the bed, still covered by a fine sheen of sweat from their sex, and listened to Natasha singing in the shower. He smiled, but the smile was laced with a distant agony and he remembered the bad times ...
Sleep surprised him, and when his sticky eyes opened it was to see Natasha twirling in her new black dress in front of the mirror, her short dark hair spiked, deep brown eyes beneath well-groomed brows staring disapprovingly at him.
She tutted.
‘What?’ he croaked.
‘Is the father of my child really such a dirty drunkard?’
‘’Twas only a nip, to keep the winter chill at bay.’
‘You say that in the damn summer, Carter.’
He grinned, and scratched his belly. ‘You finished in the bathroom, then?’
‘I have ... no, wait, let me get my make-up before you lock yourself in with a magazine.’
Carter sighed, and rolled grumpily out of bed.
The meal had been a particularly fine one, the following wine - and sex - almost too much for Carter to bear.
When he awoke, in the darkness, he was struck by momentary confusion. Sex-sweat had left him chilled, and he tried to work out how long he had been asleep. He frowned - why was he awake? He didn’t need a piss, or a drink. That usually meant something bad and he rolled swiftly out of bed, palmed the silenced Browning 9mm and pulled on his trousers. If I’m going to fight, he thought, I ain’t going to do it naked ...
Carter hadn’t lived as long as he had without being careful.
And clothed.
He moved towards the door,
silent across the thick carpet, senses screaming at him that something was out of place; he could hear nothing, smell nothing but scented oil from Natasha’s burners and candles, and yet something was wrong. He peered around the door and froze, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Like any hunter he knew that it was movement, mainly movement, that would give away a position - no matter how good the camouflage.
There was a large dark-clad figure, moving with extreme care.
Carter’s eyes narrowed.
The man - or woman - was searching through the cabin; Carter watched as hands rifled through drawers, then through Natasha’s handbag. Carter stepped silently into the room - but, almost impossibly, he was heard. The figure’s head, masked in a neat black balaclava, snapped around, eyes gleaming - then it whirled, dropping to a crouch and leaping with lightning speed at Carter who squeezed the trigger and the Browning spat, a bullet hissing free and smashing into the dark bulk of the figure before it crashed against Carter and sent them both flying back against the wall. Carter bounced to the floor, grunting.
The Browning was knocked free, a fist found Carter’s jaw and he felt a tooth crack, blood flooding his mouth as stars danced in front of his eyes for a second. He lashed out with both fists, striking again and again at flesh beneath the mask and he carried on punching as he was picked from the floor and hurled across the room where he hit the wall again. A picture smashed this time, glass slicing strips of flesh from his back and he hit the floor once more, hard ...
Boots stomped down but Carter rolled with lightning speed, coming up in a crouch and smashing an overhead straight punch into the attacker’s groin - once, twice. Then, gaining his feet, he lashed out and gripped the attacker’s windpipe. The large masked attacker pulled free Carter’s hand with the ease of incredible strength and reached swiftly forward, fingers of both hands curling around Carter’s throat before he could step beyond reach and lifting him from the ground with crushing force, dangling him breathless and kicking, eyes wide as the figure rose to his full height. Carter stared into dark slitted glittering eyes.
Carter choked, his hands gripping at the huge muscles in the arms which held him suspended. His eyes narrowed as he realised this huge fucker was much, much stronger than he, and he kicked out once, twice, three times but the grip would not release and Carter was choking, spinning white stars dancing patterns before his eyes and choking, choking and falling, he was shaken like a rag doll and he realised that he was suffocating ...
Carter’s hands dropped swiftly to the waist of his combats and with agony hammering through him and pain burning his brain with hot acid he slid free the thread of MercG that was sheathed there - hidden - as he heard the confused voice of Natasha calling from the bedroom. Carter sensed more than saw the attacker’s change of stance, head turning to this new potential threat...
He had to act - and act fast.
His feet lashed out ineffectually against the attacker’s groin and belly. Carter spun the mercury garrotte, a processor-controlled liquid metal thread activated by mind augmentations, so thin that it could be undetectably concealed and so astonishingly deadly that it could cut through steel, and with a flick of his wrist sliced through one of the attacker’s arms. A burning hiss of slashed flesh and bone was barely audible.
The attacker screamed, a high shrill sound, releasing Carter who landed in a crouch beside the severed blood-pumping arm, limp-fingered and twitching and spilling gore across the carpet. The attacker spun, fleeing into the darkness without any further sound as Carter rubbed at his bruised windpipe and focused on regaining his breath and his vision. With his sight returned, he deactivated the MercG, located his Browning and crawled to the cabin door, peering out into the snow. But the attacker had vanished.
‘What is that fucking smell?’
Natasha, bleary-eyed and naked, hair tousled, nose wrinkled, stood in the doorway to the bedroom, looking confused.
‘Yeah, thanks for your help,’ croaked Carter, reaching up to flick on the light. An ambient cosy warm radiance contrasted with the stark images and thoughts that crashed through Carter’s brain.
Natasha frowned, then stared down. ‘Carter, there’s a fucking arm on the carpet.’
‘Really? You don’t say. I wonder how that got there -could it have been something to do with the noise that roused you from your wine-induced slumber?’
‘What was he after?’ Natasha pulled a blanket around her shoulders and moved to him, crouching. ‘Are you all right?’
Carter laughed, sliding the MercG back into its tiny hidden sheath at his waist and rising to lock the door of the cabin. ‘Nice to see my health is third on your list of priorities.’
‘Did he take anything?’
Carter prodded the severed arm with the toe of his boot. ‘I don’t know; I disturbed him before he found whatever he was looking for. Maybe he wanted Jam’s GridMap.’ Carter rubbed at his bruised throat again, noting Jam’s map which had been covered by Carter’s scattered wedding notes. The simplest hiding place was sometimes no hiding place at all!
‘Can you get me a glass of water? The bastard nearly crushed my windpipe.’
‘Hence the arm on the floor.’
‘Yeah. And get onto Spiral, comm a genetic sample, see if the CDb can find us a match.’ He coughed painfully as Natasha passed him some water. He checked first the door, then the carpet, then his Browning. ‘The fucker took a bullet.’
‘It didn’t wake me.’
‘That’s because the gun was silenced and you were drunk. I never knew I’d curse the damn thing! I could have done with some help, even from somebody who was pissed.’
‘You’re bleeding ... God, Carter, you’ve really been in the wars.’
‘Yeah, you’ll have fun picking the glass out of my flesh later’
‘Was this guy strong? A Nex?’
Carter stared with a frown at Natasha. ‘Too strong,’ he croaked, prodding at his windpipe. ‘So much for the Utopia I dreamed about. Had to be a fucking Nex - and a big one at that. I was hoping the SAD teams had wiped them all out by now ...’
‘They’ll never kill them all.’ Natasha stroked Carter’s cheek. ‘And it looks like they still want you dead, my lover.’
‘Yeah,’ he grimaced, ‘I’m a regular fucking hunted man.’
Music thundered, as if the Gates of Hell had been thrown wide open. Carter frowned, perched at the bottom of the stairs, smoke stinging his eyes, gazing out from this slight vantage point at the hundreds of people filling the hotel function room. After the previous night he was a touch on edge despite Spiral’s reassurances that there was no Nex activity in the area. The results of the gene-coding sample had been returned negative: the attacker had not been a Nex. Just a real tough human son of a bitch.
Carter grinned nastily and searched the crowd for a large one-armed man. The Browning in his belt would sort things out if Carter happened across the intruder again ... and the next time he wouldn’t take just an arm as a trophy.
Natasha, behind him, gave him a little push.
‘Come on, Carter, we’re late.’
Carter grumbled and muttered something: something about it being too smoky, too crowded and too loud. And how he had recently been attacked and so should really be at home in bed with a hot whisky and lemon, three sugars.
‘How old are you, you moaning old goat? Jesus, Carter, it’s not like we go to many parties! Make a bloody effort or I’ll break your spine.’
‘Someone already tried that,’ he grumbled, feeling the medical staples that Natasha had applied pull tight in the flesh of his back.
Carter watched Natasha’s low-cut black dress disappear into the throng, and he followed, more sedately - like a dog on a leash, growling.
Carter blinked, then stared hard at the flamboyant and very well-presented breasts which had just bumped rudely into his chest. ‘Excuse me,’ came a voice slurred by High German and beer.
Carter’s eyes flickered up from the impressive cleavage to a beautiful young
face regarding him with positive appraisal. He shook his head, took a deep smoke-filled breath, and fought his way to the bar where he ordered a litre of Schwarz-Bier and sunk his face into its cold welcoming depths. The liquid nectar soothed his throat, soothed his brain and soothed his temper. Parties were not exactly Carter’s scene; it wasn’t the party perse, more the horde of bustling party people all with their own little agendas. Carter wasn’t exactly the human race’s greatest fan, and he had the word cynicism branded - hardwired -into his brain.
‘There you are!’
Natasha twirled into view, giggling, a man on each arm.
Carter, with a Schwarz-Bier moustache, frowned at her. His field-staples were hurting - he could feel the tiny pins piercing his skin and muscle - and the bruises on his throat were a testament to his recent attacker’s formidable strength.
‘Dancing! You coming dancing? This is Hans ... and, and, and—’
‘Mm!’ grunted Carter, which translated through intonation to something considerably more rude.
Natasha took the hint, and disappeared, bump first.
Carter ordered another beer. He changed his mind, and ordered two. Then he thought: fuck it, and ordered a third, with a triple-whisky chaser. It’s going to be a long night, he thought as the lights dimmed and more lasers kicked spirals of colour across the walls and beams - and the music’s volume increased painfully.
‘You happy?’ came the taunting voice of Kade. Carter ignored him, ignored the tone of arrogance and deceit. ‘Come on, Carter, talk to me! This is a fine place, full of fine woman flesh — look there! You see her hips? Fine child-bearing hips ...’
‘Leave me alone,’ said Carter softly.
‘But... Carter, I can’t leave you alone, dickhead. We are brothers. And I feel I should warn you that things here are not as they seem. ‘