12:20 PM
Jack hated leaving Burnfield in such a state but what else could he do? Come to that, how the hell was he going to stop Indira and Growden on his own? They were three policemen down and they hadn’t even got into the main complex yet. The attack at OsMiTech demonstrated Growden’s intention to cause destruction without worrying about the amount of people that got killed in the crossfire.
Burnfield should never have considered coming after him with only a handful of men. This was always going to end badly. But, Jack could still leave. Go back and wait for the reinforcements to turn up. Play it safe.
But, that gave Growden even more time in the vault to do whatever it was he was planning on doing. He was already inside the complex. How long did they have to stop him? He already had a head start on them.
The doorway from the entrance tunnel led into a locker room. A wall of lockers against one wall, closed. The benches in the middle of the room had a couple of leftover items on them. Hanging from a hook in the middle was somebody’s jacket.
And then on the floor over by the door was the first dead body.
The blood had bloomed out from the man’s chest and spread out across the floor in a universe of crimson death. A fist-sized hole in the front of his chest looked like the exit wound. He’d been alive long enough to try to get some help to save his life. His hands were bloodied where he’d tried to staunch the wound. Judging by the amount of blood on the floor, he would have died quickly. A small mercy.
Panels above the door leading out of this room glowed dimly. Jack’s remaining eye had already adjusted to the dim emergency lighting.
Another body in the hallway beyond the doorway. An Asian woman in her forties. Glasses crunched to dust beside her bloodied face. Her lab coat streaked with bloodied finger lines. Her eyes lifeless. Her lips open a tiny gap for her last breath to escape. There were no weapons beside her body, and she was so slight that Jack couldn’t imagine her being any sort of match for Growden. There was no need for this butchering.
Jack looked around him, up and down the corridor, unsure which way led to Growden. He tried reaching out for Indira but she would be being cautious and his probes evaporated in the ether. There could be more of them. He’d supposed it would just be the pair of them doing this because that’s who he’d seen at the morgue, but how many people did the maniac have at his beck and call? There could be a small army down here. No. That’s his irrationality running overtime. He would have sensed if there was anyone else alive down here. So, far, he couldn’t get a fix on anyone.
It wasn’t too late to abandon this. By now, Burnfield would have got outside and called for backup. They would be here very soon. He might serve the mission better if he just sat and waited for help to arrive.
But if he could save this place, wouldn’t that put him in good stead with OsMiTech? Perhaps it would be possible to get on the reversal list. Take a comfortable job. This one working with Burnfield wasn’t so bad.
The corridor was dimly lit as well, and rattles from the shut down air conditioning unit could be heard in the ceiling. He came to a stairwell and stepped out, glancing down into the darkness. Another body lay prone on the stairs. He couldn’t bear to look at what was left at the person’s head, to see whether it was even a man or a woman. It didn’t matter; they were dead. As he walked past them, he was careful not to step in any of the suspicious tissue.
At the first of the lower levels, he opened the door onto another corridor. A draft of warm air drifted over him. Lights from windowed rooms twinkled. Equipment running under its own power. Cautiously, as if walking on cloud, he moved along the corridor, keeping a close eye on the doors. Growden or Indira could be hiding in any of these rooms. The weight of the gun in his jacket pocket reassured him somewhat, and now he felt would be a good time to grit his teeth and hold it. He’d never fired a weapon before but he’d been close to them. This police issue gun was surprisingly heavy in his hand. Burnfield could have used a standard issue stun gun but had preferred to take this on duty instead. The detective had frequently struck him as old school and this was just another example of that.
Holding it out before him, he rested his finger on the trigger. Stupidly he realised he didn’t even know whether the thing had a safety or not. He tracked the gun around the corridor, following his gun arm into the first room on the left.
It was a lab. It looked to be the same lab where he’d seen Booth working in the remnant. If it wasn’t the same, it was clearly fitted out in a similar fashion. He sighed, grateful that he’d at last found something that connected the dots. Booth had worked here. The air was less fetid than it had been in the corridor; the filtration systems in the lab were still working.
He’d got used to seeing dead bodies now. Another woman lay prone across a work bench in the middle of the room. Her long hair had been tied back. She had a hole in her chest. A first aid kit was open on the floor beside the dead woman. Perhaps she hadn’t died instantly. The box was full of useful med tech. Creams, bandages, medidressings, and even a mini defibrillator. Was she another one like Booth? How many of the workers here were under some kind of conditioning? Was that a prerequisite for their employment? Shame there didn’t seem to be anybody left alive to ask.
He stepped over a second dead body that he’d failed to see when he first entered the room. An older man in his sixties, fallen from a stool when the gun shot had torn through his chest.
In the remnant, he’d seen what Booth had been working on but even so, seeing a crate with memory boxes lined up still took him by surprise. As he approached, the smell of the wood of the tree of the dead was unmistakable. He reached out to touch one of the boxes, and it was warm to the touch. It was a nice feeling.
On the next trolley along was something far less inviting. A crate had been opened and left on the end of the desk. It looked like this was what the two lab workers were working with; taking eyes from the crate and fitting them with adaption modules before depositing them inside memory boxes, ready for storage or to be sent out to whatever remnant keeper was unlucky enough to receive it.
Something on the floor almost made him slip, and he shone his HALO light at his feet, before stepping back hurriedly in disgust at the sight of a dozen or so eyes that had spilt in the fight.
A noise from the corridor made him turn. Things started to happen in slow motion as if his senses had been dampened. Not an effect of the medication. This could only be—
Indira. Standing at the entrance to the lab. Her hands were empty. She didn’t intend to shoot him, but her expression was not kind—a smile that felt more of a gloat. She fixed him with a stare that was somewhere between pity and embarrassment.
“That looks awful,” she said pointing at his stitched up eye.
Jack launched himself towards her, only his feet didn’t want to move and the momentum from the top half of his body threatened to pull him down to the floor. It was like the bottom half of him no longer existed.
“You killed them. All these people.”
“No, that wasn’t me.”
“You’re his accomplice. You’re as guilty as Growden.”
She tipped her head. “You’ve a curious attitude to mundanes. I’ve never known anyone quite like it. You should learn to appreciate what you have. Whatever they’ve tried to tell you, you’re not one of them. You’re better.” Indira stepped into the room, moving around the dead bodies as if they were nothing more than rocks on a beach.
“Impressive that you can take part in a scheme like this and still claim innocence. Is that what working for Growden does to you?”
“He knows what the future will bring. He’s seen it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Some are born to lead. He’s a visionary.”
Jack nodded at the dead technician. “Some vision. She’ll have had a family. Just like Booth Maguire. I met his. A wife who stood by him all the while he was being trained at OsMiTech. A little boy who’s still too young to appreciate his da
ddy’s not coming back. And you’ve taken that from them.”
“He should have left them the moment he was registered. That would have avoided all this suffering.”
“It was his fault?”
“The system is at fault. We shouldn’t be held accountable to rules and Registration Acts. Devan Oster has a lot to answer for with his bloody minded ideology.”
“The system has worked for a decade. It’s kept both sides in check.”
“So you acknowledge that there are sides?”
Jack shook his head. “I’m not being drawn into your excuse for an argument on ideology.”
“Then you’re a fool that’s been blinded by idealism. The system is broken. Why would these people be here if it was working? They’ve chosen to forgo their normal lives to work underground for a government that wants to condition their minds so they become puppets. That’s not normal at any level.”
Jack paused. It was hard to disagree with Indira completely. A system that demands its people sacrifice their own history to become a cog in this enterprise. And for what? To harvest the eyes of the dead.
“Get out of my head.”
“OK, for now.” She wore her grin with pride.
“But you’re different again aren’t you?” Jack said. “I’ve met another like you. She was deluded as well.”
“I heard about Anna. Interesting that she choose to hide her identity for so long.”
“How did you hear about her?” Jack asked. The case was supposed to be classified.
Indira ignored the question. “You need to learn to see the patterns. How long do you think this can go on? We’re ten years into a system where telepaths are registered and monitored. Given out to individuals who can pay to use them, diminishing those who refuse. Do you see this system lasting a long time? What will happen when this unit is destroyed? When the body parts of the dead, that have been forcibly harvested, are obliterated without their loved ones getting the service they crave, what will happen then? Do you think the public are going to like telepaths any more than they do now? Face it, the tide is turning. We aren’t going to be integrated into society any more. We should be the ones running it.”
Jack found himself bending down against his will to retrieve an object from the floor, his eyes locked on Indira.
He was holding something weighty. She let him glance down at it and he was taken aback. The micro defibrillator.
“I’m giving you a choice. A chance to consider your future.”
She didn’t even bother to respond.
At the end of the wand like device in his hand was a pad about the size of a closed fist. The device had activated on his touch and a blinking red light suggested it was ready to deliver a life-saving jolt of electricity. Only, Indira had no interest in saving anyone’s life. His hand was beside his head. The pad inches from his temple.
“Looks like you’ve overridden the safety protocol,” she nodded at the light on the unit that had switched to green. “I’m not sure what that is going to do to you when it touches, but I suspect you won’t live long enough to care.”
“Don’t do this. You don’t have to be a killer.”
“I’m fighting for survival. For all of us.”
“I don’t want any part of it.”
The smile evaporated. “Join us. You’re resourceful. We could use people like you.”
“I’m not a murderer.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
What did she mean by that?
The hand with the defibrillator inched closer. His finger sought out the trigger mechanism and applied the gentlest of pressure. Jack wondered whether it would be as quick as she promised. Oblivion might be the best option. Living without Keeley was no life at all. Only, he’d never got to tell her he was sorry. The morning of her death that fight over the licence. If he could do one thing before he died, it would be to go back and tell her that he loved her.
The regret wrapped around his chest and tightened. It was so familiar to him now, he was able to nurture it and let it grow on demand.
The hand with the pad moved lower, away from his head.
Oh.
Indira noticed it. Jack saw her pained expression. She was having to fight to keep control.
Jack could move. Slowly at first, but surely.
A second voice in his head. Not Indira’s nor Jack’s. Someone other.
Indira lifted a single eyebrow, then knowing that she was losing, reached in her jacket pocket. Jack didn’t need to read her mind to anticipate the gun she would surely bring out and use to end his life. And he was right. Even as he ran towards her, the defibrillator unit outstretched in his hand, the shape of a gun emerged. Indira’s eyes bulged as Jack bore down upon her. She tried to retreat but tripped over the lab worker on the floor and tumbled backwards, falling onto her back.
But the gun hadn’t been forgotten. Even as Jack lunged, she was quick-witted enough to bring it to bear. Jack thought he could hear the gentlest click of a finger on a trigger, then realised it was his own as he brought the life-saving unit down onto Indira’s face and pulled the defibrillator’s trigger.
Her body shook as a thousand volts ran through her. But Jack’s momentum was such that he caught her skin as he travelled and the shock jolted him as well. He fell to the side of Indira, exhausted and aching. She wasn’t moving, but he detected a faint pulse.
He bowed his head. What had these people turned him into?
But things were worse, they always were. He didn’t have time to sit and complain about how unfair it all was; he had to stop Growden.
12:40 PM
With Indira out of action, there was no one left to block the residual thoughts of those in proximity. Jack was able to scan and direct himself towards the closest living body in the vicinity, hoping it would be the man behind all of this.
The corridor at the end of the lab run ended in a metal door, already ajar, wires poking out of the control unit beside the lock. Someone had had to mess with the actual wiring to get past this door. He walked through expecting to see Growden but instead he found himself on an old railway platform.
Jack tried not to think of the thousands of tons of brick and concrete above him. If Growden were to use another explosive down here, this could well become a tomb. Jack stepped down onto the tracks but instinctively kept clear on the rails. The tunnel only led one way, the south passage was blocked. His scan suggested the man he was tracking wasn’t far and he was validated when he made out the doorway, about a hundred metres along the track.
He hurried, stepping around the rails, eager to get this over with. The air was hot and brushed along the tunnel like the wheezing breaths of a giant. Lights had been installed at regular intervals in the ceiling above but the light was insipid and failed to reach the tunnel edges. Scratching noises came from the darker corners and he remembered again what happened to Booth Maguire. Jack found himself checking behind him for anyone following, but the tunnel was always empty behind.
As he approached the door he clung to the tunnel edges, using the shadows to his advantage and stepping carefully so as not to ruin any element of surprise he might have. When his foot knocked against a dead rat, he caught the shock of surprise before it could give him away. His heart raced. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He couldn’t hear anyone moving beyond the door but he snatched the scent of another person’s mind. It had the same arrogant shape of Growden that he’d experienced in the morgue.
Gingerly, he reached out a shaking hand and took hold of the door handle before easing the door gently open.
The shooting he’d expected didn’t happen and Jack stepped inside the unit. Rows and rows of memory boxes lined shelves all around the interior. No mistaking it—he was in the right place.
And there, three stacks down, he saw a figure hunched over something. Jack held his gun and pointed it ahead of him. Unsure how prepared he was to use it, at the least, it would make Growden think twice before acting against him.
The scent of black pine caught his nostrils as he advanced past the curiously quiet memory boxes. Yes, the voices often only came when they were ready to be heard, usually in the moments before a recall—timing was important, but, with all the hundreds of boxes around him, he’d expected a little more noise than the faint whispers he was getting.
“I knew you’d come.” Growden turned as Jack approached, and Jack saw the memory box in one hand and the device in the other. Growden had slung a patch over his damaged eye. Growden’s device comprised a thin handle with a trail of wires leading from its base to an open holdall on the ground. Inside the holdall, Jack could see a jar filled with an unidentified substance. Then he noticed the wires leading off from the bag into the edges of the room. Another bomb like the one from Adam’s office?
Jack tried not to think of the possible explosion. He wouldn’t be able to outrun this like he had the one at OsMiTech. “I think I’m meant to say ‘you’re under arrest’.”
A moment of silence.
Growden tipped his head and got to his feet. “You’re a natural,” he said, “Now, I’m going to be polite and ask you, nicely, to put down that gun and kick it over here. You won’t need it.”
Jack hesitated.
Growden still had his hands on the bomb. “I can set this off now if you’d prefer.”
Slowly, Jack bent and placed the gun on the floor. With the side of his foot, he knocked it towards Growden, who glanced at it before turning his attention back to the memory box in his hand.
“Why do they want to keep them?” he asked Jack.
“Come again?” Jack replied.
“The eyes? Why are they so desperate to keep them?”
“It’s the law.”
“But why did it ever become law? Catching murderers isn’t all of it. There’s more to it than that. Why do we keep them all?”
The Remnant Vault (Tombs Rising Book 2) Page 17