by Ian Williams
Graham let the others run for nearby cover and then did the same the other way. He quickly caught up to the Captain at the end of the alleyway.
“What are you playing at, Graham. Go back with the rest of them.”
“You can’t take them all on by yourself. I can help.”
“And how are you going to do that, you’re not even armed?”
“Then give me another weapon.”
With a reluctant sigh, Captain Rigs ripped a small pistol from his chest that had been attached by Velcro straps. He handed it over before creeping slowly away. “Don’t lose this one.”
Behind them came the sound of the restaurant as it collapsed in on itself while they snuck away and into the shadows. They went as far as they could without leaving cover, which only took them to the end of the street. The destruction and havoc still going on back at the restaurant continued while they left quietly. Isaac again appeared only interested in complete annihilation of his enemies. Rather than a structured attack, he had settled for another devastating barrage.
Captain Rigs stopped suddenly at the corner of a building and peered around it. He kept his rifle lowered but ready to fire if needed. Soon enough Graham heard a rustle from nearby that told him what was there.
“Gotcha,” Captain Rigs whispered. Another blast from the restaurant had no effect on him at all. He was solely focused on the voices a few metres away from them.
Petra was arguing with one of her men. She spoke only in Polish, but from the back and forth of the conversation it was obvious she was unhappy with how things had gone. She snapped at every response she got in reply.
“How many are with her?” Graham asked.
“Two men.”
“She arrived with four. One was shot. So where’s the other one?”
“It doesn’t matter. They aren’t with her now. Gregson took one of them out. Right, you stay here, I’ve got this.”
Before Graham could tell him otherwise, Captain Rigs was already leaving cover. He walked slowly and cautiously. With silent steps he made his way closer to Petra’s group, who were moving as fast as Petra’s elderly frame would allow. The nearer he got the more he raised his rifle and took aim at the first of Petra’s men. For betraying her own race, she was set to pay with the blood of her and her thugs.
Graham jumped when Captain Rigs stepped on a piece of glass that crunched beneath his feet. Petra spotted him immediately after hearing the same thing and shot a piercing look his way. As for her men, Captain Rigs gave neither of them the chance to react. He fired two shots, one for each head that presented itself to him. Both men slumped forward, tumbling all the way to the ground with a face-smacking thud against the pavement.
Petra did all she could to keep her enemy at bay by swinging her walking stick out at him. She waved it through the air in a panic. It did nothing to prevent Captain Rigs from kicking her legs from under her and sending her reeling in pain. She landed in the pile along with her two remaining men. “Please, I help you, I take you with me,” she pleaded.
“Not this time. You turned your back on your own kind, and for what?”
“I do these things to stay alive. I do it because I have no choice.”
While taking his time to aim, Captain Rigs said, “Then you can die for your choices.”
He failed to see what Graham had a split second later; the third guard with her, who until then had been hidden.
“Drop it, asshole,” the guard ordered as he touched his pistol against Captain Rigs’ neck.
“Do something, G.” Graham’s younger personality said. As usual it was the more gung-ho of the voices in his head.
The other had more restraint, usually. “You can take him.”
Without hesitation, Graham stepped forward and fired the remainder of the bullets in his pistol into the back of his enemy. He continued to pull the trigger well after it had clicked empty. But the man was still standing. The bullets had found him well enough and embedded deep into his body, yet he could still fire his own weapon.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Captain Rigs yelled as the gun fired right beside his ear. In a flash he reacted and attacked the man. Knowing exactly how long it would take to reverse his rifle around and take aim, he quickly turned to another weapon instead, one that needed no time to prime or load.
He yanked a jagged blade from another Velcro pocket and forced it up through the man’s chin. While the man wriggled and gurgled on his own blood, the knife continued. Captain Rigs did not stop until he was completely satisfied he had reached the brain stem.
As soon as the body was released it toppled over backwards, leaving Captain Rigs standing in front of Petra with a bucket-load of blood down him. Petra screamed out in terror as he looked sidelong at her. The face he displayed was one of calmness; killing had temporarily shut off his emotions. Now all that was left was for a single shot to Petra’s wrinkled up face.
She fell silent mid scream.
“Jesus, you’re bleeding,” Graham said as he approached.
The shot that had been fired beside the Captain’s head had evidently caused some damage inside, as blood was now dribbling out of his ear. All he could say in return to Graham’s concern was, “We need to get back to the basement.”
He then wandered past Graham without saying a word more.
Chapter 23
Two steps back, one step forward
The soft grass beneath Stanley’s feet swayed gently to the rhythm of the breeze. He watched as it moved, felt the way it stroked his skin, and smiled. His recovery had been quick and now he could finally explore the world these Sentients had made for themselves. It was so real, so very human, and yet things were not as they seemed. Because paradise had a pest problem.
He still could not deny it was a beautiful place to be. A park with a strong heat from the sun above held his attention like a piece of artwork hanging on a wall. He studied every detail around him, picked out every colour and structure he could find. In the direction he looked it all appeared completely ordinary, with buildings out in the distance and trees lining the periphery. However, when he turned his head, even a little bit to one side, the illusion fell apart.
Behind him the scenery stopped dead at a strange boundary line. Past this was the church he had spent a good few hours resting in and thinking about his mission. It invaded this perfect afternoon scene like a gaping hole in time and space. Except that the phantom-like people there with him, who existed as part of the memory only, ignored it completely. They walked behind the image of the church or entered through it and on to a memory they were never a part of before.
The different areas were mixing together in odd ways.
Every now and then a glowing body would also enter the park too, but none of them stayed for long. Something was obviously going on as they all now moved with great urgency. They walked past him in the direction of another invading scene without stopping. The park was nothing more than a thoroughfare. Although part of the reason why none of them stopped was possibly due to the strangeness of Stanley’s actions. They had no doubt seen him exploring the park and wondered what in the world he was doing.
In fact, he had another motivation altogether. He was not enjoying this view for his own pleasure at all, but for the sake of his mission. Now he had been left alone and could walk freely without anyone fussing over him, he could begin his search. Anything he saw that could be exploited, any loose thread that could be pulled, was of interest to him.
He strolled casually on, with a keen eye on the movement of the fluffy clouds above. For a short while he had watched them float by, noting the way they reset to their original place after a set amount of time. The memory was on a permanent loop, as were the rest of them too. Except when this scene restarted he saw something strange each time. With each cycle it flashed and flickered before settling down again.
Another restart was soon to occur. He had counted it down almost exactly on the last and expected to be equally as precise again. This time he plan
ned to be near the boundary of the next scene, one to his right that appeared to contain a nightclub and people partying away. Lucky for him it appeared a memory of a New Year's Eve party. He was using the countdown to the end of the year to keep his own count roughly correct.
The cloud he had thought resembled an iced bun was getting close to the edge of the boundary line again. This was the last object to cross before the scene reset each time. It would only get half way over the line, and would then suddenly disappear and reappear on the other side of the sky. He watched as it moved slowly, nearing the point of his real interest; the almost seamless cut between worlds.
Three, two, one, he counted in his head.
Then it happened. A flash, a flicker and then the entire scene was back to the beginning. His mind popped with a quick feeling of excitement as the thing he had waited to see again happened. The scene might have reset but the boundary was a little behind. A neon glow permeated the join as it sealed. These two separate memories did not seem as strongly linked as they should be.
When Stanley’s finger passed right through the bright light of the boundary line he laughed. The reaction took him by complete surprise. To hide his all too obvious pride at having found a weakness in the Sentients’ world, a chink in their seemingly impermeable armour even, he pulled his hand back and cradled it against his chest.
Before getting too excited, he knew he should do the same in another of the memories first. He decided that the nightclub scene would be next; he quite fancied having a little celebration after his success.
Unfortunately, a hand on his shoulder soon broke that thought. He turned to see Luke standing there waiting for him. His arm fell to his side. He did not feel like celebrating anymore. Another test was coming, this time from the Sentient faction. Failing this test, however, would break his cover. That, he vowed, was not going to happen.
“Hello, my friend,” Luke said.
Stanley deliberated for a second before replying. He worried about his voice. He had not spoken much since arriving and was unsure the voice coming from his mouth would be his or that of his illuminated disguise.
“Hello.” Thankfully it was as fuzzy and distorted as before.
“I trust you are well rested?”
“Yes. Thank you. What’s going on? Everyone seems very busy.”
“We are preparing for battle.” With a swing of his arm toward the church, Luke ushered Stanley onward. “In the meantime, the others would like to speak with you, about your miraculous survival.”
“Miraculous?” Stanley asked.
Luke ignored the response. “Please, this way.”
They entered the church scene in silence, which Stanley would otherwise have considered appropriate if not for the uneasiness hanging over them. Luke clearly had doubts about his lone survival story.
After another short tour of the uneven landscape, and seemingly tacked-on detours they passed along the way, they soon arrived in a small home setting. In what should have been the lounge now sat a gathering of small Sentients. They all watched an adult Sentient at the front, who pointed to symbols and weird figures on the wall. Stanley had to stop for a moment to see it for himself.
They were teaching their young.
He was soon moved on by the teacher with a friendly wave that made the class turn and stare at him. Some even appeared to whisper to their friend and giggle among themselves. They saw the brave warrior standing before them like some kind of celebrity. To them he was hope, possibly even a chance for salvation.
For a short while, maybe a few seconds, Stanley felt ever so slightly guilty about this.
Luke took him further into the memory, up a staircase and into what should have been a study. As with all other parts of this upturned world though, it instead led into another scene altogether. It led into a dark cave with high ceilings and computer screens on the leftmost wall. He had never seen anything like this before, yet he knew it had once existed. In the centre of the room stood a huge cube, roughly two metres in size, and with swirling shapes moving freely inside.
“Welcome home, friend,” Stephen called out from the wall of screens. “Do you like what we've done with the place?”
With a quick look around, Stanley then replied, “It is indeed impressive,” he said. He noticed a room-length shutter just beyond a window to his right, as well as a small seating area in one corner. Of course, his disguise did not come with the memories of the previous owner. He could not be certain he had enough to even pretend he knew it. The truth was it was the most Sentient looking place he had seen so far.
“I know it’s not quite right. Graham’s memories of Sanctuary are only short. He was only here for a few hours after all. Still, I think you'll agree it will do nicely.” Stephen tapped a few keys on the computer keyboards in front of him. In the centre of the room, the cube suddenly turned over and disappeared into the floor. In its place came a long wooden table, with chairs ready and waiting for them.
“Please, sit,” Luke said, pulling a seat out for Stanley. “Kindness is a little busy talking to the others, but he’ll be here soon. Before you speak to him, though, perhaps you could help us understand a few things first?”
“Of course. What do you wish to know?” Stanley replied. He did his best to find a comfortable position in his creaky chair. With the two there staring directly at him he found this a little difficult.
Stephen sat on a chair opposite, while Luke chose to sit on the table and place his feet on a chair. Luke’s posture had a degree of threat to it that made Stanley lean away in reaction; not quite the way he wanted to react.
“First,” Luke began, “how far into Isaac’s tower did you and the rest of your team get?”
“Yes, and did you see how many soldiers he has?”
There was nothing Stanley could tell them, even if he wanted to. He had only seen a small part of his master’s tower. All he could do was wing it, and hope he could feed them enough false information to keep them satisfied. Then when they had heard enough, he would slip away and tell his commander what he had learnt of the Sentients.
“Where should I begin?” Stanley said.
* * *
“What do you mean, they took her? Why would they take her?” Rhys’ voice boomed throughout the control room of the basement. He aimed his words directly at one man, a man who should not have been there at all.
Where plans were made and meetings were once held, now only bloodied wounds and bandaged limbs were being seen to. Each and every surface in the basement’s control room was taken up by the injured. Those who had been lucky enough to survive the attack at the restaurant were not so lucky now, as medical supplies were already running low. If not seen to in time, some were going to bleed out.
The arguing was only hindering efforts too.
Graham had his arms locked around Rhys’ chest and tried his best to keep him there. Letting go would unleash a whole lot of anger into the room. “Rhys, come on, you need to calm down.”
“How the fuck can I calm down knowing they have Phoenix? She’s in danger and this dick knows where she is.” Rhys wriggled in Graham’s arms to get a good look at the man. “You’re one of Conrad’s men, so tell us where he took her.”
The man stayed silent.
“Rhys, we’ll find her, we will, but you need to chill out.”
“Dammit, just tell us why Conrad took her?”
After so long without a single word from the man’s mouth, he finally broke his silence to speak. “We didn’t plan it. Conrad just reacted to the situation. Look, I don’t know why. Do you really think I’d come here with you if I knew it was going to happen?” The man lowered his head and gripped his bandaged leg. He took a tight hold of it as he tried to stand. “Shit, it really stings.”
“Good. I hope it fucking hurts bad, buddy. You deserve it.”
Gregson pushed the man back, forcing him to rest against the console behind him again. “Your leg is badly lacerated…” She stopped and searched her memory for
a name.
“Scott,” the man said.
“Well, Scott, if we hadn’t brought you back here you would have bled out by now. You owe us.”
“I can’t tell you where they are, I can’t. I’m sorry. After what happened I’m still not sure I can trust you.”
“You can’t trust us? Are you kidding me?” Rhys shouted.
“You were the ones who called the meeting, you were the ones that invited an enemy spy, and it was you who placed everyone in Isaac’s firing line. So yeah, I don’t trust you. How do I know you won’t just track my people down and kill them all?”
Jack, with his neck fully wrapped and his burns covered, was a welcome voice of reason. He sat in the corner of the room and, until then, had kept himself to himself. “He’s right, Rhys.” His voice was harsh and dry sounding as he fought against the pain to speak. “We’d all do the same in his position. None of us would give up the basement’s location to someone we didn’t know and trust.”
Rhys managed to free one arm and aimed it straight at Scott. He had no intention of backing down. “If even one of them touches her, I’ll kill you.”
“No you won’t,” Graham chimed in with. “We’re not going to start turning against each other like this. Isaac will win if we do.”
Gregson kept her hand on Scott’s chest to keep him in place. The threat from Rhys had garnered a strained expression from him and another attempt to stand. “Listen, Rhys, they won’t have taken her to hurt her. There’s no point in that.”
“You don’t know,” Rhys snapped back at her.
“Think about it. If they wanted to kill her they would have done it there. They wouldn’t have taken her with them. It means they want something from her.”
“Like what? She doesn’t know any more than the rest of us.”
Scott winced again at the pain running through his leg as he spoke. “Conrad obviously thinks differently about that. He’s a good man–”
“Bullshit!” Rhys interrupted with.
“He is. He’s a cop. They don’t do anything without a good reason. Maybe you just don’t know this girl as well as you think.”