Back In Blue

by G R Matthews

  His arm caught me in the neck, my feet went out from under me, and I completed most of a somersault before I hit the floor. True to luck, I landed on my face and all the breath left my lungs in one great gust.

  Sucking in air past a bruised rib cage, and a diaphragm in shock, was tough and my brain tried to tell me I was suffocating in the open air. I heard Liddle's footsteps disappear into the distance as I struggled to my feet. The joy, if such a word could be used, of the Fish-Suit training and use over the years was an ability to almost ignore everything my brain was telling my body when it came to drowning. It didn't like it and I dry heaved a few times as I began my tottering steps after the traitor.

  I staggered around two corners, only a vague impression of Liddle's course, fighting my instincts, and drawing more air into my lungs. Blood trickled from my nose and coated my lips, a fine spray of droplets arcing ahead of me on every coughed exhalation.

  Passing a door to some stygian dungeon in this part of the naval base, I stopped to try and catch my breath. Peering around the frame I saw a kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen, with a regulation haircut and smooth shaved face stare back at me with wide eyes.

  "Where," I panted, "did he go?"

  "Who?" His voice squeaked a touch as he took in my bruised and bloody face.

  "Liddle," I said. "The tech. He came this way."

  The boy nodded and pointed in the direction I'd been heading anyway.

  "Thanks," I said, looking down the corridor. "What's that way?"

  "The environmental section," he answered and I must have looked puzzled. "The carbon sinks and the algae vats."

  "Right," I said, still puzzled. "Hand me that spanner."

  I pointed to a large metal spanner on the bench near him. The kid glanced at it, back at me and at the spanner once more.

  "I'll return it when I'm done," I said.

  "I'll get fined if I lose it," he said.

  "I promise." I held up three fingers on my right hand and curled my little finger to meet my thumb.

  He passed the spanner over and the weight was comforting in my hand.

  "Is there a way out of the vats area?"

  "Only this way," he said.

  "Great." I hefted the spanner once more. "Do me a last favour, contact Commander Anderson and Columbo. Tell them Lieutenant Hayes has Liddle cornered and they're welcome to pick up his bloody remains at their earliest convenience."

  "Who is Lieutenant Hayes?" He said and I caught the glance at my jump suit.

  "Me," I said. "I'm in disguise. Just do it."

  I shook my head, left the kid in his own little kingdom, and started down the corridor towards the impressively named Environmental Centre. I'd worked the Vats as a teenager trying to earn some extra cash, and on days when the job board was silent.

  Every city was, by its very nature, a sealed system when it came to air. A mostly sealed system. There was natural leakage into the oceans, but we gained from other sources. Factories, industries, submarines and others. Every bit of air we had had to be recycled, scrubbed, cleaned up, the carbon dioxide converted back into oxygen, and the algae vats did most of the work.

  It also explained the heat. Life creates its own warmth and the algae which all cities used grew well in warmer conditions. They bred like, well like algae in warm water with a ready supply of carbon dioxide. All the oxygen they produced went back into the city system to mix with the inert gases and we could breathe. A long time ago we'd come to the conclusion that improving on Mother Nature was going to cost a fortune and be less reliable, so why bother?

  I wiped the drying blood from my face and brought the spanner up before me as the door to the Vats appeared in the corridor ahead of me. Why run to a place you know there is no escape from? It didn't make a lot of sense and that made me nervous.

  Placing my free hand on the door, I swung it open and stepped across the bulkhead onto the raised platform which marked the beginning of the Vats. It stank. Warm, humid, rotting vegetation which could only be made worse by the addition of decomposing fish. I tried to breathe through my mouth but it tasted as bad as it smelled.

  Scanning the vista before me, which stretched the entire length of this deck, a few hundred metres at least, I sought Liddle. Circular vats, their rims just proud of the floor, were being tended by workers who used long poles to stir the algae around ensuring that each tiny plant had its time at the surface to capture as much of the carbon dioxide as possible.

  Hanging from the ceiling were more vats. These were giant spheres of transparent plastic full of sea water and algae. So concentrated was the algae that it was impossible to see through the water to the other side. Into these, the city's air was pumped and the algae fed. The air bubbled from these and the remaining carbon dioxide was consumed by the giant vats on the floor. After that, the air was drawn through large ducts which diverged into smaller tubes and was pumped back into the city proper.

  Everything required careful maintenance and amongst the stirrers, as their job was known, were the technicians who consulted screens and tested the water and air every few minutes. Everyone moved with calm purpose and I was looking for the out of place person amongst them.

  He didn't take long to spot. Walking quickly along one of the corridors between the vats, Liddle was doing his best to fit in and failing.

  There was no escape from here. Soon Columbo, Anderson and some security guards would be here and Liddle would be caught. Before that happened though, I wanted my own private chat with him. That's why I'd brought the spanner.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Racing down the metal stairs, the echoes dying in the cavernous space before me, I kept the image of Liddle's course in my mind. At the bottom I turned right and ran along the rows, counting as I moved. At the fourth row, I turned once more and started towards Liddle.

  He was quick, but I'd been running from people for more years than I wanted to remember, plus you had to be reasonably fit to use a Fish-Suit. Better still, he was heading towards a dead end. There was no escape for him.

  Every step, every dodge around a worker, and I was closing in.

  The far wall of the Environmental Centre came into focus. A great metallic grey slab of a wall dotted with vents, grills, pipes and a rising wall of translucent steam which turned the lower portion into a ghost of moving shadows. It was into this that Liddle vanished.

  I slowed to a cautious walk as the heat rose once more and the steam soaked my jumpsuit within the space of three steps. The spanner came up before me, a gesture of warding and readiness.

  "Liddle," I shouted though above the sound of the steam vents, the water, and the air rushing through great tubes close by it was hard to hear my own voice.

  The deck was slick and wet with water and the steam escaped the grills at the base of the wall. Figures moved about in here but they were indistinct, blurred, and it was impossible to be sure which one was Liddle.

  A figure lurched out of the steam and I swung the spanner in reflex. At the last moment I caught sight of the man's face. It wasn't Liddle and with a wrench I turned the spanner aside.

  "Hey," he called to me. "What the fuck are you doing?"

  "Sorry," I called back, though we were only centimetres apart. "Did you see a man run through here?"

  "Hard to see anything," he answered. "You have to know where you're going. Where's your breather?" He pointed to the mask which dangled around his neck. "Steam will damage your lungs if you're in here without one."

  "I promise not to stay too long," I said and pointed down the length of wall. "What's in that direction?"

  "Sea exchange," he said. "Where we dump heated water and draw in the cold. Keeps the temperature constant."

  "Can you get out that way?"

  He laughed. "Only if you want to die. It's not the airlock."

  "There's an airlock?"

  "Of course," he said, pointing off at an angle. "About there. Not used much, but there has to be one. Health and safety."

  "Thanks," I
said, waving the spanner at him. "Sorry about that."

  I didn't stay to hear his response but hurried in the direction he'd pointed out. The young technician had clearly lied to me, or perhaps hadn't really grasped the question. After all, an airlock was only good if you had a sub waiting, or a Fish-Suit. Ducking around the pipes which rose towards the ceiling and tripping over those which snaked across the floor I stumbled across a wide path which led deeper into the steam.

  Wiping the combination of sweat and steam from my forehead, I caught sight of the airlock. The lights were on and running through the sequence. Someone was using it. Liddle. Taking a deep gulp of the wet, heavy air I sprinted the last few metres to the door and tried to peer through the thick glass of the door. It was covered with condensation and I swiped the arm of my jumpsuit across it to clear the view.

  He was there, stripping off his clothes and on the floor, I could make out the shapes and contours of a Fish-Suit. Liddle, a Fish-Suit tech, would know how to use it, but knowing and doing are very different things.

  I stepped right and peered at the screen which detailed the airlock procedure. He'd been stupid to run, but more stupid not to lock the door. I cycled through the menu and cancelled the seal on the door, reversed the flow of air into the room, re-pressurising it, locked that command into the system and took two steps back, hefting the spanner.

  Once the pressure inside the airlock matched that in my steamy sweatbox the door would open.

  It took what felt like a year but was probably less than half a minute. All the while, I could make out the blurred outline of Liddle as he realised what was happening, moved to his own panel, failed to break my lock and kicked his legs out of the Fish-Suit.

  A single beep. Not high pitched or bass, but a reassuring note of confirmation. The door swished open.

  He flew at me, a metallic object in his raised hand.

  I jumped towards him, the spanner held low and coming up in a swing powered by my leap.

  There's a tendency, in any fight, to go straight for the head. A good punch or kick to the head and your opponent would flop like a dead fish to the floor. After that you could administer whatever punishment you wished. However, it is a small target and we instinctively protect it.

  The stab at my face with the knife in his hand missed. A simple twitch to the side and I was aware of it passing over my shoulder, its sharp edge slicing steam not flesh.

  The heavy spanner caught him in the ribs. I felt the shock of impact run up my arm and through my shoulder in its own echo of pain. My arm bent back a little on itself as we both kept moving forward in opposite directions and I let his weight spin me around, relieving the pressure on my arm.

  I stumbled forwards, fighting to recapture my balance and he, behind me now, fell to the floor and skidded across its slick surface.

  It took two quick steps to catch my balance and turn. I saw his shape rise in the mist, and one arm was clasped around his stomach.

  "You almost killed Norah," I shouted at him. "You sold us out. Roth is dead because of you."

  "Should have been you," he called back, and I heard the wet cough at the end of his words.

  "You're not that lucky," I said and started forward.

  It was a more cautious approach this time. He came in legs, bent, knife held before him and I matched his pose. A feint with the knife and I skipped back a step. Liddle smiled and came forward a with slash from right to left and back. I stepped back once more.

  "Why?" I asked, keeping my eyes locked onto his.

  "Because it is my job," he answered.

  "A spy," I said. "It's that simple."

  "What were you expecting, Hayes? A sob story about my wife being held hostage? A child threatened? They make for unreliable agents," he said, spitting a glob of blood on the floor. "I'm a paid employee of VKYN. It really is that simple."

  "I am," I confessed, "a little disappointed."

  "Not for long," he said, stabbing forward as I retreated.

  "Security are on their way," I replied. "You won't get away."

  "You'd be surprised what I can do," he said with a grin.

  "I doubt it," I said.

  He jumped forward, his knife leading the way.

  A knife fight can be slow, if you hedge around it, keep your distance, feint and look for an opening. It can be a cautious duel that way. Or it can be fast, viscous and blood will flow. He'd chosen the second.

  I swung the hammer, aimed at his chest, hoping he'd duck into the swing or that it would crush another few ribs. Liddle barrelled straight through, ignoring my swing and giving me no time to reset my feet or get out of the way. The forked end of my weapon struck his arm and I heard the snap of the bone.

  His knife arm, acting like a spear, stabbed me in the stomach even as he screamed. He pushed forward, driving the blade deeper.

  Liquid fire, molten pain, erupted in my belly and was carried, faster than light, by nerves to every part of my body. I exploded in agony and the heavy spanner fell from weak fingers.

  "Hurts," Liddle whispered, "doesn't it."

  "I've had pain," I gasped, "my whole life."

  I held what little breath I had and swung a short, sharp elbow into his neck. The knife slid out of me in a slither of exquisite pain and I knew my blood followed. It wasn't important. All that mattered was Liddle. A broken arm, smashed ribs, versus the hole in my stomach.

  We stood an arm’s length apart, fighting for breath in the damp air, sweat dripping down our faces, and both fighting to ignore the pain. I didn’t look down. I didn’t need to see the red stain of my life coating my tunic. His broken arm hung limp by his side and he leaned to compensate for the smashed ribs.

  Now the fight was no longer about skill and training, but endurance. Which of us could stand the most pain? Would lack of blood or lack of breath tell first.

  He coughed and spat. Red spittle splattered on the floor and more covered his lips. Obscene lipstick the colour of death.

  “You can still surrender,” I said through teeth gritted against the pain.

  “Fuck off,” he replied, his tongue sweeping the blood from his lips and swallowing. The knife came up once more and he edged a foot forward.

  The hand staunching the flow of blood from my stomach rose next to its twin and my clenched fists, one clean, one coated in red, faced him. “Come on then.”

  He staggered forward, his ribs grinding against each other, cutting deeper into his lungs, his flesh, and the knife slashed up. I leaned to the side, too slow, not far enough, and the sharp edge sliced a fiery line across my chest.

  I screamed again, taking the pain and throwing it out into the air, away from me, forcing it from my thoughts. Twisting back, hips generating power and stomach tearing with the strain, I threw a great punch at the side of his head. My knuckles broke on impact, but I pushed all my weight, all the force I’d generated, through my fist.

  Liddle’s eyes glazed, lost focus, and he stumbled away two steps, swinging the knife as he did so. I staggered with him, my legs not able to keep my balance, my stomach burning in agony. The tip of the knife plunged between my lower ribs. I felt it skid off one and become lodged at an angle. Another ribbon of pain wrapped itself around me.

  With a weak arm, I pushed Liddle away. The knife stayed stuck in my side and I ignored it as a weapon. I had little time left, little strength, and my entire body felt aflame with pain. My vision swam and two clear eyes looked back at me through the years. Trusting, loving, believing eyes. I couldn’t let them down. I wouldn’t.

  Lunging forward as he brought his one working arm up, fighting for breath, I wrapped my own around his neck and slid around him. Cinching my arm tight, I brought the other up and added its strength. We fell.

  He landed on top of me and the little breath I had exploded from lungs as I struggled to keep my arms tight around his neck. My ribs screamed at me, my stomach pleaded with me, and my stubborn streak denied them both.

  Every second we lay there, his one arm scr
abbling at my arms, digging his nails in and ripping at my flesh, I could feel more of my life ebb.

  "For Roth and Abrahams," I whispered into his ear, blood flecked spittle coating his ears. "And so Norah can sleep at night without worrying about you."

  I held on. The warm, steam laden air in my lungs and the pain in my torn stomach, the wound in my side, coming in waves which washed across me like the tides on a beach.

  I held on as our strength faded, as the light dimmed and a familiar face drifted up in my memory.

  I held on as his struggles ceased, as his ribs no longer rose and fell, and saw tears form in the eyes of that beautiful face from the past.

  I held on as the darkness took me and a sad smile drifted across the young girl's face.

  Tyler.

  Afterword

  So Corin Hayes book 4 is done and I know there is a bit of a cliffhanger. Is Corin alive or dead? To assuage your fears, there will be a Corin Hayes #5 – there, you feel better already, don’t you? I enjoy writing Corin’s story and though he gets put through the wringer more than once he just can’t stop himself – he is a stubborn man. I’ll get to writing it soon or, depending on when you read this, it might already be out!

  If you’ve read The Stone Road and the rest of the Forbidden List, I’d be really interested in your thoughts and theories – if you noticed any connections that is.

  Also, if you get the chance, please leave a rating and a short review on the website you bought the book from and Goodreads too. It really does help me out by raising the profile of the books and encouraging others to give them a try.

  Free Story

  If you’d like a free story or two then head over to my website: www.grmatthews.com and join my little mailing list. You’ll get a free short story set in the world of the Forbidden List and I’ll point you towards another too. I promise not to bombard you with lots of newsletters, just a few each year to keep you updated.