THE RED MIST TRILOGY: The Box Set

by R T Green

  I think they agreed with my dissent.

  I fell into my bunk, the comfort of an alien mattress like pure heaven. In seconds my eyes felt like lead, sheer exhaustion overpowering me once more, but this time with no valid reason to shake it off. But good reason or not, I couldn’t let it happen.

  Not right there.

  I staggered into the tiny en suite, legs as leaden as my eyelids, tried not to look at my face in the mirror as I drowned it in cold water. It helped, but I knew I only had a few minutes at best. I wrenched open a tall door built into the bio-alloy wall. Yes... a spare duvet. At least I would be able to find something resembling comfort.

  My eyes were blurring, my head spinning like I’d just spent another awful night at Joe’s bar as I staggered along the walkway, two duvets and pillows doing their best to trip me up as they dragged along the floor around me. Two damaged feet and a sprained ankle didn’t help either.

  But I made it, managed to press the door open button of the medical room with my thumping head, and half-fell inside. It didn’t look like Zana had moved, but that was to be expected. She likely needed sleep even more than I did. I dropped my temporary bed onto the floor, put my hand on her forehead and smiled.

  It felt warm.

  I dropped to my knees next to her couch, somehow managed to fold one of the duvets in half to make a not very comfortable mattress, crawling around on all fours like I was crashing for the night at a friend’s house after a particularly good evening out.

  But it was exhaustion not alcohol turning my limbs to jelly. Somehow I arranged the pillows on the floor, somehow managed to pull the other duvet over me as I turned onto my side on the only just less-than-hard floor, vaguely aware of a bone or two I never knew I had.

  And finally I could allow myself the joy of sleep. Maybe my bunk would have been more comfortable; maybe there I would have woken later without stiff and aching bits of body.

  But in my quarters I would have been alone.

  I’d told Coop I wasn’t going to let Zana out of my sight for a single minute, ever again. That was an impossible task, of course. But at least for now, no one was going to get to her without stepping on me first.

  Chapter 128

  Something jolted me away from sleep. I forced eyelids that really didn’t want to open to part, listened for any sounds of movement. All seemed quiet.

  I’d turned the lights in the med room to their lowest setting, not wanting complete darkness. I was lying on my side, facing away from Zana’s couch, unable to see much of the small room. For a minute I lay motionless, recalling memories of the night back in my apartment, what seemed like a lifetime ago, when something had woken me just before she’d called to ask me to join her at Dawson’s Hill.

  Zana. Was our bond so strong my subconscious knew when she needed me?

  I turned onto my back, glanced over to the couch. She was laying on her side, right on the edge, half-open eyes looking at me. A slight smile curled her lips upwards.

  ‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ she said softly.

  ‘I think I woke me. Or maybe it was that Zana-is-awake flashing red light you telepathed into me.’

  She smiled. ‘Why are you sleeping on the floor? It cannot be comfortable.’

  ‘I... I wanted to be close. In case you needed me.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I sat up, ignoring the suddenly-spinning room, a less-than-subtle attempt by my consciousness to tell me I needed a lot more sleep. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Sore. Battered and abused. But I do not think there will be any lasting physical damage.’

  I could feel my eyes misting up. ‘What the hell did she do to you?’

  She turned to lie on her back, her face creasing with pain as she did so. ‘My sister did nothing, not personally. It was Peroni, following her orders.’

  I shook my head, managed to persuade my legs to lift me into a kneeling position so our heads were level. ‘Peroni... the slim little wallflower with the strength of a professional wrestler. I think she’s a man in disguise.’

  ‘Perhaps. Madeline, I must get to the bathroom, or it will be embarrassing for me.’

  I smiled at her choice of words. ‘Can you walk?’

  She tried to sit up, her face giving away the agony it was causing her. ‘I... I think so, with your help.’

  I struggled to my feet. Straightaway she noticed the bandages. ‘Oh Madeline, you have suffered so much.’

  ‘It’s just a lack of skin, Zana. You have endured much more.’

  I could see a tear in her eye. ‘Tiri has damaged us both, I think.’

  I didn’t want either of us to dwell on that, either the wounds that were clear to see, or those that were not. I slipped an arm around her back, helped her to sit up. ‘Can you stand?’

  She nodded, in an unconvincing kind of way, stood up shakily, a pleading look in her sad eyes. ‘Please, we must hurry.’

  ‘I don’t think hurry is physically possible, Zana. But we’ll go as fast as we can.’

  I gave her some privacy, sat on the bunk in her quarters waiting for her to call to say she was done. A million thoughts turned my brain to useless jelly. Zana was back with us, and battered and bruised as she was, it seemed she would fully recover with a little time.

  But Tiri was gone, almost certainly back in London by now. None of us knew why she’d returned to the scene of the tragedy, or why she’d told me where she was going.

  There had to be a reason.

  And with nothing to stay in Tobago for, we would for sure be making the same journey in the very near future. My stomach turned to jelly to match my brain at that thought. I’d committed a serious crime, one that had to be punished. On its own, that was enough to make me want to cower in the corner with my arms across my face.

  But knowing Tiri hadn’t finished with me... finished with us... was a prospect far more terrifying.

  Oh Zana, why did you have to bring me the perfect storm? Two months ago I didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone. Not even myself. Being forced to discover I had a heart was the worst Christmas gift ever.

  No it wasn’t.

  It was the most joyous.

  And one it seems can never be exchanged for something else, even if I wanted to.

  The sound of running water dragged me away from my battle of contradictions. The shower?

  Zana can’t even stand by herself.

  I wrenched open the en suite door. She’d turned on the shower, and was grasping each side of the enclosure frame, looking like she was about to collapse. Her head was lowered, but she managed to lift it to look at me. ‘I smell disgusting,’ she whispered hoarsely.

  ‘Then we shower together. Not having you drown after all this.’

  She lowered her head again, didn’t reply. She was still wearing the medical gown, I untied the neck-string and lifted it over her head. It was the first time I’d seen her completely naked since Tiri’s abuse.

  I couldn’t help it, cried out as the sight of her seared into my heart. Her entire body was a mass of vicious-looking bruises and abrasions. Showering was going to hurt like hell. She looked up to me, her eyes vacant and emotionless. ‘I look a mess,’ she said flatly.

  I couldn’t lie to her. ‘Yes, you do. But in a few days you won’t, and once you’ve endured the agony of a shower you’ll smell a lot better too.’

  She smiled, appreciating the honest humour. I put my hands each side of her waist to support her, felt her flinch with the pain even that gentle touch brought. Slowly she stepped into the shower, and screamed in agony as the water cascaded over her. She fell against the rear wall, unable to cope, about to collapse.

  I had to support her, even though my touch would bring more pain. I pulled her into me, felt the shudder of her body against mine, saw the tears of her pain mingling with the lukewarm shower water.

  ‘Wash me, please...’ she cried. I couldn’t use gel, that would have been the last straw for her. All I could do was caress the water acros
s her skin, try my best to cleanse her with the most featherlike of touches.

  She sobbed as I washed her, her body never still, desperate to find relief from the crippling pain but needing equally desperately to be clean. Her agony bore into me, and tears fell from my eyes too, unable to cope with seeing and feeling the woman I loved in searing pain, made worse by my own touch.

  It had to end. It was too much for both of us. I turned off the water, felt her body go limp against mine. Her head dropped onto my shoulder, and I knew she’d lost consciousness. Somehow I found the strength to pick her up in my arms, stagger with her to the bunk and lay her gently onto it, still dripping wet.

  She’d not coped with the sheer pain, but it was perhaps a blessed relief her body had dealt with it the only way it knew. When she woke again, the pain would have subsided.

  I slumped onto the edge of the bunk, gazed down on her beautiful, battered body. The red dapples that punctuated her smoky-pink skin looked lighter, and that filled me with joy. The markings on Calanduran skin turn darker as life drains away, something I was all too aware of on Dawson’s Hill, when I’d held her dying body in my arms. Looking at her now, those dapples were back to the shade they should be... the colour they were when she first revealed her true beauty to me in her apartment on that fateful night.

  The night I’d been ordered to kill her.

  Those damned emotions were getting the better of me again. And a lack of sleep, plus the fear of an uncertain future were not helping to keep them from overwhelming me. It was time to leave her in peace... stop gazing at her with eyes full of remorse and regret. I took her hand for a moment. ‘Sleep well, Zana. When you wake I will be here, and your pain will be less.’

  I shuffled to the med room to fetch a duvet to cover her up, the sodden bandages on my feet squelching along the walkway. As I walked, I could feel a crazed anger building inside. It wasn’t aimed at anyone else, not even Tiri. I was angry with myself.

  Now I really wished to God I’d killed the Calanduran queen when I’d had the chance.

  Chapter 129

  Coop woke me from a fitful sleep. As I dragged my reluctant brain into consciousness, his words made any thoughts of drifting away again well and truly redundant.

  ‘Sorry to wrench you out of dreamland kid, but there’s been news. We need everyone together, right now.’

  He left, I threw on some clothes, glanced at my watch. Nine in the morning. The bandages around my feet were still damp, the skin inside them chilled and numb. It couldn’t matter.

  Coop had news. It wouldn’t be anything good.

  He was back, standing in the doorway with a petrified look on his face. ‘Zana... she’s gone...’ he gasped.

  Realization dawned. ‘No Coop, she woke in the night. We... spent a little time together. She’s in her quarters now. I’ll wake her.’

  He managed to look relieved and pissed in one expression. ‘Geez, Maddie... you trying to give me a coronary for real?’

  I grinned, even though I shouldn’t. ‘Sorry, boss. Now I owe you one.’

  ‘You better believe it. Five minutes, ok?’

  He was gone again, not waiting for an acknowledgement. I shuffled to Zana’s room, found her awake, laying on her back staring at the ceiling. ‘Hey you, how is the body?’

  Her eyes turned to me, she smiled briefly. ‘It hurts, all over. But not as bad as a few hours ago. How are your feet?’

  ‘Still damp, thanks to soggy bandages. But at least I got washed too. Coop has news, wants a meeting. Can you make it to the mess?’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of news?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘No idea. Just brace yourself though, ‘cos it ain’t gonna be good.’

  Everyone was there when we reached the mess. Four pairs of eyes looked relieved to see Zana, and petrified by what was about to be discussed. Coop didn’t waste any time. He didn’t break it to us gently either.

  ‘Maddie, I didn’t tell you last night because you needed your sleep, and if I’d blurted it out then you wouldn’t have got any. They’ve found two Calanduran escape pods washed up on a mud bank in London. According to Scott, there’s a probable eight aliens running around the city.’

  I glanced instinctively to Zana, sitting next to me at the mess table. She lowered her head, knowing the implications for her, and everyone else, were anything but good. When she spoke, it was a whisper.

  ‘What does he want us to do?’

  ‘He’s asked that all four of us return to London right away.’

  Zana looked up, nodded to Coop. ‘I will prepare the shuttle, it is the quickest way for us to get there. It will take a few hours before we can leave however; the power core will need to configure for such a long flight.’

  She spoke in monotones, no emotion or question in her voice. Her tone wasn’t lost on Coop.

  ‘You ok, Zana?’

  ‘I will be. Why do you ask?’

  Her question seemed to leave him speechless for a moment. ‘I... you realise what I said? Some of your people survived. Scott wants you back for a reason... so you can help stop whatever it is they might do. Which kinda puts us back to square one.’

  ‘I realise what you said, Coop. You stated the facts clearly and concisely.’

  Still no emotion. Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. And I couldn’t find the words to ask... not in public anyway. Coop didn’t have the same problem. He shook his head, but spoke quietly.

  ‘Ok, so here’s a couple more clear and concise facts. Scott wants you back in London, but I ain’t demanding that. It’s your call. Those eight, or however many Calandurans, are out for blood. And they aren’t stupid. They know who it was that turned traitor. And someone else who is also far from stupid is now almost certainly back in London, and my gut tells me she’s nowhere near finished with either of you. You go back Zana, and you’s walking right into a whole heap of dangerous shit. I can’t ask you to do that.’

  ‘So you are telling me you’ll allow me to fly off into the sunset, never to be seen again?’

  He threw his hands into the air, looked like he was in chronic pain. ‘Yeah... yeah I am.’

  ‘And risk your career coming to an abrupt end?’

  ‘Ain’t no risk, Zana. That’s a certainty.’

  She turned to Miles, fixed a stare into him. ‘And you, Miles... where do you stand on this?’

  His normally-pale face seemed to go a shade or two whiter. He ran shaking hands through his sandy hair. ‘I’m with Coop. It has to be your decision.’

  She nodded, didn’t say a word. Hell, where was this going? Was she really considering clearing off? It sure looked like it. And once again, like so many times before, I couldn’t find the words I needed to say to her.

  But then words were unnecessary. She placed her hands onto the table, began to push herself to her feet. ‘Madeline, please help me to the bridge. I can configure the core from there, and we have no time to lose. Gentlemen, you have six hours until lift-off.’

  Chapter 130

  Soho, London, December 27th

  Jane Daniels knelt next to the body, wiped away a tear as best she could with a hand cocooned in a latex glove. In her mid-forties, tall and slender, her hazel eyes still burned bright despite a lifetime career battling with the dark side of London’s streets. The last seven years, spent as a senior detective in the Met’s murder squad, should have hardened her to the horrendous depths the pits of humanity could sink to, but there were still times it all got too much.

  This was one such time. Gently she brushed the flakes of snow from the girl’s face, eased away the matted and frozen blonde hair so she could see her better. She was young, hardly out of her teens, and anything but dressed for a cold winter’s night. The short black skirt hardly covered her butt, and the see-through lacy top was designed to make the most of the assets she’d been using to such good effect.

  Daniels shook her head, knowing all too well the dark alley where the girl had met a viole
nt and gruesome death was literally around the corner from Soho’s red light district.

  And just as well aware the disappearance of four prostitutes in the last ten days had to make this the work of the same man.

  But this girl hadn’t disappeared.

  She’d fought back.

  ‘The area is sealed off, Jane. Forensics here in five.’

  The voice of her partner jolted her away from the desolate thought-bubble. ‘Thanks, Paul.’ She glanced up to the tall slim man who’d appeared around the side of the big blue commercial waste bin that had hidden the body from view for what seemed like the best part of a day. His head was shrouded in the fur-lined hood of his Parka, silhouetted by a myriad of flashing blue lights, dimmed to a blur by the freezing fog settling over London.

  She flashed her torch over the body. ‘What do you make of this, mate?’

  He crouched next to her, looked like he was about to throw up. ‘Jesus Christ... what kind of animal could do that?’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But that’s not what I meant.’ She pointed to the blood-spatters, all over her body. ‘What do you think that is, mixed in with her blood?’

  He frowned. ‘Dunno, without forensics. They look like blood spatters too, but... blue? Must be paint or something.’

  ‘You saying a tin of Dulux did this?’ She forced a smile, but there was no hint of mirth anywhere in it.

  He shook his head. ‘Look, under the nail of her forefinger. There’s something caught in it... a bit of skin maybe?’

  She peered closer. They couldn’t remove it, that was a job for forensics, but it sure looked like a scrap of skin, ripped off in the fight when she’d found the spirit that had ultimately caused her death. ‘If it is, then we’re in luck. But...’ She shone the torch right next to the fingernail. ‘It’s an odd colour. Kind of... red.’

  ‘We’ll have to let the lab deal with it.’ The com in his hand hissed into life. ‘Sir, forensics are here.’ He stood up as he replied. ‘Ok sergeant, on my way.’