by Sam Nash
“Mary…”
Even her breathing caused her muscles to jolt against the hard steel of the nails, preventing any potential clotting to stem the blood flow.
“Mary… leave your body. Come with us and you will no longer feel anything.” The Russian inflection was distinctive. Captain Thirty-Four, former leader of the Russian Hive mind, urged her to disassociate her psyche from her physical form.
“Oh Captain, it hurts so much, but if I leave now, I may never be able to return to my body. What if… forgive me… like you and your comrades, my flesh and blood dies and I have nowhere to return to?”
“Then we welcome you into our unit permanently, Mary.”
“But didn’t you say that not all members of your unit survived the drone strike, that some also perished on a psychological level too?”
The captain’s silence was answer enough. These were her options. To suffer a slow and agonising death, with a lingering hope of rescue, or to leave her body to endure the torture, risking mental extermination on the ethereal plane.
“I could really use Grampy’s advice right about now. Why has he not come back to me, as you have done?” There was a moment or two of sympathetic murmurings from the captain’s team. They felt her torment and knew its strength. The loss of their bodies denied them access to their living kin too.
“We cannot answer that question, Mary. All we know is that many of us remain. Perhaps your grandfather has simply lost his way. One thing is for sure, your body will not take much more of this punishment before you blackout, and then it will be too late to join us here.”
Battling through the misery, Mary listened to the logic of the former military man. It made sense. There was only so much a body could endure before its systems failed irrevocably. Chances were high that her personality and energy would persist after physical death. The captain and her men could guide her and keep her safe, even if there was only a slim possibility of ever seeing her parents and grandfather in the afterlife. Would Dan understand her choices? The brother that had been lost to her for so long. Who had given her more support in the short time she had known him, than a husband of nine years.
“Hail Mary, daughter of Christ, descendant of Solomon and David…” Abraham raised his palms heaven wards and closed his eyes.
His followers chanted. “Hail Mary, full of grace.”
“We recognise you as the final fulfilment, our obedience and faith are rewarded.” Abraham continued in his prayer.
“Hail Mary, full of grace.”
“With your coming, we are blessed, sanctified and forgiven…”
“Hail Mary, full of grace.”
“We give thanks for every miracle, every soul saved, every sinner redeemed.”
“Hail Mary, full of grace.”
Blood dribbled from the punctured vessels in her wrists and streamed down her arms to her torso. She felt dizzy and weak, her resolve fading with each minute. Beneath her the chosen faithful knelt, heads bowed in contemplation. Only Abraham kept his sight trained on Mary.
“You are right, Captain. I have little choice but to leave my body.”
Abraham drew closer, curious as to why Mary’s lips were moving. “Wait, what is she saying?”
“Who cares. She will be dead soon and The Next Covenant is yours for the taking. Unlimited prosperity and abundance are ours.”
“She is singing, heaven be praised, she is singing.”
Sarah rose to her feet, cushioning her charred right hand with her left. “Singing what? A hymn to our lord?”
They leaned in and concentrated on her lips. “I think…I think it’s a Beatles number.” Abraham and Sarah looked at each other, frowning.
Mary equilibrated her brain waves to the Schumann frequencies of the earth, and extracted her mind from the suffering of her physical form. The moment she felt herself blend with the Captain and his squad, she felt immense relief. Relief from torture, from solitude, obligation and from responsibility. The fate of the western world was no longer her problem. She had only Dan to worry about, now that she was freed from the restraints of a messy body. Dan and Connie, his girlfriend, and possibly her only friend, other than Yelena. She too had supported Mary in times of crisis, despite their estrangement. And of course, the old Walrus himself, Professor Haas, who had helped her to secure the PhD study and funding. Not forgetting Karan, and his endless kindness and chivalry, and Harvey at The Plaza. There was more to lose than she originally thought. These people had provided more than material assistance. They were her friends. The people who deserved the same care and loyalty in return. How could she leave them now, when Alexi and Luca were days, perhaps hours away from destroying civilisation in the western hemisphere?
Abraham and Sarah observed her battered body, limp and serene, suspended high above the crowd. With her heart at rest, the blood flow slowed to an occasional drip, allowing the platelets to cluster in the embryonic phase of clots. Sarah collected a chair from the feasting table and set it down near Mary’s feet. Climbing up to gain a closer view, she prodded a blood stained leg, and waited for a response.
“Is she dead?” Abraham asked. His tone one of disappointment.
Sarah cautiously applied her index and middle finger tips to Mary’s ankle. “No, I can feel a strong pulse.”
“Has she passed out?”
“Her face would droop if she had. This has to be some kind of trick. No one could withstand pain like that and have a smile on their face.” She tugged at a leg, jogging Mary’s body against the nails. Blood flowed in fresh spurts. Sarah sighed, her hands on her hips. She shuffled around on her chair until she stood facing the kneeling followers. “WE ARE DECEIVED!” The crowd looked up at Sarah, baffled. She had their attention, their adoration, and she had the determination to exploit their weakness. “She is NOT the daughter of God. Like the good doctor, Hugo Blom said. She is a pretender. No one could withstand the crucifixion without suffering. She is the Daughter of Satan… a witch, sent to test us.”
Someone at the back of the crowd shouted, “BURN HER!” It gave them a new purpose.
“Yes, my dear ones. We must be sure that Satan is not given the opportunity to make any of us his servants. Go now, collect brushwood and oil. We will watch her die in a blaze of glory.”
The Captain voiced what all his unit members were feeling. “It is good to have you back with us, Mary. Everyone is thrilled to have you directing us again.”
Mary looked down, watching the life ebb away from her body. “Truth is, Captain. I don’t want to die. There is still so much I want to achieve. I have people that I care deeply about.”
There was a moment of thought and another of murmuring within the ranks. “Then we must hurry.”
“How so?”
“We must increase the chance of rescue before they light the fires of your doom.” In a collective ball of energy, the Hive operatives carried Mary’s mind with them, high into the night sky. For once, not a single entity made a noise, their military training kicking in to stealth mode. “What are we doing?” She enquired of them.
Before the Captain could answer her, a string of unintelligible Russian came from one of the crew. The captain translated. “There is a CNN helicopter in a north easterly direction, Mary. We must divert its course.”
Their plan came to Mary in a seamless stream. Her thoughts and theirs were one. As Abraham’s followers prepared the fuel for her burning, her hive mind rushed her several miles through the cloudless sky and into the cockpit of the news helicopter.
“Can you get inside the pilot’s head, Mary?” The Captain instructed, as Mary caught up with the unfolding events. Hovering level with his face, Mary concentrated on the man’s eyes until she could sense the stirring frequencies in his mind. Latching onto transmissions in his optic nerve, she harmonised with his thoughts until she could dominate his entire nervous system. His strong character was tough to combat, more so than the old woman at the guest house, but within seconds, Mary was in charge.
&
nbsp; “I’ve never flown a helicopter before. What do I do?”
“Just relax. We have several former pilots here to guide you.” The Captain almost laughed at her anguish. With their combined energies, Mary moved the cyclic stick instinctively, aiming the aircraft towards the orange glow of torches in the distance. At first, the reporter and crew wondered why they had altered their path, until Abraham’s circle of flames came into view. With the camera mounted on the underside activated, and the reporter spurred into action, their live feed broadcast via satellite link to CNN studios.
“You can let go now, Mary. That will give friends at MI6 way to find you.”
As she unhitched her mind from the pilot, Mary replied, “That is assuming Yelena can convince the US forces to help me.”
“A British woman being burned on big cross? Mary, there would be international outrage if they do not.”
The helicopter swooped lower, fanning the ashes from the fire pit and blasting the followers with embers from the down draught. Many of the faithful scattered. Abraham and Sarah stood firm. Isaac drew out his weapon and fired on the aircraft, prompting a retreat to a safer distance. Sarah was riled. With only a small clump of brushwood and sticks at Mary’s feet, she yanked a torch from the circle and threw it into the kindling. Its weight crushed the layer of thin branches, dousing the flame in the damp grass. Fuming, Sarah kicked the firewood from the back side of the crucifix, stacking it up in one pile beneath Mary. The throbbing from her scorched hand prevented her from fulfilling her goal. She turned to look for Hagar and Keturah, but they had vanished along with the elders, women and children. Only Abraham remained.
She picked up the extinguished torch and thrust it at her husband. “Here. Take the lid off and pour the paraffin over the sticks.”
Abraham took the item from her. “Sarah, it’s over. The authorities will be here any minute.”
“Do it!”
He took his time, unscrewing the hot mechanism with his cuff protecting his hand, and sloshing the fuel over the wood. Sarah collected a second torch, throwing it against the base of the cross. A third torch followed suit, and a fourth, until a small blaze flickered into life. She looked up at Mary’s body, waiting for her expression to alter from serene to hysteria.
“Burn, damn you!” Sarah squealed, collecting chairs from the feast table to add to the pyre.
Abraham placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s over.” The rhythmic clatter of double rotor blades joined that of the CNN aircraft. Within a few minutes, the re-directed Californian National Guard were on the scene detaining Abraham and restraining Sarah, as she kicked out with flailing limbs against them.
Mary watched the guards clearing away the burning brushwood from the bottom of the cross.
“You should go back to your body now, Mary.” The Captain said. She felt their combined remorse mingled with a little fear.
“You’re right, I should, but this is not the last you will hear from me. When all this is over, I promise I will contact your families. Perhaps I can find a way to help them, as you have helped me. I am so grateful to you all.” The hive let her consciousness drift back to her pitiful body. Pain coursed through every nerve ending, her thought processes weakened by blood loss. Three burly guards supported her weight as another climbed up and carefully removed each nail and binding. With surprising gentleness, they laid her on a stretcher and carried her to the Chinook. Every moment of her rescue, broadcast via CNN to every channel.
Before they could take off, Mary shouted at a medic. “Wait…you have to get my clothes from the building. They are in a little room just off the main corridor.”
“Don’t worry about those now. Let’s concentrate on your injuries.”
“You don’t understand. I have something very valuable in my pocket…please?”
The man looked at her pitiful state. She tried to sit up, raising her knee in a weak attempt to leave the aircraft. He relented. “Fine, I’ll go.”
The medical team waited for him to return, administering nitrous oxide to Mary while they bandaged her wounds and secured a line into her veins to replenish lost blood. Eventually, the man with her clothes returned, placing the folded stack on the floor next to her stretcher. They took off. The noise was immense.
With sound cancelling headphones protecting her ears, she heard none of the guard’s orders. Mary batted the mask delivering the laughing gas to her lungs, from her face. “Where are you taking me?” She shouted at the medic taping cotton wadding to her hands and arms.
Her headphones clicked and a tinny voice echoed in her ear. “Orders are to take you to Travis Air Force Base so that you can be Medevacked back to the UK.” The medic slipped the microphone stem closer to Mary’s mouth.
“I’m going home?” Her elation was magnified by the effects of the gas, a massive beaming smile spread across her face.
“That’s all I can tell you, ma’am.”
“And Sarah and Abraham? Those people who tried to kill me?”
“The authorities will deal with them. They will pay for what they put you through.” He reached across and replaced her mask over her face. It left Mary to contemplate her homecoming, safe in the knowledge that the military would arrange everything.
The short trip in the Chinook culminated in a brief landing at Travis where her stretcher was lifted onto a second military aircraft bound for the east coast of America. This transporter plane, was met by a small medical team and their portable equipment. During the four-and-a-half-hour flight, Mary’s injuries were flushed with saline, stitched and re-bandaged by expert hands. She even found time to exploit the analgesics and sleep for a while. When she awoke, it was to remove the intravenous connection from her veins and transfer her into a standard upright seat.
“We are coming into land now, ma’am.” The military nurse accompanying the flight remarked. “I’ll just attach your seat belt for you.” The kind woman buckled Mary into the chair and sat beside her. There was an awkwardness about the nurse which made her uneasy. She avoided eye contact and fussed with the tape securing Mary’s dressings.
Mary felt obliged to make small talk. “I’m so looking forward to seeing my brother, and sleeping in my own bed. What a luxury that will be.” She looked directly at the nurse, whose puckered frown and pitiful look betrayed her. “I am going home, aren’t I?”
“You must be a very important person, Mary. We are to transfer at McGuire in New Jersey and I am to accompany you to London. Special arrangements have been made for a landing at Heathrow Airport.” She automatically patted Mary’s shoulder, a comforting gesture.
“Heathrow? That’s fine, I can catch the tube from there; maybe stay at my friend Connie’s until I am feeling stronger.” Mary scrutinised the nurse’s features. She was still pensive, as though there was more to reveal. “What aren’t you telling me?”
The nurse shrugged. “Do you need more pain relief? I am permitted to use my judgement over your requirements.” Her evasiveness did not go amiss. Their small talk petered out as the aircraft landed, and then taxied to a siding. The nurse unbuckled Mary’s seat belt and helped her to the exit. From the top of the steps, Mary could see that more military personnel waited next to a floodlit hangar with a wheel chair to ferry her, and her neat pile of clothes, to the next aircraft and more banal chatter.
The prospect of a further eight hours listening to her nurse evading more pertinent questions, tired Mary. She ate the rations of disgusting flight food and then settled down to sleep across three empty seats of the aeroplane. The nurse laid a blanket over Mary’s shoulders and retreated within sight of her patient.
Mary did manage to snooze for some of the journey, but the soreness of her injuries awoke her with every bump of turbulence and movement she made. In addition to the sharp stabbing sensation, Mary could not stop the jumble of anguish building inside her head. Flashbacks of her ordeals mixed with anxiety over Luca and Alexi’s plans. One city in turmoil was just the start of their attacks. If other targets we
re to be ambushed at the same time, emergency services would be completely overwhelmed and unable to coordinate their efforts. With communications destroyed and electronic circuitry fried in every vehicle and all medical equipment, very little could be deployed to help anyone. Her hope remained with Yelena, and that Dan had managed to persuade her and the rest of MI6 to act.
Mary did not have to wonder for long. They landed and taxied to no fanfare or press; the military aircraft camouflaged by the night. The nurse wheeled Mary across the tarmac towards a stout man in a black coat standing next to a grey car. Mary thanked the medics and bid them farewell, just as another man spilled out from the vehicle. He held up a smart phone to Mary’s face.
Yelena Plender, MI6 agent and friend, effused from the screen with relief. “We are thankful that you are back in one piece. We have been concerned.” She twisted the phone’s camera to show her brother Dan at her side. “These men will bring you to us as quickly as possible.”
“Yelena, there was no need to drag Dan into this. Can’t you handle things without us?”
“You did the dragging, and as well you did. Without Dan you would be dead. We have a problem with proof. There is no evidence to corroborate your claims. I’ll explain when you get here. And Mary… hurry.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Yelena’s agents drove the grey car into and across London via a police escort, with Mary hiding on the back seat. She checked and re-checked that Phebe’s brooch was still tucked into the pocket of her folded jeans. The green smock provided by the US medical team did little to hide her battered body or keep her warm in the early autumnal breeze. One of the less crotchety agents, took off his great coat and helped Mary to thread her bandaged arms through the sleeves. At Euston Station, female agent met them, carrying a pair of trainers. She offered to help Mary get changed in the public toilets.
When she was fully clothed, they boarded a solitary train with only one carriage. It stood on an empty platform, quite separate from all others. Mary expected the station to be sparsely populated, it being well past midnight, but it was as though the place had been cleared just for her. The train carriage was old, but in pristine condition, with a crimson lacquered coating. It had no other markings on the outside, except for a tiny golden logo; a crowned circle surrounding crossed swords, an eagle and an anchor. The agents corralled her towards the footplate, and encouraged her to board.