by Andy Graham
“Drop your weapons. You’ll live.”
Ray lowered his arm. His eyes adjusted to the light. There were armed silhouettes in each cell entrance. The cell doors were now wide open.
“Get out!” Ray stepped in front of Stann. “I’ll cover you.”
“It’s no good,” Stann answered. “We’re surrounded. I was right. It’s a trap.”
The tunnel behind them was blocked by three men — standing, half-kneeling and lying. Ray could just about make out the boat in the river behind them, one end of the green tarpaulin dangling in the slow moving water.
“I said, drop the weapons and you’ll live.” The speaker was a tall silver-haired legionnaire, a deep furrow creasing his forehead.
“Brennan.”
Captain Brennan dipped his head. “I almost missed the party. Fortunately, I was only round the corner in the Ward when we got the call you’d escaped. How’s Seth, by the way?”
“He’ll live.”
“Good. Men like him are hard to come by, even in the Unsung. Your old colleague Baris Orr here shows promise, as long as he learns that obedience is more important than principles.” Brennan motioned for Ray to drop the weapon.
Ray ignored him, skirting around the edge of the pit. It plummeted a full two stories down. Water trickled out of holes peppering the walls to splash on the gravelly floor. Stann was mirroring Ray opposite.
“Why should we give up?” Ray asked. “We could take a few of you with us?”
He had no idea what to do at this point, other than keep Brennan talking. What would Captain Aalok have done?
Brennan clicked his fingers. More legionnaires dragged two people out of the cells. One was a child, held stretched out between his two captors. Tears streaked down his face as he tried to kick and bite himself free. On the opposite side, the second captive, a man, was dumped on the floor. He sat on his haunches, rocking back and forth, head in hands as if he were drugged.
“You could have a shoot-out if you want,” Brennan said. “It probably wouldn’t end well.”
Give up, for now. That’s what Captain Aalok would have done. The thought hit Ray like cold water. Naivety, which he had been accused of on many an occasion, didn’t win battles, tactics did. And for that, you needed to be alive.
He lay the revolver down, as close to himself as he thought he could get away with, and motioned for Stann to do the same. The old man, those diamond-hard eyes of his glittering, complied.
“We’ll deal with how you got those weapons later,” said Brennan with a glance at one of the cells. Nascimento stood framed by the arching brick entrance, rifle trained on Stann. “But there’s someone here to see you.”
Brennan stepped to one side.
A tall, dark-haired woman stumbled forwards, blindfolded, her hands bound behind her back. A man that had been stalking Ray’s nightmares followed her. The VP’s odd-coloured eyes flickered around the room, settling on Ray. He pulled the woman’s blindfold down. Stella Swann stood blinking in the light.
“Who are you going to go to first?” the VP asked. “Son or husband?” He pointed to opposite sides of the room. Stella gasped, the colour draining from her face.
Stella muscled her way past the nearest legionnaire. She ran round the twist of the walkway, arms tied behind her and sank to her knees in front of her son. “Let him go, he’s just a child.”
The VP nodded. The two legionnaires released the boy. Jake hurled himself at his mother, almost knocking her to the ground with the force of his hug. Stella, her hands still bound, whispered reassuring noises into his ear. She herded the boy back into the cell, away from the pit edge.
“Get that man out of here,” Brennan ordered. Two of the Unsung dragged Stella’s stumbling husband past the grim-faced Nascimento and into the tunnel behind the VP.
Stella watched him go, tears shining on her cheeks.
“Please,” she begged, “untie me.” A ginger-haired legionnaire, her machine gun resting across her body on a long strap, looked for her orders. Brennan nodded. Stella’s cuffs hit the floor with a clank.
“Thank you,” she said as she shuffled Jake behind her. She pushed a strand of sweaty hair out of her face. “If you ever have kids, I hope you understand why there are some things you do not do to a parent.”
The ginger-haired legionnaire opened her mouth for a reply that never came. Stella launched herself forwards, slamming her elbow into the other woman’s jaw. As clumsy as the attack was, the venom and surprise behind it staggered the legionnaire. Stella grabbed the woman’s machine gun, twisted it round to face the pit and squeezed the trigger.
The noise was deafening. Bullets crashed through the air, sweeping up to the domed ceiling in a long arc as she lost control. One bullet sparked off the control panel in the centre of the room, another clipped Orr’s shoulder. He fell, grabbed the light switch to regain his balance and the octagon was plunged into darkness.
“Get that light on!” Brennan yelled above the shouts of his men.
Ray was already running, keeping his shoulder in contact with the wall. He bumped into someone. The legionnaire swore. Ray yanked him hard. The man screamed as he plummeted down into the pit.
Shots rang out.
“Hold your fire!” Brennan yelled.
Single shots continued, sniper’s shots. They were followed by the grunting thump of legionnaires collapsing. Stann, Ray thought, was obviously not having problems with the night sight anymore.
He sped up, past the cell where Stella’s husband had been, bearing down on the VP and Brennan. Orders clashed with screams and gunfire. The lights flooded on. Orr had pulled himself up from the walkway, blood streaming down one arm.
“Kill the old man!” Brennan yelled. “Get the VP out!”
Four legionnaires were down, including two of the men that had been blocking the exit back to the tunnel. The remaining one loomed high up over Stann, his rifle raised.
“Stann, behind you!” Ray screamed.
A rattle of gunfire exploded next to the old man. Dust and gravel pattered down into Stann’s hair. There was a crack like a giant whip. The legionnaire behind Stann jackknifed, hands flying to his belly. His rifle dropped to the ground. In a slow somersault, he tumbled into the pit.
Ray’s gaze flicked around the room. Nascimento was on one knee, taking aim at Stann again. Splinters of brick and stone burst around him. Divots exploded in the wall. Stann disappeared into the tunnel. His rifle muzzle reappeared. Flashed. The ginger-haired legionnaire who was wrestling with Stella screamed. One ankle disappeared in a cloud of red mist and bone fragments. She collapsed, writhing on the floor as Stella ran to the back of the cell to her son.
“Kill that old bastard!” someone shouted.
Orr drew his revolver. A series of shots from Stann sent him scuttling behind the control panel. It hissed and crackled, sparks dancing viciously in the air.
Brennan bundled the VP into the entrance they had come in through, trying to shield the man’s crouching body with his own. More shots peppered the air. The rattle of machine-gun fire, and the precise deadly clip of Stann’s single shots.
Fingers grasped Ray’s shoulder, pulling him backwards.
“Run!” Ray yelled at Stann.
Chunks of brick and stone showered down around Stann’s head. Nascimento’s volley went wide again, too wide, Ray realised. A brick above Stann tumbled to the floor, so close Stann’s hair bent in the breeze.
Stann didn’t flinch. Eyes blazing like the sun at high noon, he loosed another shot. Ray felt a thud behind him. The fingers on his shoulder disappeared. A burly legionnaire slumped onto the walkway, half his throat torn out. The knife in his other hand tumbled into the pit.
Nascimento fired. Another brick fell in front of Stann, throwing up a puff of dust. Then a third.
A bullet fizzed past Ray’s ear.
“Freeze, Franklin!” Orr yelled.
The control panel exploded behind him. Orr’s pistol went spinning through the air as his
bloody fingers scrabbled on the lip of the walkway.
The stone tunnel surrounding Stann Taille creaked and groaned.
“Run, Ray. Run!” Stann yelled, picking off another legionnaire. More gunfire rattled back at him. Then, with a deafening, slow-motion roar, the bricks in the tunnel crashed to the ground, silencing the sniper.
Ray bit back his scream and lunged for Brennan. His outstretched fingers grabbed a handful of cloth. The two men, Unsung and ex-Riverman, tumbled into the next room.
45
More Than Pregnancy
Ray tumbled through the tunnel into a cavernous room. Something flashed in the corner of his vision and connected with the side of his head. He staggered. Throwing himself into his opponent, Ray wrapped his arms round him in a bear hug, fighting the dizziness. Brennan brought his knee up into Ray’s groin, stamped a heavy boot down onto his instep. A white-hot pain flashed into Ray’s legs. Brennan wrestled his arms free and spun Ray round. One armed looped around Ray’s neck. The rough material on the crook of his elbow squeezed Ray’s throat. Instinctively, he grabbed Brennan’s arm, yanking at it to give himself space to breathe.
“Time to drop the sleep bomb, Franklin,” Brennan’s implacable voice hissed in his ear. “It’s a 10th Legion speciality, no?” The man’s arms trembled as his grip tightened. “And once we’ve dealt with you and Dr Swann’s family, that bastard grandfather of yours is next. Maybe we’ll burn Tear to the ground with all its rebellious pigs stuck in their hovels, too.”
Spots were exploding in front of Ray’s eyes. The fabric on Brennan’s sleeve was slipping bit by bit through Ray’s fingers.
“Sweet dreams, Franklin.” Brennan’s chest pushed into Ray’s back, squeezing the choke tighter.
The wall in front of him was starting to smudge. “I’ve survived the best and the worst your government has thrown at me my entire life,” Ray said through gritted teeth. “I think I can deal with you.”
“Save your air—”
Ray swung his legs up and slammed them into the wall. The two men staggered backwards. Ray hooked one foot around the other man’s leg. They fell. There was a dull crack and Brennan’s grip went limp. Ray rolled to his knees, gasping for air and coughing up phlegm. He staggered to his feet, head spinning as the grogginess cleared.
The VP was backing down the room alongside a long rectangular pool with curved ends. Steps led down into the pool close to Ray. A broad staircase at the far end of the room disappeared into the gloom. Lying at the foot of the balustrade around the pool was Brennan. Blood was smeared on the carved stone above him and pooling under his head. His chest stuttered and then started a regular rise and fall.
Ray unholstered Brennan’s pistol. It was an unfamiliar model with an ugly blunted muzzle. The principle, he guessed, was the same as any other gun. Ray fired. The VP flinched, head ducking down into his shoulders. The shot disappeared into the black space under the stairs at the end of the room. Ray waited for the ricochet or an impact. None came.
“Ray Franklin,” the VP said. “I—”
Ray aimed at the VP. “Just checking it works. Ready?”
“You kill me, they’ll kill Stella and her family.” There was no fear in the man’s voice.
“And if I let you live, they’ll let them live? I doubt it.” He stepped around Brennan’s body.
“I have information you want to hear.”
“There’s nothing you could say that I’m interested in.”
“Nothing? Not even the truth about our past? About the nightmare that is our mother?”
“What do you know about my mother?”
“About our mother.”
Ray stared at him.
“You really don’t know, do you? I wasn’t sure this was possible. What other secrets has she kept from you?”
Ray felt the colour draining from his face. He squeezed the grip of the pistol. “Shut up!”
The VP’s head cocked to one side. “I don’t believe you don’t know. I do. I know. I know things even Rose doesn’t think I know.”
“But you do know,” the voice said in Ray’s head, “you do know. Professor Lind told you in that experimental camp, X517, the left-handed hell. Just before you broke his ribs. Just before Lenka died she said you had a half-sibling. You forgot. Drunk on adrenaline, fear and vengeance. You forgot what Lind said. You know exactly what nightmare the VP’s talking about. Only the real nightmare is not this man and those odd-coloured eyes, but the history that lies behind those eyes.” The voice took its mask off. It belonged to the VP, Ray Franklin’s brother. “Why on earth didn’t that woman tell you?”
“Why on earth didn’t that woman tell you?” The VP spoke at the same time as his voice in Ray’s head. “It must be so hard for you.” An expression of mock sympathy spread across his face. “You thought you were an only child. You discover you had a twin brother. You decide to find him. You find out you were the twin brother you were looking for because our mother killed the other one. And then, just as you get used to the idea of being an only child again, I pop up. History appears to have a particularly repetitive sense of humour. Some kind of divine potboiler ring theory.”
Sweat oozed between Ray’s fingers. “You’re lying.”
“No, Ray Franklin, you’re lying to yourself.”
Scrabbling sounds were coming from the tunnel behind him. Ray stormed over to the VP. He backhanded him across the face. Spit and blood splattered into the pool. “Give me one good reason why the next shot shouldn’t be in your head?” he shouted.
“I’m your brother.”
Ray twisted the VP’s arm behind his back. Wrenching the elbow into a stomach-churning angle. “You’re lying!” He folded the man over the balustrade, booted his feet apart and shoved the pistol into the base of his skull.
“You’d murder your own brother in cold blood?”
Ray blinked back the tears stinging his eyes. He twisted the VP’s arm — he could feel it shaking under his grip. “I said tell me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” he shouted.
He felt a hand on his arm. A woman’s voice cut through the anger. He knew who it was, just as he had known when she was watching him pretend to sleep as a child.
“Because he’s telling the truth, Ray. Please, let him go.”
Rose’s long hair was unkempt and as eternally wild as ever, curls bursting out of the ponytail she had tried to tame it with. She was pale and quivering. A few steps behind her was the slight figure of Bethina Laudanum, flanked by her dogs and a handful of guards.
“Ray,” Rose said. “I failed you. I failed all three of my children. In doing what I thought I needed to do, I failed to do what I had to do: provide the emotional support that every child deserves.”
He jammed the muzzle of the gun hard into the VP’s flesh. His brother yelped as it squeezed the bone. “You decide to play the mother now?”
“It’s never too late to start. It’s always too early to give up. Don’t kill my child.”
Orr and Nascimento burst into the room clutching Stella and her son. Unsung reinforcements flooded past them. They spread across the room, fanning into an arc with their rifles raised.
Ray wrenched the VP’s arm higher. He could feel the joint stretching to its limit. His brother squeezed his eyes shut, biting back the pain.
“Ray,” Rose whispered. “I had every right to give up my life for the cause I chose. I had no right to give up my children.”
“So why did you give me up?” the VP asked, teeth gritted.
“I had no choice.”
“You are a born liar, woman. You were given a choice. You chose to give me up. I found it in the records.”
“Is this true?” Ray asked.
“Yes,” the VP snapped. “See what she is? What kind of mother gives up her firstborn? The kind of mother who kills her next child, that’s who.”
Ray jerked the VP’s arm up his back. “That was an accident.”
“An accident she’s the only witness to. Conve
nient, isn’t it?”
As Rose moved closer to him, the VP strained to get away from her.
“Revolutions don’t stop for kids to have afternoon naps,” Rose said. “There’s no space in a popular uprising for playing with children. Where I was back then, what I was doing, what I and the country needed, meant I had no choice. I didn’t lie to you. I had no choice. I didn’t realise David Prothero, your father, was going to make the same decision. I’m sorry.”
“You abandoned me!” the VP shouted.
“I know. I see that now. I was wrong.” She interlinked her fingers with Ray’s, trying to make him loosen his grip.
“Like an apology makes it right.”
“What else can I do? Please, both of you, give me the chance I never gave you.”
Ray’s fingers went limp on the pistol. He tossed the gun onto the floor, and released his brother. The VP’s face was screwed up into a grimace of pain and hate. He moved towards the Unsung, rubbing the elbow that Ray had been cranking.
His chest heaving, Ray faced Rose.
“Thank you.” She smiled and cupped his cheek with one hand. “For listening. I don’t deserve it but let me try and earn it.”
“Better get a move on, then.” A pistol shot rang out, reverberating through the underground pool room.
Rose’s eyes flared. The hand cupping Ray’s cheek went rigid.
“No!”
A second shot split the air. Rose collapsed to her knees. Ray caught her as she fell. Blood welled up between the fingers she was pressing to her belly.
Rose stumbled round to face her son.
Ray threw himself at the VP, every nerve in his body a red-hot wire. Unsung legionnaires burst forwards. They tackled Ray and bundled him to the floor, kicking and screaming. “You bastard. I’ll kill you!”
The VP stepped up to Rose and raised the pistol. Ray freed a hand. Punched one of his captors. A tooth cracked, splitting his knuckle. Then Orr was there, knee on Ray’s ribs, pinning him to the ground. Someone was yelling orders. A woman was shouting. Someone was screaming. He was screaming. “Don’t die. Don’t die. Not now. Please.”
