Apathy slid backwards on the bed and threw her arms over her face. Poppy advanced, weapon poised.
Nothing happened.
Apathy risked a peek. The girl had backed away, knife still in her hand.
“I can’t,” she said sorrowfully. “If there’s one thing I’ve learnt here, it’s not what we are that counts. It’s what we do.”
She tucked the blade back in her belt.
“Please hold on. Just till the children get in the chopper. Please!”
“I’ll try.”
Above their heads they heard the sound of gunfire.
“And you tell everyone I couldn’t kill you.” Poppy headed for the door. “You let them know I’m a good person.”
“I will.” Apathy slumped sideways. “I promise.”
“But I have to do whatever it takes to protect my family.” Poppy looked hatefully at the knife. “You’d do the same, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes I would.” Apathy thought of Emily and D.B. Salty. “Just like my father and mother.”
“I knew you and I would be friends. If we survive, I’ll send for you. I’ll probably need a personal assistant.”
“I’d be honoured.”
“I told you I was a great actress. If you keep my secret, nobody will know what I’m really like.”
Poppy looked sadly back at her new friend.
“Nobody ever has.”
She locked the door and vanished into the corridor.
Back in the information hut, Brigadier Potter drifted to the library, taking down random books and leafing through them.
“There wasn’t much to the village, was there?” he complained. “Anything else interesting on the island while we’re doing this damned inspection?”
“Depends on how interesting you find grass.” Naish glanced out the window. Two islanders were zigzagging between the buildings, heads down. She turned quickly back to the room. The other window was obscured by the less than svelte figure of Alison Ainsworth, still standing to attention.
“What about the MacLellan facility?” Potter seemed determined to do more sightseeing, now that he was here.
“Not much to see there either.” Naish glanced out of the window again, but the figures were gone. “The Walton girl is in one of the quarantine chambers on the lower levels. Though we can let her out now, I guess, since she isn’t Colin’s daughter.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask about that.” The Brigadier put down his book. “How do the islanders know exactly when to quarantine a child? How do they know when a pheromone release is about to happen?”
“Their age, mainly.” Naish pointed to the corner of the room. “And those.”
On a high table sat a tall Perspex box filled with earth, the glass dotted with crawling insects.
“It’s an ant farm. How clever,” Potter said enthusiastically, wandering over and tapping the glass. “I had one when I was a kid.”
“Ants act like an early warning system, as well as a conduit.” Naish joined her superior. “Theory was, they’d go into overdrive when anyone on the island was about to release pheromones.”
She frowned.
“Only it didn’t seem to work with Gene Stapleton. He caught everyone by surprise.”
The Brigadier raised an eyebrow. Insects were swarming all over the earthen mound inside the container. They raced back and forwards, biting each other and throwing themselves against the polished surface.
“Well, they’re sure as hell acting up now.”
“Holy God,” Naish sputtered. “Some kid on the island is hot!”
Potter glared at Alison Ainsworth.
“It’s news to me.” Her look of astonishment was obviously genuine. She pulled the walkie talkie from her belt. “I better get Commander Stapleton.”
“You better. I don’t like the….”
His voice petered out as the sound of gunfire drifted into the hut, followed by a far off explosion. The shelves around the information hut rattled.
Alison Ainsworth reacted first. She dropped the walkie talkie and pulled out her sidearm.
Years on Kirkfallen had not dulled her instincts. Her first three shots took out the soldiers lined along the wall before they had even raised their rifles. Alison dropped to a crouch, kicking over the desk in front of her, as the man by the door returned fire. The wooden top fractured, bullets gouging into its surface and the window burst in a kaleidoscope of glass.
Potter scuttled behind the ant farm and Naish threw herself to the floor. Alison rolled onto her side and fired again. The soldier at the door gave a scream and fell, as a bullet thudded into his shin. Alison sighted, squeezed the trigger, and the man was silent. The smell of cordite hung in the air, blue smoke drifting across the information hut.
“Well, this is awkward!”
“Put down your weapon, Sergeant Ainsworth,” Naish called.
“Know what kind of ants are in that tank?” Alison replied. “Fire ants. You wanna watch those suckers.”
And she fired again.
The glass of the ant farm exploded and a mass of insects swarmed down the sides. Naish tried to get a proper bead on her adversary, but the upturned oak desk made a perfect shelter.
Seconds later, Potter scrambled away from the tank. Ants were swarming over his body, biting every inch of exposed flesh. Alison stuck her arm round the desk and fired again, the bullet thudding into the dirt of the farm. More insects began to pour down the shattered sides, dropping off the table and onto the floor.
The door burst open and the two guards positioned outside ran into the room.
Alison was trained in close quarter fighting and knew she should stay where she was. But she had lost the advantage of surprise and she was outnumbered.
She stood up and let loose a hail of bullets. They caught the guards in mid sprint and slammed them back through the doorway.
Naish squeezed off a round. Alison Ainsworth clutched at her chest, looking down in astonishment at her blood soaked fingers.
She exhaled slowly and sank to the ground.
The Brigadier scrambled to his feet, slapping ants from his body. Naish crawled over to Alison and felt for a pulse. There was none.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It was you or me.”
“Get on the radio, right now, and muster our men.” Potter was purple with rage. “This is treason! I want every adult on this island hunted down and killed!”
“You’re up against the Stopwatch Unit,” Naish spat. “This won’t be a hunt!”
She ran a hand down Alison’s face, closing her eyes.
“It’s going to be a damned battle.”
55
Kirkfallen Island
“The children are ready to go.” Deep Singh crouched behind a hay bale at the tunnel exit, walkie talkie in hand. “I suggest we head into the Eastern Hills and go north in a semi-circle. That will give us the most cover.”
“That’s a negative.” Edward’s voice crackled back. “It’s a tough enough journey as the crow flies. The younger kids will be hard pushed to run four miles on even ground. Take the shortest route possible.”
“Very well,” Singh replied reluctantly. “But we’ll be completely exposed.”
“Help is on the way.”
As if on cue Perry and Samantha Gold came dashing up. A few hundred yards behind, some of Potter’s troops had peeled away from the village and were advancing towards them.
Singh began pulling children out of the hole and pointing them north.
“Follow the Golds!” he shouted. Don’t stop for anything!”
The group began running, strung out in a line.
“Get us some cover now!” Deep yelled into the walkie talkie. “Potter’s men are right behind!”
“Cavalry’s here!” Fred Wolper burst onto the line. “Keep your heads down.”
A giant chopper came sweeping in from the north. Twin gouts of flame erupted from the blunt green nose and the pursuing troops scattered for cover. Singh gave a vict
ory yell and the children put their heads down and doubled their efforts.
In his cottage, Edward issued a final order.
“All members of the Stopwatch Unit who are still in the village, break out. Head through the village and exit at the west side, then make for Jackson Head. Terminate the enemy with extreme prejudice and arm yourselves with their weapons. Fred? You there?”
“Listening.” The occupants of the cottage could hear the sound of the chopper’s guns in the background.
“Give it five minutes then destroy Fallen.”
“That’s our home, Eddie.” Annie Stapleton laid a hand on her husband’s arm.
“I know that.” Edward clicked on his radio. “Bogeyman. What’s the status at Reardon Flats?”
On the hill above the village a lone scarecrow hung on crossed poles. It swung one arm cautiously towards its mouth – walkie-talkie clutched in a white gloved hand.
“The guards there have regrouped.” Walter De Guglielmo whispered into the handset through lips caked with grime. “They’ve obviously been given new orders and they’re heading north into the Eastern Hills. If they get above Singh and the kids, they’ll cut them to ribbons.”
“Understood.” Edward traced the movements on the map. “Tell the moles to stop them.”
“The soldiers have been joined by forces deployed from the eastern side of the village.” Walter cautioned. “Gotta be about sixty men.”
“Tell the moles to hold at all costs. The children’s lives depend on it.”
“Will do.” Walter levered himself off the pole and unfastened the gun taped to it. It was a hunting rifle and Walter had spent weeks modifying it himself. In the old days he had been the Stopwatch Unit’s top sniper.
He lay down on the crest of the hill, squinted along the barrel and began firing.
“Good luck everybody.” Edward picked up his weapon. “See you on the other side.”
“What about Dan and Emily?” Colin protested. “They’ve no idea what’s going on.”
“They’ve got Geoff Ainsworth with them.” Edward crumpled up the map and threw it on the fire. “If that old dog can’t get them out, nobody can.”
“You need to trust me.” Colin placed himself between Edward and the door. “Dan and Emily have got to get to Jackson Head. It’s vital!”
“Jesus! I’ll get them myself.”
Annie Stapleton grasped her husband by the sleeve.
“For God’s sakes,” Edward huffed. “This is the only uniform I’ve got.”
“Shut up.” Annie swung him round and kissed him. “Don’t you dare die out there.”
“And risk your wrath? Not a chance.”
Then they burst into the open.
Doug McCombie and Millar had their eyes pressed against cracks in the shed door. They could hear the pop and crackle of weapons in the distance.
“It’s started.” Doug laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Look, half these guys are leaving at the double. This is our best chance.”
He pushed open the door of the storage shed and Millar squeezed through the widening gap.
“Now run!”
The teenager sprinted for the hill to the north. The scarecrow was gone but the cross that held it up was still standing – his sanctuary, if he could make it. Millar’s legs were a blur and he sucked air in sobbing gasps, tearing across the flat land and up the incline.
Behind him Doug McCombie had made it to an abandoned trailer, just beyond the shed, and was pouring fire at the enemy. A dozen men broke away from the main body and headed after Millar. One raised his rifle and his companion slapped it down.
“He’s a bloody kid! We can’t just shoot him!”
It was the last thing he uttered. Doug McCombie fired and the man collapsed.
More soldiers came running round the side of the shed. McCombie couldn’t defend himself from a double sided attack, but he tried anyway. He spun round and unleashed a torrent of bullets at the men racing towards him.
Millar glanced back in time to see the return fire slam into his companion. Doug lifted the rifle one last time, the other arm hanging limply at his side. Then the gun fell from his lifeless fingers and he pitched forward onto the ground.
With a wail, Millar ran harder, arms windmilling. The soldiers were catching up but he could see puffs of smoke from the crest of the hill above him. He risked one last glance back. At least four of his pursuers were down.
He kept running.
Walter De Guglielmo had a breech loading Sharps hunting rifle. It wasn’t an automatic but it was accurate to two hundred yards. Lying in the grass he loaded, sighted and fired. Loaded, sighted and fired. The barrel was so hot, it couldn’t be touched but he knew the gun wouldn’t warp.
Millar was racing towards him. At first there had been twelve men after him. He’d killed six but the others were closing fast.
Walter De Guglielmo was a killing machine. He and the rifle were one. He loaded, sighted and fired again.
Then Millar swerved to avoid a rock. Walter jerked his head up.
“No!”
The terrified teenager was between him and the enemy. Right in his line of fire. Walter took careful aim and loosed off a shot.
Millar felt the bullet whistle past his head and heard a cry behind him. He didn’t think his legs had the strength to go any faster, but that spurred him on.
He was almost there.
“Get down, you little fool!” Walter shouted. “I can pick them all off if you just move outta the way!”
But the boy was still heading towards him, head down, oblivious to everything but his dash for safety.
The men following weren’t stupid. They changed trajectory, keeping themselves between the fleeing boy and the sniper on the crest of the hill.
Walter struggled to his feet.
“Get down!” he screamed again, motioning with his free arm. “Get on the…”
He spun backwards as a bullet caught him in the chest, the rifle flying from his hand.
Too late, Millar flung himself to the ground. He saw Walter De Guglielmo silhouetted against the skyline, arms outstretched, mouth open in a silent cry.
Millar pulled the pistol from his belt. As the remaining soldiers moved towards him, he squirmed round and raised the gun, holding it in both hands like his father had taught him.
He emptied the magazine.
When Millar finally dropped the weapon, he was the only one alive on the hill.
Most of Potter’s troops were still in a ring around the village. Wolper’s chopper floated above their heads, strafing mercilessly, driving the men back towards the collection of stone crofts.
Kirkfallen was in turmoil. The residents were streaming west, out of the village, and had the advantage of complete surprise. They rolled over Potter’s troops like a pack of wild animals, armed with axes, machetes and swords fastened out of ploughshares – chopping, gouging and scooping up rifles from their dead adversaries.
Wolper fired two rockets into the outskirts of Fallen, annihilating the soldiers trying to stem the tide. The Stopwatch Unit poured out of the village and headed after their children.
“Keep going!” Edward shouted. “I’ll get the Waltons.”
Before the others could say anything, he darted off and headed for Geoff Ainsworth’s house.
Geoff was in his doorway, firing at the soldiers besieging his cottage. Edward didn’t even slow down. Shooting from the hip he ran straight into the enemy.
“Eddie!” Geoff advanced down his path, redoubling his fire. “Nicely timed!”
He clutched at his stomach and doubled over. Sinking to his knees, he clenched his teeth and kept squeezing off rounds. Blood began to trickle from his mouth.
D.B. Salty sprinted out of the doorway heading for a soldier who had ejected a magazine and was desperately trying to fit another into the breech. Dan reached him and swept the gun to the side, head butting the man in the face. He wrenched the weapon from the soldier’s grasp and swept it round
in a deadly arc of fire. As the last of the troops fell, Emily Walton bolted from the house and crouched beside Geoff Ainsworth. He put an arm round her neck and they staggered back towards the croft.
“Go,” the man grunted, through his pain as he slumped in his doorway. “There are more soldiers coming. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”
Emily kissed him on the cheek and picked up a fallen weapon. Edward started towards his friend.
“No Eddie!” Ainsworth waved his Commander away. “Go protect the kids!”
Edward beckoned to the Waltons and headed west, glancing back once at his friend, pulling himself up the door frame, rifle still clutched in one blood soaked hand
“Edward Stapleton, I presume?” Dan drew alongside him as they ran, pulling Emily behind him.
“And you must be the notorious D.B. Salty.”
“I’m going to have that printed on my business cards.”
Emily cringed at how quickly the two men had forgotten their fallen comrade. Part of her understood that the islander’s fight for survival left no time for mourning – but still she wondered how much of their callousness came from an inability to feel for others.
Almost all of the Stopwatch Unit had passed the western outskirts of the village and turned north, heading after their offspring. Wolper was still laying down a deadly covering fire and Potter’s troops were retreating into the village, unaware that they were bunching themselves into a corner that Fred intended to destroy with rocket fire.
“We’re gonna win this!” Edward punched the air with his fist as he ran. “It’s my son in that chopper!”
A white plume arced out of the village and narrowly missed the helicopter.
Edward skidded to a halt.
“Get out of there Fred!” he shrieked into his radio. “They’ve got a rocket launcher!”
The chopper stopped firing and began to climb. Another white streak shot out of the village. The helicopter tried to bank and evade the missile but it was a doomed effort. The rocket hit the bird just below the cockpit and it exploded in mid-air.
“IT’S MY SON IN THAT CHOPPER!” Edward Stapleton bellowed, veins standing out on his neck. Baring his teeth like a rabid dog, he took a few steps forward, then back, face twitching uncontrollably. With an agonised sob, he pulled himself together and strode towards the village.
The Kirkfallen Stopwatch Page 21
