Tooth and Nail

by Chris Bonnello

  ‘Fine,’ he answered. ‘Shannon, Lorraine, I want you two on comms with Mark guarding. Shannon’s got the best knowledge of Grant’s upper floor, and Lorraine… well, you know why. The rest of you, follow Jack as he searches for a new home. Try to find one with comfy beds, OK?’

  McCormick’s last joke fell on deaf ears. The remaining Underdogs rose to their feet, and prepared to evacuate.

  *

  Ten minutes to departure. McCormick dragged his legs behind him into the attic. It was time to say goodbye to Barbara again, this time probably for good. Even if he were lucky enough to survive tomorrow’s hellfire, it wouldn’t be Polly’s house he’d come back to.

  He rose to his knees, and found his box of memories straight ahead next to the boiler. But, first things first, there was something in the attic that would have to go wherever the Underdogs went. He reached to his left, opened the thin box of sealed envelopes, and started to flip through them.

  ‘Jack… Mark… Simon… Gracie… Shannon…’

  The sixth envelope in the pile, the one he had flipped through to find, sank his heart.

  ‘…Raj.’

  McCormick took the envelope in both hands, and tore it to pieces. The information inside had been for Raj’s eyes only, now to be left unread forever. He stuffed the remains into the pocket of his combat uniform, planning to dispose of them somewhere along the journey. The River Lea would churn them up well.

  With one less envelope in the thin box, he crawled over to his favourite part of Spitfire’s Rise. When he removed the aged photo frame from his memory box, Barbara McCormick’s smile seemed to have grown.

  ‘This isn’t goodbye, Barbara,’ he began. ‘I’m just moving house again. Like I did from Durham. Only this time, my physical memories won’t be joining me.’

  McCormick smiled at the realisation that he was talking to a photo. But that was OK. He had spent three years not minding.

  ‘Tomorrow I’ll be heading to New London. Only the second time I’ve ever been. And you know what, Barbara? There’s a chance I might actually come back. I’m prepared for the worst, but I’m hoping for the best. I don’t think my work’s done yet.’

  There was a moment of heartbreak as McCormick thought about what ‘his work’ truly meant. He had used a lifetime of experience to build up his housemates to be the best versions of themselves they could be, and he had also led two thirds of them to their deaths.

  Then again, he could have just let them stay at home and wait to die, like the group Shannon and Lieutenant Lambourne had found in the clinic.

  ‘But either way,’ he finished, ‘I hope you know about your part in all this. I was never leadership material. It took the most wonderful woman in the world to turn this adult male into a man. And I hope I’m living my life in a way that honours what you did. You deserve my best, and I hope I’m giving it.’

  ‘McCormick?’ came a child’s laugh from the top of the ladder.

  McCormick bit his lip.

  ‘Hello, Thomas.’

  ‘They’re waiting for you downstairs.’

  ‘I’m coming. How much did you hear?’

  ‘Something about you needing a woman to make you a man. What does that even mean?’

  McCormick smiled, mainly with relief.

  ‘I was just talking to myself,’ he answered. ‘About my wife. She turned me into the person I am. Before I met her, I was just a kid in an adult’s body.’

  There was a laugh, followed by a noise on the floorboard beside him. Thomas, uninvited, had joined him in the attic.

  ‘Even though she died too early,’ he continued, ‘her influence lives on in the people she loved. And she changed me for the better, little by little, all the way up to the day she died.’

  ‘She sounds awesome.’

  ‘She was!’ answered McCormick with a hearty laugh. ‘Really, really awesome.’

  ‘I hope…’

  Thomas’ voice trailed off. When McCormick looked over at him, he had sealed his mouth shut.

  ‘You hope what?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It wasn’t nothing, Thomas.’

  ‘OK…’ Thomas started, his voice trembling. He seemed to already feel guilty for the words that would come. ‘I was about to say that I hope… I hope Mum did that to Dad before they split up. I know they hated each other by the end, but… I hope she changed him for the better too.’

  Thomas began to shake, and McCormick knew why. He had known Beth well enough to know why. Thomas knew he had said something good, but his upbringing had restricted his freedom of thought. He was not supposed to talk about his parents’ break-up, and it must have been drilled into him from before Takeover Day. His mother had even complained about their last name still being Foster: if the divorce lawyers had been quicker, her son would have started the war with his ‘real name’.

  Nonetheless, Beth’s overprotection had never stopped her son from saying kind words.

  ‘That’s a very mature thing to say, Thomas.’

  ‘Really?’ the boy asked with genuine surprise.

  ‘Yes. And you know what? I’m going to trust you with something.’

  Brushing his memory box out of Thomas’ line of sight, he drew the boy’s attention to the thin box of envelopes. He pushed them over, and lay a soft hand on Thomas’ shoulder.

  ‘Wherever our new home is, take these with you.’

  *

  McCormick watched Thomas’ face as he stood among the crowd in the cellar, at the front so he could see the Memorial Wall one last time. The boy had been uncomfortable with the reason behind McCormick’s instructions, but he had understood.

  ‘We’ll never be properly home unless we take the whole family with us,’ said Jack.

  ‘You’re welcome to carry it if you want,’ replied Mark.

  McCormick adjusted his helmet for the fourth time that minute. It had been a long time since he had last needed to wear one, and it would take the whole evening before he acclimatised to the feel of it again. He stood in place in front of the Memorial Wall, and held out his hands.

  ‘Everyone ready for this?’

  Wordless, the Underdogs linked hands, and McCormick began.

  ‘To honour those who gave everything they had, we will give everything we have. To honour the dead we will free the living, united by our differences.’

  ‘United,’ answered the group. McCormick had expected a subdued, saddened response, but instead his friends were loud. Evidently, they were taking the opportunity to make their last meeting before the Memorial Wall mean something.

  One by one, the crowd started to leave. Some were carrying weapons, others were carrying food. Nobody could carry the generator, so they had left behind everything that would require electricity. Their standard of living was set to dip dramatically. Before Jack walked out with a rucksack full of batteries, McCormick noticed the thermal blocker in his hand: the miniature-football-sized object which kept their body heat off any scans Grant could perform. Ewan’s father had stolen it from his barracks on Takeover Day, and that impulsive act had kept them alive for a year. It was by far the most important piece of luggage carried by any of the crew – including all their weapons combined.

  McCormick kept himself at the back of the group, and was the last person to leave Spitfire’s Rise.

  ‘Thank you, Polly,’ he whispered into the air, before he walked into the tunnel, took a final look at the Memorial Wall, and closed the door behind him.

  Chapter 14

  Kate had been close to the same house forty-eight hours earlier. She had been sitting on a patch of grass less than half a mile away, at the top of a hill next to her boyfriend and their five fellow students.

  If she’d known McCormick would bring her back to Oakenfold, perhaps she wouldn’t have volunteered after all. The man lay next to her on the sofa at that moment, catching some sleep while he could. It was already gone midnight.

  Oakenfold Special School lay at the end of the street, silent and em
pty. Not even a buzz to suggest there was an active shield surrounding it. It was the perfect trap: invisible, indestructible, and already proven to be fatal.

  Two men in dark navy uniforms appeared not far from the house. Kate retrieved her weapon, but on closer inspection they were just who she had hoped. Ewan and Alex had returned from their search for clone uniforms.

  ‘OK,’ Ewan whispered as he walked through the front door and passed around another two sets of clothes. ‘There’s yours, there’s McCormick’s… I think we’re set.’

  ‘Do we seriously think this’ll work?’ asked Kate, looking down at the uniform being handed to her. It must have belonged to one of the clones Simon had shot during their escape. Not that the disguise would serve much purpose, since Nicholas Grant had never produced a female clone before.

  ‘We’ve at least got a chance,’ answered Alex. ‘Besides, it’s May nineteenth now. Twenty-four hours from the AME shield going up, any risks are acceptable.’

  It wasn’t quite the answer Kate wanted. But she could hardly choose to not accept it.

  ‘Did you see Raj?’

  Ewan looked at Alex. They were both noticeably uncomfortable.

  ‘There’s not much left to see,’ said Ewan. ‘I wouldn’t bother. Won’t do you any good.’

  That was the answer Kate had wanted. She had needed to ask the question to stop it bouncing around in her skull, and now she knew there was no need to go to the entrance and look for herself. She lay down on the living room floor and rested a blanket over herself.

  ‘The shield’s still up,’ Alex said to her. ‘So if you were thinking of stealing some more research…’

  Kate shook her head. In front of her, Ewan was doing the same.

  ‘They’re not going to bring the shield down unless they absolutely have to,’ Ewan said. ‘Which they will, once they start hauling the research back to New London. Anyway, any idea how much sleep we’re likely to get?’

  Not that any of us will actually sleep.

  ‘Literally no idea at all,’ said McCormick, who seemed to have awoken out of nowhere. ‘The supply trucks could arrive at any time. Safe to say they’ll be gone before the evening though.’

  ‘Even with all the machines they’ll be loading?’ Kate asked.

  ‘No, they won’t be transporting much besides paper. The only bits of hardware here are the border points, which are useless without the laptop Mark destroyed. And the electricity generators in the sports hall are just normal generators, nothing to do with AME research. It won’t take long to pack up everything and transport it to New London.’

  ‘Or to some mystery location away from New London where their secret backup is,’ Alex mumbled.

  ‘The research we stole made no mention of off-site backups,’ McCormick said. ‘Which means they either think New London’s secure enough by itself, or there’s something physically stopping them. In my opinion, it’s clearly the latter. But either way it’s good news for us. Everything’s in New London.’

  ‘And once we get there we’ve got… what, five targets?’ asked Ewan, who must have already known the answer but wanted the reassurance of knowing he was right.

  ‘Yes,’ replied McCormick, ‘five. The Central Research Headquarters on Floor F, for starters. Also the data servers on Floor P, since they’ll have all their internal backups, and the paper archive on Floor R. There’s also the experiment chamber, also on Floor F, which will hold their last physical traces of research. And… Iain Marshall’s computer. On Floor B.’

  The silence that followed was painful. Kate could hear the soft wind blowing outside, and even that felt haunting.

  ‘And you chose this particular mission to be your first visit to New London since before Christmas?’ said Alex. ‘You didn’t even do much the other time you were there!’

  ‘I did more than you think.’

  ‘Oh,’ Alex continued, ‘and one really important bit of advice. Make sure you listen to this. If you come up against an enemy, don’t try to convert them, right? Don’t try to see the good in them or bring them under your wing or win them over with love or—’

  ‘Shut up, Alex,’ Kate said.

  ‘Nah, he needs to hear this. Everyone in the building, from Oliver Roth to clone number one-million-and-whatever, will be trying to kill you to death!’

  ‘Ah, Oliver Roth,’ muttered Ewan as he knelt down and prepared his own blanket. ‘Bumping into that ginger git will be the icing on the cake.’

  ‘Yeah, well wait until after we’ve won, OK? If you’re looking forward to getting killed, get the timing right.’

  ‘Oh, it’ll be me killing him. He’s got it coming. It’s karma.’

  ‘Ah yes, “karma”,’ said McCormick. ‘Lots of people say they believe in karma. Most of them just believe in revenge. Anyway, I think it’s time for a change of subject. Serious conversation please.’

  Kate felt relief and concern at the same time. As much as she welcomed the change of subject, McCormick never used the word ‘serious’ unless he meant it.

  McCormick rolled over on his sofa and reached into Ewan’s rucksack of gadgets. When his hand emerged, it held a cigar-shaped metal casing. It was difficult to see much of it in the darkness, but Kate could tell it was elaborate enough to have been stolen from the British military. Perhaps it had been one of those devices they had stolen from the barracks and kept in Spitfire’s Rise unnoticed for a year. McCormick pressed a button that opened the casing and revealed a screen that displayed six blank digits, along with a miniature numbered keypad and a large clear button at the top.

  ‘Let me guess,’ started Ewan, ‘you brought along some plastic explosives and you want us to plant them somewhere important, then use that as a remote detonator.’

  ‘Almost.’

  ‘We’re out of plastic explosives, sir. I checked today before we started packing.’

  McCormick smiled.

  ‘Mine were planted several months ago.’

  Kate, Ewan and Alex looked around at each other, as if seeking guidance on how to react.

  ‘Where?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Well, I can’t tell you where,’ McCormick answered, ‘because this could change the course of the war. We cannot let the information fall into the wrong hands. Knowledge of its location is restricted to myself and Lorraine, since someone at comms needs to be in the loop.’

  ‘Why not Shannon?’ asked Ewan.

  ‘Because Lorraine was on comms when I planted them in December. Like I said, I did more than you think last time I went to New London. While Mark, Sally and Rachael were sabotaging the munitions factory, I was laying explosives in a nice sensitive place. It would cripple Grant’s empire for a good couple of weeks if it ever detonated.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said Alex with a mocking laugh, ‘so nobody noticed you carrying a man-sized pile of explosives to the Citadel?”

  ‘I only needed a fistful. I used NPN8.’

  Another hush fell over the strike team.

  Seriously? NPN8? Whatever he’s planning, it had better be worth it.

  NPN8 was by far the most powerful plastic explosive available to the military. Kate remembered how Ewan had once described it to her in just two sentences: ‘use C4 if you want to blow the lock off a door. Use NPN8 if you want the room to stop existing.’

  ‘So it’s small enough not to be noticed,’ finished McCormick. ‘I have no doubt that half a year on, it’s in the same place as I left it.’

  ‘Why haven’t you detonated it before now, just to be safe?’ Kate asked.

  ‘That’s the problem with explosives – you only get to use them once. I’ve been waiting for an occasion like this, one on which the whole war depends. Now, I need a volunteer. And with apologies for being frank, it should be the one among you who’s likely to live the longest.’

  How diplomatic, thought Kate.

  ‘Well, I grew up eating my greens and not smoking,’ said Alex. ‘My life expectancy’s probably still in its eighties.’

  �
��Be sensible, Alex. And your life expectancy will be a lot lower if you’re planning to go off on your own again—’

  ‘Alright. I vote Kate.’

  She sat up straight, alarmed.

  ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘Because Ewan will have half of New London after him, and I’m screwed the moment they realise I’m not a clone. I’m guessing McCormick wants the volunteer to hold on to the detonator and only use it when absolutely necessary, and let’s face it – you’re the most careful one of us.’

  ‘No,’ said McCormick, ‘I don’t want Kate holding this.’

  Kate gasped, conflicting thoughts fighting inside her mind. On the one hand, a scary responsibility would no longer be hers. On the other, why the hell would McCormick deny her the opportunity? The man had spent his whole life using responsibility as a tool to build up young people, so it seemed out of character for him.

  ‘Why not?’ she asked, a little too loud.

  ‘Because you might end up having to use it. Just trust me.’

  ‘I vote Kate too,’ said Ewan.

  Kate began to wonder whether she was truly opposed to the responsibility. Her friends’ encouragement seemed to be changing her mind. And at her side, McCormick’s resistance was fading.

  ‘I’ll be giving you the most powerful explosive device this war has ever known,’ he said weakly.

  ‘It’s a good job you trust me then, isn’t it?’

  McCormick let out a long sigh: the kind of sigh people resorted to when they knew they were beaten.

  ‘If our situation becomes unsalvageable,’ he said, ‘I’ll give you the six-digit code. Ideally, this won’t happen. The plan is to get inside, destroy the shield’s control system, wipe out every single bit of research down to the last Post-it Note, and – if possible – get out and go home—’

  ‘Wherever home ends up being,’ said Alex.

  ‘Get out and go home… and if we can do all that without needing a big explosion, we’ll save this weapon for another time. You’ll give me the detonator back and we’ll never speak of this again. But if I do give you the code – if our strike goes so badly that we need to take this kind of action – you must follow my instructions to the letter. Because this is the one weapon in our arsenal that we absolutely can’t afford to waste.’