Survival Instinct (The Adventures of Eric and Ursula Book 2)

by A. D. Winch

  “Found you!” he declared triumphantly from under the bench and dragged out a jerry can. “Diesel,” he said.

  He opened the lid and smelt the contents then he paused and looked at Ursula.

  “How many did you see?”

  “Three and three and three plus the four out the front and the one we knocked over so that would be fourteen.”

  Eric replied in an instant, “But there were fifteen when we were running, weren’t there?”

  Ursula thought back and pictured the black soldiers appearing around them.

  “Yes, you’re right.”

  Eric pulled the gun into his hands, released the safety catch and fired a stream of bullets into the roof. Splinters of wood rained down on them.

  “No!” screamed Ursula but she couldn’t be heard above the noise of the gun.

  Eric stopped and muttered, “That will give them something to think about.”

  A soldier who had been creeping towards the garage stopped and fell onto her stomach. She crawled away from the outhouse, positioned herself behind a large rock and waited for further orders.

  Meanwhile, Eric had picked up the jerry can and was happily pouring its contents over the wooden walls. Only when the can was empty did he stop.

  “Help me find some matches,” he told Ursula.

  He slung items from the work bench, sifting through them until he found a metal lighter. He smiled as he flicked it open, and a pale blue flame burned. When he turned to face Ursula, he was genuinely taken aback.

  Ursula was standing completely still; her arms crossed and mouth wide open. Her eyes were full of fear, and she looked terrified.

  “What are you doing?” she stuttered.

  “I’m getting ready,” Eric said, a little crest-fallen. “We need to be ready. Have you never watched the A-Team? This is what they do. They use what they have around them to escape. I’m creating a diversion. It’s great, isn’t it?”

  Ursula didn’t reply instantly, “This isn’t a TV programme, Eric. This isn’t a game. This is real. You’re a twelve year old boy who is holding a lethal weapon and has just poured diesel over someone’s property. And you’re smiling from ear to ear.”

  Eric’s smile disappeared.

  “What has happened to you?”

  Eric’s face turned red, and his hands gripped the sub-machine gun so tight that his knuckles turned white.

  “What has happened to me?” he said quietly and then screamed, “What has happened to me? How can you, you of all people, ask me that? How can you? You’re supposed to be clever, use your brain! Where shall I begin? Andrea won’t let me have the money that is rightfully mine, but will happily give Alexander access to it all. You have had your share as well just because you answered some stupid, little crossword puzzle thing in a newspaper. But what have I had? Nothing. Nothing at all. And where am I now? I am in a crappy garage in wet pyjamas when I should be in a villa somewhere or even at school. I have spent a week on a floating coffin, before that I was stuck in a cellar, before that I had to suffer your pokey, little flat and before that I was a prisoner in my own home. Why? All because some agency or whatever want to capture me, or you, for some reason I don’t fully understand or believe. I will probably be dead in a year but who cares because and on top of it all, the icing on the cake, my parents are dead too.”

  Something suddenly clicked inside his head.

  He walked menacingly towards Ursula and looked her right her in the eye, “It’s you! Before you, everything was fine. You have ruined my life.”

  “My life has changed as much as yours and you can’t blame me for all those things happening to you. I’m sorry that you can’t use your money, if that is what makes you so happy. If it means so much to you, I’ll make sure you get back all the money that me, and my grandparents were given,” her voice was rising. “I’m sorry that you have been kept a prisoner ‘for your own safety.’ I’m sorry that you, and I, may die in a year and I’m sorry that you are now an orphan. But I didn’t do any of these things to you!”

  She stopped. Tears were streaming down her face.

  “I don’t care about being an orphan,” Eric spat. “I was an accessory and nothing more to those people I called parents. They never loved me, not ever, and that is why I hate you.”

  Ursula was both surprised and shocked.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Eric’s voice became quieter, and his eyes filled with tears.

  “Because until I met you, I never knew they didn’t love me. Never knew how parents, or grandparents in your case, should act normally. Never knew what it was to be loved.”

  Eric had said what he wanted to say. His head dropped, and he stared at the ground.

  “Don’t do this, Eric,” whispered Ursula. “You don’t really want to shoot people. You don’t really want to burn this building down.”

  She gently prised the lighter from his hand and put it in the pocket of her pyjamas where her phone had been. Tenderly, she placed her hands on Eric’s and lowered the gun until it pointed at the floor.

  “Send your grandparents my love,” Eric hissed.

  He pushed Ursula roughly to the floor and ran out of the garage, still holding the gun.

  Back to Contents

  ***

  Chapter 27 – Collateral Damage

  Ursula watched as Eric ran madly towards the OSS. As he neared them, she heard a noise like a loud sigh. Eric collapsed, face first into the sand, and did not move. The soldiers got up and walked towards him. One put his boot under Eric’s limp body and kicked him over like a rag doll. The gun fell out of Eric’s hands. His eyes were wide open, and his mouth was full of sand. A small red circle had formed on his pyjama top.

  “No!” Ursula screamed.

  Her eyes remained glued on Eric until two soldiers stepped over him and began walking towards her. She ran to the nearest window only to find that soldiers were approaching from that side too. She guessed it would be the same from the other two sides. There was no reason for the soldiers to stand their ground, now that they had their weapon back.

  Fear gripped her body, but her mind went into overdrive. Instinctively she took the lighter from her pocket, flicked on the flame and threw it at the nearest wall. In one instant, the small flame grew from the floor to the ceiling and spread rapidly around the outhouse. Paint started to bubble, and the wood began to crack loudly. The flames spread to the work bench, and black smoke escaped through the many holes in the roof as it too became engulfed in flames.

  Ursula scanned the floor and found a long metal pipe. She pulled it towards the bath and thrust it into the wall below the tub. The wood did not move. She waited for the timber to catch fire and tried again. The wood broke, and the pipe went through. Ursula dropped it to the floor and then kicked as much dirt as she could over the metal.

  The heat in the shed had risen steeply, and Ursula switched from being freezing cold to beginning to fry. Most of the smoke escaped through holes in the roof, but the remaining black mist made her eyes sting and caused her to cough. The fire was eating up oxygen making it harder and harder for Ursula to breathe. She scanned the floor again and found an old length of hose and some wire. As quickly as she could she placed the hose on the end of the pipe and wrapped the wire around it. She placed the hose to her mouth and breathed. The air from outside the building filled her lungs. It tasted both metallic and rubbery but most importantly it contained oxygen.

  The roof was consumed in flames; all the walls were on fire and the workbench too. She watched as the designs of sea vessels were eaten by the blaze. The dirt floor remained untouched apart from burning splinters and shards falling to the ground. The heat was almost unbearable, and she could hardly see. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she had to blink constantly. She gripped the hose tight between her teeth and stepped into the bathtub. Her muscles clenched from the cold as she slid her whole body, and then her head, under the freezing water.

  She kept her eyes open, and the water gra
dually eased the stinging. Above her, she could see the sky through a hole in the roof and the flames around it. Everything was distorted by the water. Ursula was in a nightmare. She breathed deeply, trying to remain as calm as possible. She hoped that the fire would not touch the bathtub or the hose and that no one would enter the garage. Without wanting to, she started to cry.

  The heat of the inferno pushed the soldiers back.

  “Report to base,” ordered Agent Angel.

  The two Black Hawk helicopters descended and rapidly approached the shore. They landed briefly on the beach to give the soldiers enough time to climb on and to throw Eric’s lifeless body on board. A few seconds later they were accelerating over the Irish Sea and away.

  The outhouse continued to burn.

  Agent Hoover watched the fire and wondered whether shooting one child and then letting another child burn to death was right, even when they were targets. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden pain in his head. He clenched his eyes shut and yanked his head to the right until it had passed.

  “I’ve won my dollar,” said Agent Angel jovially and slapped Agent Hoover on the back.

  “Shouldn’t we phone the Fire Service?” asked Agent Hoover, looking at the blaze.

  “Collateral damage, Hoover. The problem with her kind is that they don’t think through their actions. It’s all emotions and no logic. It’s why she is burning to death, and we’re watching. We’re naturally superior.”

  He leaned back in his chair and surveyed the images in front of him with a sense of satisfaction. The game had changed in his favour. Black Queen had been eliminated, White King has been successful rendered, and OSS personnel were returning safely. To complete a successful mission, there was only one loose end to tidy up.

  “Blow the trawler!” Agent Angel ordered.

  From his computer, Agent Hoover connected to the six charges the OSS agents had stuck to the hull.

  “Detonation in ten seconds,” he said, “nine, eight, seven, six…”

  While he counted he zoomed into the image of the trawler.

  “Five, four, three, two, one, zero.”

  Only four charges exploded on the hull of the trawler. The other two blew water up into the air like fountains, a short distance away.

  “What happened there?” Agent Angel asked accusingly.

  “I don’t know,” Agent Hoover replied. “Someone must have moved them from the hull.”

  It didn’t matter. The four remaining charges were strong enough to tear the trawler apart and set it on fire. There was a sudden, blinding light when the fire hit the fuel tank and then the boat was gone. The only evidence that it had ever existed were the ever increasing circles, where bits of the trawler had sunk below the waves.

  “Mission complete,” Agent Angel announced with a smile. “I’m going to tell John and Kurtz the good news.”

  He left positively, his long marching strides echoing through the surveillance room.

  On the screen, two objects floated to the surface where the trawler had once been. Agent Hoover zoomed in on them. Two dolphins bobbed lifelessly in the water.

  Agent Angel marched across the hangar floor towards the make-shift laboratory containing the alien craft. Soldiers, technicians, engineers and agents stopped what they were doing and saluted him as he passed. His chest was filled with pride at what he had achieved, and he stopped by the lab door to admire his work and to smoke a cigarette.

  The initial project of secretly turning a large cave into a working base had been a task in itself. However, after the incident with the alien dart it became imperative. UFO nuts from miles around had started to visit Roswell. Their presence made life difficult, but Agent Angel had wanted to use it to his advantage. There had been much debate on the best site for a new base, but Agent Angel still thought building it just outside Roswell was a brilliant double bluff.

  In the years since, he had accomplished the challenging task of recruiting highly skilled and highly reliable personnel, who could keep secrets. The trick, like with all people, had been to find the right carrot to dangle in front of their noses. Most had been bought. The lure of a fistful of dollars secured their loyalty. Others had been motivated by the jobs they were offered, and the knowledge that their achievements were ahead of the rest of the world.

  All he asked was that they worked hard and kept their goddam mouths shut. Everyone on the base had ‘shore leave’ as he liked to call it. They could return to their families and friends. They were allowed to say they worked for the military, but any other questions about their job had to be met with the same response, ‘classified.’ Very occasionally, someone would say too much, and he made sure that their subsequent disappearance was known throughout the base.

  Shore leave was important, as were the numerous ways he allowed personnel to stay in contact with their loved ones. Video calls, cell phones, chats and emails were all actively encouraged. The more freedom to communicate they were given, the more he could keep control. It was a lot easier to monitor communication in the digital age. Before the nineties, steam opening letters had been time-consuming. It required far too many unscrupulous and nosey staff than he would have liked. The digital age had begun here where he stood. Progress had been slow initially but now he was reaping the rewards.

  I most probably am the most powerful man on the planet, he thought and smiled with satisfaction.

  The hangar was, as usual, full of personnel using their skills and working hard. Everyone had a clearly defined role with clearly defined tasks. It was no different from an ant colony, he mused, all people and ants need is a purpose and an enemy.

  At first, World War II had been great for supplying enemies. Communism and the cold war followed, and this had been an extremely useful and successful period for the OSS. The fall of the Iron Curtain and the collapse of the Soviet Union had de-railed them for a time, but the war on terror and terrorism in general had proven to be the best of the bunch. By keeping civilians in a perpetual state of fear, control could be maintained. The perceived risk had been successfully exaggerated to such an extent that people had forgotten about the actual reality that they lived in.

  Agent Angel rubbed his hands. Isn’t the media great, he thought.

  Everyone on the base was working to keep the people safe – their sons, daughters, husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers.

  You can never underestimate what people will do to keep their loved ones safe, he thought, even if they are already dead.

  Agent Angel chuckled to himself and entered the lab to find John and Kurtz.

  Compared to the rest of the hangar, the lab was an oasis of calm. This perturbed Agent Angel. He liked his personnel busy, and things getting done. From the clues, he could see he assumed someone was working there. Pieces of paper covered in illegible scribble were scattered over a desk. There were files belonging to Stanford Research Institute entitled ‘Psychic phenomenon’ and ‘Quantum Entanglement.’ A computer was processing something on another desk. Two ladders were each balanced against open pods. Finally, he could just hear faint mutterings. He moved closer to a pod. They were coming from an unseen Kurtz, who was busy cursing and frequently repeating, ‘Schwarzkopf.’

  He moved to the other pod and heard Professor Schwarzkopf saying things such as ‘fascinating,’ ‘interesting’ and ‘unique.’

  At least they are working, thought Agent Angel and then said loudly, “Schwarzkopf, Kurtz, I need to speak to you both.”

  Kurtz literally jumped out of her pod and slid down the ladder. She was wearing gloves, shoe covers, a mask and a white-body sock that covered her clothing. It was the uniform that she insisted all the scientists wear when working on the pods, and she led by example.

  Professor Schwarzkopf took his time. He stood up in his pod, stretched his back slowly and then carefully stepped down the ladder rung by rung. He was wearing blue slacks and a chequered shirt with a collar that was far too large to be fashionable. When he reached the floor, the
pod had closed behind him. Kurtz snorted when she saw him.

  “Is there something the matter?” Professor Schwarzkopf asked her playfully.

  “Apart from you, nothing is the matter,” Kurtz replied with an acid tone.

  She turned to Agent Angel, “He pays no attention to my rules and ignores my work rota. He shouldn’t even be here now. And, whether consciously or not, his disregard for protocol is sabotaging my attempts to locate the DNA samples you requested from the pods.”

  Agent Angel looked at Professor Schwarzkopf, “Is this true, John?”

  Professor Schwarzkopf answered slowly and calmly, “Oh yes. Apparently, I should not be working now but my dedication, as you well know, is such that I refuse to conform to some simplistic rota. If you feel the need to reprimand me for my decades of loyal service and working beyond what is required of me, please be my guest Buddy.”

  “I’m not here to reprimand anyone or to hear the two of you bickering. We have successfully completed the rendition of White King. You can stop hunting for DNA, Kurtz, and you can stop goading her, John.”

  Jean Kurtz could not contain her excitement and could barely keep herself from jumping up and down on the spot. Professor Schwarzkopf’s face briefly turned to stone before he managed a small, fake smile.

  “Well done, Buddy. You’ve finally got your target.”

  “You know I always do, John. Perseverance, perseverance.”

  Kurtz composed herself before asking, “When will it be here?”

  “Oh, it’s not coming here. Not in the first place, anyway. It’s in the UK now. After that, I’ll have it moved someplace where the government is a little less discerning regarding certain legalities.”

  Professor Schwarzkopf could feel the anger building up inside himself but managed to say as lightly as possible, “Like holding children in prisons.”

  “Touchdown!”

  “Will Black Queen be joining him?”

  “Collateral damage,” Agent Angel replied with a shrug.

  No matter what Agent Angel could say, Professor Schwarzkopf was certain this whole situation was wrong. There was simply no justification for kidnapping a child and killing another. However, Professor Schwarzkopf was wise enough to know that his earlier quarrel with Agent Angel, on this issue, was as far as he could go. He knew that if he went any further he could not benefit himself, Ingrid or the boy.