Prosper Snow Series

by Shaun Jeffrey

  The prisoners would have split up, making it harder to find them. They would also have moved fast, trying to put as much distance between themselves and their former prison. But dressed in white prison garbs they would stand out, so they would need fresh clothes. And to get them they would either have to mug people or break in somewhere.

  The killer jumped to his feet, headed down the steps to the street. The occasional car drove by, lights cutting through the dark where broken streetlights failed to illuminate.

  A couple of teenagers sauntered around outside an off-licence at the end of the road, swearing and smoking as though each activity made them older and wiser than they were. They both wore a baseball cap and had tracksuit bottoms tucked into their socks. The killer hated them on sight. They deserved to die and he was in half a mind to make that happen, but he had better prey to seek so he hurried past and continued on, taking the next left.

  Two cars were parked across the road further on, a makeshift barrier to mark the extent of the seclusion zone. The killer knew he was taking a risk, but the old adage about chickens coming home to roost was apt.

  The first residential buildings were on his side of the parked cars and consisted of a line of shops with apartments above them.

  The killer jogged along the road and approached the shops. Three of them were boarded up, but there was a Chinese restaurant and an Asian clothing shop still trading. Lights in the windows above the boarded up shops showed that the apartments were occupied.

  Chinese spices filled the air with nose tingling aromas. The killer inhaled, his mouth watering at the smell. He stood across the road and stared up at the apartments. There were five windows. Three of them were illuminated from inside.

  Movement caught his eye and he snapped his head around in time to see a white clad figure dart across the road on this side of the parked cars.

  One of the prisoners.

  Grinning to himself, the killer jogged along the road and peered cautiously around the corner of the building. The short alley stretched for about fifty feet and then ended abruptly at a brick wall. Two large wheelie bins sat against the building to the left and there were a couple of doorways and windows.

  The killer narrowed his eyes, letting his sight adjust to the gloom, then he crept along the wall, nimble as a cat. When he reached the first wheelie bin, he braced himself and then threw the lid open, only to find it empty. The resultant bang echoed along the alley. The killer then approached the second bin, grabbed the lid and yanked it open. A pungent aroma of spoiled food hit his nostrils, but the prisoner wasn’t inside.

  The killer let the lid clatter back into place and then stepped back, taken by surprise when the prisoner jumped from behind the bin, his white overalls making him look like a ghost in the gloom.

  The prisoner ran at the killer, his footfalls like gunshots. The killer deftly stepped aside, delivering a knife hand strike to the man’s neck as he passed.

  Obviously hurt by the blow, the prisoner veered off course and crashed into the wall. He picked himself up, peered at the killer.

  “It’s you,” the prisoner said, his eyes growing wide.

  The killer nodded. “It’s me.”

  “I can’t go back.”

  The killer nodded in agreement, pulled out a knife and lunged. “I know you can’t.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Prosper followed Brundle outside. The prisoner’s body lay on the ground, legs twisted at strange angles. Blood seeped along the pavement and dripped down the gutter. Two bloody holes in the man’s prison garb showed where the bullets had struck. One was above his heart, the other in the middle of his stomach.

  Brundle crouched down and inspected the corpse. “We need to work on your bunching.”

  Prosper wrinkled his nose. “He’s dead. What more do you want?”

  Brundle stood up, licked her lips. “Don’t feel bad about it. You saved my life.”

  “I wouldn’t have had to if they weren’t conducting these experiments.”

  “Would you rather he’d stabbed me?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well then, just be proud of yourself.”

  Prosper snorted softly. Taking a life was nothing to be proud of.

  Lester and Williams ran across. “Good job,” Lester said.

  Good job! Prosper shook his head. Is everyone around here crazy? Does life mean so little? These are still people. It isn’t their fault that they’ve been conditioned to kill.

  “There are still another three out there and that’s not including 142345,” Williams said.

  “We’re on it,” Brundle replied. She turned to Prosper. “Come on.”

  “Hasn’t someone got to clear this up and fill out some paperwork?”

  “I’ll get that sorted,” Williams said.

  Prosper turned to follow Brundle when Lester grabbed his shoulder.

  “It takes a certain person to work for us, and I knew you’d be the right man for the job. You must be an old hand at this now, so I have a feeling you’re going to fit right in.”

  Prosper felt his stomach turn itself in knots. An old hand at killing! It was not something he thought he’d ever be able to put on his CV. He nodded, unsure what else to do, and then continued after Brundle.

  Everything felt unreal and he had trouble convincing himself it wasn’t a nightmare from which he would suddenly wake. At least that would be preferable to the reality. If he didn’t know better, he would think he was cursed.

  They resumed their hunt in the building they had found the prisoner in, conducting a thorough search of the remaining floors. After declaring it clear, they returned to the command centre to see where to check next, when a call came through that another prisoner had been found.

  Brundle obtained the details and they made their way out of the cordoned off area to an alley on the other side. A small crowd of seven people was gathered behind two wheelie bins. Prosper didn’t understand why until he got close and saw the man lying on the ground. He had been stabbed repeatedly and his face had been shredded, flaps of skin hanging down to reveal the bone beneath. Splashes of blood decorated the area around the body.

  “Jesus.” He shook his head.

  “Looks like the killers have turned against each other, but at least that’s another one accounted for,” Brundle said.

  “You’re all heart.”

  Brundle shrugged and wiped loose strands of hair from her eyes. “This job doesn’t allow me to be sentimental.”

  “Well, does it allow you to be human?”

  “I’m good at what I do and I enjoy it, is that a crime?”

  “Guess not. But showing a bit of compassion wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “When I’m on the job, I’m a professional. And that’s how you’ll have to learn to be too if you’re to get ahead in this career.”

  “Don’t patronise me. I know all about being professional.”

  Brundle put her hands on her hips. “Well put it this way, none of my partners or friends has died because of anything I did.”

  Prosper clenched his jaw. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know damn well what it means. What did they start calling you, oh yes, The Albatross.”

  Prosper snorted and turned away to look at the people staring at the corpse. Morbid curiosity was a human trait that Prosper would never be able to understand. When he turned back, Brundle was inspecting the corpse.

  “Well whichever way you look at it, that’s two down, three to go.”

  “So what are we waiting here for? Let’s find them before anyone else dies.”

  Prosper entered his house and shut the door as quietly as he could. The rising sun threw bands of light through the glass in the door, illuminating the hallway.

  He walked through into the kitchen, reached into the top cupboard and took down the bottle of brandy. Despite the early hour, he needed something to calm him down, something that would bring about oblivion. He slumped onto a stool; had spent the who
le night searching for the other escapees without success.

  As he swigged from the bottle, he recalled seeing River’s mutilated corpse. He shook his head, couldn’t believe someone else had died because of him. And then on top of that he remembered shooting the escaped prisoner, remembered seeing him flying through the window, Icarus with his wings clipped.

  The brandy burned his throat and brought tears to his eyes, but he kept drinking. Recalled seeing the body of the other escaped prisoner. He had been killed without compassion – in that respect, the experiment seemed to be a success. Prosper took another drink, an ironic toast to mankind’s inhumanity.

  When he reached a state of numbness, he put the bottle back in the cupboard and staggered up to his bedroom. Natasha awoke as he stumbled around the room, hopping ungainly on one leg as he tried to pull his socks off.

  “Prosper, what time is it? Have you only just got in?”

  “About seven,” he mumbled before collapsing on the bed.

  Prosper’s head felt as though someone was hammering away inside his skull. He squeezed his temples with his palms to try to quell the pain. Even though the curtains were drawn, sunlight glimmered through the material and he squinted against the bright glare.

  He glanced at the alarm clock. 11:37 a.m. Inwardly, he groaned. His eyeballs felt as though someone had rubbed them with sandpaper.

  Prosper turned over and pulled the pillow over his head but it felt as though he was on the deck of a ship in stormy seas, so he rolled back to his previous position. He could hear muffled talking, thought it might be the television, but couldn’t be sure. Ignoring the sound, he pulled the pillow tight around his head and then eventually fell back into a restless sleep.

  When his headache abated to a dull throb, Prosper sat up. His jeans were around his ankles and one of his socks was still on. He saw the white scar on his thigh from when Gary Smith stabbed him with a chisel in woodwork class at school. The scar seemed to shine. It was the catalyst for the murder that he had committed with his friends. He recalled how they had clubbed together to seek retribution on anyone that wronged them by having the other members of the group beat the perpetrator up. They even named themselves after the band they had formed, The Kult. But it took a sinister turn when they grew up and one of the members asked for their help: not to beat someone up, but to kill them. Looking back, he realised he should have protested more, but hindsight was a wonderful thing.

  He glanced at the clock; saw it was now 13:03, so he decided to get up. He removed his jeans and walked through to the bathroom, where he showered, trying to wake himself up.

  Steam filled the room, drifted around him like a ghostly cloud. He pressed his hands against the tiled wall, head bowed, scorching hot water bouncing off his back.

  After about fifteen minutes, he stepped out on shaky legs and wiped condensation from the mirror to stare at himself, the bags underneath his eyes more pronounced and his skin more deathly pale than usual. He towelled himself dry, then with the towel wrapped around his waist, he returned to the bedroom and sorted out some fresh underwear and clothes.

  Once dressed, he tramped downstairs and into the kitchen where he poured himself a glass of water, knocking it back in four gulps.

  “I take it you weren’t drinking to celebrate.”

  Prosper spun around, his head feeling as though it continued to spin even when he stopped moving, his wife a blur in the doorway. He blinked a couple of times to resolve his vision, then sighed. “Bad night.”

  “Well I hope you’re not going to have lots of bad nights if this is the result. You snore like a pig – probably smelt like one too before you had that shower.” She chuckled to indicate she wasn’t being too serious. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  Prosper shrugged. “Nothing important.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  “Well sit down, I’ll make you a cooked breakfast.” She hobbled across the room, rested her crutch against the counter and busied herself in the fridge.

  Prosper filled his glass with water again.

  “There are some headache tablets in the top cupboard,” Natasha said.

  Badly in need of something to quell the pain, he grabbed the tablets and then slumped at the table. He popped two tablets from the blister pack and swallowed them with the water. Then he swallowed a third.

  Just then, his mobile phone rang. It vibrated on the kitchen counter where he must have left it. The sound drilled into his skull.

  Prosper struggled to his feet and accepted the call without looking at the ID.

  “Where are you?” Brundle asked.

  Prosper cringed. “At home.”

  “Well get your arse in gear. We still have three prisoners to find before they create havoc.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  “You’ve got thirty minutes.”

  Prosper disconnected the call and dropped the phone on the table. It clattered as it hit the surface, making him wince.

  “You’re not going to work again are you?”

  Not feeling like talking, Prosper nodded.

  “This job’ll be the death of you if you carry on like this.”

  Prosper shivered. Natasha’s statement was probably more accurate than he would like to admit.

  CHAPTER 36

  Prosper drove with the window open. One hand gripping the steering wheel, the other was clamped to his head. The tablets still hadn’t kicked in, or if they had, he couldn’t tell.

  When he reached the facility, all the roads were still cordoned off. He drove slowly towards the barrier, fished his identification card out of his pocket and flashed it at the brunette woman standing on guard.

  She studied it and then waved him through.

  Prosper turned underneath the archway and parked in the prison forecourt. Unlike the previous time he had visited, there were at least eighteen cars filling the space. He exited the car and slammed the door shut, wincing at the sound.

  Brundle stood close to the entrance, talking to Williams.

  “You look like shit,” she said as Prosper approached.

  “I’ve had better days.”

  “Well don’t let Lester catch you. He abhors alcohol and thinks that everyone who drinks does so to escape from something.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?”

  Brundle shrugged. “I’m just warning you, that’s all.”

  “The company’s Christmas parties must be a blast then.”

  Williams chuckled. Brundle wrinkled her nose.

  “So what’s the state of play?”

  “The search area has had to be extended,” Williams said.

  “Isn’t this going to attract attention?”

  “We don’t have a choice.” Brundle stared at Prosper’s torso. “Why haven’t you been and signed your gun out?”

  “Didn’t have time.”

  She shook her head. “Didn’t yesterday convince you of anything?”

  “Yes, I need to concentrate on my bunching.” He held his hand up, stuck two fingers out and pulled his thumb back, then dropped his thumb and made a firing sound before blowing imaginary smoke from the tips of his fingers.

  “You won’t be so flippant if we catch up with those escaped prisoners.”

  “Well, as you and Williams are armed, I’m sure there’ll be enough firepower.”

  Brundle arched her eyebrows. “Against people conditioned to kill, you can never have enough firepower.”

  Williams nodded. “She’s right.”

  “I’ll take my chances. So where are we heading to?”

  “Well first we’ve got to check out the report on that prisoner, 431862, that was found dead.”

  Prosper saw the victim in his mind’s eye and his stomach turned itself in knots as his throat tightened. Despite scrubbing his teeth and his tongue before he left the house, he could still taste the brandy in his mouth. It had tasted a lot nicer going down. Now it mixed with the taste of sickly bile.<
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  “And does he have a name?” Prosper asked.

  “Of course he has a name,” Brundle said.

  Prosper waited patiently without blinking, he and Brundle staring at one another in a game of mental chess. Seconds ticked by, the moment passing from unsettling to uncomfortable.

  Eventually Brundle swallowed and looked away. “His name was Richard Campbell.”

  “Thank you. Now that wasn’t so hard was it?”

  Brundle pouted. “Just remember, you’re the rookie here.” She then walked away.

  When she was out of earshot, Williams said, “I think she fools herself into pretending they’re not human if they have a number. She’s not that tough, you know, when you get to know her.”

  Prosper nodded. “Thanks for the info.”

  “No problem. We are now team mates after all.”

  Williams started walking after Brundle, and Prosper followed, each step making his head pound even more. He winced and gritted his teeth.

  Brundle hopped up into the mobile incident van. Williams followed suit, while Prosper used the steps that had been deployed outside.

  Lester was standing and staring at the large monitor. All of the buildings within the initial search zone were overlaid with a transparent blue block of colour, but the image had now zoomed out to show more of the surrounding buildings. A yellow line cut a jagged path around the initial search area.

  Prosper breathed into his hand and sniffed, but couldn’t smell any alcohol. Lester turned when he heard them enter.

  “Afternoon team. I know it was a late one last night, but we need everyone on the helm, so it’s good of you to all reconvene so quickly.” He looked at Prosper for a moment, his eyes narrowed, then he turned and walked to a desk.

  There were three other people in the room, a woman and two men. One of the men was talking animatedly on the phone, while the other man and the woman punched keys on keyboards.

  “So what have you got?” Brundle asked.

  Lester pinched his bottom lip between a thumb and finger. His skin looked a little sallow. After a second he dropped his hand and licked his lips. “It’s not good.”