by Max China
‘Oh, awright,’ she said. ‘Cost you sixpence.’
‘Will you do something extra for me?’ He held up a shilling in the space between them.
She snatched it from his fingers. ‘For that, you can ‘ave me upside down in a wheelbarrow.’
The bargain struck, he tightened his grip and pulled her in for a kiss. His mouth enveloped hers. A finger and thumb closing her nostrils, the woman’s eyes bulged. He bit down hard. Blood burst through her mangled lips. He sucked.
Minutes later, the woman lay dead, sliced ear to ear, cunt to collarbone. He took a moment to survey his handiwork, grunted satisfaction and then scurried away through the alley. He carried a trophy, wrapped in a fine silk handkerchief. Mouth watering, he felt his cock stand up at the thought of devouring her heart in the privacy of home.
Wolfe awoke, disoriented, and blinked his eyes. Next to him, the woman, and above, her silent witness. Running his finger from her collarbone, he traced the line of the cut he’d just seen in his dream. ‘Nothing to slice you with,’ he said. ‘Shame, I fancied a takeaway.’
He stood and stretched.
Where to now?
Outside, the contrast in light stung his eyes. The sky, colours morphing from greens to pinks and back again. Not right. Still no one searched for him. It occurred to him there was more fun to be had while he remained free. On the other side of the untended graveyard, a dense copse of trees beckoned. The hand of an internal compass swept around in his head, confirming the way. It was impossible to tell how long he’d slept or what time of day it was. He weaved among the uneven tombstones and stepped over the wall. Avoiding the road, Wolfe reached the treeline. He entered the woods and stumbled down the gradient, dropping through undergrowth until he arrived at a steep embankment.
A railway cutting. No sign of life. He paused, looked both ways, and then, turning right, followed the tracks.
Chapter 23
Priestley police station. 11:05 a.m.
Adams, the longest serving officer and most familiar face, was chosen to guard the entrance to the station, while Trent, the youngest, was assigned to provide him with backup.
Everyone else adjourned to the briefing room.
‘All these are working, but I can’t send or receive on any wavelength,’ Emerson sighed, replacing the last of the radios on the desktop. ‘Can’t even reach Adams down the corridor.’
‘With daytime aurorae as powerful as those out there, it’s hardly surprising,’ the professor said, observing the sky through one of the windows. ‘When they dissipate, electromagnetic interference will have dropped to a level where some communications will be restored.’
Williams raised his eyebrows hopefully. ‘And I don’t suppose you can say how long that will be?’
‘I can’t,’ he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘This is, as I said earlier, unprecedented. Quebec was down power-wise for around nine or ten hours, radio disrupted for perhaps only a few . . .’
‘So, in other words,’ Emerson said, ‘you think it’ll be a few hours at least? If it goes on longer than that, and we can’t coordinate our efforts with the other forces, we could have problems by tonight.’
‘You’ve already got people fighting because they can’t buy food on plastic—’
‘So what do you suggest, Jordan? Put them in jail?’
‘What?’ he said, momentarily lost for words. ‘Because I’m a prison officer? Fucking stupid thing to say—’
‘My point exactly,’ the inspector growled, eyeballing him.
‘Let’s keep it calm,’ the professor said. ‘This kind of behaviour won’t get us anywhere. We need to lead from the front, by example. Let’s all think this through.’ He perched on a corner of a vacant desk. ‘You recall I told you that you’d be surprised if you knew what we academics used to talk about? Doomsday featured on the list. We’d often explore ‘what if’ scenarios, and in this case, after covering all logical steps, we realised there was one eventuality we’d really struggle with. What if communications were down, what then? The inevitable conclusion, you don’t want to know.’ Looking about the room, his eyes settled on the inspector. ‘Do we have any portable loudhailers?’
Emerson’s brow furrowed. ‘I know we have at least one; could even be two here. Are you suggesting we take to the streets, making announcements?’
‘Word of mouth is a great way to spread news and messages in the absence of anything else.’
Emerson nodded. ‘Lara, see if you can locate them, will you?’
‘Where do I start?’ She shrugged, her hands palm-up in a silent appeal for guidance.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Williams said. ‘Help you carry them. I think they’re in the spare office.’
She smiled as he held the door for her.
The old man continued. ‘We haven’t got the resources to impose strict regimes, but if we can get across that, orderly conduct and cooperation will get us back up and running sooner, and we might get somewhere.’
Emerson looked at his watch. ‘You don’t reckon those two have stopped off for a bit of nooky, do you?’
‘I heard that,’ Croft said, indignant, as she re-entered the room.
Williams walked in behind her, carrying a loudhailer in each hand, and protested. ‘We’ve only been gone a minute, sir.’
‘Never mind the bullshit, give me one of those.’ Emerson took one and switched it on. ‘Well, would you look at that? It works. Come on, let’s get out there. We’ll start with the people already here.’
‘Everybody out. I’m going to make some important announcements.’ Emerson shooed the people out of Reception. ‘Come on. Out. I’m going to talk to you outside.’
The people were reluctant to leave, and a series of voices asked half-hearted questions. ‘What’s going on now?’
‘When’s the power coming back?’
Emerson held his hand held up and mimed a shoving gesture. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ he said, waving the megaphone at them. ‘I don’t want to deafen us all by using this thing indoors.’
They retreated, lining up along the access ramp’s safety handrails all the way back to the pavement.
Emerson checked over his shoulder; the professor was right behind him, Croft and the rest of the station staff stood under the canopy. Scanning the street, he noted there were more people making their way to the station, faces pale, etched with anxiety. Rosy pinks streaked the nebulous pale green sky. Emerson raised the cone of the speaker to his mouth and began to speak. ‘Can I have your attention, please?’
His voice robotic, funnelled through the amplification system, echoed from nearby buildings and carried on the breeze. Passers-by over a hundred yards away turned to look in his direction, many deviating from their chosen courses, headed towards the sound, curiosity bringing them closer to hear better. ‘That’s right, gather round; move in. We will be making a series of announcements designed to keep you up-to-date with what we know at the moment, and to appeal for cooperation.’ He paused, estimating there were perhaps upwards of two hundred people now congregated in his immediate vicinity.
‘Before we go any further, let me introduce myself. I’m Inspector Tom Emerson. Most of you already know Professor Young. He’s been working with us to formulate some plans, and I’m going to hand you over to him to explain what some of you already know. He’ll do a far better job of it than I will.’
The professor stepped forward and took the megaphone.
After five minutes spent outlining the situation and answering questions, he handed the speaker back to Emerson.
‘We need volunteers,’ the inspector said. ‘Those of you who are fit and able, start knocking on doors. Let’s develop some community spirit. Look out for the vulnerable, the elderly as well as the very young. Appoint people capable of commanding respect.’ Growing in confidence, he built on the foundations laid by the professor. ‘Every street should have a leader. Once we’ve established who they will be, we’ll reconvene here at noon.’
&n
bsp; He broke off, amazed at the sea of different faces listening intently. At the crowd swarming in from all directions, a critical mass self-perpetuating, voices hushed, perhaps sensing they had become as one. A huge organism united in the face of a coming adversity.
‘We’re hoping we won’t need to go this far, but we need to get organised, now.’ The megaphone sweeping left and right, his voice growing louder, he said, ‘We’re going to talk to shopkeepers. Ask them to issue IOUs to people who can’t pay for goods; it’s better than having thieves helping themselves, and they will be reimbursed, we’ll make sure of it. And let’s start rationing, while we still have something to ration. If this stretches on for a couple of days, we’ll be glad we took early action.’ People exchanged looks. Heads bobbed, agreements were murmured, drowning out arguments against, creating a hubbub.
‘Fuel,’ he shouted, remembering more of what the professor had told him. ‘If this drags on, we’re going to need as much as we can lay our hands on. We need to conserve what we have. No travelling unless absolutely necessary. We’re safer among people we know, if the worst comes to the worst. We’re hoping we won’t need to go that far, but we have to plan. We need to be ready. Now, I know I haven’t covered everything, but it’s a start.’
Professor Young laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Well done; you handled that well.’
Emerson smiled. For the first time since his promotion, he felt worthy.
Chapter 24
Copse Hall. 11:01 a.m.
In the absence of mechanical ventilation, Kotlas and Edwards sweated; the effort of carrying Brody downstairs and securing him in his basement cell had taken its toll. Fleur and Rubenstein remained unconscious. Edwards preserved her dignity by covering her with Rubenstein’s jacket. ‘It’s so fucking warm, he don’t need it,’ he’d said.
Kotlas checked on them every time he and Edwards came back upstairs.
The guard worked like an automaton, devoid of any outward show of feelings.
‘You okay?’ Kotlas said.
His delicate veneer of control broken by the two simple words, Edwards exploded with rage. ‘I’m fucking blinding, what do you think? I’ve just carted the bodies of six colleagues, most of them friends, and three outside contractors into a single cell and piled them in. Christ, Kotlas, you saw what those animals did to them.’ He wiped a tear from his eye, fast, ashamed of his emotions. ‘They looked like they’d been tortured by a third-world dictator and his cronies.’
‘Come on, Edwards.’ Kotlas laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘We’ll mourn the dead once we’ve attended to the living. Let’s find something to put Fleur on so we can get her to the hospital wing.’
‘I thought I was good at masking my feelings, but you – how do you do it?’
Kotlas contemplated the question. ‘I learned from a master of disguise.’ He stared into a horizon only he could see. ‘I feel all that you do, believe me.’
Edwards took a deep breath, steeliness returning to his voice. ‘There could be a gurney downstairs. I’ll go and have a look. What about him?’ Edwards said, jerking a thumb at Rubenstein.
‘I don’t need an x-ray to tell you his jaw’s broken. The swelling between cheek and jowl is a giveaway, but I don’t think he’s so badly injured that he can’t walk.’ Kotlas shook Rubenstein’s shoulder with gentle insistence. The doctor’s eyelids fluttered. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘He’s coming round. By the time you get back I’ll have him up on his feet ready to go.’
Edwards returned with a wheelchair. ‘This’ll do, won’t it?’
Kotlas had Fleur’s wrist in his hand, checking her pulse. ‘It will have to. Bring it closer to the table.’
‘How’s she doing, doc?’
‘Very weak. The sooner we get her treatment, the better.’
Together, the two men lifted the unconscious woman and secured her in place. Kotlas covered her again with Rubenstein’s jacket. Fleur groaned and stirred, nestling into it. ‘You’re safe now. It’s going to be all right; go back to sleep,’ he said softly. Fat tears squeezed out from beneath her eyelids and rolled down her cheek.
Kotlas turned to Edwards. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘let’s go.’
‘I’ve got a question for you,’ Edwards said as he pushed Fleur down the corridor. ‘What were those self-defence techniques you were using? Kung fu?’
Kotlas, lagging behind, shifted his shoulder underneath Rubenstein’s armpit to lend the older man more support as they shuffled along. ‘I need you get with it and walk a bit quicker,’ he said to the injured man. Then to Edwards, ‘Aikido.’
‘You must have been doing it a long time.’
‘I used to watch Steven Seagal movies a lot when I was a teenager. The moves fascinated me. I used to freeze-frame the film, and then hit the pause and play buttons, watch the sequences over and over so I could see exactly how he did what he did—’
‘Seagal was only acting, though. How could you be sure what you were learning would really work?’
‘You could see it would work.’ Kotlas laughed. ‘Besides, I practiced the techniques on friends at school so I knew. By the time I was fifteen years old, I thought, why not join a proper school for aikido? So I did.’
‘I wondered why you were so calm, but why didn’t you say you could do all that stuff?’
‘It isn’t something I like to talk about.’
‘I think I’d have told you.’
‘It’s irrelevant now,’ Kotlas said.
Edwards unlocked the door to the on-site hospital facility.
‘It isn’t manned at the moment,’ Rubenstein said. His hand floated up to land gently on his swollen chin. ‘All we can do is make her as comfortable as possible until we can summon outside help.’
‘She’s going to need a gynaecologist to look at her,’ Kotlas said, ‘judging from what she’s got seeping out of her. And as soon as possible. She may need internal sutures.’
‘Edwards, see if you can sort her out a gown,’ Rubenstein said. ‘Ah, look, she’s coming to.’
The two doctors helped Fleur onto the nearest bed. ‘At least it’s made up and ready.’ Kotlas peeled them back and together they manoeuvred her between the sheets, keeping the jacket over her to preserve her dignity. Once she was underneath the covers, Rubenstein retrieved it, placing it over the back of the chair next to her bed.
‘That was some blow you took,’ Kotlas said. ‘That jaw is most likely broken. You could probably do with some painkillers. Any here we can give you?’
‘The drugs cabinet is in the office, but I don’t think there’s anything stronger than paracetamol in there.’ Rubenstein grimaced, the flash of pain bringing with it a crystal-clear vision of the carnage he’d witnessed. ‘How many died?’ His words, issued between unmoving lips, sounded metallic.
‘Six staff, three contractors —’
‘What about the patients, Kotlas?’
‘All of them apart from Brody.’
‘God, what a mess. There’s going to be some explaining to do.’
‘You’re right, Rubenstein, but tell me, what else could we have done?’
‘‘I saw what you did, you and Edwards. Those patients were carefully selected, irreplaceable. You never said you were a martial artist.’
‘It’s listed in my file under hobbies and interests,’ Kotlas said. ‘The people those patients killed were irreplaceable too.’
Rubenstein nodded. He moved his hand, the palm straddling the hollow between his cheek and jaw. The warmth offered him scant comfort. ‘My opinion on your hobby? Seems at odds with your profession.’
‘You think so?’ Kotlas’ eyes grew cold. ‘I thought it complemented it.’
‘Lucky for us it did,’ Edwards said, returning from the stores. ‘Or we’d be dead like everyone else down there. And as for Brody, I should have finished him while I had the chance. Might as well hang for a sheep as for a lamb.’
‘Say that in the enquiry and they’ll throw the book at you,’ Rubenstein spat.
&
nbsp; ‘Throw it at me?’ Edwards snapped. ‘I saw you with that pocketful of syringes sticking out of your jacket. You only came out of hiding when you knew it was safe. If you’d helped us earlier, a few more of your precious inmates might have survived.’
‘The whole thing stemmed from an act of God,’ Kotlas said. ‘Where did you get all those syringes from, anyway?
‘After you’d gone, I went through Bales’ pocket and found the keys he’d stolen. The controlled drugs cabinet in the dispensary was smashed open.’ Rubenstein hung his head. ‘You know the rest.’
Kotlas held his hand out to the guard. ‘Pass me the gown; I’ll leave it on the bed next to her. Meanwhile, can you rustle us up some food and drink from the kitchens? I’ll come with you. Someone had best stay with her. You okay with that, Rubenstein?’
‘Actually, no,’ he said. ‘Can you stay? I need to get some paperwork done; besides, I’ve got something stronger for the pain upstairs.’ He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. A syringe clattered to the floor. He picked it up and put it back in his top pocket. ‘Shit,’ he said, grimacing. ‘There’s three missing. I must have dropped them back there. I’d best go and find them.’
‘I’ll be back in a few minutes,’ Edwards said. He and Rubenstein left the hospital area together.
Kotlas sat by the bed, absently watching the even rise and fall of Fleur’s chest. The movement lulled him, made him sleepy. He closed his eyes and drifted to a windswept beach where he walked among the dunes holding his mother’s hand. It was his last clear memory of her.
A woman’s voice floated in from the distance.
‘I saw you fighting, helping the guard. I-I, don’t know you, but would you please hold my hand?’
Kotlas shook himself awake. Fleur’s head had turned towards him, her face contorted in agony, her eyes shot with pain. ‘Did you speak to me?’ he said.
