Other than Zack, that left Street. Jackson had thrown into conversation that they did all the coding in Brighton, where they considered it safer, so that ruled Street out of being involved with Ruse. Plus, he had told her to dump half of the equipment that she had packed, complaining that it would slow them down. Her only speciality seemed to be expert handling of the gun she carried. Zack didn’t know why she had been so adamant that he be excluded, but he was starting to wonder if rather than exclude him, she wasn’t trying to protect him. After all, she had risked her life to save his only two nights before. Zack understood the need to save people, and it wasn’t such a different aim to his own. Protecting the living helped to reclaim those who were already dead; as if preventing further deaths could somehow lay old ghosts to rest.
“Right,” said Jackson, as he hoisted a rucksack over his shoulders. He tightened the straps and zipped up his jacket, before tucking his long hair behind his ears and adjusting his cap. “We've got some time to kill, but let's not do it here. I suggest we head northwest, towards the Waterloo branch of the Northern line. He pulled out an old paper map bearing the characteristic logo of the London Underground. It was torn in places, singed at the edges. Like them, it had only just survived. “We can pick it up at Kennington, the next stop down from Elephant and Castle. We can approach Alpha from what used to be the Bakerloo line. Moving anywhere above ground in that direction,” Jackson said, as he pointed with his chin towards the barricade of burnt out cars and stalking Red Eyes, “is next to impossible. I'm not suggesting that when we arrive above ground it will be any easier, but at least we'll be close.”
With Street on-point they began their journey, cutting out of their compound on the southern side, slipping through a barbed wire fence in a place that had been left exposed for human movement. In comparison to what Zack remembered seeing on the northern banks of the river on the way to Gamma, the land looked healthier. There were patches of greenery clinging to the earth like snow that refused to melt. The trees were laden with leaves. Even the road signs had survived. He was standing on New Church Road. He had never been here before in his life, but somehow felt closer to the past than he had since the day the bombs fell. The place still had a name. He glanced down at his wrist with the Omega sign barcode.
“Zack Christian,” he said to himself. He tugged the sleeve of a borrowed jacket over the base of his hand. The others had moved ahead and he jogged to catch up.
Street pushed forwards, her route hugging the skeletons of buildings which once stood tall. Tower blocks which had once exceeded twenty, maybe thirty storeys reduced to battered stumps of their former selves. The glass was invariably missing, crunching underfoot as they covered ground travelling westward. When Jackson called ahead to ask Street if she had been to Kennington before she assured him that she had, but from the look on her face Zack doubted whether that was the truth. Either way, they picked their way through rubble and dodged cracks in the pavement, making steady progress.
The groan of the Red Eyes was a constant reminder of their proximity to danger, and coupled with the distant calls of Comrades as they bellowed incomprehensible instructions at the Guardians it kept them alert. When the voices of the Guardians or Comrades rose loud enough to be understood Street diverted south, slipping into a road that seemed safer and better protected. When they arrived at the edge of what might once have been a park, lined with oak trees and surrounded by the remains of tower blocks, Jackson called ahead to Street, whistling through his teeth.
“Wait.” She pulled up, hardly out of breath. Jackson was puffed out, and he pulled his cap off to wipe his brow, the other hand braced against his knee. The light was fading but there was still a subtle warmth from the day lingering in its place. Zack was between Jackson and Stoat, who, having to carry most of the equipment, was trailing in last place. Jackson and Street approached a large apartment block, the corners of which had been blown off. Jackson peeled up the edge of a garage door, already bent, like the loose edge of a scab. Street was standing as if on guard, and she beckoned them to squeeze in through the space. Inside was dark, and Zack's eyes struggled to adjust to the low light. Jackson cracked a light stick, casting them in a green glow. As Zack and Stoat sat down, Jackson used the light stick to check his watch.
“We don’t have long, but let's take a breather. Don't use your torch. Save the battery.” He pulled open his rucksack and located a beaten-up metal flask. After another search he produced a metal camping beaker. He poured a cup of steaming fluid, brown enough to be tea, and handed the rusty beaker to Zack. “We'll have to share.”
Zack took a sip and handed it onwards to Stoat who was lying on the floor. He propped himself up on his elbows and backpack and took the beaker.
“Thanks,” Stoat said. He seemed more focussed today, now that he had something to focus on. Zack didn’t feel as wary of him, especially since Serena wasn’t around to cause a distraction. Street had slipped into the garage but was resting with her back leaned against the wall near to the door, her eyes trained outside. The gun was resting in her lap, but her hands were poised on it ready for anything. What that anything was, Zack didn't think he wanted to know.
“Stoat, hand me the power pack.” Stoat handed Zack the beaker and shifted his weight to pull a battery pack from his bag. Zack sat still, cradling the cup of hot tea. He leaned back, offered it to Street, but with a sharp shake of her head she refused. Jackson trailed a black and red wire from the battery pack to a small radio transceiver, like the CB radios that they had been using to communicate with the checkpoint stations en route to Brighton. He jacked in an antenna and within seconds Zack could hear the squelch of static in the background, whining in and out.
“Who are you trying to contact?” asked Zack, but Jackson shushed him, and trained his focus on the dial.
“Come in BCS Ten, this is Ranger One. Do you copy?” They were trying to reach the first Brighton Checkpoint Station. It was no more than six miles away from the Northern Compound, the old Crystal Palace sports stadium. The convoy’s route was the old railway tracks that would take them from the compound on a south eastern journey that offered both a safer and an easier passage. The static disappeared as Jackson sent another transmission. “BCS Ten, do you copy?”
Zack had no idea how long they had been travelling, or even if he should expect the convoy of golf buggies to have arrived at BCS Ten by now. What five or six miles once meant in the car on a safe and easy road bore no relation to the kind of journey they were undertaking. The anxiety amplified as they awaited the response from within the static.
“Roger that, Ranger One. Awaiting confirmation.”
Jackson clicked his finger against the transmit button on the mouthpiece of the CB radio. The only thing that Zack could liken it to was Morse code. After a series of exchanges of static transmissions he heard the voice on the end of the line again.
“Roger that, Ranger One. We are expecting them in the next fifteen minutes. Over.”
“Roger that, BCS Ten. Keep us updated. Did you intercept any more transmissions? Over.”
“Ranger One, the signal persists. We believe that when they interrupted the power supply to Omega they disrupted some of their systems. It seems that the fencing along the northern border was functioning as an electromagnetic shield which blocked incoming radio waves from the north. At the moment it's still down and we are still picking up the signal. Over.”
“Can you verify the authenticity? Over.”
“No, Ranger One. At the moment that is impossible. Over.”
“Roger that, BCS Ten. Keep us updated, over.”
Without waiting for a response Jackson pulled the antenna from the back of the CB radio and Stoat simultaneously pulled the wires from the battery pack. Street had crept up to Zack’s side.
“Jackson, what transmission?” she asked.
Jackson set down the mouthpiece and reached for the metal beaker. Zack handed it to him. Jackson took a swig of the tea before resting back again
st the nearest wall as if he was settling in to tell a story.
“When Emily arranged for Zack to leave she enlisted the help of somebody who sympathises with us in Epsilon. Those people are rare, but they are like diamonds. Without them it would be near impossible to do some of the things we've done.” He was interrupted by the sound of movement outside. Street was already on it, and she at the door, one eye looking out through the gap. They all listened as the sounds of people dissipated. After a moment she crawled back to the others.
“Just a couple of Drifters,” she announced and Jackson continued with his story.
“When we cut the power it seems that some of their systems were disrupted. Our intention was to cut the power supply to the doors. We know he got the doors because you guys got out, but he must have also interrupted the power supply to several other systems.”
“We lost all light,” Zack confirmed. “The lift system stopped working.” Street and Stoat were smiling, and even Jackson, who until this point seemed pretty much cool and calm, seemed satisfied with the news.
“Then he did a good job. Ever since the power was interrupted checkpoints ten, nine, and eight have been picking up a faint transmission. We don't know where it's coming from, and we don't know if it's genuine. But if it is,” he paused with his eyes closed, swallowing hard, “there's hope.”
Jackson reached into his rucksack and pulled out the same laptop that he had used to show them the plans of the underground switches and cables. He pulled out another disc from the front of his rucksack and inserted it into one of the side ports.
“I hope you are ready to hear this.” He pressed a series of buttons and then sat back waiting for the sound file to play. At first it was just static, as if they were listing to an old long-play vinyl. But then the speech began.
Citizens of the so-called Republic of New Omega. This transmission comes from your true leader. You will believe it because you will remember my voice from the days before your imprisonment. You will remember that my voice once stood for freedom and democracy in a time when we took it as our right and privilege. You have been enslaved by a regime that is not recognised by any international community. Your country is in quarantine but we are recovering. I was not killed, and your fellow citizens are not dead. We are here in the North, and we are working to free you. If you are receiving this transmission please know that the time is coming when you will once again live as a free person. These are your instructions. Take shelter. Be safe. Wait for our arrival, citizens of the so-called Republic of New Omega.
For a moment nobody spoke and nobody moved. The shock of what they had just heard was still sinking in. If it was genuine, if it was authentic, it meant that they were no longer alone.
“I can't remember his voice,” said Stoat. “Is it his voice?”
“We can't possibly know that, Stoat,” said Jackson. “It could be from New Omega, a tool for subduing those that hear it.”
“It's his voice. I remember,” said Street. “I'm sure that is his voice.” Zack was quiet. He was still processing it, but he couldn't help but agree with Street. When he spent his Sunday mornings in bed with Samantha it was always the news playing in the background. That voice was a memory in his mind, and acted now like a déjà vu.
“Zack, what do you think?” Jackson asked. “Without being rude, but you are older than all of us. We were just kids. Can you remember his voice?”
“I think it's him,” said Zack, and he felt the audible wave of relief race across the dark garage. Street looked to Jackson and smiled, and Stoat regained some of the energy of the previous day. “But what does this mean? Are they coming? Are they close? What do we do now?”
“Right now it means nothing,” replied Jackson. “We carry on as planned. All this means is that there is a potential that we are no longer alone. But I don't work on potentials. I work on facts. Nothing has changed. Our primary target, our primary aim, is to wake up Alpha Tower.” He pulled up his wrist and glanced down to check his watch. He flicked the screen of the laptop closed and pulled the disk from the side, shoving both back into his bag. He stood up whilst the three of them remained on the floor, each one of them still trying to comprehend what they had just heard. “It's time to move.”
Chapter Fifty Two
They found the devastated remains of Kennington Tube station as the sun dipped out of reach. With their torches in hand they made steady progress through the northbound tunnel, Zack much more confident than the last time that he was down there. This time he was returning, heading towards New Omega and the towers that had imprisoned him. While the others had been listening to transmissions from the north, poring over old Tube maps and studying schematics produced by the regime, Zack had been coming up with plans of his own.
The pace slowed as they approached the end of the tunnel. Before they arrived at the platform they crouched together in front of a laptop loaded with a GPS. It used a French satellite system to establish exactly where they were. They located their position just south of the station on the old maps. From the next tunnel they should be able to find a door on the right-hand side and follow the corridors to a position directly under Alpha tower. They packed the laptop and switched off their torches and cautiously stepped towards the platform.
“We're wasting our time down here, Croft.” It was a Guardian talking to one of his colleagues. Zack immediately recognised the name. Croft was from Delta. “They wouldn't be stupid enough to come anywhere near Alpha after seeing what's going on above ground.” Street reached her arms out as if to protect those behind her. They all froze so as not to disturb the gravel underfoot. They pressed their bodies against the cold tunnel wall. Zack felt that same fear that had governed his life in Delta rising to the surface. But back then that fear controlled him, and now he could feel it driving him on. “I've got better stuff to be doing than pissing about down here looking for Drifters.” Zack recognised the second voice. It was Sam.
“Yeah, I know you've got better stuff to be doing,” Croft said, his words reminiscent of the school locker room, flippant and degrading. “But what you going to do now that you know she is pregnant? You know the Guardians aren’t supposed to get involved with tower whores. It’s against the rules. If they catch you…?”
“They aren’t going to catch me. It’s her that got out with 8652. That guy who used to trade water rations in Delta. Soon enough they’ll both be dead. Let's get out of here. Let’s head to Beta. Somebody there will have some Ritty.”
“Ritalin,” whispered Stoat in Zack’s ear. “I was the one who found it in the pharmaceutical factory. I used to deal it at school to the other kids.” Zack thought that explained a lot. Ritalin was for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. “Keeps the Guardians pretty chilled. They won’t be bothering us for a few hours if they are heading to Beta.” The voices of the Guardians picked back up.
“And if she doesn’t die out in the Barrens, they’ll denounce her in a Denunciation Ceremony like they do all the whores. I'll just find another one.” Sam and Croft were laughing as they dropped down onto the tracks. Street angled her gun forwards, ready to drop them if she needed to, but they began walking away. Within a few moments there was silence, and Jackson broke it by beginning to walk towards the platform, signalling for them all to follow.
Zack was sure they must have been talking about Serena. So it was Sam who was her contact in Delta, and Sam who had screwed her over. How flippantly Sam had dismissed her, called her a whore. Zack wanted so much to be angry for what he had heard, but he couldn’t help feel there was very little difference in the way he treated Samantha. He had dismissed her, too. He reached down into his satchel and pulled the photograph out. The rest of his group were already in the light of the generator-lit platform, and when they realised that Zack was still lingering behind, Stoat shone his torch into Zack's eyes.
“Zack, there's no time for this,” Jackson whispered as he grabbed Zack by the sleeve.
Zack nodded, slipping the photograph of
Samantha back in his satchel. He promised himself that never again would he fail a person who had been there for him. He followed Jackson and the others along the corridor until they found a metal door, accessible via set of rusty steps, each one worn and bowing in the middle as if melting under a blazing sun. They opened door after door following the dimly lit corridors which smelled of damp and mould until they came to a final room which had no exit other than from where they had arrived. In the centre of the room was a giant black box held shut by a series of chains. Zack's initial thought was one of failure, as if the chains would be the last thing that foiled their plan. But Street pulled her rucksack from her back and pulled a set of bolt-cutters out. She clamped them over the links, and with the additional strength of Jackson they forced them shut, clipping the chain into two. Jackson pulled the chains away, tossing them to the floor. He pulled open the doors and Stoat positioned himself at the foot of the switchboard before him.
“We have to get between the switch and Alpha,” said Stoat as he began pulling flimsy plastic panelling away from the switchboard revealing a series of cables and ports. He used a screw driver to loosen various screws and when he needed his fingers he clamped the tool between his teeth. Street hung back at the door waiting for them to be disturbed. Zack had nothing to do, so he used a torch to shine light into the region of interest. Jackson was firing up Ruse. Eventually Stoat stopped tearing at the system and his focus concentrated on a single point.
“Stoat?” asked Jackson.
“I've got it.” He began trailing a series of wires from the ground, connecting them into the switch that neither Zack nor Jackson could see. Stoat had disappeared into the box and was working higher up out of sight. Street remained on the door, her gun ready on an adrenaline high, snatching occasional glances at the action. Her foot was tapping at double time. “Boss, there is all sorts of stuff up here. This opens out a lot. Looks like there is access to the air conditioning, recycling system, sprinkler system, chillers. I’d guess even the elevators can be controlled from here.”
The Dawn: Omnibus edition (box set books 1-5) Page 49
