It took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the brightness outside. Blinking, Jonah saw that the two monks, had been waiting and now their chants began to rise in volume and the wind outside blew stronger. With his eyes still shut, the padras opened his cloak and pulled the three of them into a huddle. The snow was drifting through the cracks in the walls and whipped around their bodies like a small storm. The padras had to shout to be heard and, as the storm grew in ferocity more voices joined in, as if there were others chanting in the cabin with them. Through the swirling mist, Jonah thought he glimpsed two other figures, a woman and a man, their faces radiant and serious, eyes closed in concentration. They vanished in the snowstorm and then the floor began tilting and Jonah lost his balance. The padras pulled them tight and all three fell, somersaulting without hitting the stone floor.
And then they were floating, spiralling on a sea of chants and harmonies, with no feeling or light but with every sensation combined, of ice and fire and pin-pricks and pillows and snow and the dryness of hot sand. They drifted alone and together, in bright sunshine and dusky twilight, for what may have been a second, but was also a long, dreamy afternoon, timeless and instant.
Jonah felt a surge of euphoria. It was a bliss of unabashed delight, at once exhilarating and joyful. It was inviting and warm and challenging and frightening.
And the sounds! Hundreds of voices were singing, alternately discordant then harmonious, with the rumble of the ocean and a choir of birds. Jonah couldn’t decipher the words but the meaning was obvious: that here and now, and in the future and the past, all is well and all will be well.
Then a hot wind blew on their faces and the sensation of tumbling returned. Jonah felt nauseous as he turned head-over-heels in an uncontrolled fall. The wind drowned the singing and soon all they could hear was the storm. Sand-storm-dryness blew against their skin and then, with an audible crack, they landed on a cold, concrete floor in a dimly lit industrial basement. Steel pipes lined the ceiling and banks of machines with fans and electrical lights stood against the walls. A mean, acidic odour hung in the air.
“We’re here,” said Jonah, recognising the space.
He stood up, heavy-hearted at the contrast between the exhilaration of the last few moments and the task ahead. Only the thought of finding Nassim spurred him on.
Jonah and Amma Melania helped the padras stand up and dusted themselves off.
“Let’s get started,” Jonah said. “The beacon. Do you have it?”
The padras pulled a round transmitter from his pocket and spent a moment adjusting its coordinates. He pressed a central button and mounted it behind a fat, steel pipe.
A thousand kilometres away, in the Atlantic hideaway of the old trash vortex, a sleeping Commander Agassi was shaken from her sleep. An NMA beacon had broadcast from somewhere called Sinai, in eastern Egypt. “Initiate Project Abaddon,” she instructed and leapt out of bed fully clothed. Atlantica went into battle stations.
“We’ve got fifteen minutes to find her,” said Jonah. He had rehearsed this moment so many times, retracing the steps from the basement to the floor with the mutant vats. He'd tried his best to recall the shape of the overall complex. Now he led them along the pipes until they came to the stairwell where the handless corpse of a Metrician guard propped the door open.
“Someone’s one step ahead of us,” he said.
As they edged up the stairs, they caught snatches of a commotion above. The others suggested retreating but Jonah urged them on, holding the laser in his right hand and the stair-rail in his left.
The sound of gunfire and explosions grew with each step.
They’d almost reached the level with the laboratory when a door banged open above and a group of soldiers thundered down.
This is it. This is where we get found, despaired Jonah and he squeezed himself hard against the stairs, pretending to be invisible. Happily, the soldiers stopped at the floor above, swung open a door and stomped through. The sounds of a battle echoed down. He waved the other two on and when they snuck up to the landing, they could see the door to the lab was hanging on its hinges.
“Fortune favours the brave,” whispered Jonah.
They inched through and, once again, Jonah found himself entering the room with the body parts in bubbling tanks and organ printing machines, still whirring in synchronised motion, despite the raging battle beyond.
Sweat formed on Jonah’s brow and he snuck into the hall of vats where the floor was drenched in liquid and smashed piles of plastic glass. The bodies of dead mutants and soldiers were scattered, as if strewn by a giant hand. Gunfire and laser beams ricocheted at the far end.
“Follow me!” hissed Jonah and they dashed to a dark edge to the right of the building where some of the cylinders remained intact. Ducking for cover they almost fell onto a girl who was cowering in the shadows.
“Don’t hurt me!” she squealed.
“Feng it!” exclaimed Jonah. “What on Earth are you doing here?”
The girl looked terrified and blurted out: “My name’s Matilda. I’m helping my friends. But I don’t know where they are. Can you help me find them?”
“Your friends? In here? What friends?” said Jonah.
A laser beam ricocheted off the nearby wall and blew a cylinder apart, showering them in glass and fluid.
“Come on, answer me!” commanded Jonah, wiping the yellow liquid from his face.
“Um … it’s Afiz and ...” the girl stammered.
“And?”
“Nassim.”
Jonah started. “Nassim? She’s alive? Here? Where is she?
Tell me!”
“Yes! She over there,” and Matilda pointed at the corner of the hall where the battle raged hardest. And then she added: “She’s a queen, you know. She liberated us and shot the dwarf!”
Jonah looked confused and was about to ask more questions but glanced at his watch. “Eleven minutes. We better take the girl with us. Stay with me. And Padras Simeon, please avoid being shot. You’re our ticket out of here.”
“I’ve been in stickier spots,” smiled the padras, lifting his foot from the gooey liquid. It made Matilda laugh.
Jonah’s heart was racing. Nassim! Here! In fact, just over there! He checked his laser and guarded the rear as they crept along the hall’s outer edge. The sound of gunshots was now replaced by the blasts of lasers and Jonah figured that the dynamic of the battle had changed. Either Nassim had sourced laser weapons or the Metricians were winning.
He signaled a halt where the intact cylinders ended and a row of broken vats began, the shards of glass sticking up like the remains of ancient ruins. A dead mutant lay in their path, its chest open from a laser strike. To their left, a group of Metrician soldiers crouched, firing their weapons into a corner where the roof had collapsed, providing the rebels with a handy shelter from which to respond with canon and rifle blaze.
“Why don’t they just shoot some phosie bombs and be done with them?” Jonah asked.
“And kill their babies?” responded Amma and she pointed at the source of canon fire: a huge, naked mutant with an eagle claw for a hand. And at the next cylinder lay another mutant with three arms, blazing away with two pistols and a grenade launcher. The mutant rebels seemed to be holding their position.
Much closer, he saw mutants dragging more recently awakened brothers back to the shelter of the fallen roof. Jonah scanned the battleground, trying to make sense of the scene through billowing dust and the flash of laser fire.
And then he saw her. About thirty metres away, beneath the sloping beams of the collapsed roof. She was tending the newly arrived creatures, laying them on their sides, ensuring they could breathe and touching their foreheads before she moved to the next. Her long, dark hair was tied in a loose knot and she was dressed in black, with a scarf around her neck, like a bandit. She was more beautiful than he recalled, her tanned face furrowed with concern and her eyes wide and bright. Her red lips alternatively barked instructions and off
ered comfort to the injured mutants. She was brave and beautiful, and within shouting distance, if it wasn’t for the battle between them.
Amma saw the look on Jonah’s face. “She’s over there, isn’t she? I don’t doubt it. But how do we get to her?”
She had just finished his sentence when a tremendous detonation blew the left wall of the hall apart. A wave of heat and shrapnel flew across, sending humans and mutants sprawling for cover. Light blazed through the gigantic hole and lit the dust and debris like the sun beating in through a dusty window. The roar of jet engines made everyone cover their ears as a fighter pod slowly entered through the jagged hole. Smashing its way through cylinders and benches and lights and extraction fans, the craft hovered just a metre above the floor and came to a stop in front of the fallen roof. Four laser canons scanned the hall as two Republican Guards, resplendent in their exoskeletons and shoulder-mounted bomb launchers, leapt from the open side doors.
“Lay down you weapons now and no one will die!” boomed a massive speaker from the craft.
One mutant made the mistake of shooting at a Rep-G. The shot bounced off and the guard responded instantaneously with a canon that blew up the mutant and its surroundings.
“Lay down your weapons now!” repeated the voice.
For a moment, the pod hovered.
Jonah wanted to call out to Nassim.
The jet settled to a loud hiss.
“Nine minutes,” Jonah mouthed.
Every moment mattered.
Then a laser canon clattered across the floor. A rifle followed and pistols and a grenade launcher. The mutants were surrendering! Metrician soldiers flooded the room, rounding up the mutants, forcing them out of their hiding spaces at gun-point.
Jonah lost sight of Nassim in the round up and he considered dashing over but a voice behind him made him jump.
“And you too!” He spun around and saw two Metrician soldiers with their weapons pointing. Jonah threw his pistol down and raised his hands. The padras, Amma and Matilda all did the same.
“That way!” commanded the guard and they marched reluctantly towards the hovering the pod.
The mutant uprising was over.
Chapter 27 - The reunion
It was not the reunion that Jonah had planned for. He didn’t really have a fixed idea what it should be, but it didn’t involve Nassim being a prisoner again. Nor with a weird child, two old monks and hundreds of mutants in tow.
He marched disconsolately, thinking about the imminent nuclear strike. He’d failed to save her, yet again. For a moment he thought she’d escaped but, prodded by the barrel of a Metrician gun, she emerged from the collapsed roof, with a mutant shuffling besides her, its arm draped over her shoulders. It was Wadid.
“At least we’ll all go together,” Jonah muttered. He tried to call out but a soldier whacked him on the back and he bowed his head submissively.
“Seven minutes,” whispered Amma and nodded at the padras, who was already preparing for the Leap with closed eyes and a rhythmic hum.
And then a surprising sound came from inside the pod. Fully expecting Commander Walshe to emerge from the floating machine, Jonah instead heard a familiar chuckle and tap, tap, tap of a cane as GK descended the ramp. Alongside him was Grace, fully kitted out with a Kevlar suit and a holster carrying two side-arms. Hugo followed, in his training uniform and walking with a limp.
Jonah’s heart leapt. Perhaps it wasn’t going to end so badly after all. “Hugo!” he yelled and tried to run to them, but the soldier held him by both arms.
“Well, well, what a surprise,” said GK, as he hobbled into the mess of the battlefield. He wore the full regalia of a Metrician commander-in-chief: a navy jacket decorated with medals and a wide, gold sash for a High Councilor. Despite his age he was still tall and broad-shouldered. He looked intimidating. Grace and Hugo hung back respectfully.
“Who would have thought it, eh?” he said to the entire audience. “A mutant revolt. What a fine idea!”
He turned to the mutants. “My very own new-born soldiers, brought back to life from certain death, turning on their masters like naughty children. Tch, tch.”
GK shook his head.
“And all this,” he said waving his cane at the broken cylinders. “Why? You attack the very place that has given you life – what did you think you’d achieve?”
Jonah couldn’t help himself. “Hugo it’s me, Jonah! I’m here!” he called out. Hugo glanced at Jonah and began to smile but Grace muttered something and Hugo looked down.
“What’s that? It speaks?” GK said, wheeling on Jonah. The old man walked over arthritically and raised his walking stick. Jonah flinched.
“Look at me,” GK said. “We had an agreement, you and me.
I told you to forget everything about this place and in exchange I would sweep your shenanigans under the carpet. But you disobeyed! You betrayed your government and your people – and you betrayed me, your own grandfather.”
“But you lied to me!” Jonah shouted. “You told me you didn’t know about Abaddon. And you told me my father was dead!”
“He is dead,” GK said with a snarl.
“He’s not dead! He’s alive. I’ve seen him with own eyes!”
Jonah regretted saying it as soon as the words left his lips. GK mustn’t know that Petreus was alive. Fool!
But GK looked untroubled. “Well, he’s dead to me. And soon he will be dead to you too. That’s how we deal with rats.”
Jonah’s skin prickled. The words of Tyrone Granger rang in his ears. All this time – during the search for Petreus’ body, during the funeral, during the visit to the academy – GK knew that Petreus was alive. And yet he wanted everyone to believe he was dead.
“You ...” Jonah whispered. “You were the one who tried to kill him! You planted the bomb. There were no Terrorists! It was you!”
“Ha!” laughed GK. “Has it taken you that long to figure it out? And I thought you were a clever lad. Yes, of course we wanted him dead. How do you think the real world works, boy? Do you think you can simply make your enemies become friends with a few nice words? Do you think a few conferences with a rabble of Landers will bring peace on Earth? Do you think the forefathers planned everything for over 50 years just so some mutant-lover like your father could throw it all away? Is that what you wanted as well – to throw it all away?”
“I wanted the truth!” blurted Jonah.
“The truth! You already know the truth. But you choose to ignore it. You know that the Earth was being destroyed. We must start again, but this time with better people – a better civilisation. The truth is that you are one of the lucky ones! That’s the truth you don’t want to hear! But you know it!” Jonah’s face burned.
“And you know that we must do anything to keep it that way. And if you can’t then you need to step aside and let someone who can. Do you find what’s happening here at Abaddon offensive? Then let someone who’s prepared to be offended do it for you. While you wash your hands with worry, and while you cavort with your Lander-scum, real men are doing the things you won’t.”
GK pulled out an old-fashioned pistol with a bone handle and cocked its hammer.
“Bring her to me!” he shouted.
Grace smiled. “With pleasure, sir!” she said and pulling a gun out she strode across the hall to where the soldiers held Nassim.
“You heard what the General said. Come with me!” She grabbed Nassim by the arm and dragged her across the floor and forced her to kneel at GK’s feet.
“No!” yelled Jonah, and he wriggled to escape the guard’s hold. But the soldier was stronger.
The old man raised his pistol to Nassim’s head and turning to Jonah, said: “You have a choice, Private Salvatore. Will you do the thing that you should? Will you come with me and serve Metricia? Or will you watch your Lander friends die?”
Jonah trembled with rage. Abaddon was offensive. It was unspeakable. And it was obscene that his grandfather, the man he loved and admi
red, was defending it. Yes, he understood the logic. In GK's world, places like Abaddon had to exist.
The room was silent and everyone starred at the boy.
The last few months flashed through his mind: the explosion on Sky London; the funeral of his father; the terrible discovery of Abaddon; the courage of the Baptistes and Agassi; and most of all Nassim.
He looked up at his grandfather with anger.
“No.”
“No? No, what?” replied GK testily.
“No, I won’t do the unspeakable. I choose the other.”
“Then, my boy, your friend must die,” GK said grinning. “By the power invested in me by the High Council, I condemn this Lander to death for attacking the Republic and …”
But GK was interrupted mid-sentence when a laser gun was pushed against temple.
“Drop the gun and get on your knees!” said the boy beside him.
Hugo!
GK looked startled for a moment.
Hugo!
GK snarled a guttural drawl and pulled the trigger of his pistol anyway.
Click.
“What!” GK spat. He pulled the trigger again.
Click.
And again.
Click.
“I removed the bullets, sir,” Hugo said, sweat pouring from his forehead. He looked nervously between Grace and Jonah but steeled himself. “It’s you who’s under arrest. For treason and … and … for this,” he said waving his free hand at the chaos that surrounded them.
GK roared with anger and he swung a wild punch at Hugo who deftly ducked and threw himself at the old man in a tackle good enough for rushball.
For a moment, everyone froze, watching the strange sight of the old general wrestle with the plump boy. Then pandemonium ensued. The Metricians who hesitated were pounced on by mutants who wrestled for their guns. The remaining Metricians attempted to shoot but couldn’t sort their enemies from their friends. Nassim, still on her knees, knocked the gun from Grace’s hand and punched her hard in the stomach. Jonah ripped himself from the grip of his solider, spun around and kicked the pistol out of his hand. Matilda, always inventive, enthusiastically bit her soldier on the wrist.
Road to Abaddon Page 26
