Meredith shook her head and tried to smile reassuringly. “A spider… I saw a spider, big it was,” she hesitated, “the size of a grapefruit! Completely freaked me out!” She followed the lie with a nervous chuckle. “Sorry dad. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Do you want me to hunt it down and get rid of it for you, honey bunny?”
Meredith feigned a look of embarrassment. “No, that’s fine. It wasn’t really that big. She’s gone now…”
“She?”
“I mean ‘it’,” she corrected.
“Okay, love,” suspicious. “As long as you are all right. I’ll be down the hall.”
After that, once George was gone, Sophie introduced herself, leaving out many of the details that were difficult to explain − which was most of her life story. There after a seed of friendship had grown between the two of them.
That seed had been planted and nurtured some six months earlier. She had been much younger, the aggressive ageing process that had been genetically manipulated having added four years to her appearance, and breasts to her slender frame.
Things had been more enjoyable with Meredith. In her company she’d felt like a normal kid. Playing with dolls and makeup and talking about her favourite boy band. In Meredith’s company it had been so easy and carefree. Now, she hadn’t seen Meredith since George had the urgent need to uproot the family and move them to a detached house 120 miles east to the coast; though she had wanted to, she hadn’t dared to smuggle herself away in George’s car again. Their new home was much further than before, and the air in which George carried himself seemed more maligned and fearful. It was as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and every inch was burdened with a sense of foreboding and danger.
“I miss them,” she whispered to the empty room, wishing she’d brought the fluffy kangaroo with her from the safe room.
At times when she felt most downcast and melancholy, Sophie would comfort herself by watching her family’s movements on her iPad, using the same application that George was currently using to track his wife and Charlie, discretely gazing upon their whereabouts. It also enabled her to be prepared for when George returned so she could safely secure herself back in the panic room and to re-engage the internal lock and alarms, a trick she’d often employed.
What her father didn’t know, didn’t hurt him.
Watching the screen now, Sophie could see four stationary dots that belonged to herself, Meredith, Stanley and Charlie. They were blue and pulsating. There were two red dots that were moving and flashing more urgently; unlike her father, she didn’t have the sound on, so the accompanying oscillating bleeps were muted. One of the red beacons belonged to George, who by now was in the one-way system that led towards the bypass that took him in the direction of the house in Seacrest; the other red dot belonged to her mother.
“That’s strange.”
Her mother and Charlie were separated, and Harriet was moving away from Seacrest in completely the opposite direction.
“Where are you going?” she whispered to herself. Using her index finger she gently probed the red dot that belonged to her mother, and followed it, willing the subtle act to conjure the answer to her question. Harriet’s details appeared on the screen in a speech bubble; her name, the exact location, including latitude and longitude coordinates flashed up. She went to touch her dad’s dot, and stopped –
− a noise... from outside the apartment. Her ears pricked up, picking up on the sound, ever so slight and almost inaudible, but Sophie heard it nonetheless. Her training had taught her to notice the unnoticeable and her heightened hearing ability allowed her to hear the merest sound. It was unmistakeable. Her senses were as keen as a razor blade; a couple of clicks followed by a louder crack – it was coming from the entrance to the apartment.
Sophie put the iPad down and with stealth, crossed the room to stand beside the living room doorway, her right dominant ear lifted towards the hallway. The door was pushed to. She allowed it to open just a crack, peering through.
She sensed the entrance door opening, could see a silver swath of light creep into the hallway and wash over the threshold of the living room; further, she could feel a soft breeze puff through, dappling her skin and ruffling her hair.
The safe room now seemed rather appealing to Sophie, now that she was on the wrong side of its defence system. She felt vulnerable, but then she countered; she didn’t fancy being held under siege in a small room no bigger than a glorified wardrobe either… she’d seen the film starring Jodie Foster and a very young Kristin Stewart − it hardly glamorised the situation.
A shadow belonging to the first intruder fell across the threshold, extending into the room. Slowly and silently, each step measured, he came into view. Sophie quickly assessed the situation, calculating her options. She considered the foe in front of her and the risks involved with any form of contact. It didn’t take a nanosecond to realise that chances of survival would be greatly increased were she to employ her greatest defence mechanism:
Invisibility.
Closing her eyes for just a moment, the onset of deep concentration engulfed her. Almost immediately, without preamble or ceremony, Sophie’s petite frame vanished in an eye blink. Sometimes it was gradual, though more often it was sudden. Blink − now you see me − blink − now you don’t!
The man was dressed all in black, in full combat clothing: outer body armour; two-piece balaclava; trousers with additional hard shell knee pads, and black Magnum Spider assault boots, heavy duty footwear that provided comfort and reliability, laced up tight to above the shin.
Concealing his eyes he wore night vision goggles secured to his face by a head mount. An earpiece was visible and wrapped round his right ear and a small microphone was clipped to the inside collar of his jacket. In his hand, pressed against his shoulder, he carried a Colt M4 rifle. He meant serious business. Sophie doubted he’d be shooting blanks.
“Control, this is Alpha One… I’m entering the living room.”
From behind the man a second similarly attired person had entered the building and was slowly progressing down the hallway towards the bedrooms and the safe room, floorboards creaking beneath him. Unlike the intruder entering the living room, he was much taller, almost a giant. Standing nearer to seven-feet in height, he was a colossus of a man, having to stoop to pass through the apartment’s doorways.
Behind the door, Sophie was poised for action; though trained in various forms of close quarters combat, she had no live experience of using krav maga, or indeed with jujitsu or any of the other forms of martial art she’d learnt under Malaxi Bacaunawa’s tutelage. Her heart was pounding; she could hear it loud within her ears almost drowning out all other sounds.
Whump. Whump. Whump.
The intruder placed a hand on the door handle and gently pushed it as he entered slowly into the room, carefully with concentrated force, his other hand remaining on the rifle, a digit touching the weapon’s trigger, a muscle contraction away from releasing its death spray.
Coming into view, Sophie stilled herself to take stock of the situation, to contemplate the best course of action. The first rule of combat is to have a plan, or more specifically a backup plan.
“Screw it,” she muttered to herself. She didn’t have time to think. That’s the one thing training never prepares you for; what to do in reality.
The intruder was now entering the room; she noticed the night vision goggles. She cursed inwardly – invisibility would not gain her much advantage – no doubt the glasses were equipped with heat-seeking capabilities. Without a doubt, they’d come prepared specifically for her.
As intruder one stepped past the door, Sophie took the moment to react, and with the youthful agility you’d expect from a fit, lithe, sixteen-year-old girl, and with the margin of surprise on her side, she thrust out a cle
nched fist to the armed man’s face, knocking the night vision goggles out of position, and leapt to the furthest side of him, sprinting across the room to take the barest cover behind the leather sofa.
Caught unawares and suddenly without the ability to see his prey, the intruder reactively squeezed the trigger of the M4 rifle, a burst of automatic fire spraying the room with deafening booms and muzzle flashes with each discharge, smashing bullet holes the size of Galia melons into the walls, pulverising plasterboard stud walls, disintegrating the window that overlooked the street and ripping through the fabric of one of the sofas, tossing up hunks of foam and leather fragments into the air like expensive confetti.
“Cease fire!” screamed the second intruder, charging into the room. “You idiot, she’s to be taken ALIVE!”
“The bitch jumped me,” intruder number one spat, as though it vindicated him. He removed the M4’s magazine and replaced it with a full one, click-clunking as the magazine engaged, echoing within the living room. It took him a further moment to replace the night vision goggles, restoring his ability to see their quarry.
Sophie was lying flat behind the bullet-riddled sofa, panting hard, her heart thumping louder than before. Plaster dust, leather confetti and foam chunks rained down on her. Smoke and the smell of cordite hung in the air, suffocating to breathe through. Sophie fought the urge to cough, not wishing to expose her position.
“You’d better pray she’s not dead.” Intruder number two was surveying the room. He swept the area with his visual aid, his M4 aimed ahead of him. So far, there was no sign of the girl.
Where is she?
Intruder one was walking around the side of the leather sofa behind which Sophie was lying in hiding, in wait. Sensing and hearing his approach, she shuffled towards him slowly, crouching slightly. She formulated a plan and played out the key elements within her head. It was true what they said. Attack was the best form of defence.
As his dark frame came into view, Sophie kicked out, sweeping his legs out from under him. An erratic burst of gunfire peppered the ceiling as intruder one fell onto his back.
With inhuman speed and significant dexterity, Sophie grabbed his rifle hand (still clutched to the weapon) and pummelled it hard against the floor, twisting the hand at the same time. After a short tussle, she heard the sickening crack as his trigger finger broke; in pain, the grip on the gun was relaxed, intruder one screaming out: “My hand!”
She pushed the rifle out of reach, and then struck the man forcefully with both her hands, one at a time, against each side of his neck, carefully aimed for pressure points she knew would momentarily paralyse him. She followed up with an inexplicable elbow punch to the bridge of the fallen man’s nose, hearing a satisfying CRACK sound, as of a cricket ball glancing heavily against willow, of further bone breaking, rendering intruder one semi-conscious.
Intruder two, watching the melee as he entered the room saw the girl − though just a blur − through his night vision goggles, the thermal signature his only way of tracking the invisible teenager. He advanced, in awe of what he had witnessed, his partner felled and incapacitated in less than four seconds, the girl now leaping over the bullet-shredded leather sofa, seeming to fly towards him.
He was transfixed. Never had he seen such finesse in a combatant. He raised his weapon seemingly in slow-motion and found Sophie bearing down on him, kicking him solidly in the head, knocking the night vision goggles clean from his face, the force flinging them to the floor, and bloodying his nose.
No longer able to see, Sophie’s advantage was absolute. From the kitchen, she armed herself with a carving knife usually used for serving up the Sunday roast, pulling it free from the wooden block next to the microwave.
Intruder two scrambled to the side of the room, looking for cover, finding none. He brandished the M4 menacingly ahead of him. He spoke into his microphone, his nose streaming blood. He sounded bunged up, like he was suffering from sinusitis.
“Control, this is Alpha Two. Alpha One is down. Our target is not coming easily. We need backup… over.”
A sudden gash to his left leg brought his seven-foot frame crashing to the floor; a second cut appeared to his right wrist. He dropped the M4 rifle, his other hand clapping to the bleeding wound to his wrist, pressing down hard.
A vase sailed through the air and smashed against the side of his head, unbalancing him.
“Stop!” he yelled, clambering to his knees.
Sophie kicked the kneeling man, knocking him backwards with such force that he was lifted from the floor to crash heavily onto and smashing the coffee table in the centre of the room.
“Please,” intruder number two burbled, blood dribbling from his mouth, the fleshy remains of his tongue lolling out. “No more. I’m done.”
Sophie was now standing in front of the fallen soldier. He slowly reached up to his ear and removed the earpiece, electronic voices continuing to whisper commands and instructions, oblivious to what had concluded in the apartment. He pulled the microphone out from his jacket and tossed it aside.
“I’m done,” he repeated hoarsely, then spat a globule of spit and blood out.
Sophie reached down and picked up the ear and mouth piece, holding it up to her ear.
“Alpha Team, what’s going on? Report? Back up team will be with you shortly. Do you copy?”
Sophie walked over to the place where the window had been, the curtains billowing in like an unfurled flag. She peered out just as her father had done earlier.
“Why won’t you leave us alone?” she asked into the microphone. “We’ve done nothing to you!”
At first the radio went silent.
In the distance the sound of sirens wailed as they fast approached in answer to all the gunfire and an elderly neighbour who’d been crudely woken from a nap in his armchair from all the hullabaloo. A small gathering of nosey onlookers had gathered at a safe distance down the road, their macabre fascination for blood, death and destruction fuelled their appetite to watch, no matter the risk to themselves.
“It’s not what you’ve done… Sophie. It’s what you are programmed to do.” An electronic voice secreted from the earpiece now held in the palm of Sophie’s right hand.
“You should stop. Whilst you have the chance. Stop now, I’m warning you.”
A police car appeared at the end of the road, tyres screeching, siren blaring, flashing lights splashing blue translucent colour urgently as it drew closer, coming to a halt outside the apartment block. Another police vehicle arrived moments later and still more sirens sounded in the background.
“Sophie… It doesn’t have to be like this. We could be friends, you and I.”
Sophie knew the voice at the end was playing with her, stalling for time, time which she didn’t have. She had to leave, and leave immediately, but before she did there were things she had to retrieve, things essential to her (and her father’s) survival.
Speaking as she worked, Sophie replied: “I doubt that very much.”
Retrieving a backpack and a large sports holdall, she filled the backpack with things she absolutely needed; spare clothes; provisions, water, food; the iPad which had miraculously survived the gunfire and violence; a mobile phone; a torch; her fluffy kangaroo from the safe room. What she couldn’t fit into the backpack, she placed into the holdall. She then emptied the refrigerator of every vial of serum, not forgetting to pack the jet injector.
From one of the fallen soldiers she unholstered a handgun and collected all the ammunition she could find (from them both), six magazines in all.
“We need to meet Sophie. I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Lastly, Sophie located the place where her father’s floor safe was, hidden beneath a section of carpet that was easily lifted. She pulled up the floorboard, exposing the digital combination lock
of the safe. She keyed in her date of birth − a combination, or version thereof favoured by her father:
1-6-0-4
The latch clicked as the door from within was released. Sophie opened the door and reached in; removing her father’s laptop and two thick A5 envelopes which she knew each contained a thick wad of fifty pound notes. These last items she dropped into the holdall without much ado, and zipped it closed.
“Nice talking to you creep. Let’s do it again… not!” Sophie dropped the ear and mouth piece back to intruder number two, and unseen she left the apartment carrying the big holdall in one hand and the backpack over the shoulder of her opposite arm. She passed the policemen who were busy marking their territory, some armed and taking up strategic positions, rifles aimed ahead of them; others cordoning off the area at a safe distance, trying to assess the situation.
She passed further the group of bystanders who’d gathered into a very large force of spectators, busily gleaning and gloating at the theatrics now playing out ahead of them. Ignoring them, she continued at a pace putting distance between her and the Chelsea apartment, passing the black car that had gained her father’s attention but which hadn’t quite convinced him that there was an occupant staking them out, despite the possible sighting of a riflescope or the glass from a pair of binoculars.
She paid the car little more than a sideward glance, deep in concentration as she tried to make sense of what had just happened and formulate some ideas as to what next to do.
Sophie knew there was only one place she could really go, one place where the people who lived therein she could honestly trust. Although angered to be leaving all her worldly goods and her home behind, she was equally excited at the prospect of seeing her sister again, the only friend she knew.
The rear window of the black car, now behind her, electrically wound down. The passenger watched from a safe distance, night vision binoculars held against his eyes. For all intents and purposes he looked like a Peeping Tom. He watched the girl religiously, unseen by all she passed, her dishevelled appearance and determined look concealed to all except one. The man picked up a walkie-talkie and spoke into it.
The Girl in the Mirror Page 10
