by Glynn James
Someone has to go
Now…
Something stirred in the murky depths of the swamp, sending a thin stream of tiny bubbles up to break the surface of the green tinted water. Ripples drifted away from the lines of movement, causing the reeds and the strange blue flowers that floated upon the surface of the swamp to shudder.
Thirty feet away, Jack sat upon a large rock that overhung the water. He wasn’t far from the path that led up to where FirstMan’s camp lay, hidden in the open quarry, but Jack had no interest in going up there today. He’d spent enough time up there the day before, going over FirstMan’s plans and hearing, time and time again, why he was the one that needed to go. Jack looked down to where Ryan stood, skimming stones out into the distance and bouncing them off the strange twisted trunks of the trees that grew only in the deepest parts of the water.
The wildlife and fauna of the swamp was unlike anything Jack had ever seen, and he thought it would be more at home on some distant alien planet than here in the Junklands. Most of it seemed warped or rotten in some way. But the strange growths still clung to life, and they had a beauty that was unnerving. The colours were somehow more vibrant than they should be, and even the twisted boughs gave an illusion of movement that was entrancing if you watched for too long.
The boy had been silent for a long time but finally spoke up. Jack could sense a hint of anger in his voice, and he figured it was justified.
“But, you’ve only just got here,” Ryan said. “You’ve only been here a few weeks.” He looked across the water and threw another stone, watching as it bounced half a dozen times on the surface of the swamp before ricocheting off a tree thirty yards away.
“I know,” said Jack. “I know it sounds crazy, but if you listened to FirstMan then you’d understand why they want me to go.” He waited for a response, but Ryan was silent. “If anybody else hands himself in,” Jack said, “they’ll just kill them. You know that.”
“I know,” said Ryan. “I also know that they might kill you too.”
“I don’t think they will,” Jack said, his mind drifting to thoughts of the officer whose name he didn’t know. The woman who had first taken him captive in the Outer Zone and had then set him free, running into the junk, just weeks before. He wasn’t positive, but he didn’t think she would kill him. He only had to hope that she was the one in charge when he handed himself in.
Jack sighed. Ryan was right, though. It did seem crazy.
“Why don’t they just attack the base?” Ryan asked, frowning.
“Because too many people could be killed,” said Jack. “There is a defence system around the base. They need to get through that first. If I go in, they can use me as a target for their weapon. It shouldn’t harm me. It explodes high above the ground, but it needs a target to follow, and it needs to be specific. They can’t get anyone close enough to use it, otherwise. A lot of people will die if they attempt a frontal assault. Hopefully, this way it will only knock out the electronics, stun the guards, and not kill anyone. I’ll be inside the detention centre, and it won’t hurt me in there.”
“You hope,” said Ryan.
Jack nodded.
After Jack had gone, Ryan sat on the rock staring across the water. He understood, really; he did. He knew Jack was doing this for him – for them. Jack had even suggested, hadn’t he, that they didn’t have to stay with the Junkers. They could go it alone. Ryan wondered now if he should have just taken the offer, but it’d been he that convinced Jack to stay, and he that persuaded Jack he would like FirstMan and the Junkers when he got to know them.
His fault that Jack was about to risk his life for them all.
Ryan turned a large pebble in his hand, over and over, staring at its worn surface. Jack had agreed to go back to the camp, back to the facility, because he wanted to help. He wanted to make the world safe, or at least safer for Ryan.
People have to sacrifice themselves, Ryan thought, just so that others can live better lives. The thought angered him. Why did it have to be Jack?
There was a snap of twigs not far behind him, and Ryan spun around, reaching for his spear. But when he saw that it was Haggerty, the old RootMan, he left the spear leaning against the rock.
“It’s you,” Ryan said.
“Aye it’s me,” Haggerty said. “Well that’s some welcome, isn’t it, boy?”
“Sorry,” Ryan said, but there was no enthusiasm in his voice.
“He is going to do it, then?” old Haggerty asked. “He’s going to be their bait?”
“Yes,” said Ryan.
There was silence for a minute as neither knew what to say.
“He’ll be back,” Haggerty said finally. “You do know that, don’t you?”
Ryan ignored the old man, and sat looking out at the water.
“He will,” said Haggerty as he approached and leaned against the rock. “He is a special one.”
Ryan frowned. “What you mean?” he asked.
“I mean he’s not like most,” said Haggerty. “When I took him in and helped him with his knee… When they came to take him, he just vanished, you know, like magic.”
“He is just good at sneaking,” said Ryan.
“Yes,” said Haggerty, “and sneaking is what’s needed, isn’t it, boy? You just mark my words. You just listen and heed me. He’ll go in there, and he’ll walk out. You’ll see I’m right.”
“I hope so,” said Ryan.
The Pits
Years before…
Jack forced his protesting legs to work as the sound of the armoured vehicles streaming toward the area grew to a roar. He spun around, looking for somewhere to run, an escape route, anywhere, even one that may be temporary. He needed to hide. There, he saw it. Not far from where he stood was a drainage entrance in a ditch behind the wall of one of the shanty buildings. It led into shadows, and who knew where, but it was dark and enticing.
Some of Jagan’s warriors rushed past him, and the sound of gunfire erupted nearby, that sharp crackling noise that he had heard many times before. But this was more intense. It wasn’t the noise of one rifle firing but the cacophony of many. Jack’s head swam, still recovering from the fight in the pit, not completely in control of his own senses. His vision wavered, blurred by the streaks of movement from those rushing toward the invaders. Jack heard the bellow of Jagan’s voice, urging them on, but barely seconds later, several of the warriors rushed past him once more, this time in the other direction. One of them stumbled towards the entrance of the nearest building, and almost made it, but just as he was about to run through the entrance, something slammed into his back and sent him sprawling to the floor, where he lay, twitching.
A dart. Jack could see it, sticking out the back of the warrior’s neck.
Tranquilizers, Jack thought. They’re taking everyone.
Jack glanced at the crooked spear in his hand – a thing that clearly identified him as one of Jagan’s men – and therefore a target. He couldn’t have that, and thought that it would probably break if he tried to use it against Trooper armour. He threw it aside. He still had the machete.
He ran towards the open sewer entrance, but slowed before he got close. The way was blocked by a large pile of rubble. He panicked and looked around, trying to find somewhere else to run to. Directly across from him was another hut, and Jack forced himself forward, scrambling across the floor, his machete clenched in one hand. There was the sound of many boots on the ground, and more gunfire, as he rolled into the dark interior of the building and looked straight into the eyes of one of the slave girls. She was hiding in the corner of the room, just feet from the entrance, her eyes bright with fear. Jack scrambled to his feet and looked further into the interior, searching for means of escape.
He was about to run but stopped. He glanced back at the girl hiding in the corner. “Let’s go,” he called, reaching out to her. “We need to leave.”
The girl sat there, stunned, just looking at him in terror. He ran forward, grabbed her wr
ist, and tried to pull her, but she resisted, pulling back.
Jack let go, frowning down at her, before turning to run. She would not leave. The fear was too much for her, and there was little he could do. Cursing and hating himself, he took off, running through the building, but as he ran he noticed movement on all sides, and he slowed, stumbled, and came to a stop with his knees in the dirt. He was surrounded by cages like the one he had been held in.
A slave storage house, he thought, as he looked at the nearest cage and noticed that it was tied with a rope that was knotted much tighter than anyone in the cage would be able to unravel. They were too weak. He looked down at machete in his hand and then back at the rope. Outside gunfire continued to drown out the noise of battle-cries and screams, but no one had entered the building after him. The slave girl still crouched near the entrance, but now she was staring at him.
And a dozen pairs of eyes stared back at him from within the cage. Young, old, but all frail. They had no way to escape.
Taking a deep breath, and hoping he wasn’t releasing a pack of ferals, Jack hacked at the rope again and again until it fell away, and the door swung open.
But no one moved inside the cage, they just sat there, staring out at him, not comprehending their own freedom.
You can’t make them leave, he thought. Not if they don’t want to move. You can’t make them try to make a break for it.
Then he frowned. But you can at least give them the choice. Jack moved further through the building, ever closer to the opposite entrance. He stopped at another cage, also filled with people, and quickly hacked at the rope that secured the door. Then he moved on, leaving the door to swing open. Another dozen feet and he swung at another rope, and then another, fearfully glancing at the entrance and hoping that none of the grey warriors streaming from the dropship would rush through it before he was done. He could still hear the rage of battle outside and hoped that enough of Jagan’s men still fought the grey Hunters to delay them just a while longer. The slavers could die, or be captured, and he wouldn’t care, but he had to open all the cages before he could leave.
It was the least he could do. Give them a choice, a chance, even if they were too weak or unwilling to take it.
Finally, he was at the last cage, and he stopped to glance behind him. Some of the slaves at the front of the building were tentatively edging out of the cages and Jack shook his head, realising they were all too frightened to move very quickly.
“Get moving,” he shouted. “This is your chance to escape here. You only have this one chance!”
This seemed to rouse a few of them, and several pushed their way out of the cages and looked around, but still they made no effort to leave.
Until one of Jagan’s warriors stumbled into the entrance and fell to the floor, dead. There was a large burn mark in the centre of the man’s back that seemed to burrow all the way through his body, and at the sight of this possible fate, the crowd of stunned slaves sprang to life. Jack looked back as he approached the far entrance and hesitated, but the fleeing slaves had no intention of being cautious. Two younger men ran past him and out into the sunlight.
Jack watched, terrified of going out there, waiting to see the young slaves fall, but the two men kept on running. Someone shoved him aside, and Jack stumbled into the wall next to the entrance. He turned, expecting to have to defend himself, but there was no assailant. Whoever had shoved him was trying to get past him and out into the open.
“You’re welcome,” he muttered as the man ran out into the light.
Jack stumbled forward, crouching low, staying among the crowd of fleeing people. All around him, people flooded out from buildings. Many of them looked like escaping slaves, unarmed and afraid, running in whichever direction they could. He dodged in between people, tripping, almost falling several times, but he managed to stumble away, running for the perimeter of the camp.
Then he saw it at the far end. A gaping hole in the ground – the Subtrans entrance. A few figures were running towards it, desperately trying to find a place to hide, and the dark inviting stairway was the only place that Jack could see that offered any hope. He pushed himself on, urging his tired limbs forward, and felt something brush past his shoulder. A man running a few feet in front of him jerked and fell, tumbling onto the ground. Jack didn’t slow down. There was no way he could help the man, and as he passed him a few seconds later, he saw a dart sticking out of the man’s back. A stun dart. It had barely missed him.
“I’m sorry,” were the only words he could say as he ran past, but already the man’s eyes had glazed over. Jack ran on, trying not to bump into others that fled, and he almost fell down the stairway that led into darkness.
The shadows enveloped him, and he heard and felt others rushing down the stairs alongside him, colliding with each other, cursing, falling. Jack moved to the side, fumbled until he found the railing that ran down one side of the stairway, and staggered down into the dark, still trying to keep his balance as bodies rushed past him. Some of them, he thought, falling, only to be trodden on by those behind.
Eventually the ground levelled out, but there was no light in the ancient ruins of the Subtrans. He could sense panic among those who had got this far. They had nowhere else to go. He moved through the darkness as his eyes strained to adjust.
Think, think where to go. There must be somewhere. There had to be somewhere way down here to hide. Eventually he made his way to the platform and looked down the dark tunnel. He could barely see a thing, just some vague outlines of cracked pipes running along the walls, and beneath his feet, old and rusted rail track that hadn’t been used for centuries.
And the rail track led somewhere. It led further away from the slavers and from the Hunters. Jack started down the tunnel with both hands in front of him, one still tightly clutching the machete.
Jagan’s Tale
Years before…
Jagan slammed the hammer into the Hunter’s helmet with such force that it buckled and smashed. The trooper crumpled to the floor, one side of his head a bloody mess, but even with such a grievous wound the man held on to the last moment of his life, struggling to back away as one half of his body was consumed by a switching spasm.
Jagan ignored him. There was no way the trooper was going to reach his weapon, which lay a dozen feet away. The man was no longer a threat.
And neither were the other three Hunters, their bodies broken, lying still upon the ground. Jagan took a step back, heaved in a deep breath, lifted the hammer once more and brought it down upon one of the motionless bodies. He reached forward, and was about to take the automatic rifle the Hunter had carried, but as his finger circled around the trigger he felt a warmth and glanced down at the grip. The trigger had lit up, a red flashing light blaring a warning. Two seconds later a piercing sound began to emit from the top of the rifle.
Jagan grunted and tossed the rifle through the entrance of the hut, and not a moment too soon. There was a loud crack and a hiss, and smoke wafted from the entrance.
A sensor, he thought. He glanced around. Nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. They would find him soon. His gaze stopped at another body lying in the corner.
It was one of the slaves. The man had a dart in his shoulder and another in his leg. Jagan thought for a moment that he recognised the man, but he shrugged the feeling off. It didn’t matter. The important thing right now was what he should do next. There was no visible escape route, and they would be on him soon. Much of the camp was already overrun, and Jagan knew that he had maybe a minute to do something, to hide or escape. Something.
But what?
Disguise, he thought. He had to hide his identity. He was going to be caught, there was no avoiding it, but he could still influence what happened when he was.
Cursing, Jagan knelt next the slave, saw the knife on the floor next to him, and snatched it up.
The hair. That would give him away.
It had to go.
He cursed. His whole empire in ruins i
n one day. All the work building it over the years. His army, his pits, his gladiators, his slave empire.
Everything gone.
And now he even had to cut off his damn hair.
Jagan reached behind his back, pulled the long braid of bright red hair around his shoulder, then reached up and began to cut. The braid came away, but it wasn’t enough, he knew. They would still recognise him. He grabbed handfuls of hair and cut away more until there was barely anything left on his scalp. Then he snatched up another assault rifle lying on the floor next to one of the other dead Hunters. He pressed his finger to the grip, waited for the high-pitched noise, then dropped the rifle onto the pile of hair.
The effect was just what he needed. The flash of energy that surged through the weapon, a powerful enough spike to knock a man unconscious – maybe even kill anyone trying to steal the weapon – set the hair alight. There was a flash of flame and acrid smoke wafted up as the hair burned, removing the evidence.
But it still wasn’t enough, he knew.
Jagan staggered over to the dead slave, turned the man over, and began to strip him of his jacket and his trousers. Jagan was a big man but this man looked almost his size. Maybe the clothes wouldn’t fit so well, but it was better than just stripping naked. The seconds ticked by, and Jagan watched the entrance, expecting Hunters to storm the hut at any moment, but he managed it. He had just finished pulling the coat on, after roughly dressing the dead slave in his armour, when a shadow moved across the entrance.
Jagan scrambled backwards, until he reached the back of the hut, and then dived to the dirt. There he lay, keeping as still as he could, waiting to found, his eyes shut tight. He vaguely saw the shadows moving around, saw them poking at the bodies and finally settling on the body of the slave.
No way to know, he thought. He couldn’t hear the Hunters in their silent suits. He could only hope that his ruse would work.
Only one way to find out, he thought, as he sat up and rubbed his head, feigning confusion, trying to act concussed.
