by Alex Scarrow
The creature nodded. ‘Good name, George. Just like King.’
‘That’s right, just like our King George.’ McManus patted the top of his small round head. ‘George is one of our best. Did some really rather excellent work rooting out the bad chaps from the mountains in Afghanistan, didn’t you?’
‘Bad men. I kill.’
‘You did jolly well, George. Very well indeed.’
George turned his baboon-head to look back at his pack and the trough, a worried frown rolling along the protruding brow above his eyes. ‘Go eat now, guv?’
‘Ah, yes … better get off before those greedy beggars in your squad finish all the chow. Dismissed.’
The hunter-seeker turned and trotted back across the makeshift camp.
Liam shook his head at the bizarre conversation he’d just witnessed.
‘Yes … they’re a very helpful eugenic product,’ said McManus. ‘Far more efficient at tracking than any human can be, better even than, dare I say, our Indian chap, White Bear.’
‘Why did you not use those hunter creatures earlier, then?’ asked Bob.
‘When we were following the trail from the farmhouse?’
Bob nodded.
‘Tracking’s not just following a scent or footprints. It’s thinking, assessing how you personally would attempt to hide your trail. It’s like playing chess … predicting an opponent’s move. George and his chums can’t do anything sophisticated like that. They’re jolly good, though, at following a scent. Tracking and following a scent … two very different things.’
‘The names …’ said Liam. ‘Why do they pick names like that? Human names?’
McManus shrugged. ‘Eugenics … that’s the odd thing – they all want in some way to be more human. After all, I suppose they must think of us as … as, I suppose, their parents, in a way. They are just children really, though. Simple-minded children.’
High up in the sky the regimental carrier slowly manoeuvred in a wide turning arc, a searchlight periodically lancing out into the darkness and combing the ground around the camp. McManus poked and prodded their campfire with a stick, stirring the glowing embers to life.
‘Even the wild ones, the runaways, they take human names. We’ve noticed them try to mimic us when they can, sometimes wearing items of clothing, bracelets … hats. That kind of thing.’
‘Like black slaves used to do?’
McManus stopped mid-stride. ‘Black slaves?’ He glared at Liam. ‘Good grief! You’re talking about human slavery?’
Liam nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Barbaric!’ he spat. ‘An abhorrent, savage practice. I thank God we live in modern, more enlightened times.’
‘So … your side, the South –’
‘Anglo-Confederacy,’ he corrected Liam. ‘North and South, those are old names from bygone times.’
‘The Anglo-Confederacy, then … it doesn’t keep black slaves any more, does it?’
‘Good God, Mr O’Connor! Are you actually trying to be offensive this evening?’
Liam winced. ‘No, I … I’m sorry. I just wondered …’
‘Do you honestly think His Majesty’s government, our armed forces, this prestigious regiment, would fight alongside any nation that actually kept humans as slaves? We put an end to that in this country nearly a century and a half ago!’
McManus shook his head disapprovingly. ‘Good Lord! Look around you, why don’t you, Mr O’Connor. We’re not ruddy barbarians in the British army!’ He got up and strode off, leaving Liam and Bob behind.
Liam looked at Bob. ‘What? I just asked the question … that’s all!’
‘I believe you may have angered McManus,’ said Bob.
Liam nodded. ‘I think you’re right.’ He looked around, just as McManus had suggested, at the men sitting beside campfires, in their woollen undershirts and braces, the junior officers around their brazier warming their hands. He’d been so distracted by their desperate mission to rescue Sal and Lincoln, distracted by the bizarre technology of this world and the curious talking creatures it had spawned, that he’d failed to note that at least a third of these men and officers in crimson tunics and pith helmets were dark-skinned. Professional soldiers recruited from every corner of the British Empire.
‘Oh … I see.’ He pressed his lips, realizing now why his clumsy question might have caused McManus to snap angrily at him.
‘I guess I probably need to go and apologize.’
CHAPTER 55
2001, New York
Devereau watched his Southern counterpart jump down off the prow of the launch and wade through the lapping tide up the shingle towards him.
Wainwright stood a yard short and offered him a crisp salute. ‘Colonel.’
‘Twice in one day.’ Devereau returned the salute. ‘We make poor enemies, don’t we?’
Wainwright nodded politely at Maddy and Becks standing a little further behind Devereau. ‘William, we must talk quickly.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘The British are preparing an offensive in this sector.’
‘Another?’
Every two or three years, it seemed, the Anglo-Confederacy probed somewhere along the front line with a half-hearted assault. Thousands of men usually dead or injured for a front line that might have shifted a quarter-mile in one direction or the other. It made headlines in newspapers. It gave the generals on either side a chance to earn campaign medals. But it achieved nothing useful.
‘No, William, this one’s for good. They want a significant victory this time.’
‘Oh?’
‘They want to take New York.’ Wainwright stepped a little closer and lowered his voice. ‘And they’re sending in experimentals.’
Eugenics. Devereau felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He fought to keep a rigid expression on his face. ‘James, are you certain of this?’
‘Certain?’ Wainwright laughed bitterly. ‘I have just committed an act of treason. Of course I’m certain! They’re coming your way, William, and they’re going to throw every little monster in their box of tricks right at you.’
‘God help us,’ whispered Devereau. He glanced over his shoulder at Maddy and Becks, then back at Wainwright. ‘James, perhaps you’ll reconsider your position on the discussion we had this morning.’
‘That’s why I’m here, old friend. These two young women, do you …?’
‘Do I believe their story?’ Devereau considered his answer for a moment. ‘You’ve seen their pictures, their small device … I’m no technician, but I swear that thing is beyond even the capability of the British.’
Wainwright nodded.
‘And there’s more to see in their bunker if you want to come and –’
Wainwright raised a hand. ‘There’s little time. I believe … I have little choice but to believe them. I have nothing left but hope that they can change all of this.’
Devereau turned and beckoned Maddy and Becks to join them.
Maddy smiled. ‘Colonel,’ she said politely.
‘Miss Carter. I have agreed to join my efforts with Colonel Devereau and help you fix your time machine.’
‘Really? Oh, that’s –’
‘William, Miss Madelaine, Miss Becks …’ Wainwright drew a deep breath. ‘I have committed an act of treason and mutiny. As soon as they discover this, they will be swarming all over my sector. If there are parts you need to take from the British communications hub, then we will need to move quickly.’
‘If we can retrieve what you need from there,’ said Devereau, ‘how long will it take you to fix your time machine?’
Maddy turned to Becks. ‘Becks?’
‘I am unable to give a precise estimate. Connecting and configuring a radio communications dish may take –’ her eyelids flickered for a moment – ‘thirteen hours.’
‘What?’ gasped Wainwright. ‘That is far too long!’
‘In addition, we need to establish a source of power. Our generator utilizes petroleum-derived
diesel. Do you have this fuel type?’
The colonels looked at each other. Wainwright shook his head. ‘I have not heard of it. Southern engines run on a liquid-form fuel we call maizolene. I believe it is a mixture of corn-based alcohol and Texas oil.’
‘As I suspected,’ said Becks. ‘A variety of hybrid ethanol. Then we would need to adapt the generator to run on this fuel. This may not be possible. In which case we would need to acquire one of your engines and use that as the motorized device to turn the generator’s dynamo to produce electrical power.’
Maddy sucked her teeth. ‘That sounds like a lot of work.’
‘Correct.’ Becks’s eyes blinked again. ‘Approximately thirty hours of work.’ She turned to Maddy. ‘But I am making several significant assumptions in this calculation. It could take much longer.’
‘Good God, there is no time for this! The British will be here before we can –’
‘Unless we buy her the time she needs,’ said Devereau. The others looked at him. ‘James,’ he continued, ‘you and I have said this before, have we not? This war is not the war it started out as. It’s not our war.’
Wainwright nodded. ‘This is a war no American would want.’
The colonels eyed each other silently. Long enough so that Maddy felt the need to say something. ‘What? What the hell are you guys thinking?’
‘James … I think … no, I know my men would join me. What about yours?’
The Confederate colonel turned to look back across the East River. ‘I believe they might.’ He glanced at Devereau. ‘Particularly if they learn what the British are planning to do.’
‘What?’ Maddy looked from one to the other. ‘What are you two talking about?’
‘An uprising,’ said Devereau.
‘A mutiny,’ added Wainwright.
Both men smiled at the thought of it. ‘It could spread,’ said Devereau. ‘Really, it could spread right along the front line. If someone somewhere dared to make the start of it.’
‘Word would need to get out. You and I, William, we’d need to make absolutely sure the news got out.’
Wainwright grinned suddenly. ‘There is not a regiment, old friend, not a single Confederate regiment, that would not celebrate an end to this damned war!’
‘Oh my God! Is that your plan, then?’ asked Maddy. ‘A popular uprising?’
‘If news spreads among the men,’ said Devereau, ‘that the British plan to deploy eugenic military units again on American soil … yes, good Lord, this could … this could truly take hold. The soldiers on both sides, the general public would be terrified of another Preston Peak massacre!’
‘And if it comes to it,’ added Wainwright, ‘if it came down to it, our men, I’m sure, would fight side by side.’
Maddy thought she saw tears in Devereau’s eyes. ‘My God, James! This could be it, a tinderbox issue Americans can unite on! Military-use eugenics being used over here again!’
‘That’s what needs to be said, old friend. Loud and clear. So everyone can hear it.’ His grin widened. ‘This is the flame to the thatch.’
‘Indeed.’
Maddy looked from one colonel to the other. ‘So is this what we’re doing, then? Starting a revolution?’
They both nodded. ‘And not before time,’ said Devereau.
Maddy hunched her shoulders. ‘OK. So, do you guys need to shake on it or something?’
Wainwright offered his hand and Devereau grasped it. ‘We have much to do, James, and very quickly.’
‘Indeed. I will go back and present this to my men.’
‘As shall I,’ said Devereau.
CHAPTER 56
2001, outside Dead City
The British troops were up and mustering at dawn with the noisy clatter of equipment and belt buckles, the thudding of boots on pressed soil, the barking of parade-ground voices. Liam watched with guarded fascination as they scrambled quickly to assemble into ranks by platoon, by company, until he was looking at three hundred soldiers, rows of red tunics and crisscrossing leather belts shifting gently as chests heaved for breath. White pith helmets in endless ranks, their pointed peaks shadowing the eyes of hardened faces that looked like they’d seen plenty of action.
Liam was impressed by their discipline and efficiency. If they fought half as well as they mustered, he wondered how a war anywhere in this world could last long in the face of such a military machine as the British army.
McManus had confided in them last night that this regiment, the Black Watch, was actually considered one of the finest in the British army: an elite regiment that had experienced combat on every continent in the world … and had been chosen to field-trial the newest generation of experimental eugenic units.
Speaking of which, he watched the hunter-seekers moving out of the camp at a trot as the last of the tents and camp equipment was being rolled up and stowed into the large saddlebags of the baggage huffaloes. The hunter-seeker that had chatted briefly with McManus last night – ‘George’ – exchanged a polite nod with the captain as his pack moved out last. They broke from a trot into a loping gallop as they spread out in a loose line across the weed-strewn field and finally, several minutes later, disappeared a quarter of a mile away into the dead and overgrown outskirts of the suburban fringe of Baltimore. Liam could just make out a line of backyards, bordered with rotting and leaning picket fences; falling-down shanty homes; abandoned carts; and rusting automobiles of an old-fashioned coach design, their spoked wheels tied to the ground by thick brambles and briar.
McManus issued orders to the junior officers and NCOs before joining Liam and Bob. ‘They should locate the eugenics soon enough. Did you see how quickly they set off? I believe they already have the scent.’
Liam nodded. ‘Are you sure, Captain, they won’t descend into some sort of, well … some sort of bloodlust when they find them?’
He shook his head. ‘They may be eugenics, but they are also members of the British army. They’ll behave.’ He pulled down the brass mouthpiece from the earpad at the side of his helmet.
‘Captain McManus here … we’ve just sent the hounds in. And we’re now moving out towards the city.’ He gave a crisp nod at the response over the earphone. ‘Yes, sir.’
Up above them, Liam could see the carrier slowly circling high, catching the first dawn rays along its shimmering copper hull. It was seeing the sun a good hour before they were going to feel the warmth of it on their own faces.
‘Right, then,’ said McManus. ‘We’ll get our lads moving in so we’ve less ground to cover once they’ve pinpointed a location.’ He smiled. ‘We’ll find them this morning, don’t you two worry.’
Liam nodded. Given how quickly those baboon-dogs had crossed the hard-scrabble field, he actually felt quite confident they were going to find them. It was whether they were going to find them in one piece that was worrying him.
The walrus-moustached sergeant bellowed for the troops to move out, and section by section they peeled out of their rows to join the back of the lengthening column moving down the broken tarmac of what was once the main road leading into the city.
‘You chaps want to walk or ride?’
‘We’ll walk,’ said Liam.
‘Jolly good,’ he said, tightening the strap of his helmet. ‘Well, no point hanging about, then. It’s only beggars and desk clerks you’ll find at the rear of a ruddy column!’
CHAPTER 57
2001, Dead City
Sal felt a hand on her shoulder, tugging her insistently. ‘Wake! Now!’ She looked up to see one of Samuel’s pack, one of the ‘apes’. She recognized it as the one that had carried her here the night before last.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Them … come!’
Sal sat up on her bed, a loosely gathered pile of grubby coal sacks, to see the entire pack awake and hastily scrambling to gather their few possessions. She saw Lincoln sitting up beside her, just as confused and muddled from being so rudely awoken.
‘Wh
at the devil’s happening now?’ he growled.
Samuel padded over. ‘They’re here already! Sholdiersh! They coming! We musht leave!’ He reached down for Sal’s hand.
‘Please!’ She refused to get up. ‘Why don’t you just run! Me and Abraham will go to the soldiers … we’ll tell them we’re OK!’
Samuel looked for the briefest moment like he was considering that suggestion. But then he reached for her hand again. ‘No … you come with me!’
She snatched her hand back. ‘No!’
The eugenic muttered a curse under his breath. He turned to the ape standing beside him. ‘Get them up!’ He turned to address the others. ‘Let’sh go!’
Samuel led the way out of the coal cellar. The ape yanked Sal and Lincoln to their feet. ‘You come!’ he rumbled, pushing them both in front of him.
They climbed a flight of stone steps out of the cellar and crossed the creaking wooden floor of what was once a lounge. From the meagre daylight seeping in through shuttered windows, Sal saw old tall-backed armchairs draped with dust covers, a wall lined with books quietly mouldering away.
They were in a hallway, morning light streaming in through an open front door. Then they were stumbling down porch steps, through an overgrown front yard and past a rusting gate on to a wide weed-choked avenue flanked on either side by tall three-storey town houses, with proud verandas and entrance porticoes.
She caught a glimpse of wooden boards nailed over windows and front doors, the faded red-paint lettering of plague and infections warnings hurriedly scrawled decades ago.
Ahead of them she could see Samuel scooting along the avenue – a curious shambling gait – hunched over like a primate, his disproportionately short legs working so very hard to keep him ahead of his pack of ‘apes’, slender ‘salamanders’ and several other eugenic types.
She noticed several miniature ones, no more than a foot and a half tall, with slender bodies like meerkats, but bald and pale like all the others, and with similarly loaf-shaped skulls. They were all wearing the same miniature striped overalls and she suspected they must have been some sort of work team. She wondered what sort of mundane job they’d been designed for. Every now and then, to keep up, they used their arms, running like macaque monkeys. She heard their frightened gabbling, their twittering voices using pidgin English words.
