by Alex Scarrow
‘Putting it like that, Colonel Devereau …’ He raised his mug and clanked it against his friend’s. ‘To foolish men who wish to change history.’
CHAPTER 73
2001, New York
Sergeant Freeman squinted bleary-eyed at the hazy sky. Beyond the strip of Manhattan, beyond the broad and sedate Hudson River, was New Jersey.
‘The South.’
Freeman realized that where he and young Ray were huddled, near the top of a tall building he guessed must have once been a bank or something – right here, was the closest he’d been to actually even seeing the South. From where they were sitting on dust-covered stools, looking out of a cracked window frame, it looked no different to the crumbling ruins in which he’d been living for more years than he cared to remember. The rising sun coming up behind them picked out the skeletons of dockside cranes, twisted and contorted; the rusting hull of an old Sherman Ironside, a navy ship scuttled nearly seventy years ago when the South made their second assault on New York.
He shuddered as a fresh breeze sent dust devils spinning across the open floor. The wall to the east was completely gone, exposing a cross-section of the building’s many floors. He turned to look at all the old office things – typewriters, filing cabinets, desks and chairs – all of them coated in a thick layer of plaster dust and pigeon droppings.
The sun was filling this floor, streaming in where the wall should be. He shaded his eyes from the glare. If he squinted a little, he could just about imagine how this office must have once looked. Busy with activity. Busy with smartly dressed young men moving purposefully, making money. And the big-framed windows looking down on New York, on all that promise and wealth and hopefulness. A doleful smile slowly pulled on his leathery face.
‘Helluva view folks musta had from up here,’ he muttered.
‘’Sup, sir?’
Freeman shook his head. ‘Ain’t nothing, Ray. Just an old man’s nonsense.’
‘It’s darned cold.’
‘Sunrise’ll warm us up directly, son.’
He rubbed his hands together. The young lad was right. It was cold up here. Wind chill an’ all. He should’ve asked the colonel if they could have taken a brazier up here with them. At the very least, several flasks of hot water or some such.
Ray was looking up the long west side of Manhattan island. Thin tendrils of smoke in the distance signalled the canteen fires of other Southern regiments. ‘You reckon them other regiments upriver gonna join us too, sir?’
‘In due course … I’m sure. We just gotta make a show of things for a while.’ He glanced back at the hazy labyrinth of bomb-ravaged Brooklyn. ‘Our boys and them Southern boys … we just gotta make us a stand. Show them others upriver that we all are serious ’bout this rebellion. That we finally finished with this war.’
Freeman doubted it was going to be that simple. More than that, he sensed that same doubt in their colonel.
Bed’s all made up now. Nothing left to do but sleep in it.
‘Sir?’
Freeman turned back to Ray. ‘What is it, son?’
‘What’s that?’ The boy was pointing. Freeman followed the direction of his finger and squinted once again to make better use of his old eyes. It looked like thunder clouds on the horizon. Made sense. They were due rain sometime soon.
A row of heavily stacked clouds.
‘Pass me them field glasses, Ray.’
The young man fished them out of a pouch and passed them to the sergeant.
‘Now then,’ he said, fumbling with the lens-focus dial. ‘Let me just get a …’
The bell grabbed Maddy and hauled her out of a troubled dream. She opened her eyes and found herself staring at the springs of Sal’s bunk above. For a moment, with the gentle glow of the light bulb above casting a patchwork of shadows from its wire grille, and the hum of the computers, she thought all was well once more. That the idea of a civil war still being fought across the rubble of New York had been nothing but her sleeping mind’s fun and games.
But then the long clattering trill of a bell again.
She turned her head and saw Colonel Devereau jerking awake in one of the armchairs. He reached out and unhooked the phone from its cradle on the table.
‘Yes?’
Maddy swung her legs on to the floor as Wainwright stirred and Becks ducked under the shutter and entered the archway.
Devereau nodded solemnly as he listened. Then finally: ‘Good man. Come back immediately.’ He hung the phone up on its cradle.
‘They’re coming.’
A moment later they were all emerging outside, stepping into the glare of morning. She followed the colonels along the trench, pressing past grim-faced men already mustering, checking their webbing, their ammo pouches, their carbines, buttoning their tunics, replacing forage caps with hard helmets. Up a short stepladder and out of the horseshoe-shaped trench, she joined them on the open ground sloping down towards the borderline and the river.
A motor launch was steaming across the glass-smooth water towards them, leaving a rippling V in its wake.
Becks stood beside her. ‘They are here.’
Looming low in the sky above Manhattan like an archipelago of floating islands, a fleet of giant sky carriers had arrived.
CHAPTER 74
2001, en route to New Chelmsford
Liam wiped sweat from his face. The morning had started out so chilly. Now, midday, with the sky a rich blue and the sun hanging high, it was a summer’s day come late.
Traipsing across field after field punctuated by the occasional meadow … and now finally in an apple orchard that seemed endless, they were exhausted.
‘Five minutes,’ gasped Liam. ‘I’ve got a stitch in me side.’ He slumped against the trunk of an apple tree. ‘Five minutes’ rest here, then we’ll carry on.’
Lincoln slid down beside him, equally spent and grumbling about blisters on his feet.
Sal didn’t want to sit. She knew if she did she’d not want to get up again. Anyway, more pressing matters.
‘I need to, uh … to go and …’
Liam waved her off. ‘Don’t wander too far.’
‘OK.’
She turned away and ducked down under the low-hanging branches of the nearest tree. She could still see them which meant they could see her. She walked a little further from them, between rows of trees, through grass tall enough to tickle her fingers. She ducked down again, under another cluster of apple-laden branches and found herself on the edge of a clearing.
A glance backwards. She couldn’t see them any more, although she could hear the gentle rumble of Bob’s voice.
Good enough for modesty.
She turned back and was about to step round the back of the tree trunk beside her and into the clearing when she spotted it. Almost yelping with shock as she immediately ducked down into the long grass.
A eugenic.
It was sitting on the edge of the clearing. Huge. One of the ape-like ones, a tiny head almost an afterthought emerging as little more than a lump from its huge shoulders. She froze where she was, petrified that if she moved again she might attract its attention.
She peered more closely at it. It looked a size larger than the apes, half as big again, even more top heavy with muscle-mass. But it was the creature’s face that struck her.
No mouth. Or, rather, where a mouth should have been a short length of pipe emerged, sealed at the end. It also appeared to be wearing a skullcap of some kind. She watched it for a good minute before suspecting it was quite dead.
Liam squatted down in front of it and peered closely at its small face. Its eyes were open, dilated and glazed. They could hear it breathing, air that rustled in through the slits of its nose and wheezed out like a blacksmith’s bellows.
‘Well, it’s not dead; I can tell that much.’
‘The creature is in a stupor,’ said Lincoln.
Sal reached out and touched its ape-like face, pale skin as smooth and as hairless as a baby’s.
The cap she thought it had been wearing, a leather one, seemed to be attached. Fixed in place to a band round its forehead by a pair of clips. She looked at Liam. ‘It comes off, maybe?’
He nodded. ‘Go on … I don’t think this brute’s going to mind.’
Carefully, she undid one clip and then the other, and gently eased the cap up off the band.
‘Oh, that’s just gross!’
Beneath a scuffed glass cover, they could see its skull had been scooped empty of brain. In the cranial cavity, through the scratched glass, they could see something grey and ribbed, the size, shape and texture of a walnut. It was penetrated by half a dozen small brass rods, linked by wires to a control box that blinked an amber light.
‘Information,’ said Bob. ‘Electronic impulses sent through the rods to the organic tissue stimulate brain activity. A much simpler version of the silicon–organic interface in my head.’
Liam puffed a queasy breath out. ‘McManus said they were controlling their creatures much better now. So this is how: they scoop the poor thing’s brains out and shove in whatever that is instead.’
‘It is a brain, isn’t it?’ said Sal.
‘Aye … but a tiny one. Like a rat’s or something.’
Sal made a face.
‘Or maybe they grow these things without brains now,’ said Liam. That somehow seemed a more palatable idea. Better than growing smart creatures and then lobotomizing them like this.
They heard a distant whistle sounding.
‘What was that?’ asked Lincoln.
Men’s voices echoed through the orchard. They heard the clatter of machinery firing up.
Liam shrugged. ‘Maybe that was the end of a lunch break.’
The light on the box suddenly changed from amber to green.
Sal tilted her head. ‘Does that mean it’s just turned itself “on”?’
Liam looked at the others. ‘Uhh … who thinks we better go?’
Sal nodded. She popped the leather cap back on and managed to snap one of the clips in place before the eugenic stirred. Its small eyes twitched and flickered and then focused on Sal for a moment.
‘Oh Jay-zus!’ whispered Liam. ‘It’s woken up!’ Liam pulled Sal back and stood in front of her. ‘Easy … there, big fella …’ His voice trembled.
The creature slowly pulled itself to its feet and stood erect for a moment, easily two foot taller than Bob. Its all-black eyes, small and glistening like a spider’s, seemed to be studying them without the tiniest hint of curiosity. Then without any warning it turned round and pushed its way through the gap between the nearest two apple trees.
Liam ducked down low under the branches and peered out after it to see the creature push through another row of trees into an area of the orchard busy being harvested. He saw a dozen others like it, leviathan-sized eugenics assembling around one end of what appeared to be some sort of combine-harvester.
In the sky half a mile away, he saw a sky vessel was slowly approaching, descending. Just like the farming operation they’d seen in action a week ago.
He looked back at the enormous eugenic workers. The sheer size of this particular type … they made Bob look pitifully small. ‘We’ve not seen this kind before,’ said Liam.
‘We should proceed,’ said Bob, hunkering down beside Liam. ‘We have twenty-one miles to the rendezvous location.’
Liam nodded. ‘You’re right.’
CHAPTER 75
2001, New York
Maddy spat grit out of her mouth. ‘Oh my God, that was close!’
The artillery barrage began several hours after the British had arrived, just as Colonel Devereau had said it would. With every percussive thump of a shell landing on this side of the river, the archway seemed to shower on them more dust and particles of brick. They were partly protected from a direct hit by the mangled remains of the bridge overhanging them … but the way their roof seemed to be shedding pieces, she had no doubt a near enough miss would do as good a job as a direct hit.
She picked up the computer keyboard in front of her and turned it over, pouring dust and grit out from between the keys on to the desk.
‘Jeeez … I’m surprised anything’s still working in here!’
Her words were lost beneath another nearby thump that unleashed a shower of debris from above. Ten minutes of this bombardment so far and already Maddy’s nerves were jangling.
One hit … just one … and I’m going to be entombed beneath an avalanche of bricks.
She had half a mind to leave the archway and stand outside in the trenches. At least she’d not die by being crushed. Becks was sitting beside the displacement machine, protecting the rack of circuit boards from falling fragments. The computer keyboard in front of her might still work with nuggets of brick lodged inside it, thought Maddy, but she doubted the fragile electronics of the displacement machine would be quite so forgiving.
And what about the antennae array, outside? If it got knocked, they’d have to reset it. Go outside, stand on the crumbling roof and recalibrate it, or God knows how off-target their window was going to be.
Worst still. What about a hit on that old rust-bucket tank outside, still loyally chugging away? No tank, no power. They’d be as good as dead in the water.
‘Becks!’
‘Yes, Maddy?’
‘There’s no way we’re going to survive two days of this!’ Another heavy thump deposited a shower of debris on Maddy’s head. She spat out grit and shook her head, sending another smaller shower of dust out of her hair and on to her lap.
‘We need to open the window now!’
‘We can’t do that, Maddy. They may not be at the rendezvous coordinates yet.’
Becks – Queen of the Freakin’ Obvious.
‘I know that … I know that … but … we’ve got to do something before we get hit!’
Both Becks and Bob had a local wireless range, but neither of them could transmit a message to each other across more than a mile or two at best.
‘Information: the chances of a direct artillery hit are relatively low, Maddy. Equipment failure is far more likely to occur as a result of the cumulative impact vibrations.’
‘Well, there you go! We need to do something … soon!’
Becks had nothing to offer. Another thud sent the monitors blinking out. A moment later they all flickered back on.
‘Oh, this is totally not good, Becks. We’ve got to do something!’
She looked around her desk for inspiration.
Come on … come on. What? What do I do?
They should send a message to Bob and the others. Let them know they needed to speed things up, open the window much sooner than arranged. At this rate, in two days’ time, there wasn’t going to be an archway left – nor trenches, nor troops. Just a pockmarked wasteland of brand-new craters.
‘Computer-Bob!’
The dialogue box appeared in front of her.
> Yes, Maddy?
‘New message for Bob …’
> Proceed.
‘Archway under attack … need to open window at stated coordinates much sooner.’ She bit her lip.
How much more of this can the equipment take? Another few minutes, hours?
But then that question was balanced by another equally important one: how far away were Liam and the others from the extraction point? There was simply no knowing. It’s quite possible they were very close … after all, she’d picked a place roughly two-thirds of the way up from Quantico to New York, and a dozen miles westwards off the main highways. Somewhere quiet. They might have been very close when they got the message … they just might. And that message was sent about eighteen hours ago.
They could be waiting right there, twiddling their thumbs, waiting impatiently for the window to open. On the other hand, they might be fifty, or a hundred miles away, struggling desperately to make it there in time.
‘Window to open in ten minutes’ time!’ said Maddy. ‘End of message.’
> Affirmative. Co
mpiling message packet.
‘Maddy,’ called out Becks. ‘If we open a window in ten minutes’ time, then it will take approximately another twelve hours to recharge the machine for a second attempt.’
Maddy winced and cursed. She knew that anyway. Becks was right. They couldn’t afford to panic and blow their accumulated charge. She glanced across at the rack and could see all twelve green LEDs lit up. A full charge and that had taken them the whole night and most of today with that poor old tank rattling away.
‘Computer-Bob … cancel that. New message!’
> Message cancelled. I am ready for your new message, Maddy.
‘All right … OK, the message is this: archway is under attack. Proceed to coordinates as fast as you freakin’ well can! Will watch for you with pinhole probe. Will open as soon as we see you. End of message.’
> Affirmative. Compiling message packet.
She turned to Becks. ‘We’ll open a pinhole window now and grab an image … and if they’re not there, we’ll do it again in another … say … half an hour’s time. And again … and again …’
‘This will drain the power.’
‘So sue me!’ she snapped. Then grimaced guiltily; Becks was only doing her job. ‘This way, we’ll at least get in a few free looks, right? Before we’ve used up enough of the charge that we can’t open a proper window?’
‘Correct.’
‘Then that’s what we’re gonna do. Until we absolutely need to conserve what’s left.’
Computer-Bob had been listening.
> Maddy, shall I send this message? Please confirm.
‘Yes! Confirm sending the message. Do it!’
CHAPTER 76
2001, New York
Devereau looked at the men huddled in the bottom of the borderline. An artillery bombardment like this on a defensive position was more successful at draining morale than it was at whittling down the enemy’s numbers. The shells were mostly pitting the sloping wasteland with new craters. One or two shells had got lucky and caved in a section of the trench – nothing that couldn’t be hastily dug out and repaired before a landing arrived.
