Project - 16

by Martyn J. Pass

  The night wore on and pretty soon I was exhausted. My eyes were heavy and when I could I'd close them, dozing on crates or pallets until I was shouted awake again. All the time I looked from station to station, dreading the sight of her blonde hair or her black cotton jumper poking out from under the sheet of another corpse.

  Towards dawn the fighting began to lessen in intensity. Reports were coming in of troops surrendering, of American casualties about to be transported to us. We worked onwards and I marvelled at how these skilled medics had kept up their pace for over twelve hours and had to face possibly more - but the enemy this time?

  They started pouring in. Their uniforms were the same as Riley had worn earlier and so the panic really did begin to set in. It was hard not to see each corpse as having her distinctive blue eyes or that shapely figure and in the end I bowed out, returning to the CERV in order to shut my eyes in the driving seat and catch my breath.

  “Sir, they're asking for you inside,” said a voice that startled me out of a dream.

  “I'm sorry?” I said, slurring slightly with sleep.

  “The General - he wishes you to go inside and begin opening the vault.”

  “Is it safe?” I asked.

  “The area is secure and we've just had word that the enemy ship has been sunk. I think we won, sir.”

  “That's good news,” I said and climbed out of the CERV, following the soldier back past the medics and into the rear of an armoured truck. As I sat down the vehicle jerked into life and began rolling down the road. On the floor a handful of spent cartridges rolled past my boots, splashing blood here and there.

  The vehicle stopped and the soldier opened the door, climbing out into a floodlit area where I saw the General waiting with his team. He was in full combat uniform and a rifle hung loosely by his side.

  Fires were burning in many of the buildings - the ones that were still standing. Soldiers were dragging bodies out into a clearing, gathering weapons and ammunition into piles. Medics rushed about here and there, caring for the desperate and the needy.

  “I thought you might want to do this part yourself, Miller,” he said over the racket of the truck and the sporadic firing. I tried to smile but it wasn't happening. The General led the way through a breach made by the Americans, down into a hallway littered with the dead from both sides. It'd seen some of the most intense action of the battle. “They tried to hide inside the bunker but we rooted them out like rats,” he cried, laughing. Clearly this side of the General didn't get out much. He led me down one corridor, stepping over the US dead, then another until we reached a large red door mounted in a wall behind the desk of the bunker's MD.

  “Here we are,” he said, patting the bright red steel. “Try the key.”

  I took it from my inside pocket and slid it into the lock. It fitted well and when I went to turn it the soldiers appeared behind me in a neat row, their weapons raised and poised ready to fire. The door swung open and the nearest two shot forward, aiming in through the gap until the door was fully open.

  It was even more Spartan than the other vault. In this small room was a red case with a biohazard label on it and another disc - and nothing else.

  “That must be it - be careful, men,” ordered the General and the nearest soldier checked the room of anything suspicious, then removed the case and passed him the disc. “Have it on the plane and get it back home.”

  “Yes sir,” said the soldiers who ran back out towards the waiting helicopter.

  “Another message, you think?” said the General.

  “Maybe,” I replied.

  “Here then,” he said and passed me the black case. “You may as well have it. There should be a computer back at the base. Hurry though - we'll be leaving as soon as the cargo has been verified. I must be off this island before midday.”

  “Why the rush?” I asked.

  “NSU Command have heard about the sinking of the Revenant. It's going to be my cover story in order to buy me enough time to get my people off the island. I cannot lose a moment.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “I hope you do. What will you do now? Go back to your home?”

  “I think so. I haven't really decided yet.”

  “The offer of a flight still stands. We can smuggle you back to Russia if you wish. I would very much like to help a friend of Piotr's.”

  “Thank you,” I said. "But I think I belong here for the time being."

  "I'm sorry to say this now, but I may be in touch in the future. I've a feeling we might need a man with skills like yours and if you're willing I'd like you to open that 'school' again." The General offered me his hand and we shook. It was a vice-like grip that met mine. "But enough of that. Go home. Rest. You've earned it. The world might just owe you and your Father their lives."

  "Thanks, General."

  “You're welcome. But I also think you should know...”

  “Yes?”

  “It's about your friend Riley. She's requested to return to Russia with my men. She believes she may be of use to us as a consultant.” I nodded. “This doesn't look like much of a surprise to you, judging by your expression.”

  “It isn't,” I admitted.

  “Then I'm sorry. It'd appear that the only person not to gain by this unfortunate series of events is you and yet you were key to its completion.”

  “Sucks to be me, I guess.”

  “Indeed. Goodbye, Miller.”

  “Goodbye, General.”

  I walked back to the CERV, drained and ready to drop but with miles still in front of me before I could sleep in my own bed. The day was materialising in front of me and the sky above was clear, promising another cold journey. As I started the engine I saw Riley breaking away from a group of dusty, bloody soldiers and come running over to me.

  “Miller - where are you going?” she asked.

  “Home,” I replied. I felt sick and I just wanted to get away. I struggled to meet her gaze.

  “The General told you then,” she said.

  “Yeah. He did.”

  “It'd never have worked,” she said feebly. “We're too different. This is me, this is who I am. I'm not ready to give that up just yet.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?” she said.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I always did. It was just nice to think otherwise for a while.” With that I revved the engine and held out my hand. “Goodbye, Riley.”

  “Goodbye, Miller. And thank you.” We shook and I drove off, avoiding the rear view mirror in case I didn't have the strength to carry on.

  It was the longest journey I'd ever known and I spent most of it trapped in tortuous memories of the last week or so. There were times when I felt like stopping, like finding a cliff edge to drive off, or just heading into the city and letting the dogs finally have me. But none of those things happened. I arrived back home later in the afternoon and was relieved to find the place was still standing, just as we'd left it a lifetime ago. Corban hadn't felt the need to bomb it. At least I was grateful for that small mercy.

  I parked the CERV near the garage and unloaded the supplies I'd taken. I was going through the motions. I was doing the same old tired routine. What else did I have? I went inside and the air was the same as it always was when I'd been away for some time. I lit the stove. I boiled some water. I unpacked my gear and hung it up to air in the drying room. I couldn't face going upstairs. Her stuff would be in that room.

  I was never one for getting drunk. Dad and I would have a bottle or two but we'd be merry - we wouldn't drink to relieve the pain of a difficult mission or to hide from some emotion. So I didn't go near the cellar. I drank a cup of tea instead and sat at the kitchen table stirring a bowl of soup until it went cold.

  What had changed? I was back to the place I'd always been - alone. Why was it different now? Because I'd had a taste of what it would be like to not be alone. Would I get over it? Sure. A week. Two maybe.

  I watched the snow begin to fall again. It came in t
ired, half-hearted flurries like the sky just couldn't be bothered. It knew it should at least make an effort to snow, but it didn't seem to have the strength any more. Still, I thought, at least it was trying.

  14.

  Three weeks later a helicopter settled down on the grounds outside my house just after dinner. I was sat with a sandwich, having a bit of something to eat before heading out with my rifle to try and catch some game. I went out through the back door and saw the NSU soldiers jump down and so I waited for them to come over.

  “Are you Miller?” asked a young man with a pressed uniform and short blonde hair. He swaggered towards me but it was nothing more than youthful confidence. A war would knock that out of him.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “What can I do for you?”

  He passed me a bulging envelope and smiled. “General Ibromavich sends his regards and asks if you would be willing to accept his offer of work.”

  “Who are they this time?”

  “Three young men who hijacked a private jet and flew it here from Boston. It landed last night just outside of Manchester.”

  “Why?”

  “Excuse me?” he asked.

  “Why did they come here?”

  “They believe there's safety here. America is still a mess I'm afraid.” He looked over my shoulder at the house. “I guess you aren't getting the feeds.”

  “No.”

  “We're helping as best we can but it's tough. Most states have tried to form their own kind of militia to fight us, believing we're the enemy. The General tells me you know different.”

  “You could say that,” I replied. “Tell him I'll go after them.”

  The young soldier smiled. “Great. The first group of trainees will arrive in spring. Their files are in that envelope.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  The soldier nodded, smiled, then turned back towards the chopper. When the craft was in the air, I went back inside and threw the envelope on the table - I'd look at it when I got back. Right then I just wanted to get out there and do something constructive - it'd been far too long.

  I drove well into the night, checking my maps and plotting possible courses before deciding to stop and rest on the outskirts of the city near the airport. It made sense for them to land there given the empty runways but I'd spotted a few other options they might have taken also.

  In the morning I began searching, starting with the terminals at Manchester which were relatively easy to access. My luck was with me because there, parked on terminal 3, was the aircraft and it was clear that they'd taken their time stripping the thing down for anything they might use.

  I got out of the Land Rover and looked around. There was little to go off except the faint smell of petrol coming from the plane. Or was it? I began looking with more interest, searching the tarmac for any clues. As I began walking towards the control tower I saw small off cuts of wire here and there - fresh because the first bit of weather would've washed them away. A little further on I saw a piece of hose. I sniffed it - petrol.

  They'd hot wired a car. It couldn't have been in the best of conditions but somehow they'd brought everything they needed to get one going again. It meant they could be anywhere and I'd have no chance of finding them now. Sure they'd struggle for fuel but maybe they'd brought a load with them.

  Saddened by the failure, I got back in the 'Rover and set off down the runway on the off chance they left any kind of trail, but there was nothing. I turned around and began heading back. I'd been hoping for a distraction, something to take my mind off Riley, maybe a week-long trip. Instead I got a total loss.

  I decided to take the overpass down to the road I wanted. I don't know why, I just felt like trying it. The overpass stretches over eight lanes of motorway and is still in good condition considering how long it's been up there. I never usually risked it but on this occasion I was willing to try anything.

  I drove to the crest and pulled up at the pavement's edge. The air that day was crisp and cool and I fancied boiling up a coffee before heading back home. As I was getting my stove out from my pack, I caught sight of something down below and I stopped to take a closer look.

  Beneath me, spanning four north-bound lanes, was an enormous tear in the tarmac and it had to be at least six cars wide. I peered down, chilled to the bone by the thing I'd always feared - perhaps even more than the dogs and that's when I saw it.

  There, in the darkness, were two pin-pricks of red light - the lights of a car.

  I turned the 'Rover around and went back down the overpass, following the rutted roads until I was on the motorway. I stopped far enough away from the hole and locked up. Then I climbed over the barriers, walking on the grass verge towards the chasm. It was terrifying enough just walking towards the thing. With each step I expected the ground to open up in front of me and swallow me whole. It took a while, but I made it to the edge and was able to shine my torch into the darkness.

  There, at the bottom, was their car. The rear lights were dimming as the battery ran down so it had to have happened a while before I showed up. There was no way they'd survived. A piece of concrete with re-bar sticking out of it had smashed through the windscreen, skewering it and no doubt killing anyone inside. Even if they'd survived, I had no way of getting them out without NSU support.

  I marked the place on my map and returned to the 'Rover. I set off for home right away, not wanting to be near the city after dark for a second night and feeling the call of my own bed.

  In the morning I was sat at my table eating breakfast when I heard the rotors of a chopper coming from the east. I hadn't expected them back so soon - I'd been advised to drive east to the coast to hand over the survivors to a small NSU Task Force based there. Since I had no survivors I'd planned on driving there that morning - until this chopper arrived.

  The helicopter landed in the middle of the field in front of the empty student huts. When I went out to meet it, the rotors powered into life and it lifted effortlessly back up into the air. Stood on the other side was Riley.

  “Hello Miller,” she said. She was wearing a pair of sky-blue ¾ length running trousers with white trainers and a black sports hoodie with her hair cut to frame her face. It was streaked with blue and feathered and she was wearing a little make up around her eyes. The effect was enough to stun me into silence - I could barely recognise her. “Please say something.”

  “I-”

  She took a few steps closer and the sound of the chopper faded into the distance. She was waiting for me to say something or do something, anything, but I couldn't find it in me. I'd spent three weeks getting over her and now it was like I'd never even tried.

  The one thing I did notice was that she had a duffel bag hanging by her side and she began rooting inside it.

  “I brought you a gift,” she said, producing a bag of ground coffee and holding it out to me. I remained where I was. She put the coffee back in the bag and her eyes began to fill. “I'm so sorry, Miller. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “You're wearing make-up,” I managed to say. She laughed.

  “Yeah, I am. Waterproof mascara as well,” she said and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Just as well, isn't it?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I've come to say I'm sorry. To say I’ve been a complete fucking bitch to you and that I'd be grateful if you'd find a way to forgive me. So grateful I don't even know where to even start trying to pay you back.”

  “Why did you change your mind?” She shivered and clasped her hands together.

  “Can we go inside please Miller? I'm fucking freezing out here.”

  I led her into the kitchen and she sat down at the table. The stove had managed to heat the entire room and the pan of water I'd set on it earlier had reached its boil.

  “I'll make some coffee,” I said.

  “Please - use this! I'm told it's nice.” She offered me the grounds again. I took them, pouring out enough for a pot. In truth I wanted to scream, to do something to t
ry and vent it all, but the most I could manage was to push the plunger on the French press very aggressively and almost scold my hand.

  “Thanks,” she said as I passed her a cup.

  “What happened after I left?” I asked.

  “You didn't hang around to see Alex and Saska part company then?” I shook my head. “The General offered to fly Alex back to America with the next shipment of aid. He asked me if I wanted to go with him but I... Well I knew I couldn't. He was going to find out what happened to his Mother, maybe see if she survived.

  “And you didn't go?”

  “I told you before, we never really got on, my Sis and I. I tried to explain how I felt to him before he left but I think he understood without my feeble attempt. I told him to keep in touch through NSU comms. Saska went back to Russia with her Father.”

  “Oh.”

  “The last I heard they'd managed to replicate the cure. They were handing out what they could produce but Saska says it'll take months to get production going on a large scale.”

  “That's good news,” I said. Just the motions. Inside I was a mess. I wanted to hate her. I wanted to take the moral high ground but I knew the moment I saw her I'd never gotten over her. I never would.

  “It is, isn't it? Makes it all worthwhile.”

  “Hmm.”

  We sipped our coffee. She was right - it was good stuff. Silence followed and we realised we couldn't look directly at each other. I found a spot on the wall to stare at while she looked out of the window. I decided to man-up and say something.

  “Why did you come back?”

  “I came back for you. I know you might not believe me, but it's true. After two days with the NSU team I stopped functioning. I felt afraid, I felt all kinds of crap but most of all I realised I felt a big empty space inside me where you'd been. The job didn't mean anything to me any more. I didn't even want to do it after what happened at the bunker. I just kept thinking about finding you again until it made me ill. I realised that when I left you I wasn't just leaving someone I loved - I was leaving any hope I had left of a happy-ever-after. I was choosing a life without hope. I couldn't bear it.”