End of the End

by Paul Kane, Simon Guerrier

  I wouldn’t advise anyone to throw pots with this stuff.

  Kneeling, I pushed as much of the explosive as I could into the crack. When I was a kid, the war novels I read always insisted that C-4 smelled of almonds. That was crap. If anything, the stuff reeked of tar or pitch, but I wasn’t about to stick it under my nose.

  Without looking up, I raised an expectant hand. Beck stepped forward, handing me the reel of detonator cord and blasting cap I had given to her for safe keeping.

  I zipped my backpack shut and passed it to the tall woman. “Take this, will you?”

  “Your wish is my command, sir.”

  I smiled, pressing the blast cap into the explosive. “Careful. I could grow to like that.”

  “In your dreams,” came the gruff reply.

  “Just shut up and let him work,” Brennan said, peering over from what she presumably hoped was a safe distance. She was an intelligent and resourceful woman, but obviously didn’t have much experience with half-a-kilo of C-4. By the sound of the muffled thunder high above our heads, the rest of my stash was being put to good use.

  I connected the detonator cord to the cap and retreated along the corridor, unreeling the spindle. I went slowly, carefully; the last thing I wanted to do was slip and end up on my backside. We walked all the way back to the shaft and beyond, the cord trailing between us and the blast door, the sounds of gunfire drifted down the shaft as we passed beneath the grille. I wondered who was winning.

  I stopped when the cable ran out.

  “Is this far enough?” Brennan said, looking over her shoulder; we were rapidly running out of passageway, a set of heavy double doors blocking our way.

  “It’ll have to do,” I said, fishing in my jacket pocket for the detonator itself. “That’s got to be around sixty feet. I’d rather have more, but you play with what you’re dealt.”

  “Sixty feet?” repeated Fenton. “What’s that in English?” Jesus. He must have been younger than he looked.

  “Nearly twenty metres,” Beck translated, holding her torch up for me so I could attach the detonator. It occurred to me that I had left my own flashlight by the doors. I could wave goodbye to that, then, unless Fenton wanted to go back and fetch it. No-one would blame me if I pressed the detonator at just the wrong moment, would they?

  Stay focused, soldier. You’ve a job to do.

  Sir, yes, sir, etc.

  I slipped the empty reel into my pocket. “Okay, is everyone ready?”

  “No,” muttered Fenton.

  “Do it!” ordered Brennan.

  “Cover your ears,” I said. Not waiting to see if anyone followed my advice, I pressed down on the detonator.

  The explosion was amplified in the confined space, painfully so. Light flared white in the darkness as a wall of sound and air rushed towards us, bringing with it dust and the acrid tang of atomised concrete. I held my breath, listening for the near-inevitable roar of the tunnel collapsing in on itself, but there was nothing, save for the patter of loose debris dropping to the floor.

  “Can I have your torch?” I asked Fenton, holding out my hand.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Here, have mine,” Brennan said, handing over her flashlight.

  Tentatively at first, we walked back towards the door, speeding up as it became clear that the ceiling wasn’t about to drop on our head yet. I covered my mouth, trying not to choke on the dust that hung heavily in the air.

  The torchlight cut through the smoke, revealing the blackened, but resolutely solid blast door.

  “Nothing,” Fenton groaned. “Not even a scratch.”

  “I told you—I wasn’t trying to blow up the door.” I lowered the torch, revealed the hole that had appeared beneath the barrier.

  It wasn’t as deep as I’d hoped, but it would do for now.

  Fenton stared at the newly-excavated but worryingly shallow pit, the penny finally dropping. “You expect us to crawl through there?”

  “Under the door, yeah. I’m not saying it won’t be tight, especially for the bulkier members of the group.” I shot an apologetic look to Curtis, to find him already swinging the battering ram from off his back.

  “Don’t worry, Fenton,” said Beck, also removing her pack. “A scrawny streak of piss like you will have no trouble.”

  I smiled, turning to Brennan. “Ladies first?”

  “Age before beauty, I think,” the Irish woman responded.

  I’VE MADE MORE dignified entrances. The explosion had cleared just enough space beneath the door, although it was tighter than Garret and Curtis would have wanted. I lay on my back and wriggled beneath the thick metal. My jacket repeatedly caught on jagged shards of broken concrete, and for a horrible moment I imagined the door dropping inexplicably halfway through, slicing me clean in two.

  Keep your head, soldier. You’ve been in tighter spots than this.

  Sir, yes, sir. Very funny, sir.

  Less concrete had been disintegrated on the other side, but there was enough room to manoeuvre, pulling myself up into pitch darkness.

  I reached inside my now-torn jacket to recover Brennan’s torch.

  “What do you see?” she called through the gap as I tentatively crossed over to the wall and flicked the lightswitch I’d discovered. The fluorescent strips above my head blazed into humming life, chasing the shadows away with a sterile white glow. The walls on this side of the blast door were covered in smooth plaster, dusty cobwebs draping the white paint. The tunnel hadn’t been used for years.

  I wondered if the same could be said about the CCTV high on the wall, pointing in the other direction.

  The fact that it hadn’t swivelled around to face me was encouraging. Hopefully whoever was sitting in the control booth was too busy with the mayhem on the surface to care about what was happening down here, but there was no point taking chance. I pulled my P99 from its holster and dispatched the camera with two shots that somehow seemed as loud as the explosion.

  “What the hell was that?” Brennan yelled.

  “Don’t worry,” I called back. “It’s all clear. Garret, can I have the axe?”

  I used the handle to knock lumps of loose concrete clear on my side of the hole to make it easier for the others.

  “Okay,” I said, leaning the axe against the door. “Start passing things through.”

  Bags and weapons were slipped beneath the door, which I piled to the side, before the rest of the party began to push themselves through. Brennan was first, as lithe as she was steely. Then came Fenton, and I had to resist the urge to accidentally kick his perpetually whining head as it appeared beneath the door.

  As predicted, crawling through the hole proved more difficult for Beck, and almost impossible for Garret and Curtis. The latter looked as though he was stuck as he attempted to squirm through, and I finally heard our resident goliath stringing more than two words together, although most only had four letters. All looked lost, until he twisted abruptly, dislocating his shoulder with a crack.

  “Oh, Christ. That’s disgusting,” gagged Fenton, but Curtis didn’t even grunt, pulling his now-displaced arm through the gap. Garret reached down to help his partner up and Curtis nodded, giving permission for what was about to happen. With a sickening crunch, Garret pushed Curtis’s shoulder back into place. Everyone winced, but it was clear this was a trick they had performed before. All the time, Curtis barely uttered a sound, although the colour drained from his face, only returning as he rolled his aching shoulder in its socket.

  “What now?” asked Brennan, as we recovered our various loads.

  “Now you follow me,” I said jogging ahead to a T-junction. I paused, mentally placing the buildings I’d seen earlier.

  Left. It had to be.

  “This way.”

  “Are you sure?” Fenton asked, sounding even less confident in my abilities than usual.

  I didn’t answer. Now we were inside, I wasn’t sure about any of this anymore.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 
CURE

  “DOCTOR TOMAS, COME in.”

  “Don’t answer it,” said Olive, running beside me, still clutching that bloody clipboard.

  “Don’t be stupid, I have to.”

  I thumbed the button on the handset. “Go on, Lam.”

  “Neighbourhoods Three and Four are secure, but we’ve lost contact with Team Two.”

  “Where?”

  “Neighbourhood One,” came the squeak of the reply. Lam was in One.

  “Do you have a weapon?”

  “Only his breath,” muttered Olive.

  “Shut up!”

  “What was that?”

  “I said, do you have a weapon?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Lock yourself in. What do the cameras show?”

  “Only that they’re everywhere. The front gate is down, and they’re all over the perimeter.”

  “And the children?”

  Lam drew a breath and expelled it loudly. “All tucked up safe and sound, although a couple are looking... agitated.”

  I turned a corner at speed, almost going over on my ankle. “Who?”

  He paused, and I pictured him reading the labels on the screen. “Er, Davie and Michele.”

  “Davie?”

  “David. Whatever.”

  Still, that was interesting. David was another of the more taciturn subjects in the experiment.

  “Always working, doctor,” commented Olive. “You just can’t help yourself.”

  “I’m almost with them,” I told Lam, ignoring her. “I’m going to get the children down into Bunker Three. Team One are meeting me at the dorms.”

  On the other end of the channel, Lam gave a cry of alarm.

  “What was that?”

  “I heard something,” he whispered, holding the mic close to his mouth, the sound distorted. “Someone’s outside.”

  “Shut the door. Barricade yourself in, with anything you can. I need you there. Do you understand?”

  There was no response.

  “Lam?”

  The walkie-talkie crackled. “Yes, I’m here. I was just shutting the door. Going to see if I can pull the bookcase in front of—”

  “Excellent,” I said, cutting him off. “Tomas out.”

  We continued down the corridor, Olive matching me step by step. “I thought he’d never shut up. It would serve him right if he gets a bullet in the brain!”

  “How can you say that?”

  “You’ve seen the way he looks at us, looks at you. He’s probably watching us now, on those little screens, hunched over, jerk—”

  “Olive!” I said, stopping in shock. “What is wrong with you?”

  She stared back at me with wide eyes, her cheeks flushed, breathing hard. “You know he is, dirty little pervert. Fuck him.”

  Oh, God, she’d cracked. I knew she would. So prim, so proper, so many neuroses squirming beneath the perfect facade.

  “That’s enough, Olive. You need to go back to your quarters, right now.”

  She took a step closer. Too close. “We can’t. We need to save the children. They’re all that’s important. They’re the future.”

  I stepped back, putting space between us. “That’s what I’m going to do, but I can’t look after both them and you. Do you understand?”

  If she did, she showed no outward sign. She was hugging her clipboard to herself, the papers crumpling against her chest. Sweat was beading on her forehead, running down her throat as she tapped her foot in agitation. “No, I can help you. That’s what we do. You and me, together.”

  She was getting hysterical. I considered slapping her across her face—it was either that or landing a punch to her jaw.

  Unless...

  “You want to help?”

  She nodded eagerly. “The children, yes. We need to help the children.”

  “Go to my office, get all the files. I’ll need them in the bunker. Can you do that?”

  She stared at me as if I was mad. “Of course I can. You couldn’t find a thing without me.” She frowned. “But what about you? Will you be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine, I promise. Now, go. And hurry.”

  “Yes,” she said, spinning on her heel and tottering off, pausing only to remove her stilettos. “I’ll be right back. You can rely on me.”

  And she was off, racing around the corner as if all our lives depended on it.

  Poor bitch.

  I wondered if I’d see her again, and stopped myself asking if it would be such a bad thing if I didn’t.

  I had to hurry. The sirens were still wailing, the shots still sounding outside. The children must be terrified.

  I sprinted towards the Dorms, turning the corner to crash headfirst into someone racing the other way. They screamed, pushing away from me, before realising who I was.

  “Jas,” Allison cried out, flinging her arms around me. “Oh, thank God. I thought you were... I don’t know what I thought you were. But you’re okay.”

  I pulled out of the embrace. “I’m fine. Things aren’t good. Moore’s dead.”

  “Dead? Are you sure?”

  “And I’ve no idea how many guards are left. We need to get the children down to Bunker Three. Once they’re safe, I’ll send word to the Cabal.”

  Allison nodded, gathering herself. “Right, okay. Bets is checking on the wards. I know you said everyone had to stay in their quarters, but—”

  “Things have moved on, I know.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Still back in N-2, I think. The doors have sealed.”

  I couldn’t remember if Lam had said Neighbourhood Two was secure. They’d have to look after themselves.

  Allison led me back the way she’d come. “The children are confused, to say the least. It’s not exactly surprising, they haven’t a hope of understanding all this.”

  Her tone annoyed me. “They’re not stupid, Allison.”

  “No, but they’re not exactly normal, either.”

  I stopped short, Allison taking a few steps before she realised I wasn’t following.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What’s what—?”

  “Not exactly normal.”

  “Really? You want to do this now?”

  “It’s bad enough that I have to listen to this crap from Lam, but from you?”

  Allison grabbed my arm, pulling me on. “I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t. It’s just been a hell of a day, that’s all. What did Lam say?”

  She wasn’t getting off that easily. “If you’ve got something to say, Allison, now would be a good time.”

  She blew out in exasperation, raising both her hands to the heavens. “There’s nothing, honestly. I’m just worried about them, that’s all. Jesus.”

  “You don’t approve of what we’re doing? All this time and you’ve never thought to mention it before?”

  “Seriously, Jas—not now. Trust me, we can debate ethics until we’re blue in the face once we’re locked up in that bunker.”

  And then what? She’d tell me what she really thought? I fell silent as we dashed towards the dorms. I couldn’t believe this, not of Allison. I thought she understood what we were doing. I thought she was on my side. All the time we had been working together, all those dark moments when I felt so alone, so wretched, she had been there for me, my right hand, my rock.

  And now this? How long had she had doubts? How long had she been lying to my face?

  We turned and entered the dorm block to find three guards waiting for us in full riot gear, rifles in hand.

  “Doctor Tomas,” the first said.

  I frowned at him. “Eckstein?”

  He raised a hand. “Before you say anything, I know—I should be resting, but—”

  I nodded. How could any of us rest at a time like this? “Your side?”

  “Holding together,” he said as my eyes dropped to where he’d taken a bullet just this morning. The man was as pale as a sheet, his accented
voice thicker than usual. “Just. Ma’am, Chief Moore is—”

  “I know.” I looked at the other two men, reading the names on their uniforms: Wright and Stones. “Any more of you in the building?”

  “Decker, Southern and Krause. They’re patrolling the ground floor.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Why do you think I’m up and about? But the doors are secure. No one’s getting in.”

  “Not yet,” said Allison, behind me.

  “That’s not helpful, Allison,” I spat, walking Eckstein to the first dorm before she could offer an apology.

  “Have you ever been in here, er...?” I realised I didn’t know the German’s first name.

  “Stefan,” he supplied, trying to hide the fact that he’d had to lean on the door post as we entered the observation room. “Only once, on a tour of the building.”

  He looked through the observation glass, seeing a girl sitting on her bed, knees tight against her chest, rocking gently back and forth.

  “This is Dawn. I have to warn you; this might be difficult. The children often struggle with emotional situations. They... shut themselves off.”

  “Like a defence mechanism?”

  “Maybe. We don’t understand yet, but they have trouble expressing how they’re feeling and have a habit of taking things literally, so let me and Dr Harwood do the talking, okay? We’ll gather them together and take them down into the bunker.”

  “Understood.”

  That was more like it. Someone who was used to obeying orders without question. Why couldn’t more people be like Stefan Eckstein?

  I called back into the corridor. “Allison, you take the left hand side, starting with Adam.”

  “Sure,” she said, making for the first observation suite. Just like that. One word and she was gone. But what was going on inside that head? What was she thinking?

  I couldn’t worry about that now. I slipped my ID across the card reader, waiting for the light to flash green. Then it was time to fix a calming smile on my face and get to work. I pulled the door open and entered the room.