by Jo Zebedee
Carter’s eyes widened. “Jesus. What happened to you?”
John ran his hand along the cut on his neck and felt rough stitches. He couldn’t remember being stitched. In fact, he couldn’t remember anything between knowing the sea was very, very blue and coming round in his room. He shrugged. “McDowell wanted to keep me quiet for good.” He tried to smile, but his swollen lip throbbed.
Carter’s hands, looped around each other, tightened. “I’ll put a complaint in. This place is supposed to be secure.”
John thought of the force fields and the blinking lines of control. “It is,” he said. “Most of them won’t dare to have a go at me, not unless they want to face restraints.” He brightened a little. “Anyway, you’ll never guess what came to the rescue –”
“The bot. I know.” Carter sounded smug. “I arranged its security function.”
“You arranged it?” John rubbed his neck, along the scar. “Why?”
The cop’s smugness fell away. “I think you demonstrate why.” He looked down at his hands. “Anyway, I’m glad it was worth it. I’m being suspended. In fact, I shouldn’t be here.” He frowned. “Where’s Taz?”
John’s hands started to sweat. Neeta was right; Carter was being taken out of the equation. What if she was right about everything else? The camera focused on him; he had to do something now, if he was going to at all. He leaned forward; time to find out how smart Carter really was.
“Taz is sick.” He kept his voice normal, but the urge to whisper was strong. “He’s had a relapse, back to how he was in Belfast.” He tapped the desk, giving slight emphasis.
Carter’s eyes creased into a slight frown. John watched him, intent. Please, Carter, work it out.
“The kids...” John’s voice cracked. “I don’t want them to get sick, and I’m worried it might spread. I need someone to make sure they don’t catch it.”
He rubbed his face with his hands, feeling the swollen lip and eye. He’d die in this prison if he didn’t get the word out. He was sure of it. Carter’s eyes narrowed; he hadn’t got there yet, he needed more.
John inhaled. “Tell Catherine she can’t count for shit, as well. She’s four hundred over.” He drummed four fingers on the desk. “You know what I mean?”
“Yes.” Carter was deathly serious. Pale and stunned. He gave a sombre nod. “Yes, I get it.”
John put his head back. Should he tell Carter about Jimmy’s projection, and the teeming swarms of Barath’na tunneling under the prison? A discreet buzzer sounded, making the decision for him: the meeting was over. Time to let Carter get some sort of investigation underway and then everything would be exposed.
Carter returned to the organised cop John knew well. “I’ll do what I can. Hang in there.”
John scraped his chair back. He tried to smile, but was empty of anything but relief. He’d done it. “Taz – I’m worried.”
“I know. Tell him I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”
The door opened and a single Barath’na came in. Its fur was fluffed up, hiding the corded muscles that ran alongside the alien’s spine. John got to his feet before it reached him, and Carter stood, too, meeting his eyes, and gave a nod. John let himself be marched back to the main room.
Let me not be taken to the third floor. He stumbled. Let me live. He hadn’t realised how precious life was and how much he wanted to keep it before today; he’d only thought he had.
The Barath’na turned right at the top of the first set of stairs. He was being taken back to his cell. He stumbled forwards, relief making him dizzy, until he reached his cell.
The force field came up and then, only then, did John let himself sink to the bed and curl up. He ached everywhere. He missed Jimmy. Briefly, he wondered what they had done with the bot – a cupboard, like Carter had mentioned at the beginning? Or something even worse? A bot-dismantlement plant? He hoped not; Jimmy deserved better than that.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. It was up to Carter now; all he could do was be ready.
***
Carter left the prison and maintained a steady walk down the pier. He’d been sure the Barath’na would have refused him access, but his suspension obviously hadn’t filtered into the system yet. Now, he half-wished it had.
He replayed the conversation with John, making sure he had it right. Taz was ill, and John thought others had the same illness. Taz’s illness had been caused by the alien virus. The doctors in Belfast had confirmed it, without offering a cure other than time and hoping it would clear his system. Evidently it hadn’t.
Four hundred prisoners. John had to be wrong. Carter paused, listening to the silent air, and glanced at the prison that held its own secrets. It had felt like a dead place.
And if John was right? He was the one on the inside, and he’d been serious, more than Carter had ever known him. If so, if the virus got out of the prison….
Carter’s throat tightened, remembering the adult Zelo, the night of the virus’ release, its last laboured breaths as it handed over its dead, silvered baby. So human, seeking help for its child.
He imagined his parents on their country estate. They’d survived the war with some amount of grace, using the Aga for heat and cooking, chopping trees for fuel, providing supplies to the village attached to the estate. The aliens weren’t after pheasants, his father had said, they wanted the cities, where rebellion grew daily. ‘Your mother and I will keep our heads down and see the war out,’ he’d said, and he’d been right. While Carter had battled in Belfast, when he'd bartered to get kids like John out of the estates to some sort of safety, his parents had managed. But this... he looked into the clear sky. This attack would be invisible. It would steal people in their sleep, crawl into their cars and houses, wrap them in deadly air.
He stopped walking. If John was right, the Barath’na must have been behind the first virus. There’d be war between the Barath’na and Zelo. Would Earth side with the Zelo or the Barath’na? Earth-based groups had released the virus; they were as culpable as its creators. But they were to be the next victims. Galactic war, with Earth as the weakest partner. Fear crept up his throat and choked him.
His phone rang. He fumbled it out of his pocket, glad of the distraction. “Carter.”
“You went to prison, didn’t you?” Peters’ voice carried an edge of laughter, a knowledge of Carter that he barely held himself.
“Yes.”
“Good. There’s a wee girl up in Coleraine, with the Barath’na. She's about fourteen, and she’s on her own. She asked for me by name, said she’d heard about me.”
Josey. Carter’s eyes closed. He hadn’t got her killed. Yet.
“I thought you could pick her up,” said Peters, “since you’re closer.”
“Have you told anyone else?”
Peters’ voice dropped to a low rumble. “I decided I’d wait until we heard what she had to say. I figured you might want to deal with it before you hand in your badge. See things through to the end, y’know?”
Carter gripped the phone tighter. He needed support, he couldn’t bring this down on his own. Especially not on suspension. He stared at the horizon, thinking about Peters. Peters who kept his own counsel but was no one’s fool. Peters, who wanted Josey Dray safe before he made any official move, and who knew how important it was for Carter to finish things. Trust, or be damned. Carter took a deep breath. “Get Catherine, if you can. The kid needs to make a statement. And, Peters... I need to talk to you.”
“About?”
“I can’t say over the phone.” He reached the boat and stepped in. “But it’s life and death. Will you support a stupid bugger who needs help?”
“Is it kosher, what you plan?”
Trust went both ways. “Not entirely. It will be with more proof. But it’s important.”
There was a pause, and the sound of a lighter flicking on. “Aye.” The relief made Carter lightheaded. “I’ll be with Catherine when you get back, and maybe then you can make some sense. If you do, I�
��ll hear you out.”
Carter ended the call. He leaned on the railing as the boat cast off. A dart of movement close to the harbour made him squint, but whatever it had been was gone. A rat, he supposed. If so, it had been a bloody big one. The boat left the harbour and the swell slapped up to meet it. He closed his eyes, not looking at the horizon, and gave a half-smile. Josey was alive, that was half the load off his shoulders. Now he just had to deal with the other half.
***
Gary slammed the door of the car. Another day out of the house, not answering Ray’s question about where he was going and why, and no sign of Josey. He’d run out of roads to drive down and fields to check for her body. Wherever she was, he wasn’t going to find her. Panic swelled in him, making him pause on the driveway, not sure he could face going back into the dingy house.
Calm down. It was his da’s voice he was imagining, and the hard blow that came with it. If you don’t learn to get control of yourself, lad, it’ll be the killing of you. A kick on the back of the knee had crumpled Gary to the floor, making his da’s point unforgettable. He went up to the door of the house, but paused on the doorstep. Evening had fallen into night and it was quiet. Too quiet – no rustling in the bushes of the night animals, just a silence so deep it could be touched. He scanned the darkness, but there was nothing there except his own fear. He relaxed and turned to let himself in, but stopped at a soft click behind him.
Gary spun on his heel. Barath’na were emerging from the bushes, low to the ground, snarling. A lot of them: ten, twenty, more. He took a step back.
“Ray! Demos!” he shouted. The aliens approached, moving as one. He held his hands out, and they were shaking. “What do you want?” His crotch was wet. He bit back a sob. His da would have kicked him from here to Belfast for pissing himself like a kid.
“What is it?” Demos said, behind him. Then: “Oh, shit…”
Gary backed away until he reached Demos’ fat belly. There was a lull as he faced the aliens. They waited, teeth bared, until, as one, they surged forwards, and then there was nothing other than teeth and tearing claws, and screams cutting the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The sound of feet made Josey sit up. She hoped it was Sean. She’d been separated from him when she’d been brought into the station. Since then, she’d had the chance to have a shower and, most importantly, proper food. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was until they’d set it in front of her, and even though it wasn’t that nice – some sort of chicken stew – she’d eaten it all. And then a lady doctor had come in and checked her over, proclaiming her a little weak, but all right otherwise.
After that, they’d taken her to a room and a Barath’na and a human soldier had asked her questions. She’d held firm, though, and told them she’d talk to Sergeant Peters, that he knew her from Belfast, and no one else. In the end they’d forced her to give them a name and she’d told them she was Niamh Doherty, and that she’d run away after her mum had died. She’d had no way of knowing if they knew who she really was. Surely, the only way to would be Gary telling them? They’d stopped asking after that and then came in and told her Peters was on his way. That’s when they’d taken her into this room and even though she was pretty sure it was a cell, it felt okay – safe even – and she’d been able to sleep for a while.
A man in a police uniform came in. “Hi,” he said, “I came to get you.”
“Sergeant Peters?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“I’m not talking to anyone else,” she said.
He nodded at the seat beside the bed. “May I?”
She crossed her arms. A woman soldier took up position in the doorway and Josey recognised her from the interview room earlier.
The policeman sat down anyway. “My name is Henry Carter,” he told her. She gasped; he was the one that worked with Peters. “Sergeant Peters asked me to come and get you, Niamh, as I was in the area and he’s still in Belfast.” He paused, glanced at the soldier, and then gave a half-smile. “You know, you really look like your brother.”
“You know Jo–”
He shook his head, ever so slightly. “Yes.”
Her heart jumped and she almost blurted out their names, and then remembered his caution. “The kids?” she asked.
Carter nodded. “They’re fine.”
They weren’t dead. The room swam under tears: she had been so sure they were dead. Gary had been so matter of fact, and Ray had never said anything to contradict her belief that he’d killed them. Her world tilted, like she was on the roller-coaster, and then came back, just a little, to where it should be. She had to swallow against the tears and when she looked up Carter was watching her, his eyes full of sympathy. No, not quite – understanding, that’s what was in his eyes. He knew about her, about the kids, what they’d been through.
“Look,” he said, “what we need to do is get you discharged, and up to Belfast.” He said it like it was urgent, and his words came back to her – Peters had asked him to come because he was closer.
”Okay.”
“I want you to talk to a friend of mine called Catherine. She’s a lawyer.”
A lawyer? She'd known she’d be drawn into John’s trouble. She made her eyes big and round, the way that used to get her out of bother with Da. “Am I in trouble?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No. We’ll get you to Belfast and have you registered.” He nodded to the soldier on the door. “Corporal, can we get her discharged into my care?”
The corporal paused and Carter stood up, smoothly taking Josey’s elbow and getting her to her feet. He guided her to the door, and if the corporal thought about stopping him, he moved too quickly for her. They were out the door and going down the corridor before Josey was fully aware of where he was taking her. He stopped at a reception desk and smiled pleasantly, as if he had all the time in the world, and yet Josey could feel how tight his hand was on her arm.
“Okay,” he said to the corporal, “where do I sign for a discharge to my care?”
The woman hesitated. “I’m not sure... we’re supposed to detain anyone who isn’t registered.” She clutched a piece of paper in her hand. “The Barath’na won’t like it.”
“All the better then, no?” Carter smiled broadly, and took the paper from her. “Got a pen?” He took the one offered. “Brilliant, thanks. You’re very efficient up here.” He half-whistled through his teeth. “We are detaining her. You saw my pass – I’m taking her back to Belfast. People are supposed to be registered in their home town, you know that.” He handed the paper back to the corporal, who looked at it, still doubtful.
“I think I need to check this before you leave.”
“No problem.” But it was a problem – Josey could feel it in the way he tensed. He managed to keep his smile, though, and say, “Have you met Sergeant Peters from the Eleventh? Big man, smokes like it’s going to be banned at any moment.”
The corporal smiled properly for the first time. “Phil Peters?”
“That’s the one.”
“I was on a training course with him,” she said. “First aid; he almost destroyed the dummy with his compressions.”
“That’d be him. You should see him doing it for real; the medics groan in advance.” Carter nodded at the phone on the counter. “Look, if you need to, give him a ring, he’ll confirm who I am – we’ve been working together for a couple of months. It was him who asked me to come and pick up...” Josey waited, heart thumping. He’d forgotten the name. “…Niamh. He’s been looking for her since she went missing – he’s a friend of her uncle.”
The corporal put the discharge request into a file and snapped it closed. “No, that’s fine, Inspector.” She nodded to Josey. “Take care, Niamh. Make sure you get on the register. It’s not safe to be wandering around if you’re not.” Her eyes darkened and she looked out the main doors at the Barath’na guarding the entrance.
Josey nodded and Carter pulled her arm. “Come on,” he said,
through what sounded like gritted teeth. “As the actress said to the bishop, let’s get the flo–” He looked at her and reddened a little. “Never mind. Let’s go.”
They crossed the car park, and she had to fight the sense of eyes watching her, knowing that she was lying.
“Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” said a voice.
She spun and saw Sean, leaning against the station wall.
“Wait,” she said to Carter. “He helped me. Can I say goodbye?”
“Be quick.”
Josey ran over to Sean and hugged him. His top was rough against her cheek, but when he hugged her back his embrace was strong. Her stomach went a little funny. She stepped away, embarrassed, and ducked her head.
“I’m going back to Belfast,” she said. “I think it’s going to be okay; Carter knows about Joh– …about everything.”
Carter approached and held out his hand. “Inspector Carter. Thanks for all the help you gave.”
“I’m Sean.” He pushed off the wall. “I better get back. Ma will be worried. Look after yourself, Josey.”
He made as if to go, but Carter put a hand on his arm, stopping him. He turned to Josey. “He knows who you are?”
Josey nodded. Carter leaned towards Sean. “Did you tell the GC her name?”
“No.” Sean’s eyes narrowed. “I thought it was better not to. I told them I didn’t know, that I found her wandering along the railway line. I thought it would be better to let Josey decide what to tell them.”
“Good lad.” Carter pulled Sean away, and said something that Josey couldn’t catch. She saw Sean write something down and nod, and then the officer opened the car and ushered her inside.
“What was that?” she asked. “What you gave him?”
Carter started the car. “My number. I told him to give me a shout if he needed anything.”
His voice was casual, too casual, and panic caught in her throat. “They’ll be all right, won’t they? It will be safe, them knowing me?”
Carter nodded and moved the car forward. “Sure, it’ll be safe. I mean, the cops here don’t know who you are, so why wouldn’t it be?”
