Innocence Lost

by O. J. Lowe

  Poor bitch. He looked at her one last time, turned his attention towards the man he’d killed. He wasn’t twitching anymore. He was a goner, if he’d ever seen one. He’d seen Sharon’s body, she’d looked a lot more peaceful than this guy had. The funeral guy had done great work with her. This bastard wouldn’t be afforded that honour. If he’d killed Melane, how many others had they taken with her? How many more of them were here?

  Questions. He wasn’t going to get the answers stood here in a corridor feeling sorry for himself. They always spoke about how duty didn’t call, duty demanded. Right now, it demanded that he do what needed to be done. He might be the last one left, they might have missed him through his own fortune and he couldn’t pass that chance up.

  He was the last one alive. He had to make that count for something. If he didn’t, then the training was for nothing.

  He bent, picked up the blaster rifle he’d knocked away from his foe. It was an unfamiliar weapon, an awkward shape and boxy. Nothing he’d had the chance to practice with. They had trained with rifles, if briefly. Far more focus had been devoted to the pistols, now that was a weapon he felt confident with. He continued to search, drew out the pistol and the knife from the dead man, several other charge packs for the blasters. They’d come ready for war.

  Little did they know, Pete thought, that he was going to take the war to them. He checked the rifle, ran the basics. Safety off, charge pack loaded, ready to be fired. Blaster pistol in his waistband, knife in his pocket, he took that first step, before wondering if the dead man’s boots would fit him.

  Come to Unisco, they’d said. Learn how to fight the good fight, defend the world from those who’d wish it harm. Now he was reduced to robbing corpses in the middle of a war that people better trained than him had failed to stop.

  His first initial thoughts had been to run around, weapons blazing like some sort of maniac, kill anyone who he came across. He’d found it disturbingly easy to kill already, had to force himself away from memories of the sounds and the smells that had assaulted him as he’d beaten the man. He’d not just killed him, he’d snuffed him out. He’d taken the lessons to heart and he’d made sure that he wasn’t going to get back up.

  Could he do it again. That hadn’t been an option the first time. It was him or me, Pete reminded himself. If he hadn’t acted, he’d be dead. The shots would have hammered him to the ground, the last thing he’d have seen would have been the enemy stood over him as he went for the killing shot. The rifle trembled in his hand, he clutched it harder, determined to cut the shaking out. It wasn’t bothering him, he told himself.

  That had been a fight. If he turned the corner, saw one of them stood unaware, could he pull the trigger and watch him fall? He might never see that Pete had been the one to kill him, he’d die in the dark alone like a dog.

  You never know what you’re capable until it comes to it.

  That sounded like a lesson they might have imparted here. Far from it, he could remember that Sharon had said that to him once. The words had stuck. She might never have said them to another human being in her life, but she’d said them to him. Him. Her only brother.

  Thinking of her was a mistake. He couldn’t afford to feel sorry for himself. That way lay failure. Only one thing that drove him on more than desire for success, the fear of failure. He wouldn’t allow himself to die here. He’d avenge those who had died here, honour their memories by giving their deaths purpose.

  He’d cooled down a little after that, realised that storming out looking for a fight would bring nothing but that which he desired. It only took one stray shot, one alarm and anyone who wanted to kill him would be down to join in the fracas. It’d be a Peter Jacobs free-for-all. He didn’t have unlimited ammunition, he couldn’t fight them all. There could be a hundred men.

  What he needed was some sort of advantage, a way to work out where they were and what they were doing here, a way to see if there were any survivors or what sort of force was being marshalled against him.

  The security centre it was then. Part of him wondered if subconsciously he’d already been heading there. It made sense. It was well fortified, enough weapons to hold out there until reinforcements came, recording equipment that covered the whole academy. It was his best bet on a night when the simplest of gambles could either pay off or see him go home dead.

  Melodrama much, Pete?

  He grinned to himself at his own quip, let the smile fade away into a grimace. He couldn’t allow himself to joke around now. He had to take this seriously. Anything less wasn’t good enough.

  He’d never been inside the security centre before, cadets weren’t permitted in there under regular circumstances. He bit back bitter laughter at that, circumstances couldn’t get much less regular than these. He’d seen inside, glanced through a crack in the door when he’d seen Hans walking through. He knew where it was though, he’d been here at the academy long enough to have the advantage of the ground. Whatever they might have in numbers, they couldn’t match that.

  In battle, one uses every advantage one can get. How can you make the most of what you have and undermine what your enemy has that you don’t?

  All these little quotes had their uses. He’d thought them a little twee at the time, simple and not much use. In the classroom, they might have felt that way. Here in the field, they felt like they might be the difference between success and failure.

  Several times now, he had passed dull black eyes that made up the lenses of the equipment watching the entire academy. He wondered if he was being watched even as he made his way to their hub. That’d just blow the element of surprise, wouldn’t it?

  He’d come too far. He needed to keep going. It felt like he was repeating those words to himself, just five little words but they’d become his life mantra. Just keep moving forward. Worry about what comes next after.

  If they knew where he was, they’d have come for him. Surely! He couldn’t see that there was any benefit in them letting him roam free like this. If those videocams were recording his location, they’d surely be closing in on him. Attacking the Unisco academy might be suicidal, but the way they’d planned it out so far didn’t reek of stupidity.

  He’d made it to within sight of the door when the first shots hit the ground at his feet, kicking up chips of stone. Pete bellowed, a guttural battle cry, and he brought the blaster up, sprayed hot laser out in front of him. Running backwards, firing an unfamiliar weapon while being shot at wasn’t something they’d ever prepped him for.

  Suck it up!

  He hit cover, heart pounding and the weapon still shaking in his hands. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! He chanted it under his breath, couldn’t keep them from spilling out. There was a shooter out there, someone had known he’d come here. Realisation dawned on him like a kick to the chest. They hadn’t come to find him because they’d known he’d come to them. Why chase when you can lure into a trap? He felt like a prize idiot, he clearly hadn’t learned anything of use during the last months, other than how to do the dumbest thing he could without hesitation.

  Idiot!

  He closed his eyes, let the shame bundle over him. His head hit the wall, he let it bounce once, twice. A sigh slipped his lips, laser fire still hammered the structure behind him. They couldn’t hit him. They didn’t care that he’d fucked up, they just wanted to kill him. Tie up that loose end, put him down and then they could…

  Do what exactly? They’d devoted this time to setting him a trap but why tackle the Unisco academy anyway? Killing cadets was a good reason, deplete your enemy’s resources but it felt like a foolhardy excuse to waste troops. They couldn’t have taken this place easily. Approaching from the ground, it was well defended across treacherous pastures. He knew that, they made all the cadets run across it. An invading army would have trouble, it might make it but not without heavy casualties. The defences were there, not just the visible stuff but the armaments you couldn’t see as well. Aerially, it was fortified. Unisco didn’t screw around when
it came to defend what was theirs. They’d made it that way and they intended to keep it that way.

  Pete fired back, blindly shooting back around the corner. Didn’t know if he’d hit anyone, but the enemy shots subsided, the silence blissful. He exhaled, slid closer to the edge.

  Never stick your head up, they will shoot it off. This isn’t like the serials. You try to be a one-man hero, you will get killed. Caution trumps carnage every time.

  This would be easier, he thought, if the rifle were smaller. The awkwardness in his hands hadn’t subsided, trying to keep it ahead of him, trying to keep it level and still, pointed at anything that might jump out at him, all while pressed against a wall, he wasn’t having fun with it.

  Nothing about this was supposed to be fun, he reminded himself. The barrel was around the corner, he couldn’t see a damn thing. Couldn’t hear anything. He wondered whether to peek, check the coast was clear. His ears hadn’t told him anything untoward, hadn’t heard a body hit the ground, the clatter of a rifle falling from hands, nor had he heard any more shots come his way. They could be patient.

  He made his decision to move, span out of cover and went for the opposite wall, his heart screaming with silent prayer. He brought his weapon up, saw two of them and fired a cutting burst in their directions. If he hit them, he didn’t know, hit the other side of the T-shaped corridor. One of them let out a groan, he thought he heard them fall, punched the air in triumph. Result. Maybe he was dead. He didn’t care.

  That realisation shocked him, didn’t have time to dwell as laser tore through the wall ahead, leaving grooves in the concrete.

  Don’t think! Do!

  He didn’t even know where half of these sayings had come from, if he’d heard them and absorbed them, if he was giving himself a mental gee-up or if some part of him was doing all of it. He wanted out of here, unharmed and alive. He’d do anything. He couldn’t stop fighting.

  In fights, people died. They’d attacked. He’d defended himself. That was the sobering truth of it all. It was war. It wasn’t murder. Killing someone in the streets couldn’t be compared to this. It’d take a professional idiot to think that they were even close to the same thing.

  He shot back, best he could, there’d been two stood there and out in the open, he risked retaliation. He dropped down to his haunches, made himself a smaller target, glanced off towards his left. Couldn’t see him at this angle. Closer. Nothing. Edged his face even closer. He saw the boot of the man he’d killed.

  He’d killed twice! Twice! There wasn’t even a twitch in him. That was good. He couldn’t get back up. No sign of the other one, he heard a door slam shut and the unmistakable click of a lock moving into place.

  Not good. There wasn’t another way in there. He’d made it his goal and if he was locked out, then he’d failed before he even started.

  “Fuck!” he shouted. It looked petulant, he didn’t care. He raised his hand, extended his middle finger to the videocam. Maybe it’d lure them out. Perhaps. If only. It’d be nice, but he doubted they’d be that easily manipulated. Nobody was that stupid.

  He needed another plan. This one had turned out to be a bust.

  Part of him had dwelled on marching up to the door and kicking it, spraying his weapon into its frame and body until something had given. It would have been futile, he realised. Doubtless so important a door had been reinforced to protect against an attack like that. More than that, he might as well announce his presence completely, let them know that he was on the other side. The room was large, the door was not. Should he shoot through it, assuming he even could, it’d betray his position. They might even be awaiting his approach, wait for him to put his hand out, yank it open and blast him in the guts.

  He hadn’t studied the room, didn’t know if there was another way in or not. Wouldn’t be much of a secure room if you could just head upstairs and blow your way in through the ceiling. Besides, he had no explosives. Or any knowledge about explosives beyond ‘pull this and throw’.

  They hadn’t covered that yet. He’d heard something about learning to defuse them, that didn’t sound like fun. Theo, in his usual abrasive fashion, had stated that it’d be a challenge. How were they going to replicate the pressure and the circumstance of something that could blow up in their face?

  Pete wasn’t sure he should have challenged them like that. They had too many tricks up their sleeves, the instructors, they gave the impression that they’d prepared for any circumstances that might be thrown against them.

  They hadn’t for this though. This had caught them on the hop. They were dead, Pete guessed. Dead or captured. They’d been the last line of defence and they’d failed. A sobering thought. What chance did he have?

  Better than them. Nobody would dispute that. Alone but alive trumped thousands of silent dead.

  He’d decided to make for the armoury, extra weapons and armour felt like they’d give him a better chance of survival than stood staring at a door that wasn’t going to open for him. He knew the route from here, had been in the armoury many times. Part of their duties involved cleaning and maintaining the weapons they removed, making sure they were put back in their proper place. He liked the silence in the armoury, he’d had some good times in there. Him and Dan Roberts, him and Tamale, even a laugh with Dominic Hill. In there with Theo, the silence was prevalent, he wouldn’t have minded talking, but any effort was met with grunts that started out polite but grew less so over the passage of the hour.

  It’d give him a tactical advantage at least; the first plan had been solid but a non-starter. Therefore, the second plan would have to suffice. Bemoaning what might have been might be nice, but it had little use in the scheme of things. Better to get on with it.

  If he survived this, that sense of pragmatism felt like it’d serve him well. If he survived it.

  Mind on the mission, Jacobs, he admonished himself. You let your mind wander and you’ll fall into your own grave.

  He ran into trouble outside the armoury, wondered if they were being guided to where he looked like he was going. They had access to the videocams, it might not have been impossible. This time, there had to be five of them, blaster fire screamed towards him, he hurled himself out the way. He hit the ground, rolled into a crouch and pointed his weapon. He felt his finger tighten against the trigger, stock crash into his shoulder as the weapon kicked to life. They scattered, their attention solely on survival as he turned to run.

  More behind him. Too many to kill, they all had the same sort of rifle he did. If he stood his ground, those behind him would blast him in the back. He glanced to the left, to the right, to the doors. They crashed open, more rifles pointed at him.

  Shit!

  His own weapon felt painfully inadequate. As one, they advanced on him, footsteps beating the floor in unison. It sounded like the knell of drums, the oncoming death. His eyes darted back and forth, there had to be a way out. He hadn’t lowered the weapon, wondered if they’d give him a quick death if he didn’t.

  Drawing things out had never been his style. Either do or die. That saying felt painfully uncomfortable in these circumstances, he shot them a grin. Maybe he could lure them into fighting him in hand-to-hand combat, one at a time. Better that than death by firing squad. At least that way, he’d stand a chance. A small one, but larger than the eternal struggle faced by man versus blaster. That score was tipped in favour of the man with the blaster come these circumstances.

  The voice that rang out startled him into dropping his weapon, fingers slid open and he watched it clatter to the ground. He was lucky it hadn’t discharged.

  “Freeze simulation!”

  He heard the words, brought himself to a halt as weapons didn’t fire. Nobody moved, except him, a solitary figure. Now he wasn’t fighting for his life, he took the chance to look at the faces of his enemies.

  Not enemies. They bore the faces of people he knew, cadets and instructors in the academy, expressions contorted into anger and rage as they stared down the sig
hts of their blasters at him. Dan Roberts was closest, his face frozen in time. Pete reached out, placed a hand against his face. Solid but not solid. His hand slid through the skin, moved about an inch and then stopped, whatever was underneath spongey with a hint of wire.

  He knew the voice, turned to see the great bulk of the instructor behind him. He didn’t know where he’d come from, only that he hadn’t been there a moment ago. Behind him, Konda stood, an expression of serenity on his face, arms folded behind his back.

  “Not bad, Mister Jacobs,” Paddington said. “Not bad indeed.”

  “What is this?” The question felt insipid, he couldn’t quite get his head around what had just happened. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. None of it had been real, he got that much.

  “A simulation,” Paddington said. “Some of my best work, in fact. I told you about cold and hot blood. This is part of the test. A recent one. We used to, in past years, organise it pitting other cadets against the lone survivor scenario. It taught teamwork on one hand, survival skills on the other. It lost effectiveness over time. When you know about it, you are prepared. This is much better. Cuts down on injuries as well.”

  “It was a test? You were testing me.”

  “He wasn’t,” Konda said. “We both were. Part of a psychological profile I like to build on cadets who come through this academy. How you cope, how you adapt, how long it takes for you to throw away everything you value.”

  “Huh,” He didn’t know what to say to that. “So, it wasn’t real? Any of it?” He felt a bit of an idiot, that was saying the least about it. “Nobody got hurt?”