War Within (Death's Contract Book 2)

by KJ Harlow

  “There, that should do it.” She said, putting her hands on her hips and admiring her handiwork.

  “Did you steal that?” I said accusingly. She gave me a guilty look.

  “Doesn’t matter now, does it? Can’t wear a top that’s got a huge rip through it.”

  “Now’s not the time, you two. Look,” she looked down at the little girl in her arms, who was now shaking, “we’ve got a situation on our hands.”

  “We’re OK for the time being. I Ridded all of the Conflicted that were just there. Their aim was abysmal.” I said, grinning.

  “OK, but the girl’s father is–”

  “Oh, Natalie!” A portly, middle-aged woman five yards away on the other side of another car was frantically gesturing towards her. A plastic card dangled from a lanyard at her belt displaying the St Vincent De Paul Catholic Primary School insignia. “There you are!” Agatha stood up as Tracy hoisted the little girl to her feet.

  “God bless you, sister,” the teacher said as she led Natalie through the gaps between the cars towards her. “Please go and find safe refuge.” She nodded at Tracy and me before disappearing into the throng of people.

  “Looks like our situation has just been taken care of,” I said, looking at Agatha. She stared after the young child with her teacher, her face pale. I exchanged looks with Tracy, who discreetly shook her head.

  “Agatha, Tracy, Rose. Do you read me?” Walter’s asked. This seemed to shake Agatha awake.

  “Y-yes, we’re here,” she said shakily. “Where are you?”

  “I’m not sure where we are. We see a big wheel…”

  “The London Eye!” Agatha exclaimed.

  “Agatha,” Tor said his voice tight. “I’m at St James’ Park. There are many Conflicted here.”

  “I’m on the roof of an art gallery right now,” Silas said, pausing. “Tate Britain.” There was loud gunfire as his sniper rifle went off.

  “Sorry guys got to go. Going to paint the town red.” Walter chuckled darkly.

  “Everyone, the Conflicted are armed and dangerous,” Agatha said, finding her voice again. “Mortimer and Matylda have procured regular fire arms. They aren’t Ombre Guns. That being said, if they hit you, you will hurt. You will bleed. You can die. If you do die, you will go back to the Underworld. Stay there. You will be in no shape to come back up to keep fighting. Is that understood?”

  “Roger!” We cried in unison.

  “Rose, go to Tor. Tracy, find Silas. I’m going to Walter. When we have Ridded all the Conflicted, we’ll convene at the bottom of the London Eye.” We nodded and Soul Stepped away to provide back up to the male Deliverers.

  “Your arm–”

  “I’m fine,” I snapped, brushing Tor’s hand away. I shot a Conflicted I had spotted about 10 yards away approaching to our left. “Stay focused.” Without warning, he pushed me to the ground as a stream of bullets whizzed past the spot I had just been standing on. Shielding me with his own body, he got down on one knee and fired 15 rounds into the trees. Conflicted flopped out from the branches like dead monkeys, bouncing on branches before thudding into the grass 10 feet down.

  “I am.” He said defensively, looking down at me. We stared into each other’s eyes before I pushed him off me and got up into a crouching position.

  Dead bodies were strewn every few yards, their blood mingling with the morning dew in the grass. Black ash rose from the disintegrating bodies of the Conflicted. My gun was drawn and close to my chest. I had my back to Tor. He maintained a distance of a couple inches away from me as he watched for any sudden movements in the trees. We slowly circled through the park, protecting each other. Occasionally he would bump me, the warmth of his well-toned, muscular back sending tiny bolts of electricity up my spine. I wanted to press myself up against his body and drink in his scent again. I usually didn’t hold grudges. Why did I feel compelled to with Tor? Damn him for Ceasing Stan. Damn me for being so stubborn.

  Tor suddenly pointed his gun at someone. I turned around and faced the same way as him to get a better look. A man in his 30s was clutching his stomach. His breathing was quick and shallow. He had a deep gash that was weeping blood onto the dirt track. His new sneakers were stained red. Had he been going for an afternoon jog when all hell broke loose? I started to move towards him.

  “No,” Tor said, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “It may be a trap.”

  “He’s dying! I’m going to help him.” No sooner had I thrown his hand off and taken a step forward did I feel his hand close around my wrist. I shot the meanest glare I could muster at him.

  “Back off!” I hissed.

  “No.”

  I threw my heel and kicked Tor in the stomach. Caught by surprise, he stumbled back. I wrenched my hand free from his grasp and leaped over the bushes to where the dying man lay. I cast a quick glance around. No suspicious glinting caught my eye. I got down on one knee and holstered my weapon.

  “Help me…” the man said weakly. Up close, his wound looked even worse. Luckily he was lying on his back; gravity was keeping him from bleeding to death. Helplessly, I touched my hands to his stomach, trying to stem the flow. It just caused more blood to ooze out all over my hands.

  “Tor!” I said, turning back. He was standing behind a tree, gun in hand and face fraught with worry. “Get over here!” He hesitated for one moment then silently jumped over the bushes by the path, landing like a cat on the dirt path.

  “What do we do?” Tor looked down at the man’s wound then up at me.

  “We have to stop the bleeding,” he said, looking at the man’s face. It was more ashen than a moment ago. He was running out of time.

  “I know that!” I barked. My eyes widened and I looked at my arm. “Agatha – Agatha will know how to stop his bleeding,” I looked at Tor intensely. “You have to take him to her.” Tor looked at me, his eyebrow raised.

  “We’re not here to save these people,” Tor said quietly.

  “If we let them die, we’re no better than the Tormented.” We stared at each other, neither willing to be the first to blink. In one swift movement, he scooped up the man in his arms.

  “Alright, let’s–” gun fire erupted to our right. I was sprawled on my back, a few feet away from where I was. The man was still in Tor’s arms. Tor was lying on the ground. He had rammed me with his shoulder, winding me but taking me away from the path of the bullets. Before the Conflicted had time to fire again, Tor and I drew our Lucent Guns and fired at them hiding amongst the trees. They collapsed and started disintegrating, their guns falling soundlessly into the grass.

  I quickly checked myself. No new wounds. “Tor, are you – your arm!” I exclaimed, my hand flying to my mouth. There were three bullet wounds embedded in his shoulder and upper arm. “Are you OK?”

  “I’ve had worse,” he said, not even wincing as he stood up with the man. “Let’s take him back to Agatha. You will have to take out any Conflicted that intercept us,” I nodded, bringing my Lucent Gun up to my chest. “Also, bring me one of their guns.” I looked at him with a confused expression for a moment. He gestured with his head to where we had just Ridded the Conflicted.

  I stood up and jogged over to the grass where five hand guns lay. They all looked identical, so I took the one closest to me. It was a smaller weapon than My Lucent Gun, but it felt heavier. I turned it around in my hand but could find no identification on them. I walked back to Tor, who was now standing up. The man in his arms was now unconscious. The blood on the ground was already turning dark red as it dried.

  I showed Tor the gun, rotating the gun around. He looked carefully at it, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “Wait,” he said. I stopped turning the gun around. “Let me see the trigger.” I pointed the gun away from him and brought it closer to his face. He stared at it for a while. “Throw it back to the grass.” He commanded.

  “What did you see?” He was silent.

  “I’m not sure yet. I need to think about it.” I frowned at him but acquiesced, fl
inging the gun back into the grass. “Let’s move.” We followed the path until we left the trees behind us.

  Despite taking three gunshot wounds to the arm and carrying a man who looked like he weighed 160 pounds, Tor moved quickly. I had to jog to keep up with him. I trailed him, keeping an eye out for any guns or flashes or metal in my peripheral vision. I also kept an eye on Tor. He was trying to hide it, but I could tell that his energy was flagging. As always, he gave nothing away through facial expressions. However, I could see a thin sheen of sweat appearing the longer we walked for.

  Bodies of innocent victims in the wrong place at the wrong time littered the streets. We had to weave our way around ambulances that had stopped in the middle of the road to tend to the living. We tried handing over our jogger to a paramedic. She took one look at the man and tied a yellow tag around his arm.

  “Yellow?” I asked.

  “Red, yellow, green. We’re dealing with the reds first.” She showed me a clipboard. There were three pages of red. I scanned the area. Gurneys with people who had red tags were scattered haphazardly. I looked at Tor, who nodded. We decided to keep walking. We passed by exhausted paramedics flitting between bodies that lay at the front of Westminster Station, putting traffic light tags on their limbs. I did my best to ignore the coppery smell of spilled blood permeating the air.

  The London Eye loomed up ahead of us. “There it is!” I said. I ran ahead about 10 yards to the edge of Westminster Bridge to get a closer look. My eyes widened in horror: the Ferris wheel wasn’t moving. People were trapped inside the booths over 400 feet high. They were futilely hitting the glass, leaving their handprints behind. Tor and I stared at the tourist attraction that had become a death trap thanks to the Tormented. Our eyes darted down to the floor beneath the London Eye as we heard gun fire break out again. I took off my glasses and hurriedly rubbed the lenses with my top before putting them back on again.

  “It’s them! It’s Agatha and Walter!” I exclaimed as I started to move toward Westminster Bridge.

  “Rose,” I turned around to look at Tor. “What about him?” Tor said, gently lifting the man in his arms.

  Damn it. It looked like Agatha was too busy to do any patching up. I turned back around to look at the London Eye helplessly.

  “I’ll take him,” a gruff voice said from behind me. I spun around. At first, I didn’t see anyone. An older man with peppery gray hair and a scruffy beard came into view from behind an ambulance. It was hard to place his age. He looked about the same age as Walter and Agatha, at least when they became Deliverers, but he walked with the carefulness of someone much older. His accent was English but didn’t sound as refined as everyone else I’d spoken to today. I walked up to Tor and stood next to him.

  “Who is he?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Tor replied in a low tone. “He’s not wearing the paramedic uniform.” He stopped by an abandoned car and swung a black back pack down. Deftly, he unzipped some compartments and started pulling out first aid materials: gauze, packing and scissors.

  “Sid’s the name. I run a small health care center for the homeless,” he said, not looking up at us. I watched in fascination as he carefully laid equipment on a fold up tray on the bonnet of the car. He wore a faded tweed jacket. I noticed buttons missing from the sleeves. His trousers had been patched several times on both knees. His black leather shoes would have shone magnificently 10 years ago. The sole was now peeling off the right side. His big toe poked out from a hole on his left. Was he just a deranged bum who had stolen a paramedic’s kit bag?

  “Well, what are you waiting for, bring him here!” He barked. Tor and I didn’t move.

  “What do we do?” I whispered to Tor out of the corner of my mouth. He didn’t respond. Suddenly, he walked forward. I thought about calling after him but held back. I watched as he gently placed our jogger on the bonnet of the car where Sid had set up a makeshift treatment table. Tor stood back and observed Sid closely.

  “Give me the details,” Sid said gruffly, putting rubber gloves on while staring at the jogger’s stomach wound.

  “We found him about half an hour ago at Saint James’ Park,” Sid snapped his head across at Tor, looking him up and down incredulously before turning his attention back to the jogger. “We believe he was shot.”

  I walked towards the man to get a closer look. Sid’s hands moved quickly, belying his age. He wasn’t bluffing. Within a minute, he had bandaged up the jogger, who was coming to. He groaned and opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, looking up at Tor, Sid and me.

  “My stomach,” he said, clenching his teeth.

  “Rest now, son. You’ve been injured.” Sid said, gently laying his hand on the jogger’s head. “What are you doing just standing there?” Sid said, looking sharply at us. I opened and closed my mouth a few times in surprise as Tor didn’t flinch. “There are more people that need saving. You’re a couple of superheroes, aren’t you?” He said, glancing down at my gun that was currently exposed in its holster. I pulled my jacket over it surreptitiously.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got it from here. Just go,” he said. Neither I nor Tor moved an inch. “Go!” He roared. We stood up and started backing away from him.

  “Th-thank you… Sid wasn’t it?” I said shakily. He didn’t look up. His hands were pressing into the man’s stomach as he felt for tenderness. I jerkily turned on my heel and started power walking away from the mysterious man. Tor kept pace with me easily, taking a single stride for every one of my three steps. The London Eye became bigger and bigger as we crossed Westminster Bridge.

  My mind was bubbling with questions. Should we have left the jogger back there with Sid? Should I have saved the jogger in the first place? Before I could find an answer to either question, Tor punctured my bubble of concentration with an unexpected question of his own.

  “Were we just given orders by a homeless man?”

  By the time we got to the bottom of the London Eye, the Conflicted were gone. Agatha seemed to be back to normal. She had some rips in her habit, but otherwise, she was fine. Walter stood off to one side, his eyes hooded as he stared at a police officer’s corpse that was sprawled on his stomach.

  Silas had figured out how to operate the London Eye and was allowing passengers to come out, carriage by carriage. He blushed and pushed up his oval-shaped, wire-rimmed glasses as a rotund woman, delirious at finally coming out rushed across and threw his arms around him, planting a wet kiss dangerously close to his lips. Tracy burst out laughing when she saw this. I was glad to see that the worst she had was a grazed hand.

  After the last of the passengers had been gotten off, we stood in a circle and looked at one another.

  “Good to see we all made it back in one piece,” I said.

  “Can’t say the same for this city,” Walter rumbled angrily. We looked back over Westminster Bridge. To think that a couple hours ago I was complaining about trying on new clothes.

  “We should get–” Tracy was interrupted as she was shot in the leg. She crumpled to the floor, screaming and clutching her thigh. I spun to my right. Men in black uniforms with masks over their face were hiding behind shields. They had rifles pointed at us.

  “Retreat!” Walter roared. We crouched, drew our Lucent Guns and pressed the release. We had our hand on Tracy to make sure she came back to the Underworld with us.

  Just before everything was enveloped in white, I could have sworn I saw a homeless man with peppery gray hair standing at the edge of Westminster Bridge, staring at me.

  Five

  The pain screamed through my shoulder just as I landed in Death’s office. I doubled over, clutching my shoulder. Walter, Agatha, and Silas appeared to my right, Tracy and Tor to my left. Tracy’s leg collapsed underneath her weight. She rolled about seven feet on her side, bringing her knee up to her chest and clenching her teeth to mute her cry of pain.

  “What happened up there?” I looked up. He was advancing towards me, brow furrowed in alarm. He knelt do
wn in front of me, putting his hand on my shoulder. I looked at his hand, as the stabbing pain dialled itself down to a dull throb. I looked up at Death, managing a grateful smile before I look Tracy. Tears rolled out of her eyes and onto the floorboards as she continued to clutch her leg.

  “We’ll discuss it in the Regroup,” I said, standing up gingerly. “Right now we need to recover.” Death was looking at Tracy. Tor was down on one knee by her side. He gently slid his arms underneath her neck and legs and stood up. He stumbled a little. In a flash, Death was by his side. Taking Tracy from Tor, he looked at him and nodded. Tor dropped his arms and started walking slowly towards the wooden door leading back towards the control room.

  “Everyone, back to the resting chambers,” Walter ordered. He walked over to me, looking at me in concern. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, putting on a strained smile. He continued looking at me intently for a moment, before giving me a quick smile. Tor had already gone through the wooden door. Death carried Tracy through, sidestepping so as to not bump her leg.

  “Come on, let me help you up.” Before I had a chance to object, Walter clasped my hand. With his other hand, he supported my upper arm as I stood. I nodded at him and hurried out. I came out to the domed control room. The workers had momentarily stopped to stare at us walking by. They fidgeted awkwardly, not sure what to do.

  “It’s OK, we’re all back in one piece,” I said, addressing them all while giving a thumbs up. Some of them smiled half-heartedly. I placed my hand on the opaque, glass door that led to the stairwell. As I quietly descended, I couldn’t help but shake off the image of Sid staring at me just before I disappeared. There was something about him that unsettled me. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that it might not have been the right decision to leave the jogger with him. Then again, Tor had trusted him and he didn’t trust easily. Was there something he saw in him that I couldn’t see? I shook my head. I saw him working; he looked competent enough. I was probably still edgy from the Tormented’s ambush.