Kymiera

by Steve Turnbull

  In the blink of an eye he pulled a coin from his pocket, took careful aim—an action taking less than a second—and launched it, not at the camera, but into one of the rotors.

  ‘Hey!’ said the man beside him. Noticing him for the first time.

  Jason did not pause. Another gap was developing ahead. That the man would see his unnaturally fast movement could not be helped. He was closer to his goal as the coin struck the rotor. Jason heard the whine change.

  The next space opened and he dived forward. The sounds of the battling freaks was close now. His escape route had taken him deep into the densest part of the crowd. He did not dare look behind, because it would reveal his face. He squeezed into a small gap and pushed. He hated coming into contact with people like this. The touch of them made his skin crawl.

  Then the person to his left leaned heavily into him. Crushing. Jason smelled the acrid scent of ionised air and burnt skin. They had shot at him but missed. But he could get trapped under the collapsing body.

  Jason went down on all fours. The crush of people should prevent the person falling. The floor was sticky and stank of old spilt beer. There was a slippery top layer of fresh booze and sweat. He ignored it and scurried forward. The legs moved slow in comparison to him and he made headway.

  Around him the noise level was increasing. Not with shouts for the fight but screams of anger and fear. It was a garbled mess of acrimony and pain. As if some multi-headed, many-legged monster was being attacked.

  Someone trod heavily on his ankle and crushed it before slipping off. Weight was piling on top of him. There was nowhere for him to go. Someone’s heel ground into his left hand.

  Bodies piled up and flattened him. He could barely breathe. Around him there was still swearing intermingled with moans of pain. There was something or someone lying across his back crushing all the breath from his lungs. He couldn’t inhale.

  For desperate seconds he fought to stay conscious, to keep moving. Then black descended.

  Chapter 14

  Mitchell

  Despite the proximity of the large blank walls of the school, the slamming of the two car doors did not echo. Mitchell and Graham made their way up the steps and into the main entrance hall. There may have been no echo in the outside damp but, once inside, the sound of their shoes reverberated from the clean, polished surfaces. The school reception was off to the right and they headed to it.

  ‘I am here to see Sapphire Kepple,’ said Graham. Mitchell noted he had not even checked before he rolled out the name and, in his experience, that meant only one thing: They knew each other.

  The woman behind the desk checked the timetables and looked up. ‘She’s teaching if you’d like to wait.’

  ‘I will see her now,’ said Graham. ‘I take it she has an office of her own.’

  The receptionist simply nodded.

  ‘You will direct me to it and you will send her there immediately.’ Before she could respond Graham turned to Mitchell. ‘I am afraid you cannot be party to this interview,’ he said. ‘This is a Purity matter.’

  It didn’t even occur to Mitchell to argue, since it would only be a waste of time. ‘I’ll wait in the car.’ Which at the very least, he thought, will give me an opportunity to talk to Lament, and perhaps Yates.

  Sapphire

  She was trembling as she approached her office. The first she had known of the summons was the arrival of one of the other teachers to take over her class. Her replacement hadn’t known what it was about, only that somebody important had come to see her. That alone made her nervous, so she had risked the delay and gone by reception.

  She saw DI Mitchell sitting in the car and she knew immediately something was up. When Mrs Henderson told her about the visitor, and how his name had not appeared on the information screen but that his authority was the highest possible, she had asked the receptionist to describe the man.

  Sapphire was not entirely sure her legs would be able to stay the distance as she approached her office. Oh god, it’s Chris.

  She paused at her office door and knocked. The command to enter made her feel as if she were a child again, one of the children in the school summoned to the Principal’s office. Almost of its own volition her hand grabbed the door handle, turned it and pushed the door open.

  He was standing on the other side of her desk, in the place she would normally sit. He was closing one of the drawers. She knew there was nothing incriminating in there but still it made her shiver, and she knew he had done it deliberately. If he had intended her not to see he wouldn’t have invited her in so quickly after she knocked. It was just one of his tactics. Yet the fact that she knew made absolutely no difference to its effect.

  He looked at her, his face completely impassive. ‘Hello, Saffie.’

  She stumbled into the room. It was as if, after all this time, she simply lost control of herself again.

  ‘Close the door.’

  She shut it then put her hands behind her back and looked down at the ground; she wasn’t worthy to look at him.

  ‘Oh, come, come,’ he said with a reassuring tone that had the reverse effect. He was like a tiger stalking her. ‘We’re past that stage in our relationship. In fact, we no longer have that relationship at all.’

  She heard the words but they did not carry the meaning he seemed to intend. There was no way she was able to shake him free of her mind.

  ‘Sit down, Saffie.’

  She looked to the available seats: the sofa where she had sat with Chloe before, her own chair behind her desk but that was barred to her, and the hardback chair in front of the desk. She moved towards the sofa.

  ‘No, Saffie, here.’ He pointed at the chair in front of her desk.

  Keeping her head down, she moved to it and sat with her feet and knees slightly apart, hands resting on her knees, head down. The part of her mind that remained rational and independent noted that despite his statement about that part of their relationship being over, he couldn’t resist enforcing his will on her.

  ‘So, are you pleased to see me?’

  ‘Of course, master.’ She cursed herself, but it had just slipped out. It horrified her to know how easily she could return to that state. She tried again, knowing he was laughing at her. ‘I am pleased to see you, Special Agent Graham.’ Although she had her head down she could see, with her peripheral vision, when he sat in the chair behind her desk. The chair creaked slightly under his weight.

  ‘There, that’s much better,’ he said. ‘So how has this assignment been?’

  ‘I am doing the best I can,’ she said. ‘I am teaching them everything they need to know, and everything they should know.’

  ‘But you fail to notice the freaks.’

  It wasn’t a question and she found that she could not answer. Did he mean Chloe? Was there something he knew that she didn’t? Or was it the other girl? Or was he just making it all up to put her under pressure? Not that he had to make anything up to apply leverage.

  ‘The Vogler girl is unquestionably a freak,’ he said. ‘How is it you did not notice?’ The tone in his voice became harder and she felt a tingling in her back at the expectancy of being whipped.

  ‘There was nothing visible to see, sir.’

  ‘And what about this Chloe Dark?’

  Somehow the mention of Chloe triggered the strength inside her. She raised her eyes to look at him. He was just looking back at her with his lips in a half-smile that carried no humour, only pain. ‘Chloe is not a freak.’

  There was a momentary battle of wills as she looked at his face and he stared back commandingly. It was not a battle she could ever win; all she could manage was to look down more slowly than she might have done in the past. ‘Chloe is not a freak,’ she said again.

  ‘You’re not reverting to your old ways?’ he said.

  She shook her head, scared that if she opened her mouth her words would say nothing but the truth.

  ‘You know,’ he said. ‘I was opposed to this placement for you,
but it was not my decision to make.’

  There was no question there that she could answer safely, though he had told her at the time he didn’t think being in a school would be good for her. But the Purity administration had disagreed with him. There was a job to be done, she was qualified to do it, and that was all they needed to know.

  ‘Have you been up to your tricks again?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She nodded probably with more force than she needed. ‘I’m sure,’ she said hoarsely.

  She flinched as he stood up suddenly, and cursed herself for reacting. She began to tremble as he walked out from behind the desk and stepped behind her. She knew he had leaned over because she could feel his breath on her left cheek.

  ‘What have you told Chloe Dark about the DN-Cadr-A?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘And don’t lie to me, Saffie; I saw the badge you left in her room.’

  ‘She’s intelligent, a fighter, a leader,’ she said. ‘I told her about it because I want her to be the youth leader. I wanted her to think about it.’

  He was still there by her ear, still leaning over her. She felt that if he touched her her heart would simply stop.

  ‘So tell me, Saffie, which should I put on your record: the fact that you released information before the embargo was lifted?’ He moved to the other side of her head and whispered in her other ear. ‘Or that you are trying to seduce female students again? You know what that would mean.’

  Her mind was frozen. It was as if he had put a clamp on her thinking processes and tightened it until nothing, not a single thought, could be expressed. It was at that moment she realised her eyes were closed, and she could not even remember when she had shut them. It took all her concentration to force them open again and stare at the desk in front of her.

  ‘I shouldn’t have told her about the youth group.’

  She felt, rather than saw, his presence move away from her.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘I’ll put that on your record. I released Chloe Dark, and I want you to keep an eye on her. These kidnappers will undoubtedly try again. Their attacks are not random; they want specific girls. As soon as you find out anything, Saffie, be sure to let me know, won’t you?’

  She said yes but it was so quiet he might not even have heard it. But then he didn’t have to, he knew she would do anything he said without question. Anything at all.

  She heard the door behind her open, his footsteps leaving, and the door close behind her.

  Her tears were a flood but it was some time before she realised that she could use her hands.

  She was not tied to the chair. It just felt that way.

  Chapter 15

  Dog

  As far as Dog was concerned the biggest problem with being off the grid was the lack of easy transport. He had been lying in the dreary room that he regularly used to doss down for the night, in a set of empty terraces in the west of the city.

  There were plenty of lowlifes and poor people here, plus those animals that had made a comeback after humanity had lost its fight against the virus. But as far as he was concerned it was empty of anyone in authority, or anyone who might report him to authority. And that’s what mattered.

  When he first took up residence, he had sealed off the upper floor room. He bricked up the doorway and the window, but cut a large hole in the roof which he covered with a trapdoor. A set of stone slabs in the corner meant he could have a fire, though it wasn’t too cold yet. It wasn’t even too damp.

  Still, the thought of Mr Mendelssohn’s home in Knutsford was considerably more attractive, and he had been invited. Just not today.

  Before dawn he mounted the ladder up through the ceiling, crossed through several adjoining buildings and then down into a back garden that was so overgrown it was more like a jungle. He could smell cat, and rats, and there was a stream not far away which boasted a whole host of additional wildlife. He had dined on meat he caught and cooked himself more times than he could count. A good burger was better though.

  Even though he couldn’t take any official transport, that didn’t mean he had to walk. He headed through the dark to the nearest main road which carried traffic from the centre of Manchester south through Timperley and Altrincham—both almost completely deserted—and then out to Knutsford: the playground of the rich. As he understood it, it had always been the home of the rich.

  There were self-drive trucks on the road, and the mostly redundant drivers never paid much attention to what was going on around them unless they had to. It was easy to wait at traffic lights—he always laughed at that, there was so little traffic at this time of day the lights were completely pointless. A truck would pull up and, once he was sure it was going where he wanted, all he had to do was climb on the back.

  And half an hour later he was close to his destination. Unfortunately the lights at the junction where he wanted to get off were green and his vehicle barrelled through them, though still keeping to the speed limit. Choosing his moment he leapt off backwards and came to a running halt, watching the red lights of the vehicle disappear into the distance. It had been one of the long-distance trucks and was heading for the motorway.

  It was always risky in Knutsford. Unlike the city you couldn’t take the chance of running through backyards because security was everywhere. The richer they were, the more worried they were about losing what they had.

  The rain had started as he was coming out of the city proper and he was already soaked through. Dawn turned the blacks into greys but everything was glistening wet. Mr Mendelssohn’s house was a quarter mile away, hidden down a back road in its own grounds among half a dozen other similar buildings.

  It took him fifteen minutes to negotiate the back alleys and track, to come out a short distance from the main gate to Mr Mendelssohn’s estate. One advantage of the paranoia-driven security was that every driveway entrance was hidden from the other houses. He reached the gate. If he’d had a riffy they would have known he was there already. So instead he knocked.

  He took a few steps back and glanced up at where the security camera turned and twisted to point at him. He grinned and gave the guard a wave. There was a grinding of an electric motor, the sound of bolts being drawn back, and one of the two massive wooden gates moved back slightly. He slipped in and it slammed back almost instantly.

  A pale round face peered out from the guardhouse.

  ‘Jeez, Brian,’ said Dog. ‘Watch it with those gates, you could have had my tail off.’

  The guardhouse was a small wooden shed with a door and window. The door was yanked open and Brian Ekings, in his grey security uniform always tight around the middle, stared out through misting glasses.

  ‘You’ve not got a tail. Anyway, how’d you know it was me?’

  Dog grinned. ‘Aftershave, mate.’

  Brian frowned, and rubbed his beard. ‘I can’t afford aftershave.’

  ‘Must be something else then,’ Dog said with a shrug and closed the gap to the door with the rain still beating on his head. ‘You going to let me in?’ Brian retreated further into the shed, Dog followed.

  ‘Stay by the door, you’ll get water everywhere.’

  Pushing the door shut, Dog leaned against it and dripped onto the wooden floor. The end of the shed where he stood had a couple of small cupboards and a shelf with a toaster and microwave both looking the worse for their age. The end that Brian had retreated to was filled with monitors and other surveillance equipment but rather than looking at a screen, the security guard was studying a sheet of paper on a clipboard. He looked up.

  ‘You’re not on the list for this morning,’ he said slightly shaking his head. ‘Can’t let you in if you’re not on the list.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’re not gonna make me go back out in that, are you?’ Dog jerked his thumb at the door and then pointed at the ceiling where the rain continued to thrum down.

  Brian shook his head more firmly. ‘Mr Mendelssohn’s rules, Dog.
He’ll have my guts for garters if I let you in before your time.’

  ‘I don’t think your guts would make very good garters,’ said Dog seriously.

  ‘Oh, very funny. It don’t change nothing, can’t let you go up to the house.’

  ‘You mean you’ll let me stay here,’ said Dog, ‘that’s really kind of you, Brian, thanks very much, appreciate it.’

  Brian looked for a moment as if he was going to object, Dog jumped in. ‘Shall I make us a cuppa?’

  Mr Mendelssohn went out about half an hour later. Dog stayed behind the door as the black limousine crunched up the driveway. Brian operated the gates and noted the details in his logbook using real ink in real pen on real paper.

  ‘Mr Mendelssohn really doesn’t like computers, does he?’ said Dog.

  Brian set the doors to close. They wound shut and the mechanical locks clicked into place. Brian glanced up at his guest. ‘Computers get hacked,’ he said. ‘Or viruses.’

  It took another two hours before Brian became so annoyed at Dog he allowed him to head up to the house, alerting the other guards to his presence. He even lent Dog his umbrella.

  Dog followed the gravel drive past manicured lawns and carefully organised flowerbeds. The cleverly placed trees hid the house from the driveway. Dog took deep breaths through his nose, tasting the scents. Out here in the country, you could barely smell the decay of civilisation. Of course Mr Mendelssohn had his own sort of decay, thought Dog, as he avoided staring at the armed men placed at strategic locations on his approach. These men weren’t armed with Burners. Their guns, like Brian’s, were designed to kill and their owners knew how to use them.

  The house itself was nearly seventy years old and sprawled across the valley, bridging the stream that ran there. There was one wall which was much older than the rest, maybe 400 years, and the way the stream split into two channels made him think it had been a mill once upon a time. The fact the house was called Lower Mill tended to confirm it.

  He was searched before he was allowed in but that wasn’t unusual and he didn’t carry any weapons anyway. The one thing he didn’t do either at the door or back with Brian was mention Mendelssohn’s daughter, Delia. But she was the real reason he was here early—he wasn’t fooling himself.