Kymiera

by Steve Turnbull

  The air filled with a short burst of machine-gun fire. Glass smashed, wood splintered, flesh erupted. The man below her made a disappointed sound and collapsed. She heard his gun rattle onto the stones.

  The police didn’t use machine guns. As far as she knew.

  She pulled herself lightly up to the window. Being an old building, the ledge was almost as deep as her foot. She glanced north. The kidnappers—the name would have to do—were moving forward. She knew now they definitely wanted her alive; that was why they had shot the man below her.

  She adjusted her grip and found she could hold on to the window frame quite well. She felt a little more stable, but the wind was getting up and whipped her hair.

  She wasn’t so sure about the police. Somewhere out there was DI Mitchell, the man she admired for his ruthless termination of freaks. Not something she wanted to happen to her. And that Purity agent, the one who had been happy to put her in this position—but for what, she was not sure. Did he really just want to help the police catch the kidnappers?

  She shook her head. This was not the time.

  She shrugged off her backpack, then, balancing precariously, opened it and pulled out the hat. She pulled it down over her ears and then pulled up her hood. She tied off the laces so it wouldn’t slip off. Her ears appreciated being out of the wind.

  There was a sudden fusillade from the ground. Muzzle flashes from the police lit up the scene like a stroboscopic nightmare. She could see the kidnappers had moved up a long way. They were now at the first junction. There were a lot of them, maybe twenty. The police were not firing wildly but controlled. They were making every shot count and keeping the kidnappers pinned down.

  Chloe snatched her leather gloves from the backpack, pulled them on and returned her backpack to its proper position. She needed to move but she had no plan. Things hadn’t gone quite the way she expected.

  While the police and the kidnappers were busy, she swung out on to the wall and climbed. Someone had seen her. Shots from the kidnappers’ side peppered the wall near her, but they were only trying to scare her.

  Well, they had succeeded, she was scared, but she was not going to stop.

  The climb was not hard. The wall had plenty of ridges and holes, some made by the gun shots. And her lightness meant her arms were not under stress. At least not at first.

  Whoever had been shooting at her stopped. Beneath her they seemed to have reached an impasse. There was the occasional shot but nothing more.

  Her hand slipped. She woke up. She was still clinging to the side of the building but for a moment she had lost touch with reality. The drug from the aerosol was taking effect. She shook her head and concentrated on climbing again. Craning her neck, she looked up: almost there.

  There was the sudden sound of vehicles to the north. She stared beyond the knot of kidnappers, at vans turning into the road heading their way. The police had outflanked them. The police had been expecting the kidnappers, but apparently not the other way around. She was just the bait dangling for the kidnappers to take, and be hooked from the water.

  Chloe giggled.

  And caught herself. She had stopped climbing again. Despite the wind cutting through her clothes she was definitely feeling drowsy.

  She rubbed the back of her gloved hand across her forehead and then rubbed her eyes. She reached and got her hand over the top of the building wall. She yanked herself up and tumbled onto the roof, landing awkwardly on her backpack.

  Maybe she could just stop here. No one could see her. She could rest.

  No!

  She rolled over again and pushed herself onto her knees. She tried to pinch her own cheek with her gloved fingers. It didn’t work. Something inside her found that very funny.

  Chloe got on her feet. She needed to get out of here. Miss Kepple was right. The worst that could happen to her parents would be that they were put into quarantine for a while. And her friends. No one could deny she was a freak anymore. But if she went home she would get locked up, and the kidnappers might still come after her.

  With her drugged, the kidnappers would have the upper hand. She needed to disappear.

  It was then she saw the figure. Outlined against the skyline of semi-lit buildings, against a darker sky.

  ‘I will shoot you, Chloe Dark.’ The voice was not one she knew. A man with a northern accent.

  She looked around. The top of the building was flat. There were ventilation pipes and a brick structure that was probably where stairs came out. He was close to it, most likely had just come up the stairs.

  She giggled out loud but suppressed it immediately.

  ‘So, one of our operatives did manage to inject you,’ he said. ‘You may as well give up now. If you come with me I’ll get you away and no one will be hurt.’

  The streets below erupted in gunfire. The police barrage had started. There were screams as men died. Then there was another sound, a repetitive, deep-throated drone from somewhere nearby.

  ‘There’s not much time, Chloe.’

  Chloe glanced to her left. It was about fifty feet to the edge of the building and then the blank gap to the next one. Similar to this building and running parallel to Market Street. Then another street, with a low building, and then Debenhams rising like a cliff.

  ‘There’s nowhere to go.’

  He took a step towards her. She ran.

  The fifty feet seemed to disappear beneath her feet in no time as she accelerated. The ground beneath her feet was lit by the glow of a burner. She could feel the electricity crackling, but nothing touched her.

  The gap rushed at her. She threw herself up on to the parapet wall and with a huge thrust of her legs launched herself into the void. She kept her arms out slightly for balance as she flew. The freezing air forced her eyes shut, but she had the distance.

  She was past the highest point and descending. She opened her eyes, bent her legs, and landed. She let her legs absorb the energy of the landing and rolled. The backpack jammed into her back and the two lumps shot with pain. She grunted as she ended up in a sitting position. The twin beams of the burner flicked above her. She ducked and lay flat, praying the parapet would hide her.

  The thumping noise grew louder and the scream of a powerful electric engine filled the air. A white spotlight shone down. The helicopter crouched on the other building.

  She leapt to her feet.

  ‘Who the hell are these people?’ she shouted. Her words were lost in the roar of the rotors. She jumped up again and cleared the wall by at least ten feet.

  She set off again. The next jump would be bigger, but she had a confidence now. She could do it.

  She almost didn’t.

  Her stomach slammed into the parapet wall opposite with her legs dangling. Her breath was forced from her and she hung there gasping for breath. The rotor frequency of the chopper increased. It was taking off and would catch her in moments.

  But people in a helicopter couldn’t do anything to her.

  The burner’s beam wavered near her and then sliced in her direction. She jumped out of the way and smelled ozone.

  The roof this side of Debenhams had radio pylons reaching up a good distance, which would stop the chopper getting in close. She ran at the brick cliff-face. There was a maintenance ladder going up.

  She wondered whether she ought to go down, or in, but she felt driven to climb, to get more height. She trusted her own instincts. Inside a building she could be cornered and trapped—and it didn’t matter which side did it, it was not something she wanted.

  So she climbed. When she had been training with Sensei the one thing she had always lacked was upper body strength. Any attempt to support her own weight, let alone move, was doomed to failure. She couldn’t hold on.

  Losing perhaps three-quarters of her weight had changed that. The ladder was inside a cage. She started using feet and hands, but it was awkward and slow. Then one of her feet slipped and she almost fell, except that she was hanging by her arms without any no
ticeable effort.

  She reached for the next rung. Easy. And the next; and again. Moments later she was climbing fast, hand over hand, her feet dangling.

  The helicopter’s spotlight caught her again. Blinding her for a moment. The burner lashed out but did not make contact.

  She got to the top of the Debenhams building. It was higher than the surroundings and she couldn’t see where to go. But she felt the urge to keep heading east.

  She ran to the far side. There was a long drop to the other side—Market Street—she could make it easily enough. If she could survive the landing.

  The helicopter appeared, dogging her every step. She ran back to the ladder, took a deep breath and gave it everything she had. The helicopter moved fast, it side-slipped in the direction she was running and disappeared below the level of the building.

  They wanted to force her to stop. But they wanted her alive, they wouldn’t let her get chopped to pieces by the rotor—which would probably kill them too. Without looking she jumped, and flattened herself as if skydiving to reduce her terminal velocity and give herself more range.

  The helicopter was directly in her line of flight. She could not steer. She could not avoid it.

  She saw with interest the look of panic on the face of the pilot. Reacting fast, he increased the rotor speed. Chloe flew at him. The chopper rose with painful slowness. Chloe felt the wind from the edge of the rotor and the down draught as it altered her trajectory. Instantly she knew she wouldn’t make the opposite roof.

  She passed within a couple of feet of the passenger and pilot. She felt strangely detached. The undercarriage was coming at her; she reached out an arm and hooked it round the skid.

  Even with her reduced weight, the force of her deceleration felt as if it were ripping her arm from its socket. She swung up and hooked both legs round the skid and switched arms.

  She hung there, dazed. She had not even thought about her actions, it had all been so fast it was automatic.

  From the behaviour of the chopper it seemed they did not initially realise what had happened. The front tilted down and the whole machine did a three-sixty as they searched for her body.

  She felt faint again. The adrenalin had kept the drug at bay but there was enough of it in her system still. She deliberately bit her tongue so the pain kept her awake.

  The helicopter accelerated. They knew they had her. But they knew she was drugged so were concerned she might drop off at any time.

  The chopper kept low, and Chloe felt it change direction as it flew out over the Irwell River. By staying close to the surface it used the surrounding buildings as cover.

  Chloe’s mind was shutting down. The river. She needed to float. She let go with her hands and, hanging upside down, got rid of the backpack. It fell away.

  Letting go herself seemed harder; her legs gripped the skid solidly. She focused. And then threw her arms and legs outward.

  Moments later the water hit her like concrete.

  Chapter 22

  Mitchell

  Mitchell pulled his collar even tighter around his neck and tugged his hat down. What a mess.

  The streets were illuminated with the flashing blue and red lights of police vehicles and ambulances. At the far end of the street the paramedics were checking the bodies of the kidnappers’ forces.

  Kidnappers? Whoever they were they had a lot of resources. Nobody went to this much trouble to grab one specific girl. She was special.

  The wind abated for a moment, allowing the sound of pathetically moaning criminals to drift down to him. He wandered up to the doorway of the restaurant.

  Heat was pouring out of the open door. Inside he could hear the constant hubbub of the diners. Uniforms were busy taking statements. The guests were coming out in dribs and drabs, but being sent out the back way so as not to contaminate any of the crime scene.

  Special? If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes he wouldn’t have believed it. She had leapt straight up about thirty feet. He was old enough to remember the line able to leap tall buildings.

  After she had gained the roof things got sketchy. One of the police snipers had seen her on the roof, and the double beams of the burner. It seemed the big attack was just a diversion. It was very unlikely any of the foot soldiers had any idea who had employed them or why. He had already heard they had been told there would be a reward for every cop they brought down.

  But someone had supplied their weaponry. There might be a lead there.

  The police sniper couldn’t see where they had gone, but he had seen the helicopter. They had all seen it, and it had gone chasing across the rooftops.

  He had asked for data but he already knew: a helicopter without a riffy.

  It had paused at Debenhams, gone around the other side, and then made off along the Irwell. And that was that.

  Had they caught her? It seemed likely, but there was no way to be absolutely sure.

  Mitchell glanced back down the street. He saw Special Agent Graham talking to someone he didn’t recognise. Probably one of his buddies. If they had friends in the Purity.

  With a shake of his head, Mitchell headed back in Graham’s direction. There were a lot of things Graham wasn’t telling him, and he thought maybe now he could get some answers.

  Episode IV: Abyss

  Chapter 1

  Chloe

  She dreamt she was falling. There was nothing below her, nothing above. She fell through velvet black. And then, as in all falling dreams, she woke with a jolt. Her face was glued to something that clawed at her skin while her arms and legs were numb.

  There was light beyond her eyelids but she didn’t want to open them. She was tired. Every part of her wanted to go back to the velvet black. Ice snapped and cracked, and the empty wind whistled through the eyeless windows of broken buildings.

  How did she know that? Though her eyes were closed, she could see. Buildings, their windows either boarded or broken open. A roadway that ended in an abrupt drop to where she lay. And all about her cold, frozen mud. Behind, away from the buildings, lay a river, some parts of the surface moved, bubbling and gurgling, the rest frozen solid. The wind shifted and the wailing of the ancient and broken walls faded. And with it went the image in her mind.

  I am lying in freezing water.

  She was not flat, face down, but slightly on her side with her right arm higher than the rest of her. Though she could barely feel the position of her bones, she bent her arm and opened her eyes. Her hand was caked in black mud. She curled her frozen fingers into a fist; lumps of mud fell on to the dirty ice but the rest clung to her. More mud fell away when she spread them again.

  She placed her palm flat on frozen mud and pressed down. The ice gave way and her hand sank into it. The mud sucked at her hand, but she kept pushing and turned herself over. The mud tried to hold her and ice cracked under her back. Her heels broke through the thin ice and sank into icy water.

  She stared up at the greyness of the sky. Darker grey clouds scudding across it. Down here at ground level, so close to the ground she was part of it, she barely felt the wind, but she stretched her hand up and could feel the moving air.

  I am cold, and lying in a river. If I don’t get out of the wind, if I don’t get out of this water, I will die from hypothermia.

  The two betraying lumps of flesh and bone in her back pressed against the ground. Unlike the rest of her extremities, those two growths that were not her were warm enough that they were not numb.

  Why not just die here? After all, I have no future.

  The wind shifted again and the blank stone faces of the walls wailed at her; once more she could see without seeing. But she did not care.

  I am going to die. And so is Melinda. And the other two.

  She remembered, from her research, there were more than two. Other girls, and the boys, and yet no one was looking for them, at least so it seemed. But perhaps everything was a lie.

  She heard someone cough. It was not a pleasant cough, but the kin
d that tore your lungs out and left you in excruciating pain while dreading the next one. So you tried to suppress it, tried to make sure it didn’t happen again. But nothing you did was ever enough; it was the kind of cough that always beat you.

  But it was far away and no threat to her. She corrected herself: the owner of the cough was not a threat.

  She realised she was not shivering, and that was a bad sign. If she did not move now, she would never move again. The carrion crows and the fish would feast on her.

  She laughed at herself, at the sheer pretension of being eaten by crows. The sound of her own laughter gave her strength. Using her elbows she levered herself up and then pushed herself until she was sitting in the water, facing across the river. She felt the wind on her face but her hoodie still clung around her head and held the drowned hat over her skull.

  The electrics are probably ruined, she thought, but the metal should provide sufficient protection. For a moment she couldn’t remember why that was important, then her eyes focused on the riffy tower on the far bank. The half-frozen river matched the image she had seen in the wind. To her right, perhaps a couple of hundred yards away upriver, was an old bridge, but then all the bridges were old. There was no reason to build new ones. In the other direction, the river broadened into trees and perhaps fields, but she couldn’t see as it curved away to the right. There were a few residential houses strung out along its length, but not much sign of life. Just the man who had coughed.

  Perhaps she could just sit for a while. She wanted to go back to sleep.

  But I’ve got this far, perhaps I can get to my feet.

  Slowly, because all her joints were stiff, she turned over again until she was on all fours. The grasping river mud sucked at her legs as she moved forward. The surface was covered in ice but it was barely the thickness of a pie crust, and so fragile it cracked easily. Her hands and knees sank into the water with every movement.