Kingdom: The Complete Series

by Steven William Hannah

  “You next, mate.”

  Jamie looks at the door. He'd be more relaxed if there were shouting, hollering soldiers chasing them. The lack of any sound unnerves him even more.

  “Don't mess this up, Mark, I swear -”

  His voice is cut off by his own screaming as Mark grabs him and leaps, accelerating like a missile through the building, shielding Jamie with his body, until dreary evening light and fresh air bathe them.

  Jamie gasps as they slow down, taking a breath of air that doesn't smell like stale whiskey and ashtrays. He tumbles away from Mark onto the gravel rooftop, rolling on his side before he relaxes, letting his head fall back onto the stones as he exhales.

  Cool evening air washes over them, and Mark rubs the dust and debris from his hair and his eyes, laughing. Chloe is already on her feet, looking out across the city.

  “I can see for miles,” she turns, beaming.

  “That's great, darling.” Jamie groans as he sits up cracking his back and rubbing life back into his tense, sore fingers. “Where to now, superman?”

  Mark laughs and dismisses him with a hand wave.

  “Don't be silly, I can't fly.” His eyes are unfocused from the drink, but he holds up a finger. “Bear with me for a moment.” He pauses to think, before suppressing a belch and pointing downwards. “Unfinished business with our friend.”

  Mark swaggers to the hole and jumps back down into the breach again, leaving Jamie and Chloe in a mixture of dumbfounded confusion and dubious laughter.

  “Y'know, we might just survive this,” she says.

  The Trespasser stands with his hands raised in the hallway. Like a thunderstorm, the approaching squad crashes into the corridor and fans out, freezing when they see him. Dark, uniformed figures without faces aim their weapons at him. He knows their training; he knows how to handle this.

  “I surrender,” he says, loud and clear.

  “Identify yourself.”

  “Trespasser One, I'm a part of Operation Firefall just like you are.”

  One soldier steps forward from the crowd, rifle still aimed at the Trespasser. A hand goes to his ear, and he stops to listen.

  “Command isn't very happy with you, Trespasser. Where's your comms unit?”

  “I tore it out,” he takes a breath, stating his rehearsed lines, “in order to pursue my mission objective in the face of orders that compromised the end result of the entire operation, and the lives of civilians. There was no time to react in any other way.”

  The soldier listens to the orders in his headset, and then nods, detaching something from his helmet and lowering the rifle to walk across the hallway.

  “Command wants to talk to you,” the soldier says, and the Trespasser takes the earpiece and plugs it into one of the USB slots in his helmet.

  “Command,” his tone is curt and professional, “this is Trespasser One.”

  Command's voice is laced with impatience, anger and frustration as it feeds into his ears through his helmet. Trespasser One flinches like a child being told off.

  “The hell were you thinking, son.”

  “I just explained, sir,” he says, “I had to pursue the target before we lost him.”

  “You lost the target anyway, on top of disobeying a direct order.”

  “I apologise, sir, but that's not accurate. I have not one, but two targets, and can bring them in without a struggle.”

  Command is silent, taking this in.

  “How?”

  “They have agreed to turn themselves over to the Agency on the condition that criminal figurehead known as the King is brought to justice -”

  “Stop right there, Trespasser,” says Command, a heavy sigh sending a rush of static through the earpiece.

  Trespasser One waits, and Command is silent for a minute, leaving the Trespasser to stew in his own anxiety.

  “You spoke to the targets.”

  “I learned about the King during negotiations with the targets, sir.”

  “I told you not to pursue this line of inquiry, Trespasser One.”

  “Why? Because you were afraid I'd find out the truth? How long have we known about this guy, Command? How long have we let a psychopath terrorise a city? Is this why the figures look so good? Why unemployment is so low?”

  The soldiers watching him look at each other with questioning eyes behind their masks, frowning.

  “I wish I didn't have to do this, Trespasser One. I have given the order to terminate you.”

  The Trespasser sees it in the soldier's eyes before he hears the words.

  He leaps before they can process the order to kill him and react. The soldier at the front is the first to go down. Without the time for finesse or technique, the Trespasser rams an elbow through his mask, breaking his nose at the bridge between his eyes.

  He slumps with a cry of surprise, and then the Trespasser pounces into the four other men.

  Somebody gets a shot off, and he feels it pass his face like a whisper. He closes with them, neutralising their advantage, and ducks under their fumbling strikes. Drawing the tazer from his belt, he jams it into a soldier's thigh and fires. Froth and blood erupt from the bottom of the soldier's mask, and the Trespasser rises in the midst of the fray, snapping another soldier's head back with a crushing uppercut.

  Two left.

  One of them gets a rifle butt into the Trespasser's ribs, and his armour takes the worst of the blow. He spins, grabbing the weapon from the soldier's hands and snapping it upwards so suddenly that the barrel cracks the man's jaw shut and his eyes roll back in his skull. Trespasser One catches the movement in his peripheral vision: the soldier behind him produces a pistol and levels it at the back of his head.

  Trespasser One snaps his head to the side as the gun discharges, deafening him in one ear. With a head full of ringing bells, he pirouettes like a dancer, crashing his forearm into the soldier's arm. The shock makes him drop the pistol, and the Trespasser follows it up with a jab to his unprotected throat.

  The soldier goes down, gasping for air.

  “Good luck with that termination order,” the Trespasser says into his comms unit.

  “You can't run forever, Trespasser -”

  “I don't have to. I just need to stay alive long enough to take this King bastard down. I don't know why you're protecting him, Command, but this is your chance to help me fix this whole mess.”

  Command says nothing.

  As if in answer, Trespasser One hears the rumble of more soldiers coming up the stairs.

  He turns and runs, ascending the building without pausing for breath until he reaches the door, following the unmistakable scent of alcohol and sweat. As he runs, he rips the comms unit out of his helmet and stows it in his belt in case he needs it.

  He kicks the door down and enters the room with his weapon up, only to find himself in a cloud of dust that coats his eyes. Cursing, he looks up at the shaft of sunlight penetrating the room, and sees a human sized bullet hole shot straight through the upper floors of the building. In the distance he hears helicopters, and curses away his apprehension as he takes the rope-gun from his belt once more.

  Episode 8

  Flight

  The false King lies prone on the gravel rooftop with a half naked, drunken janitor standing over him.

  “I was going to take you with us,” says Mark, folding his arms, “but where we're going? I don't want you there if I can help it.”

  The King says nothing, his dry throat burning in the open air. Behind the janitor, Jamie and Chloe return to staring out over the city, exchanging hushed words.

  “Which means that I'm going to have to do this before we leave,” says Mark, and bends down to pick the King up by the neck.

  Hearing his choking struggle, Jamie and Chloe whip around to see Mark marching him to the edge of the building where a ledge stands at waist-height. Mark sits him on the edge and pushes him back, hanging onto him by his tie.

  The King gives him a hard stare as the wind whips at his f
ace, making his eyes water.

  “I know you won't drop me.”

  “Tell me where the real King is and I won't have to.”

  “Why would I? You haven't got the balls,” the King laughs. “You've shown that already.” Jamie starts to walk over, but stops when Chloe grabs his hand; the King points at him and smiles. “Now him: he's a killer. Stone cold.”

  “You had my back against a wall,” says Jamie, “I didn't want to kill anybody.”

  Their conversation is cut off by the whistling sound of an arrow flying out of the exit-hole that Mark left in the roof. They all flinch back, and Mark grabs the King and throws him onto the gravel of the roof as though they were being shot at. The arrow trails a thin steel rope behind it, which tugs it to a stop as it bursts outward into a grappling hook, latching onto the edge of the hole.

  “Here they come,” says Jamie. “We need to leave.”

  Mark turns to them. “Wait. Maybe it's him.”

  “The soldier?”

  “Trespasser,” Mark corrects him.

  As if in answer the rope goes taut and a voice comes up from the hole:

  “It's me,” the soldier's voice shouts up, rippling like an echo. “It's Trespasser One.”

  Mark looks at them again, smiling.

  Trespasser One's gloved hands grab onto the edge of the hole and Mark lunges forward to pull him up. Like extracting a tooth, Mark pulls the man out onto the rooftop. Without missing a second, the Trespasser drops to his knees and packs away his grappling hook and rope, stowing them with the deftness of a magician.

  “Did it work?” asks Mark. “Did you manage to make a deal?”

  “To cut a long story short,” the Trespasser says, breathing deep, “no. We need to leave now, they're right behind me.”

  Jamie hears it first: the clatter of boots on wooden floorboards rumbling up through the building.

  “He's right, we need to get going.”

  “Guys.” Chloe stops them, pointing at the King. “What's wrong with him?”

  The King is choking and coughing on the ground, froth churning from his lips.

  “No,” whispers Mark, diving down beside him and cradling his head like a hurt child. “No, no, no.”

  “What the hell is happening?” asks Chloe as the group crouch around his juddering body.

  “Cyanide capsule,” says the Trespasser. “There's nothing we can do, I've seen this before.”

  The false King, grunting and spluttering, stares up at Mark one last time. Heavy red eyes filled with malice stare into Mark's helpless gaze, and with the last of his life he twists his froth-splattered lips into a wide, toothless smile.

  The false King dies in Mark's arms.

  “Shit,” he whispers.

  “Did he just kill himself?” asks Chloe, her voice small. She puts an arm on Jamie's shoulder – he hasn't said a thing.

  “Cyanide capsule, like I said,” says the Trespasser. “Probably embedded in a tooth or something just in case this happened.”

  “He knew we'd get an answer out of him eventually,” says Mark.

  “Bastard,” says Jamie.

  “How do you fight a man who instils this kind of fanatical devotion?” asks Mark. “This guy was our only lead.”

  The rain starts to fall, heavier now, as the clouds settle in and lights go on across the city. Night time is only an hour or two away.

  “We need to leave,” says Jamie. “Now.”

  “He's right,” says the Trespasser. “I have a parachute – I can take one person with me if you -”

  Mark holds up a hand.

  “No need,” he says. “I came up here with a plan. There's a safe place not so far from here -”

  He is cut off by the roar of a helicopter engine, which fades in like white noise over the spitting rain. Over the chatter of his teeth, Jamie can hear the shouted orders of soldiers below them, trying to negotiate Mark's path up to the roof.

  “Helicopter is inbound,” says the Trespasser. “Decision time.”

  “I can take you all to this place with me,” says Mark. “It's called the Gardens, it's safe.”

  “How do we get there -” Chloe begins, and the gleam in Mark's eye stops her.

  “The same way we got up to the roof,” says Mark.

  “No,” Jamie says, catching on. “Absolutely not, it doesn't work that way, this isn't a bloody movie.”

  “Is he talking about flying?” asks the Trespasser.

  “I can't fly,” says Mark, “but I'm strong enough to hold all of you and jump across the city,” he tries for a warm smile, “I got you up here in one piece, didn't I?”

  “That's different,” Jamie's voice raises in panic. “We didn't fall, we had practically stopped when we landed. If we hit the ground from high up, whether you are carrying us or not, we'll die. We aren't strong like you, Mark.”

  “We could do it in phases?” Chloe offers, tugging on her short blonde hair. “Jump from one roof to a nearby one, travel that way?”

  Nobody replies – all heads turn as helicopter blades murmurs like a hurricane from beyond the distant buildings.

  “Oh hell,” Jamie sighs, “we're going to get blown to pieces in mid-air even if we do jump.”

  “I can lead them away,” says the Trespasser, standing up and checking the kit on his webbing. “I've got a tracker in my armour – they'll follow me, then I can scramble it and lose them. How do I get to this garden place?”

  “The Gardens,” Mark corrects him, “and ask any homeless you run across. They all know.”

  “I've got a better idea,” says the Trespasser. He pulls a small flesh-coloured tab from a pouch and tears one side of it off like a sticker, then presses it into the bare skin on Mark's arm. “When you get to the Gardens, push this with your thumb. Only I can track it.”

  Mark nods despite some uncertainty.

  “We've no time,” Chloe grabs Jamie by the arm and turns him to face her. “What are we doing?”

  Before Jamie can reply, the whistle of a flying arrow comes from the breach in the roof and steals his attention. They turn in time to see a second grappling hook hurl itself through the hole, before latching onto the edge and attaching itself with a whining, metallic scrape.

  Without thinking, Mark runs and kicks the whirring device as hard as he can, and a chunk of the roof comes off with it, sending it clattering back down the hole. Shouting breaks out below them, coming through the roof-hole like an echo from a sewer grating.

  “They're here,” says the Trespasser.

  “We have to go, now,” says Mark, opening his arms and bracing his legs. “Hold onto me, both of you.”

  “Too late,” says Jamie, pointing. Mark turns to see the attack helicopter, missile pods and cannons hanging from its wings like claws, rising over the buildings.

  “Go,” says the Trespasser, waving him away and running for the building's edge. “All of you, go, I'll meet you at the Gardens.”

  Another grappling hook emerges, clinging onto the roof as the helicopter stops its approach. It hovers high above them and stays there, unmoving. Chloe's hair whips into her face as the hot wind from the helicopter's rotors hits them, carrying the smell of burning fuel with it. Behind them, the grappling rope goes taut and begins pulling something up.

  “Get on your knees,” comes the booming voice from the helicopter, “and put your hands on your head. You have three seconds to comply.”

  “Jamie,” says Mark, grabbing him and Chloe like children, “turn us invisible.”

  Jamie stares at him. “What?”

  “Turn us invisible: that's what you do right?”

  “Two.”

  He shakes his head, trying to form the words in his mind. He knows exactly what he can do; he has simply never said it out loud until now.

  “I can stop time,” he says, almost as though he is telling himself. He looks down at Chloe to find her biting her lip in fear. “That's what I do.”

  “Then do it,” shouts Mark as the roar of the
helicopter's blades drowns out his voice.

  “Jamie, your brain,” Chloe's voice is lost in the chaos, “you could die.”

  “Don't worry about me,” he reassures her, rubbing her back. “It's not so hard, it's like... like I'm a dam, and time is a river. I can do it. We don't have a choice anyway.”

  “One.”

  “Now or never, guys,” says Mark, and without another word the couple nestle themselves under his scrawny arms and hold on tight.

  “Wait until it goes quiet,” Jamie shouts over the racket. “That's how you know it's working.”

  “I'm ready,” Mark bends his knees, gritting his teeth.

  “Mark?” Jamie asks as he closes his eyes, concentrating.

  “Jamie?”

  “If anything happens to her -” Jamie murmurs.

  “I know, I know.”

  The helicopter opens fire: it sounds like a thousand bolts of thunder striking at the same time. Like an earthquake, the pounding of large calibre cannon rounds shake the roof, and the gravel explodes in fountains of dirt and masonry.

  Then the world snaps into grey silence.

  The Trespasser waits until they have disappeared, and blinks twice to be sure of what he just saw. Like a chainsaw ripping through the gravel, the helicopter's chain-guns start to tear a path towards him.

  Wasting no time, the Trespasser leaps on to the edge of the roof and perches there, turning around just long enough to see a squad of black-clad figures emerge through the tunnel. He makes sure that they get a good look at him: they take aim at him and fire, the sound of their gunshots lost in the tornado of lead and fiery rain that is pummelling the rooftop.

  The Trespasser leaps from the roof's edge like an Olympic diver, arms spread wide and legs straight together, and plummets like a stone as the bullets fly above his head. The air whistles past him as he speeds towards the ground. His hand reaches back for the parachute cord for the second time that day, and he grasps it.

  He tears the cord and the canopy blossoms behind him, swinging him forwards into the glass panelled windows of another unfortunate building. He crashes through at high speed, cursing and tumbling as he finds his footing amidst sparkling glass.