by Andy Graham
“Your scientists?”
He met her gaze evenly. A vessel was thumping deep in his head.
“My scientists” she said, “are questioning how it is possible for this gwenium to have affected Shaw like it did in such a short time—”
He waved his hand dismissively. “The world is full of naysayers, people who build up a reputation by tearing down others’. People who see bigger problems as the solution to smaller ones.”
“I thought you believed in problems as a currency?”
His mouth clamped shut. Gooseflesh rampaging up his arms. How much does she know?
“Will you listen now?”
He nodded. The thumping in his head was blurring his vision.
“My reasons: One, while the full effects of this element remain unknown, I do not want it in proximity to our citizens. Two,” — Bethina added her forefinger to the thumb — “the main source of that element is still deep under the Donian Mountains. Whatever Professor Shaw has become, or whatever that monster was or is, it is still loose in those tunnels and has stopped all of our efforts to mine the gwenium. Our new weapons do not work there. We have sent in several teams now, armed with bullets, knives and machetes, but none have come out. Even the hardbitten legionnaires from the Rivermen, the 10th Legion, Ray Franklin’s old squad—”
His lips curled. He looked over one shoulder, straight into the red-rimmed eyes of one of the president’s dogs.
Bethina pointed a long finger at him. “You would do well to give the 10th the credit they are due. Don’t let your feelings for Ray Franklin cloud your judgement over their efficacy. The free rein and training the 10th have makes them more lethal than the unruly thugs you are recruiting to the Unsung. And on that note, why are you so interested in the 13th Legion, may I ask? Despite your bribes and backhanders, they are still under Chester’s command, are they not?”
The semblance of calm in her voice was patronising. She was laughing at him. He could see it behind her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.” This morning, yes. But my lawyers have just found a solution. We’ll see who will be in control of the 13th come evening.
She set her mug down. The click of porcelain on glass was precise and finite. “More important than reasons one and two is the final one. The Donian are a proud, warlike people. We have them contained for now. If we decimate their ancestral home, they may decide that the peace we forced on them is not worth it. They may come looking for us. And as good as the 10th Legion are, as vicious as the 13th are, and with all the combined might of the rest of Field-Marshal Chester’s legions on our side—”
“Chester works for both of us. She does what we tell her.”
Bethina took a sharp breath in, irritation etched into her face. “As good as those legionnaires may be, if a nation of warriors who bleed violence, a nation who have already lost their homes, come knocking on the doors of those who took those homes, our life could become more than ugly. And all Mennai, our neighbour who you hate so much, would have to do is watch and wait.” She sat back. “Genetic warfare is not going to happen. That is my last word on it.”
“If we don’t do it—”
“Then someone else will, I know. And when that situation arises, I will do both what I have to do and what I want to do. Not all progress is good. I am not going to be the one responsible for letting that particular genetic devil out of its bottle and turning our country into one giant pariah.”
The chair screeched on the flagstones as the VP stood. The dogs growled, hackles raising. “You have effectively ignored everything I have said to you. I shall go and powder my nose while you get on with the business of running the country.”
“Please, listen to me.”
“It appears I am doing nothing else.”
Bethina sighed. “Listen to yourself then. You are one of the finest administrators this country has had for a long time. You helped me bring Ailan back from the brink of economic extinction and bury the dinosaurs of certain social mores that have always vexed me. For that, I am eternally thankful. But this genocide is a step too far.”
He clenched a fist in his pocket. One of the knuckles cracked. “I have to go, ma’am. My car is waiting to take me home and Captain Brennan is expecting a call. If you’ll excuse me.” He dipped his head to her.
Behind her, the thin clouds overhead stretched out in the winds. Greys and blues twisted around each other in overlapping waves. “As you wish,” she said finally.
He stormed off, eyes scraping over the stained flagstone he had thrown up on those few months ago. The taste of vomit was back in his mouth, burning his throat. He snatched his coat off the old leather sofa inside the doors and shrugged into it.
“One more thing,” she called.
He stopped, grinding his polished heels into the rug.
“Have you told Ray Franklin who you are?”
“Have you?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then I will enjoy this evening even more.”
“Question him.” The warning laced in Bethina’s words made him bristle. “But do not kill him.”
The dogs had flanked her, the scarred one watching, the second on all fours. The leaves rustled in the wind, bidding him farewell, congratulating him on having held onto his dinner this time.
“I will do what I have to do, not what I want to.”
As the lift sank through Bethina’s tower, the digital needle in the faux leather dial above the doors seemed to creep round. The VP’s mind was racing through the options and possibilities he had left. Chester was a problem, he’d known that, but he’d counted on being able to talk Bethina round. He’d failed. He was running out of time, running out of peaceful solutions. Something needed to be done. Someone needed a warning.
13
Trucks & Cages
Seth shoved Ray. Ray’s ankle buckled. Seth kicked Ray. Ray fell over.
The forced march from the old distiller’s barrel to the Unsung’s base on the edges of the Weeping Woods had been short but brutal. The kids, bouncing around on Orr’s and Nascimento’s backs (Seth had given up after the little girl refused to keep still), had maintained a sullen silence. Now the children were huddled together on the floor, chewing on a protein bar that was more sawdust and glue than food. Their heads poked out of a blanket Nascimento had wrapped them in. Teary-eyed and sniffly, they watched the legionnaires hurrying around the makeshift camp.
The cages that held the Donian and waifs-n-strays from the streets of Ailan were being loaded onto the backs of military trucks. The vehicles were destined for army camps dotted around the capitol. Helicopters had already medevaced away the three legionnaires that Ray’s traps had injured. The first was unlikely to walk straight again. Another was a swollen mass of wasp stings. The woman, Renna, was likely to lose her sight. Illuminated by the midmorning light, glass shards from the trap she had sprung fanned across her face. The reflections of that light sparkled across the face of the old man she had been beating. As she was loaded onto the stretcher, he watched: impassive and patient. Hungry.
Seth tossed Ray a water bottle. The top popped off and liquid trickled into the grass.
“Pick it up. You’re not getting no more.”
“Why so concerned about my health, Seth?”
“The big dog wants to talk to you. And that’s still Corporal Seth to you, Franklin.”
Ray drank. The water was brackish and lukewarm.
“I’ve heard enough from Brennan already.”
“Not him. The big dog. He wants you in one piece.” Seth leant over him, leering. “But don’t you get to thinking you’re due a last-minute let-off. I know there’s no complicated death planned for you to worm your way out of.”
“Let me and the kids go, Seth, and I’ll go easy on you. I’ll kill you quickly.”
“Drop it, Franklin. I may have a go at you regardless of what the big dog wants. I’ll start by shooting off a knee cap, one ankle and an elbow. Maybe I could run a study on Swann’s family afterwards, she’s
into science. I wanna see which combination slows people down most. Gonna call it an anti-mobility study. What d’you think?”
“Last chance, Seth.”
Seth chuckled, a deep mirthless sound. He kicked the bottle out of Ray’s hands. The last of the water leaked out onto a muddy patch of ground. “Oops. Guess you’ll have to go thirsty, unless you want to take some water from those kids. We can’t spare no more.”
“Corporal Seth.” Brennan’s voice boomed across the camp. “Get the prisoner over here. We’ve got a call.”
With one arm twisted behind his back, Ray was half-marched, half-dragged to Brennan. The deep vertical line in the captain’s forehead was a black streak. Lines of static crackled across the surface of the mobile screen as Brennan clicked to a different channel.
The picture focused on a wall of burnished steel and dark wood. Glass dials, brass levers and circular stop clocks punctuated the space, relics from a previous life repurposed and polished. Ray knew this place. He just couldn’t place where he had seen it last. The image cleared abruptly. A face filled the screen. Odd-coloured eyes glared back at him.
“Ray Franklin,” the VP said.
Seth whipped his baton down onto the back of Ray’s thighs. “When the Vice-President speaks, you answer. None of this 10th Legion disobedience-is-a-privilege bullshit. That’s called manners.”
“Leave him, Corporal Seth. I can’t be bothered with his games.”
“What do you want?” Ray asked.
“A little respect.” Seth’s baton cracked down again. Pain exploded in Ray’s thigh and his ankle gave way.
“I said that will do, Corporal. Back off while I talk to Franklin. I want you out of earshot but don’t take your eyes off him.”
Seth saluted and stalked off. Ray fought to catch his breath, exaggerating his pain, using the time to study his options.
Nascimento was crouched next to Stella’s kids, coaxing them into eating something. Orr was manhandling one of the Donian back into a cage. The medi-choppers were thudding away into the clouds. They left behind them a camp still teeming with Unsung of all ranks and sizes. The Weeping Woods were unnaturally still. As if the trees were watching, waiting to see what the humans would do to each other next.
I should have made a break for it in the woods. I could have come back for the kids later. Why didn’t I? I was safer there than here. The desperation that had shadowed Ray for most of his life reared up behind him. Its claws were ready to sink back into his mind, tear him down again. “You thought you’d beaten me,” a voice whispered. “Thought you were done running? You were wrong. You were wrong.” He screwed his eyes closed, tried to shut out the voice in his head. The smell of damp soil was heavy in his nostrils. Ray thumped his fist into the ground. The man I was is dead. These people killed my brother. They lied to me my whole life. I will not let them beat me down again. He staggered upright. “What do you want?”
The VP smiled, lines crinkling at the edges of his eyes. “Oh, come now, Ray. Why so moody? The vanquished hero who returns to save the day is a nice idea but it’s been done to death.”
“You’re no hero,” Ray heard alongside those words.
“I’ve never understood why people seem to respect someone who’s been on an emotional journey more than someone who hasn’t,” the VP said. “The reformed villain who discovers the light. The failure who becomes a winner. Is it because people are jealous of those they think are getting an easy ride through life?”
“Are you going to bore me to death with third-rate psychology?”
“You being alive bores me much more, trust me on that.”
“What?”
The VP sighed melodramatically. “You aren’t much of a thinker, are you, Franklin? Not very bright. Maybe your dead twin got the brains and the brawn, and you’re the genetic runt of the litter?”
He refused to rise to the insult. While the VP was talking, Ray and the kids were still alive, that gave them a chance. “What do you want?” he repeated.
“You don’t happen to know where Dr Swann is, do you? Her husband is at home, pining for his family, but we’re at a loss as to where the good doctor is.”
“Why are you interested in her?”
“She’s interfering with things she has no right to.”
“She was helping me.”
“Exactly. She’s also a good-looking woman, for her age.”
“She’d be a good-looking woman whatever her age.”
The VP smiled a humourless smile. “You’re such a romantic at heart, Ray. That must be your father’s genes, another dead deserter. As for Stella Swann, I’d be interested to know why she didn’t come to rescue her children herself? I hear a mother’s love can be so powerful.”
Ray’s stomach sank. “She knew her kids were in trouble?”
“I spread the word. I assume Swann got the message.”
“You’re a sick bastard.”
“No more a bastard than you, Ray Franklin.” He paused to pour himself a drink. As the bottle chinked on the glass, Ray realised where the VP was: the Brick Cathedral. He had broken in to seek the help of David Prothero, aid which had only reluctantly been given. Whether that help had led to his grisly death, Ray had no idea, but he suspected the rumours concerning Prothero and the man in front of him had more than just a kernel of truth to them.
“Maybe that’s another death to add to your guilt list,” the voice in his head said. “Hamid, Brooke, Aalok, Lenka, Skovksy, James. Who will you kill next? Stella? Rose? How about yourself?” The words descended into maniacal cackling that left Ray trembling.
Behind him, the last of the cages was winched onto a lorry. The restraining clips clanked home, and the retractable metal that made up the trailer cover started closing. The other lorries were already bouncing away from the forest, like wheeled, khaki armadillos.
“Focus,” he hissed under his breath. “Don’t let this nut-job get to you.” He raised his head and stared at the VP. “Is it true you murdered Prothero?”
“Possibly.” The VP’s eyes twitched, searching the screen. “There’s something we need to discuss, Franklin, but I have to go. I have a call. Another woman with a lot to answer for.”
Brennan and Seth moved closer to Ray, the latter holding shackles and handcuffs.
“I let Prothero walk out of his flat in the Brick Cathedral,” Ray said. “Pray to whatever you value other than yourself that I grant you the same gift.”
The VP sighed. “Spare me the melodrama. I preferred you when you were all strung out on self-pity and insecurity. This prototype alpha-male action hero doesn’t suit you. Brennan?”
The captain stepped into the VP’s view.
“I want Franklin in the old cells by the end of the day.”
“And the children?”
“Also. They’re useful. Pick up Dr Swann’s husband on the way as well. He can join the brats. Once you’re organised, call me straight back. I have an urgent message for you to get to the Field-marshal Chester.”
Brennan saluted and beckoned Seth over with the restraints.
“Goodbye, Franklin. I look forward to our talk later.” The VP winked and the screen went black.
Seth grabbed Ray’s shoulder. Pain lanced through his ankle as he pulled himself free. “Get your hands off me.”
“Come and help me with this man, Sub-Corporal Orr,” Seth called.
The caw of a fisher gull split the air as it burst from the treeline. Orr stopped climbing into the cab of one of the last trucks and glared at the other legionnaire.
“That’ll be ‘yes, Corporal Seth. I’d love to help, sir’.” Seth jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Nascimento, who was helping the kids get into the back of the truck. “Seeing as your muscle-mary friend is putting his superior squat strength to good use as a nanny, you’ll have to do.”
“Watch it, Seth,” Nascimento warned. He boosted the young boy up into the trailer and ruffled his hair.
Ray raised his fists. “Come and get m
e, Seth. Or are you worried about taking on a half-lame ex-10th legionnaire deserter?”
Seth sneered. “Never, but I need you relatively unhurt. Now, Orr,” he yelled.
Orr jumped down from the cab, muttering under his breath. As he slammed the door, an arrow of smoke streaked out of the trees. A black canister landed amongst the Unsung. An explosion lit up the clearing and sent Orr spinning in a loop through the air.
Clods of earth burst from the ground behind Seth. He dropped the shackles. White noise and a raucous light exploded at his feet. Ray’s ankle caved underneath him and he smacked into the ground, the air leaving his lungs with a grunt. Shouts punctured the air. Screams. Instructions. Warnings.
A bunch of people in balaclavas and mismatched clothing sprinted from the treeline clutching a ragged array of weapons. One man was wearing a beret, bullets booming from pistols held in both hands. Brennan raised his own revolver. A spray of red droplets smeared through the air. An attacker fell.
Seth rammed the external bolt home on the back door of the truck. The metal shimmered in waves. Little fists pounded it from the inside as the kids wailed for help.
Ray lunged for Seth, the bright spark of pain from his ankle distant. He collided with the legionnaire. Knocked him off balance. Ray looped his arms around the other man’s thigh. He drove his weight into the ground, through the pain in his legs. Ray upended the burly trooper over his own shoulder and Seth thudded into the ground. His lips twisted into a snarl. He grabbed the hilt of his knife. As Ray swung his leg forwards to kick Seth, his ankle twitched. He stumbled. His boot glanced off Seth’s head. The Unsung moaned and rolled to one side, dazed but awake, his fingers still clamped around the knife.
The rigid sound of gunfire rattled through the air. Brennan was down on one knee, firing at the weaving targets. Orr rolled to his feet. Scorch marks and black dust were smeared across his face.
“Help, help us!” The voices of the children were muffled and tinny, broken by terrified sobs.
