by Tim Lebbon
“So where the hell are the other two?” Sparky asked.
“Spooky guy told me they were dead.”
“You’re risking your life when you could be running,” Lucy-Anne said.
Hayden glanced back. “So are you.”
“Okay,” Sparky said. “Keep looking. Everything we’ve been through, I don’t want to mess up now ’cos we didn’t have a screwdriver.”
“Let’s cross over,” Hayden said. “Take that side street. I spent some time around here couple of years before Doomsday. I think there’s a locksmith’s down there.”
“That’d suit?” Lucy-Anne asked.
“That’d be perfect.”
They crouched and crossed the street, pausing behind a van that had been turned onto its side. Listening. Watching for movement, and any signs of pursuit. There was a rattle of gunfire far in the distance, and Lucy-Anne glanced at Hayden. His eyes had gone wide and his head was to one side, listening.
“Your lot popping off a few more survivors?” Sparky asked.
Hayden did not rise to his bait. “No. Everyone’s had the evacuation order, far as I know. That’ll be something else.”
“Yeah, guess who,” Lucy-Anne said.
They turned a corner and moved along the new street, and five shops along was the locksmith’s that Hayden remembered. The front door was open.
Sparky and Lucy-Anne waited close to the front of the shop while Hayden disappeared into the workshop at the back. As they kept watch they heard him rooting around for tools, dropping them into a metal box and mumbling to himself.
“Maybe we should just go,” Lucy-Anne said. “Take him to the museum and leave Jenna, Jack and Rhali where they are. Pick them up on the way out, after it’s done.”
“No,” Sparky said. “No way.”
“But with Jack like that—”
“It’s nothing to do with Jack,” he said. “I want to be with Jenna, and I know she wants the same. When the end comes, you know?”
“But we’re doing our best.”
“Can’t you feel it?” Sparky said. “The hopelessness of all this? Night’s falling on London, Lucy-Anne. The end’s close. Everything feels doomed, and what we’re doing just feels so pointless. Clutching at straws.”
“You’ve got to have hope.”
“I do. I have hope that I can die with Jenna. With the girl I love. And all of us together, too, when the time comes. We got more than we ever dreamed really, didn’t we? Always wanted to expose the truth of what London had become, reveal the lie being told to everyone. And here we are in the middle of it all. I never thought…” He chuckled wryly, shook his head.
“That doesn’t sound like the Sparky I know.”
“Not sure I’m him anymore.”
She wanted to rage, and cry. Instead, she pulled Sparky close and gave him a hard, quick kiss on the lips. Then she gripped his lapels.
“There’s still hope,” Lucy-Anne whispered. After everything, she was surprised that she was the one to say that. She thought of Nomad, and the explosion, and Rook falling and being killed even though she had dreamed him surviving. And the refrain repeated again and again in her mind as Sparky stared at her, unable to respond. There’s still hope…
For a while Jack believed himself dead, because when he tried to rise from his star-speckled darkness he could not. Reality remained obscure and difficult to find. Like some people’s idea of Heaven, it was beyond the universe he now knew.
But then he touched on a talent and plunged inside, and his perception changed. He floated in a blue sea that surrounded him on all sides and in all directions, and in places the sea was marred with frozen places, the ice a deep green colour, cracks seeping pain, sharp surfaces brushing against the sea and spreading more cold.
I know what this is, he thought, and he closed on one berg. The water grew colder and strong currents swirled through the sea, but he kept his course and reached out. The point between water and ice was ambiguous, but Jack felt power flowing through him and producing a warm, comforting heat. The berg began to melt. Green turned to blue. He could make out more details about his surroundings, as if the gift of vision was becoming more defined, and he waited there until the berg was almost completely gone. At its centre remained a solid core, a scar on the blue ocean that would likely remain there forever.
But Jack knew that he had done enough, and he drifted away towards another spread of ice. This was much larger but less defined, like a sea of sludge within this endless ocean of blue. It was a deep purple colour, and shades and tones swirled and flowed in its depths. Jack paused for only a moment before allowing himself to enter. The floating sensation was different—more harsh edges, and the smell/taste was sickly and rich—and he exuded the healing warmth once again.
As the cold ocean around him faded from a rich purple to a comfortable blue, it began to take on more features. His senses burst alight. He could hear the mumble of voices, though as yet the words made little sense. He could feel contact against his skin—a pressure behind him from where he was lying down, and a repetitive caress against one extreme that might have been his hand. And he could smell coffee.
Coffee!
He tried talking, but the shades of purple still swallowed his words. More heat, more healing flow. What he was doing amazed him, though perhaps it should have come as no surprise. He possessed remarkable powers after all, and healing himself was not the most incredible thing he had ever done.
As the purple faded some more he cast his senses farther afield, and when he felt able, he tried to speak once more.
“Large latte, extra shot.” Jack tried to sit up, and Jenna grabbed him beneath one arm, Rhali the other. When he was sitting he looked around at them all, saw the toolbox in Hayden’s hand, nodded. “Good. Right. Let’s go.”
None of them spoke. There was a stiffness and soreness in Jack’s right eye. It felt like someone had punched him there and it was swollen, but when he closed his left eye he could still see, though his vision was blurred.
And his head hurt like hell.
“But…” Lucy-Anne said.
“Mate,” Sparky said.
“What?” Jack went to stand, but Jenna pressed her hand gently on his shoulder.
“For a moment we thought you were dead,” she said. “Then it looked like your eye had been gouged out. And Hayden thought you had a fractured skull, and we weren’t sure whether you’d even wake up or not. There was so much bleeding. You were shaking, and muttering things. And we just…didn’t know.”
“I’m fine,” Jack said. “Bastard of a headache.” He leaned into Rhali and she held him, kissing his forehead. He liked her breath against his face.
“You healed yourself,” Sparky said. “How cool is that?”
“Doesn’t feel like it’s healed,” Jack said. He lifted a hand to his face and touched his right eye, wincing when he felt the knotted flesh there, the hard scars that would probably remain forever.
“Dude, compared to what it was you’re a supermodel,” Jenna said, and they all laughed.
“So you got what you need?” Jack asked, nodding at the toolbox in Hayden’s hand.
“Pretty much.”
“Pretty much?” Sparky asked, and Hayden’s eyes opened wider.
“Yeah, everything, got it all,” he said.
“Right,” Sparky said. “Heard some gunfire to the north, long way off. Other than that, things are quiet out there.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jenna said. “Quiet things.”
“Nothing close,” Rhali said. “Nothing I can sense, anyway. That doesn’t mean there aren’t small groups of creatures out there. And the museum…” She closed her eyes again, swaying slightly. “Lots.”
“How many?” Lucy-Anne asked.
Rhali shrugged. “Lots. And lots.”
“Bridges to cross when we get there,” Jack said. His rush of joy at surfacing to find his friends around him was quickly receding, and now the future only promised more pa
in, and trouble, and violence. And they didn’t have very long left.
“What’s the time?”
“Almost eight,” Jenna said.
“Four hours.”
Rhali helped him up and he smiled his thanks. He felt sick and weak, but he could not project that. They needed his strength. They needed to feel he still had their backs, and between blinks he saw that universe of talents he still had access to, and the red star of contagion he would never, ever touch.
“So what are we waiting for?” Jack asked.
Outside, the sun was touching the rooftops in the west.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FOUR
“What if you’d died?” Jenna asked him as they set off for the Imperial War Museum.
“No, Jenna.”
“But if you had. We were desperate back there, Jack. And I was scared. I felt naked, exposed.”
“There’s no way I’d ever infect you. I’d never do that to anyone, you least of all.”
“But it’s a gift! The things you can do, Jack. The amazing things.”
“I’ve killed people.” Stating it like that, stark and plain, brought the reality home to Jack once again. Previously it had been a memory that haunted him, but now it was a truth that had been hauled into the fading sunlight and laid bare.
“They were trying to kill us.” But Jenna spoke without conviction.
“I’ll explain it when all this is over,” Jack said.
“So we go closer to the museum,” Jenna said. “Those things are there. Lots of them, according to Rhali. Some of them are like the others we met—more monsters than people. They’re hungry. They attack us, we fight them off, you use some of your powers to smash them away or burn them or, I dunno, turn them into Muppets. But one gets through and kills you. You’re dead, Jack. Deader than Miller with his brains blown out, and deader than Lucy-Anne’s ghost brother. What happens then?”
“You do your best.”
“But if I had your powers, we’d have insurance!”
“No, Jenna! They were never mine to own, and they’re surely not mine to give.”
He loved Jenna. She was a pure, kind, intelligent girl. Her desire for him to pass on his contagion was, he knew, largely for the reasons she had stated. But he was also aware of how his friends viewed him with a mixture of fear and awe, and there was an element of desire in Jenna’s pleading as well. She wanted to be Wonder Woman to his Superman, and he supposed it was only natural.
“It’s selfish, Jack,” she said softly.
“No!” The others glanced back, but looked away again. Perhaps they could hear his conversation with Jenna, perhaps not. He didn’t care. “It’s the opposite of that. I have a weight on me that I can’t shake off, ever. And if by some tiny miracle we do what we’re trying to do and stop the explosion, and get out of London, what about me then? Have you thought about that?”
Jenna opened her mouth to speak, but then paused, and thought. Jack’s normal life was over. He would be exposed—an oddity, a freak, someone to be examined or pointed at in the street—or he would living forever in hiding.
“And it’s more than that,” he said. “Too much to tell you. But no, Jenna, much as I love you and however much you ask, I can’t curse you like that.”
She did not respond. Jack was glad.
Andrew joined them again half a mile from the museum. He emerged from shadows and Lucy-Anne’s heart fluttered, stealing her breath. Every time she saw him, grief hit home one more time.
“There are lots around the museum, and some inside,” he said. “But they know they can’t go inside. One tried, and the others killed her. There are traps everywhere, and the bomb’s sealed in a tank. They’re here to stop it, but they don’t know how.”
“We do,” Lucy-Anne said. For the first time since his return, she saw a flicker of what might have been emotion cross his face. He seemed briefly happy, and she thought it was happiness for her. He wanted his sister to survive.
“But it’s impossible to get close,” Andrew said. He looked at Jack. “For all of you together, at least.”
“Jack, maybe you could do what Fleeter does and carry Hayden inside,” Lucy-Anne said.
Jack shook his head. “It’s far too risky. When I carried Rhali out at Camp H we had a clear route, no distractions. And even then I hurt her. Here, I don’t know the way, and there are dangers all over. One wrong move and I could kill him. And what about the booby traps?”
They all turned to look at Hayden. The Chopper looked at the friends, and they could all see in his expression that he felt excluded and alone. But he also understood that with these people—the kids who had grown up too fast, the boy with amazing powers, the ghost—lay his only hope.
“I didn’t design the security, but I know the guys who did. They were briefed that once the bomb was armed and initiated, no one should be able to get close. So there are security measures, some linked to small explosive devices or toxic gas, a couple linked to Big Bindy itself.”
“What sort of measures?” Jack asked.
“Trip wires.”
“Easy,” Sparky said. “We go slow.”
“Infrared, air movement and body heat detectors, and lasers.”
“Right. Not so easy.”
“And some of them trigger the bomb?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, in case all the others fail or are breached. Open the tank it’s planted in and it blows. And the trigger mechanism in the bomb is contained in a vacuum chamber—expose it to the air, it blows.”
“Basically, fart anywhere south of the river and the bomb blows,” Sparky said.
“I’ve been there,” Andrew said. “Nomad is there also.”
“Well if she can get in…!” Jenna said, staring pointedly at Jack.
“Maybe,” he said. “Although she knows what powers she has, whereas I’m still feeling around for mine. Lots of trial and error. And besides, what good would it do if I could get in? A year ago I had trouble wiring a plug.”
They heard a sound in the distance, a cross between a growl and a bark. It came from no dog Lucy-Anne had ever imagined.
“We should wait,” she said. “Get off the road again and decide what we’re going to do. As it is we’re just marching towards the museum without a clue about what comes next. We need to come up with a plan.”
“We don’t have time,” Jenna said.
“We’ll only get one chance!” Lucy-Anne said. The cooling dusk air seemed to swirl about her as she spoke, as if in agreement. And then Fleeter stepped from the shadows and collapsed into the gutter.
“Shit!” Sparky said. “I wish she wouldn’t do that.”
Lucy-Anne was the first by her side, kneeling and reaching out for the strange girl. Even before she touched her she knew something was wrong.
“The sickness?” Jack asked. He sounded so childlike, so lost, that Lucy-Anne felt the burn of tears for her friend. But it was not the sickness.
“No,” she said. “I think she’s been shot.”
“Close,” Fleeter said. She held Lucy-Anne’s proffered hand and squeezed. “Explosion. Got hit…” She swept her other hand across her left hip and down her thigh, not quite touching. There was plenty of blood, although much of it was dried and sticky.
“Who is this?” Hayden asked.
“A Superior,” Jack said. “She’s killed dozens like you.”
Lucy-Anne saw the look of terror on Hayden’s face and could not help smirking. Really? Siding myself with Fleeter? It was a strange thought.
They helped her up and guided her into a deep doorway.
“What happened?” Jack asked Fleeter. “Where did you go? Have you been outside London again?”
“Tried,” she said, wincing at the pain. As she spoke Jenna cut her blouse from hip to armpit, revealed the wounds, and started tending them.
“And?”
“Went with Reaper and the others,” Fleeter continued. “I didn’t know if he’d have me back. But Reaper…he’s special to m
e. I guess you knew that, Jack. And I’m sorry. He still cares for you, too. There are parts of him that are so strong and determined, and I always felt—”
“I don’t need telling what a bastard my father’s become,” Jack said. “You came back to us for a reason, so just tell us what happened.”
“We tried to get out,” she said. “Me, Reaper, Shade, Puppeteer, Scryer, a few others you’ve not seen or met. It was down to me and Shade to set some distractions.”
“We saw some of them,” Lucy-Anne said, remembering the plunging helicopter seen in the north.
“We went south,” Fleeter continued. She winced, Jenna apologised and continued cleaning her wounds. “I went ahead and scouted our route, and it seemed safe. Returned to Reaper and the others. We set off. But I must have set off an alarm of some sort. As we crossed the Exclusion Zone we hit a rapid deployment patrol.”
“Nothing like that seems to have bothered Reaper in the past,” Lucy-Anne said. “I saw him take down a helicopter with a shout.”
“And I’ve seen him do so much more than that,” Fleeter said.
“Not too bad,” Jenna said, standing. “A few nasty cuts that should be stitched. No shrapnel in you that I can find.
Fleeter nodded her thanks.
“So what went wrong this time?” Jack asked.
“They had something,” Fleeter said. “A gas, maybe. It was like…” She trailed off and looked at Jack. “You won’t have felt it yet. The weakness. The sickness.”
“We’ve seen enough of it,” Lucy-Anne said.
“It seemed to boost the illness. I’ve felt it, and every time I flip I feel it more. But whatever they used on us made it all so much worse. And while we were down, they attacked.”
“Who got away?” Jack asked, his voice flat. He wants to know if his father is dead, Lucy-Anne thought. And though Reaper was a beast, a killer, and no longer anything approaching a father to Jack and his sweet sister, she so hoped that he was still alive.
“Puppeteer was already dead when we came around,” she said. “I think the illness was quite advanced in him, and whatever they used on us pushed him over the edge. We fought, but we were weakened. I flipped but couldn’t move…I was as still as everything else around me. Reaper shouted, but knocked himself down. He became enraged. He has such pride, Jack, in what he can do, and suddenly losing control drove him mad.”
