by John Barlow
“But what did they do?” Jason said between amazed breaths.
“Who?” Bad said, casually.
“The... the...” said Jason, “...the commandos?”
“Nothing,” Bad said. “We just persuaded them that we needed the Jeep. Then we...” Bad’s mouth fell open. He turned and stared at his brother. “What did we do? We didn’t... did we?”
Worse’s mouth gaped open even wider, so wide that it looked as if his jaw had been dislocated. “We... I think we, er... forgot. Oh crap.”
“We, we...” Bad stammered.
“What!” Ben said, getting impatient. “What did you do with the commandos. Where are they?”
Without a word, Bad turned his head and looked behind at the flat back of the Jeep, which was covered in a dark blue tarpaulin. Underneath it were a couple of commando-sized lumps.
“You’re joking!” Ben said.
But even as he said it, he knew that the twins were deadly serious. He stared in terror at the tarpaulin. Then, as they all stared, it moved.
They stopped the Jeep and the twins got out.
“What are you gonna do?” Ben said, looking worriedly out of the back window.
“Just ask them to stay where they are and behave themselves,” Bad said, screwing up his fists as he said it.
Silver was disgusted: “You really enjoy it, don’t you! Violence, you really..”
“Lucky for you!” Worse snapped, putting her right in her place.
It didn’t take much. The gleefully violent expressions on the twins’ faces was all it took to convince the two commandos to stay exactly where they were and not try anything. In any case, they were bound up tight with rope, so they didn’t have a lot of choice. The twins gave them a warning, told them to stop shuffling about, then covered them with the tarpaulin again.
“See,” Worse said, climbing back behind the wheel, “we never touched ’em!”
“Yeah,” Bad added, “and look what I got!” Under his arm was the biggest crab in the universe. “Right at the side of the road, here!”
It was bigger than Ugly Pig, easily. It had bright red, bulging arms, and pincers the size of a man’s hands.
“This must have some decent meat inside. Shall we try it?” said Bad, holding the crab up and peering into its small, sticky-out eyes. “Tasty, are ya?”
“No!” Silver shouted. “No! Get rid of it!”
“But...”
“Now! Get it out of here!” she cried.
Bad, who had a grudging respect for Silver and her undeniable braininess, opened his door and put the crab back where he’d found it. It scuttled away, forwards.
“We’re in the land of the sea-rivers!” Silver said, as Bad got back into the Jeep and closed the door. “The west!” she cried. “Enormous crabs? Ring any bells, does it?”
“You mean contamination?” Coby said.
“Of course I do,” Silver said. “Things here were really terrible. No one knows what’s still contaminated. But during the war, everything here was effected.”
“Hey!” Worse said. “Not everything. Don’t forget we were born here, during the war. Contamination, pah!” and with that he started driving again.
Ben remembered what Sullivan had said... That’ll teach us to tamper with human genetics... He looked at the twins, their massive shoulders bulging with muscles, laughing as they drove on, and then he thought of Sawyer and the melted men...
He said nothing.
Chapter Forty
Several scared minutes later and it was getting tense inside the Jeep. They were still on a dirt road, heading out further into the land of the sea rivers. And on both sides there was nothing but water.
“Are we absolutely sure this is the best way?” Silver asked.
“There’s something I’ve got to see,” Ben said, although he wasn’t absolutely sure that he wanted to see it.
“Well, there’s something I’m seeing right now...” Worse said, as he peered into the driver’s mirror with his eyes screwed up. He slammed down the accelerator. “We’re being chased.”
They all spun around, crashing into one another as the Jeep shot forwards. There, in the distance, was another Jeep, a black one, coming down the road after them.
“Just keep calm!” Ben shouted, as Coby, Jason and Silver flopped about, weak with a new, dizzying fear, the blood pounding in their ears. Even the twins were looking concerned, although with those two you could never tell exactly what they were thinking.
“Keep calm?” Coby shouted, flapping about on the seat like a fish out of water. “How?”
“We’ve got him!” Ben said, pointing at Jason, who was now swooning with fright, and wishing he were back inside the Control Tower playing his games. “No one’s gonna hurt us, not whilst we’ve got him with us! Sorry Jason.”
“When I get back to the Complex,” Jason said, his bottom lip pouting, “you’re all gonna be sorry, sorry you ever m... m... met me! You just wait!”
“If you get back,” Worse muttered as he drove down the rough, narrow strip of road.
Then, as he concentrated on driving as fast as he possibly could, Worse saw something up ahead. The road widened out and led onto a flat area with low buildings on it. Then, as they got closer, he could see that they weren’t buildings.
“Look!” he said.
Ahead of them were some gates, big, iron gates, and to each side a low, tumble-down wall built of stone, covered in black moss.
“Here,” Ben said, in a low, somber voice.
Seconds later they skidded to a halt and all jumped out. They stood there, not knowing which way to turn. In front of them was a graveyard. And behind them the black Jeep was approaching.
“What are we going to do?” Coby said, his head whizzing from one thing to the other, then to his sister, to Ben, to the twins...
“It’s stopped,” said Ben.
They watched as Sullivan emerged from the black Jeep and stood right in the middle of the road. He brought a pair of binoculars up to his eyes.
“He’s waiting,” Ben said.
A chill wind blew over them, its dampness seeping into their bones. No one said anything. Ben turned his attention to the big gates up ahead. Above them, wrought in rough, corroded metal:
GATES OF DEATH
He looked back at Sullivan. For a split second a glint of light caught the glass in Sullivan’s binoculars and flashed straight into Ben’s eyes.
“He wants me to go in,” he said, very calmly.
No one moved.
Beyond the great rusted gates were rows of gravestones, lopsided, abandoned there years ago, the stone darkened with soot, wet in the heavy, damp air.
“Why don’t I just go back?” Jason said, his voice a pathetic warble, suddenly trying to be friendly. “Then they’ll leave you alone.”
“You,” said Bad, jabbing a finger into Jason’s chest, “you stay right where you are.”
Jason’s face turned from fear to disbelief. He really was a prisoner.
Ben sighed. “And, Jason,” he said, watching as confusion flooded the poor boy’s thoughts, “there’s another thing.” He paused, unable to find the right words. “I’m really sorry, Jason, but...”
“What? What! Tell me!” Jason demanded.
Ben glanced back at Sullivan and his men, who waited in the distance. “It’s your dad, Jase. He hasn’t come for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s come for me,” said Ben.
“You must be mad! Dad! Dad!” Jason started yelling, jumping up and down and waving his arms. Worse grabbed him and shut him up.
Far off, Sullivan didn’t even move.
“I’m going in,” said Ben.
“We can fight ’em better out here,” Worse said, rolling up his sleeves. “Can’t we, Ugly? Come on, Ben. They’ll have you cornered if you go in.”
“He’s right,” Bad added. “They’ll...”
“I’ll go with him,” Coby said, choking with nerves.
“You�
�re mad!” Worse said.
“I’m going, too,” Silver said, suddenly.
“What!” Bad spluttered. “This is nuts!”
“Come on,” said Ben. “We’re all going.” He looked at the twins. “Okay?”
Bad ’n Worse didn’t need to say anything. And Ben knew it.
Slowly they all walked towards the graveyard. No one said a word. The twins were at the back, Worse holding Jason tight, and Ugly Pig was with them, sniffing suspiciously as he went, unsure of where he was, and not liking it one bit.
The gates stood slightly ajar, as if no one stayed long enough to shut them when they left. As if no one came to this place at all.
Back up the road, Sullivan watched through his binoculars. As Ben lifted a hand and pushed one of the gates further open, Sullivan nodded to himself:
“That’s it!” he cooed. “That’s it, Ben Brewer. In you go!”
And there he remained, completely still, the binoculars pressed hard against his eyes as Ben went inside the graveyard, followed by the others.
The place was built on an island of firm earth within the marshlands of the sea-rivers. The mist hung low, hardly moving at all, and through it the black teeth of a thousand gravestones poked up at odd angles, some of them on their sides, beginning to sink ominously into the ground beneath them.
Ben moved forwards a couple of shuffling steps, the others close together behind him. It was terribly cold, and they didn’t know what made them shiver, the cold or the fear.
Then Ben stopped, his body rigid. There was a small stone building, a tomb with iron gates at the front, locked with a rusty old padlock and chain. Painted roughly on the stone, right above the entrance to the tomb, it read:
HERE LIES JOHN BREWER: R.I.P.
No one moved a muscle.
Eventually, Ben’s head started to shake. Just slightly. Unnoticeable at first. He shook his head, and pressed his lips tight together. Here it was, the evidence he didn’t want to find. The evidence he still didn’t believe...
Behind them the gates suddenly creaked open wide.
Spinning around, they saw Sullivan in the gateway, and behind him six of his men climbing off the back of the Jeep.
“Hello, Ben!” Sullivan said. “Ben Brewer.”
Ben looked at the tomb. His chest was swelling, his whole being on the verge of disintegration.
“And Jase, too!” Sullivan continued, seeing that his son was securely in the hands of one of the twins. “Hello, son! You enjoyed the little excursion with Master Brewer? You do know who he is, now, do you?” He pointed at Ben. His big hand was covered in dried blood, almost black where big scabs had formed over the knuckles.
Jason cowered, head slung low, petrified half to death at the very sound of his own father’s voice.
“Sorry to be the one to spoil the party,” Sullivan continued, “but I think it’s time we brought this to an end, don’t you, boys?” He smiled at Silver. “And girl! Such a pretty one, too!”
She was almost sick at the sight of his gross, calculating smile.
Ben’s mind was galloping, assembling the facts, racing to put everything together. Dad! he said to himself. Dad!
“There’s only seven of them!” Bad said, defiantly.
“And we’ve got Ugly,” his brother added.
Meanwhile, Coby had spotted something on the ground behind him. A slug. A sticker-slug, about the size of an egg. He nudged Worse in the ribs, then bent furtively down and scooped the slug up with his billy can, being careful not to touch it.
“And there’s seven of us, with guns!” Sullivan said, rather patronizingly.
“Yeah, stun guns!” said Bad. “Those plastic things!” he said, pointing with contempt at the guns. “They’re only battery powered. They’re rubbish! Couldn’t kill a thing!”
“They can knock you out, though!” Harman said, slowly taking aim at Bad.
“And what about this?” came Worse’s voice out of nowhere.
Whoosh.
Something flashed through the air.
Worse had fired the slug with the catapult. It hit Harman at about a hundred miles an hour, splattering onto his face like a fistful of jelly.
“Ugh!” he cried.
Squashed slug guts spread quickly, seeping into Harman’s mouth and up his nostrils, clogging him up with thick, sticky gloop. He pulled and scraped at it with his fingers, but it wouldn’t come off, and the more he tried, the further it spread, until before long his cheeks and chin were glistening with a pancake of thick slug slime.
He staggered off, holding his face in his hands, promising horrible revenge, but looking as if revenge was the last thing he was capable of.
Sullivan’s men charged.
Bad ’n Worse stepped forwards, shoulder to shoulder, with Ugly Pig between them on the ground. The first two commandos, expecting their enemy to retreat, ran straight at the twins, smacking into them with a painful thud.
The two commandos were surprised to find themselves bounce right off the twins and fall backwards into the other men, who collapsed in a heap. Ugly Pig now sprang into action, getting his bony head right in amongst them, giving one a sharp jolt in the ribs, and getting another on the elbow (which really hurts).
The soldiers twisted about on the ground, struggling to get up, and at the same time trying to protect themselves from the snarling, growling bullet pig who scampered around them, dishing out painful head-butts at will. Bad ’n Worse didn’t hold back with the violence either, and this time Silver was not complaining.
Coby, his hands shaking uncontrollably, was fumbling on the ground, where he’d seen another sticker-slug. He scooped it up in the billy can and, seeing one of the commandos struggling to his feet, flipped it at him. The slug hit him on the ear, sending him off in a crouching stagger, pulling and scraping at the oozing blob with his fingers as it spread into his hair and across the side of his face.
Ben and Silver looked at each other, momentarily unsure what to do. Jason, meanwhile, was cowering behind them, watching the fighting, but making sure he was well away from it. The commandos had now got back on their feet and were regrouping, despite the avalanche of punches and kicks the twins were showering them with.
A commando leapt forwards and grabbed Ben by the shoulders. Instinctively, Silver tried to pull him free, whilst Jason retreated, crouching down low behind a gravestone. Silver was no match for the brute strength of a stun commando. But she refused to let go, hanging onto the soldier’s arm as he wrestled with Ben, who flipped and twisted madly in the man’s grasp. Silver kicked at the commando’s legs, and beat her fists into his big, thick arms, as Ben was thrown around in the air, helpless.
“Hold on!” Bad shouted.
An instant later Ben was free, panting for breath. He and Silver watched as Bad got the commando in an arm lock and led him away for a good kicking.
Meanwhile, the shriek of Ugly Pig was horrific, and you could tell, even without looking, that the animal was doing serious damage to someone. A little way off, Ben saw that Worse was now fighting three commandos at once. However, they had surrounded him, and slowly they were getting the upper hand.
Sullivan stood by and watched, laughing like a demon, his head high in the air. All the commandos had stun guns, but they were under orders not to harm either Jason or Ben Brewer, and before long most of the guns had been knocked to the ground, where they were smashed underfoot.
Coby found another slug, and scooped it up. Ben saw that Worse had dropped the catapult, and ran over to get it. But when he looked up, catapult in hand, Coby was upside down, his mouth wide open, hollering with fear. Harman, his face still shiny with slug slime, was carrying Coby away by the ankles.
Sullivan saw all this and bellowed with laughter.
“Yes!” he shouted. “Go on, Harman. To the water! Take him to the water! Give him a bath!”
“Ben!” Silver shouted, as the commando walked determinedly away, Coby hanging limp and helpless from his arm. “Ben! Do something!
”
Ben looked around. At that moment Bad was going one-to-one with the biggest of the commandos, and it was a pretty nasty fight. Worse was now losing the battle with the three commands who had him circled. And Coby was being taken towards the gates, out towards the water.
“Give him a dip!” Sullivan cried, his face full of hateful laughter. “Throw him in for a swim!”
At that moment Ugly Pig squealed, a blood-curdling, deep-throated sound. The pig lay on its side, panting fast, his fat little body rising and falling, a commando standing over him, a stun gun in his hand. Ugly had been shot.
“You fffff...” Worse screamed, throwing two commandos to the ground, and punching the third one so hard in the chest that he flew through the air, arms flailing, and landed half-conscious against a gravestone.
Sprinting over to his pig, Worse grabbed the commando by his neck, and would have throttled him to death, right there, but before long the other commandos struggled to their feet and surrounded him. Bad was still embroiled in his own fight, and suddenly four commandos were about to tear Worse limb from limb. Meanwhile, Coby and Harman were approaching the water.
“Right!” Ben said.
He dropped his head and charged. Sullivan stood in his way, but he didn’t care. He was going to do some damage. He wasn’t going to stop until Coby was...
A booming explosion rocked them all. Ben crashed to the ground with the force of it. For a moment he lay there, sprawled out on the damp earth, wondering what had happened. Then, as his ears started to work again, he heard a rumbling noise, a deep, throaty revving sound.
He looked up.
Terra was at the gates, astride an enormous purple Harley Davidson.
“About time!” Silver said, under her breath.
Terra sat proudly on the bike. It was her own little secret from the war: an old, beaten up Road King 750cc, bearing a lifetime’s dents and scratches, rust peppering it here and there, but the paintwork pretty good, considering.
“Right Jack,” she said, spitting the words out, a sneer on her lips. “Let’s finish this!”
She raised the shot gun into the air, a curl of smoke coming one of from its barrels.
