by John Barlow
Behind her, Sullivan’s Jeep no longer had a windscreen. She pointed the gun at Sullivan, looking as if she really wanted to empty the other barrel sometime soon.
Sullivan froze. Harman froze, with Coby still upside down in the air. Everybody froze. Everybody.
And that’s just how Terra liked it.
“Sorry I’m late, folks,” she said, as she pulled her helmet off. “Had a bit of trouble finding you!”
She kept the gun pointed right at Sullivan, an arrogant kind of half-smile across her face.
Jason’s head poked up from behind a gravestone. He peered at the woman on the bike, her expression fresh and cheerfully arrogant, her hair cropped short, just like in the photo.
“Mum?” he said. “Mum? Is that you?”
“Hi, Jason!” Terra said. She took a deep breath. “How ya doin’?”
“Is it really you?” Jason said, coming up to stand next to Ben, then looking at Sullivan. “Dad?”
Sullivan shrugged. “All right, yes! It’s your mother. She deserted you, and now she turns up here...”
“Later, Jack,” Terra said. “Save it for later.” She looked at her son. “I’ll explain all that later, love. You just stay over there, with Master Brewer.”
For a second Jason looked at Ben, then he turned and read the inscription on the crypt again:
HERE LIES JOHN BREWER: R.I.P.
“Is that your dad?” he said, softly. “Was Brewer your dad? The John Brewer?”
“Yes,” Ben struggled to say. “But, he’s not...”
“Here they come!” Terra shouted, as a rumbling noise grow louder.
A moment later emu-lators were swarming in through the gates, a great big pack of them. Tah was at the front, sitting on his own massive emu, swinging his arm in the air.
“Are we in time?” Tah said, as he bobbed about, showing the other emu-lators where to stand with their huge birds.
They formed a protective ring around everybody. Each commando could now feel the breath of at least one bird very close, and the commandos did not need telling how hard an emu can kick.
Terra revved her bike until smoke billowed out of the thick chrome exhaust pipes. She road the short distance over to where Ben was standing, brought the bike to a halt, and hopped off it.
“There!” she said, handing Ben the gun, and simultaneously nodding at Sullivan, who was about ten paces away, a couple of emus right behind him. “There’s the man who killed your father. The man who stole my son from me. Who created the Complex and forced all decent people into a life of misery and fear. Nice guy, don’t you think?”
Ben held the gun, and looked right at Sullivan.
“Go on, then!” Terra said. “This is why you’ve come, isn’t it, Ben? Sorry it had to be this way. But now you know. What you gonna do about it?”
She had her hands on her hips, and the half-smile had disappeared.
“Blow his head off!” the twins shouted. “Go on! While you’ve got the chance.”
Jason had begun to cry.
Ben hoisted the gun to his shoulder, pointed it at Sullivan, and stared down the barrel.
Sullivan stood there, completely still, completely silent. Not a flicker of emotion. Not a hint of fear. He stared straight back into Ben’s eyes.
The gun began to shake in Ben’s hands. His finger curled itself slowly around the trigger.
Sullivan’s stare burned mercilessly into his eyes, pinning him to the spot, a deep, undisguised hatred in them, challenging him, daring him. Then, he licked his lips, and spoke:
“A proper little Brewer, aren’t you!” he said, then looked up to the sky, the vaguest trace of a laugh on his breath. “A proper little...”
The gun went off.
A terrifying boom rang in Ben’s ears. The horrible stink of gunpowder burned his nostrils as the force of the shot rocked him on his feet. He was trembling, the gun his hands. Before him, a chain lay in pieces on the ground. He hadn’t shot Sullivan; he’d turned around and blown the padlock off the tomb.
“I’m going inside,” he said.
An eerie silence descended. The commandos, the emu-lators, Coby, Jason, Silver, Terra, the twins, Sullivan... they all watched Ben, who stood there, his back to them, looking at the tomb.
Then he pulled open the gates. And went in.
I know you’re alive... he said to himself over and over again as he walked through the iron gates, feeling their icy coldness sting his hands and inhaling the old, earthy dampness. I know you’re alive... I do... I know it...
To the left was a narrow doorway which led to the inner sanctum. I know you are... He turned into the dark doorway and took a final breath. The tips of his fingers touched the cold, damp wall.
He went in.
It was empty. Utterly empty. Even in the darkness he could tell that there was absolutely nothing there. Nothing at all. The messenger had come from his dad. The message was from John Brewer. His dad was alive.
“There’s nothing in it,” he said, moments later, as he came out.
“What!” Terra said. “Ben, no, no, you mustn’t believe...”
Sullivan’s face bore no trace of emotion. “You see, Ben,” he said, almost as if he was reminiscing, “your father kept trying to ruin the Complex...”
“Never mind that,” Ben said. “Where is he?”
“Does it matter?” Sullivan said. “He’s gone. There was no choice. He was trying to destroy everything, everything I was building.”
“Building? What, the Complex?” Ben said. “The Complex? It’s a prison!”
“This is a dangerous world, Ben,” said Sullivan. “The Complex protects people. Keeps them safe. But your dad didn’t want that. He wanted to go looking for paradise, he wanted to pollute people’s minds with talk of a better place. Silly ideas, Ben. You know that. You’ve seen what things are like here. And I bet,” he said, lowering his voice, “I bet it’s not much better where you come from. Is it?”
Terra couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Just tell him what you did with his dad! Tell him, Jack! He needs to know. Tell him, or I’ll take that shotgun and blow your head off. Don’t push me...”
“Ha!” Sullivan said. “The barrels are empty, Terra, my sweetheart. Think I’m stupid. Two shots. I bet those were the last two cartridges. The last ones of all. And to think you kept them all this time!”
Terra pulled something from the back pocket of her tight, faded jeans. Very quickly, she took the gun from Ben and loaded another cartridge in it.
“No. This is the last one. The very last. And it’s got your name written on it, sweetheart.”
She aimed the gun at Sullivan.
“You’d murder the father of your own son, would you?” Sullivan said, raising an eyebrow. “Ben! Ben!” he continued, holding his nerve, “you don’t really think I killed your dad, do you? My old comrade, John Brewer? Do you? We wrote that on the tomb to scare people. To make people think he was dead. The truth is, your dad just disappeared. He wandered off on his own, in search of Paradise!”
“I know you didn’t kill him,” Ben said, quietly.
Even Sullivan was surprised, although he tried not to show it.
“My dad was worth more to you alive. Only he who knew where the Survivors were. And you thought that eventually he would tell you. So you waited, didn’t you, Sullivan? You waited and waited... But he didn’t tell you! All these years, and he never told you!”
“Ah, you’re cleverer than I thought, Ben. Very perceptive,” Sullivan said, an eye on Terra and the gun. “Very clever!”
“Well, Ben?” said Terra. “Shall I shoot?”
“Kill him!” the twins cried. “Come on!”
Ben looked at Sullivan. No one moved. Terra’s finger closed in on the trigger.
“My dad’s alive,” Ben said, breathing deeply. “I know he’s alive, and I know why he’s alive...and now I know... I know where he is.”
His stare never faltered. His eyes burned into Sullivan’s as he spoke:
>
“My dad sent me a message. He sent a message to the Survivors, Sullivan. To my mum. To me. That’s the part that you didn’t know. Dad was the only one on the mainland who knew where we were. And finally, after all these years, he managed to get a message to us. That message proves that he is alive.”
“You see, Harman!” Sullivan said with a sigh, “you see what happens when you let a playslave escape!”
Jason suddenly gasped. He couldn’t believe it.
“Sorry, Jason,” Ben said. “It’s true. The blond boy. He was a messenger, not a playslave.”
“He went into...” Jason began.
“I know,” said Ben. “He went into the power plant. Through the yellow door.”
There was a pause. Then:
“Now!”
Sullivan ducked down as he shouted, running forwards at Terra, both his arms stretched in front of him. Before anyone could stop him, he’d grabbed the shotgun. But Terra wouldn’t let go, and the two of them struggled with it, locked together, twisting and turning against each other.
Ben rushed across and took hold of Sullivan’s arm.
“Coby, come on!” he shouted.
Coby was beside him in an instant and between them they managed to pull one of Sullivan’s arms away from the gun.
Silver hesitated.
“Come on!” Ben shouted at her, and she too ran forwards and grappled with Sullivan’s other arm, whilst Terra was thrown about by Sullivan’s brute force as he tried with all his strength to pull the gun from her. Meanwhile, Jason dithered and panicked, and didn’t know what to do. His dad was fighting his mum. What was he supposed to do?
Then, suddenly, Terra drew back a hand. She took aim and punched Sullivan in the face. Hard. Thirteen years hard.
“You idiot!” she said, angry and bitter. “Why? Everything! You destroyed... EVERYTHING!”
For a second Sullivan was shocked. A drop of blood appeared on his lip. He wiped it away, and looked deep into Terra’s anguished, tear-strewn face. At that instant Silver managed to grab hold of his other arm more securely. Terra, her face still burning with anger, now yanked the gun from his hand, and stepped back.
“It didn’t have to be like this, Jack,” she said, her face puffed up with emotion, her hands shaking. “It didn’t have to...”
But she stopped.
Behind them the commandos had taken their chance, and were trying to get away from the emu-lators. But no man is a match for a giant emu, especially one driven by an emu-lator. The birds were winning the battle easily, their huge, beefy legs a blur as they kicked the commandos about like footballs.
Meanwhile, Bad had decided to have one last go at Harman. The two of them squared up like a couple of prize fighters, oblivious to everything else; they had their own private disagreement to settle. And it wasn’t a pleasant sight. For the first time in years, the chief stun commando was stunned, on his slug-smeared cheeks, on his jaw, arms, chest... Bad was giving him a good old fashioned stunning all over.
Worse had stayed by Ugly Pig’s side through all the commotion. He was kneeling down, cradling the poor animal’s head.
“Come on, little fella! You’ll be all right!” he said, ignoring the mayhem that had broken out. “You’ll be fine, bacon brains!”
Ben and the others now let go of Sullivan’s arms. Terra was a few strides away, the gun in her hands.
“Well, Ben...” Sullivan said, apparently unconcerned with the fighting that was going on around them, “lucky you’ve got some friends here to help you. Makes the fight more interesting!”
“That’s what friends are for. Or didn’t you know?” Ben said.
Sullivan smiled. “Oh, I know, all right. Your dad was a very good friend of mine, once upon a time. But there was something he didn’t understand, Ben: you can’t have power and friends. A leader can never have friends. And there can only be one leader.”
“Rubbish!” Ben said.
“Ha! Just like your dad! You remember, Terra?” he said, over Ben’s head. “John Brewer believed in friends. Oh yes! And look! Look, Ben! Look what happened to all his friends!”
“We’ll see!” Ben said, and edged away from Sullivan, making sure that Jason and the others came away too, just in case the big man was thinking about making one last grab for any of them.
The emu-lators were now galloping around in a circle, going at an amazing speed, squealing and whooping as they rode their emus. Cowering inside the ring were most of the commandos, and when one of them moved even an inch, a big emu foot was sent right in his direction.
Further off, Bad and Harman were still going at it. But now Tah had got involved as well, jumping onto Harman’s shoulders, his squat little legs wrapped around the commando’s neck, riding him like a featherless emu. He beat Harman’s head with his fists as if it were a bongo, hooting and singing to himself, and from time to time putting his hands over Harman’s eyes, whilst Bad took pot shots at the poor, staggering commando, who could do nothing about it.
Watching all this, Sullivan laughed heartily, looking at Ben and Jason and the rest of them, as if they should see the funny side. And it was funny, in a way. Terra, though, was not distracted by any of it. She was not taken in by Sullivan. She knew him, and she knew when he was at his most dangerous. After all, she had been deceived by him once. But not again.
“Don’t trust him, Ben!” she said, above the row of the emus. “He’ll act all nice, then he’ll double-cross you!” She pointed the gun at Sullivan “Get over there with the rest!”
Sullivan continued to laugh as he strode over to join his men inside the emu circle.
He knows something, Ben told himself as he watched the big man go.
“Right, Ben,” Terra said. “What’s it to be?”
“It?” said Ben, confused.
“Well? What are you gonna do?”
“Yeah,” said Silver. “What’s your plan, since you obviously know so much more than we do!”
But at that moment, something caught their attention.
At the gates of the graveyard a couple of emu-lators appeared, astride their emus. They had been outside all along, guarding the entrance. Now they came in, and between them were... yes, it was true... Ben rubbed his eyes and looked harder. Between them were two stun commandos. In their underpants.
“It’s the two from the Jeep!” Bad said, looking up suddenly, forgetting Harman (who took the opportunity to throw Tah to the ground, then went to join the other commandos inside the emu-circle).
“They nearly escaped!” one of the emu-lator guards said, as if it was really funny. “We just got ’em in time!”
Ben and the others had started sniggering. The poor men were tall and strong, like all commandos, but they were both in skimpy little pairs of underpants and pale blue vests. And nothing else. No boots, no socks. Nothing.
“You left two stun commandos in that state?” Terra said to Bad, amazed at the sight of the two men, who were shivering, their skin almost the same shade of blue as their vests.
“Course we did!” Bad said. “We needed their uniforms. We tied ’em up and shoved ’em in the back of the Jeep. It was the only way.”
“Well, in they go!” Terra said, and the two men, seeing her shotgun, did as they were told and joined the others prisoners.
Just then, Worse came up to Ben’s side, Ugly Pig in his arms.
“We’ve gotta get him away from here,” Worse said. “He’s not looking good.”
Ben looked at Ugly. That cheeky glint was gone from his eyes, and his snout no longer sniffed and twitched.
“Please, Ben!” said Worse, whispering so nobody else could heard him. He looked remarkably as if he was going to cry, but then screwed up his face as hard as he could: “If not, I’ll take one of the Jeeps and go alone. It’s up to you.”
He walked off, carefully holding the pig in his arms.
A smile spread across Ben’s face.
“Right,” he said. “We’re going back. But first, I’ve got an
idea.”
Silver didn’t like the sound of that. She was supposed to have the ideas. If only people would stick to their own jobs, she thought.
“Well?” she said. “What is it?”
Coby and the others were also looking intrigued.
“We’re gonna take their clothes.”
“What!” they screamed back.
“Look,” Ben said, “why is a stun commando so frightening?”
“Because they’re big,” Coby said.
“Because they’ve got guns,” Bad added.
“Well, they don’t have their guns now,” Ben said, and kicked one of the stun guns which lay smashed to pieces on the floor. “They’re not exactly killer weapons anyway.”
“Hello!” Silver said, “can we get to the point, please!”
“Too right, sister…” Terra added.
“Don’t you see?” Ben said. “It’s the uniform! The dark blue, the big heavy boots, the leather gloves, the helmets... The uniforms are the scariest bit. Take the uniforms away, and you have a few dozen tall men trying to control a city of, what, two or three thousand people?”
“My word!” shouted Sullivan, who’d been listening to this. “He’s got it bad, all right. Bad case of verbal diarrhea! Ben, if you believe that rubbish, you’ll believe pigs can fly! Power is power. It’s as simple as that. Only a natural leader knows how to use real power.”
Ben turned to him: “Your power is nothing, Sullivan. It’s based on fear and ignorance. You’re not a leader, you’re a jailor. The Complex is a jail, a prison, and only fear keeps people there. No one respects you!”
“Anyway!” said Silver, who thought all this pseudo-intellectual mumbo-jumbo was quite beneath her contempt, “what are we going to do?”
Ben grinned. “We’re gonna take their uniforms off them.”
They all looked at him. Sullivan had by now stopped smiling. He didn’t like the idea of this. At all.
“I... I... I think you should leave the ideas to me, Ben!” said Silver. “This is...”
“Without uniforms,” Ben said, calmly, “they won’t even dare go back to the Complex.”
