Crimson Poison

by Susan Moore

  BIOLOGICAL WEAPON

  The CQN reporter and cameraman were led into an empty parade ground for their exclusive interview with the General. An icy Siberian wind was gusting across, bearing snow. Blocks of grey buildings with bars over the windows lined each side of the ground. A red-carpeted podium with a tented roof stood at the centre.

  “You can film from here,” said the General, greeting them at the steps.

  They assembled their equipment and ran a test.

  “Ready?” said the General, puffing on a cigar.

  The reporter nodded and started the interview. The camera focused in on the General’s puffy face. While they spoke a line of uniformed soldiers came marching into the parade ground, a tank rumbling in behind them. The reporter raised her voice to be heard over the din.

  “Watch,” ordered the General, cutting in on the reporter.

  The camera followed his arm as he waved towards the far corner of the parade ground. Suddenly a dark shadow came rocketing around the corner, heading like a missile at the soldiers.

  “What the—” said the reporter, her jaw dropping. “Is that a man?”

  The man reached the first soldier and high-kicked him straight across the parade ground. He then chased him like the wind and caught him mid-air, before tossing him at the podium.

  The soldier came crashing down on the red carpet, narrowly missing the camera. The man turned and charged at the remaining soldiers, engaging them in hand-to-hand combat. He was a whirlwind of kicks, punches and throws. Screams of agony rang out across the yard. Within seconds he had taken out every one of his opponents, casting them to all four corners of the parade ground.

  The reporter was lost for words. She stood rooted to the spot, the microphone frozen in her hand.

  The man let out a fierce roar and ran at the tank. He flipped it on to its roof, and continued to flip it along the ground like a rolling stone.

  “Enough!” ordered the General.

  The man stopped, turned and saluted the General. The cameraman caught the image that would go worldwide in a viral explosion – a super-soldier wearing black ops gear and a balaclava stamped with Barzurka’s heraldic emblem.

  “Is that,” said the reporter, her voice shaky, “Barzurka’s new weapon? How is this possible, General?”

  The General smiled. “It is in the Barzurkan blood. We have it in our blood.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  MRS McTAVISH

  It was late when Mrs McTavish finally gave Henry leave to go to his bedroom.

  “Hai. I was about to give up on you,” said Wen, picking up his call. “Have you seen that crazy Barzurkan General and his bionic soldier on the news?”

  Henry shook his head.

  “Wa sai, it’s scary stuff. Everyone’s saying it’s a hoax, but imagine if it’s not? Dad says we’ll have Barzurkan super-soldiers invading China before we know it.”

  “I couldn’t get away from the horrible new nanny Mummy’s hired.”

  Wen snorted. “A nanny? You’re not a baby!”

  “I’ve had to follow her rules ever since she got here this morning – cold shower, one hour extra maths homework, one hour learning the future perfect – in Latin. And she made me finish a whole bowl of lumpy salt porridge before I could get down from the table. She smells of rotten eggs and she’s going to be Nat’s nanny too.”

  “Never!”

  “And we went to the new house today. Mummy showed us the new wing they’re designing. It’s like a prison. They’re going to put Nat in there with Mrs McTavish and now Mrs McTavish is saying she’ll do a better job of controlling me if I’m in there as well.”

  “Well, we’re going to have to stop them, aren’t we?”

  “But we can’t unless we get Nat back in time.”

  Wen smiled. “Don’t worry. There are still a few days left before it goes to court. If that doesn’t work I’ll hire one of those Barzurkan super-soldiers to come and sort your nanny out.”

  Henry’s shoulders slumped. He tried to fight back the tears but they came anyway. “I hate my family. They’re all horrid. Prissy just ignores me, Daddy is out at his club the whole time and Mummy is busy with her new life. I wish I didn’t exist.”

  “Don’t say that.” Wen leaned into camera. “We need you, Henry. Nat needs you, and she’s a part of your family. So you’d better shape up, ding-a-ling, and we can put together a plan for when she returns.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  NORTH

  Smoke caught at the back of Nat’s throat, making her cough. She tried to move her head but daggers of pain shot up through her skull. Her eyes flickered open. She was lying on a grubby felt pad next to a stove. Smoke was curling up and out of its loose-fitting door, filling the ger with a grey haze.

  On the other side of the tent she spotted the short, squat man from the waterfall. He was seated at a table, bent over a microscope. Nat tried to move, but found her hands were tied together behind her back and that her feet were bound by rope. She wondered how long she’d been there. Her mouth was dry, her throat parched.

  “Water,” she croaked.

  The man looked up. Her eyes widened in fright. He wore a black patch over one eye. A deep scar ran from his forehead to his neck.

  “Quiet!” he barked in thickly accented English.

  “Please, I’m thirsty.”

  He grunted, got to his feet, grabbed a jug from another table and poured its contents into a filthy cup. He limped over and held it roughly to her lips.

  “Drink.”

  Nat took a sip. She spat it out on the mat. Her throat was on fire. The man laughed and returned to his table. Tears welled up. She bit her lip.

  “Please let me go.”

  “Ha,” he said. “You rich Hong Kong girl. Now you make me rich.”

  How could he know about her? Unless…

  “You are Clan?”

  He banged his fist on the table. “Do not speak to me of Clan!”

  Nat squeezed her eyes shut, wishing the nightmare to end. The man was muttering to himself now. Nat hadn’t a clue what he was saying until…

  “Buqa?” she said, hearing him shout the big angry man’s name.

  “What?” he roared, spinning round.

  She shrank back, curling herself up into a ball as he jumped off his chair and came barrelling across the tent.

  “Buqa?” he said, leaning in, jabbing his finger at his eyepatch. “I tell you about Buqa. Look!”

  He lifted the patch. She averted her gaze, starting to sob.

  “My father is Buqa. He did this. Bad man. Look!” he screamed.

  She turned towards him. His stale breath hung in the air between them. Underneath the patch lay a shrivelled, sunken, eyeless socket. He dropped the patch back in place.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Her words seemed to calm him. He grunted and stood up.

  “We hunted. His arrow. Bam!” he said, putting his hand over the patch.

  “I’m very sorry.”

  He spat on the mat. “Buqa.” He spat again.

  “Is that why you’re poisoning the Clan?” said Nat.

  He looked at her, cocking his head to one side.

  “Bad people.”

  “Why?”

  “Father bad, I fight him. Clan, and mother, Gan, threw me out. I walk three weeks to Barzurka.”

  “Please don’t kill everyone.”

  He shrugged. “They must be punished,” and strode back to the table where he reached underneath, grabbed a bottle and took a long drink.

  Nat felt the bile rise in her stomach. She was way out of her depth but she had to try.

  “I am Nat,” she said. “What is your name?”

  He wiped his lips on his sleeve. “My name Burilgi.”

  “Burilgi, please. I’m only—”

  The door opened. A tall soldier stepped inside, accompanied by another shorter one, both carrying several bushy plants with huge red flowers. Nat’s eyes grew wide. Massive Tum
en Vachir plants.

  The soldiers dumped them on the ground and barked orders at Burilgi. He shouted back at them. Moments later they left without even glancing at her. Nat tried to move her hands but they were bound too tightly. Her head felt as if someone was banging it with a hammer.

  Burilgi bent over his table again. He held a test tube full of fizzing purple froth up to the light.

  “Please let me go,” she tried again.

  He put the tube down, got to his feet and strode over, flashing a knife in her face.

  “One more word, I cut off your ear,” he hissed.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  PURSUIT

  Altan slowed to a trot and checked his watch. He smiled. His timing was good. Jamuka and Princess would be about ready for them all to head off on their planned search for the Tumen Vachir plants in the north. He was reaching into his saddlebag for his flask of salty tea when three long howls echoed across the valley. His heart quickened. The howls came again. He listened carefully, pinpointing their direction before throwing back his head and answering with two short yelps.

  He urged his horse into a gallop. It stretched its neck out, accelerating through the trees. The early morning icy air bit into his cheeks. Branches flashed past as he ducked and dodged. Maybe Prin— Nat had had another asthma attack.

  He finally came out of the forest to find a stream across his path. He reined his horse to a stop. The water was dirty and a foul stench hit his nostrils.

  “Over here!”

  He shaded his eyes against the sun bouncing off the water and looked upstream to find Jamuka crouching over something on the ground.

  Altan dismounted and ran over to his uncle. Jamuka was quickly binding Jebe’s leg with a torn piece of his coat. Patches of bright-red blood dripped onto the snow beneath. Jebe’s golden eyes looked pained.

  “Bad?” Altan said.

  “Shot,” said Jamuka.

  “Nat?”

  Jamuka got to his feet. His face was ashen.

  “It looks like she’s been taken.”

  Altan swallowed hard. “Taken?” he said, the word sticking in his throat.

  Jamuka pointed to deep tracks in the snow, leading off up north. He walked over to his horse and jumped up into the saddle.

  “We’ll need back-up. Get Tabin and Temur, then follow my tracks.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  THE WING

  It took another jug of airag for Burilgi to fall asleep at the table. Nat waited, listening, until his snores reached a constant rhythm. This could well be her only chance. Through the open chimney in the roof she could see the pale light of dawn.

  “Fizz,” she whispered.

  A faint whirring sound came from inside her pocket and his small snout popped up.

  “Open wings,” she said.

  “Low en … er … gy.” He sounded faint.

  “Please.”

  His eyes blinked. His wings emerged slowly from the pocket. She rolled over, letting him fall out on to the mat. Rolling back the other way, she was able to grab a wing in her hand. She began to rub the sharp edge of the wing against the rope.

  “Stop. Fizz break,” he protested, trying to retract the wing.

  But Nat had it wedged.

  “Sorry,” she said, close to tears. “OK to break.”

  The wing began making progress; the rope started to fray. Her hands were tired but she kept going. She was halfway through when the wing snapped off. Fizz’s body fell to the mat and shut down.

  Nat gritted her teeth and carried on sawing with his broken wing. Just as the rope broke free she felt her breath shorten, her chest tighten. She grabbed Fizz and put him in her pocket. Don’t panic. She began to count her breaths, in and out, as she set about loosening the rope around her feet.

  The door opened.

  Quick as a flash she lay back down. The tall soldier walked in and over to Burilgi. He picked up the empty jug next to him, sniffed it, kicked him and strode out, slamming the door behind him. Burilgi didn’t move. He was out cold.

  Nat sat up. This time she managed to undo the knots, but already the room was starting to swim, and her ma huang tea was with her horse. She couldn’t die here.

  Altan’s face came back to her. He had shown her how to take short breaths during her attack in the forest. She tried to take in tiny wisps of air, but the thick, smoky air made her choke.

  She had to do something… She started crawling across the ger. Black spots danced in front of her eyes and her lungs felt as if they were going to burst.

  With one last breath she dragged herself up, shakily gripping the table, and reached for the test tubes.

  “What the…?” growled Burilgi, his good eye snapping open.

  His hand shot out but Nat had already grabbed the test tube of dark-purple liquid, put it to her lips and swallowed.

  “No!” he roared, punching her back on to the mat.

  A jolt of electricity surged through Nat’s body. Her airways opened up. Her lungs became bellows and her eyes popped wide. Her muscles twitched and trembled. In an instant she was on her feet.

  Burilgi lunged at her but she spun round, catching his shoulder with a high kick.

  “Aaaargh!” he shouted, reeling backwards.

  Seeing her opportunity, she ran for the door but he sprang in front of her. She dodged left towards the table. Leaping up into the air, she brought her knees to her chest and somersaulted high over Burilgi’s head, coming to land at the door.

  She pushed it open and bolted out into the snow, surprising a couple of soldiers who were drinking vodka from shot glasses. They laughed when they saw her, and formed a human wall, blocking the only exit between the tents.

  Nat ran headlong at them. She jumped up off the ground, propelling both legs forward.

  Crack!

  She hit them squarely in the middle of their foreheads with her feet so fast that they didn’t have time to react. She tumbled over the top of them, bounced up off the ground and took off, running like the wind.

  She emerged into a compound surrounded by high wire fencing. A row of polytunnel greenhouses lined one side, a snow-white field was on the other.

  Unsure of where to go, with a new set of guards hot on her heels, Nat started to run downhill towards the far end of the compound.

  A bullet whistled past her ear. She willed herself to go faster.

  A volley of shouts echoed across the compound. The gunfire stopped. She became aware of someone closing in behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that it was Burilgi.

  She was nearly at the fence. With another surge of energy she leapt up, flying through the air towards its chain links. Her hands gripped on to them like a monkey.

  Suddenly the fence shook with a terrible force. Someone grabbed her ankle, her hands were torn away and she fell.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  FIGHT

  Burilgi put his knee on Nat’s chest and clamped his hands around her neck.

  “Die!” he said, tightening his grip.

  A black shadow flew through the air, knocking Burilgi off his feet. A huge wolf clamped its jaws firmly around the back of the man’s neck.

  “Jebe!” Nat cried.

  But Burilgi wrenched the wolf off him. Jebe howled in pain, landing with a thud in the snow. Once again, Burilgi lunged at Nat. This time she was ready. She popped a one-inch punch at his head. The force knocked him sideways to the ground.

  “Catch, Princess!” came a shout.

  Nat looked up to see Altan throwing her the end of a metal-mesh net. She caught the edge and as Burilgi staggered back to his feet, they threw the net over him, trapping him like a bear. He tried to fight it off but Nat ran lightning-fast circles around him, winding the net ever tighter until he was completely caught, his arms pinned to his sides. Altan pushed him over on to the ground and padlocked the net together.

  Nat threw her arms around Altan in relief.

  “Easy, Princess,” he said, almost crushed by her stren
gth.

  She let go. “Sorry.”

  Jebe pushed his nose under her hand.

  “I thought you were dead,” she said, rubbing his chest.

  A loud explosion boomed out from the other end of the compound. She turned to see that the greenhouses were alight. Smoke and shouting filled the air.

  “The others?” she said, looking at Altan before sprinting up the field with Jebe at her side.

  She reached the ger tents to find four soldiers tied together in the centre of the camp. Tabin was standing over them, his coat streaked with blood. A cry came from one of the tents. Nat rushed inside to find Temur and Jamuka engaged in fierce kung fu fighting with three soldiers in their underwear. Mattresses and sleeping bags were strewn across the floor.

  Without hesitation, Nat leapt into the air and flew across the ger at one of the soldiers. Her boot met his shoulder with a CRACK!

  “Aiiiiiiii!” he cried.

  Immediately Jebe leapt on top of him and pinned him to the ground.

  The soldier who was fighting Temur spun round and his leg flew out to kick her. But Nat saw it coming and reached out, grabbed it and twisted. Hard. SNAP!

  “Urgh!” the soldier cried, slumping to the ground.

  Nat chopped him at the neck.

  He passed out.

  Jamuka whirled round, lifting his leg high, but the last soldier was clearly a black belt. He deflected the move and came at Jamuka with a right chop. Nat predicted the move before it happened. Just as he was going to hit Jamuka’s cheek, she leapt forward, bringing her hand into a tiger claw and grabbing the soldier’s shoulder. POP! She dislocated it.

  “Eurgh!” he screamed.

  Jamuka punched him in the stomach and he collapsed on to the ground.

  “Quick, tie them up,” he said, tossing her a coil of rope.

  Fizzing with energy, Nat grabbed the rope, uncoiled it in one whip of her hand and before the others could help, she had wound it around the soldiers.