by Phil Hurst
“You haven’t cut it off?!”
“We’ve tried, but they have some type of EMP we’ve not seen before. That disrupts our communication and weapons. I’m not prepared to risk any more souls for an interim solution, especially given the evidence I’ve just shown you.” Titus drained the rest of his coffee and rinsed the cup out in a small temporary sink in the corner of the tent.
“And when does the reckoning begin?”
“Not yet,” Titus shook his head.
“Why not?”
“Two reasons,” Titus said, suddenly looked more confident. This was a decision that he’d clearly thought hard about. “I’m not risking my men if they have some kind of soul-trapping device. And the Unjudged have a suicide pact.”
“How do you know that?”
Titus returned to the display and enlarged another image. The picture, taken on what Gladwell assumed was the outskirts of town, showed a couple of Unjudged talking animatedly. In their hands were small red pills. He recognised them immediately.
“How did they get hold of them?” he asked.
Titus shook his head, responding: “Intelligence doesn’t know for sure, but Jennifer Grimwood returned to the town from Helsinki recently.”
“Henrick,” Gladwell spat the name out. “That man won’t be happy until everyone’s dead.”
“Who is that?” Titus asked.
Gladwell ignored the question. “Your men on the pier—can they do anything?”
“They’re not on the pier anymore.”
“What?”
Titus flicked his hand once more, and an overview of the pier appeared. He explained: “That pier was a death trap. I don’t know why Red decided on it as a withdraw point. I ordered them to leave the drones as a honey pot as soon as the tide was high enough and the sky was dark enough to cover their withdrawal. I supplied them with breathing apparatus and identified a sewage runoff they could access at high tide without alerting the Unjudged.
They reported that they were secure in the basement of the Hotel de Paris a while ago. When the Unjudged assault the pier, they will use the distraction to take the hotel and find out exactly what this soul weapon is.”
Gladwell leaned forward and drained his now-cold coffee in a single motion. He leaned on his staff and forced himself to his feet. He finally understood Titus’ plan. “So we take the soul weapon. And we reckon the town. And we scoop up the stupid bastards into The Store, implants or not.”
Titus grinned, looking pleased with himself.
“Are you in contact with your men?” Gladwell said.
Titus nodded, adding: “They’re awaiting orders.”
“We can’t stay on the edge of town for long,” Gladwell said. “It looks weak.”
“Unjudged or not, 200 souls are a lot to lose.”
“We won’t lose them.”
Gladwell leaned on his staff with one arm and held his hand out, bringing up a finger for each of the objectives. “Tell your men there are three targets: Curtis. Grimwood. The weapon.”
Titus grinned. “You’ve heard about Lana Curtis?”
“Your report was thorough, and I had little to do on the ride up here,” Gladwell paused to pull his display from his pocket. “Is she as dangerous as you imply?”
“I hope not.”
“Let’s not find out.”
Titus tapped on the display, and the orders were sent to the forward team. “Two immediate targets. They can handle that.”
Gladwell nodded. “They don’t have long. If they can’t bring the situation under control in 24 hours, I want the whole place reckoned anyway.”
“We won’t be able to capture souls of the Unjudged,” Titus said.
“The town is our priority, Gladwell said, leaving the tent. “Leave the PR to someone else.”
Paige
T he display on the wall showed two minutes past midnight. Paige sat on a luxurious sofa in Ed and Takhir’s living room, sipping a glass of cold water. Her eyes darted around, desperately looking for an exit that didn’t mean fighting past Ed. A large window overlooking the cliff-top gardens took up one wall. In the distance, Paige could make out the damaged pier.
Paige wondered whether they had used the room as a prison before.
Ed walked in front of her and pulled the curtains closed.
Paige looked up at him. “Does my mother know you’re a reckoner?”
“I’m not a reckoner.”
“You have the tattoo.”
He reached over and instinctively touched the spot on his wrist. “That was a long time ago.”
“Do you know what my mother lets Lana do to reckoners?”
“I have some idea.”
They sat in silence. Paige put her water down and fixed Ed with a cold, unflinching stare.
“So what was in the bag?”
Ed wasn’t going to answer that. His display beeped, and he swore. “She’s not coming tonight.”
“Are we having a sleepover?” Paige flared her nostrils.
“Looks like it,” Ed said, putting his display back into his pocket.
“You could always let me go.”
Ed shook his head: “You’re not a prisoner, Paige. You’re here for your own protection.”
“From my mother?”
“From the reckoners.”
“What did Mother say about the bag?”
Behind Ed, a small photo frame fell over. He jumped. Paige enjoyed his discomfort, but it was another sign that something was going on in the apartment. For the past couple of hours, things had been falling over or tipping off edges. It was as if there were an invisible cat walking around.
Paige smiled: “This place is falling apart.”
She walked to the window and pulled the curtain back, peeking out at the street below. Ed was apparently some kind of guru to the Unjudged. She didn’t know why but knew that whatever had been in the bag, Takhir was working on it.
Ed’s display beeped again.
“She’s sending over someone to watch you.”
Paige leaned back and put her feet up on the sofa.
“Please,” said Ed. “Shoes.”
She nodded and kicked the trainers off. The room went silent for a moment, and Paige could even hear the waves breaking on the shore. With the sound of the sea came the dreadful memory from last night—visions of Sam’s death.
Paige whimpered but coughed to cover the noise.
Ed spoke from the doorway: “I’m sorry for your loss, Paige. I really am. He was a good lad.”
“He didn’t deserve to die.”
“None of us do.”
The silence returned.
“What did you tell my Mother?” she asked.
“I told her you arrived here confused and exhausted. That you were delirious about Sam’s death.”
“I’m not delirious.”
“So what’s your plan?”
Paige lifted her arms up above her head and twisted her hands as if she were holding an imaginary pike. She swung it in the air. “I’ll chop off his head.”
“Not the plan of a well-adjusted woman.”
Paige ignored the comment. “Lana is hiding something from my mother, isn’t she?” she asked.
“She’s trying to understand something,” Ed argued. “That’s all.”
“Show me,” Paige said.
“I can’t.”
“You’re scared of her.”
“Are you not?”
Paige let her hands fall to her sides, leaned back and closed her eyes. She was done with this conversation. She realised a while ago this Ed man wasn’t going to let her go. He had a strange attitude towards the Unjudged. He was totally dedicated to their cause but pretended he didn’t care. It was infuriating to see someone so committed to lying to himself.
She heard Ed walking into the room and searching for something. Then he asked the display to show Jennifer Grimwood. Paige opened her eyes. On the opposite wall was a display that covered the entire back wall. A screen
had dropped down to host the projection. Paige sat up on the sofa. She couldn’t believe her eyes.
Thousands of articles flashed up in front of her. They flew by as if the living room were driving past them at 100 miles per hour. Images and films of Jennifer giving speeches, talking to religious leaders and visiting graves. The cascade slowed and stopped with an article recorded earlier that day.
Ed silenced the report. In it, Paige watched as Jennifer visited the aftermath of the bridge battle in which Paige had been an unwilling participant. Her mother knelt in front of a funeral pyre and prayed. She took the reckoners’ soul staff and threw it on to the fire.
Underneath, text flashed up: “Let them find peace so that we may all find peace.”
Paige walked up to the screen and swiped to the side. The next article was an obituary about Sam, written on a website Paige didn’t recognise. It was illustrated with a picture of the three of them on their last family outing before Paige had left for London. They were all smiling as they fished for crabs off a dockside.
Paige swiped again. An article about Jennifer’s work with those who suffered from locked-in syndrome. Another swipe brought up another video, this time of Jennifer visiting a religious site high in an impressive mountain range.
“I don’t understand,” Paige said. “She’s lived here all her life.”
“Not for the past three years,” Ed peered at her. “You didn’t know?”
She shook her head. “I should have known.”
“This is all on the dark web,” he explained. “There’s nothing like this on the Tumi-controlled internet.”
Ed stood next to Paige. He took over control of the display and selected a highly rated video. It was paused and, to begin with, just showed an empty podium in a small room with a skyline Paige didn’t recognise projected in the background.
“Helsinki,” Ed explained. Paige was getting annoyed by his apparent ability to read her emotions.
“No extradition treaty,” Paige realised. She had thought her mother’s position within the Unjudged was a mistake by some higher-up. But Jennifer had even more influence than it first appeared. She stood and walked closer to the screen, trying to detect imperfections in the image that might indicate it was all a hoax.
Ed turned the volume on and pressed play.
Jennifer walked on to the stage and stood behind the podium. There was no cheering or sound from any crowd at all. “I’m coming home,” she said directly into the camera. “The town I grew up in, the town my children were born in, is under threat. I cannot sit by and watch as the reckoning takes over another place I love. I will stop it.”
She held a finger to her ear, listening to someone asking a question. “Helsinki will be safe. The Russian forces are being held in the north, and their fleet won’t enter the harbour with all the pulsers we’ve got set in the water.”
Another question. Jennifer’s expression changed as she listened. Then she looked directly into the camera, declaring: “I am the mother of the Unjudged. A proud mother. And anyone who stands in my way,” she banged her fist on the podium and shouted, “will be thrown to the goddamn wolves.”
Paige waved her arms, and the video paused. She looked sheepishly at Ed.
“She’s a hippy,” she said, remembering how she used to see her mother. “She’s a pot-smoking, shit mother. But she’s a lazy hippy.”
“When you left for London, she decided she needed to bring you back,” Ed shrugged. “So she decided to bring down the URC.”
“I’m back now,” Paige said.
“But you’re not on her side,” Ed said, looking blankly at the image of Jennifer on the screen. “I think that’s important to her.”
“So she’s their commander?”
Ed shook his head. “What does one call a leader of anarchists—apart from a contradiction?”
Paige stepped backwards and reached out for the arm of the chair to steady herself. “I’d have known.”
“In London? In the centre of Tumi’s sphere of influence? Not a chance. The politics, the papers, the market. He controls it all.”
“He doesn’t do politics.”
“He does everything.”
Takhir burst into the room. He looked flustered. He swept his long black hair back from his face and glanced at Ed and then Paige. Ed stepped towards him and put his hands on his shoulders. Tak swayed forward, letting his husband take some of his weight.
“What’s wrong?” Ed asked. Tak shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked around the room in short, sharp movements.
“I looked at the head.”
Paige interrupted: “Head?” Ed ignored her. He motioned for Takhir to continue.
“I thought our sensors were malfunctioning. If there were a new implant, then maybe they could be, not picking up the right soul or the right indicator of a soul. That’s why it registered three souls. But then I couldn’t get to the Tumi implant to check and remove it. I had to peel away some of the skin. So I tried to Ed. I took the head, I put it in a clamp and I took my scalpel...”
Tak went pale and nearly passed out. Ed grabbed him and put him down carefully on the sofa. Paige ran past them both. Ed turned to give chase but paused, unsure whether to abandon his husband. Paige reached the doorway to the room Takhir had been working in. She cupped her hands around her mouth. Ed moved around her and entered the small room.
“You can’t be in here,” Ed said. But Paige didn’t pay any attention to his words. Tak hadn’t been using a euphemism or technical jargon. A man’s actual head was held upright in a small clamp, and there was an array of tools scattered around the small work surface.
The reason Tak had nearly fainted, and the reason Paige was stepping away from it, was that despite clearly being a long time dead, the head had its one remaining eye open. And it was watching them.
Lana
L ana could just about make out the Unjudged archers as they crawled towards the edge of the cliff in front of the Hotel de Paris. Others were already there, leaning back against the sea wall and preparing their weapons. It was dark, low tide and first thing in the morning. Perfect to catch the reckoners at their most unprepared.
The archers didn’t need direct line of site to hit their target. They could fire up and over anything that was in their way. Bullets couldn’t do that. Once the arrows started to rain down, any snipers (even though Lana was convinced they didn’t exist) would be too distracted to find a target. The Dove drones continued to buzz over their heads, but at the last check, they were still hunting down their Unjudged counterparts. Ax was apparently starting to enjoy the underdog status his drones had and was setting mini ambushes and counter-attacks so the reckoners monitoring the battle would assume he was fighting them rather than distracting them.
Lana was in the Hotel de Paris bar, looking out at the valet area and the cliff edge beyond. Dave had returned with her pike and made himself busy by starting to drink the bar dry. He thought he was being discreet, but Lana had spotted the quick swigs and the sudden departures to other rooms with something under his shirt. This would be his last active duty, Lana decided. He was back in the Sheringham Hall kitchen as soon as Cromer was secure.
Marie walked into the bar, threw a disapproving look Dave’s way and stood opposite Lana.
“We’re ready.”
Lana looked at the lights on the pier. The reckoners must have set up a generator to power their drones because the piers lights were all on. The reckoners were keeping their heads down. It was time to smoke them out.
Lana nodded, wondering how many people would die as a result of that single movement.
Marie tapped on the window.
She had to shield her eyes as the archers lit the buckets in front of them. The cliff top looked like a long bonfire. Within seconds, the first volley was in the air. Each arrow flew in a slow arc across the sky. The combined effect looked like a meteor shower. Most were on target. One fell way short and landed on the beach below the cliffs.
>
“Someone needs a stronger arm,” Lana said.
“A misfire,” Marie argued. “That’s all.”
“They need you out there.”
Marie stretched her arm forward: “I’ll be out there soon enough.”
Of the arrows to make the distance, three had missed wide and landed in the water, but the others had hit the wooden structure. One arrow had almost reached the bar structure at the end of the pier. Small fires started where the arrows had landed.
Quickly, Buzzard drones lifted from hidden positions behind the barbed wire and moved to the fires. Their metallic skins reflected the flames as they flew. With a hiss, they deployed CO2 canisters and extinguished the fires. Then they returned to their charging stands.
“Shit,” Lana said.
The archers sent another volley of arrows. The process repeated.
“We need a beach assault,” Lana said.
Marie shook her head: “The drones will massacre you.”
Lana stood up and picked up her pike: “If I can get close enough to the control, I can trigger a pulser.”
“We can attach one to an arrow,” argued Marie. “Let me try that.”
“Too heavy,” Lana said, putting a hand on Marie’s shoulder. “But if you keep the drones busy with the fires, they won’t get anywhere near me.”
Marie and Lana marched out of the hotel. As they passed the archers’ positions Marie shouted at them to keep firing. A wide footpath zig-zagged down to the beach, and on the way down, Marie reached out and squeezed Lana’s hand for a second. With the touch, Lana felt a small flutter in her stomach but pulled her hand away. Neither of them said another word as they finished their descent.
Lana vaulted a small wall and greeted the Unjudged who had been guarding the pier. They gathered inside a small beach hut that was originally used to sell sun loungers to tourists. They were making small talk and checking their weapons. There were not many—just five. She recognised most of them but was also pleased to see a couple of Cromer residents had volunteered. Ben was there as well, passing his cricket bat from hand to hand with a big grin on his face.
