The Unjudged_The battle for Cromer

by Phil Hurst

  The eye started moving when he pulled at the small cord attached to the Tumi implant. He hadn’t felt any change in the room, but he had looked up at the head to find its remaining eye staring at him. He tried to understand what had happened in case his attempts to move the Tumi implant had pulled a muscle and triggered a mechanical reaction. Then he realised the eye was following his movements around the room.

  Now the sun was up, their fear seemed irrational. Paige followed Ed into the room. She froze by the far wall, gripping on to the doorframe as if she needed to hold it up. She didn’t take her eyes off the head. She half expected it to jump up and start floating around the room.

  Ed held the knife up to the face. Paige could see from his body language he didn’t know what to do.

  “Right, you bastard,” he whispered. “What the fuck are you?”

  Light flooded the room as the door swung fully open. Takhir stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the morning light.

  “Ed,” he called. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to cut this thing open to see what tricks it has.”

  “You don’t have the medical training,” Takhir said.

  “Whatever it was, it’s stopped now,” Paige said.

  Ed passed the knife from one hand to another but seemed placated. He reached for the scanner next to them and scanned again.

  Tak spoke from the doorway: “Last night, the monitor showed three souls trapped in the implant. But it doesn’t give me the option to move them or change their tag. Even if it were some kind of portable version of The Store…”

  “The Store takes too much energy to be portable,” Ed interrupted, picking up a scanner.

  “Let me finish,” Tak said. “Even if it was, there’s no record of any of the three souls entering, exiting, anything. They just sit there.”

  “This says four souls,” Ed said.

  Forgetting his reluctance, Takhir ran over to Ed and took the scanner off him. He scanned again. He turned it off and on again to force it to show his original measurement. He swapped scanners and took more readings from different instruments. Everything he tried led to a reading of four.

  Eventually, he slumped into a reading chair in the corner. “Four,” he said.

  “It’s got another soul since it’s been here,” Ed responded.

  Takhir was at a loss: “But there’s still only one implant. I’ve never seen souls join an object or The Store without a staff to direct it.”

  “Where did the soul come from?”

  “I don’t know,” Takhir scratched his head.

  Ed looked at Paige and into the living room behind her. He froze. Paige followed his gaze and realised he was looking out of the apartment window and down to the smouldering wreckage of the pier.

  “The pier,” she said. “People died last night didn’t they?”

  They went silent for a moment while they all considered the implications of that.

  “It’s catching people,” Ed said. “It’s actually scooping their souls up.”

  “What do we do?” Tak asked.

  “We destroy it.”

  “We can’t destroy it,” Tak said. “It’s a scientific advance unlike…”

  Ed interrupted him: “We left because of things like this, Takhir. I’ll get something to put it in. Then we burn it.”

  Ed stepped backward as the front door exploded.

  The blast threw him away from them into the living room. Paige thought she heard him land, but grey dust soon blocked her view. Splinters flew into the hallway like a snowstorm. Dust billowed.

  Tak started coughing as the dust continued its flow into the room, and Paige pressed herself even flatter against the wall, holding her ears. The noise of the explosion hung in the air, echoing around the room. Through the settling dust strode a tall man with a black balaclava on. He held a formidable-looking rifle and swung it back and forth as he walked into the room. When it was clear no one was going to oppose him, he pulled the balaclava off.

  “What the fuck is that?” he said in a broad Scottish accent, looking at the head. He walked with a confident, menacing air and was wearing an all-black outfit. Paige thought he looked like a stagehand.

  Tak stopped coughing, shouted for Ed and tried to push past the intruder. He was met by a rifle butt to the face. There was a sickening crunching noise, and Tak fell to the floor holding his nose and wailing in pain. Blood streamed through his fingers.

  The man pointed to the centre of the room with his gun.

  “Is that it?” he asked Paige.

  “Is what it?” she replied.

  “Your funny soul-sucker weapon,” he said, leaning in close to the head and then noticed the scanner next to it, with its results displayed on the screen. “A fucking head? You lot are sick. Do you know that?”

  “Who are you?” Paige asked.

  “How fucking rude of me,” the man turned around and bowed towards Paige. He pulled the balaclava off. “My name is Wix. I’m here on behalf of the reckoners.”

  Paige’s eyes widened: “You were on the pier.”

  “I was,” he said, picking a display from his pocket. “And what a waste of time that was too.” He tapped the screen and placed a call.

  “It’s me,” he said. “I have it, I think. It’s a fucking head.” He tilted his head as he listened. “I have the girl too.” Another pause. “It would be easier if I could just wait here.”

  Tak mumbled something from the floor.

  “Hold on,” Wix told the person on the display. He crouched down and placed his head close to Tak’s mouth, checking to see whether he was breathing.

  “What?” Wix said. The person on the other end of the line was arguing with him. Paige could hear raised voices. “If I have to,” Wix said and then smashed the heel of his boot into the top of Tak’s skull. Tak went prostrate. Paige couldn’t tell whether he was still alive, but it didn’t matter. Any hope he could have helped her was gone until he came around.

  Wix returned to his phone call: “Sorry, one of the hostages got lippy. Yes, I’ve got hostages. There were other people in the apartment.” He listened. “I’ll find out.”

  Wix walked over to Paige. He got close—too close.

  “You’re Paige Grimwood, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “None of your fucking business,” Paige responded. She swung her foot forward and tried to kick him in the balls. But Wix was quick, dodging the blow. Before she could withdraw, he grabbed her foot on the upswing and pulled her off balance. Paige half-fell and half-slid down the wall behind her and landed heavily on the floor.

  “I’ve got a lippy cow and two unconscious blokes,” he said into the display. More instructions. Then his smile widened. His face contorted grotesquely as he looked at Paige. “Oh, with pleasure.” He hung up.

  Wix found the bag in which Lana had carried the head to the apartment. As he crouched down to pick it up, Paige decided to act. She didn’t know Ed or Tak, but she knew what they had found needed to be in the hands of someone other than the reckoners. She jumped up on to his back and clawed at his face. The two of them whirled around, crashing into the table and sending everything clattering to the floor. The impact knocked the head loose of the clamp, and it rolled towards where Tak was lying. As it rolled part of its cheek stuck to the floor and peeled away from the skull.

  Wix tilted his shoulder forward and grabbed Paige’s hair. She screamed as he flicked her into the chair. She landed on it sideways and collapsed into a pile at its feet.

  “You need to sit down, love,” he said, a little out of breath but still grinning.

  He picked up the bag and pushed the head into it. Paige twisted herself around and stood up. Her head hurt, and she was a little woozy. But she knew that whatever Wix’s orders were, it wouldn’t end well for them.

  “I’m Jennifer Grimwood’s daughter,” she declared. Her plan was to stay alive. If that meant making herself an asset, so be it.

  “I know,” he said.

&nbs
p; “I want to help you,” Paige feigned desperation. “There’s a warrant out for my arrest. A reward. I was trying to escape but— I’ve been living in London for years. I know the reckoners are right and that The Unjudged are mad. I came here to escape my punishment, but look at this.” She pointed to the destruction in the room. “Since I’ve been here, my brother’s been killed, my mother’s gone completely mad and I’m being chased by reckoners. I’ve had enough. I want to go home.”

  “There are going to be people in our way,” Wix said. “You might get hurt.”

  “You just blew up the apartment. I’m risking it either way.”

  “You won’t cause trouble?”

  “I can’t tell you what my mother will do if she finds out, but…”

  Wix snorted with laughter: “You don’t have to worry about your mother.”

  “What?” Paige said.

  “She’s under house arrest,” Wix said.

  “Is she OK?”

  “She’s being held until the reckoning reaches the house. Then she’ll be tagged.”

  Paige felt her heart start to beat faster. Whatever Paige had faced since returning to Cromer, her mother would have to face much worse if the reckoners caught her.

  “Good,” she lied. “I wouldn’t ever have to see her again.” She sat back in the chair Wix had thrown her into. “I’ll take my punishment. I just can’t deal with the death and the destruction that woman brings.”

  Wix screwed up the corner of his face as he tried to understand the situation: “You lost your brother two nights ago. Now you’re losing your mother. I don’t believe you.”

  Paige shrugged: “Then don’t. Take me with you.” She held her out wrists together. “I’ll come quietly.”

  Lana

  L ana woke when the fire alarm and the sprinkler system activated. She had been sleeping in the bar of the Hotel de Paris after the attack on the pier, covered in blankets Marie had insisted on supplying her with. She opened her eyes and immediately had to shield them as water started to run down her face. Using her hand as a visor she looked around the room and saw everything had been drenched.

  Water poured over her head and stuck her hair to her forehead. She had a momentary flashback to the attack on the pier. She saw Ben’s body floating. Then Marie was stood in front of her, soaking wet, holding Lana’s pike out to her.

  “Must be the reckoners,” Marie said.

  “How many?” Lana asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve just woken up too.”

  If the reckoners had found them both asleep, then Lana was aware they wouldn’t have been having the conversation. There was no time to think about that, though.

  Lana jumped up: “Then let’s get them.”

  Marie nodded.

  Lana snatched the pike from Marie and left the bar. They stormed into the foyer of the hotel. As they left the corridor, Lana saw a man sat on a sofa. He wasn’t moving. As she got closer, she noticed that his head had slumped to his chest. Marie leaned over the back of the sofa, checked his pulse and recoiled, blood on her hand. Dave’s throat had been sliced open.

  As they rounded the sofa, they saw the seat was covered in blood, turning the green fabric into a dark maroon. Puddles of blood and water had combined and collected in the folds of his clothing. At the bottom of the sofa, small waterfalls of water and blood were cascading on to the wooden floor, where they disappeared between the floorboards.

  Lana looked closer at Dave. His face was covered in bruises, and his fingers had all been broken. Whoever had killed him had taken their time. His injuries had the hallmarks of someone looking for information. Lana realised the murderer hadn’t killed him in the reception. There would have been too many potential witnesses to torture a man like that, and someone would have sent for her sooner. There was a trail of blood from the direction of the lifts.

  “Our friends from the pier are sending us a message,” Lana said.

  “Have they gone?” Marie had her bow drawn and was swinging it wildly.

  Lana spun and dug her pike into the sofa next to Dave: “There were eight of us in the hotel last night.”

  She reached into her waistband and pulled out the revolver the Unjudged soldier had been using in the attack on the pier. Lana watched as the man’s body was dragged on to the sand. The gun was still in his hand. As he died, he held on to the thing he thought would be his salvation. Lana hoped it might be hers.

  Marie was inspecting Dave’s body. The water pouring from the roof meant Lana couldn’t tell whether she was crying: “What do they want?”

  Lana pushed through the water towards reception. Hiding beneath the desk was the manager. She had pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. She looked up at Lana, terrified.

  “Can you get this water turned off?” Lana asked.

  The woman stood up and walked to a panel on the wall. She took a key from her pocket and placed it into a small display on the wall. With a loud beep, the sprinklers stopped. The roar of the water disappeared, replaced instead by a number of slow, heavy drips. The manager ran from the hotel.

  Lana turned and looked at Marie. They smiled at each other. A light rumbling noise brought them back into the room. The hotel’s old elevator was moving.

  A loud chime announced the elevator’s arrival, and both women reacted quickly, pointing their weapons towards it. Lana knew that, with her lack of experience with firearms, she would never hit anyone from this distance. Marie was a much safer bet to stop whatever came out. Marie lowered her stance and pulled the bowstring taut. Her eyes were fixed.

  The doors opened, and someone waved a white pillowcase from between them.

  “Come out!” Lana shouted.

  A blond man with hair stuck to his forehead stepped out into the lobby, grinning with a manic quality. He dropped the pillowcase as he stepped confidently towards them. He faced them with his palms facing outwards.

  “I come in peace,” he announced.

  Lana charged at him. She pulled the safety back on the gun and held it out in front of her. For a second, she thought she saw a slight flicker of fear on his face, but then the look of confidence soon returned. He put his hands in the air.

  “I’m Jules,” he said. “I think we should get better acquainted.”

  Lana reached him. She grabbed his shoulder and held the gun an inch from his forehead. Jules offered no resistance. He went cross-eyed as he looked at the weapon. “If that thing actually works and you manage to kill me before I tell you what I want to say, all your comrades upstairs will die,” he warned.

  The gun wobbled.

  “Lana, isn’t it?” he asked.

  Lana glared at him: “What makes you think I’ll listen to a word you have to say?”

  He nodded at the gun: “Put that down first.”

  “If I do, and you do anything funny, Marie will put a hole in your chest.”

  Jules looked over her shoulder: “I’m sure she will.” Lana lowered the gun to her side.

  “See?” Jules said. “This is much more civilised.”

  “What do you want?” Lana asked.

  “I’ll tell you upstairs.”

  “Tell me here.”

  “No. I feel intimidated. Plus, I told my man to kill one of your Unjudged if they didn’t see me again in four minutes.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “You want to risk more blood?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he lowered his hands and walked back into the lift. Lana thought about stopping him but instead just shuffled after him. He pressed the button to hold the doors and waved Lana in.

  “Come on,” he ordered.

  “Don’t do it, Lana!” Marie shouted.

  Lana nodded at Marie and then followed Jules into the lift.

  “Good girl,” he said. He released the door hold and pressed the button for the top floor. Lana saw Marie running over, but the doors closed before she reached them. The lift shuddered and began to move upwards.

>   “I’m sorry that so many of your people had to die at the pier,” Jules said.

  “What do you want?” Lana asked, staring at the doors. It was all she could do to stop herself from killing him.

  “I’m sure the reckoners will build a memorial when the reckoning is finished,” Jules clicked his fingers. “To the drones, of course.”

  Lana didn’t reply.

  “I still remember the first post-reckoning I ever witnessed,” he continued. “It was a little village near Birmingham. I want to say Studley. Somewhere like that. Anyway, the place was reckoned. But in the process, the little anti-reckoner group, and I forget their name, had managed to kill one of the senior reckoners. I’m not sure how. Oh, wait!”

  The doors slid open. Lana gasped. Against the wall facing the lift was a linen trolley. An Unjudged body had been placed on top. One of the deceased’s arms was hanging over the edge, and down the front of the trolley was a splattering of blood.

  Jules took her hand and pulled her into the hallway.

  “Don’t mind him,” he said. “He didn’t know what was good for him.”

  Lana kept her eyes on the trolley, willing the body to move. To show some signs of life.

  “So this little anti-reckoner group,” Jules said, continuing his story. “We rounded them up. Most of them had managed to take a load of aspirin or something before we got there, so the poor fuckers were almost comatose, foaming at the mouth and rolling around like idiots. We kept them alive— oops, in here.”

  At the end of the corridor, they reached the suite Paige had woken up in the previous day.

  Jules pushed the door open and carried on with his story. “And they woke up one by one. It was fascinating. I got to see the hope on their faces when they came round. They were actually hoping that they’d died—that they’d gone up into the sky and found whatever you people think is up there. Then they saw my face and realised their time without implants was ending.”

  “What’s your point?” Lana spat.

  He pointed to the ceiling: “You have no idea what’s up there. But you want it so badly. What’s wrong with this planet?”

  There was no guard on the door. The first room was a lounge area that had a large window with views out over Cromer, away from the sea. A dark blue leather sofa took pride of place in the middle of the room, pointing at a large display hung from the wall in the corner. To the left of the room was a closed door that led to the bedroom, which Lana assumed was now a prison.