Chino closed his eyes. It had all been for nothing, the fighting, the pain, all the dead. CELL would win. The world was theirs now. It probably had been for a while.
‘You know what this place is?’
‘A graveyard?’ Chino suggested, giving into his pain and the despair.
‘It’s a necropolis. All of them. Our guys, CELL , the victims of the disease and everyone back to when this was a swamp and it belonged to the first people. They’re all still here. Ceph too, human and alien living together, it’s beautiful man. It’s dead and it’s beautiful.’
Chino said nothing. There wasn’t much he could say to a crazy person’s ramblings.
‘Thank you,’ Dane said.
‘For what, man? You saved me.’
‘For being my goat.’
Chino stared at him. ‘Your what?’
‘When a shikari hunts a tiger he…’
‘Tethers a goat to a tree and bleeds it a little to get the tiger’s attention.’
Dane nodded. Chino stared at him. He doesn’t think he’s one of us anymore. He thinks we’re playthings, mere mortals.
Chino spat in his face.
Maybe if the nanosuit hadn’t been so badly damaged Dane would have heard their comms. If Chino hadn’t been so badly hurt, if both of them had been alert, then maybe they would have heard them moving around beneath them.
They had been pinpointed by thermographics. The fire hadn’t helped.
The floor of the open plan office exploded in a circle around Dane and Chino. They fell through to the floor below them. The impact made Chino scream as multiple wounds were badly jarred and he started to piss blood again. The campfire exploded in a shower of sparks.
Dane was moving. Disappearing, becoming transparent, fading into the background. Then he was wreathed in lighting. Electrostatically charged pellets fired from K-Volt weapons stuck to Lazy Dane’s suit. The pellets dropped the cloak, making him visible. More and more of the pellets stuck to him. The voltage he was receiving grew and grew. The damaged suit’s systems were overloaded. They started shutting down. The pellets were electrocuting Dane as he tried to move. There were four members of the CELL spec ops armed with K-volts. They continued laying on the fire.
Dane looked like he was made of electricity as he stood up. Members of the spec ops team took a step back.
Chino saw his Majestic. He was reaching for his big revolver when someone stood on his hand and then kicked him in the face, hard. He saw lights and felt sick. He felt darkness swimming up to claim him.
‘Reloading,’ the first K-Volt gunner said as he ran out of pellets. There was only a hint of panic in the man’s voice. He swapped out the magazine as the next, and then the next gunner, ran out of pellets as well. Dane took a step forwards.
Reloaded, they started firing again. Dane took another step forwards through the electricity crackling all around him and then toppled over.
‘Don’t stop firing, the Commander ordered.’ They didn’t.
Chino came to again. He glanced over and saw Dane being dragged out. A VTOL was circling the building, using its spotlight to provide light for the spec ops team. Chino wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone so singularly bound with restraints as Lazy Dane.
‘Commander, he’s awake,’ a CELL commando standing over Chino said. The Commander of the Spec Ops team turned to look at her subordinate. She shrugged.
‘He’s surplus to requirement.’
Chino looked up at the gun barrel. He saw the finger tightening around the trigger.
He felt calm.
A Foreign Country
Screaming. Agony. Then nothingness.
London, 2016
Jab, jab, hook, cross, move your fucking feet. Mike reflected that the less he had trained, the more out of shape he’d gotten, the more he hit the drink, the food, certain recreational pharmaceuticals, the more he’d been fighting. I said move your fucking feet, not mince around like a fairy! Mike bobbed left and right, weaving rapidly, and threw another combination of punches at the heavy bag.
When he’d thought of himself as a fighter, in the streets — stupid shit — as a nipper, or in pubs, clubs, he’d been lying to himself. There had been no discipline to it, no real effort, just the excitement but it wasn’t the rush he felt in the ring. There certainly wasn’t the feeling of satisfaction that there was in winning a match.
Speedball next, then pullups and then skipping to warm down. No showers in this gym, just the smell of leather and the stench of more than a hundred years of sweat. Then back to walking the streets looking for work.
It had been another morning with nothing to show for it but sore feet. He glanced at the sandwich board outside the newsagent as he made for the Blind Beggar. It was a headline from a newspaper he liked to think of as the Daily Fail, trumpeting the passing of the controversial Offenders Conscription Act. Mike just shook his head as he pushed the door open to the Beggar and the welcoming smell of his local.
He took another sip of his pint. He found it easy to waste away the afternoon in the pub, but Sarah had said he should only have one during the day, when he was trying to find work. He wanted to savour it. He stared at the sparse list of jobs in the local paper, willing himself to be qualified for one of them. As what? He remembered Sarah telling him you can’t think like that. He thought about how his world had changed. He used to be all about wanting a life like he saw on telly, a rich easy life. Now he’d settle for a job in a warehouse. The news was talking about another dip, a triple dip. Mike was of the opinion that this was just the way things were going to be for the foreseeable future. People needed to get used to it.
‘Hello, Psycho.’ The voice was so gravelly it sounded a cigarette away from full-blown throat cancer. Don’t call me that, but you didn’t tell Jack Hamilton anything. Mike looked up and pretended to be pleased to see Hamilton. In truth he liked the man, and always had done. He had been a good friend to Mike’s dad. Mike had looked up to him, and Jack had done right by his mother after his dad had died over some stupid shit in a pub.
Hamilton was tall and still had a thick, full head of hair for a man in his late sixties, though it was white now. Jack had never been a pretty man. He had a flat face and a nose that had been repeatedly broken in his youth. He did, however, have an undeniable charisma.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t Jack Hamilton, last of the great white gangsters,’ Mike said, smiling.
‘You always were a cheeky cunt, weren’t you?’ Hamilton said, smiling indulgently. ‘How’s your mum?’
Mike shrugged.
‘She’s keeping alright. Needs to get out a bit more.’
‘Real looker in her day, your mum.’
‘Jack…’ Mike started. Hamilton hit him on the shoulder.
‘You know I don’t mean nothing by it.’ Hamilton sat down at the stool next to Mike and lit up a cigarette.
‘Jack, you’re going to get my licence taken away,’ Jean screeched at Hamilton. Some of the pub’s punters were of the opinion that the sharp-tongued undisputed matriarch of the Beggar had been here before the pub, just waiting for it to be built around her. She’d always reminded Mike of the harpies that Zeus had sent to torment Phineus, but in a good way.
‘I think we both know that’ll never happen, darlin’. Two triple brandies, love, it’s lunch time after all.’ Mike started to protest. He started to protest because it sounded really, really good. Jack let him know that to refuse would insult him. Mike sighed, nodded and thanked the older man.
‘What’s this shit?’ Hamilton said tapping the paper open at the wanted ads. Here we go, Mike thought.
‘Looking for work, ain’t I,’ Mike said.
‘Mikey, all you have to do is…’
‘Please, Jack…’ Mike said. He didn’t want to offend the older man and it wasn’t because he was a dangerous individual. He just didn’t want to hurt the gangster’s feelings.
‘Sarah?’
‘Yeah, no. Sort of. I need to get away from all o
f that. She… we want a family and I just remember when I was a kid, my dad…’
‘Your dad was a good man,’ Hamilton said seriously.
‘He was. Could have been a better dad.’
Hamilton thought about this. It looked to Mike like his dad’s old friend was about to stand up for his dad.
‘I can see that,’ Hamilton finally said. ‘One of the reasons I never had kids.’
‘That and you’re still shagging twenty-one year old lap-dancers, if what I hear is right.’
Hamilton’s growling laughter made Mike think of a dog drowning.
‘Rank has its privileges, son,’ Hamilton told him. ‘Some of the work what I’ve got is legit,’ he said changing subject.
‘Jack, I appreciate it, I really do but…’
‘S’alright, I understand, I get it. I know you need some distance, but I don’t want to lose contact. Why don’t you and Sarah join me and…’ Hamilton stopped, a look of concentration spreading over his face.
‘You can’t remember your girlfriend’s name, can you?’ Mike said, grinning. Hamilton was shaking his head.
‘I’m getting fucking old. I can picture her. Great tits, fucks like a wolverine sewn into a sack.’
‘Nice,’ Mike said nodding.
‘You watch your mouth, Jack Hamilton!’ Jean howled at Hamilton. ‘I don’t care who you are out there!’
‘I’m sorry Jeanie, you know I’ve only got eyes for you, but you should see this girl’s tits.’
Mike was laughing now as he took another sip of brandy.
‘I will fucking bar you, you cheeky little bastard!’
Hamilton was laughing as well. Winding up Jean was a time-honoured tradition of the punters in the Beggar.
‘Seriously though, one Sunday, the four of us can go out to Epping Forest, have a walk, spot of Sunday lunch. My treat.’
Mike nodded, grateful. He did like Hamilton’s company, but he could never shake the picture of the number of times he’d seen the older man with blood on his hands. That was why Hamilton still ran this manor. That was why all the little fresh-faced, gun-toting gangster-wannabes left him alone. He wasn’t greedy, he just wanted his patch, but if you fucked around then he took care of business. Personally.
‘Now let’s have another drink.’
‘Jack, seriously…’
Sarah’s going to fucking kill me, Mike thought, I am well hammered.
‘…so he comes back in, looks in the quilt cover and then back at me and says: “Jack, why’s there a dead dog in my quilt cover?” Now Richardson was a hard fucker and you had to respect him, but I couldn’t help myself, I got all aggrieved and said: “Where did you want me to put it?” Oh, he gave me such a kicking. He was proper furious.’
Mike had heard the story before but he was still laughing. Jack’s face became serious again.
‘You picked a shitty time to become a civilian, Mikey, even the fucking yuppies are moving out. You hear about the body of that girl they found?’
Mike shrugged. ‘It’s the Jack the Ripper theme park, isn’t it?’ he replied. ‘Every nutjob in the fucking country wants to pay tribute.’
Jack was looking at him thoughtfully, nodding.
‘I like that. That’s, what-cha-call-it…?’
‘Profound?’ Mike asked, his heart sinking. He saw where this was going.
‘Yeah, profound. Good word. Where is it, Mikey?’
‘Jack, don’t do this,’ Mike said shaking his head. Hamilton had his hand out.
Mike sighed, reached into the pocket of his battered leather jacket and handed Hamilton the book. Hamilton looked at the cover, frowned and then reached into the breast pocket of his suit and took out a pair of reading glasses and held them in front of his face. Those are new, Mike thought.
‘Who’s Descartes then? Sounds like a frog.’ Hamilton put the book down on the bar. Here it comes, Mike thought.
‘Wish I’d read more,’ Hamilton said quietly. ‘Particularly history, I love that stuff. You know I heard once that down here, in Victorian times, everyone was a criminal. I mean they all had legit jobs but everyone, and I mean everyone, had something on the side. Had to, if they wanted to feed their family. Know what a dollymop is?’ Mike did, but he shook his head. ‘A part-time prostitute. You think on that. Imagine you’re a wife and a mother but sometimes you have to go out and sell yourself just to make ends meet. It’s going to get like that again, I reckon. You keep your Sarah close and you look after her. She’s a good one, son. You needed sorting out. You were breaking your mother’s heart. I almost had to step in, know what I mean?’ Mike swallowed hard. Thinking about his mum. The guilt. ‘You’re lucky Sarah saw something in you. Took the time. She may not like me or what I am…’ Mike started to protest. ‘Quiet. Sometimes I don’t like what I am. But you need anything, either of you, you just have to ask.’
Mike nodded.
‘Thanks Jack, that means a lot.’
‘And don’t you worry. I’ve texted her to let her know you’ll be late and that you’re with me.’ Then Jack started laughing. Mike felt his heart sink. I am so dead.
‘Hello Psycho, what’s this faggot shit?’ Mike bristled at the sound of the voice. He looked up as Davey Falconer picked up his book. Falconer was whip thin, with amphetamine eyes that looked yellow to Mike and a constantly moving jaw. His hair was slicked down with too much gel and, presumably aping Hamilton, he wore an expensive tailored suit. Saville Row can’t hide what a vicious little prick Davey Falconer is, Mike thought.
Falconer’s most defining feature, however, was the jagged scar on the right side of his face that climbed up his cheek to his temple. He’d tried to get people to call him Scarface, but it hadn’t taken. Mike was of the opinion that Davey wanted to take that scar out on the world.
‘Yeah, nothing screams homosexuality like literacy,’ Mike muttered.
‘What’s that supposed to fucking mean?’ Davey demanded. Hamilton was laughing. Mike just shook his head. ‘How much longer do I have to wait in the Jag, boss?’ Davey all but demanded.
‘Until I’m finished you cheeky little bastard,’ Hamilton told him, less than pleased. ‘I’m having a drink with young Mikey here.’
Davey looked at Mike. Mike could feel the other man’s resentful glare. He didn’t even want to look at him. His fingers tightened around the brandy glass.
‘I hear you’ve become a pussy now.’
‘That’s enough, Davey, go wait out in the car,’ Jack told the younger man.
‘You’re Sarah MacFadden’s wife now, yeah? Not a pussy, pussy-whipped more like.’
‘Davey, shut the fuck up. I’m not going to tell you again. What is it with you two? Did you give him the scar or something?’ Hamilton asked, angry that his pleasant afternoon was being ruined.
No, that was his dad, Mike thought.
‘I used to pick on him at school,’ Mike said. What’re you doing, Mike, just let it go. ‘If I’d known what a whiney little cunt he was going to turn into I wouldn’t have fucking bothered.’
Davey was just nodding, smiling a vicious little smile.
‘Here, Hamilton, his Sarah might be a good little girl now but at school, my goodness, did that girl get around.’
‘Well you wouldn’t know, would you?’ Mike said. ‘Fucking cock-less virgin.’
‘Alright lads, we’re all friends here,’ Hamilton growled.
No, we’re really fucking not, Mike thought.
Davey had bristled at Mike’s insults but swallowed it and turned back to Hamilton, buoyed by the presence of his boss.
‘She’d do all sorts of dirty shit, five or six cocks at the same time…’
‘Alright, you’re bang out of order. Fuck off Davey. Now.’ Hamilton told him.
‘She looked so good looking up at you, her mouth round your…’
Mike was on his feet. He hadn’t even thought about it on a conscious level. He had grabbed the front of Davey’s suit. His fist pulled back, then it shot forwards again
and again into the terrified face. He felt bone and gristle giving under his knuckles. Davey went down. Mike didn’t stop punching. He wasn’t even aware of the screaming.
Someone grabbed him. Mike’s head shot round. His face a mask of rage. He was looking for the next victim. His fist coming up. Ready to punch.
‘Mikey!’ Hamilton shouted. Shaken, Mike realised that he was about to punch Hamilton. For a moment he realised how old the other man looked. He felt the rage drain from him. He turned and looked down at Davey. He was curled up on the floor, sobbing. He’d wet himself, at least. He’d seen his murder in Mike’s eyes. Mike looked down at the blood on his calloused knuckles.
‘Shit!’ Mike shouted. Jean was staring at him. ‘You need to get out of here,’ she told him.
‘What were you thinking?’ Hamilton said to Davey. He was looking down at the younger man, shaking his head. ‘He’s a fighter, you’re just a thug.’ He turned around to Mike. ‘I’ll clean this up. You get out of here, alright.’
Mike nodded, shaking. Davey wasn’t the only person Mike had frightened.
Am very angry, have gone out with Karen. Give a lot of thought to how you’re going to make up for this. Mike looked down at the note. She was pissed off, but she understood. It just made him feel worse, somehow.
He put on some music. Poured himself a brandy and then sat in his chair in the dark, putting his fist into a bowl of ice. He checked his phone. Still nothing from Sarah, which was always a sign of how angry she was with him.
The sound of the phone ringing woke him. His head was killing him, a proper spirits hangover. He’d spilled his glass and there was brandy all over the floor. We’re not getting tired of fucking up today, are we? He glanced at the phone. It was Karen calling. Something cold uncoiled inside him.
‘Hello?’
Karen was crying.
He ran into A&E. He pushed to the front of the reception desk, oblivious to the angry complaints of the people in the queue. He demanded to know where she was. There was more shouting, complaining from the queue, but they told him where she was. He was running again.
Karen in a short dress, her face streaked with tear-stained mascara. Both her arms bandaged from where she’d tried to get in the way. She was speaking to him, telling him what happened as tears ran down his face. Sarah’s face was completely covered with the surgical dressing. He’d cut her a lot. She was out now, sedated.
Crysis: Escalation Page 18
