by S. T. Boston
“So what you're saying is,” Adam began, sounding disappointed, “that if we try to shoot at it, it will be like standing on the dock and firing a handgun at a battle ship.”
“Pretty much,” Taulass said regretfully.
“So, what use is the craft if we can't use it to get there?”
“There might be another way,” Taulass said, his eyes narrowing in thought. “But I need to work on it. As an absolute last resort we can use the craft to get you and your family off planet before the fireworks start.”
“That's a last resort that I'm not planning on getting to,” Adam said, not even feeling the slightest relief that he, as well as Lucie and Sam were safe. “Before we hit the road,” he continued, “I don't suppose you guys have any clothing hauled up here?” he pointed to his shirt which was untucked, creased and resembled something robbed from a vagabond, and his best dress trousers were not fairing much better.
“Sure, in the top bedroom at the back there is a wardrobe full of stuff, just grab what you need. You have stuff up there, too,” he concluded, looking at Oriyanna.
“A few minutes won't make a great deal of difference,” Adam replied, wishing he had time to get a shower. “We leave in five.” He headed to the hall, paused in the doorway, turned to Taulass and said, “I'm out of my depth here, if you say you can't use that craft to get us there I trust you. Just tell me you have some other plan cooking in that head of yours.”
“Like I said, I have an idea but it will take some working on.”
It wasn't really the answer that Adam was looking for, but it was better than nothing. He headed upstairs and into a large double room that was decorated in a neutral magnolia, the high ceilings were a flat white and the pristine looking bed was covered with a plastic sheet to keep dust at bay. In the modern looking gloss-white wardrobe he found an expensive pair of Rab Stretch walking trousers, a grey and blue Toggi polo shirt and grey and black Rab fleece, which matched the trousers. There were a variety of the same pieces of clothing in a number of sizes, it all still had the labels on as well. Taulass was kitted out in kit that looked almost identical. The team had obviously purchased a job lot from the local outdoor pursuits store. In the bottom of the wardrobe he found a variety of Salomon walking shoes. The closest match was a half size too big, but with the laces secured they felt like a pair of comfortable slippers compared to his Dune Gibson smart dress shoes, that had seen better days and were well due for replacement. Leaving his chinos and shirt in a folded pile on the end of the bed, with his shoes at the foot, he headed downstairs feeling a little refreshed thanks to the clean clothing. Oriyanna had already changed, although it seemed her wardrobe consisted of much of the same stuff. Now she sported another pair of leggings, identical to the ones she'd just changed out of, a blue tee-shirt that was worn beneath a zip-up, lightweight black Marmot jacket. On her feet she wore a pair of nondescript flat-soled boots which covered the bottoms of her leggings and reached part way up her calves. The clothing hugged her figure amazingly, considering it was designed to be practical and hardwearing.
“Not much of a wardrobe, then,” smiled Adam.
“It's light and functional,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“If we get out of this alive, remind me to take you shopping,” he grinned at her. “I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress.” She scowled at him, then smiled.
Taulass tucked the Glock into the back of his trousers and pulled his top over the weapon, hiding it from view. He reached the door, paused as if expecting someone to be on the other side, then swung it open and said, “Let's get moving, we can discuss the details of the plan I'm forming on the way.”
Chapter 27
Namtar had his first clenched so tightly on the girl's wet hair that his knuckles began to throb with a dull ache. He pulled back on it slightly, her body responding to his every move, as if she were a puppet on a marionette string. The thrill of the hunt was almost over. Soon he would get to avenge his bother.
“Five seconds, Mr. Becker,” he growled, the urge to snap the woman's neck and take from Sam Becker as he'd taken from him was almost too tempting to ignore. In his mind he could already feel her delicate bones cracking and splitting against his hands. He focused his attention on the bedroom door, which was partially obscured by a slight kink in the shape of the hallway. He knew Peltz was dead, his highly tuned ears had heard his bones break, just the way he longed to break Lucie Becker's. He felt no sadness or loss, it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He'd not even grieved for his brother yet, there would be time for that later, now was the time to ensure that his death hadn't been in vain. Namtar wished that instead of Peltz he'd sent the other guy, Croaker. Out of the two Peltz seemed the more professional killer, and he didn't like the way the last member of his team was now leering at Lucie Becker's naked body, it made him feel unclean. He knew only too well what would happen if he left the girl in Croaker's care and as much as he had no duty of care toward her, he would not let that happen. He deplored acts of sexual violence, it was a nasty, grubby trait of Earth-Human psyche that he was disappointed to see one of the Earth-Breed displaying. Too long living among the maggots, he thought to himself, feeling repulsed. Acts of pure, unadulterated violence of non-sexual nature, on the other hand, were more than okay, that's what gave him his kicks.
* * *
Sam cursed under his breath, he might be able to take out the guy he'd seen perving on Lucie, but as soon as Namtar saw him spring from his hiding spot, gun in hand, he'd kill her. It took all of his willpower not to spring from his cover and try a blaze of glory style rescue. From experience he knew that whilst they were both breathing there was a chance, once you were dead it was game over, until then you never knew what hand fate might deal you. He scanned the corpse on the floor one last time, seeing if there was a weapon that he could hide somewhere on his body, but the Taser and the knife were both too large. Cursing again, he removed the gun from the back of his Craghoppers and held it at arm's length, by the butt, between his thumb and forefinger in a manner that would make it impossible to get into a firing position without fumbling about like an untrained fool. Slowly he rounded the edge of the door and dropped the Beretta to the floor, kicking it reluctantly aside. The other firearm was still on the nightstand.
“Hands to your sides, Mr. Becker, and palms facing out,” Namtar commanded.
Sam did as instructed, focusing his attention on Lucie's frightened eyes as he carried out the order. “It's okay,” he said to her. It was a lie, it was pretty fucking far from okay, in fact things couldn't be much worse, but who ever told the truth in a situation like this?
“Just stay right where you are,” Namtar followed up. He looked at the other male and said, “Can you see if she has a robe in there?” motioning with his head toward the bathroom. Sam could tell that Namtar had also noticed the male's lustful attention to Lucie and thankfully he wasn't interested in letting him play out whatever was running through his head.
“Shame,” the other guy said sighing. “I was quite enjoying the view.” He flashed Sam a jeering look that made his blood boil. The guy disappeared into the bathroom and in a second he was back, a light blue towelled robe in his right hand. He cast one last look over Lucie's naked skin, his eyes lingering on her breasts for long enough to make Sam decide that when the time came, he was going to kill him as slowly and painfully as possible.
“Put it on,” Namtar instructed, holding her by the hair and allowing her to use her arms to slide the garment over her shoulders.
Looking visually violated and like she needed to scrub herself clean all over again, with water as hot as her skin could handle, Lucie quickly tied the cord around her waist and hiked the robe as far up her chest as possible.
“Slowly now, Mr. Becker, walk with me through to the living room.” He watched as Namtar guided Lucie backward, tugging her thick hair harder than necessary. He also took hold of her left arm and twisted it behind her back, making her shriek in pain. Reach
ing the lounge, Namtar guided Sam's wife to the back of the room, near the door, which he kicked shut. He fixed his stone cold eyes on Sam and said, “My colleague, Mr. Croaker here, is going to handcuff you, I don't need to remind you what will happen if you try to resist.”
“Just let her go,” Sam said calmly. “You can take me, I won't put up a fight.”
“That's not the deal, Sam.” Namtar replied, using his first name. “I need you both, plus Adam Fisher. I also suspect he is with Oriyanna and another Arkkadian.”
Sam's mind span, who was this other person Namtar was referring to? He obviously knew more than he did. “Adam and Oriyanna are gone,” he said truthfully. “They left a couple of hours ago,” he thought on his feet and said. “I wanted out, I've given all I can and then some. Our run-in over in France was the final straw, I'm a married man now and have too much to lose, we are no part of this. Just let Lucie go, if you have to you can take me.” He eyed Croaker who was clutching a set of rigid cuffs in his hand. He regarded Sam with a wary expression, as he if couldn't decide whether to approach him or not. “They have gone to Liverpool to meet the other Arkkadian, I don't know what they plan to do from there. If I was still in, do you really think I'd be here?”
“A half-truth, Mr. Becker,” Namtar said suspiciously. “I don't believe that you're out, not for a second. Nice try, though!” He gestured for Croaker to stop procrastinating and get on with the job.
Croaker glanced uneasily at Sam and approached in a way that person might do with a dangerous animal.
“What I think,” Namtar continued, “is that they have gone to meet with the Arkkadian, maybe in Liverpool, maybe not, and that you'll be expecting them back.”
“It's the truth,” smiled Sam, sounding genuine, he held his hands out to his front, wrists together and allowed Croaker to slip one of the cuffs on, the other side he disengaged from the ratchet and got ready to clip over his other wrist. “They are not coming back here, if you want them you will need to get to Liverpool. Waste your time if you like, but I can promise you they are not coming back.”
“But they might come after you if they know what's happened,” Namtar smiled. He could feel a smouldering fury building in his gut; there was no time for this shit, he needed to be back on the plane, and soon. It drew his attention away from Lucie for a split second as he pondered the problem. This was the break Sam had been waiting for.
Before Croaker had a chance to secure the other side, Sam whipped his cuffed wrist around, the disengaged blade flaying dangerously in an arc through the air. The end of the cuff buried itself into Croaker's left eye and hooked in behind the bridge of his nose. Sam tugged the cuff, the blade bit his wrist but the pain was nothing compared to the agonised expression that was creasing Croaker's face. He let out a shrill scream of both surprise and panic as Sam tugged him forward, the curved cuff blade acting as a hook that had latched itself into cavity between the eye socket and nose bone. He stumbled but the cuff broke the bone and peeled though his skin before he went down. The cuff completed its arc, the disengaged end now dripping in blood and sporting a fresh flap of skin that covered the tip.
The attack caught Namtar by surprise and he let his grip on Lucie's hair and arm falter, only for a split second but it was long enough for her to feel and react to. She drove her right elbow back deep into his ribs, making him double over in pain.
“Run!” Sam screamed at her as Namtar quickly recovered from the blow. Lucie paused for a second, caught between the fight or flight response. In the end Sam's command and her fear took over and she bolted to the door, crashing into it and keeping it closed with her body. Desperately she clawed at the handle and finally managed opened it. With a burst of energy she sprinted, just feeling the tips of Namtar's fingers run down the back of the bath robe, failing to find purchase as he grabbed for her. Barefoot, Lucie fled down the shingle drive, not even noticing the stones as they cut and stabbed at her feet.
* * *
Sam watched in relief as Lucie made the door, her body almost kept it closed for an agonising second but she found the handle and opened it, escaping out into the sunlit afternoon as Namtar tried fruitlessly to grab hold of her. Sam knew this was his moment and slammed into Croaker who was clawing desperately at the punctured eye, shrieking like a wicked witch who'd just been hosed with water. Off balance, his body crashed over and slammed against a small lacquered table, where he continued to flay around on the floor. It was just enough of a delay to allow Namtar to reach into his jacket and remove what Sam thought was a pistol. Before he could cover the ground to his quarry, the gun went off with an unusually quiet ssnnapp. Sam felt the impact on his chest but it was not the pain of a bullet, he kept going but immediately felt his legs turn to jelly. Falling to his knees he looked at the impact point and registered the small yellow-feathered dart that now protruded from his chest. The world span, the floor was the ceiling and the ceiling the floor, then the walls tumbled, causing him to bury is head into the faded carpet. Waves of nausea broke over him as he fought to retain his lucidity, but it was a futile struggle. Rolling onto his back, he watched five Namtars heading for the door and after his wife.
* * *
It was the kind of fear that you felt as a child, running up a darken staircase almost certain that if you looked back the boogieman would reach out from the darkness and grab you, only this time Lucie knew someone was in pursuit, and it was even more terrifying.
She fled across the cracked tarmac road at the foot of the canal bridge, and into the front yard of the sawmill. The desire to sprint the few hundred meters to the pub was immense but she knew that this particular pursuer would not be worried about the general public, he would in fact very likely kill everyone enjoying a spot of lunch or a quick beer just to get to her.
With her wet hair flying behind her, like a bunch of dark brown ribbons blowing in a stiff breeze, and holding the dressing gown with one hand, she reached the front door of the mill. Her heart sank at the sight of a large chain that was affixed through the purposeful but rusty iron D-handles, locking it in place. She glanced behind her, not registering the Volvo C90 that she'd run past. Across the street, a few hundred yards back, she saw the guy who'd hauled her out of the bath. He reached the cottage's gate and paused, his soulless eyes scanning for her, it didn't take long for him to fix his sights on her and he wasted no time in careering toward her at full sprint. Lucie screamed and broke to the right, rounding the old mill building. The white prefabricated concrete building was showing its age, dirt streaked the cracked and peeling paint, giving it a grubby and uninviting appearance.
Lungs burning and her heart slamming against her ribs as if it were trying to escape her body, she reached the back wall and cut to the left, clearing his line of sight. Another locked door halted her escape, she kept going along the back wall until she saw that one of the iron framed windows was slightly ajar. Stopping, her breath coming in deep, oxygen-hungry gasps she clawed it open. The white paint flaked away on her fingers and turned to poweder as the window reluctantly opened, creaking on unmaintained hinges. Wasting no time she hauled herself up and threw her body into the building, rolling over a dirty work bench before tumbling to the floor. The impact caused pain to flare up in her right shoulder as it struck the cold and dusty concrete. Ignoring it she shot to her feet and tried to heave the window closed, but to her frustration she couldn't get it past the point she'd discovered it at, thanks to it having been jemmied open at some point, bending the metal frame. Abandoning it as far closed as she could manage she headed into the gloomy, cavernous building. Old stacks of twisted, over aged timber were dotted about, some half collapsed, like a massive game of Pick-Up-Sticks. People had obviously looted the place after it had gone bust and not cared too much about leaving it in a tidy state. The air was thick with the smell of damp, dust and old machine oil.
Lucie looked about, searching for a place to hide. Then as if some hidden survival instinct caused a memory to creep into her mind, firing the righ
t synapse, she remembered the band-saw. She'd only been about four or five when her father had taken her into the building to get some firings cut for the shed roof, but she somehow remembered the massive saw that the men had cut his timber on. Squinting in the diffused light she saw it, silent and decaying on the other side of the mill. Lucie dashed across to it. A massive spare blade was hung over two hooks on the wall next to the sleeping giant, it looked like a rusty metal shark's jaw. The saw was not what she was after, it was the pit beneath it that she sought. Bending down she removed the plywood cover and peered in, the remnants of the last piece of timber to pass through its hungry blades were still covering the bottom of the pit. The sawdust was partially obscured by a mess of cobwebs that hang like dirty silk drapes. Spiders were one of her least favourite creatures but given the choice of the guy perusing her and a few harmless arachnids, the arachnids would win every time.
Glancing toward the window she heard heavy footsteps pounding the ground outside; they went past the window, faded, and then paused before heading back toward the open frame. He'd seen the gap. Lucie jumped into the pit and hauled the cover into place, plunging her into thick, black darkness.
* * *
Namtar crashed across the gravel drive, his feet mashing the shingle with a series of loud crunches. He paused momentarily at the gate, scanned left and right before spotting the girl, a few hundred yards in front of him. She'd reached the front wall of the building opposite and was stopped, looking at a chained door. Then she saw him. They held each other's gaze for a split second before she split and pounded across the concrete with amazing dexterity and speed for a person lacking footwear. Namtar ran, fishing another dart from his jacket pocket as he went. He lost sight of her for no more than ten seconds but as he rounded the back wall of the mill she'd gone. He stopped, his chest gulping the cold air into his lungs. He scanned left and right, searching, before deciding to follow the building's back wall, it ran for about sixty or seventy yards, she would have had enough time to clear that and double back down the other side of the mill, if that was indeed what she'd decided to do. The first door he passed was secured and locked, the same way the front one had been. Would she really have gone to ground in there, trapping herself like an animal in a cage? He thought to himself doubtingly. He felt certain she must have doubled back down the other side of the building and headed back toward the cottage. Namtar smiled at his own cunning and was about to turn back and head back the way he'd come, cutting her off as she reached the front yard, but then he saw the window.
