Survival

by Joe Craig

  “What is?”

  “To think of Felix and Georgie using all of this stuff.” All of the pieces of the board games had been carefully set out and listed on a clipboard on the evidence table. The boxes were mostly burned, but the pieces were still there and recognisable for what they were – chess, Cluedo, Scrabble… Eva flicked through the Monopoly money and turned the little dog over in her fingers.

  “Maybe even Jimmy,” she added, a croak in her voice.

  “Jimmy’s dead,” said Mitchell sharply.

  Eva felt it like an alarm call. She sat more upright and pretended she was studying the little dog. “Yeah, of-of course,” she stuttered. “I’m just saying, you know. That’s weird. That he’s dead, I mean. And Felix and Georgie play with all this stuff.”

  She threw a smile up at Mitchell. She knew that would distract him. She rarely smiled at him and whenever she did he became like an obedient little puppy. She put the little dog down and rolled the dice.

  “What do think that is?” she asked when they landed. The cubes had melted out of shape and some of the spots had burned off.

  “Who cares?” Mitchell asked. “You can’t play when half the pieces are just bits of soot…”

  “No, look,” Eva protested. “You can still make out what it says on them. Anyway – you got anything better to do?”

  Mitchell shrugged. “Guess not,” he muttered. He peered round the room then dropped his head again. “I’ve got to wait around here for all these boffins to do their… boffining.”

  “I think it’s called forensic investigation.”

  “Looks like boffining to me.” He rolled the dice and picked up the battleship playing piece. “Double four,” he announced, moving the piece round the board, over black patches and smears of melted plastic.

  “That’s not a four,” said Eva. She dusted some of the ash off the dice, but it didn’t make it any clearer.

  “Whatever,” Mitchell shrugged. He rolled again.

  “You meant to be taking notes on all of this?”

  Eva picked up her notebook and pretended to write.

  “9.41 p. m.” she announced in mock seriousness. “Mitchell Glenthorne rolled a double four, followed by a double one million.” She picked up his battleship and zoomed it round the board as fast as she could. “Pass ‘Go’ and collect £200.” They both collapsed into giggles and had to control themselves when some of the forensic team eyed them with disapproval.

  “You can’t play with that,” hissed a technician from across the room. “It’s evidence.”

  “Yeah,” Mitchell groaned. “Evidence that Felix and Georgie have no life.” He grabbed a fistful of the Monopoly property cards and waved them in front of Eva’s face. “All mine,” he announced.

  “You wish,” Eva said with a smile.

  “Aw, poor Eva. OK then, you can have the stations.” He flicked through the cards and picked out the four stations: Liverpool Street, Marylebone, Fenchurch Street…

  “Where’s Euston?” he asked.

  “There is no Euston, you idiot. It’s King’s Cross.” Eva grabbed the cards from him. “Let me have a look.” She dealt them out slowly, deciphering the fragments of print on the surviving portions of the cards.

  “Forget it,” said Mitchell. “It’s not there. It probably went up in flames.”

  “That’s stupid,” Eva protested. “Why would just one of the cards burn up when every other one is here?”

  “It was probably lost before the fire then.”

  Eva ignored him and placed the cards around the board next to their property spaces. When her hands were empty, she prodded her finger into King’s Cross, the only property without a card on it.

  “Where’d it go?” she asked again, raking over the objects on the table and checking the floor around them. When she looked back at Mitchell his expression had changed. His arrogant smile had faded into uncertainty, as if he was puzzling out a maths problem.

  “What’s up?” Eva asked softly. She tried flashing a smile at him again, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were flicking rapidly all over the Monopoly board. Then they fixed on King’s Cross Station.

  “Gotta go,” he said, rushing to his feet. He nearly knocked over the whole table.

  “Mitchell,” Eva called out. “Wait…”

  It was no good. She watched him say just a couple of words to William Lee, then they both dashed for the door. Eva was left alone, staring at the Monopoly board, with the feeling, deep in her stomach, that she’d done something terrible.

  Jimmy and Marla seared through the night sky like a comet – but one with 1200 kW turboshaft engines and two Mistral missiles.

  “How did you find me?” Jimmy asked over the noise of the chopper.

  Marla picked up the helmet from behind her seat, put it on and spoke into the headset. “I followed from Rome,” she explained. “I told you not to trust Browder. But I did not think you were listening.”

  “But—” Jimmy stopped himself. “Thank you,” he said. He looked across at Marla and tried to smile, but it didn’t come out right. His mouth became a wiggly mess.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Marla. “You’re fine now. You can go to England, just like you wanted.”

  “I’m not fine.” Jimmy’s face darkened and he pushed all of his strength into the flightstick of the helicopter, powering them onwards even faster. “Stovorsky sent the order to kill my mum, my sister and my best friend.”

  “I am sorry, Jimmy.” Marla’s voice was suddenly sombre.

  “And there’s more,” Jimmy added. “Worse.”

  “Worse? What can be worse?” Marla looked at him in astonishment, but he looked away, concentrating instead on the controls of the helicopter. Marla stared at him hard. The light from the LCD screens lit his expression, a perfect mix of courage and terror. Then her eyes ran down his arms. She saw his fingers. She saw the growing blue stains. At first she thought it was the light from the controls, but she quickly realised the truth.

  “Jimmy, your hands…” she gasped.

  Jimmy didn’t react.

  “I thought…” Marla couldn’t finish her sentence.

  “Stovorsky lied,” Jimmy explained quietly.

  “But, but… why? Why would he do that?”

  “Because lies work,” Jimmy whispered, barely audible.

  “So you are…” Marla couldn’t bring herself to say it. She looked at her own fingers and her face hardened. The sympathy disappeared and in its place came pure determination. “You will survive, Jimmy,” she declared.

  “Not just perhaps – for sure. You will find a doctor. Like me also.” Jimmy was shaking his head gently, but Marla pressed on as if she was issuing a stream of orders. “And your poison is much less than mine. I lived near that place, remember. The poison killed my parents.”

  “It killed your parents?”

  “Many years ago, yes. They worked there. For the French.” She looked down at her lap. “But you were only perhaps two hours. No more. You will survive.”

  “It makes no difference,” Jimmy said, his tone flat. “It’s deadly, Marla.” Steadily his voice rose. “I put my hands into it. Like it wasn’t enough to be near to it – I put my hands right into the actinium! Then I…” He stopped himself suddenly.

  “What?” Marla asked.

  Jimmy’s eyes filled up with tears. “I thought I was going to be able to save them,” he said. “Georgie, Mum and Felix.” His words started to slur into each other. “But I couldn’t anyway. And now I’m finished.”

  “Jimmy, do not say it. You can still get to them in time.”

  She reached across to put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Don’t touch me!” Jimmy snapped, pulling away.

  “Everything that comes near me…” He tailed off. “I was built to kill and I can’t stop it. Even if I fight it. Can’t you see all I do is cause destruction?”

  “What?”

  “I destroy life!” His voice boomed over the din of the fli
ght. “I destroy everything!”

  “Jimmy, stop!” Marla yelled. “You have to be strong. You do not destroy! You save! You are not a killer!”

  Jimmy didn’t react. His fists squeezed the flightstick and his lip trembled.

  “You saved me, no?” Marla shouted. “And you are going to save your mum and your friend and your sister also!”

  “How can I?” Jimmy yelled back. “When I can’t even save myself?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Forget it. You can’t help me. Nobody can.”

  Marla stared at him. Jimmy could feel her eyes on his face. A part of him wanted to look back, as if just seeing her sympathy would take away his troubles. But he knew he couldn’t. He forced himself to look only straight ahead, out of the cockpit.

  Then his senses were pricked by a new noise – a warning beep. He glanced down at the LCD and tapped through several different screens, sucking the information into his brain before he was even aware of what he’d seen.

  “They’re coming,” he announced grimly.

  “What?”

  Jimmy slammed his fist into the control panel. Then he pointed at the screen to show Marla the two flashing red dots steadily closing in on the black one in the centre.

  “That’s us,” Jimmy explained in a gruff tone. “And that’s two French fighter jets.” Then there was another beep, more shrill this time, and all of the controls lit up red.

  “And what does that mean?” Marla asked.

  Jimmy raised an eyebrow, flicked his eyes over the dials in front of him and said, “It means hold on tight.”

  33 ONLY LIKE THE BEST HUMANS

  Felix, Georgie and Helen moved through King’s Cross Station with their heads dipped, scanning everything for another sign from Zafi. Felix and Georgie had no idea what form that would take.

  “I can’t think with all this noise!” Georgie muttered. Four station cleaners were pushing large mopping machines across the main concourse in an area that had been roped off after some kind of accident with two of the stock carts. There were pools of liquid across the floor. “Should we check the card again?” she whispered. “Maybe it has another clue on it?”

  “No,” replied her mother. “What do you smell?”

  Georgie and Felix looked at each other.

  “I dunno,” Felix muttered. “Smells like… station stuff.”

  Georgie shrugged, but after a second her face changed. “Wait,” she said. “Smells like breakfast or something.”

  “It’s milk and fruit juice,” said Helen.

  “Milk and fruit juice?” Felix mouthed to Georgie. “I think your mum’s lost it.” He tapped a finger against his temple. Georgie suppressed a giggle, but then looked across the forecourt and her expression changed.

  Felix followed her eyes. The cleaners in the centre of the concourse were scurrying around two stock carts – the small electric vehicles that carry merchandise to the refreshment outlets in the station. The carts were lying on their sides about five metres from each other, their engines burnt out and their shelf units mangled.

  “Looks like they exploded,” Felix suggested.

  “Explosions are popular tonight,” muttered Helen.

  Felix looked again. One of the carts had obviously been carrying milk, while the other must have been loaded with red fruit juice of some kind. There was a huge pool of each spreading across the floor, merging in the middle into pink slime.

  “It’s just a red pool and a white pool,” said Georgie. “It’s not a message or a sign.”

  Helen pointed to the part of the floor just next to where the cleaners were working. It was outside the partitioned area, so it was thick with commuters, but for a second they cleared to reveal the bigger picture.

  The pool of juice formed a red streak. The milk had spread into a white one. But next to that was a third colour – a permanent band of blue in the pattern of the floor tiles.

  Three stripes: red, white and blue.

  “It’s the French flag!” Felix gasped.

  “But it’s—” Before Georgie could finish, the three of them were running through the station. Because of the way the carts had fallen, the liquids had spread out in two balloon shapes to form a giant arrow, with the point aimed in one definite direction: the passage through to St Pancras International Terminal next door.

  St Pancras was surprisingly busy, despite the Neo-democratic Government’s restrictions on who could travel in and out of the country. Helen, Georgie and Felix tried to blend in, but there weren’t many other children around.

  “Where now?” asked Georgie. She and Felix couldn’t help lifting their heads to gawp at the amazing terminal interior. It was dominated by a huge new statue of Ares Hollingdale, the last Prime Minister, who’d been assassinated. Several commuters stopped to take photos of it on their mobile phones. It was over thirty metres high, reaching nearly all the way up to the wall of glass and steel that loomed over everything.

  About fifteen metres directly above the statue was the ornate station clock. Felix was mesmerised by the huge gold arms that seemed to flash in the light like mediaeval swords.

  “Get your head down,” Helen ordered. “It’s this way.” She pulled Felix and Georgie towards the end of the concourse where there were two refreshment outlets. One consisted of just a few tables and chairs around a stand pretending to be an old English pub. The other was shuttered up.

  Felix was confused at first, but when he looked again it was obvious: underneath the day’s specials chalked on the pub blackboard there was a small ‘Z’.

  “She thinks she’s Zorro, doesn’t she?” Georgie sighed.

  “Who’s Zorro?” asked Felix.

  “Never mind.”

  They tried to slip round the pub stand, but the server cut them off. “Can I help you?” she barked.

  Before Helen could respond, there was low, deep voice.

  “It’s OK, Steff. They’re with me.”

  Jimmy’s hands flashed across the dials and switches. He was amazed to see himself moving so calmly and with such control, while at the same time his insides were on fire with anger, confusion and fear.

  He dipped hard, taking them close to the rooftops of Northern France. He knew the fighter jets would never fire at him if he was so close to French civilians. The red flashing light in the cabin went solid for a moment, then beeped off. The missile launch detector in the electronic warfare software suite showed that the jets had cancelled the missile lock on Jimmy. They were waiting.

  Jimmy pulled up rapidly. The chopper leapt high into the air and pitched backwards. The two fighter jets ripped past them. They’d have to circle round to make another pass.

  In the corner of Jimmy’s eye was Marla. Despite the danger, she was perfectly still, staring at Jimmy as if he was a puzzle to be solved. “Jimmy,” she said softly, “if the actinium is not in that suitcase you buried in the desert, where is it?”

  Jimmy stayed silent. He pretended not to have heard her and concentrated on manoeuvring the chopper.

  “Where is it, Jimmy?” Marla pressed.

  Jimmy took a deep breath, but couldn’t stop the rage bubbling inside him. “I thought I was immune, OK?” he shouted. “I didn’t know!”

  “Where is it?”

  Marla was shouting now too, matching Jimmy’s anger with her own strength of will. Still Jimmy wouldn’t say. Marla didn’t ask again. Instead she reached all the way across and grabbed Jimmy by both shoulders. Jimmy’s shock rattled through him like the vibrations of the helicopter. Marla twisted him round to face her, ripping his hands from the controls. She stared into his eyes for a second.

  What’s she doing? Jimmy thought desperately. Does she want us to crash? He knew the chopper would stay stable for a short time, but they had less than a minute before the French jets would be back to fire at them. Then, with a deep breath, Marla slammed her fist into Jimmy’s stomach.

  All the wind burst from his body. He bent double over Marla’s arm, clutching at hi
s belly. His instincts fizzed inside him. His hands twitched, ready to counter-attack. It would have been simple, he knew that, as both sides of the cockpit were still open. His mind had already visualised the move – twist away, it told him. Grab her. Throw her out. But Jimmy didn’t move. He didn’t want to.

  He wheezed hard. It felt like he would never breathe again, but he didn’t make a move to fight back. Marla punched a second time, this time with her knuckles extended. The blow came sharper, harder and aimed precisely at his stomach. She pressed deep into him, as if she was trying to reach inside and rip out his guts.

  Jimmy had no breath left to give. He forced himself to move his hands away. Sit up, he ordered himself. Give her a target. If she wants to hit you, let her. He extended his arms out to the side as far as he could in the cramped cabin and presented his front to Marla. There were tears in his eyes from the pain, but he wasn’t going to give in.

  Marla pounded her fists into his stomach: left, right, left, right… each time harder and harder. She was crying now and with each blow she let out a furious grunt. Jimmy held up a hand to stop her. She’d done enough. He could feel it. He didn’t know how she’d worked out what she had to do, but there was no way he could hide it now.

  Jimmy crumpled in two and pitched forward until his head rested on the control panel. Then, with two gut-wrenching heaves, he retched violently. He turned his face to Marla, barely able to see her through the water in his eyes, and puked at her feet. Marla didn’t flinch. This was exactly what she had intended and Jimmy knew it too.

  He had hardly eaten in the last twenty-four hours, so at first nothing came up. But then, coated in thick yellow bile from Jimmy’s stomach, came a shower of glowing blue stones: the actinium.

  Jimmy was almost on the floor of the cockpit now, barely able to stay in his seat. The helicopter rocked from side to side. The cabin shook. The rotor over their heads rattled. But Marla and Jimmy were frozen. They looked at each other, then to the pile of actinium at Marla’s feet.

  “Why?” Marla mouthed, unable to get her voice out.