by Chris Ward
Clayton rubbed the bridge of his nose, considering. ‘We have recalled the Huntsmen. I will talk to the Governor later today. It is my expectation that tomorrow we will move out as a unit. Can she be ready by then?’
Karmski laughed. ‘Mr. Clayton, you amuse me. You’ve seen what we are down here, you’ve seen the wonders we create. Of course she can be ready by tomorrow.’
Clayton rolled his eyes at the word ‘wonders’. He’d been to Stonehenge and Dover, he’d seen wonders both natural and manmade. In comparison the creations of this modern day Dr. Frankenstein were monstrosities. He said, ‘How can it be possible for a body to heal so fast?’
‘We simply replace what is broken, Mr. Clayton. Skin, bones, nothing is beyond our skills.’
Clayton seriously doubted the boldness of Karmski’s statement, and as he glanced at Dreggo he felt a momentary pang of sadness for the girl, losing the last shreds of her humanity before his eyes. But he nodded, face grim. ‘Good. Report to me when she’s walking about again.’ He turned and walked out.
Just as he closed the door, he glanced back across the room, at the racks of expensive computer machinery and medical equipment, and shook his head. ‘While everything around us rots,’ he muttered wryly.
#
Back inside the laboratory, Karmski watched as the technicians fixed into place a black metal mask to hide the ruined part of Dreggo’s face. The Huntsman had left just one eye and her nose undamaged. Half of her mouth was gone, replaced by synthetic skin tissue, its vulnerability now protected by the mask. Most of her former human beauty was gone, but there was still enough of the old Dreggo left to excite him.
Karmski still remembered the day they’d brought her in, a fifteen-year-old runaway, drugged and bound. Later, strapped to an examination table, still numb with drugs, he’d used her for the first time in the solitude of his private lab. He remembered the soft, suppleness of her skin, the warmth of her body, her taste, her smell. He shivered at the memory.
As his scientists had experimented on her and found new ways to enhance her strength and abilities, Karmski’s love for her had grown. The girl once known as Deborah Jones, nicknamed Dreggo after Karmski decided to make her the prototype for a new breed of Super-Huntsmen, was never left alone out of her shackles. With an endless supply of tranquilizers and memory-erasing drugs to hand, Karmski’s love for her had manifested itself often. The day she had slipped her bonds while being transported up to the research labs and escaped, killing three scientists and more than ten guards in the process, was the proudest and also the darkest of his life.
‘After all this time, you’ve come back to me,’ Karmski murmured, while all around him the scientists, technicians and doctors worked without pause.
#
Out in the corridor, Clayton pulled his cell phone from his pocket and answered a call from Vincent.
‘Vincent? What news do you have?’
‘The Huntsmen have returned and been secured as you ordered,’ the younger man’s voice came through. ‘It’s as we thought. The kids have definitely gone. There are no fresh scent trails inside the perimeter walls. They’re outside. We’re ready to move anytime. Your orders?’
Clayton scowled. He hadn’t yet cooled on Vincent, still blaming him for the Tube Riders’ escape. After sending him to the hospital to have his leg fixed up, Clayton had demanded he return to supervise the search operations and oversee the return of the Huntsmen, a duty which had ensured Vincent got no sleep last night. Still, hearing the weariness in Vincent’s voice was scant reward for the wrath of the Governor Clayton might yet have to face.
‘We need the Governor’s permission to send the Huntsmen out into the GFAs,’ Clayton said. ‘I have a meeting with him later.’
‘If we send them now, they can run down the Tube Riders by early afternoon.’
You’ve changed your fucking tune, Clayton wanted to say. Instead, he just said, ‘No. We wait for authorization. If I have to set those monsters loose in the countryside I’m not being responsible for whatever damage they might do.’
Clayton heard a slow intake of breath that could have been tiredness, could have been insolence. Then Vincent said, ‘Whatever you say.’
The train that the Tube Riders had taken was on a direct trunk line to Bristol. The DCA branch there had been notified, and enhanced station security requested. He had demanded armed guards, cover on every exit. In reality, though, he doubted he’d get it. Bristol had almost as many problems as London and the Governor’s announcement yesterday evening had caused pockets of rioting in cities all across the country. The police were over-stretched, and the DCA were trying to plug the gaps. He just hoped that the Tube Riders wouldn’t slip away before the net was in place.
He knew they wouldn’t be stupid twice. They’d taught themselves how to get on and off a moving train, a skill he genuinely admired, and he suspected they’d look for a safe place to jump, either out in the countryside or inside the perimeter wall of the industrial mess that was Bristol GUA. His hunch was that they’d head for the city; feeling safer in what they knew than the relative unknown of Reading Greater Forest Area.
Whatever they did, their free days were short. The DCA needed to organise itself to continue pursuit outside London GUA, but within a day, maybe two, there would be twenty Huntsmen on their trail. Huntsmen could follow a trail weeks old, and, if everything went according to plan and Dr. Karmski knew what he was talking about, there would be another, better, stronger, Huntsman leading them. One who knew the Tube Riders well enough to anticipate their movements and to bring them in.
Clayton shut off his phone and headed for the exit. He felt a cold sweat bead on his forehead and in his armpits. He wanted to blame the clammy air of the lower levels of the facility, but he knew that was just an excuse. The truth was that the easy part of the day was over. The hard part – facing the Governor with the news that the fugitive Tube Riders, carrying information that, in the right hands could bring war to Mega Britain, had managed to escape not only the Department of Civil Affairs but the Huntsmen as well, and were now somewhere outside the city – was about to begin.
#
While the first sunlight of morning was still struggling to break through the grey smog that shrouded London, inside the facility the light came from the same clinical shadow-killing strip-lighting as ever. Inside a holding cell cum recuperation room, Dreggo lay sleeping, her one remaining eye closed, her chest rising and falling beneath a mound of bandages that left little clue as to the extent of her torso’s damage.
The last technicians had left. Several hours of surgery had repaired most of the damage to her circuitry and closed up the flesh wounds. The latter would take time to heal; although the gene-manipulation she had undergone during her initial development caused her tissues to regenerate at accelerated rates, Dr. Karmski’s men couldn’t work miracles and she would still be vulnerable for a few days.
The disfigurations she had suffered could never be completely repaired. The technicians had installed a motion sensor and infra-red night vision “eye” into the place where her left eye had once been, but she would only see clearly and in full colour from her right.
Karmski walked around the table. One hand reached up and touched the skin of her leg underneath the sheet that covered her. He glanced back towards the door. He’d locked it just before, but was nervous nevertheless. Dreggo had been gone over a year and he’d not had a chance to be alone with her since the DCA van had brought her in.
He sucked in a sharp breath as his hand slid further up the inside of her thigh. He glanced up at her face and saw her eyelids flutter, but otherwise she was still. He’d given her an extra dose of sleeping pills, just to make sure. With the right friends, the street could make you tolerant towards even the strongest medication.
Confident no one could see him and that she wouldn’t wake, Karmski let his other hand move inside his own trousers. His excitement was building, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold himse
lf back. He pulled his hand free and began to unbuckle his belt.
His other hand had found her sticky wetness now. He slid his finger inside, delighted to see the way her body shuddered. Awake, she’d kill him in an instant, but in her drugged sleep she felt the same pleasure as any other woman touched by a man, as it manifested in her dreams.
‘My beautiful Dreggo . . .’ he moaned as he climbed up on to her, his trousers slipping down around his knees. Almost unable to control himself, he eased her legs open and pushed the covering sheet up over her body.
Losing himself in the pleasure of his greatest creation as he eased himself into her, Dr. Karmski felt like he’d come home.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Landing Party
The first grey light of morning was breaking through the dark as the perimeter wall of Bristol GUA rose up out of the forest a mile or so ahead of them.
‘The train’s finally slowing down,’ Switch shouted to Marta. ‘At fucking last. Are we going in?’
Marta struggled to lift her head. It had been a long, long journey from London, on the clock maybe less than three hours but on the heart and the hands it was an eternity. She remembered Jess’s scream as Simon fell, then the girl’s desperate assertion that she would find him and they all meet again in Bristol. Marta had screamed at her to wait, but Jess had ignored her, blindly pitching herself off into the dark. Marta still hoped, but thought the chances of seeing either alive again were slim. She remembered something she had said, live together, die together, and her mind toiled with indecision and guilt, for hadn’t they thrown that away? Shouting back and forth to each other up and down the train, they had agreed that following Jess and Simon into the dark was near suicide. For Simon and Jess, their fate was their own, but guilt now tore at her like the Huntsmen’s claws might yet.
She looked around at the others. Everyone was quiet, even Owen, who at first had whooped and screamed like a kid on a rollercoaster. After Simon fell and Jess jumped – two people who weren’t faceless bad guys – the reality of the situation had set in, as had the cold. Hugging the side of the train, the chill night wind had battered them relentlessly, and Marta had felt the temptation to just close her eyes and fall backwards into the dark.
‘We’re going in,’ Marta responded at last. ‘A city has better cover and more ways to throw the Huntsmen off our scent. And if we got out of one we can get out of another.’
‘I’ve never seen the countryside,’ Paul shouted back to them. ‘Only on TV.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance,’ Marta replied, hair whipping her face. ‘We’re not stopping long, just until we work out what the hell to do next.’
Ahead of them the perimeter wall loomed, a huge grey concrete sentinel rising up into the sky.
‘It’s fucking armed!’ Switch shouted. ‘Lean in close, they might see us!’
Marta looked, and saw he was right. There, on top of the wall she could see figures moving around. They were just shadows at this distance, and she couldn’t be sure if they had weapons or not, but judging by the security alert they’d set off, there was every chance the guards were watching for them.
‘We’ve had tree cover the whole damn way,’ Paul said. ‘Now when we need it we get bloody fields.’
‘It’s a killing ground,’ Owen shouted.
‘A what?’
‘Open space around the walls where they can see people either escaping or attacking. Easier to shoot them that way.’
‘How did you know that?’
‘Video games.’
Marta cut them off. ‘We’re coming up to the tunnel,’ she said. ‘Wait for the train to slow. There’s bound to be a station; hopefully it’ll be for freight only and we can jump off and hide while they unload the train. We’ll have to look for a way out.’
‘Here we go again!’ Paul shouted, as the tunnel rushed around them, cold wind wrapping around their already freezing bodies like iced blankets. ‘Hang on!’
The tunnel sloped downwards in impenetrable darkness. Somewhere far ahead the train’s headlights had winked on, but from where they hung the glow was barely perceptible.
‘Can’t see . . .’ Owen mumbled.
‘Get your head in!’ Paul shouted, and from Owen’s pained shout Marta knew Paul had given him a gentle shove. Losing two for the night was enough already.
‘We’re slowing,’ Switch said as the train began to angle upwards again. ‘I think this could be the station.’
They saw a glow up ahead. Marta was hoping for a secretive underground unloading bay, one with dim lights and few people, where they might be able to slip away unnoticed, but then the glow bloomed all about them as the train rushed out of the tunnel into an immense, cavernous station, an ornate, glass domed roof above them illuminated by huge spotlights. Looking over her shoulder Marta saw a dozen or more empty platforms alongside theirs before you came to the far wall. Her heart sunk. So much for sneaking away, they had about as much cover here as a fugitive did in the middle of a football field.
The train slowed. Switch jumped first, rolling and landing effortlessly. Owen jumped after him, but the train had almost stopped and he just jogged a couple of steps. Paul waited until the train had completely stopped before climbing down like an arthritic old man. Marta understood how he felt; her body was as stiff as a bread roll left in the freezer. She flexed her arms, and a moment later a tingle began to filter through them as pins and needles attacked all the long motionless parts of her body. She groaned in discomfort.
Then a door at the front of the train swung open with the grate of rusty hinges, and she saw a bulky figure climbing down on to the platform.
‘Over the edge, now!’ Switch hissed, slipping down into the thin gap between the train and the platform edge. Paul and Owen followed quickly. Marta shuffled after them, her body wracked with cramps, and managed to get out of sight just as the driver appeared on to the platform. Lying there in the semi-darkness beneath the train carriage, the hot smell of oil and grease all around her, Marta looked up towards the platform as spasms tugged her body back and forth. She gritted her teeth to stop herself from crying out.
Footsteps approached as the train driver walked along the platform towards another man coming over to meet him. The station master, Marta presumed.
‘Good day to you, Barry,’ the driver said in a voice as rough and pockmarked as his face. Well met on this fine overcast morning.’
‘Hello, Phil,’ Barry the station master said in a Westcountry accent Marta hadn’t heard in years. ‘You got the early run I see.’
‘Well, one hellhole is as good as another,’ Phil the driver said. ‘Doesn’t matter what time of day it is. Right, let’s open them up.’
‘What have we got?’
Phil huffed. ‘Lose your checklist again? One through six is newspapers. They have to be at the distributors by seven so tell your men to get a shift on. Seven and eight are fresh fruit, boxed. Nine to eleven are furniture, twelve to fourteen are foodstuffs. Fifteen is goldfish.’
‘Goldfish?’
‘Yes, goldfish. You deaf?’
‘Just, who –’
‘People buy them, someone has to carry them. Now get them shipped off, we’re scheduled to roll out in an hour and it would nice to actually be on time for once.’
Peering through the gap between the train and the platform, Marta could see the driver was tall and grizzled, wearing a grimy baseball cap that might once have been red. A beer belly hung over the waist of his grey slacks. He looked mightily pissed off.
She didn’t dare move. At any moment his eyes might drop and they would be staring into her own.
‘One more thing,’ the driver said. ‘You get the message from London? There’s a chance there are stowaways on this train. I got the radio call about half an hour ago. It’s likely they jumped off somewhere in the GFA, but they might be hiding out in one of the carriages. Get your security men over here before you check. You have permission to blow their fucking heads
off on sight.’ He grunted. ‘Especially if you find them in with the fucking goldfish.’
The other man laughed. ‘Yeah, we got the message too. We have a couple of DCA men outside but there were riots last night over in Easton and Knowle West. An office building got firebombed, so they didn’t have many personnel to spare. Personally I think the terrorists jumped off out in the GFA. I wouldn’t come into this shithole by choice.’
Phil the driver nodded. ‘You can get keg beer out in the GFAs. Legal keg beer. You hear that? I mean, what the fuck?’
‘Yeah, the government has a lot to answer for. Terrorists can blow whatever the fuck up they want for all I care, so long as they stay out of my train station.’
Phil grunted and spat down towards the platform, but his aim was off and the globule exploded off the platform edge down on to the tracks. Marta saw Owen wince as a drop of spittle landed on his cheek but to his credit the boy stayed silent.
‘You’re sounding more like a rebel every day, Barry,’ Phil said. ‘I should ship you in and claim my reward. I wonder what that would be, a glass of flat beer and a couple of tins of tuna?’
‘The government and the rebels can get in a circle and fuck each other in the ass as far as I’m concerned,’ the station master said. ‘As long as they do it outside my train station. They’re as worthless as each other.’
‘Amen, ain’t that the truth.’
Both men laughed. Then the driver said, ‘DCA’ll most likely send men from London. That right?’
‘I think so. If they ever get past the red tape. Even the fucking DCA need a permit to travel these days.’
‘Huh. Fucked up, ain’t it? Right, let’s get this shit unloaded. The café got bacon this morning?’
‘Only if you brought it.’
