by Alex Scarrow
The young man stepped forward, pulled a chair out from under the desk and casually sat down. ‘Colonel Wainwright,’ he said quietly, ‘serving commander of the 38th Virginia Regiment.’
‘I know who I am, thank you.’
‘Let’s dispense with formality, if you wish. You can call me Rupert.’
Wainwright said nothing. He studied the young officer with barely concealed contempt.
‘How long have you been in command here, Colonel Wainwright … roughly?’
‘In command? Nine years, three months and seven days if you must know. But I’ve been staring across this infernal piece of river at the enemy for nearly twenty years.’
Rupert steepled his fingers thoughtfully. ‘A long time.’
‘Far too long.’
‘Well — ’ the young man lowered his voice a little — ‘it should be a relief then.’
Wainwright looked sharply at him. ‘Relief?’
‘You know … things are in motion. The Powers That Be have a feeling this stalemate, this cold war, has run its course, served its purpose, and now they’d like to be finished with it.’
That caught Wainwright’s attention. He sat forward. ‘Good God, a truce! Is that what you’re talking about?’
Rupert chuckled at that. ‘No, of course not. A push, Colonel. A final push. And we’re going to make that push into the Northern heartland through what’s left of this pile of rubble.’ He shrugged apologetically. ‘Sorry … did I say “rubble”? I meant through what’s left of New York.’
‘That’s madness! They’re dug in as deep as ticks on a dog’s back. Any infantry landing on the far side would be mown down — ’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that, old chap. Between the sky navy’s pounding and the experimentals we’ll be sending in alongside your boys, I think we’ll — ’
‘Experimentals?’
Rupert smiled coolly. ‘Yes. Eugenics.’
‘You’re mixing eugenics with my men!’
‘Don’t panic, Colonel. These aren’t like the old varieties. Far more reliable.’
Wainwright stood up, leaning over his desk towards the young man. ‘We had a promise from High Command! A cast-iron promise! No more military-purpose eugenics. No more of those … those monsters!’
‘Tsk, tsk. They’re not monsters, Colonel. They’re just tools for a specific job. Just tools from our tool box.’
‘A tool, lad, doesn’t turn on its owner. A tool doesn’t rip to shreds the enemy, then turn on its handler and rip him to shreds … and then, when there’s nothing left to kill, rip itself to shreds.’
‘Oh, please, you’re referring to that Preston incident, aren’t you? That happened nearly twenty years ago. We have much more reliable behaviour inhibitors in our eugenics now.’
‘The men won’t tolerate this,’ said Wainwright. ‘My men won’t fight alongside them!’
‘Tolerate, did you say?’ Rupert stared at the Southern colonel coolly. Then eventually his face softened.
‘Well now, strictly speaking, Wainwright, they won’t be alongside them anyway … your chaps will be in the first wave ashore. Creating a bridgehead for the attack. Then — ’ he smiled — ‘we’ll ship our monsters, as you call them, over and let them loose on the enemy.’
‘This is insane! I … I’m … I shall protest this through — ’
‘Well now, here’s the thing. You can protest all you like, Colonel. And you can do it from your cell in Camp Elizabeth.’
‘What did you say?’ The mere mention of the military internment camp silenced Wainwright — a long pause in which his mind raced to determine what this Rupert might know about him.
‘That’s right. I’m actually here to relieve you of duty … and I suspect you’ll face a relatively prompt court martial.’
‘Why? What’s the charge?’
The young man cocked an eyebrow. ‘I think you know why, or would you like me to clarify that for you?’
Wainwright nodded. ‘I think you better had!’
‘Well now, you see, I have a file on you. Jolly fat one, actually. It’s been open for a couple of years now. Too many rumours floating around that you’ve gone soft on the enemy. We know you’ve had an unauthorized meeting with officers on the other side on several separate occasions. We know that several years ago you ordered the release of Northern prisoners of war to return — ’
‘They were deserters! They weren’t fit to fight anyone. They just wanted to return home!’
‘Even this morning … a little bird told me you received a visit from across the river. I’m afraid this really won’t do. With the build-up for the offensive we really can’t afford to have a front-line commander who’s in the habit of taking tea with the enemy.’
Wainwright stared at him. ‘You are relieving me of my command?’
‘With immediate effect, I’m afraid.’ The young officer offered him an insincere shrug of sympathy. ‘Now, there’s two ways we can do this. I can summon a squad of my chaps to drag you out, kicking and screaming. Not very dignified. I’m sure you wouldn’t want your boys seeing you leaving like that. Or we can do this like proper gentlemen. You’ll assign a temporary regimental commander to cover, you can gather whatever personal effects you want … and we shall leave together.’ He smiled. ‘It would be far better for you and your men that way, I think.’
Wainwright glanced at the open door. He could see the hallway outside, the pooling of light from an overhead bulb and the shadow of a soldier standing to attention.
His or mine?
The young man stretched a white-gloved hand across the desk towards him. ‘I shall need your side-arm, Colonel, if you don’t mind?’
Wainwright unzipped the holster, feeling the firm grip of the revolver in his hand. ‘Please!’ he whispered. ‘I’ll come without a fuss … but, listen to me, you can’t send in eugenics alongside my men. It’ll be a massacre!’
‘We need proper regiments on the front line now, Wainwright, men prepared to fight. Not traitors like you, or cowards … or these semi-literate peasants that you call soldiers. There will be British troops in the vanguard once we have a toehold. But your peasant militia will be the ones going in first — ’
The gun was suddenly in his hand and the room already booming with the fading echo of a single shot fired before he had a conscious thought of what he’d just done. Through the cloud of dissipating blue-grey smoke he saw the young man staring back at him. A third eye in the middle of his forehead, puckered and red and spilling a small dark trickle of almost black blood down his surprised young face.
His mouth flapped open with a gurgle. ‘You … you …’ was all he managed to say before his eyes rolled upwards, showing just the whites, and he toppled over on to the floor. One booted foot began to drum, post mortem, against the leg of his desk.
Wainwright aimed the gun at the doorway as the shadow outside jerked and moved. A head suddenly appeared round the door, that of his ginger-haired adjutant. He stared goggle-eyed at the gun, then at the still-twitching young man.
‘You … just … shot … a British officer?’
‘Yes, Lawrence, I do seem to have done that.’ Wainwright pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment. ‘How many men did he bring?’
‘Twelve.’
‘Where are they?’
‘Canteen, sir.’
‘Arrest them.’
‘Arrest them?’
‘You heard me. Confiscate their weapons, strip them of any radio equipment and lock them up in the stores bunker. Then … then — ’ he balled his fists, tapping them against his desk insistently, urging his racing mind to focus properly — ‘then I want you to double the guards on our command bunkers and gun emplacements. Nobody comes in, nobody goes out.’
‘Sir.’ The lieutenant turned to go.
‘And, Lawrence?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Pull all the cables in the radio room linking us to the communications hub.’
‘A
ll of them?’
‘Every last one!’
He was sure the British were going to miss their officer soon enough and word would find its way back that there was trouble brewing … but the longer he had for that news to travel the better.
The young lieutenant looked pale. ‘What’s going to happen to us, sir?’
‘Nothing good, I’m afraid. I must talk to the men.’
‘Shall I have them assembled?’
‘No … no, not yet. I need to go and see someone first.’ He looked up at Lawrence. ‘Not a word to anyone about this yet, do you understand?’
He nodded.
‘And lock this room up. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.’
‘Where are you going, sir?’
‘To meet the enemy.’
CHAPTER 52
2001, Dead City
‘God’s teeth! ’Tis a freak show,’ whispered Lincoln.
Sal found herself nodding. She estimated there were about a hundred and fifty of them in the abandoned Albion Theatre. Rows of stained and faded burgundy velvet seats, sprouting tufts of stuffing through ripped seams, faced a stage made of damp and rotting wooden boards beneath a partially collapsed roof. Moisture dripped from above with a steady tap-tap-tapping and the waning afternoon light cast slanted rose-tinted rays down into the gloom of the auditorium.
Samuel, it appeared, was one of the leaders of this odd assortment of unnatural creations, along with two others: a leadership committee of sorts. One of them was even thinner than the type she thought of as salamander-like. Impossibly thin, she wondered where the creature managed to store its internal organs. Its arms and legs were stick-like, bulging unpleasantly at the joints. Its head, instead of being loaf-shaped like many of the other types, was tall and tapered like a traffic cone. Samuel had told them every eugenic’s shape was designed specifically for a purpose. Sal could only imagine this one was designed to slither through pipes, or at least wriggle through some very tight places. It looked like a flesh-coloured cigar with limbs.
‘… have ignored us … this long, because we … just a nuisance … not a danger!’
Its chest was so slim and its lungs must have been so tiny that it was forced to pant like a dog on a hot day, its words broken up into garbled bites between each rapid breath.
‘I say that we … stay hidden here.’ It shuffled on thin trembling legs to a stool at the side of the stage and perched on the edge of it.
Another of the leaders spoke. This one looked like an even bulkier version of the ape-type. It swayed, top-heavy with muscles that flexed and wobbled with a life of their own. Its head looked like an apple nestling — almost lost — between two watermelons for shoulders. And on top of its head, an old-fashioned top hat was perched. Sal realized that even though its head looked no bigger than an apple, compared to its body it had to be the same size as an adult human’s for it to fit so snugly.
It’s huge.
The rest of the eugenic was oddly out of proportion. Its waist tapered in, and the legs, short and fat, seemed almost like an afterthought.
‘If them humans come …’ it said with a voice so deep Sal felt something vibrate in her own chest. It stabbed a finger as big as a canteloupe at her and Lincoln. ‘If them come, maybe we kill these both … show them soldiers their heads. Them be frightened off! Not bother us no more!’ The ape’s deep voice made Bob’s barrel-round voice sound like the whine of a mosquito.
Samuel put the shotgun he’d been cradling in his skinny arms down on the stage and scooted forward. ‘No, that’sh shtoopid! We need them alive! If we kill them, they will really take a bloody revenge on all of ush!’
‘I’m sure no … humans will come … Samuel,’ whispered the cigar-like one. ‘They have … left us alone … this long — ’
‘But that wash before shome shtoopid genicsh killed shome of them!’ Samuel scuttled across the stage and looked up at the ape’s tiny apple head. ‘It wash one of your lot lasht week, washn’t it?’
The ape shrugged guiltily. ‘Maybe.’
‘You idiot!’ snapped Samuel. ‘We’re all going to be dead thanksh to you!’
‘They won’t enter … the city, Samuel,’ panted the cigar. ‘They still fear … all the poisons and … the diseases.’
Sal noticed his thin legs were shaking again under the stress of standing. He may have been designed to squeeze into tight places, but clearly those legs weren’t created to hold his weight for long. Once again the cigar perched on the edge of the stool. ‘Why did you … steal some humans … anyway?’
‘Becaushe, Henry, becaushe I heard about thish fool’sh shtupid raid! I heard about the humansh being killed — women and children — and I knew we better have shomething to bargain with when they come for ush here!’
The ape stooped over Samuel, his looming shadow filling half the stage. ‘Call me fool again, Sam … I squash you!’
Samuel looked up at him, his ragged lips flapping. Sal wondered whether that was fear or frustration. The audience stared in silence and the tap-tap-tapping of rainwater continued in the background.
Sal watched the frozen tableau. For a moment she wondered whether somehow she’d been sucked down a rabbit hole and was stuck in some bizarre post-apocalyptic version of Alice’s Wonderland.
‘Gimme them humans,’ said the ape. ‘I kill them, go take ’em heads and throw at them redcoats if them come. That scare them away! If not — ’ he grinned at the shotgun lying on the stage — ‘then we now got nice big gun!’
Samuel shook his head and tutted. ‘They have bigger gunsh, you big dumb mump! And many more of them too. We wouldn’t lasht a minute fighting them, Jerry!’
The ape — Jerry — smacked a three-digit fist down on to the old floorboards. The entire stage rattled. ‘I want fight them … not running like …’ He scratched his head, struggling for an example.
Samuel waited until it was clear Jerry wasn’t going to come up with anything. ‘Truth ish, Jerry, you killing humansh wash a big mishtake.’
‘Didn’t mean to, Sam! Them got in the way … an’… an’… just happened. Real quick.’
‘Well, we can’t un-happen it now. It’sh done.’ Samuel shrugged bony shoulders. ‘Perhapsh my taking shome human prishonersh wash a mishtake too.’ He lowered his big head on his narrow neck. ‘We’ve pushed our luck too far thish time. I shay we musht all leave. Find a new place to hide.’
‘Where will … we go … Samuel?’ wheezed Henry.
Samuel put a finger to his ragged lips, thoughtful for a moment. ‘We could try north?’
There was whispering and muttering from the auditorium.
‘Shome of you know I can read, right? … Well, I ushed to read thingsh that are called a book.’
‘Book?’ The ape’s apple-head frowned. ‘What them?’
‘Marksh on paper … you big mump. Wordsh. Knowledge.’
‘Call me a mump again and I smash you!’
Samuel casually waved away Jerry’s outburst. ‘Shush … let me finish. I ushed to read booksh about the world. How it ushed to be. They call booksh about that short of thing … hishtory booksh.’
The audience of genics muttered the phrase. Trying it out on their own varied lips.
‘There ushed to be humansh treated jusht like ush. They called them negroesh. They looked different. They had dark shkin, were treated like complete mumps. But shome of the pale humansh felt shorry for them and they figured they wash jusht ash normal ash other humansh.’
‘So … Samuel, what is … your point?’ said Henry. His thin wheezy voice whistled asthmatically.
‘You know about the human war, right? There’sh one shide called the Northies. And then there’sh our lot. Maybe … if we go north and find the Northies, they might treat ush different?’
‘Them Northies,’ rumbled the ape, ‘you say them human too?’
‘Yesh, of courshe they are.’
‘Them will treat us just same. All humans bad.’
‘Not all humansh.
Shome of them — ’
‘All humans BAD! I kill them what come in our city!’
Some of the audience of eugenics roared support for that.
Samuel sighed. He turned to look up at the big ape then pointed to the top hat rammed tightly on his head. ‘Then why, Jerry, if you hate humansh sho much, why do you try and look more like one of them? Hmm? And why did you pick a human name?’
Jerry’s face frowned at that: anger and confusion in equal measures. The theatre was silent for a moment. Samuel let that question hang in the air for the giant to ponder.
Eventually a big fist reached up and pulled the top hat off. Jerry tossed it across the stage. ‘Stoopid hat anyway,’ he rumbled.
‘Jerry … Henry … all of you, lishen to me! I shay we musht leave here tomorrow. I know the humansh are coming … can feel it in my bonesh … and they will kill ush all, if we shtay. I’m sure of it!’
Jerry shook his head defiantly. ‘Them come here? We gonna smash them up!’
There were more roars of approval from the seats.
‘Well, that’sh up to you. Me? I’m leaving tomorrow and I’m taking those two prishonersh with me,’ he said, pointing towards Sal and Lincoln.
‘Them stay here!’
Sam waddled up to Jerry. Stood toe to toe and glowered up at him. ‘They’re mine. I found them! You want them, you gotta take ’em off me.’
Jerry’s tiny black-dot eyes returned the challenge; his huge fists bunched and flexed as they glared at each other for a dozen silent seconds.
‘You gonna shmash me up, then?’
Jerry said nothing.
‘Well?’
Finally Jerry looked down, shame-faced, at the stage boards between his big feet. ‘No, Sam,’ he muttered.
‘That’sh right … you’re not.’ He shook his head. ‘Becaushe without me to figure out the complicated thingsh for you, you’d be losht.’ He looked out at the bizarre menagerie sitting among the rows of threadbare seats. ‘All of you would be!’
Their noises — chirrups, mutterings, howlings — dwindled to a silence.
