Extinct (Extracted Trilogy Book 3)

by RR Haywood

  ‘Hold him,’ Kate said, grabbing the boy’s broken arm. ‘Alfie . . . hold him . . .’

  He blinked once and reached out to hold the boy tight, seeing her hands work down his arm to grip double-handed on his wrist.

  ‘The shock will kill him if it’s left,’ she said. ‘Hold him tight . . .’

  Alpha didn’t question how she knew to do such a thing, but he held the boy tight, speaking soft words while the child screamed and Kate yanked to crunch the bone back into position. That it hurt was obvious, that it pinched nerves and gave the boy untold pain was also obvious, but within seconds that pain was less. They found a length of wood and tore material from the shirt on a corpse to wrap a splint on the boy’s arm. Crude and awful, but effective and with luck the boy would feel his fingers again one day.

  They stopped wounds from bleeding out and he saw the change in Kate. The confidence of her movements. The way she pressed her fingers to the boy’s neck to check for pulse and life and the brutal ease of the professionally trained to know when life is gone and to move on to help the living. The firmness of her voice and the lack of fear she had before and they worked side by side, applying pressure with tourniquets and dressings made from filthy scraps of material ripped from bodies. They pulled the alive away from the dead and placed children into the arms of women to hold and soothe. They became blackened of face and hands, stinking of smoke, blood and soot.

  They became absorbed and lost in the immediacy of giving aid to other human beings in peril, cleansing their souls of the foul things both had done in their lives.

  Then, as the night started to wane and the first hint of daylight crept into the sky on the sixth day of February 1945 so they moved back to slip away into the city, to get closer to Bundesstraβe 2 and the chance of meeting back up with Maggie and getting out of here, to find somewhere to talk about what Alpha had just seen her do and neither saw the bomb hit the nearest building that blew the structure out in a thousand pieces that slammed into their heads and bodies rendering them, and everyone else, either dead or unconscious.

  Thirty-Six

  Berlin, Bundesstraβe 2, 6 February 1945

  Time has changed, but then time is not fixed.

  The agents came to Bundesstraβe 2 on 6 February for their last visit to Herr Weber before they delivered the nuclear bomb, but on that visit building twenty-five was still standing and the street was nowhere as damaged as it is now, and Charlie was right, soldiers now flood that area with a ring of steel around that street. Trucks of battle-hardened front-line troops born of the true Aryan race, who wear their Nazi swastikas with pride.

  Herr Weber, with what weight he still carries, has ordered the soldiers out of the street and given strict instructions that five men seen together coming from the direction of Arch 451 must be allowed to proceed unhindered, because Herr Weber wants that bomb. He doesn’t care what happens outside of Bundesstraβe 2, but those five men will be left to visit him untouched.

  Herr Weber isn’t stupid and knows the five men come and go from Arch 451, but he suspects a tunnel giving access to somewhere that holds a radio system that the men use to communicate and receive orders. He could order an inspection of Arch 451, but he doesn’t because he wants that bomb. He wants to hurt the enemy and so life in Bundesstraβe 2 on 6 February appears as it did before, with people digging through remains for loved ones, with dead bodies piled up and fires still licking while others smoulder with thick black smoke curling up.

  Time has changed, but then time is not fixed.

  Escape and evasion again. Run fast, but run smart and Alpha does that now. Sprinting from the makeshift field hospital into the streets of war-torn inner-city Berlin, taking hard turns left and right to lose the Gestapo-esque figures running behind him taking pot shots from Lugers with no regard to collateral damage of stray bullets hitting innocent bystanders.

  He has to find Kate, then get to the portal appearing in Arch 451. He knows that the agents will be out of the complex visiting Herr Weber and he can get through, kill Mother and use the device to get away with Kate. It will change time, but to hell with it. To hell with the mission and everyone else. Only this matters now. Only Kate matters now.

  Time has changed, but then time is not fixed.

  In the clearing outside the shack on Bertie’s island, Ria makes ready. Pushing fifty-calibre rounds into the magazines for the Barrett rifle while the others do the same. Loading weapons and preparing their minds for what will come. That the two with Ria are somewhat stunned at the turn of events doesn’t show because they have a job to do.

  Time has changed, but then time is not fixed.

  A kilometre from Bundesstraβe 2, they get ready with what little they have. Checking pistols and sharing magazines out. Charlie tests the makeshift stretcher he fashioned from timber and cloth scavenged from ruined buildings and with Harry and Konrad’s help they lift a silent and very pale Miri onto it.

  Miri bent time to suit her will. She took a thing of immeasurable power that would corrupt the hearts of saints and she made it fit what she wanted.

  Charlie told them in the shadows of the ruins that they wouldn’t get near Arch 451 because the Germans will put a ring of steel on that area.

  That comment made Ben think. It made him think hard, with ideas and images racing through his mind.

  ‘We didn’t see any soldiers when we came through on the sixth Feb,’ Delta said.

  ‘No, but we’ve changed time, haven’t we?’ Charlie said. ‘Oh, hang on, how does that work then? Bloody hell, this is confusing.’

  ‘How the hell do you work all this out?’ Delta asked the others, shaking his head in confusion.

  ‘We don’t,’ Emily said with a humourless snort. ‘They do,’ she added with a nod at Miri, then at Ben.

  Safa saw it first and nudged Harry, making him look at Ben.

  ‘Aye,’ Harry whispered.

  ‘What?’ Emily asked, frowning at Safa then looking at Ben. ‘Oh,’ she said quietly, ‘he’s doing that thing.’

  Ben stood with his head lowered, staring at the ground. His feet planted apart and his right hand rubbing the side of his jaw.

  ‘Here it comes,’ Safa whispered.

  Ben’s head lifted a fraction, his eyes looked up at them and gave that wry smile. ‘Change of plan . . .’

  Alpha’s head hurts like hell, a dull thumping ache that sends waves of nausea through his gut, but he suppresses the pain and sickness to push on, running through filthy broken streets and hearing the shots slowly dropping away as the distance increases and he loses the Gestapo officers who chased him from the hospital.

  He slows down a little, easing his frantic breathing to blend in with the crowds of refugees and survivors. He has to switch on and think. Find Kate. Get to the Arch. Kill Mother and disappear somewhere.

  A small crowd stand gathered round a line of dead bodies laid out and he approaches carefully, looking stricken and wretched. ‘Can you help me?’ he asks, some of them look at him with exhausted expressions. ‘I’m looking for the old schoolhouse hospital . . . My wife . . . she . . .’

  ‘Few streets away,’ someone mutters.

  ‘Which way?’ Alpha asks, trying to identify who spoke.

  ‘That way,’ a woman says, flicking a tired hand. ‘Round the corner from Bundesstraβe 2 . . .’

  He starts running with fresh hope in his heart. He can find Kate, get her out and reach the portal. He checks his watch, seeing he just has time if he runs hard.

  In the darkness of Arch 451 a green shimmering doorway forms through which Alpha steps to pause and listen before sticking a hand through to the complex with a thumbs up for the others to follow. Bravo comes through, followed by Charlie, Delta and Echo. All of them in 1940s period clothing given to them by Gerry.

  Alpha moves to the door, peering through the cracks to check the view. No soldiers, nothing obvious. Smoke coming from ruins.

  ‘Looks like a bad air raid overnight,’ he says quietly.

&n
bsp; ‘How bad?’ Bravo asks from behind. ‘Do we need to redeploy?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Ready?’

  They step out to do as before and huddle together as though frightened and weary for a few minutes before moving on and proceeding into the street proper.

  ‘It was a bad raid,’ Bravo says in German, looking at the ruined buildings. ‘I’m sure Kate said some of these buildings remain intact . . .’

  ‘We’ll check when we get back,’ Alpha replies in German as Charlie and Delta share a glance. ‘Keep your eyes up . . .’

  One kilometre away from Bundesstraβe 2. A big man walks down the centre of the road. Broad and thick-limbed with a bushy black beard and black hair. He wears an old overcoat and keeps his head lowered and his eyes staring ahead.

  The size of him draws attention. The way he walks too, with a confident stride and a strange glimmer in his eyes. He doesn’t look German either, but then he isn’t German. He is English.

  He is Sergeant Harry Madden.

  ‘We’re going for the portal in that arch,’ Ben said last night.

  ‘You just said it will kill the world,’ Delta said.

  ‘Time isn’t fixed . . .’ Ben said in explanation.

  ‘Er, sorry, but I’m lost,’ Charlie said, cutting in.

  ‘Just go with it,’ Emily said. ‘Trust me . . . it’s easier than trying to figure it out.’

  ‘Right,’ Ben said. ‘How the hell do we get through a shit ton of German soldiers?’

  ‘Put me down for that one, Ben.’

  ‘Jesus, Harry. You’re not even joking,’ Ben said as everyone stared at the big man. ‘Mate, it could be hundreds . . . I know you’re good, but . . .’

  ‘Ach, you’re probably right. Might be best to use a bit of caution on this one then.’

  ‘Yeah, definitely . . . We’ll think of something.’

  ‘I’ll take Safa and them two new lads with me.’

  ‘What?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Oi,’ Emily said.

  ‘Fuck yes! I’m with beardy killing Nazis,’ Safa said.

  ‘What the . . .’ Charlie said.

  ‘I’m in,’ Delta said, nodding eagerly.

  ‘Oi,’ Emily said again. ‘What about me . . .’

  ‘Protect Ben and Konrad carrying Miri,’ Harry said.

  ‘Right,’ Emily said, clearly affronted. ‘And why am I doing that specifically? Maybe I want to kill Nazis too.’

  ‘We can’t all kill Nazis,’ Safa said. ‘And you got one in the bunker anyway.’

  ‘This is because we had sex, isn’t it,’ Emily said, glaring at Harry as Safa and Ben groaned.

  Sergeant Harry Madden strides down the centre of the road to draw attention from the dark-haired woman of mixed race walking on one side with an old scarf tied round her head and the two men in filthy, torn coats walking with her while several metres behind them, Ben and Konrad carry the stretcher with Emily at Miri’s side.

  ‘Open it,’ Ria tells her brother. ‘Then get out and stay out until one of us comes back.’

  ‘Okay, Ria,’ Bertie mumbles, holding the controller.

  ‘Bertie! What did I just say?’

  ‘Um, so you, like, totally said to get out.’

  ‘I mean it. If you come back I’ll know and I’ll kick your arse . . .’ She glares at him, from a sister to a brother, and the only one who can justifiably use the threat of violence to make Bertie listen. ‘Ready?’ she asks the other two. ‘Let’s go . . .’

  Find Kate. Get to the Arch. A mantra in his mind pushing Alpha on and he makes good distance as he starts to recognise certain features of the landscape that tell him he is close to Bundesstraβe 2.

  He rounds a corner and comes to a sudden stop at the solid masses of grey German uniforms on high alert, who spot him running and the fleeting look of panic on his face that he is too slow to hide. They react fast, shouting out while lifting rifles and sub-machine guns, but Alpha reacts faster. A door to the right, wooden and intact, that he slams into, smashing it from the old worn hinges to stagger through a dusty hallway amid the screams of women and children crying out in fear at him, running to smash through the back door and out into a brick-walled yard. He runs to the end, leaping to scrabble over the wall that crumbles as he hits it, the weak mortar breaking apart into a heap that sees him rolling over bricks that cut into his knees, hands and elbows. Shots come through the house, slamming into the walls and fences surrounding him. He crawls first, then rises up to sprint on down the narrow alley running at the back of the street while all around the shouts of German soldiers fill the air.

  Shots in the air. Shouts too, and Harry feels the thrum of excitement building as he walks out of one road and crosses the junction towards the next. Bundesstraβe 2 is close now. Only a few streets away and so he walks on, dominating that road, filling it with his presence as the menace of the man starts rippling out. The intent in his unblinking eyes. The sheer ferocity of his gaze that seems to increase with every step he takes, and he finally sees them at the end of the next street. A sea of grey uniforms and grey helmets. The enemy is there. His sworn enemy. He starts unbuttoning the old coat as he walks, his eyes fixed on them and nothing else, counting heads, looking for officers, seeing positions.

  The first German soldier casually looks up the road, double-taking with a bemused frown at the sight of the man striding towards them. A big man too. Big and angry-looking.

  ‘What’s his problem?’ he asks, making several more soldiers turn to look and chuckle and smile.

  ‘Kampf mich,’ Harry mutters. Seeing them. Staring at them. ‘Kampf mich . . .’

  ‘Get ready,’ Safa says urgently.

  Harry yanks the coat away from his body with an action that makes more German soldiers turn and look, and now they see him properly: a big man in black combat trousers and a black top in 1943 boots. And Harry stops walking to stand massive with his arms down at his sides and his head up. Seconds go by. His hands come out from his body, beckoning the soldiers, goading them to come. ‘DIRTY BOCHE BASTARDS . . . KAMPF MICH . . .’

  They hear the English voice and more turn and weapons are gripped as they start moving out and forward, still hardly believing that one man is telling them to fight him.

  Then Harry smiles and stands fully upright, knowing his final words will ignite the touch paper. ‘FICK . . . DEINE . . . MUTTER . . .’ His voice fills the street, booming out, and that does it. Tell any soldier in the world to fuck his mother and watch what happens.

  The Germans react but so do Safa, Charlie and Delta, shredding their old clothes to run out from the sides towards Harry as the big man draws and starts firing as he goes, right with the other three, and the air fills with pistols firing. Germans drop fast, shot dead or spinning away screaming out, and as the rest aim to fire so Harry bursts into the alley he stopped adjacent to and runs like the clappers with Safa, Charlie and Delta hot on his heels.

  ‘We’re up,’ Ben says, further down the street and kneeling with his back to the stretcher. ‘Konrad . . . we can’t stop, okay . . . No stopping . . . GO!’

  Alpha runs, feeling time ticking on and the pressure growing. There’s too many soldiers behind him now. He has to break free. Tactics and strategies run through his mind, ideas and plans that flicker until he gains the essence of a way out, but first he has to draw them in.

  He slows his run, easing down to recover his breath and let his heart rate settle. His head is pounding, his mouth and throat so dry and thirsty, but he studies the ends of the street and waits for the first soldiers to appear. He double-takes, showing fear and surprise before darting off towards the row of houses with bomb-damaged roofs. He goes in through an open back door to a kitchen and searches quickly for a knife, cursing his luck at choosing a house that has been stripped and emptied. A fork in the back of a drawer. Solid and heavy, but still just a three-pronged dining fork. It’ll have to do.

  The first soldier runs at the house, spraying bullets from his machine gun through the do
or and window. Sixteen years old, given a uniform and told how to fire a gun in his old school playing field before being told to go and hold the Russians back. A wispy hint of a moustache on his upper lip and the fear he feels is twisted to rage as he fires the gun without heed to over-heating, jamming or even aiming properly. He strides in, assuming the weapon has done the work and killed the spy they are hunting, but Alpha waits in the space behind the open front door, holding position until the soldier steps through, then coming up behind to wrap his arms round the young lad’s head and drive the fork into his eye. The soldier screams in agony, thrashing while his finger squeezes the trigger as Alpha twists him round to fire into his comrades coming in through the door.

  He lets the soldier drop the second the machine gun clicks empty, gripping the weapon hard to break the strap, then wrenching a magazine from the soldier’s belt and lurching away to swap over, cursing at the hot barrel and the bloody idiot firing it on full. Movement from the back of the house; the sound of boots crunching.

  ‘IN HERE, IN HERE,’ Alpha screams in German, forcing his voice to break with tension and fear. He snatches a view, seeing several dead by the front door and more writhing and crying out from gunshots.

  ‘I’VE GOT HIM . . . IN HERE, IN HERE . . .’

  ‘HE’S GOT HIM,’ the voices shout, screaming in panic, joy, worry and terror. They come quickly through the door, charging into the narrow hallway.

  Alpha leans out low from a doorway to gun them down. He aims for legs first, burst firing to make them scream to give more noise to create more confusion. He drops his machine gun, grabs a body and heaves it into his room, quickly snapping the neck to give death before working fast to strip the big grey uniform jacket from the corpse. ‘UPSTAIRS, UPSTAIRS . . .’ he screams out while tugging hard to get the coat free and pulling it on.