Delete: Volume 3 (Shifter Series)

by Kim Curran

  “Not if I can stop it,” I said.

  Zac laughed, loud but sharp. “Good luck trying. ARES have had Shifters on the case ever since all of this began. And they only seem to make it worse. The war has become a singularity. Too many people pinning it in place. Personally, I think we need to ride it out.”

  “Still think if you avoid using your power, you can escape entropy?”

  Zac’s face crumpled in confusion. “What? No. Is that a thing?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I mean, I don’t think it is. But you do. I mean, did. I mean, I don’t know.” I stood up, as much to stop the conversation as to do what I’d come here to do. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “How should I know? You’ve never let me up here before.”

  He reached for the remote again as I wandered through the flat, opening doors. I finally found the bathroom: a room as big as my bedroom at home, with light grey tiles lining floor and ceiling and a huge shower head suspended in the centre. I peeled off my clothes, noticing the aches and the series of bruises across my body. They ranged from bright purple to greenish yellow. I caught a glimpse of myself in the large mirror hanging over the sink. Ribs sticking out, hip bones jutting. When was the last time I had eaten? I also rubbed at the tattooed S on my arm. Did we all have this? I wondered. Marking us out as Shifters? It seemed that in this reality, there was no need to hide our power. Instead, it was being put to good use protecting the country. Maybe Shifters in this reality were proud of who they were, whereas I’d always been strangely ashamed of my power. And I knew that Aubrey felt the same. We’d promised each other that once we’d found all the members of Ganymede, we’d quit and go about our lives. Well, there was no chance of that happening in this reality.

  I threw the switch for the shower and stood under it, letting the high-pressure water pound on my skin. It hurt and felt good for it. I grabbed a bar of soap and scrubbed at my skin, trying to wash off the ground-in dirt, which had stained my skin. As I started to feel if not exactly human, then at least one rung up from vegetable, there was a knocking on the door.

  “Alright,” I shouted. “I’m finishing.” I regretfully turned off the shower. Zac hadn’t stopped banging.

  “What?” I said, throwing open the door as soon as I’d found a towel to wrap around me.

  “We’re needed at HQ now,” Zac said, his face grim and grey. “It’s the Red Hand.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The lights flashed red in the Hub when we returned. A level three alert, I knew somehow. People were rushing back and forth: soldiers kitting themselves up, support staff pushing computer equipment around. Zac and I headed straight for the command room.

  Sergeant Cain waved me over to where he stood with Cooper and Turner. Cooper was sucking on a gold medallion while Turner nervously fiddled with the equipment on her belt.

  “What’s happened?” I said.

  “The Red Hand have sent us a little message.” Cain pressed a button and an image started playing out on the screen.

  A woman sat in a dark room, with a bag over her head. People stood in the shadows behind her, red scarves pulled over their faces. One of them tugged the bag off, revealing the woman was in her late twenties with blonde, curly hair. She blinked in the light.

  “That’s Lieutenant Sarah Edwards,” Cain said. “She was one of two S3 spies we had under cover in the Red Hand.”

  “Looks like she was found out,” Zac said.

  “The video went live half an hour ago and has already had three thousand hits,” Turner said.

  “You stand accused of crimes against God’s will,” a muffled voice from the video said. It was clearly going through a vocoder, which gave it an eerie robotic quality.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Edwards said.

  A scarved figure stepped forwards, squatted down in front of Edwards and took her face in their hand. Edwards tried to pull herself free, but their grip was too strong.

  “You are an operative for the British army. You have been spying on us,” the robotic voice said.

  Even with the grainy film quality and the low light I could see Edwards eyes widen in fear. “No… I, I was…”

  They slapped her hard across the face, silencing her attempts at defending herself. “Don’t deny it! One of your fellow rats has already given you up!” That voice was starting to unnerve me, like nails on a blackboard.

  Edwards shook her head.

  “What’s that?” the interrogator said. “Your country can’t hear you.” They pulled Edwards by the hair till she faced forward, staring into the camera.

  “Yes, you stupid bitch. I’ve been spying on you. And I hope they find you and kill you using the information I’ve given them.

  The dark figure let go of Edwards’ hair. “Thank you for your co-operation.”

  It was hard to see what was happening, but I could hear Edwards shouting. A dark hand holding something metallic reached around her neck. Her screams became high-pitched and incomprehensible. Then there was a blur of movement, a flash of light, and Edwards went silent. The figure stepped aside, revealing Edwards slumped in the chair, her head flopped against her chest, a steady flow of blood pooling on the floor around her feet.

  The dark figure strode towards the camera, eyes covered by dark glasses, face completely hidden by their scarf.

  “She is the first to be found guilty,” they said, straight into the camera. “We have one more of your operatives. We will kill him within the hour unless you free our men. There is no bargaining. No conditions. An exchange of lives. It is God’s will.”

  The figure held up their right hand and I could see it was covered in blood. They pressed it against the lens of the camera, leaving a red smudge that obscured everything else. And then the video went blank.

  I swallowed down the bile that had risen into my throat. “Are we going to make the exchange?” I said.

  “Of course not, Tyler. We don’t negotiate with terrorists. But we do know their location, thanks to Edwards, and the air force are going to strike within the hour.”

  “But what about the other spy? What will happen to him?”

  “We get him back.” Cain smiled and handed me a file. A picture of a square-jawed, sharp-eyed young man looked up at me. The name read Captain Hedges.

  “He looks familiar,” I said.

  “He should do. He was one of ARES’ finest. I trained him myself. From what little intel we’ve got, they’ve tortured him.”

  “What can he tell?”

  “Mission objectives. Base locations. But it’s not what he can tell them that concerns us as much as what he can tell us.”

  “Which is?”

  “Whatever he was about to reveal before he was caught. He was only able to transmit a fragment of a message: ‘X73. Attack.’ Our team are trying to decipher it now. Hedges may know what it means. We need that intel.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “We go in there and we get him. In and out before the air force brings the rain. And you,” Cain said, shoving something into my chest, “are leading the extraction. Get your squad together. We’ve got five minutes.”

  The thing in my hands was a black flak jacket. Gone were the ARES letters.

  “Zac?”

  “Here, sir,” he said, stepping forwards, formality on show once more. “The rest of Thirteen are on standby.”

  “OK, right. The squad. Get them. And are Aubrey and Cleo back yet?”

  “Still out on their mission,” Zac said.

  “I am afraid you will need to put up with my flying instead, sir.”

  I turned to see a woman with dark, curled hair tucked neatly under a red beret. She wore bright red lipstick to match, which I was pretty sure couldn’t be regulation. She carried her helmet under an arm and I was able to read her name off the tag on the side. Ladoux. She had been the one on the other end of the mic when Aubrey called for an evac. Her accent was clearer now – a subtle sing-song of French.

  “Flying Offic
er Ladoux reporting for duty, sir.” She pulled off a sharp, textbook salute. Behind her stood three other soldiers: two men and one woman. Like Ladoux, they carried their helmets under their arms and were dressed in combats, flak jackets and red berets. Each had a fresh number thirteen in white paint in the side of their helmets. They stood in various poses of readiness, but none of them had the twitchy nervousness I’d expected from a bunch of people about to go up against a bunch of armed crazies. It was clear that they’d all seen action before.

  Ladoux snapped her arm back to her side. “Gunship all but fired up and ready to go, sir.”

  “Right, thanks, Ladoux,” I said.

  One of the men stepped forward. He was chewing gum as if his life depended on it and had the wide-eyed stare of a man who hadn’t slept in weeks. “Gunner Unwin ready to go, sir. This sounds like a classic point-and-shoot situation. You point. I shoot.” He grinned, happy with what I guessed was a well-practised joke.

  The woman behind him clipped him around the head. “Stop showing off, Unwin.” She was a broad woman who looked to be in her late forties, judging by the streaks of grey in her brown hair and creases around her bright grey eyes. “Trooper Ward, sir. And this is Sapper Williamson.” She pointed at the last solider, a man in his late twenties with soft brown eyes and a spattering of freckles across his nose. He smiled, showing dazzlingly white teeth, and saluted.

  “Can I say it’s a great honour to serve with you?” Ward continued. “We won’t let you down. Isn’t that right, Unwin?” She fixed him with a matronly glare.

  Unwin nodded. “One hundred percent, sir.”

  Cooper and Turner fell into position next to Zac. My squad. Shifters and soldiers. Children and adults. All itching for a fight.

  “OK,” I said, addressing the Shifters. “Standard procedure. You follow my lead, keep all the alternatives open to you so you can Shift. But remember, you don’t Shift to save your own arse. We’re a team here. You Shift for the greater good. Ad verum via. You got it?”

  “Ad verum via,” the entire squad, including the soldiers, shouted. It seemed that it was not the first time they’d heard ARES’ old motto. Towards the true way.

  “Right,” I said, gathering myself. “And you lot,” I said, addressing the soldiers. “Try and keep up.”

  The squad all pulled off a salute. “Sir, yes, sir!” they shouted. Cooper and Turner copied it, a moment late.

  “We know the drill sir,” Ladoux said after the echo of their shout died down.

  It was weird. As much as I didn’t recognise where I was or what was going on, this all felt strangely familiar. Like I’d done it many times before. Perhaps it was all that training at ARES kicking in. Or maybe some of the me from this reality was starting to return.

  “It’s oh seven hundred. You’ve got under an hour before the air strike,” Cain said. “Reports are they’re heavily armed, with at least one hundred men guarding the building. You’re to get in and get out, fast. You are not to engage with the enemy. Your only priority is to get Hedges out alive; do you understand me?”

  I remembered the kids in the ward. “Let’s hope this goes a bit smoother than our last mission.”

  Cain leant forward and lowered his voice so the others couldn’t hear. “War is never smooth, Tyler. You keep your head about you and you’ll be fine.” He squeezed my shoulder and then pushed me away. “Get to it.”

  I pulled the flak jacket on and headed for the exit, the squad falling into place behind me. A helmet was thrust into my hands, and I strapped it on without even needing to fiddle for the straps. I was aware of the crackle of white noise in my ear, which must have been coming from an earpiece embedded in the helmet. I reached my hand up to my collar, as I’d see Aubrey doing, and sure enough, I found a button.

  “How long should it take us to get there? I asked Ladoux.

  “No more than ten minutes, Com.” Her accent made the word “Com” sound like “comb”. What was a French woman doing serving with the British special services? I wondered.

  Zac checked his watch. “That only leaves fifty minutes before the strike.”

  “Plenty of time,” Unwin said. “We’ll be in and out like a virgin on his wedding night.”

  “Unwin!” Ward said, shaking her head.

  “Sorry, Mum,” Unwin said.

  I looked at the two of them, wondering if Ward really was his mother. But as Unwin was black and Ward was white, I assumed it must be a nickname for the older woman. She certainly was keeping him in check like a mum, though. Something about the warmth behind her stern stare reminded me of my own mother.

  We all rode up in the lift together. The team were almost indistinguishable now in their visored helmets and black fatigues. Adrenaline bubbled through my blood, making my muscles twitch. I curled my hands into fists. This felt good. All the fear and doubt of the past few hours were vanishing, replaced with a sense of control. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the tube of painkillers. I didn’t want any distractions. I swallowed three tablets just to be sure.

  “Let’s go.”

  The doors were already opening as we approached, and out on the street, a black helicopter was waiting. Ladoux ran ahead, hopping into the pilot’s seat. After a few moments, the blades of the copter started to spin, blowing litter into dancing spirals. I climbed in, ducking to avoid the downdraft of the blades. The rest followed, and we all strapped ourselves in as the bird took off.

  I looked down on a London I could hardly recognise. The damage was not restricted to the centre – it spread as far as I could see. Buildings lay in crumpled heaps. Bridges crossing the Thames were buckled and some completely gone. This city, the city I called my home, had taken a battering.

  All was still beneath us, no lights on in offices or houses lit up to welcome people home. But I could see, far to the north, pinpoints of lights marking out streets. Where life carried on as usual.

  The copter buzzed through the grey skies, heading west into a low-wattage sun. It dropped low, and I could make out the reflection of the whirring blades in the rippling water.

  “We got company,” Ladoux said, yanking the controls to the left.

  “Rocket!” Zac shouted.

  I clung on as a trail of fire came from a rooftop and headed straight for us.

  Ladoux pulled back on the stick, easing the copter into a vertical climb. The rocket soared beneath us, heading straight for a building on the other side of the river. The shockwave from the explosion hit us a few seconds later, making the copter shake. But Ladoux was in total control. She righted the bird and guided it closer to the riverbank.

  “Nice flying, Ladoux,” Zac said.

  She simply smiled in response.

  “Since when has the Red Hand had SAMs?” Unwin said, looking back out of the window at where the rocket had struck.

  SAMs. Surface-to-air missiles. I didn’t know if I knew that from this reality or from playing too much Duty Calls.

  “When they hit a supply truck last week,” Zac said.

  Unwin sucked his teeth. “Man, hitting us with our own weapons is cheating.”

  “I guess their god is all out of lightning bolts,” Williamson said, which got a chuckle from everyone in the copter. All except, I noticed, Ladoux. Perhaps the mention of lightning while flying wasn’t amusing.

  “I won’t be able to set down here,” she said sternly. “So you’ll need to jump.”

  I pulled back the doors and looked down. It was a ten-foot drop to the pavement below. Which might not be so bad if the copter didn’t keep lurching left and right.

  Zac clambered towards me, and without a moment’s hesitation, he stepped out onto the skid of the copter and leapt off. He landed in a crouch on the pavement below, then straightened up and smiled at me.

  Well, if he was going to show off…

  I took a deep breath and stepped out into the air. The shock of landing passed all the way up my shins, my spine and even into my teeth. On my injured leg, I hadn’t made such a g
raceful job of it as Zac, and it took me a moment before I could stand up.

  The rest of Thirteen squad followed, dropping out of the helicopter like conkers falling from a tree. Cooper and Turner came last, leaping out at the same time. The copter peeled away, leaving us standing in front of the huge tower block.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I’ll put down somewhere and then come find you,” Ladoux said over the radio. “Break some balls.”

  This was the S3’s way of saying good luck, I knew somehow. The words “good luck” themselves had become a bad omen, although I couldn’t remember why.

  We moved silently in crouched runs, keeping to the shadows, coming to a stop behind a cluster of bushes.

  The Red Hand’s base was a deserted council block, eighteen floors high. It had once been painted a pale blue, as if that would somehow make it blend into the sky.

  “Looks like they have Hedges on the tenth floor,” Zac whispered, pointing up at the windows.

  “What makes you say that?” I asked.

  Zac pushed down the visor on my helmet and pressed a button on the side, turning everything a pale blue. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out Zac in front of me, his body marked out by a red glow.

  “Heat vision,” he said.

  I could see the red of the outlines of the members of the squad around me and, when I turned to look at the building, fuzzy orange figures moving around behind the glass. Without me needing to do anything, the image zoomed in, reacting to my irises focusing, maybe. Zac was right; I could see two figures carrying the cold, black outlines of weapons, pacing in front of a man huddled on the floor, his back pressed up against the windows, purple strips around his wrists. Handcuffs, I guessed.

  I scanned the rest of the building: five men on the bottom floor. Two on the roof with RPGs, if I guessed the shapes of the things slung across their backs correctly, and double sentries on the sixth, eighth and twelfth floors. Fifteen men in total. Hardly the small army Cain had told us to expect.

  I pushed the visor up. “Right. Unwin, Williamson and Ward, I want you to stay here and provide cover. Turner, Cooper and Black,” I said, turning to Zac, “you’re with me.”