by Sam Kates
No sooner had she gone than two new people rushed into the circle. A man and a woman, both armed with handguns, both looking as if they knew how to use them.
The woman was dark-haired and dusky. Beautiful, not that Tom had time to appreciate it. She was pointing her pistol at his chest. He had barely fumbled two more shells from his jacket pocket. Tom had rarely seen a gun before the Millennium Bug. Now, for the fourth or fifth time since the outbreak, he looked down the business end of one. The woman’s finger tightened on the trigger. . . .
Tom twitched violently at the report, but it was the woman who ducked. Ceri had let loose with another barrel and was pointing the shotgun at the woman, one barrel still loaded.
“Next time I aim to kill, bitch!” hissed Ceri.
The woman took a step back, looking less sure of herself.
Tom finished reloading and closed the barrels. His jaw dropped as he saw what the man who had entered the circle was doing.
He was staring at Bri, a smirk curling his lips. Bri had extricated herself from Will’s grasp and risen to her feet, standing in front of him. Will’s pale, wide-eyed face peered from behind her back. The man’s arms were held straight out before him, the pistol aimed unwaveringly at Bri.
“You led us a merry dance,” the man drawled in an American accent. “Time you paid.”
Tom saw the man’s knuckle curled around the trigger whiten. He brought the shotgun up, but he was too late. The man fired.
Will was quicker. He darted around Bri, giving her a shove that sent her sprawling to one side. The bullet caught Will high on the left side of his chest. With a startled yelp, he crumpled to the grass.
“Nooo!” Tom yelled. He yanked at the shotgun’s trigger and was almost thrown down by the recoil. The shots again went wide.
Ceri swung her gun from the woman and discharged it at the man. The grass near his feet exploded and he leapt back in surprise.
Before Tom could rush to the boy’s side, he became aware that the dusky woman was once more training her gun at his chest. She smiled and Tom closed his eyes.
He heard the shot but didn’t feel a thing. He opened his eyes. The woman was lying on her back, shrieking as a snarling black dog tore at her wrist.
“Dusty?” said Tom. “How. . . . ?”
The woman dropped the gun and Dusty gave a last shake of her wrist before unclamping his jaws. The woman began to scrabble backwards along the ground, her face contorted in fear and pain.
Dusty turned towards the man. He was pointing his pistol directly at the dog.
Tom didn’t waste time shouting or trying to reload the shotgun. He ran at the man, swinging the gun like a club. The stock struck the man on the cheek and his shot pinged harmlessly away.
Ceri had reloaded and stalked forward, determination stamped across her features. Dusty approached from the side, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest. Tom wielded the shotgun like a baseball bat, ready to land another blow.
“Wallace! The dog!” Tom glanced towards the dark-haired woman. She was calling to the man between pain-clenched teeth. “Set it on them!”
“Don’t even think about it.” Ceri’s voice was low and so full of menace that Tom wanted to take a step back from her. She tugged the stock of her shotgun tighter to her shoulder. “If the dog so much as growls at me, I’ll blow your fucking head clean from your shoulders.”
The man stared at her, a vivid bruise already colouring his cheek. He glanced across at the dark-haired woman who was disappearing through a gap in the stones, still crawling backwards.
He shrugged and dropped the pistol.
“Didn’t intend to hurt the boy,” he said. “Sorry.”
Ceri’s voice was little more than a snarl.
“Scram.”
The man turned and walked away.
Tom looked quickly around. No non-humans remained within the circle. The stench and smoke from burning bodies were growing thicker.
He sank to his knees and held his hands out to Dusty.
“Come here, boy.”
Tom buried his face in the dog’s fur and, for once, allowed Dusty to lick his face.
Then he turned towards Will.
Bri had his head cradled in her lap. Ceri looked on, her face drained of colour. Will gazed up at Bri, his features calm.
“Don’t you dare leave me,” Bri was saying. “Do you hear me, William Harry Clarkson? You’re not going anywhere without me again.”
Will raised a hand and brushed at a tear on Bri’s cheek.
“Bri,” he murmured. “Like the cheese but without the e.”
His hand dropped to his chest and he smiled. His eyes fluttered closed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Milandra stepped gingerly out of the circle. Her strength had not been sapped as such by the ordeal; it was more lethargy brought on by possessing such great power and letting it go.
She could see Grant remonstrating with Wallace and Lavinia. Throwing his hands into the air in disgust, Wallace stomped away towards the road where the buses and coaches were pulling up. Lavinia trailed behind him like a little girl.
Milandra glanced around. The remaining drones were being shepherded towards the buses. As she watched, one of the drones, a young man, sidled to one side and slipped away. Nobody else noticed. Milandra grinned to herself and said nothing.
She beckoned to Grant.
“Wallace left willingly, then?”
“I’ve a feeling he’ll try to double back. Full of hatred for that girl.”
“Well, never mind him—” Milandra jumped as a couple of shots, close together, boomed out. She laid a hand on Grant’s arm. “Never mind that either. I need your help.”
Grant raised his eyebrows.
“Ronstadt can’t be far away. I want you to help me locate him.”
“And then?”
Milandra drew in a long breath. This was it: the point of no return.
“Jason, you’re probably aware that I feel more than a little sympathy for humanity. . . .” She broke off. “Why are you grinning like that?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to say it. Took your sweet time about it.”
They both jumped as the next series of shots exploded from the circle. People began to run out from between the stones. Milandra pointed them towards the car park.
The Chosen appeared, looking uncharacteristically flustered.
“To the coach, Simone,” Milandra said in a tone that brooked no argument.
To her surprise, the Chosen merely nodded and hurried away.
Milandra shook her head. “Wonders will never cease,” she said.
“Goddamn it!” muttered Grant, looking to the far side of the circle. “I’m sure Wallace and Lavinia just went back in.”
“Leave them,” said Milandra. “They’re liable to get themselves killed, but it’s their call.” She turned back to face him. “So, you’re willing to help?”
“Try stopping me. But let’s get away from this war zone.”
* * * * *
Peter approached the stone circle from the adjoining field, Diane hard on his heels. The last shot had been fired a minute or more ago and a knot of dread curled tight in Peter’s stomach at what he might find.
The torches still burned, but he could see no one outside the circle. Apart from one man. Peter slowed as he neared him. Barely a man, more a boy.
“Who are you?” Peter asked, coming to a stop. He probed. Definitely human.
The boy’s eyes widened. “You’re one of them. Just met another of your lot. He had a lump on his cheek. Gave him another one to match.” The boy’s hands curled into fists.
Peter nodded. “I am one of them, but I’m on your side. What’s your name?”
“Joe. Joe Lowden.”
“Come with me, Joe.”
Peter started for the circle. He heard the boy gasp as Diane ran up, but he carried on. He reached the stones and stepped cautiously inside.
Bitter smoke immediately stung his ey
es and he had to squint to make anything out.
“Oh no,” he muttered.
He strode forward.
“Ceri,” he said. “Take Brianne down to the road across this field. When you hit the road, turn right and follow it. You’ll find the Range Rover. Wait for us there.”
Ceri turned her tear- and smoke-stained face to him.
“He’s just a boy. . . .”
“Come on, Ceri. I need you to be strong. Take Brianne to the car.”
Ceri nodded. She reached down and tugged at Brianne’s arm. The girl tried to shake her off, but Ceri was insistent. Brianne gently lowered Will’s head to the ground. Reluctance pouring from her like sweat, she stood and allowed Ceri to lead her sobbing from the circle.
Peter stooped to Will. He placed his head to his chest and listened. Faint, but it was there. The flutter of a pulse. He probed. The boy’s mind had faded, but. . . .
“He’s still alive,” he said to Tom, who was standing with his hand resting on Dusty’s head. “But maybe not for much longer.” He gave a deep sigh. “Shouldn’t move him, but it will be quicker to take him to the doc than fetch the doc here. And we need to get him away from this smoke and stench.”
Diane arrived in the circle, panting. With her was the boy, Joe.
Peter pulled Tom down to him. “Listen closely. You need to get your arms under his shoulders and his knees. Above all, make sure you support his shoulders. If the bullet’s still in there, we need to keep movement to a minimum. Joe here will help you.”
Tom nodded. His face looked grey; the man was in shock.
Peter clutched Tom’s arm tightly, hating himself for doing it but wanting to make sure Tom understood.
“Tom, there’s a doctor in the Range Rover. His name is Howard. Take Will to him as quickly as you can.”
Tom grimaced at the tightness of Peter’s grip, but nodded again. Peter was relieved to see Tom’s gaze appeared a little clearer.
“Where’s your car?” said Peter.
“Huh?”
“The car you came in. Where is it?”
Tom pointed vaguely over his shoulder. “Shrewton. It’s about a mile to the west.”
“Okay. Once you’ve taken Will to the doc, go and fetch your car. There’s too many of us to fit into the Range Rover and we’ll need to find a hospital. Take Ceri and Brianne with you. It’ll keep them out of the way while Howard works on the boy. Colleen can help him.”
“Colleen. . . . ?”
“I’ll explain later. Go to your car and drive it back to the Range Rover. Don’t use any lights. I think most of them have gone, but it won’t hurt to exercise caution.”
“Bit late for caution.” Tom turned haunted eyes towards him. “Will’s been shot and the Beacon’s been activated.”
“But nobody’s dead yet. Right, come on. You need to get going.”
“What are you going to do? You and Diane?”
“Oh, we’re going to meet up with Milandra. I’ve a feeling she’s going to help us.”
Peter let go of his arm and watched as Tom carefully picked Will up, carrying him just as Peter had instructed. Dusty and Joe walked alongside, the boy watchful. Peter sensed that Joe was not quite right in the head, as though recovering from sort of brain injury, but he was comforted to see him walking with Tom, apparently ready and willing to help bear the burden if necessary.
A few minutes later, in a field beneath a clear sky in which the first weak rays of sun were beginning to make themselves known, Peter and Diane met with Milandra and Jason Grant. They stood in a rough circle and the other three lent their intellects to Milandra. With perhaps a smidgeon of the power she had received while activating the Beacon and retained for this very purpose to boost their effort, they held their own version of a Commune.
Their combined psyches stretched upwards and outwards, covering a great deal of western Europe, soaring over the Atlantic to the eastern seaboard, reaching partway to the Rockies before running out of steam.
The message was simple:
Come to the United Kingdom. Here the final reckoning for mankind will take place. Come now.
Afterwards, energy spent, they parted with barely a word.
* * * * *
In a small coastal town in Connecticut, Zacharias Trent opened one eye. He now trusted the woman enough to share a room with her. She had not repeated her offer for him to share her bed, for which he was thankful. It was hard enough becoming accustomed to everyday interaction with another human being without having to deal with that sort of shit, too.
Amy was also awake. Her eyes gleamed faintly in the darkness as she looked at him.
“Just had the strangest dream. . . .” Zach began.
“About the U.K. and final reckonings?”
Zach sat up, wide awake.
“Ever been to the U.K., missy?”
“Nope, but I reckon I got a hankering to go there now.”
“D’you know, I have a similar hankering. . . .”
* * * * *
Across much of the eastern third of the United States and most of western Europe, survivors of the Cleansing awoke with a new compulsion.
Some immediately, some once they had finished interrupted sleep, some once they had gathered together provisions for the journey, but nearly all would try to answer the call.
They didn’t know what it was, didn’t much like the sound of it, but they wanted to be there—had to be there—when the Reckoning took place.
About the Author
When not inhabiting imaginary worlds that no others can see, Sam Kates—who swears he’s sane—lives in South Wales, UK, with a computer and a family. Sometimes he joins them for meals. He has, on occasion, been known to talk to them. To his consternation, they refuse to address him as “Sam.”
