The Reckoning (Earth Haven Book 3)

by Sam Kates

  Sarah’s not with us now. That makes it sound as though she died, which she didn’t. That was Nan. Frank let Sarah accompany us as far as Slough; they pronounce that to rhyme with thou, not tough. Short of hogtying her to a tree, I don’t think he could have made her stay behind in Wales, but he was adamant that she would advance no further. He’s not one to stamp his foot or raise his voice, but stubborn as that young lady can be, she saw something in Frank’s eyes that made her give in with barely a whimper. She agreed to help at the hospital; they’re setting up some type of triage system to assess casualties as they arrive and sort into seriously and not-so-seriously injured. Quite an essential aspect of battlefield medicine that, when operating teams are inundated, will ensure that those who need treatment the most receive it earliest.

  Of course, there’s a major problem. Nobody else has said it, but I’m not afraid to mention the pachyderm in the room, a twenty-foot monster with blazing red eyes and tusks that could plow fields.

  We have no doctors.

  Not sure if I’m straight on this, but I understand there to be a doctor, who helped some kids survive a brain injury and a gunshot wound, and a nurse with battlefield surgical experience—supposedly in World War II, though some things I still find hard to believe—but the doctor has disappeared to no one knows where or why, and the nurse is one of them and has also disappeared to, again, no one knows where but perhaps the why is a little more obvious.

  A doctor would not have done Nan any good. We don’t know who fired the bullet—in that chaos it could have been almost anyone. The slug entered her skull just below her left cheekbone, shattered her top jaw, expanded and exited stage right, taking her nose and most of her forehead with it. Her startled cry was a reflex; she was dead before her knees hit the asphalt. Thank goodness for small mercies.

  The rats dispersed eventually. We cowered in a house and watched them chew on Nan’s corpse for what felt like hours, but was probably twenty minutes. Whatever demon drove them (something must have been driving them; rats don’t act like that ordinarily) left them and they drifted back to whatever hole they’d emerged from.

  We buried her wrapped in a rug in a school athletic field. Frank and I both spoke a few words over the grave; Frank because he believes in Jesus; me because I believed in Nan. Then we followed everyone else back to Hillingdon Hospital.

  Zach raged. He found the boy, Joe, and vented at him about the lack of discipline and leadership, but he soon ran out of steam. He knew he was shouting at a boy who had no clue how to lead or even pretended that he did. Joe let him rant, watching him carefully, curiously, waiting for an opening so he could ask a question.

  “How do we kill them? Show me how to kill them.”

  Zach stared at the boy for a long moment.

  “You don’t kill ’em unless you can see ’em. You don’t see ’em unless you draw ’em out of cover. Do you know where the enemy is hiding?”

  The boy didn’t hesitate. “No. I don’t even know whether they are hiding.”

  “Well, taking a Sunday afternoon stroll ain’t gonna flush ’em out. We go in the vehicles we came in. South. Tomorrow.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nobody moved. Howard stood in front of his stool. Colleen sat on hers. Brianne had turned to look at the doorway through which she had entered only a minute or two previously.

  Dermot’s left hand gripped Will by his good shoulder. In his other hand he held a pistol. A brown leather strap, standing out from the black leather of his jacket, ran across his chest and the barrel of a rifle poked from behind his back.

  “Doubt if this is loaded,” said Dermot, holding up the pistol.

  He pointed it at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. The gun jerked violently in his hand and he nearly dropped it. The report was shockingly loud and Howard’s bladder almost let go. Bri uttered a small shriek. Will jumped and scrunched up his eyes as a shower of plaster fell on him.

  “Oops. My mistake.” Dermot chuckled as though he were a kindly uncle telling a joke. He moved the pistol to his left hand so he could shake his right. “Quite a kick. Thought for a moment I’d broken my wrist.” He moved the gun back to his right hand. This time, he gripped it with both hands as he pointed it up. “But I’m still not sure it’s loaded. Maybe it was just a round left in the chamber…”

  He pulled the trigger and another report almost deafened Howard. A chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling, narrowly missing Will. An acrid, boiled egg smell reached Howard’s nostrils.

  He stole a glance at Colleen. She had gone as white as Will’s plaster-covered hair. She noticed his look and shot him a grimace before addressing the Irishman.

  “What do you want?”

  “Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?” Through the ringing in Howard’s ears, Dermot’s voice sounded even softer than normal.

  “Seriously, Dermot,” said Colleen, “we’re not friends.”

  A smile stole over the man’s fleshy lips. “Oh, my beaut, we are so going to be friends.” He uttered a barking laugh. “Well, let’s say we’ll become close. Very close.”

  In the silence that followed, a small voice spoke. “Please, sir? Can I stand by Bri?” Will was craning his neck to look up, and up at the man.

  Without taking his eyes from Colleen, Dermot gave Will a light shove that sent him stumbling forward. Bri held out her hands and Will grabbed one with his good hand.

  “I’m sorry, Bri. I didn’t see him. He opened the door and took the gun from me.” Will looked back at Dermot, his voice full of reproach. “That’s our gun.”

  The Irishman ignored him. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Colleen.

  Bri hugged Will to her and led him to the seating area. They sat side by side on a settee in the corner.

  Howard breathed a silent sigh of relief. With the children as out of the way as they could be, he could concentrate on the man with the guns. He held out his hands in a placatory gesture.

  “Dermot… or would you prefer Clint? Why don’t you put the pistol down, there’s a good chap.”

  Dermot’s glance darted his way. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up, there’s a good chap.” He looked back at Colleen. “That was quite a kick you dealt my manhood, beaut. I’ve not had opportunity to test it out, see if it’s still working. I think you and me will go upstairs to a bedroom and find out.” His tongue came out to lick his thick lips.

  Howard saw from the corner of his eye that Colleen had to work hard to suppress a shudder. He needed to put an end to this now.

  Again holding his hands out, palms down, he took a step towards the Irishman. “Come now, Dermot, I’m sure we can sort this out. Man to man.” He took another step.

  Howard heard Bri’s cry as though from a great distance.

  “No, Howard! He’s going to–”

  Dermot’s gaze once more flickered his way. He raised the pistol with both hands and pointed it at Howard’s chest. A flash came from the muzzle and Howard’s hearing abandoned him.

  No pain.

  He stared at the ceiling. It was stippled and cracked. Needed a coat of paint.

  The faces of Colleen and Bri appeared. They looked shocked. Distraught. They distorted, running like melting wax. Becoming his wife and daughter.

  Howard went to them.

  * * * * * * *

  While Grant communicated with Tess Granville in London, Lavinia and Milandra went to the hotel kitchens to arrange sustenance for the Keeper. The Chosen flounced off somewhere, leaving Peter and Diane in the company of George Wallace.

  “This is cosy,” Wallace muttered. He led them through the building to the conservatory that ran the length of the hotel’s rear, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

  Wallace slumped into an armchair. Glancing down, he appeared to notice—as though he’d forgotten—that he still held the pistol. With a clunk, he dropped it onto the occasional table next to his chair.

  He glanced at Diane and Peter. “This was set up as a restaurant. We cleared out the tables a
nd chairs and brought in this comfortable stuff.” He waved a hand to vaguely indicate the array of mismatched armchairs and sofas arranged to take advantage of the view. Then he stared off into space, seemingly forgetting they were there.

  Diane pointedly cleared her throat.

  “Huh?” said Wallace.

  “Is it okay if we sit down?” she asked.

  Wallace shrugged. “I guess so. Sure. Ain’t no one pointing a gun at you now.”

  “And it makes a nice change,” said Peter with a tight smile. He stepped forward and sat in an armchair near Wallace.

  Diane took a sofa next to Peter. It stood at an angle so that she could look at the two men or at the ocean merely by turning her head.

  For a few minutes, nobody spoke. Diane gazed out at the Atlantic, watching it turn from denim blue to gunmetal grey as clouds scudded across the sun. She listened as the men started a hesitant conversation.

  “So, George,” said Peter, “I saw that you were in Italy during the Renaissance.”

  “Not a word in front of anyone, remember?”

  “Afraid of gaining a reputation as a drone lover? Don’t worry. Diane’s not going to say anything. I doubt she’s even listening. If she is, I doubt she cares. So. The Renaissance?”

  Wallace did not reply for a long moment. At last, he gave a deep sigh. “Okay. Sure, I spent the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in Italy. Rome, Milan, Venice, Bologna… And, as I know you saw, I was also in Florence.” His tone became wistful. “They were the best days. I’ve forgotten most of the lingo, but I’ll never forget the masters. Or their art.”

  “Who did you know?”

  “I met most of them. Donatello, Bellini, Botticelli. Later, Michelangelo, Raphael, Titian. And, of course, Verrocchio in Florence and, through him, his most famous pupil.”

  “Da Vinci.”

  Wallace fell silent again for a few moments. When he resumed speaking, his voice contained a note of respect. “He possessed the greatest intellect of any human I’ve ever met.”

  “They are capable of so much.” Peter’s tone sounded musing. “But, intelligent as Da Vinci undoubtedly was, I’ve long been sceptical that he came to imagine flying contraptions and submarines in the fifteenth century without some help. Perhaps someone whispering in his ear who comes from a place where such machines are commonplace.”

  Diane stole a glance at Wallace. He did not speak, but shifted in his chair as though finding it lumpy.

  “Ah, keep your secret, George,” said Peter. “It’s not encouraged for our sort to have secrets, but then what exactly does ‘our sort’ even mean any more?”

  Wallace grunted. “I guess you’ll be the last person to know the answer to that. How could you fall in love with a human?”

  “Don’t know.” He shrugged. “I was powerless to prevent it.”

  “Yet despite not taking part in the Cleansing, you wanted the Beacon to be activated. You want the Great Coming to succeed, at least to the point that the craft enters Earth Haven’s atmosphere. But you are not motivated for the greater good. Your reasons are entirely selfish.”

  “Completely.”

  Diane glanced at Peter. He was staring straight ahead, fiddling with something around his neck.

  “It’s not likely to work, you know.” Wallace’s tone sounded tender. Diane did not know what they were talking about, but found the changes she was detecting in both men fascinating.

  “Nevertheless…” said Peter.

  A door opened and the Chosen came in.

  “Are you boys building bridges?” she trilled, as though she had not herself been pointing a gun at Peter’s head less than an hour ago. “I hope so. We all need to get along for, you know, the greater good and all.” Simone gave a schoolgirl giggle and flounced over to an armchair the other side of Wallace. She sat in it sideways, jean-clad legs draped over one arm.

  The door opened again and in came Grant, followed closely by Milandra. A stout, florid-faced man whom Diane had not seen before came in next. He smiled at her and Peter in a friendly fashion.

  “Wotcher,” he said in an accent that reminded Diane of Will’s. “I’m Rodney Wilson, but plain old Rod will do.”

  Lavinia brought up the rear, closing the door behind her. They all took places near the others so that anyone could address everyone else without having to raise their voices.

  Milandra smiled around at them.

  “That’s better,” she said. “A good feed banishes weariness. When I’m done talking to y’all, I intend finding a sunny spot and soaking up some rays to finish the job. But before I begin to tell you a story that you all need to hear, Jason can update us on the situation in London.”

  Diane sat forward. It had been a few months since she had left London sitting next to Troy Bishop in the cabin of a Sea King helicopter and she was curious as to what progress had been made in the capital city.

  “Thanks, Milandra,” said Jason Grant. He rubbed his hand down one cheek. “Think I might join you to soak up those rays. That discussion with Tess has left me feeling a little drained myself.” He looked at Peter and Diane. “I’d like to formally welcome you. The, er, misunderstanding from earlier is done and dusted, I hope. Simone?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, whatever.”

  “George? Lavinia?”

  “We’re cool,” said Wallace.

  “If Simone and George are cool, then I guess I am, too,” said Lavinia.

  “Good. Okay, then. London. Tess had two matters to report. The first concerns the Great Coming. I’m pleased to say that the craft carrying our people from Earth Home is within telescope range of Earth Haven.”

  “Are there telescopes that powerful in London?” asked Peter. “I thought that with all the light pollution, they had been located elsewhere.”

  “That’s true in most cases,” said Grant. “But London University has an array of telescopes to the north of the city at Mill Hill. Since the Grid came back online, we’ve had a team of observers up there watching the night sky. We’ve got all streetlamps and other illuminations switched off around there to give them the best chance of spotting the craft.”

  “I didn’t know it would be visible until it was within Earth Haven’s atmosphere,” said Wallace. “What with its anti-matter coating an’ all.”

  “It’s not visible in the usual sense,” agreed Grant. “More an absence of light. A little like an approaching black hole.”

  “Okay, all I’m hearing now is blah blah blah,” said Simone. “Have they seen the ship from Earth Home or not?”

  “They have. And they calculate that it will arrive here ten days from now, which I make to be May fourth.”

  “Ha!” said Peter. “Star Wars Day.”

  “Indeed. The craft is directly on course for Earth Haven. All our efforts with the Beacon are bearing fruit.”

  “The Great Coming is nearly done,” said Lavinia. “Cool. What’s the second thing?”

  “The second thing,” said Grant, “is that a force of armed humans is attacking the city.”

  “How can that be?” asked Wallace. “I thought there weren’t any humans left in the U.K. Just the drones in London.”

  Diane glanced sharply at Grant, then at Milandra. Neither of them caught her eye. It seemed they hadn’t shared their early morning escapade near Stonehenge with the other Deputies.

  “Humans have been arriving in Britain from the continent and from the east coast of the United States,” said Grant. “Many of them have blundered into London where they have been captured and, er, treated by our people.”

  Wallace gave a low whistle. “Wonder what made them come here. Some sort of group instinct?”

  “I guess,” said Grant. “Whatever, they’re here and a force in excess of a thousand strong is in London. A well-armed force.”

  “Why?” asked Rodney Wilson. Diane thought he looked quite forlorn. “What can they ’ope to achieve?”

  “Well, Rod,” said Milandra, “consider it from their point of view. Their famili
es and friends have been killed. Everything they know has come to an end. They’re frightened, bewildered, alone. For many, striking back in one last act of defiance is all that’s left to them.”

  “I s’pose, Miss Milandra, when you put it like that. We spread a deadly virus without so much as a by your leave. Can’t really blame ’em for being a little pissed off. Oops, beggin’ your pardon.”

  “When you say, ‘attacking the city’,” said Wallace, “what exactly do you mean? It’s a mighty big city and an army of less than two thousand will hardly overrun it.”

  “They’ve taken Hillingdon Hospital where the treatment centre was set up. There was only a handful of our people there and they escaped without harm. The humans marched south towards Heathrow but were beaten back without much difficulty. Well-armed they might be, but they’re also disorganised, leaderless, inexperienced. There are many elderly and young of both sexes among them and seemingly few with military experience.”

  “They were beaten back, you said.” That was Lavinia. “So there’s been an engagement. How many casualties?”

  “Estimates place human casualties at seventeen dead, upwards of thirty injured. Our casualties: zero.”

  “Zero?” Lavinia looked incredulous.

  “None of our people has sustained as much as a scratch,” said Grant. “There are certain, ah, strategies we can employ that should demoralise the humans while keeping our people safely out of harm’s way. I anticipate that this uprising, rebellion, whatever you want to call it, will be over before the Great Coming in ten days’ time.”

  “What sort of strategies?” asked Wallace.

  “Well, we sent packs of rats against them. Tess’s idea.”

  The Chosen clapped her hands in delight. “Rats! Yay!”

  “And the humans lost seventeen in an attack by rats?” Now Wallace looked and sounded incredulous.

  “Rats in sufficient number can overwhelm people on their own. Don’t forget, they can’t control them like we can. I understand they broke up when attacked and fled piecemeal so the rats were able to pick some off individually. And many of the casualties were shot by their own side in the confusion.”