The Reckoning (Earth Haven Book 3)

by Sam Kates

They stay ahead of us, just far enough that we follow. They lead us to the east, towards the old city, dragging us farther and deeper into the concrete mire. And the spots they choose for confrontation lend themselves to close-quarter fighting, not distance tactics. Narrow streets, enclosed courtyards, rabbit-warren alleyways. London is the ideal city to wage guerrilla-type warfare. Our enemy knows the city; to most of us, it’s a confusing mishmash of the ancient and the modern. To them, it is a chessboard; they are grandmaster to our novice.

  Soon they will instigate the move that will result in checkmate.

  * * * * * * *

  The breeze whipping off the ocean dropped in intensity and the clouds took on the wispiness of summer. The last week of April and the first week of May in Cornwall was a period of sunny, balmy days and starlit, chilly nights.

  It was also a period of inactivity. Of waiting. Apart from routine tasks like topping up the generator and food preparation, at which everybody took their turn, only Jason Grant was busy. He received regular updates from Tess Granville of the situation in London; his War Reports as he half-jokingly referred to them. The levity ended when they suffered their first fatalities.

  Milandra had taken to spending mornings going for long walks along the coastal path. The spectacular scenery, the wildlife—the same seal would pop its head above the water at one rocky stretch and bark a hello most days—and, above all, the sunshine conspired to instil in Milandra a sense of contentment. Not even the tensions caused by the arrival of the humans and the imminent excitement of the Great Coming could upset her equilibrium.

  It was as she headed back to the hotel after a lengthy stroll, her body feeling as trim as it had in centuries, that the strength ran out of her legs and she sank onto a grassy hummock. She lowered her head and breathed deeply, knowing what was coming.

  When it was over she remained where she was, letting the sunlight revive her spirits. Later, back at the hotel, she sought out Grant. He took one glance at her and his face clouded.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “We just lost people in London. Four of them. At the same time.”

  “Oh shit. Four? No wonder you look ashen. Who was it?”

  Milandra reeled off the names: three men, one woman.

  “Jensen Frayn?” Grant gave a deep sigh. “I fought alongside him in Persia in the early days.”

  Milandra put out a hand and squeezed his forearm. “So I saw from his memories.”

  “It’s where I ended up when we dispersed after activating the first Beacon. Jensen came along a decade or two later. We both went by different names back then.”

  “As did many. Will you speak with Tess?”

  Grant nodded. “A change of tactics is clearly called for. I suspect Tess will already be on it.”

  Afternoons Milandra spent with Brianne. Will, too, who would barely leave the girl’s side. Milandra didn’t mind. She had taken an instant shine to the boy, with his serious façade that masked a ready wit and cheeky smile.

  She had waited outside with Peter Ronstadt and Diane Heidler for the humans to arrive. Two cars pulled up and discharged two adults and two younger humans. A black dog also jumped out of the adults’ car. It wagged its tail on seeing the children and licked at their hands, but made no attempt to approach her, Peter or Diane.

  The man climbed out of his car rather awkwardly, cradling a shotgun. When he saw Peter and Diane, he turned and left it in the vehicle. By the time he straightened, the woman had bounded forward and thrown her arms around Peter’s neck. He didn’t look as though he knew how to react, whether to look embarrassed or pleased. His face settled into an expression that seemed to convey both at once.

  When she pulled away, the man stepped up and pumped Peter’s hand.

  Unable to get near to Peter, the girl approached Diane and enveloped her in a great hug. Milandra grinned. The look of discomfort on Diane’s face was comical. It was underlain by something else, a hint that said she could get used to someone showing her affection.

  Milandra waited until acquaintance had been renewed all round before stepping forward.

  “Welcome,” she said. “I am Milandra.” She turned to the girl and smiled. “Bri. Like the cheese but without the e.”

  Bri offered a hesitant smile, but her glance flickered to the man and woman. Whatever rush of gladness had infused them on seeing Peter had dissipated. They stood glaring at Milandra, negative emotions radiating from them like fever: anger, sorrow, desire for revenge, fear. Milandra could sense them like the taste of a pungent dish. So, too, could the girl.

  Spreading her arms, Milandra addressed the adults. “Please, come in peace, if not in friendship. Naturally I understand how high your feelings are running, but know this: here, now is not the time or place for recriminations.”

  Milandra pushed a little—just enough to have some effect but not so much that they would notice—soothing sensation their way. She didn’t yet know, but would learn, that Bri saw her balm as a yellow blanket; Milandra saw hers as a soft wave of foam, breaking gently over the inflamed psyche, dampening and calming.

  Their stony expressions loosened a little.

  “I see you have weapons,” said Milandra. “I won’t insist that you surrender them during your stay, but I ask that you do not carry them around the hotel. Please lock them in your car. That way, you can still access them if you’re exploring further afield and need them for protection.”

  The man and woman exchanged a glance. The woman nodded.

  “Okay,” said the man. “I suppose we ought to introduce ourselves. My name is Tom. And this is Ceri. Bri you seem to already know. The young man is Will.”

  Milandra nodded to each in turn. “I shall allow Peter and Diane to show you to the rooms we have made ready for you. There is an abundance of food in the kitchens. I shall see you later when you have eaten and settled in. Then you can meet my Deputies.”

  Ceri spoke for the first time. “We’ve already met some of them. One of them put a hole in Will.” She watched Milandra closely, as though hoping she would blush or look away. Milandra did neither.

  “I warned Peter that you should keep away from the Beacon. Only danger awaited you there. To bring a young boy was foolhardy in the extreme.”

  It was Ceri who coloured. “We didn’t. He–”

  Drop the antagonism sent Milandra, making the woman’s eyes open wide in surprise. It won’t benefit you in the long run.

  Milandra turned and walked away. She hadn’t planned on sending Ceri a message; it had been an impulse, but one that she was glad she had indulged. It didn’t hurt to remind humans who was in charge.

  They spent those warm late April and early May afternoons in the hotel gardens, lounging in the sun with cold drinks (Jason Grant had wired up a large refrigerator to the circuit operating off the generator), exploring the extent of Bri’s abilities. Bri had allowed Milandra into her mind after only the slightest hesitation. Milandra could see instantly what Peter had meant: the girl’s psyche was illuminated like Cape Canaveral on launch night with blazing neural pathways and flaring synapses that Milandra had not seen before in a human. She found to her astonishment that the girl was already accomplished at reaching, having performed this action at least three times on Will and someone called Joe, who Milandra recognised from Bri’s memories as the young man she had seen sneaking away into the darkness outside the Beacon. Since this was a far more difficult skill to perfect than probing or sending, which didn’t involve the entire psyche leaving the host body, Bri mastered these lesser skills with only the most perfunctory guidance.

  “Well,” said Milandra, sitting back in the wicker chair, which creaked ominously. She ignored it; she was used to her weight making furniture complain. “There’s not a great deal I can teach you. For the skills to become as second nature, you merely need to practise them.”

  Bri nodded.

  “Now,” continued Milandra, “you can by all means use me as a training partner and Peter will also help. Maybe Dia
ne. Jason’s a little busy, although Rodney would, I’m sure, be happy to assist. If you can drag him away from fishing.”

  What about me?

  Milandra glanced sharply at Will. The boy was regarding her with wide eyes. She leaned forward, drawing another groan from the chair.

  “When did you learn how to send?”

  “Just now.”

  “That was the first time?”

  The boy nodded.

  Bri was watching them, wearing a perplexed frown. “What’s going on? Will knows how to send?”

  “Apparently so,” said Milandra. “Will, would you allow me to take a peek inside your mind? It won’t hurt and will take less than a minute.”

  It took less than thirty seconds. The boy’s mind also displayed new pathways; not as many or as vivid as Bri’s, but present and active.

  “I can see where you repaired the damage caused by the electric current,” said Milandra, looking at Bri. “There are only faint scars remaining. Good job.” Milandra turned back to Will. “Bri went into your mind and made you better. At the same time, certain improvements were made to your brain. That’s why you can send.”

  Will’s eyes grew wider with wonder.

  “Do you mean… I’m like a spaceman?”

  Milandra smiled. “A little like one, yes.”

  “But how?” said Bri. “You said my brain changed because of the blow to the head from the paperweight. Will wasn’t hit; he was electrocuted.”

  “I don’t think it was electricity that altered Will’s brain. I think it was whatever you did to repair the damage.” Milandra regarded the girl with a keen gaze. “That’s not something I possess the power to do.”

  “But I don’t know what I did.” Her brow furrowed again. “What does it mean?”

  “I think, young lady, that you, and to a lesser extent Will, represent the next stage of human evolution. And humanity’s best chance of persuading those who are coming that it deserves to continue.”

  Bri glanced at Will and snorted. “No pressure, then.”

  “You and Will possess something that none of the adults have. When I probe you I sense no artifice, merely an innocence that only the young possess before age and cynicism drive it away.”

  “A pure heart,” murmured Bri.

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh, just something Peter wrote.”

  “A pure heart,” mused Milandra. “Yes, I like that. It’s a good way to describe you both. That, combined with your new brain patterns, may be enough for my people to come round to thinking that saving what remains of humankind may not be such a bad idea.”

  “You don’t believe that, though. I can sense it.”

  Milandra considered for just a moment telling a lie, but opted for the truth. “No, I don’t believe it will be enough to save you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  From the journal of Elliott King:

  This shall be the last time I add to this journal. There is one further incident I must relate; one that I have been skirting around, afraid to confront. It will cause me pain, but I owe it to Sarah to continue. If nothing of me survives, perhaps these pages will somehow make it into her hands and she can know the truth.

  Sarah, if you ever read these words, believe me when I say, you must not blame Amy. Though it was her hand which held the weapon, her finger that pulled the trigger, she was no more in control of her actions than a puppet.

  They changed tack again today. Three drones stood ahead of our slowly advancing column of vehicles. Only three. The column moved forward two abreast; we were in an older part of the city where the streets were narrower. The drones stood at the end of an alley that was narrower still. With a line of parked cars already filling one side of it, there would be room for our vehicles to enter the alleyway in single file only. If we were ambushed, which seemed highly likely, there would be no room to turn. We’d be toast.

  In fairness to Joe, he wasn’t so blinded by his hatred of all things alien that he couldn’t see what a bad idea it was to drive into the alley. He brought the convoy to a halt and came over to our minibus to confer with Zach and Frank. Moments later, they were stepping down to the sidewalk with him. Amy and I glanced at one another, she nodded to Aletta, and the three of us followed. Our vehicles continued, leading the convoy on, following the road around to the right and avoiding the alleyway.

  Frank and Joe took the lead, pausing to peer down the alley. High buildings loomed either side, blocking out much of the sunlight and the clear (remarkably so thanks to no air pollution and airplane contrails) sky. The three drones hadn’t moved; they stood at the end of the alley in front of another tall, gray building. The men raised their rifles, sighted and fired. Two of the drones dropped to the ground, twitched once or twice and lay still. The third turned and disappeared from view.

  We continued forward. Amy and Zach went next, with me and Aletta bringing up the rear. We went single file, with Frank, Amy and me hugging the left hand wall next to the line of parked cars; Joe, Zach and Aletta took the right-hand side, staying close to the buildings abutting the road and sidewalk.

  As we moved down the alley, the grumble of engines behind us grew fainter.

  They targeted me, presumably because I was at the rear. The intention must have been to force me to fire on the others; I would probably have been able to get most of them before they could react.

  I felt them as an itching sensation at my temple. The sensation intensified, making me stop and gasp, and sank into my head as though a swarm of hornets had flown in there. My hands came up of their own accord and that is when they must have realized I wasn’t carrying a firearm.

  The itching invasion of my skull departed as quickly as it had come, but I knew something was seriously amiss. I shouted a warning that Zach must have heard since he looked over at me, a puzzled expression on his gnarled features.

  My gaze moved from him. The buildings behind Zach held no windows at ground level, but wide, sash windows on the higher floors. A man stood behind the glass in the lowest window above Zach’s head. It was difficult to make out with the height and angle, but I could see at least two other people standing beside and slightly behind him, with the impression of more. No drones these; the man stared down with an intensity that a drone would not be capable of exhibiting.

  I followed the direction of his stare, distantly aware that Zach was already on the move, crossing the narrow street toward us. My gaze halted on Amy.

  She was raising her rifle, pointing it at the back of the person in front of her; pointing it at Frank.

  Even as I knew it was too late, I yelled. It was drowned out by the sharp report. Frank crumpled facedown to the sidewalk. If there is comfort to be had from this account: he could not have suffered. The shot passed directly through his heart. He would not even have known he had been shot.

  Amy had swung the rifle away before Frank’s body had completed its tumble to the ground. Aimed it at Joe. But Zach had arrived on our side of the alley. He reached out to the barrel of Amy’s rifle, grabbed it and forced it up, wincing as the heat seared the skin off his fingers. Amy’s second shot zinged off a building and harmlessly away.

  I caught a glimpse of her face. All sign of the real Amy had gone, replaced by a featureless mannequin. Eyes like stagnant puddles, lower lip dangling with the first line of drool already falling, facial muscles slack and undefined.

  My gaze darted back to the window. The man continued to stare at Amy. I saw Aletta and called to her.

  “Up there! That window!” I pointed at it.

  Aletta looked where I was indicating, stepping off the sidewalk to gain an angle to make the window visible. She must have been able to see the man because she threw her rifle to her shoulder and fired.

  She was quite a shot. Hurriedly though she’d performed the action of bringing up the rifle, aiming and firing, all in one rapid motion, the glass in the window starred and a hole appeared in front of the man’s face. A bead of blood showed on his forehea
d before he stepped back from sight.

  Amy stopped struggling and allowed Zach to take the rifle from her limp hands. She stumbled as though about to faint. Then she noticed Frank’s still body in front of her.

  If I’d been in any doubt that Amy had not been in control of her actions—and I was in none whatsoever—it would have been completely removed by the sheer misery in her wail of anguish.

  Zach, Joe and I watched her turn Frank over. It was obvious that he was dead. Aletta kept her rifle trained on the building opposite, but the man and his companions did not reappear.

  Not yet. I suspect we have witnessed the next escalation, the cranking-up by the enemy. What better way to demoralize an opponent than by forcing individuals to turn on comrades, on themselves? How can we counter such measures?

  My writing hand grows weary, my eyelids heavy. Almost everyone is asleep. Some cry out; it has become normal. Most twitch.

  Thus ends this journal. I no longer have the stomach to record the last days of humanity. For I am certain that is what we are witnessing. Our enemy is too resourceful, too cunning, too cruel, even for a foe as violent as man. We shall succumb. I can see no other outcome.

  This isn’t the non-fiction equivalent of The Scarlet Letter or The Great Gatsby. Even were my writing skills up to the standard of a Harper Lee, which I hoped they might one day be, my subject matter is too grim, too graphic, too fucking sordid, to be considered among the great American writings. Even were there anyone left to make such a judgement.

  I may not be able to write like him, but I can leave the final words to Hemingway:

  The world is a fine place and worth the fighting for and I hate very much to leave it.

  * * * * * * *

  Go on then. Say something.

  Will blushed. I don’t know what to say.

  Bri laughed, reached out and ruffled his hair. “Yay. You did it.”

  “I did?”

  “In my mind I heard you say you didn’t know what to say.”

  “Oh, wow, Bri. We can talk with our minds. We’re, um, psychopathic?”

  “Something like that.” Bri yawned. “We’d better not overdo it. Milandra said that even holding a short conversation with our minds can be tiring, and I don’t want to wear you out. Not if you’re going to do more physio on your shoulder later.”