by R T Green
‘Coop!’
He spun round, saw his partner Miles Courtney standing in the doorway. Miles had been in Stratford-upon-Avon investigating a sighting the previous night, a tragically unfortunate bit of bad timing. If he’d been there instead of the over-excited Carl Mitchell, things would have been different. Zana wouldn’t have been shot, Madeline wouldn’t have killed Carl in a fit of emotional rage...
But Miles wasn’t there. No point dwelling on what might not have been.
‘You ok, bud?’ He could see straightaway Miles’s long pale face was even whiter than usual, his eyes flicking manically around him at the horrific images his brain was trying to accept.
‘For Christ’s sake, Coop... what in hell’s name?’
‘You believe aliens exist now, Miles?’
His partner glared back. ‘That’s not remotely funny.’
‘Sorry.’ Coop shook his hand. ‘Guess it took a while getting back here?’
‘Journey from hell, my friend. The Met and the army all over the place, government slapped a curfew on the whole of London. Would have been easier getting into North Korea.’
‘Ok, mate. Looks like you need a coffee or six. You will for sure when I’ve brought you up to speed.’
Zana took off the shades, wiped away the tears. The early morning light was beginning to filter through the mist, bathing Albert Embankment in a ghostly, surreal glow. Apart from the occasional siren in the distance, London was deathly quiet.
The streets were littered with debris. Smoke still rose from some of the larger pieces, curling into the air and mingling with the mist before extinguishing itself.
She felt a strange kind of dread. The harsh reality of her desperate situation had kicked in, but that wasn’t the reason for the tears. All around her, the devastation she’d been responsible for brought home the horrific reality of her actions on Dawson’s Hill. She’d killed them, her own people. Killed them to save a race she hardly knew. Murdered her fellow Calandurans, because of her love for an alien woman.
There had been no choice, she knew that. Madeline discovered her heart because of her. And in return their love had changed them both, forever. She’d always known her people were evil. That was just the way it was, how it had always been. She’d experienced nothing else, until Madeline.
Love changes everything. A human expression, but for her, devastatingly true.
There was no choice. But even so, her actions would be a cross to bear for the rest of her life.
However long that was.
She took a deep breath, put the shades back over her eyes, and pressed a tiny button on the pendant. The green light told her the shuttle she and her six companions had hidden a year ago was still operational. Then she turned the pendant off again, to save its power.
Seventy-five miles between the shuttle and her. The journey would be full of danger, especially now the world knew alien beings existed. Half the population of the UK would be on the lookout for anything vaguely non-human. And given the media frenzy about to erupt, the entire population would be aware that Calandurans were hardly the friendliest of races.
If she was discovered, she wouldn’t last very long.
Zana pulled the hood tight around her face, and walked quickly into the murk to begin her perilous journey.
Chapter 73
The atmosphere in Duncan Scott’s office was as frosty as the November mist shrouding London. The man himself looked exhausted, sitting slumped behind the big desk, often taking off his gold half-rimmed spectacles to rub weary eyes as he digested Ryland Cooper’s words.
Twenty-four hours had passed since DIAL’s top agent let Zana walk away. He and Miles had grabbed a few hours of fitful sleep in the restroom, and three hours ago the boss had finally extracted himself from what was effectively a war council in Westminster, and returned to HQ to discover things had changed.
London was under siege; not from a fearsome enemy, but from an equally fearsome army of media journalists and TV reporters from every corner of the globe, each one of them trying ever-increasingly desperate tactics to get a world exclusive.
It wasn’t a pretty sight.
In contrast to the circus outside the MI6 building, Duncan Scott’s office was a haven of silence. Far too quiet for Coop’s liking, as he tried in vain to stop his heart beating out of his chest, convinced Miles and Scott could hear it just as clearly as he could.
He’d put his career, and maybe even his freedom on the line. The silence couldn’t get any more painful.
When Scott finally spoke, it sounded like a clap of thunder.
‘You are fortunate Coop, that I have refrained from revealing certain facts of this unholy mess to the powers-that-be. At this time, the only people aware of the whole truth are the three of us in this room. Do I make myself clear, Miles?’
The sandy-haired very British agent cleared his throat. ‘Yes sir. Perfectly clear, sir.’
‘Good. Again fortunately, the entire universe now seems to centre on London, something that will take the attention of every high-ranking politician and military top brass for at least the next few days. After that... well, we deal with the fallout when it arrives on our doorstep. Which it will.
‘I myself have been told to catch a few hours rest and then return to Westminster, to assist the PM and god-knows who else in the handling of the circus that London has become. Our dear friend President Trump is tweeting his fingers to the bone blaming the Russians, which is doing nothing but making the whole situation worse, our ex-friends in Europe are whinging about assisting an ex-member... in short gentlemen, there is far too much on my plate for me to take an active part in the internal affairs of this department.’
‘So what do you want us to do, sir?’
‘It seems Coop, you are making your own high-risk decisions without my involvement.’
‘But you are still the boss, sir.’
Scott walked to the big windows overlooking the operations room below him. ‘In your infinite wisdom, you have set in motion a chain of events that may prove to be the best decision you ever made. On the flip side, it may result in the end of this department, and prosecution for both you and I. You made the call, agent. It’s your bag.’
‘Sir?’
‘I agree with your reasoning. Our best bet to find Madeline in secret and without external interference is to allow Zana to lead us to her. As you say, if anyone can find her it is our alien friend. My gut tells me however, that there is more to you letting Zana go than simply the best interests of this department. Either way... do what you will, agent.’
‘So you are giving me carte blanche, sir?’ Ryland Cooper was struggling to believe what he was hearing. His boss turned away from the window and pierced a stare into his agent. ‘Where is she now?’
Coop’s watch was linked to his notepad, monitoring Zana’s progress as they spoke. ‘She’s made it to the outskirts of north London sir, heading north-east. She must be on foot, given its taken twenty-four hours to get just a few miles.’
‘It is a miracle she’s made it that far.’ Scott sounded impressed.
‘She said her ship was “a distance away”, so she could still have a way to go.’
‘And you are certain she’ll head for Tobago?’
‘Hundred percent, sir.’
‘Hmm.’ Duncan Scott took off his spectacles once more, his piggy eyes locking onto his senior agent. ‘Then my suggestion for you is that you track Zana until you see her heading quickly in a westerly direction, which will mean she has recovered her ship and is en route...’
The internal com pinged. ‘Yes?’
‘Can you come to the labs please, sir? Something is happening to the alien remains.’
Scott frowned, headed to the door. ‘Come, gentlemen. It seems we have yet another unexpected development on our hands.’
The three men stood gazing down on one of the almost-intact bodies laying on an examination couch in Laboratory One.
What was left of it.
One of the chief techies stood with them, nervously glancing between a hand-held scanner and the remains on the couch. ‘I... I cannot understand it, sir. Every piece of the alien remains we have recovered is... well, disintegrating.’
‘That, John, is all too obvious.’ Even as they stood watching, the body on the couch was turning to dust. ‘You have no explanation?’
The techie shook his head. ‘We know the Calandurans are able to survive perfectly well in our atmosphere when they are alive. The only explanation I can offer is that something in their metabolism instructs their remains to turn to dust once they are dead.’
He looked distraught, the awful realisation cutting him to shreds that the ground-breaking study of alien life-forms that would have changed his career was not now going to happen.
Duncan Scott, on the other hand, was trying his best to keep the smile from his face. He led his agents from the lab, and back into the lift.
‘It seems gentlemen, that one major issue has resolved itself. Unfortunate though it is that we will not now be able to study beings from another world, the fact one Calanduran came back to life and was allowed to escape is now impossible to prove. As far as anyone outside this elevator is concerned, Zana is now simply a pile of dust. So on that one at least you are off the hook, Coop.’
‘Yes sir.’
A wry smile passed across Scott’s face. ‘And given the irony, I think we should add one more word to your codename for Zana.’
‘Sir?’
‘I think Phoenix would be an appropriate addition Coop, as it seems she has rather literally risen from the ashes. And as I was saying when the com interrupted me... once Zana’s tracker shows her heading for Tobago, I suggest you and Miles get on the first available flight and follow her.’
Miles looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘The... the Caribbean, sir?’
‘Yes, agent. Don’t forget to pack shorts.’
Ryland Cooper couldn’t help grinning to his partner. ‘And an umbrella. It’s the rainy season, Miles.’
Chapter 74
Zana threw a quick glance around the corner of the kiosk, one second enough to see the petrol station forecourt was empty. She flattened back against the wall, closed her eyes to stop the tears coming again.
Almost midnight, and desperation was beginning to take control. Rain bordering on snow had been hammering down for the last four hours; the red cape was sodden, her body frozen through. She couldn’t go on.
Not on foot.
For three days she’d walked by night, hidden by day. Now, her body refused to cooperate. Her legs were spent, her feet swollen and blistered. The pain in her chest from where the bullet had penetrated was getting worse. She was healing, she knew. But the physical strain of her trek across London wasn’t helping. Exhausted and weak from hunger, she was all too aware if she didn’t make it to the ship very soon, she wouldn’t make it at all.
She’d reached Harlow. But ahead of her now lay sixty miles of countryside.
Something had to change.
The sound of an engine. She glanced around the corner again. A blue van had pulled into the forecourt. No signwriting, no distinguishing features. Please, let it be…
A guy jumped out, the driver’s side facing away from the kiosk. Zana narrowed her eyes to try and see better through the rain, watched as he appeared on the passenger side and opened the filler cap.
No keys in his hand.
He filled the tank, began to walk to the kiosk. Zana slipped from the darkness of her hiding place, walked quickly as if she was heading for the road. A millisecond of a glance; the guy was in the petrol station shop.
It had to be now.
She leapt into the driver’s seat, slammed the door. The van’s tyres squealed in protest as she slewed out into the empty road and turned north, glancing back to see the guy was only just running out of the door as she disappeared from view.
She shook her head, apologising silently to him. He’d get his van back in a few hours.
Or maybe sooner, if the police caught up with her.
The roads were quiet. Too quiet for comfort. If the police gave chase it wouldn’t be so easy to lose them. She consoled herself with the thought there maybe wouldn’t be as many cops around the outskirts of London as normal, given the abnormal situation in the centre of the city.
It wasn’t much consolation.
In minutes she’d left the streets and houses of Harlow behind. To reach the ship, the M11 was the quickest route, but she couldn’t risk motorways or even major roads. It had to be quieter, darker roads without cameras.
She turned the heater up to full, felt the almost-painful tingles as the warmth began to penetrate her sodden clothes. She pulled the pendant from her neck, put it on the seat beside her.
Now her only companion, it would lead her to the ship.
Two hours later she drove slowly through the deserted streets of Manningtree, heading east. Through a more industrial area, she reached the village of Mistley and drove along The Walls, looking across the Stour estuary to her left for the tiny landing stage she already knew would be there.
The tide was coming in; she’d have to wait a while for the water to be high enough. Her watch told her it was three in the morning. Three hours until it would begin to get light, and the deserted riverside would be devoid of life no more.
It was going to be tight.
She made the landing stage, smiled as she saw a few rowing dinghies sitting in the mud. The water was just beginning to lap around their hulls, it wouldn’t be too long until they’d be floating.
She stopped the van, gazed out across the wild mudflats stretching away into the darkness. Occupied only by waterfowl, and accessible only by very small boats at high tide, her ship was hidden in plain view. Just half a mile away, it sat on the mud of the wild, shallow side of the estuary, where nothing but wildlife ever ventured.
No one could see it, no electronic instruments could register its presence. The cloak that shrouded it made it invisible to human eyes, impossible for radar to detect.
But Zana’s safe haven was still that half a mile away. Exhausted to the point of collapse, the thought of rowing that distance across tidal water brought the dread back.
She wasn’t sure she could make it.
In the glovebox she found a packet of crisps. Grateful for a tiny bit of sustenance, she ate them quickly. On the seat beside her, a notebook and pen sat amongst a couple of empty burger boxes and discarded food wrappers.
She scribbled a quick note to the van’s owner. I’m sorry I stole your van, I was desperate. It is undamaged, I have taken nothing from it except your packet of crisps. Thank you for helping me.
The dinghies were floating. It was time for the last leg.
The incessant, cold rain made her catch her breath as she left the van, pulling the hood as tight around her face as she could. Only one of the dinghies had oars, she slipped them into the rowlocks and untied the mooring rope.
Mercifully there was little wind, but as she headed into open water the gusts grew stronger. On the seat between her legs, the pendant pointed her to the ship. No shelter from the rain now, her gloveless hands were stiffening up as she rowed deeper into the estuary.
Less than halfway, and her arms were giving out. She closed her eyes, forced her heart to recall the images of Madeline, so precious, so bitter-sweet. She thought about what she must be feeling, running and all alone, believing the woman she loved was dead. Burdened with her grief, unaware of the truth.
She couldn’t bear to think of her suffering. It wasn’t right, couldn’t be.
It brought her strength, the desperate desire she needed to row harder. The pain in her arms was unbearable, the pain in her chest trying to break her in two. The wind was vicious there in the open, slamming ice-cold raindrops into her face, making her cry out in agony.
So close. The boat hit the mud, stuck fast. Not yet high tide. Ten metres from the ship, she couldn’t get any further. If she tried to mak
e it on foot, the soft mud would swallow her up.
Wait. She had to wait. Please, no. Her body was shutting down, the lashing rain and sheer exhaustion making movement impossible.
So close.
The boat rocked. Somehow she found movement, frozen hands clutching at the oars, dipping them back into the water. Closer still, she cried out in anguish as the pain tried to break her. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the rain as the bow of the dinghy clunked against the invisible hull of the ship.
Fingers that had seconds left before they set like stone fumbled with the pendant. She heard the hiss of the access hatch as it opened next to her. Four feet above her. Was there anything left, any shred of life to give her the strength to climb inside?
It couldn’t end. Not like this.
Madeline, I’m coming. Coming to you...
Dead legs stood precariously on the seat of the dinghy, stiff arms clinging to the sides of the hatch. One last step, and the journey would be over.
She fell onto the floor of the hold. Blinded by exhaustion, frozen by the rain, she stumbled the short distance to the bridge, felt for the switches that would turn on the lights and the heat. As the glow of beautiful, welcoming light filtered through her eyelids she fell to her knees. Unable to walk any longer, she crawled on all fours into the cabin that had been hers a year ago.
Consciousness was fading, she couldn’t make the bunk. A desperate hand clawed at the duvet, pulled it to the floor where she lay, covering her completely as her world turned black.
Almost dead, she’d made safe haven. But it would be many hours until she would regain the strength to go any further.
Chapter 75
I woke to the sound of raindrops hitting the tin roof of the shack, sounding like thunder. Reluctant arms eased back the bedcovers to unbury my head, and even more reluctant crusted-up eyes forced themselves to open.
