by T W Iain
Which sounded reasonable, except there was no outbreak. There were only the shades, those beasts that the company had created and then allowed to overtake the base.
They were informed that this was a special wing of quarantine, but Ryann didn’t see anything special in it. There was the bland communal room with the table and chairs and the stripped-down food-prep at one side, and the six individual rooms each with a bed, a toilet and shower room and nothing else. There was a reception room off the communal one, but the door to this remained sealed.
Apart from when they came for someone.
The first to go was Keelin. A cold, synthetic voice called her name and told the others to return to their individual rooms. Doors sealed with a click, and when they unlocked, Keelin had gone.
Ryann wanted to cry, but no tears came.
They took Ronat next, and after Ryann had slept—or tried to—three times they came for Piran. But he returned after what felt like a few hours. He was pale, and his usual spark had gone. He refused to talk, saying only that they had asked him too many questions.
They took Eljin for questioning too, then Farrell.
Ryann lost count of her sleeps, lost count of the number of bland, tasteless meals she endured. At some point clothing arrived, a large bag appearing on the table while they were all in their own rooms. There was a note, suggesting they remove the garments they had been wearing since Haven.
In truth, Ryann was happy to get clean, and she’d stayed under the shower until her skin wrinkled. The new clothing wasn’t what she would have chosen—a white tee-shirt with too-short sleeves and thin cotton trousers with hems that only just reached her ankles. There were no pockets, no adornments. The anonymous utilitarianism of the attire chilled Ryann.
They took the three men for questioning regularly, but none of them would talk about their experiences when they returned. They became withdrawn, avoiding eye contact and remaining in their rooms for longer periods. Once, she asked Eljin if they made him say anything false, and he bit his lip and turned away.
There were no visible bruises, but Ryann knew that emotional torture was more effective.
Then Piran was taken and never returned. And two sleeps ago, Eljin followed.
And now it was just Ryann and Farrell.
He sighed, and closed his eyes. Ryann saw the lines on his face, the way his cheeks sagged. There were no mirrors in this place, but Ryann knew she must look rough too. When she ran a hand through her hair it was dry, and her skin felt tight. When she looked at her arms they seemed too thin and too pale.
Wasting away in this prison.
“They asked me if I wanted to get out.”
At first, Ryann wasn’t sure she’d heard Farrell’s words, so quietly did he speak them. But he glanced up, catching her eye for no more than a second.
“Out?”
He nodded, his head back down. Both hands circled his beaker, gripping it tight. But they still trembled.
“Talked of a forest where I could be free.” He snorted. “Like I ever want to see a forest again. But they said I could go there, if I wanted.”
“What did you tell them?”
He shrugged. “Said anywhere was better than here.” And he turned away when he said that, the chair legs scraping on the floor.
Ryann felt her stomach drop. After all they’d experienced of Kaiahive, they couldn’t trust anything the company offered.
A buzzer sounded. Ryann swallowed, felt her shoulders drop. She looked to Farrell, who shook his head.
“Can’t they leave me be?” he muttered. “I…I can’t decide.”
She wanted to walk round the table, to put an arm around his shoulders and do what she could to comfort him. But the voice from the speaker wouldn’t allow that.
“Ryann Harris. Ryann Harris. Report to reception. All other residents please return to your quarters.”
She didn’t move. Farrell sat up, and his eyes met hers before darting away, too quick to tell what he was thinking.
“We repeat—Ryann Harris to reception. All others to your quarters.”
Ryann stood, holding the table as her legs shook. She nodded at Farrell.
“If they offer me a chance to leave,” she said, “I’ll tell them I’m not going alone.”
His face coloured, and he rose too. With eyes fixed on his feet, Farrell walked to his room and closed the door. Ryann heard the click of the lock.
There was a second click, and the door to reception cracked open.
When Ryann walked through, she expected smoke, or darkness. She expected a blast of cold air. But there was nothing except the two figures, both male, both in full hazard suits. Her eyes fell to their belts, where their hands hovered over their holstered lashes.
One of the men held out a third suit, complete with clear bulbous helmet. “Just a precaution,” he said, his voice monotone. “You need help?”
Ryann shook her head, and he tossed her the suit. She climbed into it, pulling the diagonal zip across her chest, the material cold against her bare arms. The fitted boots shrunk to tighten around her feet. She flexed her fingers in the gloves, then sealed the head unit. Her breathing grew loud, and she pulled up filters on her lenses to compensate for the slightly grimy faceplate.
The man produced a metal wand. “Arms out. We need to check.”
She did as he asked, her throat dry. It was hot in the suit. He waved the wand over her, told her to turn, and checked her back.
Then he stood. “Clear. You can turn.” She did. “This way.”
He walked off, and Ryann followed, with the silent man bringing up the rear, a couple of steps back.
She was out of quarantine. That should have meant something good, but dread filled Ryann.
They didn’t pass anyone in the corridors, and Ryann wondered if this was deliberate, if these corridors were temporarily sealed. She wondered how many people actually knew of her presence on Metis.
Neither guard talked, although from the way the one in front moved his head, Ryann assumed he was in communication with someone else. Occasionally, they passed through a door. Ryann saw no signs, nothing to indicate where she was.
Eventually the man in front stopped, by a door that looked like any other. He pressed the door screen, and it glowed green for a moment as the door opened. Behind the door was a small chamber, with soft lighting, a cushioned bench along one wall, and a door at the far end. Ryann followed the guard in.
“Sit,” he said. She did, and he left.
As soon as the door closed, the one in the far wall opened, and a figure appeared. His clothing was black, functional but smart, with creases along each jacket arm and trouser leg. He wore a lash at his right hip, but there was a bulge under the left side of his jacket, and Ryann knew he had a more deadly weapon.
He smiled. Then he spoke, and Ryann’s fists clenched, and fought the urge to strike the man.
“Harris. So good to see you again.”
Ryann took a breath, held it for five seconds. But her teeth ground together as she stared at the monster who had caused so many of her friends to die.
Murdoch smiled still, and Ryann felt sick.
The rich aroma of life-blood flooded over Cathal as he finished the last of the kin, ripping its flesh and drinking that wonderful coppery nectar. He sucked greedily, head spinning, and his strength grew.
The shade had fed recently, of course. Shaela would have wanted the best, at their full strength, and so she would have provided for them. Most likely they had fed from those within Haven, those between death and life.
But Shaela was no more. Cathal focused on her trace, already cold. Brice’s trace, in contrast, shone vividly with the rich blood pumping through his body, so much stronger than the second-hand blood from the wretch in Cathal’s grip.
He dropped the empty carcass, and movement in the forest grabbed his attention.
<He’s coming, isn’t he?> Car asked, stepping to Cathal’s side. His brothe
r’s breath stank of blood.
<Nyle? Yes.> He turned to the hold-out. <Brice. Go.>
There was a pause, then Brice answered. “I’m fed up of running.”
But what were his options? <Nyle won’t be alone,> Cathal told the lad. <He’ll have the infected with him. Even if Ap Owen gets here, we won’t defeat them all.>
“There’s always a chance.”
<Not after fighting Shaela. You need to recover. We’ll hold him up as long as we can. Just get out of here, Brice.>
“What if he attacks you?”
<He won’t.> That was from Car. <Not while he still uses us to find you.>
Cathal’s stomach clenched, because this was so true. As much as Cathal and his brothers protected Brice, they also highlighted his location, no matter how careful they were. Yet Cathal couldn’t stay away. Brice was…Brice was a part of his crew. It was Cathal’s job to watch out for him.
Brice took a long, deep breath. “Okay,” he said eventually. “Meet you…where it started. You know the one.” And then he dropped off the concrete roof and ran into the hold-out itself. A few seconds later he returned, grunting as he hoisted the pack onto his back. “And watch yourselves, both of you.”
Then he was gone, running into the musty undergrowth between the trees.
Cathal followed his trace for a while, and also noted where it circled the hold-out. Brice always did this, like a dog marking its territory. But for Brice this was safety. It confused Nyle and Shaela. It was near impossible to detect traces through concrete, so marking so many tracks made it unclear if Brice was within the hold-out or not.
He turned to Car. <We need to be ready.>
They moved in front of the hold-out door, and they waited.
It wasn’t long before Cathal detected Nyle, his entourage trailing after him. They moved leisurely, sauntering. Nyle was that sure of himself.
And there was another trace, parallel with them. Ap Owen.
<Took his time.> Car’s voice bubbled with anger, and Cathal wondered if he, too, was growing frustrated with Ap Owen’s distracted manner recently.
Then Nyle strode through the tunnel of branches, five of the infected following him and shades flanking him in the trees.
He had covered his body in strips of cloth, but wore a cloak over the top, long enough to brush the ground, long enough to sway as he walked. He held his head high, and swung his arms with arrogance.
He stopped, and turned his attention to the roof of the hold-out. There was a moment when his trace vibrated violently.
<So. You can’t face fighting me, so you take it out on her. I’d be interested to know how you tricked her.>
<No trick.> Cathal stood tall as he communicated, keeping his focus on Nyle but tracking the others in the background. They’d formed a half-circle behind Nyle now. <She set her dogs on us, and Brice took care of her.>
Nyle snorted. <All alone? I doubt that. Or maybe he had some weapon. But no matter. He might get lucky once—and I’m sure that stupid bitch got too cocky—but he’s no match for me and my proteges. So if you’d step aside, we’ll sort this little problem out once and for all.>
<He’s not here.>
<So he’s run off again.> The air shifted as Nyle shrugged. <No matter. We’ll find him eventually. After all, how long can you two protect him?>
<Three.>
<Sorry?>
<There are three of us.> Cathal jerked his head to the trees to his left, Nyle’s right. Ap Owen shuffled from behind a tree. <Good to see you, Ap Owen.>
Ap Owen stood still, then took a step forward.
<Something’s wrong,> Car whispered, tight to Cathal. And Cathal felt it too—the lack of response from their brother, his hesitancy. The way Nyle now held out one arm.
<Don’t be so sure of yourself.> There was a sickening grin in Nyle’s voice. Ap Owen took another step, then another.
And took his place beside Nyle.
Beside Cathal, Car shifted. Cathal raised an arm, across his brother’s body. <Keep calm.> The words were for himself, too, as his own anger rose. His fingers curled into a fist, claws digging into his palms.
He cursed himself for being so blind. Shaela had tracked Brice so quickly because she had inside information. And Nyle acted nonchalant because he knew that he now faced fewer opponents.
<Why?> There was so much more Cathal wanted to ask—no, demand—but he bit his tongue, kept to a single word.
Ap Owen shrugged. <Because it makes sense. It’s the right thing to do.> But he stumbled over the words.
<No. You can’t believe that, Ap Owen. You know what goes on in Haven,> and Cathal shuddered at the thought of those rooms he’d seen, of the half-alive bodies, of the never-healing wounds. <You can’t want to be a part of that.>
Nyle snorted a laugh, that sickening smugness flowing off him like bad body odour. Cathal forced himself to focus on Ap Owen. He needed to keep control.
<And what about Brice? We swore to protect him.>
Nyle spat out a <Hah!> and Car pushed against Cathal’s arm.
<N…no,> Ap Owen stammered. <You swore. I went along with it. Because…because you convinced me. But now, everything’s changed. We can’t fight the inevitable.>
Inevitable? <You think the way Nyle rules is the future? You can’t imagine a better alternative? You really want to work for him? Come on, Ap Owen! Whatever he’s promised you, you know he’d renege on it eventually. You know he only thinks of himself. Just look at those pathetic things fawning behind him. You’re better than them. You’re better than this!>
Nyle’s followers shuffled, and they growled menacingly. But it didn’t bother him, because this hatred didn’t come from them. Not really. It was all from Nyle, from the poison he’d spoken the moment they woke.
<And what can you offer him, Cathal? What kind of future would he have with you? The chance to keep running? A diet of those rancid bears and cold fast-food blood? And all for the sake of one pathetic human.>
<Who managed to kill Shaela!> That was from Car, and once again Cathal held him back.
Nyle snorted again. <He did, didn’t he? I’m almost impressed. But she was headstrong. If she’d waited, could your precious baby have defeated three, or even two? Seriously, I doubt it. And sooner or later, we will find him.>
<Maybe.> Cathal pushed aside the doubts screaming through his mind. <But when that happens, we’ll be ready. You might think you’re stronger, but only because you hide behind others. He’s survived for months. Nothing’s inevitable.>
This time, Nyle laughed. But Cathal, turned his attention back to Ap Owen. His brother shuffled on the spot. Cathal held out a hand. <Reconsider. Do what’s right.>
Ap Owen shuffled again. <No. And this is right.>
And maybe this was inevitable—that Ap Owen would betray them, leaving Cathal and Car alone.
<Then we’re done here.> With his stomach clenching, Cathal grasped Car’s shoulder, pulling his brother round. They both turned away.
<You turn your back on your enemy?> Nyle’s tones were mocking, but Cathal refused to be goaded. <You realise I could strike you down, don’t you? Your spine is only so wide. There are ways to reach the internal organs from the back just as easily as from the front.>
Cathal stopped, but he didn’t turn. He took a breath, calming himself. <You track one person, and you use an army. You threaten me rather than act. But I am no coward. I will continue to do what I believe is right. And you have no power over me, Nyle Patera.>
He felt his brother bristle at the use of his full name, and Cathal knew it reminded him of who he had once been—a pilot, a part of a crew, just another worker for the company. He was no different to Cathal, or Car, or any of those who were now
dead.
Cathal turned to Car, sussed tight, putting as much strength into the words as he could muster. <We leave.> And he walked off, Car a couple of steps behind.
There was no way he could side with Nyle, no way he could betray Brice. The lad was the last of his crew. He was the last human around, and Cathal would protect him.
Even if Ap Owen was right about one thing.
There was no way to stop the inevitable.
This might have been any evening. Another hold-out roof, another part of the forest. Another meeting with Cathal.
But Brice knew this was different. This was—almost—the place where it all started.
“Still can’t believe he let you walk without a fight.” Brice took a sip from his flask, savouring the cool water.
<Like Car said, he needs us to track you. It’s not like he can use Ap Owen for that any more.>
Brice was surprised at the calmness in Cathal’s voice. It was like he’d accepted what had happened, like it didn’t bother him. But Brice could feel Cathal’s trace, and it was vibrant and angry, colours clashing, emotions fighting.
Brice looked to the pad by this hold-out, the one where Nyle had landed the Proteus, where Ryann and Keelin had dragged Cathal up the slope. And then, on that Proteus, Brice had killed his first shade. He’d stabbed a knife into its neck. Even though Ryann finished it off with torches burning sol, Brice had been the one to make the fatal cut.
The first of many. But not the first shade he’d encountered. And not the first shade to exist.
“What do you intend to do now?”
<What we always do. Warn you when others are close. Keep ourselves alive.>
His voice was a monotone.
“That’s it?”
<Is there anything else?>
Brice tried to remember the last time he’d slept through a night. He couldn’t even recall the last time he’d had more than a couple of hours sleep at a time. The last few months had been nothing but a half-awake game of cat and mouse. He hadn’t been living, but surviving.
“I can’t do this any more,” he said. A cool breeze brushed over Brice’s face, and he shivered.
