His fingers curled into the fabric of the private’s fatigues, and he clung there like an infant.
‘I’ve called the paramedics. They are on the way to get you. They’ll look after you, ok? They’ll take care of you. I have to go now but I’m gonna be right there if you need me. You just call my name, ok? It’s Henning. You shout for Henning and I’ll be there, ok.’ He smiled and patted Aaro gently, warmly, on the back, before turning to the rail and picking up a rifle.
Aaro watched as he did and thought of Emilie, and of Lila. He fell back and looked up into the night sky above, searching for silence. For peace.
He needed to process. He needed to grieve. He needed to sleep. And then, in a single blink, he did.
THIRTY-EIGHT
PLAYING GOD
2107 AD
Gertlinger didn’t bother knocking before he entered the same wooden-doored office that he’d first stepped through some forty-six years earlier.
‘Ah, Florian,’ McPherson said wistfully, nodding to an old friend from his place at the window. McPherson was a little older than Gertlinger, but not by much.
They were both old men now, Gertlinger was eighty-seven, and McPherson eighty-nine.
McPherson’s hand shook and the expensive cognac in his glass swilled gently.
‘I thought I’d call in before I headed off,’ Gertlinger said. ‘My flight leaves in a few hours. Have you decided where to go yet?’ he asked concernedly, steadying himself on the desk.
‘No, not yet,’ McPherson replied, staring into his glass. ‘I was thinking of staying here. I don’t much feel like running. I’m too old to run.’
‘But if you don’t go, you’ll die,’ Gertlinger said, a tinge of pain in his voice. He’d known McPherson for more than half his life now.
McPherson sighed. ‘You know, I feel like I deserve to. Look around.’ He gestured through the window to the streets below. They were empty. Military jeeps rolled down them slowly with soldiers mounted on guns hanging out of the roofs. Posters were plastered up in every street enforcing curfews and martial law. Following the announcement of the imminent danger the Varas posed, the entire United States had plunged into turmoil. The National Guard had been called in to reinforce the police, but people were rioting, looting, and mostly fleeing. Escaping the cities into the countryside. The number of reported deaths from Varas had risen accordingly. They were hiding out in the wilderness and the city goers were venturing into their territory now. Easy prey, away from their comfort zone.
People had been instructed to stay indoors — to keep their houses locked and to not go out at night. They were all waiting for an end that was coming quickly. The airports had been shut down. No incoming or outgoing commercial flights. The borders had been closed. Families had been stranded and cut off — and all for no real reason. There was no stopping it. Restricting movement and locking everyone in was just making it easier for the monsters to move around undetected.
Gertlinger had pulled strings with McPherson’s help and had managed to charter a private plane to Europe along with a few select celebrities and other VIPs who’d bribed their way out of the country, heading for islands as far offshore as they could. Europe and Asia were still under the illusion that the monsters wouldn’t spread to them, but it was only a matter of time before they realised.
McPherson sighed again. ‘We caused this. It’s our fault. I can’t speak for you but I deserve to be here, to reap what I’ve sown.’
Gertlinger swallowed. ‘We could never have known. Now please, come with me. I’m going home. We can survive this in peace. I hated Angela for what she did to the house, all the shutters and walls, but I’m thanking my lucky stars for them now. It’s safe there. We’ll be safe,’ he pleaded.
McPherson sneered, half drunk. He turned and hurled his glass into the wall. It shattered, exploding into tiny fragments, leaving a splatter of thousand-dollar cognac on the oak panelling. ‘Nowhere is safe. Nothing will survive this. Everyone will die.’
‘I don’t believe that.’
‘Then you’re a fool!’
‘Come with me, please.’
‘No. Run if you want, but you won’t get far. There’s no stopping this. I’m going to stay here and face the things that I’ve done. I owe it to them — to everyone out there whose blood is on my hands.’
‘Their blood is on mine as well. You don’t think I feel the guilt too? The remorse? I feel it more than you, but I don’t want to die, not just yet. So please, come with me.’
‘Just go. Get out. Run away like a coward,’ he spat, the cognac taking true hold. Gertlinger guessed it wasn’t his first, or fifth.
‘Well then.’ Gertlinger hung his head and forced down the lump that had formed in his throat. ‘I guess this is goodbye, old friend.’
‘I guess so,’ McPherson said croakily, staring at Gertlinger with glazed eyes.
Gertlinger extended a hand. ‘I hope that you find what you’re looking for here, and that when the end comes, you don’t regret not coming with me.’
‘I won’t. I’m deserving of this. You are too.’
Gertlinger half-smiled and nodded, knowing that leaving him here was condemning him to death. But McPherson’s mind was made up. ‘If you change your mind — the offer stands, indefinitely.’
He left his hand extended for a few more seconds before he retracted it, unshaken.
Almost fifty years of friendship and as Gertlinger walked through the door, he knew he’d never see McPherson again — and they’d parted ways without even a simple embrace or exchange of goodbyes.
A tear formed in Gertlinger’s eye as he tried to picture McPherson in a better light, not drunk and wishing death upon them both. But for the life of him, he couldn’t.
He knew McPherson was right, he just didn’t have the heart to admit it to himself that he was almost single-handedly responsible for the end of the world.
Shit. Now he needed a drink.
He checked his watch. His plane was leaving in an hour and a half. There was a roadside bar was just across the way from the little airfield that he’d be departing from.
It would do.
He was just draining his third whiskey when his phone rang.
He reached for it. “Unknown Caller”, the screen read. His brow furrowed as he answered.
‘Hello?’ he said gruffly.
The line crackled a little as though the signal was poor.
‘Hello?’ he said again.
‘H— Hello?’ said a shaky voice in reply.
‘Who is this?’ Gertlinger demanded, trying to focus his eyes.
‘Is this… Florian Gertlinger?’ the voice asked quietly.
‘Yes, who is this?’ Gertlinger said, more abruptly now.
‘It’s me, dad — it’s Max.’
There was a silence while Gertlinger processed. The Scotch was slowing his brain.
‘Max?’ he stammered. ‘Is it really you? How can… How…’
‘Yeah, dad, it’s me… I know it’s been a while—’
‘Twenty-four years,’ Gertlinger muttered.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’ Gertlinger asked, his voice cracking.
‘For not being there. You’re my father, and—’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you called.’ Gertlinger broke into a smile. He thought this day would never come.
‘Look, I don’t know what to do. I didn’t know who else to call…’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s all over the news. Those things that escaped when the shuttle crash landed. They’re saying that they don’t know where they are, that they are spreading — but that it’s ok, it’s under control, and they aren’t dangerous. But… But I don’t believe it.’
‘You shouldn’t,’ Gertlinger said, cupping his hand to his mouth and lowering his voice.
‘I remember mom saying, when I was younger, how dangerous they were and… and… I thought you’d know better than anyone.’
Gertlinger chuckled once, abjectly. Angela would never stop undermining him to his son, even now. He sighed. ‘Won’t she ever give me a break? I can’t believe she isn’t dead yet.’ He laughed a little. The whisky was strong.
There was silence on the line and then Max cleared his throat. ‘Actually, she is… She died last year. She gave me this number in case I ever wanted to get in contact with you.’
‘She’s… dead? I had no idea,’ Gertlinger muttered, a sadness taking hold of him suddenly.
‘Anyways, Dad…’ The word sounded odd from his mouth, unnatural even, but he continued. ‘I’m still in Berlin. I’m scared. I’m scared for my family.’
‘Your family?’ Gertlinger said, imagining his son all grown up, a tear in his eye. He couldn’t picture him as anything other than a little boy.
‘They’re planning to close the borders, shut the airports as a precaution, to stop people panicking. There’s no news coming out of the US. No one knows what’s going on. What do I do dad? Is it safe here?’
Gertlinger was choked. ‘No, it’s not safe there. It’s not safe anywhere.’
‘Shit,’ Max swore. ‘Where do we go?’
Gertlinger paused, at a crossroad. He thought for a second before the answer became clear. ‘Go to Geneva.’
‘Geneva?’
‘The airports and ports will all be closed to every island in the world by now. Everyone will flock to them but they won’t let them in. You’ll just get trapped in a holding camp or something if you try. And then, you’ll never leave. Get in the car and head for Switzerland. I’m about to board a plane there myself. I still own the house in the hills. It’s fortified. We’ll be safe there’
’Are you sure? My family—’
‘You’re my family,’ Gertlinger cut in. ‘You always were and you always will be. I won’t let anything happen to you.’ He checked his watch. ‘Shit, I’m late for my flight. Send me your number. I’ll call you when I land. Start packing, leave as soon as you can. And Max?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I love you. I always have and I never stopped. You know that right?’
‘Yeah, I know. I’ll wait for your call. And thanks, I know you could have hung up once you knew it was me… So thanks.’
A tear rolled down his cheek and he broke into a smile. ‘I’ll see you soon, Max.’
And that was it. The line clicked off. Gertlinger sat, paralysed for a minute before he mustered the strength to stand and head for the airfield.
THIRTY-NINE
THE VEIL
2122 AD
‘Sorina…’ Aaro croaked into his comm. His throat was raw from the dust and his eyes stung. He could taste blood in his mouth and he could see it pooling in his mask.
‘Hello?’ came a shaky reply. ‘Aaro? Is that you?’
‘Sorina?’ he said, aware that his voice was hoarse in his ears. He bounced from wall to wall as he made his way through the sub.
‘No, it’s Sabina…’ sobbed the voice.
‘Sabina? What’s going on, are you ok?’
She coughed. ‘No, I’m not…’ She sounded like she was in pain, her voice strained. ‘They… They shot me. Bjork shot me… Is Sam with you?’ She was scared, her breathing fast. ‘Ek took him before Bjork blindsided me. Is he there? Is he ok?’
‘No, he’s…’ Aaro paused for a second. ‘I don’t know where he is.’ He lied. He knew he was dead. There was no other reason he wouldn’t be on comms. ‘I haven’t seen him,’ Aaro said quickly. ‘Where are you?’ He could barely stay upright. He was light-headed now and one of his eyes had swollen shut. Maybe one of those cracks he heard was his cheek or nose breaking and not Berg’s. He tried to draw air through his nose. He couldn’t. He’d definitely broken his nose. His whole face was throbbing painfully.
‘I’m in the Rover. We put extra masks in the cab, just in case. Ek said our comms weren’t working. He got Sam to open the door and then he dragged him out of the cab, the next thing I know, Bjork’s at my door. That fucker shot me,’ she spat. ‘I think I’m ok. But I can’t move. Find Sam, Aaro. please.’ He listened to her breath tighten as he stumbled. There was no way she was ok. She was just tougher than Bjork thought.
‘Sorina?’ he called softly into the ether. There was no reply.
He made it back to the core room and found Nils where he’d left him. He was pinned under the core, a pool of blood around him. The weight had smashed his legs to pulp and he’d bled out.
He was dead.
Aaro reached down and pulled Nils’ mask off with his left hand. He clutched it in his shaking fingers as he stumbled towards the hatch. His was smeared with blood on the outside and filled with it on the inside. He dragged it off his face with his maimed right hand, shuddering with pain as it slid over his broken nose. He dragged his sleeve across his head to mop some of the blood off before he pressed Nils’ mask on in place of the old one. It was slightly better.
Ahead, he could see the Fido. The port was quiet.
On the gangplank, one body lay face down, blood running into the water below, speckling the thin sheet of broken ice red. It was Ek, or Bjork, he couldn’t remember which he’d shot first and which had fallen. There was a smear of blood where the other had rolled into the bay, but he couldn’t see the body. It was trapped under the ice. Both were dead, and that was the main thing.
He staggered down onto the jetty and circled the Fido. Thea was there, on her knees, motionless. Her mask lay at her side, her fingers curled against the cab’s door, already stiff. She was dead too. The dust and cold had gotten her. A few minutes exposed was all it took. She’d taken her mask off in a panic and that was it.
Aaro walked towards the body and checked for a pulse just in case.
She was gone.
He looked up now, into the cab and sighed with relief. Alva and Robin were there, safe. They sat, cradling each other, eyes closed, trying to comfort one another.
‘Robin, Alva?’ Aaro called into the mic. ‘Hello?’
They didn’t respond. Aaro knocked on the window and they both jolted in surprise. Aaro motioned to his mask and Robin leant forward, a grave look in his eyes, and flicked a switch on the dash.
The comm crackled in Aaro’s ear and then Robin spoke. ‘Emmerson, I’m sorry, we couldn’t let her in. We didn’t have masks, or suits. We’d both die. I had to turn off the mic, we couldn’t listen to her scream any more. I’m sorry,’ he cried. Alva had gone into shock. She sat still, staring blankly out of the window.
‘It’s ok,’ Aaro said, leaning on the truck and leaving bloody handprints. ‘It’s over now. They’re all dead.’ He sighed painfully.
‘Who? Who else is dead?’
‘Ek, Bjork, Strom, Berg, Nils, Thea… I don’t know about Sorina, or Sam yet, but Sabina’s ok — Bjork shot her but she’s alive, she’s in the Rover. I’m going to head there now.’
‘Bjork shot her? Why?’ Robin asked, pressing himself to the glass.
‘Self-preservation. We didn’t have enough supplies to all get home. They were going to re-establish the hierarchy.’
‘My god… And they’re all dead?’
‘Yeah, we’re safe.’ Aaro nodded to reassure them. It didn’t look like it worked. ‘I’m going to find the others. Stay here, I’ll be back.’ Aaro gave him a thumbs up and Robin returned it awkwardly.
Aaro turned and looked down the jetty towards the Rover in the distance. He sighed and took off, looking down, putting one foot in front of the other.
It was an age before he got there, but eventually, he felt his good hand hit the cold metal of the trailer. He smiled in relief and approached the cab. He opened the door and leaned over Sabina. She was still and cold but she was breathing. She’d been shot in the stomach, above the liver as far as he could tell, but from what he could see it’d gone straight through and missed everything important. If it hadn’t, she’d be dead already. Her jeans and shirt were soaked in blood, and she clutched at her gut. Aaro grabbed her arm and her eyelids flickered
. ‘Sab?’
She grumbled quietly.
With a grunt he hauled her off the seat and onto the ground, bracing her weight on his shoulder. She stumbled and dragged her heels but he managed to walk her, half conscious to the tailgate. He hit the button and it squealed to life, lowering itself to accept them.
Aaro breathed through the pain as the ramp hit the floor. He looked up and froze. ‘Sorina.’
She was sitting in the rear section, curled up in the corner with her knees to her chest.
He walked Sabina in and laid her on the floor against the wall, flipping the switch. The ramp began to close. Next to it was a filtration pump. The back had filled with dust by now and had to be ventilated. He hit the button and it whirred to life, sucking the bad air out and pumping clean back in.
Aaro fell at Sorina’s feet and reached out for her. She recoiled at his touch but said nothing. ‘Sorina?’ he whispered.
She looked at him through her mask with tearful eyes.
An upbeat ding sounded behind him, signalling the air quality was high enough to breathe and he ripped his mask off. Sabina did the same at his side, swearing and clutching at her stomach.
‘Sorina. Are you ok?’ Aaro coughed, blood dripping from his lips.
She shook her head.
Aaro sighed and wobbled on his knees. ‘Sorina, I need you. We need you. Sabina’s been shot. I can barely stand — we need your help. Please,’ he pleaded, sagging sideways and rolling onto his back.
He lay there quietly, staring up at the ceiling. His right hand was hurt, probably a broken knuckle or two, or a finger, or two, or both. His nose was badly smashed and his neck was still aching from where Berg had hit him. He smeared more blood across his face with the back of his hand and coughed again. All he could taste was metal. The bitter taste of blood filled his mouth and nose. But then, Sorina appeared over him, still tearful and silent, but there all the same.
She helped Sabina up and walked her into the other section. Aaro listened as she laid her on the bed and fetched the first aid kit. He heard Sabina yowl in pain as Sorina tended to her, cleaning the wound, stitching her up — he wasn’t sure which. Cries of pain filled the trailer but he couldn’t do anything about it. His throat was raw, his lungs tired. He just lay there, drowning in the safety of his position, not counting down to death any more. For the moment at least.
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