All or Nothing (30 page)

Kieran was taken aback at the strange sight. Train stations were normally brimming with life and people, whereas this one was empty and deserted. He knew he wouldn’t forget this eerie sight in a hurry. He focused on the end of the other platforms. He realised the control room was likely to be on the left hand platform. He noticed a small booth surrounded by misted glass. It said OFFICE on the door, picked out in clean white letters. “There, Heather,” Kieran told her. “We need to go over there.”

Kieran turned around to find that Heather was standing stock still a short distance away, with her back to him.  He approached her, but as he got closer, he realised she was staring at something on the platform.

They had come about a third of the way along. And where they'd been standing, mere moments before, stood a clone, looking stoical, with his arms held at hip level. He was wearing a white robe which moved slowly in the minimal wind. His arms were muscular and flexed. His head was tilted forward and he was staring at them.

“Shit,” Kieran said quietly. “Maybe we can move around him.”

Heather shook her head. “I doubt it. Look.” Heather pointed to the left-hand platform, which also had an entrance, identical to the one they had just emerged from. On the left hand platform stood several clones, all stock still, hunched and staring. It was clear they had emerged from the entrance within the last few moments. Heather looked across to the right-hand side. She pointed to the right. “And look there.”

The same scene greeted them. Several more clones were standing there, muscles flexed, all staring across at them. Kieran began to count them. He was looking towards the entrance of the central platform. Clones were walking onto the platform now, behind the solitary figure who already stood there.

“I count thirty-four, so far,” Kieran muttered. “Where are they coming from?”

Heather gulped. “More importantly, why are they here? We can take down one or two, maybe three. But we haven’t got a chance against an army of them. How did they know we’re here?”

“Do you think something fixed to the door tipped them off?”

Heather nodded. It was a possibility. “Maybe we can run over the tracks to the control room? We would be sitting ducks there, though. At the moment, we have a vast space to make use of. Right now, quite how we do so is beyond me. It’s best not to get cornered.”

Kieran and Heather stood their ground. All three platforms were blocked by clones. More were joining the throng. Kieran could see them bundling in behind each other. A solid force of men.

“Kieran,” Heather spoke urgently. “Maybe we can get onto the bridge. If we're up higher, it would be an advantage. Plus if they come after us, they’d get crushed together in a bottleneck on the narrow pathway.”

Kieran agreed that it was a good idea: so far the only one they had. They just
had
to get to the stairs.

But within seconds, that idea was dashed. In unison, the clones all flexed their neck muscles, their heads leaning to the right in one fluent coordinated movement.

“Oh shit. This looks familiar. Heather, get ready. . .”

The clones moved their heads to an upright position.

They started to walk. An entire army was headed their way.

Heather and Kieran were surrounded.

***

Welcome to Phase Four.

Delta was smiling, for two good reasons.

First, his plan had come to fruition: Phase Four was in place, and all he had to do was give the order. He had consumed more than his fair share of alcohol this evening, but his senses were tuned, sharp, and brazen. He was ready to go. In mere moments, his plan would be put into action, his fate in The Game decided.

And then he found out that he was the
only
Chronicle left in the game. He had already seen his fellow Chronicles come and go. The last one, his only competition, had been killed ‘in-game’. He had faced off against his Choice and paid the ultimate price. Delta was now the only person left in charge.

Which meant he'd won.

Regardless of what transpired in the future, no matter what happened, he was the winner. Delta was now a proud member of The Company. He was in the unique position of being able to do anything he wanted. Never had a Chronicle been given this opportunity before. He could break the rules if he so desired. He didn’t want to do so, but having the choice was a feeling that he would relish for his final moments in The Game.

Hence Phase Four. It would be the ultimate finale. A hundred clones bearing down on his Choices all at once. After all, if he was going to face his Choices, he wouldn’t make the same mistake as Charlie had. No, he would go into The Game, announce his win, and then kill his Choices. Kill them slowly, and without remorse. He didn’t need any psychotic war veterans or Nazi skinheads or some racist murderer to help him. No, he just needed to be there. After all, once he presented himself to the Choices, their reaction alone would be worthy of winning The Game. Oh, how he would enjoy
that
part of it!

He picked up his phone and dialled. After a moment, he got an answer. “Hello?…Yep, it’s Delta. I want to go into The Game. . . Yes, I know it isn’t Phase Five, I'm aware of that, but no one is left, so I can do what I want. . . I want to be the first Chronicle to end The Game
before
Phase Five. . . What are my reasons? Trust me, when you see what I’m going to do, you will
love
the results. Prepare to get the biggest ratings in your history. Yes, I want in. . . No, I don’t need any weapons. . . Thank you. Trust me, you will not regret it. . . Two million? Done.”

Delta was about to hang up, then he remembered something and quickly spoke into the receiver again. “Oh yes, sorry, hello? Yes, sorry, could you give your boss one more message for me? A hint, so to speak. Yes. Could you tell him that Mr. Mason said hello? Thank you.”

Delta turned to the screen. The clones were ready. He tapped his keyboard and instantly the clones began to move in. A smile crept across Delta’s face. Heather Mason and Kieran Haas were standing together, surrounded.

“Mr. Mason,” he said to himself. “The time has come for you to be reunited with your daughter.”

THIRTY-SIX

Kathryn counted up to two minutes in her head.

Slow, observant minutes.

Shrouded in shadow, Kathryn stood in the alleyway that divided both her doppelganger office block and the building parallel to it. Looking up, she could see the walkway between the buildings, nearly hidden by the darkness above. The alleyway itself was empty, but for a green dumpster positioned against one wall. The shadows allowed Kathryn to approach the road in complete stealth. She stood at the entrance to the street, watching. She rubbed the back of her head tenderly. It still hurt from the altercation earlier.

Three minutes.

The street was quiet. Too quiet for Kathryn’s liking. If the past hours had taught her anything, it was to expect the unexpected. She thought back to the night’s previous events. She wondered if the men would ever have known she was there if she had remained hidden. As if to answer her own question she realised that the Chronicle, whoever he was, would have informed them of her whereabouts. Regardless of her actions, Kathryn believed that she would have been discovered eventually. It was only a matter of time.

Four minutes.

She peeked out from the alleyway. Looking to her right, Kathryn could see the jeep. It was still parked on top of the man’s body. The vehicle was angled, as if it had mounted the curb in haphazard fashion. Several trees that lined the outside of the building were swaying in a mild breeze.

Across the road was a nondescript building, its exterior redolent of age and grace. She fancied that it must have been modelled on a library or a police station. The windows were dark and gloomy, reminding her of a church. A solitary vehicle stood in its parking lot, burned out and blackened. Such buildings always seemed to have elegance. How could all this be copied? Or was it just the interiors that were facsimiles of the originals? She had been lucky to find that the fire escapes were laid out in a similar way.

Five minutes.

Kathryn looked left. Directly opposite was the theatre. It illuminated the street in a pink hue that was reflected upwards from the wet tarmac. Kathryn tried to remember when it had last rained, but couldn’t recall.

The front entrance of the theatre looked to be deserted. The doors were open, one of them hanging off its hinges. As before, the display cabinets, usually reserved for upcoming attraction posters, were shattered and adorned with graffiti. Kathryn noted that the surroundings did not appear to have changed. It seemed that the only activity occurring in this place was that of her and her former pursuers.

Looking further to the left, Kathryn saw the road she needed to get to. It wasn’t too far away, and the road was flanked by a brick wall which curved off into the blackness. She realised that the road was actually skirting the theatre itself and curving round a corner. Possibly leading to more parking spaces.

Six minutes.

Kathryn breathed deeply. She had a plan in mind. Iain had told her about the road but she hadn’t been given any specific details. All she knew was that the road led to her escape, and was her only chance of freedom. She looked up, checking the buildings, the trees, the lampposts and the phone lines that ran across the skyline.

Kathryn wondered where the cameras were for The Game: she assumed they were everywhere. Not that they mattered now that the Chronicle was out of action. She wondered if anyone was still watching what was happening. Iain had mentioned numbered phases of The Game, and she hoped that now, the live action was in the past.

After seven minutes, Kathryn moved from the shadows into the street. She expected a sudden barrage of gunfire or noise but nothing happened, and she was greeted by silence. The atmosphere was awe-inspiring in a way. Kathryn decided to be careful anyway, just in case there was something unexpected.

She edged towards the bushes. She was on an outcrop of grass, the building’s front garden. The bushes lined the grass, serving as a makeshift fence. Kathryn ducked down behind them and observed the scene, reflecting that for seven minutes, nothing had moved. It remained that way. She counted off ten more seconds in her head and moved forward.

The bushes rustled as she pushed through them and emerged on the slick concrete. To the right, the path she was on stretched back the way she had come. Left, it followed the road before her. As she had noticed before, the road broke into a cross section, four roads angled off to various sections of town. She could just make out shadows of buildings far away. One road branched right and, assuming her geography was correct, must have run parallel to the road Iain had mentioned.

Or it could be the same road. She decided to find out.

Kathryn ran across the street, and ducked behind the small wall opposite the entrance. She looked to left and right and hopped over it. Within seconds, she was outside the theatre. A strong smell of urine and alcohol filled the air. Kathryn gagged, placing her arm against her mouth. She unwittingly discovered its source, finding that one of the doorways had become a toilet for anyone who wanted to use it. Pools of urine soaked the steps outside the door, and the concrete wall was soaked and stained with other bodily fluids. Some were obvious, others less so, and a few were probably best left unidentified.

A shrine of beer cans stood on the ground, and it seemed that someone had sprayed them liberally with urine. Empty bottles and cans littered the lobby beyond the doorway. A solitary display cabinet flickered inside the building.

Kathryn listened for any noise.

Silence.

Kathryn kept to the wall and scooted along the front wall of the theatre, finally reaching the edge of the building. Looking forward, she now knew the layout. The theatre had its own private thoroughfare which looped around the building, and this was adjacent to the crossroads. It looked as if the theatre’s private road served to keep vehicles away from the main road, but could also be used for protecting the privacy of VIP visitors to the theatre; Kathryn remembered seeing a similar private approach road in the past.

The crossroads stood opposite, lit up by traffic lights which, bizarrely for a deserted road, were working. No cars shot through, no youngsters were showing off behind the wheel. The street itself was isolated and quiet.

She rounded the edge of the wall. The road continued straight off the loop and took her past three more old buildings. One looked to be virtually made of glass, while the other two contained none. The third building was labelled MUSEUM. She couldn’t see any entrance. Kathryn discovered a side road that angled off to a car park. The museum entrance appeared to be down there, flanked by two huge lion statues.

She ignored the road and continued on.

The straight path came to an end after a few more feet, dipping onto another road. This one created a T shape where the two roads merged. The wall that followed the road from the theatre was still there but stopped at the T. From this point onwards, there would be no walls or shadows to protect her.

The road ahead was brightly lit by various street lamps and shop fronts. Shadows danced off the bus stops and bike holders and metal fences that lined the street. A zebra crossing stood alone, its orange bulbs blinking continuously in the quietness. A huge building labelled HABITAT stood proud in the centre of a street that appeared to continue for many miles. From this angle, Kathryn saw another T-junction which linked to the road that Iain had mentioned.

She peered around the edge of the building, along to the right of the T. In the distance she could see the street curve off into darkness. An ASK restaurant, beautifully crafted in glass and steel, stood on a corner. Its red letters stood stark against the darkness. The nearby street lamp cast an elegant glow onto the glass. In another world, this place would have been beautiful to explore.

Kathryn turned back to the road. It ran across the front of the HABITAT building. At this point, the street was immensely bright. She stepped onto the road and moved across to a building that had thick red double doors. She realised it was some kind of a nightclub. This was the back entrance, the one used to eject unwelcome customers. Kathryn concluded that the entrance was likely to be on the road opposite HABITAT. She moved towards the street and investigated.

The road continued straight and followed a gentle bend. The black tarmac was pristine and slick in the street lamps’ glow. The footpaths were made of red brick. An HSBC bank with its interior lights on stood on a corner. Kathryn could see a card reader on the door; there was an all-night ATM machine. A photography shop was its neighbour, with a Thomas Cook travel agents standing next to that. The road was immaculate and clean, and very well maintained, with a small speed bump. No vehicles at all were present. A small residential street ran between the bank and HABITAT.

Kathryn crossed the road, guessing that the bank would provide her some cover whilst she checked out the rest of the street. Crossing back again, she noticed the nightclub entrance. The sign outside read ‘The Playhouse’. From its appearance, Kathryn guessed that it was an old building that had been restored. Grand steps led up to glass and bronze doors. The darkness beyond indicated that the club was not open for business. A butcher’s shop stood next to it, with a sign proclaiming ‘50% off prices’ in its empty window.

She looked along the street. A few metres down, the road opened up into a shopping plaza. The street widened as it progressed, and arched off behind the buildings that were in front of her. However, some of the shops were in view: NEXT, River Island, McDonalds and a Costa. All of the shops’ signs were lit up, but the stores were all closed. Where the shopping plaza branched off behind the buildings, Kathryn could make out an electronic map, a couple of benches and an overflowing dustbin.

In other words, it was just a standard high street experience.

Kathryn looked at the shops. In no particular order, she decided that she fancied a cheeseburger, a coffee and a nice new set of clothes.

Her stomach rumbled.

And a massage wouldn’t go amiss either.

Nor would a shower.

Kathryn pushed on the HSBC bank door. It didn’t budge. She checked the card reader and it was intact, so no damage had been done. She wondered if Sputnik and company had actually made it down here. Had they come this far down the street? Or had they been positioned further back, for her benefit?

For that matter, if she had been part of The Game, surely they wouldn’t have replicated this whole street?

Kathryn looked up into the night sky. Were they stars up there?

It suddenly dawned on Kathryn that this
was
a real street. Everything she was seeing now was real. Since this was The Game, something she was certain of, then the organisers had cordoned off a street in some suitable town just for her benefit. Which meant that only one building had been internally renovated to match her own office. Meaning that the other buildings were very real.

Yet that couldn’t be the case. No one could have that kind of power to close an entire street, let alone an entire town. Surely if the town was inhabited, she reasoned, there would have to be some background noise: a baby crying, people singing after a night out, a car honking its horn. There would have to be normal human noises. Such sounds were absent.

In a way it was impressive. Very impressive. The scope of the idea was both phenomenal and terrifying at the same time. If Iain was correct, and all that was happening to her was occurring in secret, then some very powerful people were responsible for keeping everything under wraps.

Kathryn felt a smile tug at her lips, she couldn’t help it.
It’s unbelievable.

At that moment, Kathryn knew she had to escape. This mayhem couldn’t be allowed to continue. What she had witnessed was probably just a small part of the overall picture. People had died, some innocent, some unknowing. Who knew how many had died in the entire history of all The Game competitions over the years? The sheer thought of it was incomprehensible.

Kathryn moved into the street. She started to cross the road, heading for the opposite side, stepping up onto the red bricked pavement.

And then she saw the boy.

Well, he was more of a teenager. He was sitting on a bench, acting in a very ‘teenage’ way. His rump was on the back of the seat, his feet where his backside should have been, and he was playing with a green yo-yo. It dropped from his fingers, down, then up, in the toy’s standard sequence of movement.

The boy had long black hair which covered his face. He was looking downwards, absorbed in what he was doing. He was dressed all in black, wearing baggy clothes, his trench coat crumpled underneath him. He hadn’t seen Kathryn. She stood frozen to the spot.

She slowly moved to the wall beside her.

And then the teenager looked up. He stared at Kathryn in silence.

Kathryn didn’t move.

“Hello.”

It was a female voice. It took Kathryn by surprise.

“Hello?” Again, a female voice.

Kathryn said nothing. She wasn’t sure how to respond.

“I said hello,” the youth continued. “The decent thing is to say it back.”

Kathryn cleared her throat. “Hello.”

The girl stood up. Once the trench coat fell into place, the rest of her clothes followed her body’s contours. No longer hindered by the teenage slouch, it was apparent that this stranger was a heavyset woman with large breasts. She was wearing dark blue jeans, and a chain hung from the belt and looped back up into her pocket. She wore black boots which gleamed beneath the light from the street lamps, and her coat hung to her ankles. The T-shirt beneath revealed a SLIPKNOT logo. Kathryn had heard of these musical performers before, she thought they were quite good for a ‘metal’ band. A metal pendant hung just above the band’s logo. The girl walked over and stepped up onto the red brick pavement closer to the other woman.