First Horseman, The (22 page)

Renton stood tall on the balls of his feet. ‘Ha!’ He laughed. ‘Let’s meet.’ He would be able to see better by the light of the man’s torch than the intruder could. His senses were supercharged: he could hear more, feel more and see more. Not only was he smarter, he was stronger, quicker and more alert than any ordinary mortal.

While the elixir rebuilt his body, repairing all the faulty and broken DNA, his metabolism raced. As Renton’s life clock reversed, so the biomechanical process was unencumbered by his biology. He flipped the scalpel into the air and caught it by the handle. He would cut the trespasser into chunks.

There was another piece of tissue, torn and balled up at the junction of the next tunnel. Now that he had grown accustomed to the footprints, it was reinforcement rather than his only clue.

He turned into the tunnel.

There was a kind of humming. Someone was there. He stopped and listened. He could hear nothing but he could feel the faint vibration.

He took out the pistol. He couldn’t remember if Stafford had said the safety was on or off, whether it was cocked, half cocked or otherwise. He put it back into his pocket.

His heartbeat quickened. He paused and inhaled deeply. Calm was strength.

He had long since played out his natural luck. He had lived beyond the point of no return for so long that he was not going to let fear overwhelm him. Thoughts of the future faded as he refocused; there was only the now. He moved forward deliberately, putting one foot in front of the other, watching the path ahead.

There was a left turn and, with a flick of his torch, he saw that the footprints went in that direction, one trail making a long, just discernible arc into the dark gap, like an elongated arrow.

He moved slowly towards the gap. He shone the torch back and forth into the gloom.

He turned to enter, and as he did so, a white shape shot towards him. He jumped back and to one side, dodging it.

A figure emerged from the darkness, arms raised, the metal of a blade glinting in one hand.

Renton struck down at Jim.

Jim swept the torch up, dodging so that Renton’s blow would miss him. His forearm smacked into Renton’s face. His adversary fell forward on to the floor as Jim swung round to face him. He prepared to step forward and attack, but Renton was scuttling away, twisting and jumping up faster than Jim imagined possible. Renton was running at him empty-handed. As he reached him, Jim grabbed Renton by the scruff of his shirt and, with a judo throw, catapulted him down the tunnel.

Renton was up again in a second and lunged forward. Jim punched his temple, sending him into the tunnel wall. Renton bounced back at him and rammed him into the other wall. He punched Jim in the side, at the site of his old injury.

Jim’s strength drained away and his knees buckled as pain shot through him. He fell to his knees. Renton aimed a blow at the top of his head as Jim punched upwards between Renton’s legs.

Renton doubled up and staggered backwards. Then he hobbled away.

Jim raised the torch and staggered to his feet. He stumbled after Renton, who was lurching ahead at a terrific speed, his feet barely touching the ground.

Jim’s pain was dissipating now, his vitality oozing back into him as he forced himself after Renton, who took a left into another tunnel. Jim didn’t hesitate to follow him. There was a kind of cold hatred in his spirit that he hadn’t felt before.

His torch picked up a figure in the near distance, disappearing into another entrance. He had to keep up or Renton would get away. He ran up to the turning. It was a door.

He hesitated. Renton would be on the other side. He flung the door open. Renton was standing in the middle of the room. As the door swung closed again Jim pushed it open. He stepped inside.

Renton was smiling at him. ‘Hurt, that did,’ he said.

‘Fuck,’ said Jim, seeing Kate prostrate on the table behind the technician.

Renton registered his reaction. ‘She’s OK,’ he said, ‘but once I’ve killed you I’ll do to her alive what I’ll do to you dead.’

Jim didn’t say anything, his focus returning solely to Renton. Renton’s face was bleeding on both sides, but that didn’t seem to bother him.

Renton held out his right hand. He was holding a long boning knife.

Jim heard the voice of his personal trainer: ‘When you see a knife, the best tactic is to run. Any other response is speculative.’ He stepped forward.

‘Aren’t you afraid?’ said Renton, waving the knife at him.

‘Aren’t you?’ Jim said involuntarily.

Renton didn’t reply.

Renton held back. Doubt swept through him. He didn’t know how to fight. He was faster and stronger than he could ever have imagined being but now he was facing someone who clearly knew fighting, someone who was his match, even while he was accelerated by TRT. The inner confidence that had welled up in him had drained.

Were the elixir’s powers failing him already? Were his moments of basking in a godlike consciousness leaving him? He swayed.

It was a signal to which Jim knew how to react. He grabbed Renton’s knife hand and threw the man to the floor. Renton rolled away, the knife spinning from his grasp. He was up amazingly fast again, too quick for Jim to get his punch in.

Renton darted to Kate; there was something in his hand, another blade grabbed in a flash from his workspace. He slashed at her and there was a jet of blood. ‘I’ve cut her vein wide open,’ he screamed, backing away from the table. ‘Deal with it and she may live. Come after me and she dies.’ He turned and darted for the door. His screaming cackle filled the room and the tunnel outside as he ran down it.

Jim dashed for Kate. Blood was pouring from her left wrist. She was twisting against her bonds. Jim tore away the tape holding her head down with his right hand, his left stuck into her armpit to try to slow the bleeding. He forced his knuckles deep into her, the pressure on the artery stemming the flow of blood from her wrist. He pulled the clear plastic bag from her mouth.

‘Behind you,’ she screamed.

Jim spun around. Renton was standing in the corner of the room, the boning knife in his hand. Jim snatched the pistol from his pocket and took aim. Renton froze, already halfway to him. The trigger wouldn’t pull. Renton registered the failure and lunged forwards. Jim pulled the trigger again and a shot sounded. Renton toppled forward.

Kate moaned and Jim looked back. Blood was everywhere. He stuck his right hand into her armpit again and pushed, looking around wildly for Renton and a chance to shoot.

He saw Renton’s crouched figure making for the door. He tried to fire again but the trigger didn’t snap back, and when it did, Renton had flung the door closed behind him. The bullet ricocheted off the metal frame.

Jim slammed the gun on to the table.

‘Tourniquet,’ gasped Kate. ‘In the dish there. Tourniquet …’

He located the leather strap curled in a kidney-shaped metal tray.

‘Tie it on my forearm,’ she said, her body struggling as she spoke.

He slipped the strap around her arm, his hands now slippery with her blood, and threaded it through the buckle. He pulled it tight, then took a scalpel from the table and, keeping the strap tight, cut away the rest of the tape.

She was naked, her skin white and cold.

She half sat up as he sliced the tape that bound her feet to low metal stirrups. She was hugging him limply, with barely enough strength to hold herself up. Her feet fell on to the table top and she sagged back. He dropped the blade and cradled her. ‘Lie back,’ he said. ‘I’m going to call for help.’ He took out his phone. There was no signal.

He looked at her. ‘Are you strong enough to walk out of here?’

‘No choice,’ she said. ‘True?’

‘Probably.’

‘My clothes are over there,’ she said vaguely. ‘What’s left of them.’

Jim glanced at her wrist. The blood had stopped gushing.

‘Get them,’ she said. ‘I’m so cold.’

Jim went to pick them up. They had been cut to pieces, apart from her jeans. He carried them and her shoes back to her.

‘Better than nothing,’ she said.

He helped her into the jeans and slipped her shoes on to her feet. ‘Put your good arm around me,’ he said.

She looked at the smashed torch and then at him. ‘God is on our side,’ said Jim, putting Stafford’s gun in his left hand.

‘I can walk,’ she said, as she stood, wobbling.

Jim steadied her, ready to grab her if she began to collapse.

Her head drooped a little. ‘Please let’s get away from here. I’m not sure how long I can hold on.’

‘I know the way.’ Jim looked at Renton’s screens. They were all empty, nothing moving in front of the camera’s infrared gaze. Renton had watched him every step of the way. He took a deep breath. ‘We’re going to be OK, Kate. It’s not far. It’ll be like a slow walk on a warm summer’s night.’

They were moving forward by the dim light of his mobile phone, which flickered off every few seconds and barely illuminated their feet. Every step appeared to take a minute, every few yards felt like an interminable mile. In the near-absolute dark the passages seemed never-ending. He listened for any sound other than their hesitant footfall, sensing Kate’s grip on his belt that left both his hands free in case Renton attacked them.

‘Are you OK?’ he would whisper every minute or so.

‘Uuuumm,’ she would reply.

Every bend felt like a trap that a demented Renton might spring, every heartbeat a roll of thunder that might drown the sound of him moving in the darkness ahead.

Jim could feel the hum of life in the tunnels but was that Kate or Renton? The pitch black of the way ahead was almost unbearable, a paralysing blanket that dragged at their progress like sticky mud underfoot.

Was he retracing his steps or sending them further into the maze?

Kate pulled at him and he stopped. ‘Ssh,’ she whispered.

He listened but heard nothing. They were at another corner: was Renton waiting for them on the other side?

Jim took a deep breath and listened. A faint scratchy sound came from beyond. A moment later he realised quick footsteps were coming their way. He pulled her hand from his belt and touched her face. It was cold. He stroked her cheek as the steps drew nearer. There was no light, no torch beam. Someone was almost upon them.

He was going to jump out, wrestle Renton to the floor and beat him with his fists until he stopped moving. He had to do it blind and without hesitation.

The steps were seconds away. He counted them down as they approached.

He dived out into the space he estimated Renton to have reached.

‘Christ!’ someone yelled, as Jim launched a series of blows into the darkness. ‘Jim! Stop, for fuck’s sake.’

‘Smith?’ said Jim, startled.

‘Yes.’

A torch came on and he could see part of Smith’s face: the rest was covered with night-sight goggles, which were now askew.

‘Get us out of here fast,’ said Jim.

‘You’ve got the girl?’ said Smith, apparently in some pain.

‘Yes. Follow me.’ Jim turned and headed into the other tunnel. ‘Kate?’

Smith’s torch illuminated the passage.

Kate was slumped on the floor.

Jim threw himself down beside her. ‘Kate – are you OK?’

‘Just about,’ she said.

‘We’re getting out now – we’ve got help. Can you stand?’

‘Almost,’ she said.

Jim jumped up and took her good hand.

‘I’m OK really,’ she said, Jim’s arm around her waist now, hauling her up. ‘I’m just shaky.’

Jim looked at Smith. ‘I hope you know a fast way out.’

‘Yes,’ said Smith. ‘I’ve a map.’ He tapped his goggles. ‘All in here.’

‘Can we go, then?’ said Kate, sagging in Jim’s embrace. ‘I’ve almost had it.’

Renton pushed the manhole cover up and slipped it to one side. For now, his immense frustration was overwhelmed by the tension of emerging into the light, like an insect breaking out of a pupa. It was not normal to appear from the earth like a phantom – it might expose him to those hunting him above.

He glanced about. Across the road there was a line of white vans and policemen looking towards fields and the far building of the campus. Their focus was exactly wrong. To them, their challenge lay within the bounds of the university so they were blind to him. He stepped off the grass verge on to the pavement and turned right, walking away from them, now a mere ninety degrees from their gaze. He smiled: that was all it took to foil these simple people.

Smith and Jim knelt by Kate as the paramedics strapped her into a stretcher, then got to their feet as she was hoisted up from the tunnel to the hatchway above.

Jim’s hands were over his mouth.

‘She’ll be OK,’ said Smith. ‘Now we’ve got her she’ll be fine.’

Jim saw the tail end of the stretcher disappear. ‘Let’s get the hell out of this place,’ he said. ‘And when we’re above ground again I’ll leave you to catch that creep Renton.’

Smith shook his head. ‘This is a right old Pandora’s box. Let’s just say this Frankenstein shit we’ve uncovered is funded by people in a lot of important places. You can break the rules for the people who make them. You know how it is.’

‘So what are you going to do?’ said Jim.

‘Get Renton for a start. It might be the only action I’ll be allowed before I have to start covering my arse.’

Jim’s fingers were sticking together where Kate’s blood had dried. He looked up at the light coming through the hatch. ‘I’m off,’ he said, and made for the ladder.

Jim lifted himself carefully out of the hatch into the cramped space. Stafford was offering him his hand but he didn’t take it. His butler and a policeman were clearly shocked by his appearance. He looked down at himself. He was covered with blood and grey dust. He stepped out to let Smith up.

‘Well done,’ said Stafford, grabbing him by both arms and almost shaking him.

‘Thanks,’ said Jim, as Smith stepped out of the hole, stooped as if he was in danger of banging his head.

‘Christ you’re a mess,’ Smith said to Jim.

‘Thanks,’ said Jim. ‘You don’t mind if we scram?’

‘Go on,’ said Smith. ‘I’ll keep you up to date on any developments.’