Kingdom: The Complete Series (16 page)

Whilst this is
happening in slow motion for him, his mind is running down a flow-chart at just
under the speed of sound: which is as fast as the human brain
can
work.

He does have one weapon
that he hasn't considered. Trespasser's are equipped to deal with more than
just combat situations. His belt also holds things like an emergency first aid
kit, electronics, surveillance devices... and a fire-retardant canister; it's
that last one that he yanks out of his belt and tosses towards the soldiers. It
arcs through the air, a pressurised container that contains enough fire dampening
foam to rapidly extinguish a kitchen fire. It's not particularly harmful, but
it does cover a wide area in a white mist within a split-second.

He has time for one
bullet, and he puts it straight through the canister in mid air.

The world goes white with
a loud pop.

Whilst they cry out and
struggle to wipe their eyes and visors clear of the foam, the Trespasser has
imprinted their silhouettes in his memory, and he drops to one knee and, moving
like a machine, puts five rounds into the white mist, following the line he had
mentally drawn across their knees and shoulders.

They all drop. Five
shots, five hits, five targets down.

He turns and grabs the
couple, who are curled on the ground, and lifts them as the first badly-aimed
shots are returned through the smoke. With the helicopter's so close, the mist
won't last long.

He's already out of it
and dragging Jamie and Chloe past prone soldiers who clutch at their wounds.
One scrambles with their free hand for their side-arm, trying to get a pistol
out. The Trespasser aims and fires, clipping the pistol out of his hand.

Above him, he sees the
look of horror on the pilot's face, and the sound of the engine changes as the
machine begins to lift itself away, taking that life saving rope with it,
trailing it out across the buildings.

“
Jamie,”
the Trespasser grabs the man and realises that he's sobbing in pain, his eyes
are bleeding. “Jamie, I need one last burst of power. Can you do that? Put your
arms around my neck, hold on, ok? Just stop it until we're on that chopper, ok?
Chloe, you too, come on, I can carry you both.”

He trails off. Jamie is
shaking his head.

“
Go.
Get the chopper, bring it back. I'll protect her. Just...” Jamie pushes him
towards the chopper as it lifts off, and with no other choice, the Trespasser
runs.

The first gun shots
whistle through the air around him – one ricochets off the breastplate of his
armour.

He reaches the edge of
the roof just as the chopper leaves, leaps onto the ledge, and puts everything
he has into his legs.

Trespasser One leaps
into the sky, arms outstretched, and sails through the rain without anything to
save him if he misses.

He doesn't.

Clutching on with
desperate strength, the Trespasser grabs the rope and swings under the belly of
the helicopter, wrapping his legs in the rope and tensing his muscles against
the speed of the chopper as it accelerates away from the scene.

He turns for a moment
and sees, through the rain, black figures rising from the gravel – he only
incapacitated them after all. One of them fires a shot, but Jamie and Chloe
flicker as though they are dropping out of reality, and the shot misses.

“
Just
hold on, Jamie,” he grunts as he begins pulling himself up towards the cabin.
“Just give me time.”

On his belt, the
tracker starts beeping.

Mark has activated the
tracker.

He pulls himself up
into the helicopter's open cabin with a roar, spending what little remains of
his strength, and grabs onto a seat for balance before leaping at the cockpit
like a wild animal, where a panicked pilot is screaming for help.

Series
1 Finale

Judgement

“
Mayday,
mayday, this is Eagle Four, I have been boarded by a hostile -”

The Trespasser grabs
the pilot's head in a talon-like hand and slams it forward into the controls,
catching his form as he slides, limp, out of the chair. Rolling him aside, the
Trespasser sits himself in the pilot's seat as the helicopter begins to drift
to the side. Breath held, he wrestles the controls back in line and rights the
craft, turning it to give him a decent view of the rooftop, where dark figures
close on the young couple like malicious shadows.

“
Just
hold on,” he murmurs, urging the chopper forward as his eyes scan the controls,
flicking switches above his head.

On the rooftop, Jamie
is clutching his head in one hand, his other arm wrapped around Chloe as the
rain pounds their skin.

“
Behind
us,” she tells him, and a gunshot punches through the sound of chaos. Chloe
sees the flash and hears the whip-crack of the pistol, but the shot never finds
them. The world flickers, and the shot misses them.

“
I
can't keep doing this,” Jamie groans, his eyes screwed shut, stinging with the
salty blood seeping out of them, as though his brain is tearing from the inside

Looking into his eyes,
Chloe sees that blood vessels have began to pop – the whites of his eyes are
filled with little clouds of red mist suspended in mid-explosion. Another
gunshot – another flicker, and they are crouched down now. Jamie whips his head
around, looking for their assailant amongst the prone, helpless soldiers.

One, no – two of them
are getting up, clutching their shoulders, aiming pistols at the couple. They
take aim.

Jamie flinches away,
trying to protect Chloe with his body, but the soldier's aim is thrown off by
the rapid descent of the transport helicopter above them.

It arrives with a
mechanical rumble, the thick city air slapping the soldiers to the ground as
the rotor blades whip it into life. Blocking out the grey sleet that lashes the
roof, its protective halo shelters Jamie and Chloe, who stand in its shadow as
a rope is thrown down at their feet like an offering.

Chloe grabs it,
entwining her arm in it and motioning for Jamie, in his weakened state, to
latch onto her. She stops, her eyes catching something, and then -

She's screaming his
name – he can't hear her, but he knows that she's screaming, pointing just
behind him.

Jamie turns, and though
he cannot hear the gunshot he
sees
it, a flash like lightning, and then
-

Everything is dull.

Everything is grey.

Time stands still.

The rain hangs in the
air like pencil lines drawn across the entire world, and through it flies a
single bullet, shattering raindrops as it travels. Jamie feels blood rush out
of his nose – if his brain were a muscle, its hamstrings would be twanging and
snapping.

His mind traces the path
of the bullet as though he has all the time in the world. If he steps aside, it
will miss him – and hit Chloe, her feet off the ground as the helicopter lifts
her away from this mess.

A few thoughts flash
across his mind: he can't just step aside and let her take the bullet.

He could grab her,
bring her into his spare few seconds and try to climb the rope with her, to get
out of the way, but his strength is failing him, and fast.

Or he could take the
bullet and let her escape.

Except she wouldn't
escape,
he thinks,
would she?

He turns and looks at
her, frozen in the moment, like an acrobat hanging off a wire, arm
outstretched, offering him her hand. Her make-up has ran clear of her face, two
great black streaks running from her eyes to her chin like a panda, and her
hair is plastered against her head, letting rivulets of water run down her
cheeks. Chloe's clothes are all soaked through, clinging to her frail figure
like torn rags. But she's still beautiful, and she'd never let him lie and
bleed to death on a rooftop. She'd never forgive him for it, either.

Which leaves him only
one option.

He reaches out, and
grabs her hand, bringing her into his little universe. The moment shocks her:
she's still screaming his name until her eyes adjust and the calmness of the
silent, timeless world silences her.

She looks down at him,
tightens her grips around his hand, and helps him up on to the rope.

“
We
need to climb,” he grunts as his hands find the rope, and motions for her to
hold on. She wraps her arms around his neck and clings on like an injured
animal. With blood cascading down his chin, he begins to pull them up the rope.

He feels his mind begin
to crack and splinter like rotten wood. Trying to focus, to keep climbing
despite the pain, becomes impossible.

She sees it in his
eyes, the struggle going on in his mind: without a word she unlaces her hand,
wraps her legs around his midriff, and tells him,

“
You
keep the clock stopped,” she grits her teeth, motioning for him to hold on,
“and
I'll
climb.”

He considers arguing,
but the throbbing, screaming pain in his head is too much. Jamie hangs onto her
like a frightened child, putting every last bit of his effort into keeping the
angry, thrashing passage of time at bay. His mind becomes a blockage in the
river of time, and the pressure builds with every second that doesn't pass.

Chloe holds a tense
breath and puffs her cheeks out as her thin arms begin pulling them upwards an
inch at a time, her face red with effort.

Jamie's concentration
snaps, and the world slaps them in the face with its rain and its noise.
Somewhere below them, a shot passes through the air where a split second ago
they both stood.

With the rain lashing
against his face, Jamie tries to shout out, to apologise, to tell her to keep
climbing, but blood clogs his throat like bile, salty and bitter. He splutters
it down his chin, gasping for air.

Before more gunmen can
take aim, the helicopter lurches into the sky, dragging them like an
afterthought. Jamie's stomach lurches and Chloe shouts at him to hold on,
wrapping the rope around her arm for grip again, her legs tightening around
Jamie as they are dragged through the sky.

There is nothing
beneath their feet but the promise of a long fall to their deaths.

A minute passes as
slowly as an hour in a waiting room, whilst they hang below the chopper's
stomach, eyes screwed shut in terror. Chloe feels her grip weakening, her hand
burning as the metal twists of the rope cut into her palm. She wants to scream
to the Trespasser to stop, to pull them up, but her voice is frail and small
under the booming blades.

The helicopter
decelerates – she feels it in her stomach first, and tenses herself for what
she knows is coming.

“
Jamie,
hold on,” she says through gritted teeth, and she feels his hands lace over
hers, joining them around the rope.

“
I've
got you,” he whispers, their heads side by side, locked in a twisted embrace
half a mile above the city. “Don't look down, sweetheart. Don't look -”

The helicopter comes to
a stop, swinging them. Gravity tugs at them, trying to undo their fingers and
pull their palms, slippery with blood, down the thrashing rope. It bucks and
sways like a wild snake trying to throw them off. Every gust of wind tugs at
them, tempting them down towards the distant, grey earth.

Then the rope begins to
move. It starts pulling them towards the helicopter's body, and all they can do
is hold onto the rope and each other.

“
Nearly
there,” Chloe gasps, her muscles failing.

Jamie senses the rotors
getting closer, the wind forcing his eyes shut -

Then the wind is gone,
and they are hanging in front of an open door: the Trespasser has both of his
arms wrapped around a rope that is locked in a pulley, dragging it towards
himself like a one-man tug of war team. Jamie and Chloe hang before him like two
caterpillars, locked in a chrysalis together, and Trespasser One secures the
rope and reaches out to them, pulling them inside the helicopter.

“
Chloe
we're in,” Jamie says as his grateful feet find the floor, “you can let go.”

She almost doesn't. His
hand laces over hers, sticky with blood where the rope cut into her palm and
her wrist. He eases her hand open, and together they let go.

The Trespasser catches
her as she falls off the rope, and Jamie stumbles for the seat, desperate to
hold onto something before the helicopter tosses him out into wind.

“
Trespasser,”
he shouts over the racket, and the soldier lifts his head. “Get us out of here,
and for christ's sake shut the bloody door.”

He nods, leaping to the
doors and yanking them shut, totally at ease on the edge of the drop. He puts
an arm on Chloe's shoulder, and she looks up and gives him a nod –
I'm ok.

The last door slams
shut and the screaming storm outside is muffled by the craft's shell.

With that done, the
Trespasser leaps back into the cockpit, checks that the pilot is still out, and
steers the aircraft away from the rain-soaked rooftop, away from the city. He
tilts it forward until it is racing at full speed towards the green hills of
the distant countryside, rising towards the misty grey clouds with every
second. Through the cockpit, they see the washed out orange tint of the distant
sunset, as though the horizon was on fire.

Jamie fastens a
seatbelt around his waist and lets his body go slack, extending one hand to
Chloe to help her into her seat. He leans over as she seats herself, as though
he's half asleep, and helps her bloodied, slippery hands to fasten her belt.
Finally secured, she rests her head on his shoulder, and with gentle care they
wrap their arms around one another, grateful for the moment just to be alive.

Across the city, Mark
walks into a room that is divided in two: on his half stand four men with
assault rifles, the same men in suits that walked him in earlier. The other
side of the room is bare. Oak panelled walls, the same warm lights, the same
low ceiling and the same impression that he's standing in the most exquisite
torture chamber he's ever seen.

The other half of the
room is hidden behind a heavy metal door, the type you'd expect on a submarine,
that looks thicker than the wall it is set into. The room is as silent as a
mortuary, and as the door closes shut behind him the room fills with the sickly
smell of hospital waiting rooms: a sterile bleach-stink, a reek that catches in
his throat.

“
She's
through that door, Mark,” the King appears from behind him, motioning to the
door as he addresses his men. “Would one of you men be so kind?”

One of them steps
forward and works a lock and a latch, then opens a shutter like a prison door,
letting Mark peer through a letter box slit into the room.

His stomach lurches as
he bends down to look through.

Mark's mother sits on a
wooden chair, unharmed except for a yellowing bruise on her forehead. Her short
hair, greying at the roots and black at the edges, sits ruffled on her head,
and her make-up looks as though it has been applied by a drunk: she looks
unkempt, unwell, and weak.

It breaks his heart.

“
Mum?”
he says through the letterbox, and she looks up. She'd know his eyes anywhere,
even if she can't see the rest of his face. Her pained expression shifts to
joy,

“
Mark,”
she smiles; then the realisation sets in, and she realises what this means. “Oh
no.”

“
Mum,
I'm going to get you out of here, ok? Don't worry -”

“
Mark
don't do whatever he wants you to,” she begs him as though it were her dying
wish, “it's not worth it, don't worry about me, you hear? Don't worry about -”

The guard slams the
letterbox shut and Mark snaps up, his temper flaring and his fists clenching.

“
Easy,
Mark,” the King soothes him, letting the guard back away. Mark turns, face
scrunched into a scowl.

“
Let
me speak to her.”

“
Look
Mark,” the King shrugs, “let's be honest here. If you don't get her back,
you'll tear this place, and probably me and my operation, to pieces. You're
walking out of here with your mother whether we shake hands or not, you have my
word.”

“
I
know how you work,” Mark's eyes narrow, “you wouldn't let me walk out of here
without taking
something
from me.”

“
That
wouldn't make sense, Mark,” the King assures him. “If I don't let you have your
mother, I become your enemy, and since guns don't really work on you, I don't
have much option other than to appeal to your common sense. This sorry
situation is just... a stop-gap. A shameful requirement for our negotiations to
take place.”