Kingdom: The Complete Series (20 page)

“
Three
hundred metres and closing,” says the Trespasser, “we're practically here.”

“
So
where is he?” asks Jamie, more to himself than anybody else.

“
Two
hundred.”

“
Just
pick the nearest one and search it,” Chloe says. “He's not exactly quiet.”

“
He
might be if the King – well,” Jamie trails off, letting the unsaid speak for
itself.

“
One
hundred.”

“
He's
tough,” says Chloe, “he'll be fine.”

That's when an
explosion of concrete and dirt erupts skywards like a volcano, bursting through
the tin roof of an old factory, and amongst the cloud:

Mark, bare chested and
holding a small, skinny figure in his arms. He curves through the air like a
bird, and for a brief moment, he stops; gravity gives him a seconds pause.

Then he's falling
again, holding his mother close as he plummets towards the concrete.

“
Found
him,” Chloe whispers.

“
I'm
landing to pick him up.”

“
He
got his mother, by the look of it,” says Jamie, “I'll open the doors.”

Jamie scurries back
through to the body and cracks the door open, heaving it aside and letting the
storm in. He remembers his dislike of heights too late and cries out, clutching
onto the rails at the side of the door as he steps back.

Mark lands with a dull
thud that Jamie feels more than sees. A spider-web crack appears in the
concrete beneath him. His legs buckle as he hits the ground and his mother's
limp form falls away from him. That's when Jamie begins to panic.

“
I
think they're hurt,” he shouts.

“
Nearly
there,” the Trespasser shouts back.

As they descend between
the skeletons of old industrial Glasgow, the mother and son become more than
just silhouettes on the ground.

Jamie sees the pool of
red in the rainwater around Mark's knees.

Mark hears the
helicopter, but his eyes are focused on his mother lying on the soaking wet
ground. There are figures coming his way across the parking lot, but it's her
that he's speaking to,

“
Mum?
Mum, wake up, come on.”

He shakes her shoulders
and she coughs and splutters, opening one eye in the freezing rain to see her
son above her.

“
Mark?”

“
Mum
come on, you have to get up. I can get us out of here.”

“
Were
we flying? Can you fly?”

“
I
don't know. Not quite,” he smiles, and she smiles back. Then he hears his name
roared across the parking lot.

He turns, still
protecting his mother with his own body.

But it isn't his
friends that are shouting on him. It's the King, and four of his men with their
rifles, emerging into the rain.

“
Son
your nose; your eyes; everything's bleeding.,” his mother begins.

“
Finally
sober,” whispers Mark, and stands up. He holds out his hand, trying to tell the
King to stop.

“
Guys,”
shouts Jamie. “We're not alone.”

Figures, men in suits
and all armed bar one, appear from the interior of the old factory, pouring
from a single open door.

One of them, a well
groomed man in a blue suit, grabs an assault rifle from another and raises it,
stopping to aim through the obscuring rainstorm.

Jamie is crying out
before he can stop himself, and his words are lost forever in the howling rain
and the buzz of rotor blades as the helicopter comes in to land, too late.

He turns.

“
Give
me the rope, where's the rope?”

Chloe tosses it to him,
and he grabs it and throws it out of the helicopter. They're too high still to
climb down, but he throws it anyway as he watches from the door, rain stinging
his cold hands.

Mark stands, stumbling,
clutching his head, holding his hand out in a
stop
gesture. His mother
is curled on the ground behind him.

The blue suited man
raises the assault rifle and fires, and for Jamie, everything slows to a halt.

Down the sights of the
gun, Mark and the King share one last look, filled with what could have been.
Mark sees real regret in those black holes in the King's head: but regret for
the power that he almost controlled; for what he has lost.

Mark is ready for the
gunshot: he knows that he hasn't enough strength left to stop a bullet.

But the shots never
come.

He opens his eyes.

Another figure appears
in the rain, a shadow-man that appears to have emerged from the rainstorm like
an elemental force. The man-shape grabs an assault rifle from the nearest suit
and clubs him to the ground with the butt. He turns, gunning down another man
before they realise what is happening. Pink mist explodes from the second
suit's chest and he falls back, splashing into a puddle.

Only one other man and
the King remain armed, and as they try to shoot the figure it disappears again,
blending into the rainstorm, only to reappear behind them.

The rain-elemental
presses the assault rifle to the back of the other man's head and pulls the
trigger, throwing him to the ground with a red flap where his face was.

Behind Mark, the
helicopter still hasn't landed, and he can't bring himself to tear his eyes
away from the brutal rain-dance in front of him.

One unarmed man and the
King remain. The unarmed man goes down when the rain elemental melts into the
ground and emerges behind him, clubbing him with the rifle as though it were a
hammer, knocking him to the ground where he stops moving.

Leaving only the King.

The blue suited King
fires in wild panic into the cascading man-shaped waterfall, and the bullets
pass through as it dissolves, leaving a silhouette in the storm where it once
stood. The stolen rifle clatters to the tarmac.

The man reappears
behind the King and his hands reach around and pluck the assault rifle from the
King's grasp.

The King turns, lashing
out at the rain.

As though it were
teleporting, the figure is suddenly behind him, and crashes the rifle's stock
into the back of his skull, sending him reeling forward onto the ground.

Then there is silence.

Only the helicopter's
rotors speak, and it is to wind themselves down from the constant chopping of
the air to the slow clap that ends the show.

Then that goes, and
there is nothing but silence and the lashing rain.

Only the elemental
remains standing, looking down at the King with the rifle in its hands. Mark,
ignoring those shouting his name behind him, begins walking into the storm, one
hand up to guard his face from the stinging raindrops.

As he gets closer the
figure looks up, and in the darkness Mark sees two eyes staring back at him:
eyes filled with sadness, and a fire as bright as his own.

“
Mark?”
the darkness asks him, and then Mark sees through the rain.

In what little light he
has, Mark sees Jamie standing over the fallen form of the King.

“
Jamie,”
Mark says, “thank you.”

“
Is
it over now? Is this him?”

“
It's
over, Jamie,” Mark nods. He is all too aware of the rifle that Jamie has
pointed at the King.

Jamie says nothing. He
is staring down the sights at the King's suit, dark-blue with the rain now.

“
Is
your mother ok?”

“
She's
alive – I think we're fine. They used some kind of gas, but I feel ok.”

Jamie is shaking, Mark
realises. The trembling gun gives out a hollow metal death rattle.

“
Jamie,
you can put the gun down.”

“
Can
I?”

Jamie is talking to the
King on the ground. He stirs, looking up from the bottom of his own puddle.

It is Mark he looks to,
not Jamie.

“
What
a waste,” he sneers.

“
You
have to let him live, Jamie,” Mark says, holding his hands out to Jamie. “He
has to be put on trial for this.”

Sighing, Jamie passes
him the assault rifle and turns away, holding his hands out to cup the rain,
trying to wash the blood from his hands to no avail.

Mark throws the rifle
aside where it clatters and splashes in a puddle.

More helicopters
announce their presence, and Jamie looks up, shielding his eyes. Seeing the
silhouettes of Agency helicopters approaching through the rainy mist, Jamie
puts one foot on the King's back to keep him down.

“
The
Agency won't touch me,” the King coughs from his puddle. “I told you Mark. This
goes higher than you. Honestly, I expected better.”

“
Wait
until they read the files down there.” 

“
Mark,
don't be stupid.” The King tries to look him in the eye, but Jamie presses him
deeper into the ground, letting the rain dance on his skull. “Think of
everybody I've helped. Everybody that has a job because of me – everybody that
has a
life
because of me! You'll crash the economy in this city, you'll
destroy it! You can't honestly think this is a good idea, can you? Do you have
any idea what you're doing? This place will crumble.”

“
I'm
trusting the people with the truth,” says Mark, shouting over the roar as the
black helicopters come in to land.

“
The
people can't
be
trusted! Has your project shown you nothing? It failed
because you
can't trust people
, Mark.”

“
It
failed,” Mark looks down and shouts, “because you stuck your filthy fucking
hands in and broke it.” Without warning, Mark kicks the King as hard as he can
in the face. The King jolts in surprise, and Mark watches the consciousness
fade from his eyes.

Mark takes a breath,
wipes the angry tears from his eyes, and steps away as Jamie takes his foot off
the King's back. Panting, Mark storms back towards the King and kicks his ribs
as hard as his sober muscles can manage.

“
That
was for my mother. And the Gardens. And everybody I could have helped if I
wasn't
-
” he stamps on his snarling mouth, and the King's broken face
crumples, “-
stopped
by
you.
”

Finally, Mark paces
away, wiping his face and taking a breath.

He turns back to Jamie:
the two give each other a knowing look, and Mark's shoulder sag as he takes a
deep breath. Jamie puts a hand on his shoulder.

“
You
ok, man?”

Mark nods. “That felt
good. You?”

Jamie returns the nod.
“We're all fine, I think.”

Agency helicopters land
in the wide open car park, and soldiers in black outfits like the Trespasser's
converge on them, rifles raised.

Mark and Jamie return
to the small crowd framed against the helicopter's silhouette: Mark's mother is
sitting on the ground with Chloe whilst a soldier checks her eyes with a tiny
torch.

The Trespasser has
stood upon seeing his people arrive.

“
Trespasser?”
asks Jamie as they approach through the rain, leaning on one another as they
approach. “Are they on our side this time?”

“
If
they aren't,” Mark groans, “I honestly don't think I've the strength to fight.”

“
Me
neither,” says Jamie.

Clustered together, the
group watch as the soldiers split into two groups: one group heads for the
prone figures of the King and his men on the ground, the second towards the
Trespasser and his ragged civilians.

“
Trespasser
One?” shouts the man approaching from the helicopters. He is the only man
without a weapon drawn. Trespasser One raises his hand, standing in front of
the crouched survivors. “We got the broadcast,” says the soldier. He has a
strong American accent.

“
What
did Command say?” Trespasser One looks up from his perch.

“
Nothing,
soldier. Hard to speak with a bullet in your head. All hell's broken loose at
HQ.”

Everybody looks at the
Trespasser in that moment. There's something in his eyes – but none of them
would ever know it.