Kingdom: The Complete Series (63 page)

He hears arguing in the
background of Command's line, followed by a grudging:

“
Fine.
Consider it done, stay on this channel.”

“
My
pleasure.”

Trespasser One crouches
down beside his squad as Stacy regains consciousness and takes her hand, trying
to cheer her up.

“
What
if he doesn't come back?” she whispers.

“
He
will,” says Jamie. “He will.”

Mark gets the first
punch, feinting right and then jabbing left, catching the King in the kidneys.
The blow sends the King reeling back, and Mark leaps after him, capitalising on
the opening, driving another two blows into his ribs before the King gets his
guard down and pushes Mark back with his shoulder.

The King comes in
swinging, renewed, and Mark ducks under the first blow and rises like a bullet,
smashing the King's head back with a brutal uppercut that knocks him on his
back. Mark dives on his prone form and smashes his head against the ground,
cracking the concrete.

Growling and writhing
under him, the King jams his hands up and gets his thumbs hooked into Mark's
eyes, sending him crashing back clawing at his face, batting the King away.
Before Mark can recover the King is on his feet, and kicks Mark's ankles aside
like a footballer.

Before Mark hits the
ground, the King stamps hard on his stomach, driving the wind from his lungs
and shattering the road under Mark's spine. Mark punches the King's leg aside
with a sickening crack and drives his elbow into the ground, rocketing himself
up and driving his fist into the King's face.

The King stumbles back,
and the two get their breath back, eyeing each other with snarling faces. Mark
watches the King's bruises fade and his cut face patch itself back together
before his eyes.

“
I'm
sorry, King,” says Mark, shaking his head as the King clenches and unclenches
his fists. “I'm so, so sorry for this.”

“
Still
bluffing, Mark?”

The King growls and
leaps, and Mark is ready. He ducks under the leaping King, driving his fist up
into his gut. As he doubles over and rolls on the ground, Mark pounces, driving
his arm under his guard and around his neck.

As the King struggles,
Mark kicks and battles to stay where he is: with his arm firmly around the
King's neck.

“
You
can't choke me to death,” growls the King. “You can't do
anything
to me.
No prison can hold me. Nothing can kill me. You're
powerless,
Mark,
powerless.”

Mark closes his eyes,
and in his mind, he is holding Stacy above the clouds. The sun rises in his
eyes, and he breathes deeply, totally in the moment.

“
I'm
not powerless,” he whispers over the King's roaring protests. “I can fly.”

Mark bends his legs,
tightens his grip on the struggling King, and leaps into the sky.

The Trespasser listens
as the pilots of the two fighter jets are patched into his earpiece.

“
Echo
One to Command, we have no visual on the target, no visual on the target.”

“
Tell
them to look lower,” shouts the Trespasser, running out of the galleries with
the squad following behind him. “He just took off, he should be visible within
a second or two.”

They all tense and
flinch as the roar of fighter jets echo across the city.

“
Echo
One to Command, we have visual on target. He's accelerating.”

“
Tell
them to keep on him, don't let him out of their sight, and be ready with the
cannons if the King breaks loose!”

The squad join him
outside and look up. They can see the contrails above them as Mark lifts off,
shooting upwards like a rocket, leaving a white trail of mist behind him.

“
How
fast is he going?” asks Jamie. “Can they tell us how fast he's going?”

“
Yeah,
they've got a radar lock now,” says the Trespasser, shielding his eyes from the
sun to follow Mark. “He's accelerating.”

The King thrashes,
screaming abuse and threats at Mark. He almost lets them sink in, but the rush
of the air, the scream of the wind in his ears, silences the King. Such is the
noise that Mark doesn't notice the jets turning above him until they come into
his line of sight. They circle like hawks as he soars past them, the King
hanging from his arm, and follow him into the sky.

Wind and air tugs at
Mark, twisting him from side to side, and he grimaces and pushes his fist out
in front of him to cut through the air. As thought the atmosphere is fighting
back against his ascent, it sends rhythmic shocks down his arm, trying to pull
him in any direction but up.

Mark blasts through the
clouds, still driving himself upwards, and as he bursts out the other side he
is bathed in sunlight. It warms his face, cools his nerves, and although his
entire body is shaking and trembling from the air resistance tugging at him,
Mark takes a deep breath and wills himself higher, faster.

“
Command,”
shouts Trespasser One, “come on, keep me updated. Status, height, speed, delta
V, give me everything.”

“
Your
man is approaching the speed of sound, Trespasser One. Climbing rapidly.”

“
Altitude?”

“
Twenty
five thousand. Wait, twenty six – twenty seven -”

“
He's
going transonic,” whispers the Trespasser. “He's doing it.”

They all hear it. An
intense, trembling roar followed by a loud, thumping heartbeat in the sky:

Sonic boom.

“
Target
has gone supersonic. Echo 1 and 2, match his speed and maintain visual.”

Mark feels the pressure
building in his ears, and grimaces, almost slowing – but always, always his
mind comes back to Stacy, kissing him above these very clouds. With a trembling
crash, the air in front of him seems to shatter, and like emerging from cold
water, everything goes quiet and smooths out.

Mist cascades off his
shoulders and his extended hand in a cone, as though pointing him upwards, and
Mark pushes himself harder, faster.

“
Mark!”
shouts the King, nothing but anger and hatred in his voice. “You idiot, gravity
isn't going to kill me. I can survive a fall from any height.”

Mark says nothing.

The King struggles
harder, almost breaking free, but the force of Mark pulling upward on his neck
has him helpless.

Up here, Mark is the
king.

“
This
is Echo One. Target is climbing, no signs of deceleration.”

“
What's
his speed?” asks the Trespasser, patching in. Around him, the squad are sitting
on the steps of Buchanan Galleries, listening to the radio together.

“
Trespasser
One this is Command, he just hit Mach Two.”

“
Jesus
christ,” whispers the Trespasser. “He's going as fast as Concorde.”

“
Is
that fast enough?” asks Jamie.

“
Not
yet. But he's going
straight up.”

“
This
is Echo One, can't keep up with target. I'm stalling at sixty two thousand
feet, breaking pursuit.”

“
Damn
it,” says the Trespasser. “Don't you have any Blackbirds at high altitude? Get
them over there!”

“
Negative,
Trespasser One. We're on satellites and radar only now, no visual.”

“
Shit.
Speed?”

“
Mach
Two and accelerating.”

“
Just
get him high enough and let go, Mark,” says the Trespasser, achingly aware that
Mark can't hear him. “Not much further now.”

Mark hears the planes
drop away from him, and resists the urge to look down. He focuses his eyes
upwards, always upwards, despite the King thrashing and kicking. He's trying to
pull at Mark's armour, screaming abuse at him all the way, but Mark is
somewhere else. In his head, though the drink tries to fill him with fear and
doubt, he feels a peace he's never known before.

Every second he climbs
another few thousand feet higher. He's stopped counting, but if the planes have
stopped following them then he must be close, he knows.

The cone of air around
him fills his lungs, the only breathable air up here, and as he climbs ever
higher it begins to vanish and peel away, leaving just him blasting higher and
higher into space.

Mark takes his last
breath, and holds it.

He makes his peace,
closes his eyes, and climbs.

“
Trespasser
One, your man has passed eighty thousand feet.”

“
I'm
not a pilot, is that good?”

“
It's
the last breathable air he could have at supersonic speeds. He's got whatever
he had in his lungs now.”

“
Speed?”

“
Mach
Four.”

“
He's
not going to make it.”

“
Why?”
asks Stacy. “How fast does he
need
to go?”

“
Escape
velocity? Mach thirty-something.”

“
Mach
thirty seven,” whispers Donald, staring at the Trespasser's radio. “Seven miles
per second.”

There's nothing in
Mark's way now. No sound – only the feeling of the King struggling like an
impatient child. His own blood is pounding in his ears, louder with every
passing second that he doesn't breathe.

His focus begins to
falter: he is desperate for air, but he knows that even if he opens his mouth,
there's nothing to breathe. There's nothing up here but silence and the cold.

As he climbs ever
higher, the last vestiges of resistance give out before him, and Mark urges
himself faster, higher, harder still.

He doesn't know how
fast he's going. He doesn't know how high he is.

All he can do is go as
fast as he can, for as long as he can – and hope that it's enough to rid the
world of this disease forever, for better or for worse.

No matter the cost.

“
He's
going for it. Mach five.”

“
Come
on, Mark,” whispers Jamie, clutching Chloe's shaking hand.

“
Wait
– wait!”

“
What?”

The entire squad lean
in towards the radio.

“
He's
past any air resistance now. He's accelerating. Mach six – seven...”

They all hold their
breath without realising it.

“
Holding
at mach seven, two hundred thousand feet and counting. He's stopped
accelerating.”

“
Damn
it, come
on
Mark,” urges Stacy.

Mark feels his eyelids
grow heavy. His grip on the King is loosening, and the King isn't getting any
weaker. His nose starts to trickle blood, which immediately boils away and
evaporates as red mist.

He's not going any
faster. He can't go any faster.

Mark feels the doubt
starting to creep in.

He looks down at the
King, who is thrashing harder than ever, pulling at his neck-hold and trying to
break free, to fall back towards Earth.

He almost lets go of
the King.

Almost.

Looking down is what
changes it.

Mark, soaring to two
hundred and twenty thousand feet now, sees Earth as he has never seen it
before. His lungs are on fire, his entire body aches, and his mind is beginning
to darken, but it brings him an intense feeling of peace.

He sees his home, in
the truest sense. From where he flies, the blue pearl is visible in both night
and day. Far to his right is the night time, sparkling like diamonds hidden
within coal. To his left is the rising sun, cresting the Earth's surface and
burning with unbridled ferocity.

Then there's Mark,
carrying a disease, a human cancer, away from it.