Monster Republic (17 page)

‘I was hoping you were gonna say that.’

She bent into a crouch and stalked towards
him. Cameron circled warily backwards around the bomb, bracing himself against the flow of water against his legs. He raised his fists, ready to fend off the first attack. Ready, he hoped, for anything. Carla followed hungrily, looking for an opportunity to strike.

Then they lunged at each other like two rival lions.

Back above ground, Rora was getting agitated. The fact that they were a man down since Slater had left wasn’t helping her mood. Neither was the way Tinker kept looking at his watch between twitches and muttering the time under his breath. Rora could feel the seconds ticking away without a spoken reminder.

All the local dignitaries had taken their seats and there was an air of expectation as Dr Fry went to greet the Prime Minister. The two men were standing slightly apart from the rest of the crowd, far enough for their conversation to be inaudible.

To anyone without fox-tuned hearing.

‘Welcome to Broad Harbour, Prime Minister,’ said Fry smoothly. ‘So glad you could make it to our little memorial service.’

The Prime Minister beamed back at him, making a show of greeting Dr Fry with a friendly pat on the shoulder as they shook hands. But even from a distance Rora could hear that his voice was anything but friendly.

‘I couldn’t exactly miss it, could I?’ he hissed between smiling lips. ‘But don’t think this means you’re off the hook, Fry. I know you’re up to something.’

Fry smiled thinly. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Prime Minister. Please, come this way.’

Now the pair were making their way to the stage, passing along a line of bereaved parents, shaking hands and offering condolences.

Rora was amazed at how a cold-hearted butcher like Fry could pour on the charm.

There was no sign of Carla, but that was a mixed blessing because there was still no sign of Cameron either, and Rora was under no illusions about her own chances in a one-on-one scrap with Fry’s monster. Slater would
have improved the odds somewhat, but even together they wouldn’t have stood much chance. For all his brilliance with machinery, Tinker was next to useless in a fight.

Finally, the Prime Minister shook the last set of hands. He turned towards the VIP stage and extended an arm, inviting Fry to take a seat. Fry shook his silvery head, though, and began walking over to the public spectator stand instead, a humble look on his face.

Rora frowned.

‘Why is he going to sit with the plebs?’ she muttered, scanning the rows of faces again. There was still no sign of Carla. ‘It’s as if he doesn’t want to be too close to the Prime Minister. He’s definitely up to something.’ She eyed the unmoving manhole cover. ‘What’s keeping him?’ she hissed.

There was no more time to wonder, though. The Prime Minister had reached his seat, and a black-clad priest was making his way towards the podium to open proceedings.

The ceremony was about to begin.

Cameron was experiencing a serious case of
déjà vu
.

Once again he was fighting it out with Carla – and once again he was getting the stuffing kicked out of him. The violent splashing of water seemed to be the only difference between this and their last two encounters.

They spun and lashed out with punches and kicks, grabbing each other in wrestling holds. As he fought, Cameron tried to do two things: stay close to the bomb – he was going to need to deal with it fast when the fight was over – and keep repeating the name ‘Carla’ over and over in his head. He knew that if he was going to win this fight, he would have to forget the girl that used to be Marie. Forget, even, that she’d ever been alive.

It was that heartbreaking thought that lent him an extra burst of rage, and he went at his opponent with a flurry of savage blows, driving her back against the wall. For a moment he had the heartening sense that this time, against the odds, he was going to win. As Carla ducked and dived and tried to sidestep his
fists, Cameron started thinking ahead. Could he disarm the bomb himself or would he have to call Tinker down here?

Taking his mind off the task in hand, though, was not a good idea. Suddenly Carla ducked under his arm, and his right fist crashed into the wall. The mechanical hand sent brick-dust flying. But although he couldn’t feel pain in his knuckles, the damage was done elsewhere: Carla came up on his left and drove in with a punch that slammed into the soft part of Cameron’s face like a truck into a rabbit.

Cameron spun and toppled backwards, splashing into the water. Dazed, he tried to shake off the blow and get back into the fight. He threw out his arms to lever himself up, but before he could do anything more, Carla was on top of him, sitting on his chest and pinning his arms down with both knees. Cameron writhed and thrashed, but she had him securely held down. Stupidly he opened his mouth to cry out – and water flooded in.

Carla planted a hand over Cameron’s face and pushed his head down under the surface
of the water. He tried for a kick, but she was too far up on his chest. Thrashing wildly, he glimpsed Marie’s blurred face through the slosh and swirl of water. She was smiling down at him, but it was a cruel, laughing smile as she watched his vain struggles. Cameron felt a burning pain growing in his chest as his lungs cried out for air, and he tried to fight harder, but by now his heavy coat was completely waterlogged and pulling him down.

As Carla continued to laugh at him from above, the sight of her through the churning water grew murkier and more distant, and Cameron realized with a sick feeling that he was finished. There was nothing more he could do to fight, and he was going to drown.

To a round of subdued applause, the Prime Minister tugged on a black velvet cord and unveiled the memorial. It was a simple black marble obelisk, a plaque affixed to one side with the names of the deceased children etched in brass. No one could read it from where they sat, of course, but they didn’t have to. As the Prime Minister made his way to the podium, the priest solemnly listed the names of the dead.

‘… Marie Lyons, Carl Monkton … Cameron Reilly …’

The irony of the list didn’t escape Rora – especially that Marie and Carl came next to each other in alphabetical order. She and
Tinker had moved closer to the spectator stand in case Carla should make a sudden appearance there, but had picked a spot where they could still keep an eye on the drain where they had seen Cameron disappear.

‘Four minutes to eleven,’ said Tinker, so nervous he seemed to have forgotten his stammer.

‘It’s been too long,’ replied Rora. ‘Carla must be down there. I’m going to help.’

As she spoke, the manhole cover moved. The sigh of relief was halfway out of her when her heart froze solid in her chest.

Instead of Cameron, the athletic figure of Carla was hoisting herself easily out from the drain. Quietly replacing the manhole cover, she stole a surreptitious glance around. As the monster’s gaze swung towards them, Rora and Smarts turned away and tried to look inconspicuous.

‘D-d-did she see us?’ breathed Tinker.

‘I don’t know,’ replied Rora, slowly raising her head.

Carla had vanished.

‘Damn!’ Rora’s head snapped round. ‘Where did she go?’

‘I c-c-can’t see her,’ said Tinker.

‘If Smarts is right, she’s going to make her move at the end of the two-minute silence. That means we’ve got four minutes to find her. Maybe we can cause a panic, a distraction, anything.’

Tinker’s jerking head nodded. ‘What about C-C-Cameron?’

Rora swallowed hard. As much as she didn’t want to believe it, there was nothing else she could say.

‘If he was down there with Carla, he’s dead.’

Cameron floated in a world of green. The burning pain in his chest had been replaced by a hollow, leaden ache that seemed to get more distant by the second. Everything was very peaceful, his mind drifting like his body.

Suddenly a penetrating chime sounded in his head and flashing words burst across his vision:
BACKUP OXYGEN SYSTEM ACTIVATED
.

Instantly Cameron’s mind seemed to snap back into gear. There was an over whelming taste of salt in his mouth. He was still under water! His arms thrashed about in immediate, reflexive panic.

It took him a moment to realize that there was air in his lungs. He wasn’t exactly breathing under water, but oxygen was being pumped into him from somewhere. He stopped struggling and tried to calm himself. It looked as if he had another thing to thank Dr Fry for. Although, he reminded himself, if it wasn’t for Fry, he wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place.

One look was enough to tell Cameron he wasn’t inside the outlet pipe any more. Daylight gleamed down through the water above him. He kicked upwards and swam towards it.

Cameron popped his head above the surface and spat out sea water, before drawing in a deep breath and taking a swift glance around.

The marina was behind him. He was out in the harbour. After he had stopped struggling,
Carla must have left him for dead, to be washed down the pipe and out to sea. He hadn’t drifted far, though. He could still make out the crowds of people gathered on the marina. There were no screams, no sounds of panic. It looked like the bomb hadn’t gone off yet. There was still time.

Checking his HUD to see that the breathing system was still operating, Cameron ducked quickly back below the surface. With powerful strokes, he swam back towards land, his eyes searching around for the pipe outlet.

As he swam, he wondered why Carla hadn’t thought about the emergency oxygen system. Surely she must have been fitted with a similar device? Arrogance – and ignorance – had to be the answer. Even in his own body, Carl had had more than enough of both before the modifications. Now that he was rendered superhuman, the arrogance would only have got worse. Enough to blind him to such little details.

Cameron had to be thankful for small mercies.

What he was more thankful for, though, was the cold, hard lesson he had learned. Finally he knew beyond all doubt that the monster he was facing was Carl. Nothing to do with Marie at all. Her body was only a shell, the disguise or costume in which Dr Fry had dressed his champion. Her body had probably been chosen for the Divinity Project because she was fit and strong. But Marie would never have delighted in violence the way Carl had – he’d always enjoyed inflicting pain and shoving people around. And so Fry had selected Carl’s brain for its brutal, thuggish mentality. The combination had made for a formidable soldier. Marie could never have been that.

Kicking strongly through the water, Cameron made a promise to himself never to make the mistake of confusing the two again. It was time to take on Carl – Carla – and her alone. And although he knew now that he couldn’t be drowned, Cameron had realized something else too. He was never going to be able to beat Carla in a fair fight. He was going to have to out-think his enemy.

But first there was the small matter of defusing a bomb.

Reaching the outlet, Cameron pulled himself into the pipe, battling against the flow. Soon he was able to stand, breaking the surface to race back along the pipe to where the bomb was still ticking down to zero hour.

Cameron swallowed as he saw the timer: 10.58.

He had been out of the picture far too long.

Frantically he set to work on the detonator as the seconds bled away.

Rora shoved her way through the crowd, panic rising in her chest. There was no time – and no sign of Carla. But she was here somewhere. Getting ready to strike.

On the podium, the Prime Minister spoke.

‘And now I ask you to join me in two minutes’ silence to remember the children who lost their lives in this terrible tragedy.’

Silence fell like a shroud. Hands were joined, heads bowed, lips moved in soundless prayer. With Tinker at her side, Rora strained her
eyes and ears for any trace of movement or noise.

Nothing.

She sought out Dr Fry in the spectator stand, hoping against hope that Carla would be with him.

There she was! At his right hand, just where a loyal bodyguard should be. Beside her, Fry sat stock-still, his hard, bright eyes never straying from the Prime Minister. Then he smiled. A cold, heartless smile that turned Rora’s blood to ice.

It was about to happen.

Desperately Rora started to barge forward, elbowing her way towards them, but she knew she was too far away. Tinker snatched at her sleeve.

‘D-d-don’t, Rora! We’re too late.’

At the same instant a tall figure leaped out of the crowd towards Fry. Rora caught sight of a flash of dark hair and sharp features.

‘Slater!’ she screamed.

In the distance, the town hall clock could be heard chiming the first strike of eleven. Time
seemed to slow to a crawl. Rora could see everything unfolding in slow motion.

Carla unwinding from her seat to intercept Slater before he could reach Fry …

The Prime Minister peering over at the disturbance with obvious confusion …

Fry’s gaze sliding away from the wrestling monsters next to him and back to the podium, excited expectation still written across his face …

The clock chimed again and again.

Slater and Carla grappling, the girl forcing Slater down to his knees …

Fry rising to his feet, his hands gripping the back of the seat in front of him …

The clock chimed one last time. The eleventh hour had come.

And Fry’s face changed.

The triumphant smile was wiped away. And in its place was frowning confusion and thinly concealed frustration.

Carla struck Slater a blow that sent him sprawling to the ground. She pointed her arm directly into his face. Even from a distance
Rora could see the gun barrel protruding from her wrist.

The world snapped back into real time.

‘Time to die, Reject,’ snarled Carla.

Rora raced forward, but there was no way she could reach them in time.

She didn’t have to.

Dust and cobblestones exploded into the centre of the square as Cameron erupted through the ground. He was streaked with filth and bare-chested, and with his various mechanical extras in plain view, he looked like some hideous creature from the bowels of the earth.