The Stone Man - A Science Fiction Thriller (42 page)

“Don’t forget to check the outside perimeter at Target Two,” she called. “You might be bullshitting through your teeth for all I know, but at least you’ve proved that you can be trusted to do a difficult job, one that other civilians might not have had the balls to do.” She looked us both over for a second, and then continued in a voice that was only marginally softer. “That went smoothly. I know it was difficult for you. But I want it that smooth on the other end, got it?” I nodded in my seat without looking at her, staring at the floor and only seeing Henry, Henry, Henry. Paul leant a forearm on his lap and put his head on it, then waved his free hand weakly in her direction as the jeep began to pull away.

“Good luck,” she called, and then we were on our way once more, to claim another member of the British public for the greater good. Nobody knew it then, of course—we all had concerns of our own—but there was something very unexpected waiting at Target Two. We would find out in less than two hours’ time.

***

I found out later that their theory turned out to be right, of course. The real perimeters
weren’t
up yet. They drove Henry out of there and loaded him onto a helicopter without any problem, and took him to the Stone Man. By then it had just passed the outskirts of Coventry. I didn’t see it, and even though I could probably have requested to do so later—they trust me now, and some spook will definitely have filmed it—of course I couldn’t watch it.

For Henry, I gather they picked the nearest securable area along the trajectory with good access, and brought Henry and the original Stone Man together. I don’t know if he remained sedated. I think of Patrick’s horrific screams, and I hope with every fibre of my wretched soul that Henry stayed under. On a purely practical level, I
do
know the essentials of how it went.

Part removed, Henry dead, Stone Man gone.

Just like that.

Gone.

***

I don’t remember much about the helicopter ride to Birmingham. I have a dim memory of being offered water by someone, and drinking it. I remember the sensation as it trickled its way down my parched throat; it made me think of sand being washed off rocks, and I realised how dry my throat must have been. I remember hearing someone announce over the radio that the rendezvous between Target One and Caementum had been ‘successful’. Straub would be meeting us once we’d pinpointed ‘Target Two’. And I remember that every time I let my mind wander, it went straight to Henry’s face, his wide, frightened eyes looking into mine whilst he said
Not
your fault.

Other than that, the main part of the trip was pretty much a blur, or at least it is to me now. I just sat there, slumped like a limp bag of meat and bones, whilst I tried to hold on to any sense of purpose. I tried not to catch Paul’s eye the whole time. I couldn’t have handled that if it had happened. The steadily growing shakes were almost welcome this time, as they gave me something to try to focus on, something I could spend my energy fighting against instead of thinking. I tried to remind myself that I was saving lives, that I was part of a heroic undertaking, but the words were fundamentally hollow. What had I ever really done? I desperately sought some kind of escape, some kind of mental refuge, but there was none. I tried to think of going back to New York, of being the main man once more, trying to take solace in the idea, but that world seemed to belong to someone else. In the remembered champagne smiles and backslaps I saw the jeering, cheering faces of the crowd in the Coliseum, baying for blood. 

When I try to remember the trip more clearly now, coherent memories start around the point where the announcement came over the headphones that we were approaching Birmingham. I didn’t look up, but Paul nudged my foot gently and I, at least, began to
think
about what I was doing next. I had a job to do, I knew, I just needed a second to get myself started.

Why am I here?
I asked myself, and waited for a response. The discussion in my head was efficient and to the point, parts of my brain waking up under basic cognitive process.

To find Target Two.

Why?

To save people.

How?

I have to hunt them down.

Any problems with that?
Think.

They have to die.

Not those kind of problems. All business. Be all business. That’s supposed to be easy for you.

Okay. They cut me off last time. They spotted me watching. They might be waiting for that.

Okay. Then you wait until you’re closer. Just like last time—

HENRY—

Shut up. Ask them to tell you when you’re right over Birmingham,
then
tune in. Keep cutting off, just like before on the helicopter over Edinburgh. Get on with it.

I spoke into the microphone, instructing the pilot to let me know when we were positioned correctly, and then finally raised my head to address Paul. One look at his face told me all I needed to know about how he was feeling, but I couldn’t let him sit this part out like before. Between the games in my own head and the now-heavy shakes, I was barely keeping it together. I
needed
help.

Silently, I held out my hand, and he took it without looking away from my eyes. He simply nodded, and then I did what I do best. I got on with things.

Some time later, through our directions, we found ourselves driving along a more affluent-looking suburban street than the one in Edinburgh. I don’t recall the name. The houses were quite new, detached, each with a small garden out front. It had taken more time to get here on this occasion, once we’d identified the street, as we’d had to land the chopper a greater distance away. Word came through over the radio that Straub would be joining us almost immediately; she’d been true to her word, and had left to join us the instant Henry had cleared the estimated containment radius. The evacuation had had more time to take effect too, and they’d done a good job; the main roads inside the city centre, at least, were far, far less busy than in Edinburgh, and our road transport had arrived fast. The motorways taking people out of Birmingham would perhaps be the opposite by now. As we headed along our short journey through the suburbs however, a police escort was needed, then provided, to get us through the thickening traffic, and Paul and I were informed that we were in areas that hadn’t yet been fully swept for evacuation. Families in cars stared at us as we drove past, children staring at the army vehicles with gaping mouths. I don’t think anyone recognised me. Men standing on the roadside beside their stationary cars shouted abuse at the soldiers, and at one point we passed the burnt-out husk of a four-door saloon, turned over onto its roof. The fear and uncertainty in the air was palpable.

As Paul and I directed our jeep onto the correct street, with two military transports in tow and our eyes barely open, I knew immediately that the right house was somewhere at the
end
of this road.

At such close range, I noticed, the signal felt different to the last two times. Considerably different, but I couldn’t yet tell why. It was maddening … but then I remembered that I’d find out why very soon, and suddenly the answer didn’t seem important. As we drove on, I could see that we’d actually entered a cul-de-sac.

A dead end. Nowhere to run.

Paul and I hadn’t spoken to each other for this part of the journey any more than we had whilst in the chopper, and I wanted that to continue. Nothing to do with him, of course. I just couldn’t talk to him without addressing what had happened in Edinburgh, and I wanted nothing to do with that at all.

The old man. The sergeant.

I pushed it away, felt for the signal again, and that’s how I found out that it had gone.

This time, when I reached with my mind for the signal, my whole body stiffened as the same painful, high-pitched screeching sound from before filled my head, and I let go, unable to take it. The cacophony was awful, like the squealing death cries of some unimaginably huge creature. I felt Paul suddenly lurch slightly in the seat next to me, and knew that he had lost it too. The previously nigh-unbearable shakes stopped dead so suddenly that their absence made me feel light-headed in a completely different way. The pull had vanished. The relief was missed in my confusion, fear and exhaustion. We’d been shut down again.

“Guys?” asked the commanding officer who’d been in charge of us since we’d left Edinburgh. I never asked his name or rank, and he never offered it. What did it matter? Straub or David or this guy, there would be someone in charge who would tell us what to do, and we would do it. That was all that was expected of us. We just had to do what we were told, and hang our consciences on the fact that we were following orders. “Which house?”

Paul and I looked at each other, confirming what we already knew, and it was Paul who responded.

“We’ve lost it,” said Paul, quietly. It wasn’t just the shakes draining him; he had nothing left. He’d gone into Henry’s house to relieve his own guilt, but instead he’d made it so much worse. This time, I knew, fully, what he’d been talking about. Unsurprisingly, it had taken me twice as long as Paul—taken double the number of deaths—to feel it. Even the realisation that I was, once again, surplus to requirements held no concern this time around. “I think they’ve shut us down again ... cut us off from the other Blue, too. I think … I don’t know. It’s one of these houses on the end. I got that much.”

“
Shit
,” cursed the officer, turning to look at the five houses arranged in a circle at the end of the cul-de-sac. “We’ll have to go house to house. Wait,” he said, suddenly whipping back around to face us, looking alarmed. He was older than me, I could see, but not by much. “What about these barriers or whatever? Did you see any of those, I mean, can you still you still see those?”

Paul looked at me, eyes suddenly alert, and for once I couldn’t read his face. If he’d gotten the chance to blag this again, to get to go into another target’s house, I’ll never know if he’d have taken it, because he never
got
that chance. I do know that he hesitated to respond, at least. All I know for certain is that if he’d tried to rope me into it again, on that day, at that time, I wouldn’t have gone with him. I wouldn’t have been able to do it. I knew now that I could be the tracker, the finger man … but also that I couldn’t get my hands dirty again. The thought made me feel deeply ashamed and dirty, and it still does; like a grubby little blotch on my soul.

Either way, at that moment, the decision was taken out of Paul’s hands as the radio squawked into life, and Straub’s voice came over the speaker.

“
Straub here.
Rendezvous in five minutes. Stand down and wait for my arrival, repeat, wait for my arrival before advancement
.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the officer, looking at us as he spoke. “There’s been a further development here, ma’am. The two civilian advisers appear to have lost the signal. They say they’ve been cut off from it.”

There was silence from the other end of the radio, in which I knew that Straub would be swearing somewhere, sitting in a moving jeep. After a few moments, the radio clicked as she pushed the talk button on her end, and her voice came back.

“
Roger that. Sit tight until I get there.
”

“Yes, ma’am. I was just about to clarify the situation regarding the presence of any barriers around the building, whether or not they could still identify those.”

After was another pause, during which we all sat and waited patiently, Straub’s voice spoke again. This time, her words scared me to death.

“
Don’t worry about any barriers. There are none. Rendezvous in five. Over and out.
”

I stared at Paul as my blood drained into my feet, and swallowed hard, my throat dry once more. She knew. She’d done as she’d promised, and it hadn’t been a bluff. The only hope we had in hell of getting away with our lives intact was that her promise of swift and severe retribution had been a hollow one. Knowing what I knew of Straub, I didn’t think that this would be the case. I might have been numbed to my very core by what had happened in Edinburgh, but that flat statement of Straub’s—
There are none
—managed to punch through.