Authors: Louise Voss
Her words provoked a sneer of disgust from Angelica. ‘Why would I take you?’ she said. ‘You’ve already shown you can’t be trusted.’
‘But I did everything you asked … I listened in to Maddox’s calls, I told you what you needed to know.’
‘Shut up.’
Angelica raised her gun slowly, and Kate saw Annie’s expression change from supplication to shock, then horror. Angelica squeezed the trigger, and Annie crumpled silently to the floor, her blood mingling with Junko’s.
Even though Annie had betrayed them, Kate couldn’t help shouting in protest. So much death. She imagined all the others must be dead too. Poor William and quiet Chip. Kolosine. And Tosca … The big man’s smiling face flashed before her as she recalled him cracking one of his terrible
jokes. She swallowed hard and tears sprang up in her
eyes. She felt defeated, exhausted, but relieved in a purely
instinctive, animal way that they weren’t – for whatever
insane reason – going to kill her. Not yet anyway. She might still see Jack again. And Paul.
Angelica checked her watch. ‘It’s twelve fifty. We need to leave. Now.’
She unclipped a pair of handcuffs from her belt, snapped one cuff onto her own wrist, the other onto Kate’s. She seemed weary, Kate thought, and as though she was trying hard not to look at Cindy’s body where it lay on the floor.
‘You’ll have to drag me out of here,’ Kate said.
Angelica stuck her gun in Kate’s face. ‘You’re going to walk. If you don’t, after I’ve killed you, I’ll drive to Dallas as fast as I can and shoot your brat in the face.’
Kate shuddered. OK, she would go along with them. She had no choice. The mere fact that this crazy woman knew of Jack’s existence was too much of a threat.
‘What about her?’ Simone asked, gesturing towards Junko. ‘She’s still breathing.’
‘Bring her along,’ Angelica ordered. ‘If she lives, it will be a sign that she is our Number Seven. Sister Preeti can minister to her.’
Simone stooped and lifted the tiny Junko easily over
her shoulder, showing no sign of exertion as she carried her floppy body towards the door. Angelica pushed Kate ahead of her, her gun poking the back of her neck.
One of them had put a sack over her head and tied it loosely around her neck as soon as they got into the car, so Kate saw nothing for the duration of the ninety-minute journey. Her hands were cuffed tightly behind her back, with her right arm still shooting pain up to her shoulder, and her mouth had been gagged with thick gaffer tape.
She could tell that there was another woman driving, one who hadn’t been present during the raid, as the others were in turn relaying to her what had happened. Someone seemed to be attending to Junko, for Kate smelled the sudden acidic tang of antiseptic, and Junko’s moans grew louder. One of the voices said, ‘Pass me that bandage, Sister.’
The mood in the vehicle was odd. When they spoke of ‘Sister Cindy’, their voices grew sombre, tearful even, but any bitterness or anger towards Kate seemed to have vanished. In its place was a calm resignation, and much talk of accepting ‘the will of the Goddess’. When the topic of conversation moved on to the success of their mission, there was such elation in their voices that Kate felt an icy chill run through her. How could these insane women murder all those people in cold blood – she made a grim tally in her head: Kolosine, Annie, McCarthy (oh, poor Tosca!), Thompson, William, Adoncia, Chip, the lab tech guys, the security guards … not to mention their own ‘sister’ – and then talk about it with a barely suppressed jubilation? Kate had no doubt that these women were also responsible for the bomb that killed Isaac.
‘I am proud of you, Sisters,’ said the voice of the one Kate now recognised as the leader, the Daddy one. Angelica. ‘Sekhmet is proud of you too.’
Sekhmet? Kate thought. Perhaps that was Daddy’s boss. She leaned back on the headrest of her seat, trying to ignore the pins and needles in her arms. Oh shit, she thought. Shit, shit, shit.
Kate realised they had reached their destination when the vehicle finally stopped and all the doors slid open. She felt bright sunlight on her face, but beneath the blindfold she had no clue where she was – perhaps they had changed their minds about keeping them alive and were taking her to some deserted canyon, to shoot her and Junko, and dump their bodies for the mountain lions and coyotes to breakfast on?
But no, they were led up some steps and suddenly the atmosphere changed as they entered a cool, calm space, where their footsteps echoed off a hard slippery floor. Junko was still moaning, and had started to babble in Japanese, a terrible refrain of physical pain and confusion. It sounded as though she were in a wheelchair, or being carried on a stretcher, as her voice was coming from about Kate’s waist level.
Kate was worried that her colleague had sustained a brain injury, but forced herself to stay positive: it was probably trauma and concussion. Surely if it was really ba
d, Junko would be
completely unconscious? The scent of
frangipani
and furniture polish filled her nostrils, and she felt her legs tremble beneath her as a firm hand in the small of her back propelled her along a lengthy corridor. Then she heard the sound of a door opening, and the atmosphere altered again as she was pushed into a room.
There was a sudden cold rush of air conditioning on her hot damp cheeks as the thick hessian sack was torn off her head. Pain distorted the skin of her lips and mouth as the tape was ripped away, and light flooded her pupils, making her blink in the glare. Asher wrists were released from the cuffs, she took in her new surroundings: a small, plain, whitewashed room containing two single beds with white pillows and duvets. Nothing else. Bars on the window, a heavy door like a prison cell’s, with a grate at eye-level. From some distant part of her brain, the word ‘wicket’ came to her. That’s what they were called, those grates: wickets. It made her think of English summers – cricket greens and cream teas … She almost wanted to laugh at the incongruity of the thought.
Junko had been placed on one of the beds, a large white bandage wrapped around the wound on her forehead, through which blood was seeping. Her skin was a terrible yellowy-white, and Kate saw her eyeballs moving beneath the veiled lids.
‘Get a doctor for her,’ she commanded, turning to see her captors’ faces properly for the first time since the raid.
Two women were standing in the room, both wearing long white robes. They stared at her, impassive, arms folded. One had been in the lab – the very tall one with burnished ebony skin, huge eyes and shaved head. Her baldness only served to emphasise the beauty of her face, now that Kate could see it clearly. Sister Simone. The second was shorter, merely pretty where her companion was beautiful; auburn hair and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her snub nose. She looked as though she ought to be wearing the tiniest of denim shorts and a tied-waisted plaid shirt, posing for a Pirelli calendar, rather than clad in what looked like a druid’s clothing.
Kate blinked. Whatever else she had expected, it wasn’t this. ‘What is this place?’ she demanded. ‘Who are you people?’
Simone spoke first. She was much calmer now than she had been in the lab. ‘We are the Sisters of Sekhmet. I am Simone, and this is Brandi.’
‘Are you a cult? What’s with the robes?’
Brandi smiled, and when she spoke, Kate recognised the voice of the driver. ‘We wouldn’t describe it as a cult, no. We are a sacred organisation established to usher in the new Golden Age. As you can tell, it’s already well underway. Within two years the world’s population will shrink to one hundred thousand. These survivors will be the most enlightened souls … We wouldn’t normally talk about it to lay people, but there’s hardly any time left in this Cycle, and you have a really important job to do for us.’
‘Right,’ Kate said carefully, trying to take it in. ‘And what exactly is it that you think I can do for you, assuming I would agree to do anything, after you’ve murdered most of my colleagues?’
‘Dadi Angelica will come speak with you about that.’
‘I can tell you this right now: I will not be helping you in any way whatsoever unless you get my friend to a hospital.’
Simone and Brandi exchanged looks. ‘That won’t be possible. But our own doctor is on her way,’ said Brandi with a shrug, and left the room. Simone paused for a moment, then followed her. There was the sound of a key turning in the lock outside.
Kate sank back on to the bed, numb with shock and disbelief. Poor Junko was deathly silent now, and so still that Kate immediately jumped up to make sure she was still breathing.
‘Junko,’ she said, slapping her gently on the back of her hand. ‘Wake up, please.’
Junko stirred and moaned faintly, but didn’t open her eyes. With far more conviction than she felt, Kate promised her, ‘It’s OK, I’ll get us out of here. Don’t worry.’ She lifted up first one of Junko’s eyelids with her thumb, and then the other. Her left iris seemed considerably larger than her right. Kate didn’t know what this meant, other than that it was a very bad sign. She swallowed down the despair that was rising inside her as the door opened again, and Brandi returned, this time with a petite Asian-Indian woman carrying a medical bag.
‘How is our patient doing?’ the woman asked Kate, picking up Junko’s wrist and taking her pulse. ‘She is in a stable condition, so once I’ve stitched up the cut, she will need to rest. I’m Sister Preeti, by the way. I am a fully qualified MD, so please rest assured that your friend is in safe hands here.’
She gently unpeeled Junko’s bandage, and Kate winced at the sight of the deep jagged wound and flaps of flesh that marred Junko’s previously flawless skin. Preeti administered a local anaesthetic, and Junko groaned again, clutching at the air with her fists. Kate reached for her nearer hand and held it, stroking it as though it was Jack’s.
‘She is not in a stable condition!’ Kate said, trying to keep her voice low for Junko’s sake. ‘One of her irises is enlarged, her breathing is irregular and shallow, and she’s only semi-conscious! How can you possibly say that she’s stable?’
As Preeti expertly swabbed and stitched the wound, Kate remembered holding Jack’s hand like this, through so many childhood illnesses and playground accidents. Something twisted in her heart at the thought of the thousands of parents having to hold their children’s hands and watch them slip away in a torment of fever and convulsion. Still, she thought bitterly, at least they were with their children. What if Jack died before she ever saw him again?
Missing him more than ever, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine that Junko’s small hand was Jack’s, telling herself that when she opened her eyes, she would be back in the cottage with him and Paul, with homework to do and spaghetti bolognese to make for supper … ‘How are you doing?’ the doctor asked.
Kate opened her eyes. The doctor was looking at her,
the hand with the needle and suture thread hovering over the
line of neat stitches in Junko’s head.
Kate snorted. ‘Oh, terrific, thanks for asking. How do you think I’m doing?’
‘I meant, physically,’ Preeti replied calmly, turning back to Junko and resuming her stitching. ‘I appreciate this will have come as something of a shock, but please try to stay calm. We won’t hurt you if you cooperate.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I suggest that you do.’
Kate considered punching her. ‘Threatening me isn’t going to help. What would help is if I knew exactly what it is that you want me to do.’
‘Dadi Angelica will talk to you about that.’
‘Who is this person, and why do you call her Daddy?’
‘Be patient. She will explain it all. And it’s D-A-D-I, not the paternal proper noun you are doubtless imagining.’ Preeti cut the end of the suture thread and taped a clean square dressing onto Junko’s head.
‘Junko needs an X-ray. She might have a skull fracture,’ Kate said. ‘She’s far less conscious than she was when we arrived. She could be sinking into a deep coma. If she dies, you women will be guilty of another murder, you know that? Not that the numerous previous ones seem to have bothered you all that much, not to mention all the people who died in the San Diego hotel bombing. I assume that was you?’
Preeti merely looked at her serenely, her lack of denial confirming it.
‘Time is too short for all that. Normal laws no longer apply – only the will of the Goddess shall be done now. Unless she is to be our seventh Sister, your friend will die. Most of Earth’s population will die. It is decreed.’
Kate opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it again as the horrible truth struck her afresh, like a physical blow: yes, most of Earth’s population would die soon if the virus wasn’t stopped. And one of the few people who might be able to prevent Watoto-X2 raging like bush fire through all five continents was lying unconscious next to her – assuming Junko’s breakthrough would make it possible to identify the antibody.
Preeti packed up her medical bag and got to her feet, then the door opened again and yet another astonishingly beautiful woman appeared, carrying a tray with a bowl of something steaming, and a hunk of bread, so fresh that the scent of it filled the room. It was the one who had been in charge at the lab; the one they called Dadi Angelica. She smiled at Preeti, who instantly inclined her head and gave a small bow of deference. ‘Sister Preeti,’ the woman said, ‘how are our guests?’
‘The patient is in recovery,’ Preeti said. ‘I’ve stitched her wound and checked her vital signs.’
Kate stood up, furious. ‘No, as I keep saying, she is not “in recovery”. She’s probably suffered severe brain damage, and all you can talk about is the fact that you’ve given her a few stitches? Why won’t you people listen? She needs to be in a hospital.’
‘That isn’t an option, I’m afraid,’ said Angelica. With her hair down, and dressed in pale gold robes rather than the black leather she’d worn in the lab, she looked more like a Hollywood actress than a spiritual guru. And she was younger than Kate had first thought, somewhere in her mid-to-late twenties.