Earthfall: Retribution (9 page)

‘I suppose,’ Rachel said, staring at the shattered remains of the massive clock tower on the other side of the square, ‘but if that’s true, why haven’t they used them?’

‘No idea,’ Jay said with a shrug. ‘Who knows how they think? Come on back to the compound – it’s freezing out here.’

‘Give me a minute,’ Rachel said. ‘I won’t be long.’

Jay looked at her for a moment, studying her face. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘don’t make me send a Grendel out here after you.’

She gave him a weak smile and watched him walk up the road towards St James’s Park. She turned back to the ruined Houses of Parliament and recalled the time they had finally confronted the Voidborn in the skies above London. If it hadn’t been for Sam, they would all have died that day. Now he and his unique connection to the Voidborn were gone, along with perhaps their only hope of ever achieving such a spectacular victory again.

Sam woke with a start, feeling a hand press down on his mouth. His eyes shot open and he looked up at the shadowy figure of Mag, a single finger pressed to her lips. She pointed down at the bedroom floor and a moment later Sam heard a crash from somewhere beneath them.

‘Vore, two or three of them,’ she whispered. ‘We have to go, quick and quiet.’ She reached round to the small of her back and pulled out Sam’s pistol, passing it to him. ‘Don’t use it unless you absolutely have to.’

Sam gave a nod and climbed off the bed as Mag moved over to the bedroom window. She lifted the catch and swung the window open slowly. Sam looked down at the shrubs below.

‘When you hit the ground, run,’ Mag whispered. ‘Don’t look back.’

Sam nodded and climbed carefully up on to the window sill before turning and lowering himself backwards out of the window, dropping the last metre or so to the ground. He raised his pistol, straining to spot any sign of movement in the dark shadows of the surrounding garden before setting off across the snowy lawn at a sprint. Mag dropped down behind him and hit the ground running, catching up with him effortlessly.

‘Faster,’ she whispered. She was picking up the scent of more Vore nearby, lots of them.

Sam tried to increase his pace, but his battered, exhausted body had nearly reached its limits, even with the adrenalin pumping through his veins. They reached the road a few seconds later, pounding through the snow as a series of blood-curdling screeching howls filled the night air.

Suddenly, a bush to Sam’s right seemed to explode as a Vore burst from it, claws outstretched. The monstrous creature hit him hard, slamming him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him. Sam struggled desperately, trying to push the creature off him, gasping in pain as he felt its razor-sharp claws stabbing into his shoulder. The Vore’s mouth opened wide. It was too strong and Sam felt a moment of pure mortal terror as its fetid breath washed over his face.

Mag fell on the Vore like an animal, her own claws raking across the charcoal-coloured skin of the creature’s back, leaving long, gaping wounds. The wounded Vore turned on her with a pained howl, releasing Sam and staggering to its feet as Mag sprang towards it again. She knocked the creature to the ground, flat on its back, her razor-sharp teeth snapping closed on its exposed throat with a grisly crunch. The creature thrashed helplessly for a moment and then lay still. Sam backed away from Mag as she turned towards him with a feral hiss, the creature’s black blood covering her face. He heard another roar from behind him and turned to see at least a dozen Vore galloping on all fours down the moonlit street towards him.

‘Run!’ Mag growled. Sam did not need to be told twice. He turned and sprinted down the road, nothing in his head now other than the animal instinct to survive. He felt a moment of pure dread as the road fifty metres ahead of them was suddenly filled with more charging Vore. There was nowhere left to go. Sam raised his pistol and fired at the nearest creature, the impact of the bullets barely seeming to slow it. He kept firing and eventually the creature staggered and fell as the hammer of his pistol hit an empty chamber with a final click. Mag rounded on the advancing creatures, a low guttural growl coming from her throat. Strong as she was, Sam knew there was no way she could ever hope to keep them all at bay.

Suddenly, the advancing Vore at one end of the street were simply gone, swallowed in an enormous ball of fire. The light of the explosion was impossibly bright, the concussion wave that accompanied the thunderous noise knocking both Sam and Mag clean off their feet. A few seconds later all that was left was a smouldering crater and the twisted burning wreckage of long-abandoned cars.

Sam’s head spun, his ears ringing as he vainly tried to force himself back to his feet. The Vore at the other end of the street had stopped, momentarily stunned by the brightness. They began to advance more cautiously, hissing and growling as they closed the distance to Sam and Mag. A sudden thunder of heavy gunfire shredded the front rank of advancing creatures in a hail of bullets. Sam flattened himself to the ground as the air filled with the angry buzz of bullets flying just above his head. He tried to look back over his shoulder and saw the silhouettes of a dozen heavily armed men, picking their way through the burning debris of the explosion, weapons firing constantly. The Vore tried, at first, to continue their advance under the withering barrage of fire, but it was futile. Only a few seconds later the handful of surviving creatures scattered and ran in all directions as their own animal survival instincts kicked in.

Sam remained on the ground as the soldiers moved towards him and Mag, weapons still raised. Mag sprang to her feet and sprinted in the opposite direction, and Sam watched in horror as one of the soldiers pulled a handgun from the holster on his waist and fired. The round hit Mag squarely between the shoulder blades, and she slammed hard into the ground as her legs gave way beneath her.

‘No,’ Sam said, watching her lifeless body fall, his voice little more than a hoarse croak. He staggered to his feet.

‘This is Recon Echo,’ the nearest soldier spoke into his mic. ‘Predator strike on target. We’ve found the boy and taken down the hybrid. We’re clear for extraction.’

‘Roger that, Echo,’ his radio crackled in response. ‘Helo inbound.’

A few seconds later Sam could hear the distant thumping drone of helicopter rotors.

‘You didn’t have to kill her,’ Sam yelled angrily as the lead soldier advanced towards him.

‘I know,’ the soldier replied, before raising the pistol again, levelling it at Sam’s chest and pulling the trigger.

5

Sam’s eyes flickered open, but the bright overhead light forced him to close them with a wince. He took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes again, giving them time to adjust to the light. He was lying handcuffed to the steel frame of a bed in a bare concrete cell. He pulled fruitlessly at the shackle attached to his still human wrist. It was no good – he wasn’t going anywhere.

He forced himself up into a sitting position. Now that the adrenalin had worn off he could feel every cut, bruise and scrape that covered his body, but the truth was that he was relieved he could still feel anything at all. His last memory was of the soldier raising his weapon and pulling the trigger. He carefully lifted his T-shirt and looked down at his chest. There, just above his breastbone, was a circular burn, five centimetres across with a tiny puncture wound in the centre. The pistol the soldier had shot him with must have fired some sort of non-lethal round. He realised with a sudden rush of relief that the soldier had used the same weapon on Mag, which meant that there was a chance at least that she was still alive. He lifted the dressing on the wound in his side and saw that it had been cleaned and then closed with a neat row of stitches.

‘Hello!’ Sam shouted. ‘Is anyone out there?’ There was no response. He had no idea who had saved and then captured him, but at that point he had a thousand questions that needed answers. If they’d wanted him dead, they could have finished him earlier. The fact that he was still breathing meant they must value their captives a little at least.

A few minutes later there was the sound of a key turning in the door. A tall, athletic man with short grey hair, wearing urban camouflage fatigues, walked into the room carrying a metal folding chair. Attached to the side of the man’s skull was a small black disc, which flickered with a sickly green light, clearly some form of Voidborn technology. He unfolded the chair and sat down on the opposite side of the room from Sam, studying his face for a moment before speaking.

‘My name is Mason,’ the man said, ‘and I have a few questions for you.’

‘Where’s Mag?’ Sam demanded.

‘Mag? Oh, you mean the hybrid we captured with you. Don’t worry, she’s . . . secure,’ Mason replied.

‘What do you mean?’ Sam asked. ‘Where is she?’

‘Traditionally the person handcuffed to the bed isn’t the one who asks the questions,’ Mason replied. ‘My turn. Who are you?’

‘My name’s Sam,’ he replied after a moment or two. ‘Sam Riley.’

‘Well, Sam, there are a couple of things that I really need you to explain to me,’ Mason said, leaning forward in his chair. ‘For a start I’d like you to tell me why you have Voidborn technology replacing a large part of your right arm, and secondly I want to know what you have to do with the Voidborn drop-ship that our surveillance drones spotted over Edinburgh the night before last.’

Voidborn . . . Mason had called them that without Sam telling him anything. Whoever this man was, he knew a certain amount about the invaders, but how?

‘What if I don’t feel like telling you anything,’ Sam said defiantly. ‘What then?’

‘Then our conversation becomes more . . . impolite,’ Mason replied. ‘Do you know what the penalty is for collaboration during a time of war?’

‘I’m not a collaborator,’ Sam snapped angrily.

‘Really?’ Mason replied. ‘Well, perhaps you’d like to explain how you got that, then.’ He gestured towards Sam’s arm. ‘The Voidborn are not known for their generosity.’

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ Sam said, shaking his head.

‘I think you’d be surprised what I’d believe,’ Mason replied. ‘So are you going to tell me or do I have to go and ask your hybrid friend much less politely?’

‘You keep calling her that,’ Sam said. ‘What does it mean?’

‘More questions,’ Mason said. ‘Still no answers, though. Oh well, plan B.’ He stood up and walked towards the door.

‘Wait,’ Sam said with a sigh. ‘It’s not exactly Voidborn technology. I lost my arm to a Voidborn nanite swarm during the battle to capture the Mothership over London.’

‘What?’ Mason demanded, his face a sudden combin­ation of surprise and disbelief.

‘We captured the Mothership over London and during the fight I lost my arm,’ Sam said. ‘This just grew back to replace it. I have no idea why.’

‘You’re seriously trying to tell me that you captured a Voidborn Mothership,’ Mason said, shaking his head. ‘That’s impossible. You’d need an army.’

‘We had one,’ Sam replied. Something told him that it was not a good idea to tell Mason that the army in question had consisted of four kids and an old man.

‘When was this supposed to have happened?’ Mason asked with a frown.

‘Three months ago,’ Sam replied. ‘London is ours.’

‘Until the Voidborn want it back,’ Mason said with a dismissive wave. ‘Do you have any idea how many Motherships there are? More than enough to wipe you from the face of the planet if they wanted to, Mothership or not.’

‘How come you know so much about them,’ Sam replied, ‘and why aren’t you under their control? Or are you?’

‘These things keep me and my men safe from the control signal,’ Mason said, tapping the implant attached to the side of his head, ‘and the reason I know so much about them is that I used to work for them.’

‘You did
what
?’

‘I used to work for them,’ Mason replied, sitting back down in the chair opposite Sam. ‘Not that I knew that at the time. I was, shall we say, an independent contractor. I had no idea who was really pulling all the strings behind the scenes. To be honest, I didn’t really care.’

‘You were part of the Foundation,’ Sam said, ‘and you have the nerve to call
me
a collaborator.’

The Foundation was a secretive organisation that had been furthering the Voidborn’s plans for thousands of years, steering human history and evolution to suit their masters’ twisted ends. Sam had only learned of its existence when Dr Stirling had confessed to Sam that both he and Sam’s father had worked as researchers for the organisation until they had learned the true horrors of what the alien machines were actually planning, and had decided to fight against them instead.