Ruins (19 page)

Hands dragged him to his feet. The Earth tilted on its axis. Nale resisted the urge to vomit. He stood groggily, held up by two men, one on either side of him. Their grip was unrelenting.

In front of him, a gathering of six other men stood unmoving. The one at the centre was different. He wore some sort of metal glove on one hand.

“Benjamin Nale.”

The men parted and a woman slithered between them.

Red fabric wrinkled like raw flesh.

Nale couldn’t move. He was transfixed by snow-white skin, blood-red lips, a slender neck...

“Good evening, Benjamin.”

The woman’s voice was lazy and smothering, dripping with a deadly kind of venom.

In the caravan, Zeus barked wildly, throwing himself against the door.

Through the grogginess, Nale felt something probing at the edge of his mind, where his thoughts met infinity. He stared defiantly into that pale face, resisting whatever charms the beautiful newcomer was weaving.

“Why is a strapping man of your moral fibre hiding in the wilds of Norfolk?” the woman teased.

He didn’t answer.

Her lips ruptured into a smile. “Who keeps you warm at night?” she massaged. “Surely not the dog?” She trailed a finger across her exposed breast bone.

Nale spat at her feet.

“Malika–” one of the men said, but she raised a hand to silence him.

“A man of few words,” the woman called Malika observed. “That won’t be a problem.”

She slunk closer, raising a hand to brush his boulder-like shoulder.

“Strong, vital man,” she noted. “The fresh air has built you up. It has a tendency to do that. You’re a difficult man to find, Benjamin. The search was justified.”

Nale struggled against the hands holding him, but his captors wouldn’t yield.
Harvesters
, he thought as the fog in his brain began to clear. They couldn’t be anything else. But... Harvesters working for somebody? That was unheard of. He’d been out of the loop too long, evaded that world to his own detriment. He had no idea what was going on. Self-serving Harvesters working for this woman? It might as well start raining frogs.

“Not difficult to understand why you fled here,” Malika added conversationally. “Look at the stars. How beautiful they are. Don’t they just make you want to dance?” She twirled and her dress fanned out around her. “’Twas noontide of summer, and midtime of night, and stars, in their orbits, shone pale, through the light,’” she quoted, coming to a standstill. “A shame they’ll soon all be blotted out.”

Nale’s head was clearing and he was tiring of this.

“Just do what you’re going to do,” he snarled.

Malika gasped theatrically. “He speaks!” she exclaimed, rushing at him. “The man mountain has a tongue. What other uses has he for such a defiant instrument?”

Zeus’s barks grew hoarser by the minute. The door shuddered as the dog pawed at it.

Malika clapped her hands and clasped them before her.

“You’re right,” she said. “Let’s move along. I have an offer. It’s quite simple really: you do as I say and Sebastian here won’t kill you.” She gestured at the Harvester wearing the gauntlet. “Join us,” she cooed. “And you’ll become part of a formidable army. An army that will have this world on its knees.”

Nale squinted at her wearily.

“Tried that,” he grunted. “Didn’t work out.”

“That’s right.” Malika nodded, unsettling her auburn curls. “You defected. You’re a traitor; a filthy runaway. I wonder what the Sentinels would do if they found you here? What’s the bounty on a runaway nowadays? Last I heard it was a princely sum. Perhaps we’ll just cash in.”

She gave him a look – the kind a snake gives a small animal before it swallows it whole.

“You have no loyalty to them; what did the Sentinels ever do for you?” she asked. “You abandoned your family, severing all ties with your unique lineage. Join us and they’ll be cowering at your feet. It’ll be like stepping on snails.”

Nale hung his head. He couldn’t look at her.

Malika pressed a hand to his chest.

“Trust me,” she lulled. “It hurts far less if you consent. Join me at the beach. I’ll be waiting.”

The hand left his chest and Nale heard the woman’s footsteps softly retreating. He was alone with the Harvesters.

Boots approached and the one called Sebastian stood a few feet away, pointing the gauntlet at Nale.

“She lied,” the Harvester uttered unsympathetically. “This is going to hurt. A lot.”

Sparks burst around the gauntlet. Electrical currents that burned blue in the dark. They gathered between the device’s fingers and the Harvester grinned, his face lit up as he aimed the lethal charge at its target.

The gauntlet erupted. Blue energy crackled through the air.

Nale let out a howl and flexed, dragging one of his captors off his feet and into the path of the blue lightning.

The Harvester let out a strangled scream and slumped to the ground, steam boiling off him.

Nale clutched at his other captor and wheeled him about, tossing him like a shot-put.

The man crashed into Sebastian and they landed in a heap on the ground.

As the other Harvesters charged, Nale ripped open the caravan door. An angry, salivating mass of gnashing teeth and bloodshot eyes flew out. The Harvesters yowled as Zeus tore at them, maiming and ripping, lunging for arteries. He was nimble enough to dodge their blows and savage enough to kill with a single bite.

The Harvester with the gauntlet got to his feet and aimed it at Nale. Not giving him the chance to ignite it again, Nale bowled into the Harvester, crashing into him with his full weight. Sebastian shrieked furiously and Nale heard the wind rush out of him as his back struck the earth. Nale went to hit him, but a hand grabbed his balled fist and somebody dealt a blow to the back of his head.

Stars exploded in Nale’s vision, and he slumped forward, almost crushing Sebastian. The Harvester was still opening and closing his mouth silently, attempting to draw breath.

From behind him, hands came. They clamped around Nale’s thick neck, attempting to squeeze.

A growl rumbled nearby and the hands snapped away from him, were followed by a gurgling scream.

As the stars cleared, Nale saw that Sebastian had almost recovered. The Harvester raised the gauntlet and went to shove it in Nale’s face, but Nale reacted too quickly. He swung a massive fist into Sebastian’s jaw.

Teeth and blood splattered the ground.

Sebastian lay unconscious. Or dead. Nale couldn’t tell.

Sucking in great lungfuls of air, Nale stayed where he was, crouched over the Harvester.

A stillness settled over the clearing. Nale peered blearily around and saw that the other seven Harvesters all lay dead or unconscious, defeated by Zeus. The dog stood panting among them, muzzle red with blood, tongue lolling from his jaw.

“Good dog,” Nale muttered.

Zeus went to the caravan and collapsed by the stairs.

Recovering, Nale inspected the gauntlet still attached to the Harvester’s hand. He prodded it gingerly. When nothing happened, he pulled at it, wrenching it free. It was heavy, made of metal, intricately crafted. Nale peered at it, holding it up to the moonlight so that it glinted coldly. The light caught in five amber stones affixed to each finger and thumb.

“Its powers remain a mystery.”

Nale’s head whipped around at the voice.

A figure stood beside Zeus. The dog lay still, barely breathing, eyes fixed on Nale.

“You’re the first to lay hands on one.” Esus’s voice throbbed in the clearing. “The first to overpower anybody in possession of one.”

Nale simply stared at him, still on his knees in the dirt.

“You may stand.”

Cautiously, Nale got to his feet. He cradled the gauntlet in his hands and stood facing the masked entity.

“Your whereabouts have been known to us for years,” Esus’s voice rumbled, as if he had read Nale’s mind. “That choice was yours to make. There will be no reprisals.”

The phantom gestured at the gauntlet.

“This, however, is another matter. You will take the instrument to Cambridge. To a woman named Liberty Rayne.”

When Nale offered no reply, Esus added: “Consider it your final duty as a Sentinel.”

Nale contemplated him for a moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Detonation

H
E WAS FALLING AGAIN. ALL HE
could see was the road below, the cobbles looming larger as he plummeted. He couldn’t do anything to stop it. Wind howled, distorted by inhuman shrieks. The cobbles span. He threw out his hands...

There was a flash of red and Nicholas jolted upright.

Pain split his head open and, weak with nausea, he collapsed back onto something soft.

A beeping sound tapped out morse code nearby. A sigh of gas. Somebody calling out meekly.

Nicholas blinked through the grogginess and realised he was in bed. The blankets were bound tightly around his legs and he was propped up on funny-smelling pillows. The row of beds opposite him were all occupied by people in various stages of illness, all of them far older than him.

Hospital
, he thought.
What happened?

He felt like he’d been hit by a bus. Or ten buses. A bus the size of ten buses, perhaps. Massaging his throbbing temples, Nicholas attempted to lift his right arm and found that he couldn’t.

It was in a sling around his neck, encased in plaster.

“What the–?” he began, and then he remembered.

The man in the park. The flying monsters.

The fall.

“Christ,” he muttered. Luck wasn’t on his side. In the past two weeks alone he’d been in a bus crash, fought a demon, nearly died in a collapsing house and now this. Still, he was alive. Which wasn’t something he felt particularly positive about at this moment in time.

“Oh, you’re up. I just came to wake you – can’t be too careful with a concussion.”

A young man in a nurse’s uniform strolled up to Nicholas’s bed.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

“Annoyed.”

The nurse laughed. “You had quite a fall,” he said, taking a clipboard from the foot of the bed and scanning the notes. “It’s lucky you didn’t crack your skull open.”

“Feels like I did.”

“Naw, just your common, garden variety ulnar fracture.” The nurse seemed to notice Nicholas’s blank face and winked, adding: “You’ve broken your forearm. Or at least fractured it. Only in one place, though. Hardly worth the bother.”

Nicholas cursed under his breath. He’d never broken anything before. It didn’t feel how he imagined it might. Rather than jagged pain, it just felt...
wrong
. Like his arm had been turned inside out. The broken arm was hot and uncomfortable, throbbing under the plaster. He attempted to wiggle his fingers and they moved sluggishly, transmitting a twang of discomfort. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

“What exactly were you doing on that rooftop? Pretending to be Batman?” the nurse asked.

“Something like that,” Nicholas muttered. “Who are you?”

The nurse put the notes away. “You really were out of it last night if you don’t remember that. I was here when they brought you in. You were in and out of consciousness while you were treated.” He paused. “I’m Alastair, staff nurse.” He took the hand in the sling. “You getting much pain?”

“A little.”

“How about the head? Any dizziness? Nausea?”

“Not really.”

Alastair nodded, releasing his hand. “I’ll get you some water. You need to stay hydrated.”

“Can you call somebody for me?” Nicholas realised that Sam probably didn’t know he was here. He didn’t have any ID on him and he wasn’t a local. He probably had ‘John Doe’ written on the whiteboard behind his bed.

“Nicholas?”

Sam appeared at the end of his bed and Nicholas had never felt more relieved. The old man was clutching his fedora, face drawn tight with worry. He hadn’t shaved, and sharp little silver hairs needled across his jawline.

“That’s him.” Sam nodded at the woman accompanying him. “Thank you, nurse.”

The woman beside him nodded back and left.

“What’s happened here, then?” Sam asked, strolling into the cubicle. Relief replaced the anxiety on his face. The worry lines settled back into their usual wrinkles as he appraised Nicholas’s broken arm; the cuts and bruises he could feel on his face.

“I...” Nicholas began, but he fell silent, aware of Alastair the nurse.

Sam seemed to understand. He reached a hand out to the other man.

“Samuel Wilkins,” he said. “Nicholas’s legal guardian.”

“Trouble always finds its way home, eh?” the nurse joked. “I’ll leave you two in peace.”

When he was gone, Sam sat at the bedside. He looked oddly small to Nicholas, who was spread out on the raised mattress.