Children of the Cull (2 page)

I fished around in my scrubs pocket and brought out the small brown bottle. A shake revealed that there were only a few capsules left, maybe three or four. I’d have to get Chemistry to make up another batch.

I unscrewed the lid and shook one of the small blue-and-red capsules onto my palm. Coming to a junction in the tunnel, I popped the pill into my mouth and swallowed it dry.

I shoved the bottle back into my pocket as we took the corridor to the right. “Happy now?”

“Just doing my job, doctor,” came the smug reply.

It was going to be a long day.

CHAPTER TWO

KILL

I
DIOTS.

They didn’t have a clue.

Their first mistake was going over the fence. They’d thrown blankets over the barbed wire so they could scramble across without slicing their bellies open, but why waste the energy? Better to cut the wire at the bottom, easing it aside. That’s what I would have done. You didn’t need a massive gap, just enough to crawl through. It wasn’t as if any of them seemed to have much meat on their bones.

Either way, the cameras would have picked them up long before they reached the top. I watched them drop to the ground on the other side, making enough noise to wake several legions of the dead, and wondered how long it would be before the alarm was raised.

The howl of a klaxon provided the answer precisely twenty seconds later. They hadn’t even made it to the first wing.

I could have scripted what happened next. The idiots—I counted four of them—dived for cover, making for the corner of the building, where they stopped, waiting for the guards to arrive.

Mistake number two.

What did they expect would happen? Even if they survived a firefight, mowing down whatever security forces the base was about to throw at them, what then? Did they really think that would be it? The base would surrender, brought to their knees by the superior force of four scrawny twats?

I almost didn’t want to look, but couldn’t help myself. It was like picking a scab. Entertainment was hard to come by, so you took what you could, even if that meant lying on the roof of an abandoned supermarket, peering at a botched infiltration through a cracked scope.

The idiots stayed where they were, guns raised, having literally backed themselves into a corner as the guards arrived. Six guards, clad in full body armour—or as full as you could get, these days—spilling out of the adjoining building. They raced across to a barricade of skips and storage crates.

There was a shout, one of the guards yelling for the idiots to give themselves up. No reply. That, at least, was promising. The last thing anyone needed in this scenario was bullshit bravado. In the real world, no one came back with a witty retort when facing the wrong end of a gun.

You’ll never take us alive, copper.

No shit.

Then, something happened that actually surprised me. One of the idiots drew back his hand and threw a small canister. It was belching yellow smoke before it bounced in front of the barricade.

One of the guards let off a shot, but the idiots were already on the offensive, throwing themselves around the corner to pepper the rag-tag blockade with bullets.

Another shout followed—no, a cry this time; strangled, sharp—and a body was thrown back in the yellow cloud.

First blood.

The shooting continued, but the guards had no chance of hitting the targets. They couldn’t see in front of their face, and certainly couldn’t risk breaking cover.

Now came the bravado. The idiots surged forwards, guns raised as if they were in an old gangster movie, firing indiscriminately.

That’s it, boys. Show me what you’ve got. MP7s, maybe a 7A; better than I expected. The skip doesn’t stand a chance.

Maybe I owed the idiots an apology. Maybe they weren’t as incompetent as I’d first thought.

Then again...

Without warning, a bloom of red mist obscured the side of idiot number one’s head, and he went down, hard. Idiot two turned in the direction of the shot, a bullet to the shoulder spinning him into a graceless pirouette, the second tap to the back of his head sealing the deal. Idiots three and four at least had the sense to double back, realising too late that they’d rushed into an ambush.

They didn’t get far.

A second team of guards had been waiting for the idiots to break ranks. The raiders had been so intent on the barricade that they hadn’t seen them till they were shooting. Now, with the smoke clearing, the first set of guards dropped idiots three and four in a heartbeat.

The impromptu battlefield fell quiet, save for the alarm that warned any other would-be attackers to keep their distance.

When it was obvious that none of the idiots were getting up any time soon, four of the guards darted out from behind the blockade, compact rifles up and ready. L22 carbines. Effective enough, but not great over distance. Worth noting.

Splitting into pairs, the first checked the bodies on the ground, while the second made sure no one else was lying in wait. Of course there wasn’t. The attack had been bungled from the start; the guard who’d been shot was unlucky in the extreme.

I lowered my scope as the siren finally died, a strange hush settling on the surrounding fields. I looked around, taking in more of the landscape. It had been years since I’d been here, long before the Cull. The complex had just opened, the pride of the MoD, the biggest base of its type on home soil. There had been much back-slapping and congratulations among the top brass, but I had found its location as funny then as I do now.

A classified installation built slap bang next to an out-of-town retail park. Well, I guess civil servants needed somewhere to mooch around during lunchtime, even if it was just Asda. Oh, and Matalan. All those cheap polyester shirts and garish ties had to come from somewhere.

Stow it, soldier. No need for lip.

Sir, no sir, etc.

I suppose the point was that the original occupants of MoD Abbey Wood weren’t soldiers, not the majority anyway. They were pencil-pushers, bean-counters. Put a gun in their hands and they’d have been just as effective as the idiots who’d just tried to storm the place.

The dead idiots.

A smile tugged at my lips, pulling at scar tissue that I barely noticed any more.

These idiots are no more. They have ceased to be. They’ve expired and gone to meet their maker. These are late idiots.

It’s funny what you miss, even after all this time. I always liked a bit of Python. Can’t remember who introduced me to Graham, John, Terry and the rest; everything before the Cull sort of blurs into one. Could have been my Dad, or old Tony next door, maybe even someone from a school.

It certainly wasn’t Jasmine. She couldn’t stand John Cleese. Made her skin crawl, she said. Something creepy about him.

Stowing the scope in my pack, I eased back from the edge of the roof, scuttling on my hands and knees like a spider.

Well, maybe not scuttling. Not that fast anymore. Not if I don’t have to.

I made my way back to the air-conditioning unit before standing, although I stayed in a crouch. Not that anyone would be looking this way. They had problems of their own to deal with.

As I crept over to the ladder, I wondered what they did with the bodies. Fresh meat in the staff canteen tonight?

It should have been easier going down the ladder than it was coming up. My body shouldn’t ache this much. I told myself that it was because I’d stayed in one position for too long. Yeah, that had to be it. There was a nip in the air, winter’s last hurrah. I looked up. Clouds were gathering, dark and full, first drops of rain already falling, icy cold. I needed to get to cover.

I jumped down the final three rungs, the impact jolting my body.

And there came the rain, heavier now. It always rained whenever I came to Bristol. Bloody city. Anyone would think it wasn’t pleased to see me.

I pulled up the collar of my jacket and set off at a run along the back of the old superstore. There was no danger of being spotted now. An unkempt ridge of bushes separated me from the base, blocking my view of the guards dragging the corpses away.

I knew what I should do. Stick to the plan; see it through. But the ache in my back said otherwise. Would it hurt if I headed back to the empty house I’d made a temporary home last night? It was dry, and still in possession of most of its windows. I could make a brew, get some warmth back in my bones. Come back tomorrow. It wasn’t as if the idiots were going anywhere.

What’s wrong with you, man? Orders is orders.

Sir, yes sir, et—

Something hit me in the head as soon as I turned the corner. I fell back, stunned, barely felt the back of my head connecting with the floor.

I groaned, rolling onto my side, my hand going to my throbbing forehead, brushing already bruised skin.

Someone grabbed my shoulder, hauling me up as if I were a sack of spuds. I allowed myself to be pulled to my feet, a voice yelling at me to get up.

I stumbled, my assailant supporting my dead weight from the scruff of my jacket.

What was it with these idiots and their mistakes?

I threw my body into him, taking him by surprise. My head met his nose, and I felt a satisfying pop.

Now we were falling, gravity taking hold. He hit the deck, my full weight upon him, my shoulder planted firmly into his stomach for added effect. And then I was back on my feet, booting him in the side.

That sudden movement was my undoing. The world spun and I pitched forward, throwing out a hand to break my fall. The barrel of a rifle smacked me in the side of my head. I crashed to the ground and moaned, and this time it wasn’t a ploy. I had no surprise moves left. I was having enough trouble not throwing up my guts.

A boot thudded into my shoulder, kicking me onto my back. My moan turned into a racking cough, but I didn’t try to get up. There was no point. The man who’d attacked me stood silhouetted against the clouds, rain coming down in sheets over us.

I spat rainwater and blood out of my mouth as I realised it wasn’t a man at all. She was big, well over six foot, and as solid as she was long, her tightly-cropped hair plastered against her scalp. There was no way of telling if it was light or dark in the rain. Only one thing was obvious—her nose hadn’t been that squashed a moment ago.

Lying there, the rain in my eyes, I didn’t know what was more intimidating—her furious glower, or the rifle she aimed right at my face.

I smiled, hoping that the rain would at least wash some of the blood from my teeth.

“Hello, gorgeous!”

Yeah, I know, I know—no one bothers with one-liners in real life. So sue me.

Since when have I played by the rules?

Do you think this is funny?

Sir, fuck off, sir.

CHAPTER THREE

CURE

I
COULD HAVE
kissed Allison when the alarms finally stopped.

“Thank God for that.”

The phone on the neurologist’s desk rang almost immediately. She pushed it in my direction.

“That’ll be for you?”

“Gee, thanks.”

I picked up the receiver, glaring at Allison. She laughed, pointing two fingers at me and miming a shot. Putting me out of my misery. It shouldn’t have been funny seeing what had just happened outside.

“This is Tomas.”

“
Ma’am, I’m pleased to report that the crisis has passed,
” Moore responded brusquely on the other end of the line.

“For now. How long to the next one?”

“
I am doubling patrols, and the tech team are fitting new cameras on weak spots along the perimeter
.”

“Last week you told me that there
were
no weak spots.”

“
Dr Tomas, my resources are limited. It’s not like I can advertise for more staff.
”

I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “I know.”

“
If you would allow me to make a recce of the surrounding area, we could discover where these low-lives are coming from, how many there are
.”