In Constant Fear (25 page)

There was another blast so close it actually took the heel off my boot. I knew I was in big trouble. No way could I win a straight-out fire-fight with those two, and I didn't like my chances of hightailing it outta there either.

I let them have everything I had, raking my laser back and forth, hoping it would buy me a few seconds, then made for the tandem again. I was almost there before they came after me, laying down a deluge of fire, igniting everything around me. Tell the truth, I couldn't believe I hadn't been hit. It even went through my head that maybe that wasn't their intention, that their orders were just to capture me; maybe the actual killing was gonna be done by someone else, and you didn't have to be a genius to know who.

I managed to reach the tandem, to leap on and start pedaling, but with all the long grass and thick scrub, it wasn't a place for getting up speed and those powerful prosthetic legs of theirs were making much faster progress. I turned, fired back at them a couple of times, but then lurched to one side, almost came off, and dropped my laser in saving myself.

I gotta be honest, I can take no credit whatsoever for what happened next. It was just a quirk of Fate. I saw the distinctive islands of grass looming up before me and knew I had to ride around, but the two Bodyguards took what to them was the obvious route, thinking they were about to catch up to me.

Thing was, those legs were pretty damn heavy. They'd barely gone three or four strides before they began to sink, another couple more and they were in over their knees. They immediately panicked, twisting their bodies from side to side, trying to work their way out, but that only made things worse. They were sinking deeper by the second. They turned toward me, like they were trying to gauge my reaction, maybe even considering asking for my help, but then one of them decided there was an easier way.

“Get us out!” he ordered, pointing at me with his laser.

Thank God, there were some large rocks nearby, on this kinda promontory jutting out into the bog. I dropped the tandem and scrambled over there on my hands and knees laser-fire again scorching
everything around me, tucking myself down behind this boulder. For what felt like forever, shards of rock spat and flew around me and parts of the undergrowth erupted with flame, 'til finally the shooting began to die down.

I risked a quick look, wondering if their power-packs had run out, and was answered by another laser-burst—but I could see why they'd stopped. Every time they fired, they sank that bit quicker. They were already up to their chests, screaming abuse at me, threatening what they'd do if I didn't help—and certainly not saying anything that might persuade me to leave the safety of my rocky hide-out and help them.

In their final moments, with only their heads showing and mud already starting to rise over the shorter guy's chin, the human side began to win out over the implants. They started pleading with me to help, and I did think about it for a moment, but the knowledge that they belonged to one of the most evil forces that ever existed, that some of their colleagues had been at the farm and done God knows what to those I loved, was enough to convince me I wasn't gonna complicate my life by saving theirs.

Having said that, those last cries were something I never wanna hear again. They changed in note as death and desperation took over, ending with this coughing, choking gurgle that meant it was over.

I went to step out, but d'you know, I was a moment or two too soon. The taller one had been waiting for me to do just that; his nose and eyes and one arm were still sticking out of the muddy mire, like a crab waiting to mug its prey. His laser was directed my way, and the instant I appeared, he let me have it, determined that his last act on this Earth would be to kill me.

Thankfully, the position he was in meant he got it all wrong. The laser blast went way over my head and the slight recoil was enough to push him under once and for all; for a few macabre moments just his hand and the laser remained, and believe it or not, he was still firing the damn thing, hoping to get in one last lucky shot, 'til finally, that disappeared as well.

For a few seconds I just stood there. It was a real weird thing to witness, believe me: Mother Earth consuming her dead that way, swallowing them whole. I also couldn't help but reflect on the natural justice of it; those murderous prosthetic legs had helped confine them to their fate. But I had more urgent things to contend with, and after running back to retrieve the laser I'd dropped, I jumped on the tandem and pedaled off as fast as I could.

By the time I got back to the farm and my usual spot at the edge of the woods overlooking the homestead, I'd damn near popped my lungs, written off the tandem and worried myself to death—though I was rewarded by a view I appreciated more than any other: nothing but normality.

I couldn't see
everyone
, but Lena and Thomas were on the porch, Nick and Gordie were chopping wood, and by the look of the open door, Jimmy was working away in the barn.

What had happened exactly, I didn't know, and the way things were, I got the impression they didn't either; that they weren't even aware Gigi was dead.

I can't tell you how relieved I was to see them—especially Lena and Thomas, of course, but you know, as soon as I calmed down, as soon as my fears were tethered elsewhere, that damn tiredness fell upon me again. I'd actually been thinking about going over there—not too close, but calling out to them maybe, finding out what they knew about Gigi—but I couldn't even manage the walk.

I had to sleep, even though I knew I shouldn't, that Nora Jagger would come to me, but there was no other choice. It felt like an illness, physical and mental, and so immediate and debilitating that once again I more or less collapsed where I was, my eyes closed even before I hit the ground.

I don't know how long I slept, nor how long it took me realize I was awake, maybe 'cuz the crossing from unconscious to conscious had been so seamless, and although I awoke in darkness, I had an idea the place I'd just vacated had been even darker.

As I roused myself and gazed down at the darkened farmhouse I was filled with this sudden sense of purpose. The time had finally come. There were no other options—in truth, there never had been.

I began to stride purposefully across, stopping at the log pile on my way and choosing a heavy branch. I was aware they had lasers, and I'd brought mine, but I was hoping to do this with the minimum of fuss. I could take them out one by one without anyone waking—maybe strangle Delilah and Miriam. Shouldn't be too difficult, not for me. After all, I was the Big Guy. I'd lived most of my life through violence.

I felt almost a sense of liberation, of relief, as if I was finally doing what I'd always been
meant
to do: obeying orders, dispensing with the non-imps. I knew we'd meant something to each other in the past, but the truth was, we couldn't anymore—not with the fundamental difference inside us. I took a deep breath, gripped my heavy
club tighter, feeling that familiar strength in my right arm. I was getting ready to take the first swing, for the impact of club against skull, the way it would kinda bounce off, the sound of cracking bone, the splatter of blood. As for the baby . . . Thomas, well, he wasn't much more than mush anyway.

I had no idea why, but for some reason that thought stopped me in my tracks. Thomas. My son. He'd
had
an implant—if only he'd kept it, I wouldn't've had to include him. For that matter, why had any of us fought the weevils? It would've been so much easier if we'd all given in.

At that moment I felt a kind of jolt inside, almost like I was being monitored, as if I was being pushed forward: there was no room for discussion anymore. All of them had to die and that was an end to it.

Maybe it'd be best if I killed Lena and Thomas first, get that part over with? The others would be easy after that. I could try the bedroom window, see if it was open, get in that way.

I snuck around the house as quietly as I could, grateful there was a little wind, that the odd gust, the creaking of timbers, was covering my footsteps. The window was closed but unlocked, and I slid it up an inch or so at a time, soon feeling the warmth of the room brush past me on its way out, the smell of stale air, of oxygen that had sustained the woman and child's bodies.

The baby snuffled a little as I began to climb through, as if he knew it was me, and I froze, petrified he was about to wake. I knew it would have to be her first, that she'd fight to the death to save her child. I eased my other leg inside, feeling a little like something was beginning to rotate inside me, to quietly slash at my insides. I took a coupla faltering steps forward, raising my club, ready to smash it down on the woman's head, but she changed position, made a slight whimper, the bedding around her rustling. Oh shit, don't tell me she was going to wake? Would she know it was me or think it was some anonymous stranger in the dark?

“Clancy?” she suddenly whispered, like she couldn't believe it, that it had to be a dream. “Is that you?”

I lost all control, panic ripping through my body like exploding DNA. I heard a voice—my voice, someone's voice—I didn't know. I was being tugged and pulled and wrenched and pushed . . . and suddenly I knew I had to get out of there.
I had to get away
.

I turned and just kinda dived outta the window, crashing to the ground, picking myself up, running . . .
running!

The baby was screaming back there. The woman was calling after me.

“Go back, go back! They're non-imps!” a voice kept telling me.

“
Non-imps! Non-imps!
” I took up the cry as I ran through the night.

And then, of course, I understood, and the seismic shock of that realization gave me my first clear thought of the night. That wasn't
me
screaming. That voice didn't originate from me, no more than all those wayward thoughts had.

“Non-imps! Non-imps!” came the cry again, and I knew she was
inside
me, that the Bitch had taken me over. “
Kill them!
”

I kept running, ignoring her screams like she was a passenger on my back demanding to be taken to a different destination, willing myself to go on no matter what was said by the voice in my head or on my lips.

I ran through the woods as fast as I could, colliding with trees as if I wanted to, almost impaling myself on a couple of occasions. What the hell had happened back there? . . . I'd never ever sleep again!
Never!

I arrived at the other side of the woods, scratched and bruised from head to toe, 'til finally the night opened up and I burst out to confront an eerily large full-blood moon. I stopped before it, not wanting to go another step or to waste a scrap of the energy I still had left inside me. For what I was about to do, I needed every last drop.

I clenched up my body, threw my head back and gave out with the loudest and longest old wolf howl you could ever imagine. It almost killed me to fill the night with such pain. It was if the animals we'd heard before had been building up to this, that
this
was what
they'd been trying to say, the agony they'd never been able to express, no matter how hard they'd tried.

“
Get o-u-t—! Get out of me . . . !
”

I don't know where I went—I just ran. It wasn't so much about getting away as punishing myself, running myself into the ground until there was nothing left, 'til I was helpless and vulnerable, 'til the strike of a moth's downy wing would slice the flesh from me.

Lena! Jesus Christ—
Lena!
How could that thing have induced me to almost do that to her? Had I been keyed at last? Was there a new level of control? I blundered on, at some point running through the creek, clumsy to the point of drunkenness; frequently falling, sometimes just staying on the ground gazing up into the sky, other times immediately leaping up, determined to use any remaining strength I had to punish myself. I was already battered and bleeding, stiff and sore, but I'd run and run until there was no more.

It became kinda vague after that, everything getting compressed and pushed up together. I can remember being on my hands and knees on the road, blood dripping from somewhere onto the pavement, and then lights . . . bright lights, coming outta nowhere, moving fast toward me as if they were about to run me over. Then they stopped a few yards away, just hanging there, staring at me outta the night like some nocturnal beast about to pounce.

“Clancy?”

I couldn't answer, couldn't even be sure someone had spoken.

“Clancy? What are you doing?”

A car door opened, someone walked toward me, a dark shadow loomed up out of those high beams.

“It's me, Doctor Simon.”

I just stared at him, still not understanding. He hesitated for a moment, maybe not sure if I presented a threat or not, then kneeled down to look at me.

“Jesus, Clancy. Are you okay?”

“I tried to kill them!” I wailed, even in that moment appreciating what a relief it was to talk to someone I knew I wouldn't attempt to harm.

“Jesus,” he gasped.

“All of them . . . The Bitch is inside me—she got in through my dreams . . .
I spoke with her voice!
” I cried.

“But they're all right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I replied, wondering if I could be sure of anything anymore.

The Doc helped me up then led me back to the Bentley, spreading a travel-rug across the passenger seat—God forbid I should get blood on his fine leather seats, no matter what the circumstances—then got me and himself inside.

For a moment he just sat there looking at me. “Gigi's dead,” he finally announced, as if he thought he should get all the bad news out and over with. “Lord knows what got into her—she arrived at the camp out of the blue and tried to persuade Nora Jagger she'd always been on her side.” He finished the sentence with a shake of the head, as if there could've been only one result to that approach.

“I know,” I told him. “They dropped her body on the plain. Well, most of it.”

Again he lapsed into silence and I began to suspect that in some ways he was every bit as beaten-up about things as I was.

“I can't go back again,” he blurted out, rather to my surprise. “She'll kill anyone, for no reason at all.”

Just for a moment I actually thought he was gonna cry, he was that upset.

“So she knows where we are?” I asked, presuming Gigi would've told them, or maybe, God forbid, they'd tortured it outta her.

“No—she wouldn't tell them anything. That was part of the reason she was executed.”

I don't know why, but that upset me as much as anything: that poor kid, even staring into the face of Death she hadn't really known where her loyalties lay. “Why are they on foot?” I asked.

The Doc laughed hollowly, as if he thought I'd never believe it. “Because of you, Clancy: you're
sport
. That's why you haven't been keyed yet—and the same reason she doesn't carry a weapon. You've really got under her skin. Believe it or not, anyone calling you ‘Big Guy' risks being killed on the spot. She's determined to show them how much stronger she is than you, to hunt you down the old-fashioned way and kill you with her bare hands.”

“Shit,” I grunted, not really appreciating the irony in that remark, the fact that she didn't have “bare hands.”

“She's mad as hell at you for killing that Bodyguard.”

I grunted, wondering if she had any idea what'd happened to the other two. “Can you get rid of this thing inside me?” I asked.

“I've done a bit more research,” he replied, the fact that he didn't immediately say no, that he sounded just that little bit hopeful, almost provoking me to hug the guy—although I knew there'd've been hell to pay if I'd crumpled his clothes or left even the tiniest bloodstain.

“Let's go,” I told him.

The moment we turned up the track to the farm he switched off his lights, coming to a whispering halt around the back of the barn, hustling me inside. He got to work immediately, setting up his stuff, moving with surprising speed: not a mortal anymore, but a master of medicine.

“This is a long way from proven,” he warned me.

“I don't care.”

He began by scanning me again, checking on the implant, looking at what it'd been up to, finally giving out this exasperated sigh.

“What?” I asked.

“It's divided up—it's all over you.”

“Shit.”

He paused for a moment, as if unsure whether to go on or not. “I can still run the program,” he said, not sounding anywhere near as hopeful. “We can see what happens.”

It was weird: once he'd hitched me up and turned on the power, I had the distinct feeling that the computer wasn't attached to me, that
I
was attached to the computer. Maybe I was imagining it, but I could feel this kinda force sweeping through me like floodwaters through drains, getting into every nook and cranny, sluicing everything away. It really was an odd feeling—not good, not bad, just
odd
.

“Give it ten minutes,” the Doc told me.

I sat there with the current surging through me, feeling it getting ever stronger, soon needing a distraction to take my mind off it, “Is it her limbs you have to keep an eye on?”

“They need constant monitoring,” he explained, “checking for irritation or rejection, and of course refreshing the worms.”

“Worms?” I said, a little taken aback.

He smiled. “That's what keeps them together, binds composite to flesh, makes them almost real—superworms. They stimulate blood- and nerve-flow.”

“Jesus.” I grimaced, remembering that time in the Infinity building when I'd caught Nora Jagger without her limbs; the animate cellulose sludge they were stored in, the way that later her arm had seemed to
squirm
back into place. I also remembered something else.

“When she chased me and Gigi outta the safe house and into the river that time she suddenly stopped, like she had a problem.”

The Doc studied his screen for a moment, then returned his attention to our conversation. “Maybe it was high tide? Fresh water wouldn't trouble the worms but salt water certainly would.”

When I thought about it, he was right, it had been high tide. Not that I could see any advantage in the information; not unless we were gonna attack her with salt shakers.

Doctor Simon saw the look on my face, the way I was turning things over, and shook his head. “She has no weaknesses. Believe me, I'd know if she did.”

“Maybe not with her prosthetics, but what about the human parts? She's the same as us.”

“Not really.”

“What d'you mean?”

“She's had her muscles boosted almost up to the point where they're as hard as the prosthetics. Just about every vital organ has been changed. She scoured the City for the strongest, the biggest, the healthiest organs to enhance her function and increase her life expectancy . . . Her heart's a real freak: it came from this young boy they picked up off the street one night.”

I don't know why, really, it didn't make any sense at all, but the moment those words were out of his mouth, I was utterly embraced by ice. “What boy?”

“Oh, just some street urchin. No one in particular . . . Well, I wouldn't have thought so, not until I saw that heart.”

I was aware I was gaping at him, that I couldn't look away no matter how hard I tried, that a thousand heavy silences had somehow been pressed into one. It couldn't be—it was too much of a coincidence . . . but the thought had grabbed hold of me as if it'd never let go.