Kingdom: The Complete Series (22 page)

Series
2

Mark speeds through the
obstacle course, feet pounding as he approaches a wall –
the
wall; the
same his squad has failed at every time. It looms over him, trapping him in its
shadow as he comes to a stop. His breath is a wheezing gust in his ears, his
chest tight with effort. Over the pounding of his heart he can hear the others
trying to keep up. Whisky burns in his chest, lighting a fire in his gut. He
ignores it, breathing deeper to extinguish the flame.

The rest of his squad
catch his eye as they approach, and he tenses up and cups his hands over his
knees, nodding upwards.

I'll give you a boost.

Jamie is the first
there, and Mark tenses up, ready to push him upwards, careful to reserve his
strength. Looking up, the head-ache inducing lights of the indoor gym strain
his eyes.

The old throb runs
through his temples, and the alcohol kicks in.

He cringes, grinding
his teeth together as a drunken miasma fogs his mind. A blinding headache cuts
through his thoughts, his ears ringing.

Jamie becomes a
wobbling mannequin in Mark's eyes. Squinting to focus, Mark tries to
concentrate through the whisky-haze and do his job.

Jamie arrives.

“
Push,”
shouts Jamie, and puts both of his feet in Mark's hands.

Drunk and dazed, Mark
pushes, and Jamie screams as he is thrown into the air, well past the wall, and
into the rafters spanning the ceiling.

Jamie hangs from the
rafters like a koala, his limbs wrapped around an arm-thick metal beam. Mark
looks up from his bench and gives him another look that says:

I'm sorryJ

Jamie laughs and waves
his hand.

“
No
hard feelings mate,” he shouts across the hall, his voice echoing off the brick
walls.

Mark is sitting on his
own on a bench across the hall, his head in hands. The rest of them, those that
were hit by the fire, are talking amongst themselves, far enough away that he
can't hear them.

Finally a door at the
far end of the hall hisses open and a black-clad figure walks through.
Trespasser One waves at Mark, his half-scarred face clouded.

“
You
four -” Trespasser One points at the other survivors and jerks his thumb
towards the door. “You're dismissed. Head for the briefing room and wait for
the rest of us there: we've got news.”

They take the hint,
trying not to look Mark in the eye as they pass.

As they leave, two more
men enter and extend a long ladder. Jamie groans.

“
Ladders
are so last week guys, just get me a trampoline, it'll be fun.”

Whilst the men try to
pry Jamie down like a cat in a tree, Mark finds himself looking up into the
shadowy eyes of Trespasser One.

“
You
ok, Mark?”

His voice sounds like a
tank reversing over gravel, and he's folding his arms. Mark lifts his heavy
head from the cradle formed by his hands.

“
What's
the important news?”

“
I
asked you a question.”

Mark sighs. “I didn't
mean to throw him so hard.”

“
Just
like the last four times. Something you aren't telling me?”

He shrugs. “I get so
far and then the drink kicks in. If I try it sober I might have a chance -”

“
If
you try it sober,” says the Trespasser, “you could die.”

Mark almost protests;
but the Trespasser is right. His shoulders sag again.

The Trespasser sighs.
“I know you hate it Mark, but until our people can find a way to fix your
condition, you need to stay - well -”

“
Drunk.”

“
Pretty
much.”

Mark leans back against
the wall. “Well, at least it's only been Jamie I've launched. He's got a sense
of humour.”

Trespasser One sits down
beside him, and they watch as the two men atop the ladder try to convince Jamie
to let go of the beam.

“
The
others do too, Mark. You just need to get to know them.”

“
Yeah,
well; they keep their distance.”

“
Can
you blame them? All they've seen you do so far is throw Jamie into the roof.”

Mark scoffs. “Maybe
that's why they always slow down near the wall – to let Jamie overtake them.”

“
Nobody
wants to end up in the rafters.” The Trespasser gives Mark a grin that he
struggles to return. “Come on Mark,” he punches his arm. “You can control your
power. I mean, how do you hug your mother?”

“
Carefully.”

“
Well
there you go then.”

Mark says nothing. He's
still watching as Jamie, with all the grace of a brick, lunges off the rafter
and onto the ladder, clawing at the men for grip.

“
You're
awful quiet. Quiet isn't your style Mark,” the Trespasser presses him. “What's
wrong?”

“
Why
do I need to boost them over the wall? I could walk
through
that wall if
I wanted.”

“
And?”

“
Well
why can't I?”

“
Walking
through the wall proves that you're strong. We know that already. We don't want
you to prove your strength, Mark; we want you to work as part of a team.”

“
I
can't work with a team who are afraid of me.”

“
Then
stop throwing people into the rafters.”

“
I'm
trying.”

“
Try
harder.”

Mark says nothing,
taking a swig from the metal flask on his overall's belt. He coughs the whiskey
down, patting his chest. Behind the Trespasser, Jamie has reached the bottom of
the ladder and is patting the men on the back, thanking them as they pack it
away.

Jamie walks their way.
Upon seeing him coming, the Trespasser turns to Mark.

“
Look,
time is running out. The fire will be here soon, and we – your squad included –
are going to be on the front line. Have a minute with Jamie and then come to the
briefing room. We've got news – and it sounds like your kind of thing.”

“
My
kind of thing?”

“
Humanitarian
work.”

“
Where?”

“
Glasgow,
Mark.”

“
We're
going back? I thought we were just going to be negotiators or something?”

“
I'll
tell you everything in the briefing room. Don't be long.”

“
I
won't.”

“
Good
man,” he says. “I'll have a word with the boys in medical too, see if they can
reduce your alcohol dosage, keep you a bit sharper, ok?”

Mark nods, giving him a
silent but thankful look as he turns to leave.

“
See
you in a minute, Tony,” shouts Jamie.

The Trespasser shakes
his head as he leaves, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving the pair
alone.

“
He
loves me really,” says Jamie as he joins Mark on the bench.

“
Why
Tony? He told you himself: he doesn't actually have a name.”

“
Trespasser
One, right? T-One? Except that sounds like a robot assassin from the future. So
T-One; Tone; Tony. Tony it is.”

“
It
doesn't really suit him.”

“
Nah,
you're right. He looks like a Harvey. You know, what with the half-burnt-face
thing going on?”

“
You're
an arsehole, Jamie,” Mark laughs. “Sorry about throwing you into the bloody
rafters again.”

“
It's
ok, I'm building some serious muscle hanging there.” Jamie shrugs, smiling.
“Hey, at least they
have
rafters.”

“
I
can't help it, it's the drink. You know I'd have caught you anyway, if you
fell.”

“
I
know – and I'd rather you were drunk than dead. Besides, hanging from the
rafters reminds me of the good times.”

“
The
good times?”

“
Yeah,
you know: me and Chloe hanging beneath a spinning helicopter whilst Agency
soldiers shoot at us?” Jamie gives him a manic grin. “The good times, Mark.”

“
Don't
get me started on the good times.” Mark forces a smile and stands up, prompting
Jamie to follow him. He takes the metal flask from his belt and takes another
swig, wincing as the whisky burns his throat. “Besides, now we
are
the
Agency soldiers.”

“
Not
quite. We don't get guns.”

“
Like
we need them.”

Jamie laughs and slaps
his thigh as he stands up.

“
Right,
come on. Briefing room. I'm curious as to what's so urgent.”

Like a flickering fire
in a cave, the TV screen throws shadows across the tiny white briefing room,
turning the scattered chairs and overall-clad figures into silent, watching
mannequins. All is still as the voice on the screen fills the room.

A man in full military
uniform – the commander overseeing martial law in Glasgow, the news tells them
– is standing in front of a very unfamiliar George's Square. The crowded
square, marked by its central pillar and the statues that border it, has spent
the last two months as one of Glasgow's city-centre refugee camps.

Shuffling figures in
dirty winter coats mill around behind him as he speaks, clutching their rations
with bony fingers, hurrying their scrawny children out of the cold winter air
and back into the canvas tents.

“
I
consider it a victory,” he says directly to the camera. “Two months ago, the
streets of Glasgow were awash with misdirected violence; the result of a scared
and confused military presence dealing with an issue which has no precedent in
human history. We are not an occupational force, we are peacekeepers. We're not
looking to fight anybody, other than those that persist in bringing violence
and terror to the streets. The militants known as the King's Men no longer hold
a grip over the people of this city. We have cut the head off the snake, so to
speak.”

Mark leans forward in
his chair, breaking his unblinking gaze with the television to look at Jamie,
who is sitting beside him with the same intense expression. The commander on
the television continues.

“
Our
concern now is to repair and rebuild. To those outwith the city, and to the
rest of the world, things may look bleak; but this is the dawn of a new day for
Glasgow, a city long held hostage. The real damage here was done not by the
fire from the sky, or by the knee-jerk response of an unprepared military
force; but by tyrants and despots who sought to control an entire population
through fear and coercion. Those men and women are now in custody awaiting
trial, and as a result, Glasgow can begin to look to the future once more. Law
and order have finally returned, and it is my great pleasure to announce that
the military presence in the city centre will be decreasing as the local police
force returns to strength. The healing process can finally begin.”

The Trespasser,
standing beside the television, speaks up.

“
This
is the important bit,” he says, and the commander clears his throat and gives
the reporters one last bit of information.

“
That
is why, as a symbolic gesture,” he says, “the men and women kept hidden and
safe until now – those affected by the fire, that the media are so desperate to
talk to – will be returning to Glasgow to assist with the aid efforts.”

The crowd of reporters,
silent until now, explode with questions. Unflinching, the commander raises a
hand and says.

“
No
questions just now: the people hit by the fire are coming to show their
willingness to help rebuild, to show that they mean no harm. For their own
safety and the safety of those in Glasgow's city centre, I ask that we let them
help in peace. They have proven to be of no danger to themselves or others
provided that they are not threatened, just like any human being. Another
statement will be made closer to the time. Thank you.”

The commander walks away,
leaving a cloud of questions to follow after him. Raising the remote, the
Trespasser turns the television off and light returns to the room.

“
I
imagine you have questions.”

“
Bloody
right we've got questions,” says the older, heavier woman with badly dyed, oily
black hair.

“
Cathy,
it's just a photo-op. Command doesn't want a repeat of the last time the fire
hit Glasgow. The next one is coming soon – sooner than we thought – and before
it arrives, he wants to show the world that surrendering to the Agency isn't
something to be afraid of. So we smile for the camera, and show them that we're
all ok.”

“
Sooner
than we thought?” asks Mark. “How soon?”

“
It
began accelerating last night. The folk in lab-coats reckon that it's going to
hit in four days.”

“
Four
days?” This comes from the grey haired, bearded man sitting beside Cathy. His
accent is different to the rest of them: more refined and educated. “I thought
we had three weeks.”

“
Four
days, three weeks, it doesn't matter. The fire has forced our hand. The world
has to see you guys alive and well before the fire hits again. Identities will
be protected as usual: uniforms on, masks and all. It's just one hour in the
camp, until the media get their photographs, and the story runs.”

“
You
can't help a lot in one hour,” says Mark. “I don't mind staying longer,
personally.”

“
Mark,
it's a PR run. We're only really doing this for the cameras.” Trespasser One
lets out a tense breath and looks around the room. “Donald and Cathy,” he
points to the two older survivors, “you're going to be paired together. Jamie
and Mark, you too. Stacy and Gary, you guys are a pair too.”