Kingdom: The Complete Series (5 page)

Episode
4

The
King's Castle

Jamie
stares down the jagged sights of the pistol, trying to focus despite his
trembling hand. Chloe is pressed against his chest, staring down the same
corridor. To their back is a solid steel slab.

A cold, strained voice
comes down the stairwell, into their little hallway. The unmistakable voice of
the King, slurring in pain.

“
There's
nowhere to go, Jamie.”

“
It's
him,” whispers Chloe.

“
I
shot him in the bloody knee,” says Jamie. “How is he here?”

The same voice drifts
into their hallway-stronghold.

“
Caught
in a trap, Jamie,” they hear a strained breath. “Let's talk about this, hm?”

“
The
next person down those steps is dead, King,” he retorts. He feels Chloe press
herself harder against him.

Footsteps begin to echo
down the staircase until two pairs of legs are visible, stumbling, manoeuvring
down the stairs; a moment later, Jamie sees why.

The King, his knee a
tattered mess of exposed bone and cartilage, is being carried by two of his
servants, his arms around their necks. He is pale and sweating in agony, his
teeth are clenched and his eyes are burning with intense anger. Patting one of
the servants, he is set down on the bottom stair and, with a trembling breath,
he leans on his good knee as though he were having a relaxing seat in the park.

Jamie feels his finger
tighten on the trigger, his trembling hands making the gun rattle in the
silence.

“
Killing
me won't improve your position, Jamie,” the King says as his men take up guard
on either side of him, producing machine-pistols from their jackets. “Trust me
on that.”

“
And
your bullets aren't going to work on me,” Jamie says. “Trust
me
on
that.”

“
That
was quite a trick you pulled on us up there. This must be what you meant when
you said that you had a 'game changer' to discuss, hm?”

Jamie says nothing, but
the King sees it in his eyes.

“
So
you came here, thinking that because you're a little bit special – that because
now you can flicker about the place like a little cricket – that you are
somehow capable of beating me.”

“
I
already shot you once. I can do it again.”

“
I
said 'beating', not killing. So kill me. Then what? Please, tell me this grand
plan of yours. Shoot me. Kill me, even, and then: what?”

“
I
have that covered, don't you worry,” Jamie lies. He feels his heart racing, and
finds himself clutching Chloe's waist tighter.

“
I
assume that your plan includes this new capability you seem to have found
yourself with.” He fixes Jamie with a fiery stare, and Jamie feels as though
his soul is being searched like an open tome. “It was the fire, wasn't it
Jamie? The fire that came from the sky has changed you, am I right?”

The King is leaning
forward eagerly, his terrifying eyes urging Jamie to answer. Jamie can feel
Chloe looking up at him in confusion.

“
I
think you underestimate me – as everybody does.” The King leans back. “When I
say that I know everything that goes on in this city, I'm not lying. Even the
stuff like this. Have you considered,” the King continues as though he were
talking to a child, “that the more you use this power, the more blood starts to
gush out of your nostrils? Have you made the link yet, son? Are you starting to
get it?”

Jamie licks his lips
and tastes the blood that is soaking into his stubble.

“
You
haven't been watching the news,” the King shakes his head, “and you don't have
the information that I do. You haven't seen what happens to people like you
when those nosebleeds get worse. You try to use your little trick again and
I'll bet that your brain will haemorrhage so violently you'll be dead before
you hit the floor.”

“
You're
bluffing,” says Jamie – though he cannot tell who he is trying to convince: the
King, or himself.

“
Turn
on a television, son. There's been a strong military and police presence
building for a few weeks: they knew the fire was coming. You know, they asked
me permission to move soldiers into my city? What nice manners they have, these
government types. Soldiers in black, they use – I'm surprised you haven't ran
into any.”

Jamie says nothing,
remembering the dark figure that tried to bring him in after the fire hit.

“
They
didn't know what was coming,” the King continues. “They knew it wasn't an
asteroid – asteroids don't make course corrections, they told me. Then they
found people at the crash sites this evening – humans, but different. Like you.
Already we've had people leaping off rooftops and fighting armed soldiers by
the dozen. There's a video of a man in overalls shrugging off gunfire from a
helicopter's cannon.” The King grins. “You should watch the news sometime,
Jamie, you really are missing some incredible stuff.”

“
He's
not lying,” whispers Chloe. “It
is
all over the news.”

“
I
don't know what it is that you're doing, Jamie, but if you push that power too
far, it goes badly. Some poor soul got cornered on a bridge over the Clyde earlier.
Soldiers on every side, no hope of escape. Seconds later, that bridge collapsed
without warning. I think,” the King looks at Chloe as though she's an old
friend, “it was about twenty dead at the last count, right? Drowned under the
debris? And if I remember right, his nose was bleeding just before it
happened.”

The King looks straight
through Jamie, seeing past the bravado and the posturing. He sees the truth
settling into Jamie's thoughts.

Jamie's mind races. He
remembers waking up after the fire had hit him – the soldier had radioed it in:
something about his nose bleeding.

He knows that the King
is a master manipulator, but he can't help but feel that there is some truth in
what he's saying.

“
What
if I don't believe you?”

“
Then
by all means, go ahead and shoot me and my men and try to escape. Then this
beautiful woman – who you value so much that you used her for insurance -” the
King mockingly gestures to Chloe, “can watch as your brain tears itself apart
and you die.”

Jamie looks down at
Chloe, and she meets his eyes and shakes her head, her blonde curls bobbing
from side to side.

“
You
aren't leaving me with a lot of choices here,” he says, turning back to the
King. “What's the alternative?”

“
We
revise your contract?” the King suggests. “For a man with your talents, I'm
sure we can find a job.”

“
I'm
only
in
this mess because I tried to hand in my resignation,” he says.
“I want out. I want to walk away from this, and I want my pension. You owe me a
hell of a lot of money. Give me that, and let me walk out of here.”

“
Jamie,
you can't walk out,” the King shakes his head. “Those men in black are scouring
the city for you. Everywhere you go, they'll be waiting. Believe me, I've had
dealings with these types before and they are not ones to give up on their
mission.”

“
So
what's your offer?”

“
Put
the gun down, and we can talk.”

“
I'm
making the demands here, King,” says Jamie, “and I don't think I need your
help.”

“
Maybe
you don't,” the King admits, “but she does.”

He points to Chloe, who
tenses up.

“
Leave
her out of this -”

“
Oh
she's a part of it now, whether she wants to be or not. They'll be coming for
her too.”

“
Chloe?”
he whispers.

“
Mhm?”
her voice is small and frightened.

“
Close
your eyes, I'm going to get us out of here.”

“
But
your nose -”

“
It's
our only chance,” he hisses.

“
Decision
time, Jamie.” The King's agonised expression squirms into something resembling
a smile. “What's it going to be?”

Jamie levels the pistol
at the King's chest and grits his teeth.

Mark's mind is awake
before his eyes have caught up. Roaring fills his ears as though he is caught
in a tidal wave; he recognises the rhythmic chopping of helicopter blades. He
keeps his eyes closed, savouring the breaths that fill his lungs. Over the
engine's roar he makes out a female voice like that of a stern teacher:
knowledgeable and with little patience for the opinions of others.

“
His
vitals are increasing – consider giving him a tranquilliser.”

“
That
could kill him -” another voice protests, and in his mind Mark assigns this man
the appearance of a meek, bald man with large glasses.

A third voice cuts in,
and this one is familiar: Mark remembers this voice talking as he lost
consciousness on the rooftop, plastic foam expanding to fill his throat.

“
I
watched this man take a twenty millimetre cannon round to the sternum and get
up again. It's not going to kill him.”

“
His
heartbeat is increasing, watch the charts,” says the stern teacher.

“
Hold
on, I've nearly got the scan up...” says the timid assistant.

The voices stop, and
Mark tries to calm himself. He is bound tight by some cold metal encasing his
arms at the elbow, wrist and shoulder. Around his neck is a tightly fastened
steel collar, keeping him bolted to the trembling floor of the helicopter. As
the vehicle shifts in flight, he feels his stomach lurch with a grey sickness
that spreads from his chest throughout his body.

“
Is
that the scan?” the soldier asks. “Is this in real time?”

Only now does Mark
realise just how
thirsty
he is. It's a dry scratching in his throat, a
deep seated urge to quench some burning fire in his chest. He wonders if he can
break the bonds holding him, but his arms have lost their unexplainable
strength: his limbs feel like limp lengths of wet cardboard.

“
Are
you seeing what I am, doctor?” asks the shy voice.

“
I've
never seen cells behave like this before. In all my years...” the all-knowing
commanding voice now carries a wavering uncertainty.

“
That's
going to be happening a lot, doctor,” says the soldier. “Can you save him?”

There's a long silence
again, and finally she says:

“
Shit,
maybe?”

“
Maybe?”

“
Something
is metabolising his own body, breaking it down into alcohol: don't even get me
started on how, this
should
be impossible without creating lethal doses
of radiation.”

“
Alcohol?”
the soldier asks her in disbelief.

“
Yes,
Trespasser, alcohol. His body is destroying itself: digesting itself, in
essence. And I have absolutely no idea how or why.”

“
Can
we stop it?”

“
Maybe
not, but we can certainly try to stall it. Klein,” she orders the assistant,
“give the subject an intravenous injection of alcohol.”

“
Ma'am,
that's utterly ridiculous -” he is cut off by her thundering orders.

“
Were
we even remotely aware of what was going on here I would take the time to do
this properly Klein, however I am doing what I can from the back of a bloody
helicopter, to a man who is defying the laws of nature before my eyes. I would
quite like this man to survive so that I
can
find out what the hell is
happening, now give him the alcohol before I do it myself. If we can give his
body the alcohol it's trying to create then maybe we can slow the process.”

“
Can
I do anything to help?” asks the soldier.

“
Keep
an eye on his heart rate and tell me if it changes significantly.”

Mark feels a dull ache
blossom in his lower forearm, as though somebody were trying to bite through
his skin. He fights the urge to squirm and move away.

“
His
heart rate just sky-rocketed,” says the soldier.

“
I
can't break the skin,” the assistant whines.

“
Well
if a helicopter's guns couldn't do it, your needle won't be able to,” says the
soldier. “Can't you just pour it into his mouth?”

“
You've
already neutralised him once with suffocation,” the older doctor tells them,
“so I don't want to risk him drowning.”