Son of Heaven (30 page)

As he did the roof fell in, sending up tall showers of sparks.

Everything gone
, he thought, the first tear rolling down his cheek.

Chapter 7

WEST

T
here’d been no time for tears. He’d had to get out of there as quickly as he could, before they came for him again. That was, if they
could find him.

He’d plundered the two he’d killed in the garden, taking one of their guns and all of their ammunition, along with the body armour and helmet of the bigger one.

He had been tempted to make his way to Heathrow, to get a plane out of there and ride things out on the Greek isles, but three things were wrong with that.

First, it would entail travelling back towards London, through the wild lands of Maidenhead and Slough, back towards the chaos of the city.

Second, he had no money. Not that money – either as notes or as a credit balance on an account – was worth anything now. The Chinese had effectively done away with money when
they’d destroyed the datscape.

And third, he wasn’t sure that he still existed. Officially, that was. Lamp-ton had talked of glitches in the system, but what if those hadn’t been dealt with? What if they’d
left him off the record?

There was only one answer, to head west and try to get to Hugo and Chris’s cottage down in Coombe Bissett, just outside of Salisbury. He wasn’t sure how far it was – eighty
miles, maybe a hundred – but it was better than heading back in. It would mean travelling across lawless countryside, but there would be plenty of places to hide, plenty of places to bed down
for the night. Besides, he was armed now.

What he didn’t have, and what he needed badly, was a map. An Ordnance Survey would have been nice, but any map would do.

There would be filling stations on the way – places where they sold the compressed air cylinders that most cars ran on these days. They’d have maps there, surely?

That gave him an idea. He’d never owned a car. Never needed to. But they couldn’t be that hard to operate. What if he took one and used one of the toll roads?

First, however, he would get to Henley, maybe use the gate at Sonning Common.

He set out, walking through the dark, half-lit streets, expecting at any moment to be stopped and challenged. But, apart from a twitching curtain here, a face at a window there, there was no
sign of anyone.

Until he came to the gate.

There, in the streets surrounding it, they had built barricades, using whatever they could find – motor mowers, garden tables and chairs, shed doors and bicycles, bags of compost and old
bits of wood. Nearby they had lit bonfires. In their light, Jake could make out sixty men or more, most of them armed.

Jake stopped, trying to make out if there was any other way round. But he had already been seen. Three men came towards him, guns raised.

‘Hey… Who are you?’

Jake knew he must have looked quite threatening, what with the body armour and the helmet and the gun hanging from his shoulder, but he tried not to panic them. He raised his hands.

‘It’s okay… I’m coming from Marlow… my girlfriend’s parents live there… Charles and Margaret Williams…’

They spread out, encircling him, their eyes narrowed, watching for any move of his, itching, it seemed, to use their weapons.

‘So what’s with all this?’ their spokesman said, gesturing towards the uniform, the weapons. He had a nasty, hostile expression on his face, like he wasn’t going to
believe a thing Jake said.

He had to be careful.

‘There were assassins… Chinese…’

‘What the…?’ The man seemed to lose his patience. ‘Show me your ID!’ he barked. ‘And don’t
think
of trying to use one of those!’

Jake shrugged. ‘Okay… calm down… I’ll move slowly, okay? It’s in my jacket pocket, so…

He had almost forgotten. He still had the handgun. It was there, next to his ID card. Not that he’d have a chance to use it. No. He’d be dead before he could get a single shot
off.

Jake took out the card and threw it across. The man stooped down and picked it up, glancing at it casually before looking back at Jake.

‘This genuine?’

What a fucking stupid question to ask
. But Jake didn’t say that. He simply nodded. ‘I’m Jake Reed. Twenty-six years old. My birthday’s the eighteenth of August,
and I’m a
login
.’

‘A
what
?’

‘He’s what they call a web-dancer,’ one of the others said. ‘Ain’t that right?’

Jake nodded. ‘I work for Hinton Industrial. Or did. I used to buy and sell stocks and shares on the datscape.’

He saw how the man pondered that, turning the card over and over in his hand. Then he seemed to make a decision. He lowered his gun, then stepped across, handing Jake back his card.

‘I’m sorry… it’s just… we can’t take any chances…’

Jake nodded, pocketing the card. ‘No need to apologize. But look… I need to get outside… I’m trying to join up with some friends, down in Salisbury.’

‘Salisbury? You won’t make it, friend. There’s wild mobs out there. Real fucking savages. You’d be better off staying here till things calm down.’

Maybe
, Jake thought. Only he needed to be with friends, not strangers. If the world was coming to an end, then he wanted to be with those he loved, not those who’d shoot him if he
got his story wrong.

‘Thanks for the offer but… my fiancée’s there. She’s expecting me.’

It hurt him even to say it. Only it made his anxiousness to be away from there believable.

‘There’s a lot of that shit,’ one of them said. ‘There’s gonna be a lot of people cut off from each other. I’m just glad all mine are home. Fuck knows how
worried I’d be if they were the other side of the country. Like Mike says…’

‘Look, Mike,’ he said, latching on to the name. ‘I need a map. A good one, if possible. I’m kind of vague on the route, and…’

‘I’ve got one indoors you can have,’ Mike answered, amenable now that he knew Jake wasn’t a threat. ‘Just wait there. I’ll go get it.’

While he was gone, Jake talked to the other two. They were nervous about how things were, sure, but things would right themselves. Just give it a day or two and it would all be up and running
again, just see if it wasn’t.

If only that were true, Jake thought. If only our leaders had the sense and the courage to sort things out.

Only they didn’t. Jake knew only too well who
really
controlled the Market. It was the international speculators. The big fish. And it was their greed, their inability to think of
anything but their own fat wallets, that had allowed Tsao Ch’un to get away with this.

Not that it mattered now.

Mike returned, smiling now as he handed Jake the book of maps. It was a big, expensive-looking thing, leather-bound, 1 to 50,000 scale, or just over an inch to a mile.

‘I can’t…’ Jake said, old habits of politeness kicking in. ‘This is just…’

‘No, take it… it’s fine. You’re going to need it out there. And… my wife did this for you…’

Jake took the bag from him and looked inside. There were bottles and a number of small packages wrapped in foil – a regular little picnic.

Jake looked back at him, touched by this unexpected gesture.

‘Thanks… Look, I… I really hope it all goes well for you. I hope…’

That you all survive
, he wanted to say. Only he couldn’t. It was too depressing. But it was the truth. The darkest days lay ahead, when people realized exactly what had happened.
That nothing had any value any more.

He embraced them. Then, as a number of them kept him covered, they opened the gate and let him pass, out into the wilds. Out into the unprotected dark, gun in hand, hoping he’d made the
right decision.

He went south and west, following the old minor roads, through Kidmore End, then across country, arriving at the sleeping village of Whitchurch as the clock struck three.

There was an old toll booth there on the south road. It had fallen into disuse years ago, but the road was still there, boarded off to cars. Jake climbed over the barrier and set off towards the
motorway.

There were barriers – fifty feet tall – along the whole length of the motorway, with razor-wire on top to keep out the UPs, but just ahead of him the toll road dipped beneath the
highway, emerging on the far side. The town of Theale was a mile or two further on.

As Jake went into the tunnel, he could hear cars on the motorway. There wasn’t much traffic, just the whine of an engine now and then as one went past, all of it heading west.

He moved slowly, trying to see into the shadows, his gun out and ready, the safety off. If he was going to be attacked anywhere, it was here. It was a perfect spot for an ambush. Only who the
fuck would be walking out this late? Who would be so crazy as to use this route?

Only a desperate man.

The road dipped, then began to climb again.

He could hear the slow crunch, crunch, crunch of his own footsteps. Hear his own shallow breathing.

Something scuttled away, up a bit and to his right. He knew it was only a rat, or some woodland animal, but it made his nerves twitch.

He stopped, straining to hear.

Nothing.

And went on, climbing the slope, the darkness becoming less intense with every step, his heartbeat slowing as the tension eased.

He had been lucky so far. Or perhaps all the rioters had worn themselves out and had gone back home – were now safely tucked up in their beds, like good little savages.

Jake sighed. He’d have to stop soon. Had to get some rest. Travelling at night made sense, only he was exhausted. He had seen too much. Done too much…

At the top of the slope he halted. He could see the faint outlines of houses up ahead. Maybe one of them was deserted. Perhaps he could kip there for the remainder of the night, then set off
early.

The implant beneath his right ear had been weeping again. It felt sore and swollen, possibly even infected. He’d have to see to that sometime. Maybe at Newbury when he got there.

If
he got there.

As he came up alongside the first of the houses, he stopped, looking across.

How did you tell which houses were occupied and which not? Did you just break in and take a chance?

A barn, then, maybe. Somewhere that wouldn’t be checked before the morning.

Only he needed a bed. Needed to lay down and sleep, and he wasn’t sure a barn would be any good for that.

Jake let his head fall. Until that moment he had been all right. Until he’d thought of it, and seen himself in memory, there beside her in her bed in her parents’ house, her
beautiful green eyes looking up at him.

‘Oh, fuck…’

He had been walking like a dead man. Numb. Emotionally drained. Pretending it hadn’t happened. Only now it came flooding back and he saw in his mind how she lay there on the floor beside
the bed, her flesh sickly pale, a line of crusted blood about the plastic cord those cunts had used on her.

He groaned and fell to his knees.

Make it not so…

Only nothing could call it back.

Jake shivered, then remembered. The permit. He still had the permit in his pocket. He took it out, staring at it a moment, trying to make sense of it, then tore it into shreds and scattered
it.

His life. His future. Gone. The whole fucking lot of it, gone!

Then why not end it now? Why not put the gun in his mouth and pull the trigger?

Jake got to his feet. Wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. He had to get to Hugo and Chris, that’s why. Had to tell them what had happened.

He walked on, his legs heavy now.

This one? No. The curtains are drawn. There’s someone in that one. Then this one, maybe? Yes… why not.

At worst he’d wake someone. At worst…

Only he had to sleep. If he didn’t he’d fall over.

He walked across and looked inside. The curtains were open, the front room dark. He went round the side of the building and tried the back door. It opened. Inside, in the dark silence of the
kitchen, he stopped, straining to listen.

Nothing. The place was empty.

Even so, he checked it out. Checked every room. Then settled in the back bedroom, hauling a small chest of drawers in front of the door before he drew the curtains.

He didn’t risk putting on the light, but there was a television – an old wall-mounted plasma screen. He plugged it in, not expecting it to work, only it did.

The electricity’s still on!

That surprised him.

The screen lit. Images of burning buildings and riot troops in action. London, he guessed, or one of the other big cities. He turned the sound up slightly.

Two planes exploded in the air, one after another. Bits of one came raining down on an airport lounge as screaming passengers fled the burning building.

The picture cut out, then came back. The sound wavered momentarily.

An elderly man – the US Vice-President, Jake realized – was being sworn in, his generals standing close by, looking on, their faces anxious.

Three men – Chinese by the look of them, bound hand and foot – were led into a courtyard by masked special services men. They were forced down onto their knees then executed, one by
one, with a single shot to the back of the head.