Survival (7 page)

The closer Jimmy came to Mutam-ul-it, the darker his
feelings grew. The place was deserted. Even the French
press helicopters had to keep their distance because of
the smoke. There was no way they would have been able
to see Jimmy, which was just as well. If the crew of the
British destroyer found out that he was there, Jimmy
was sure the mine would suffer a few more missiles.

He could almost feel their presence, just off the
coast, waiting. They were probably at that moment
planning their own strategy to make the mine safe, so
they could take it over just as they’d planned. Perhaps
they’d also realised they could send in a genetically
modified assassin and Mitchell was on his way.
Or here
already,
Jimmy thought.

He tensed up, his programming prickling at his skin
from the inside. What if British long-range surveillance
could
see him? He tried to force away his doubt by
marching faster.
All the more reason to make sure
Stovorsky gets Mum, Georgie and Felix to safety
, he told
himself with false confidence. While he was inside the
mine, the French would have to do exactly as he said.
And they couldn’t touch him.

The gates loomed over him, twisted and charred, as if
they were bowing to the tower of black smoke. Jimmy
broke into a jog and entered the compound. Suddenly
nothing was as simple as it had seemed on Stovorsky’s
laptop. The smoke was low and thick now. And it wasn’t
so obvious which buildings were which. None of the signs
had survived the blasts. Jimmy had to think back to the
plans he’d seen, but whenever he thought he knew where
he was, a clearing in the smoke showed him a glimpse
of something out of place. Where was the central
maintenance system that would tell him the true extent
of the damage? And where was the actinium stored?

Jimmy choked in the smog and shielded his face with
the back of his arm. As he moved through the complex,
the smoke became so thick he couldn’t see where he
was going. There was a nasty smell too –
simultaneously bitter in the back of his throat and sickly
sweet in his lungs.

Every step he took was carpeted with blood. Then he
realised that the stench was roasting human flesh. He
breathed in short gasps to stop himself puking.
How did
I get into this nightmare?
he wondered.

In horror, he picked his way through a dense forest
of body parts. He felt his disgust grow into a seething
anger. Didn’t the British or the French Governments
care that they had caused so many people to get ripped
apart? How could they justify this slaughter, no matter
how much money was at stake?

Jimmy felt violence throbbing inside him. Was he the
only person in existence who cared about what was
right and what was wrong? The whole of the rest of the
world had turned rotten. Maybe he should let Britain
and France destroy each other in a stupid war, he
thought. They were as bad as each other.

But then he realised that in the carnage around him
were real people, not governments. And there were at
least three other people in the world that he knew who
weren’t evil. Three people he cared about in London
who would be trapped in the middle of it all if there was
a war. He tried to calm himself down by focusing on
them, but only fuelled his anger with fear. They were so
far away and yet it was up to him to keep them safe.

Suddenly there was a noise. Jimmy jumped. It was
only faint and it was immediately blown away in the
wind, but it was new and out of place. It sounded like an
engine starting. Had Stovorsky and the driver somehow
followed him? He looked around, trying to work out
which direction the noise had come from. Then he
picked out a black rectangle surging towards him out of
the smoke. The front grill of a jeep.

Jimmy’s first instinct was to jump out of the way, but
his limbs wouldn’t move. Yet it wasn’t fear that rooted
him to the spot. His muscles weren’t tense. They
melted in a wash of calm. His programming instantly
took control. For the first time, Jimmy felt a gush of joy
with it. The danger might be extreme, but the thrill of
combat was even greater.

He waited until the jeep was close enough for him to
pick out the detail of the grime around the headlights,
then he ducked his left side and jumped at the vehicle.
His shoulder crashed into the bonnet, denting the
metal. To Jimmy it felt like no more than a pat on the
back. He bounced all over the jeep, rolling in the air, and
landed softly in the sand.

The jeep disappeared into the blackness, but Jimmy’s
ears were locked on to the sound of its engine. He could
feel his mind using the information like a number in a
simple calculation. He could pinpoint the jeep’s position
and velocity. It was coming back.

Jimmy had no time to think about who might be in the
driver’s seat. He could either start asking questions or
stay alive. He crouched low and dug his fingers deep into
the sand. As soon as he saw the outline of the returning
truck, his hands shovelled madly, throwing up a curtain
of sand and ash. Mixing with the smoke, it made Jimmy
almost invisible. But still he didn’t try to run.

The jeep swerved about, out of control, brakes
squealing. A slim figure dived out of the driver’s seat. In
a single instant, two thoughts flashed through Jimmy’s
head.
Run
, said one. The other was,
Destroy
. He flicked
away the first with ease and listened to the second, not
knowing which had come from his human anger and
which from his assassin’s genes. He didn’t care. He was
already hurtling across the sand towards the figure.

Jimmy was certain: attack was the right decision.
Whether this was the British coming to take over the
mine, or a trap set for him by the French – it didn’t
matter.
Both sides deserve destruction
.

While the driver stumbled and slipped on the sand,
Jimmy burst onwards, faster and faster. He was
wearing heavy desert boots, but his toes still dug in to
give him extra spring. The figure ahead of him was only
visible for flashes at a time. Jimmy saw the desert
camouflage just like his own and the limbs pumping in
desperation. But did he also see long black hair?

Jimmy was about to dive to catch the person’s ankles,
but stopped just in time. His target side-stepped and
disappeared into a dark hole in a building where there had
once been a door. Jimmy followed without hesitation.

The darkness was instant and Jimmy’s eyes were
slow to catch up. He stumbled forwards a few steps. By
the time his eyes prickled and his night-vision buzzed, he
was falling – and not just to the floor. If this building had
ever had a floor it had been destroyed in the blast.
Jimmy fell for long enough to realise that at a mine,
buildings can have very deep basements indeed.

Jimmy braced himself for the landing. He ducked his
head and protected it with folded arms. He gulped in
as much air as he could to cushion his ribs and locked
his ankles together. He hit the bottom feet first, as
painlessly as was possible. His legs gave way, but even
before he was still he could tell that nothing was
broken. There was just a sharp bite from the two ribs
he’d already fractured in the mountains.

Then:
BAM
!

Something cracked into his cheek with the power of a
wrecking ball. Jimmy rolled with the impact and a shower
of saliva exploded from his mouth. His skull seemed to
vibrate like a church bell. It was several seconds before
he was able to jump up, ready to fend off another attack.

He could see now that he had fallen into a large
circular pit. It was about fifty metres across and Jimmy
was crouched at one edge. A faint pillar of light filtered
down from where he had fallen. It was bolstered by the
blue haze of his night-vision. Jimmy felt lucky when he saw
that he hadn’t fallen too far – only about fifteen metres.

It looked like this pit hadn’t been caused by any
explosion, but was part of the mining operation. The
floor was rough clay and the wall was one huge circle of
concrete breeze blocks, broken by gaping holes the size
of buses. That told him this was just the first layer of
whatever underground exploration was going on. Each
hole was an entry point into the network of tunnels.

In the centre of the pit was a column of chains leading
right up to the roof of the building, and on every side was
a battery of huge drills. The only thing Jimmy had ever
seen like them before were forklift trucks, except these
had giant drills instead of forks. They looked like a small
herd of metal elephants on wheels. Their trunks pointed
in all directions – some aimed into the tunnel entrances,
some poking out of them. Others had swivelled into
awkward angles, as if they were sleeping.

Each of the drill bits was coated in clay as well as
ash from the fires. Jimmy reckoned that in clear light
they would have been orange and black, but with his
night-vision they were blueish. At the base of each,
where it joined its vehicle, was a large silver drill plate –
a circle the driver would just be able to peek over. Only
the very points of the drills gleamed silver in the half-
light. It was like they were waiting for a giant dentist to
come along and give Earth a set of teeth.

Then above them, Jimmy caught sight of a silhouette
clambering higher on the chains. He dashed across the
clay to catch up, ducking between the machines, but as
soon as the figure reached the scaffolding above the pit,
the chains retracted swiftly towards the surface. Jimmy
leapt forwards, his arm outstretched. The end of the
longest chain slipped between his thumb and fingertips.
He hit the ground with a bump and a face full of clay.

Immediately there was the noise of a motor. The
grating sound sent a shiver through Jimmy as if his
vertebrae themselves were scraping against each other.
He knew exactly what it had to be, but refused to believe
it. He rolled on to his back to see it: the drill on one of
the machines was spinning furiously. It flung clay into two
huge arcs, which fell on either side like sparks from a
Catherine wheel. But Jimmy couldn’t take his eyes off the
tip of the drill. Centimetre by centimetre, it adjusted until
it was pointing directly at the centre of Jimmy’s forehead.

Then that noise multiplied. One by one, every drill
started whizzing round and they all turned on their
wheels to face Jimmy. Jimmy clambered to his feet
and spun full circle. He was surrounded. He dashed
for the only opening he could see in the line of drills.
But before he’d taken two steps, the machines
repositioned to close the gap. How could they be so
well co-ordinated without drivers?

Jimmy skidded to a halt and doubled back. On the
other side of the circle he saw another chance to break
out. He dived for it, but the machines weren’t just big,
they were highly manoeuvrable. Two of them twisted
inwards, mirror images of each other, dipping their drill
points to precisely the spot that Jimmy was aiming for.
He slid across the clay on his back, unable to stop
himself. At last he slammed his elbows into the ground to
push himself upright, just in time. Then he kicked with his
heels to throw himself over the top of the spinning metal.

He thought he was out of the circle, but two more
machines quickly looped round to cover their teammates.
Jimmy silently cursed the shadow above him. He
knew that was the person controlling these things, trying
to drill him into a slice of cheese. But why? Who was it?

Jimmy ducked and dived between the drills. They
swung over his head and beneath his jumps with such
rapidity that the swishing of the air sounded like the
propellers of a small plane. They stabbed at his head
and his body with the speed and force of automated
battering rams. Whenever Jimmy had the chance he
ran for an opening, but another machine was always
there to cut him off.

It felt almost as if the machines themselves had
minds. They were a team of murderous bullies. Their
motors started to sound like laughs. Leaping and
dodging for his life, Jimmy wondered whether a tiny
part of the drills’ programming was human. Then, with
panic, he realised that if these machines
could
think,
they’d probably wonder whether any part of
his
programming was human.

The breath was gone from his chest. His limbs were
pumping with reserves of strength he didn’t know he
could call on. He wished the machines would stay still
for a moment to give him a chance to dash for the walls
of the pit and climb out. That gave him an idea.

Jimmy fell to the ground and hesitated there for a
fraction of a second. He saw two drills spinning towards
him like vultures descending on a carcass. The first
stabbed at his head. Jimmy twisted his neck at the last
instant. The drill plunged into the clay. As it kept
spinning, it pulled itself deeper and deeper. Its own
power was working against it now. Jimmy knew the only
way it could pull out was if the person controlling it
reversed the direction of the spin. And that would take
a moment of extra care. Why bother when there were
so many other drills still circling around the target?

Jimmy waited right next to the submerged drill bit.
Clay slammed into his cheek and he could hear the
rotations of the drill like an animal’s scream. To his
delight, the next machine took the bait. It charged at
him. Jimmy waited as long as he dared, then dodged.

The second drill missed Jimmy’s head by a hair, but
connected perfectly with the first machine. With both
drill bits spinning at maximum rpm, there was a piercing
screech and a pounding
CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK
.
A fountain of clay erupted all the way up to the surface.

Both machines were hurled upwards. They flew in
opposite directions and smashed against opposite walls of
the pit. For a moment, the other drills stopped. Jimmy
took his chance while the drill operator was distracted. He
sprinted for the edge, ready to climb. He didn’t have much
of a head start, but he was convinced he could make it.

Then he heard the dreadful sound of ten massive
drilling machines starting up again. They were chasing
him down. How could they move so fast? Jimmy
couldn’t understand his bad luck. Surely no drills in the
world were designed to move at 50 kilometres an hour?

The wall was so close now. Jimmy could leap for it,
but he knew that even then he didn’t have time to climb
out of reach of the machines. He would be drilled right
through and pinned to the concrete. Instead he cut
away at the final moment, diving into the protection of
one of the tunnels.

He pushed himself up against the side of the tunnel,
desperate not to be seen. From the scaffolding above,
it would take a few seconds to work out where Jimmy
had disappeared to. And at least one of the drills
probably had its nose stuck in the wall by now.

If only he could slip out of his hiding place and stay
unseen. He could already feel the tips of his fingers
tingling, still fighting the remnants of frostbite,
preparing to dig into the wall as hard and as fast as
they ever could. He listened for the movements of the
drills outside his tunnel. What were they doing? Why
were they so quiet?

Then suddenly the opening of the tunnel went black.
Jimmy didn’t even wait to see what had cut off the light.
He could hear it. He ran down the tunnel at full speed,
hoping frantically that the rougher terrain would slow
down the drilling machine behind him. He glanced over
his shoulder. His night-vision surged up a notch to show
him as much as possible, but the detail didn’t matter.
All Jimmy cared about was the blurred tip of the
massive drill looming towards him and the shadowy
figure that had now appeared on top of the machine to
drive it down the tunnel manually.

There’d better be another way out of here
, thought
Jimmy.