Twincy Quinn and the Eye of Horus Part One (31 page)

I clutched one
hand to it, feeling that the wound dug deep, but not too deep.

Butler walked
a step towards me, raised the gun, and pointed it at my face.

‘
Are you ready to come quietly?’

I stared at
the barrel, and up at the man who held it. Up at what he
represented.

The doctor. My
old life. A life I had tried so desperately to wash from my
mind.

I imagine
people behind screamed, maybe there were more footsteps, maybe
there were shouts of outrage; it didn't matter.

Adrenaline
rushed through me, and as the devices that wound through my form
increased their activity, my whole body began to buzz. From my
hands to my cheeks to my tightly pressed-open eyes, everything felt
like it was vibrating.

I was not
close to death, and certainly not as close as I should be.

Yet I was
down. I also had a gun pointed right at my head.

‘
I will take your silence as a yes,’ Butler managed, his lips
moving tightly around each word, his teeth visible, glinting in the
light that still bled through the holes in the wall to our
side.

In that
moment, I made a decision.

A desperate
one.

If the choice
was between going back to work for the doctor or dying, I knew what
I had to do.

I lunged
upwards, keeping low, I shoved myself into Butler's legs.

On a good day,
I may have been able to shift him.

Today was not
a good day. Yet somehow I managed to catch him off guard, and he
teetered slightly.

And that would
be when I finally delivered the blow I had been meaning to.

Right to the
side of his jaw, as hard as I could.

His bone gave
out a crack, and it sent a jolt through my knuckles and down into
my arm. Yet while he fell backwards, I did not.

Butler was
out. With an enormous resounding clang, that metallic body of his
hit the cobbles, and the not-so-metallic head of his with that
bowler hat struck half a second afterwards, the hat finally falling
off his bald head and rolling away, coming to rest next to the
net.

There were
screams behind me.

There were
lights, there were footsteps.

I was covered
in blood; I was seriously injured.

Distractedly,
I pried the fabric back from my side, and sunk my fingers into the
wound. Though it sent immeasurable pain eating through my flesh, I
quickly ascertained that the wound was not fatal, yet. However I
would most definitely have to be repaired. For now I could run, and
I would have too.

At first I
whirled around, I took a single step towards the gun that had
fallen from Butler's grip, I bought my foot up, and I slammed it
down.

The gun
shattered.

Now it was
time to run.

At first it
was slow, yet as I realised people were beginning to come into the
lane way from the other side, I ran faster and faster, until,
somehow, I managed to get away.

Yet not
entirely away. For now I was in perhaps one of the most perilous
positions I had ever been in.

Injured, blood
trailing down from the deep wound in my face, and practically
gushing from my side and my arm, I hobbled forward. I was in no
condition to go up to the rooftops, for I could not risk falling.
In my normal condition, I jumped from rooftops all the time, but
right now, I had to conserve what precious little energy I had.

So I ran
forward.

I had to get
back to the factory and to the children before I collapsed.

With that
certainty ringing in my mind, I pressed myself forward.

Yet as I ran,
a horrible realisation dawned on me.

The devices, I
could sense Esquire’s technology. Yet the feeling was not the same,
it was not Butler back from unconsciousness so quickly. It was a
suitable.

I could feel
them streaming into the city, in fact, in a harrowing moment I
realised there was one a few buildings from me.

I ran for as
many blocks as I could, but all too soon I heard one jump off the
roof.

I had no
option.

I had to get
off the street.

I had to go
somewhere, anywhere but here.

Spying a door
before me, ignoring the several people around it who suddenly
looked my way, I rushed in.

I could hear
voices from inside, and realised there were many people within.

Though Butler
had fought me in the street, he had not been so rash as to do it
directly in front of witnesses. He’d cleared the way with the use
of that gun.

Plus, Butler looked vaguely human, the
suitables
did not. I hoped that the
doctor was not so desperate that he would send his
suitables
in to a
well-populated building just to get me.

He was
discreet, and I was counting on that fact.

I burst
through the door and into the establishment, bleeding, panting, and
blinking back the tears.

Michael F.
Stanford

I picked up my
dessertspoon, and twirled it distractedly in my fingers as I
honestly tried to listen to Elizabeth’s banter.

Pulling my
dish towards myself, even though I could hardly stomach food right
now, I took a brief moment to stare at the silver implement in my
hand.

Technically a
tool, made of metal, and a fantastic device. Yet it was nowhere
near as fantastic as the technology I now had to deal with.

I couldn't
comprehend it, could I? So how could I fight it? And as for Twincy,
if she were still alive, how could I begin to understand what she
was and what had happened to her? And understanding was essential
to helping.

Feeling
daunted, numb, and in good need of a quiet moment to myself, I
suddenly flicked my gaze up as I heard something from the front of
the restaurant.

It sounded
like a disturbance.

The detective
side of my personality wanted me to push to my feet, walk over, and
find out what was going on. The overcome side to my mind, however,
was slow to react.

Until I heard
the screams.

A lady gave
out a high-pitched, rattling cry that successfully shook through
the room like a clarion call.

I reacted.

Planting my
hands onto the table, I pushed back, just as I spun towards the
commotion.

There were
several people around the door, and they had all jumped back in
shock as someone had barged their way in.

It took me a
moment.

Half a
second.

But that was
long enough.

It was a
woman. She tipped her head back, and I swear, despite the distance
between us and the low, romantic lighting, it was as if she was
right in front of my nose.

I needed
nothing more to recognise her. The blue bonnet, the dark blue
dress, and the determined gaze.

Twincy
Quinn.

Yet that was
not all.

She was
injured.

There was an
enormous gash over her cheek, blood falling down her chin. Yet that
was nothing compared to her arm and her side.

There was
blood everywhere. It soaked down one edge of her skirt, and was
splattered across her bodice and jacket.

She took a
stumbling step forward.

Her gaze
wavered between panicked fright and clear shock.

Though I had
been frozen for those few precious seconds it had taken me to
recognise her and to assess her condition, I moved. I snapped
forward.

Somebody went
to grab a hand around her, but she pushed out her arm and shoved
them off.

Stumbling
forward again, she half turned over her shoulder, facing the door.
Her eyes were wide with fright, and though her cheeks were covered
in blood, I could see how pale the skin was underneath.

She was
frightened.

Running.

Something was
after her. I didn't need to see the horrendous injuries gouged into
her body to realise that. Just the look in her eyes was enough.

People asked
what was going on, people gasped, and that lady with the
high-pitched voice screamed again.

Elizabeth said
something, but I paid no attention to it. Instead I ran
forward.

Just as I did,
I heard a commotion from outside on the street.

I watched as
her eyes drew wide again, and she thrust herself forward. Somehow
she walked; she continued to move despite her terrible
injuries.

Though people
tried to grab at her, she shoved past, and headed for a door that I
knew led into the kitchen.

Despite her
condition, she was still fast, and I had to weave my way through
the tables to get to her.

A few other
stout-looking men followed, and just as she plunged through the
doors, they ran in right behind her. I was only a step behind
them.

She burst her
way into the kitchen, scrabbled towards a bench, placed a hand on
it, used it for support, then pushed off. One bloody hand print
covered the scrubbed wood.

‘
Come around her,’ one of the stout men said, gesturing with
his arm.

Looking
panicked, she tried to take another step, but slipped on something
and fell harshly to the side, the arm with the enormous injury
banging against the corner of the bench.

She let out a
gasp, and I swear it was like being stabbed. The sound of it clawed
at me like a wild animal.

The stout men
finally made it around her, and one of them picked her up.

‘
She is in shock, we must get her to the hospital at once; pin
her down,’ one of them said.

It was a
mistake.

As soon as
somebody tried to pull her up, their arms locked underneath her
shoulders, she pushed herself forward. She kicked her feet onto the
bench, and somehow managed to get free, getting enough purchase to
throw herself forward and to roll over the bench top.

Twincy Quinn
was not confused, neither was she hysterical.

She was trying
to get away. And stopping her from doing that was going to result
in one thing.

She was like a
cornered animal, I could see that in her eyes.

From the
moment she had burst in the door I had not paused to think that she
was alive.

Yet she was.
For how long, however, I had no idea.

‘
It is fine, madam, we must get you to a hospital,’ one of them
tried, their brow crumpling in clear confusion at her sharp and
agile movements.

‘
Can't,’ she managed, teetering to the side as she jumped off
the bench. ‘Still after me.’

‘
Madam, we will protect you from your attackers, please, calm
down,’ one of them tried. He had a definite controlled mannerism
about him, and I would fancy he was an old guard or soldier, just
like myself. Though he did not understand what was going on, that
was not preventing him from taking charge.

She tried to
look for an escape, and soon saw a door leading out the back of the
kitchens.

‘
Can't,’ she managed again.

Then she
thrust herself forward, scampering towards that door. Her movements
lacked the elegance they usually did, yet were still quick and
effective.

The stout men
moved to follow.

I didn't.

Instead I
pivoted hard on my foot, thrust my shoulder into the door that led
back to the dining room, and ran through.

Elizabeth was
there, and she tried to stand before me, but I darted to the
side.

‘
Michael, what's going on?’ I caught a glimpse of her face, and
it was a perfect expression of surprise and terror.

I didn't have
time to stop to assure her everything was fine, for I had no idea
whether it was. And as for whether I understood what was happening,
it was clear I did not.

Yet I did
understand one thing.

I had been in
this building multiple times before, and once I had even undertaken
an investigation here.

I knew that
the door out from the kitchen led down a long corridor that twisted
around, and had multiple doorways, one of which led onto a back
lane way.

I was going to
get there first.

I ran as fast
as I could, not caring as Elizabeth tried to clutch a hand out to
me, but shrugging her off and telling her I had to hurry.

Again as I
reached the front door I shouldered it open, bursting out onto the
street, and almost falling as I stumbled over the short steps that
led to the cobbles below.

I pivoted on
my foot immediately, running in the direction I knew I had to
take.

There were
people on the street, all with frantic expressions, who had clearly
seen Twincy in her half-dead state stagger her way into the
building.

I ignored
them.

In fact I
jolly well ignored everything.

I ran as fast
as I could, not caring if I strained anything, barely noticing that
I could hardly breathe from my exertion.

I gave it
everything.

For I knew I
had to.

Even this
injured, Twincy Quinn would be hard to chase down.

I reached the
lane way, I reached the door, just as I did, it opened.

She spilled
out of it.

She tripped.
She fell forward.

Right into my
arms. And I held them open willingly.

She slammed
against my chest, her head bumping into my shoulder, the blood
across her cheek flicking over mine.

She was so
ferociously terrified that I swore she was buzzing.

For a moment I
felt as if she could hardly move, and I wondered, horribly, whether
she had made her final movement.

Then she tried
to push herself backwards.

I held her
close, yet it wouldn't work; eventually she broke my grip.

‘
You're injured,’ I tried to tell her, though it was a useless
thing to point out. Clearly she knew that.