Children of the Cull (10 page)

“
Roger that, Control. Three out.
”

I relaxed, placing my stinging palms on my hips.

“I’m not sure how much more of today I can take.”

Moore swung around to me. “It was better to make sure. If there had been something out—”

A rumble reverberated through the building.

Above me, the lights flickered, a siren sounding in the corridor outside. “What the hell?”

“Was that an explosion?” Olive yelped.

On screen, Team Three whirled around to face the direction of the blast, their backs to the fence. There were flashes of light in the darkness, and the guards hit the ground hard.

“Jesus!” Moore’s walkie-talkie was back to his lips. “Team Three, come in! Team Three!”

They weren’t moving, shadows appearing in the bushes beyond the perimeter, men and women, guns in hand.

“Definitely not dogs,” Lam stammered, as the would-be invaders started climbing the fence.

Calls were coming in from all over the complex.

“
Control, explosion at the main gates. Guards down.
”

“
Chief, intruders scaling the north perimeter.
”

“
Fire near Neighbourhood Three.
” The sound of breaking glass came through the tinny speaker. “
God, they’re throwing petrol bombs.
”

On the screens, all hell was breaking loose. One of the front gates hanging askew. Liquid fire rippling out from smashed bottles, bushes and shrubs already ablaze. One of Team Three was trying to crawl away, dragging a ruined leg. Behind him a girl had made it over the first line of defence. She raised her gun and dispatched the guard with a single shot. His body jerked and lay still.

Moore yelled into his handset. “All teams, stand your ground.” He was up out of the seat, charging towards the door.

“Where are you going?” I called after him.

He stopped at the doorway. “I need to get out there.”

“But what about Control? Surely you need to co-ordinate—”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” he replied, before disappearing out of the room.

I sank down into the seat he had surrendered, staring up at the screens, not really knowing what to do next

Flames spread.

The murderers at the east perimeter scaled the interior fence.

Get the hell out of there! What are you doing? Haven’t you seen these films before?

They were coming from all angles at once. So many. So fast.

“The chief was right,” I said, as Lam audibly whimpered by my side. “They were testing our defences, preparing for a full onslaught.”

“Why don’t you call him up and congratulate him?” Olive suggested, but before I could yell at her to get out, Moore’s voice crackled over an open channel.

“
All guards to positions. Code nine, I repeat, this is a code nine.
”

“There he is,” shouted Olive, pointing at a screen to the right. Moore burst out of a door, gun in hand, running towards the east perimeter.

I pulled the walkie-talkie from my belt. “Chief, what the hell do you think you’re doing? I need you back here.”

He ignored me, running off-camera on one screen to appear on the next, ducking behind a barricade. He never made it. One minute he was running, the next he was spinning on the spot as something hit his shoulder, dropping him to the ground.

“Moore!”

A boy dashed into shot, a teenager, wearing a leather jacket and jeans. He ran behind the barricade, pointed down at the floor and fired once, twice.

“Oh, God,” burbled Lam. “Oh, God; oh, God.”

I switched channels, addressing anyone who could hear. “All guards, this is Doctor Tomas. Fall back. Secure the Neighbourhoods.”

The first raiders made it safely over the gate.

A guard’s voice cut through the channel. “
Ma’am, are you sur
—”

“That’s an order. Fall back. Now!”

“Have you lost your mind?” Olive squawked, gaping at the screens. “You need to take the fight to them.”

“No, we have to secure the children.”

The raiders were on every screen, swarming over the fences, through the gates. There were even inflatable dinghies crossing the moat, paddles strafing through the water.

I stood up, making a decision. “Lam, you’re in charge.”

The technician’s eyes stretched wider than ever, and he shook his head frantically. “No. I can’t.”

I slammed my walkie-talkie down in front of him. “Use this. Just make sure everyone gets inside, and seal the buildings. We can use the tunnels.”

I ran for the door.

“Where are you going?” Olive called after me.

I was out of the room before I answered, “To get the kids.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

KILL

“R
IGHT ON CUE,
” I said as a distant siren sounded. “I have to say, Brennan; your guys are punctual, if nothing else.”

“‘If nothing else’?” Fenton said. “I’d like to hear you say that to them up close.”

“Wouldn’t be a fair fight,” I said, reaching out to Garret. “The poor sods wouldn’t know what hit them.”

Garret almost cracked a smile as he handed over his axe. I weighed the weapon in my hands, noticing the notches and stains on the blade. It had seen a lot of action, and hadn’t been cleaned as often as it should. I didn’t want to ask too many questions.

I bent down, running my fingers across the concrete in front of the door, finding a hairline crack. That would have to do. I put my torch down on the floor, so its beam shone across the imperfection, and rose to my feet.

“You’d better stand back.”

Raising the axe above my head, I brought the blade down onto the crack. The impact shot up my arms, the metal
clank
ing dully against the floor. I crouched, running my hand over where I had struck. The concrete had chipped; not excessively, but I knew it would work.

Brennan and the rest watched as I set to work, slamming the axe into the floor, grunting with the exertion.

Once.

Twice.

Each strike like a thunderclap in the tunnel.

Four.

Five.

Chips flew from the widening crack like shrapnel, bouncing against my legs.

Seven.

Eight.

I began to lose count.

Fifteen?

Sixteen?

I had no idea any more. My arms felt like lead, my elbows stiff.

I stopped on what felt like the hundredth blow, breathing hard, sweat running down my nose.

“Do you need any help?” It was Beck, hovering behind me.

“It’s fine,” I huffed, punctuating my words with further blows. On the final strike, the blade slipped and I dropped the axe, dancing out of the way before it could take a chunk out of my leg.

“You sure about about?” Fenton asked.

Trying to control my breathing, I knelt down, exploring the shallow crevice I had opened. It wasn’t great, but would have to do.

I stood, handing the axe back to Garret, who ran a thumb against the blunted blade.

“Don’t worry,” I panted, running the back of my hand across my mouth. “It’ll still cleave heads, or whatever you have planned.”

Rubbing my shoulder, I walked over to the backpack I had leant up against the tunnel wall and carefully lifted out a rectangular block wrapped in tight, green plastic. As the others watched, I peeled the wrapping away to reveal a milky-white block that looked for all the world like modelling clay.

I wouldn’t advise anyone to throw pots with this stuff.

Kneeling, I pushed as much of the explosive as I could into the crack. When I was a kid, the war novels I read always insisted that C-4 smelled of almonds. That was crap. If anything, the stuff reeked of tar or pitch, but I wasn’t about to stick it under my nose.

Without looking up, I raised an expectant hand. Beck stepped forward, handing me the reel of detonator cord and blasting cap I had given to her for safe keeping.

I zipped my backpack shut and passed it to the tall woman. “Take this, will you?”

“Your wish is my command,
sir
.”

I smiled, pressing the blast cap into the explosive. “Careful. I could grow to like that.”

“In your dreams,” came the gruff reply.

“Just shut up and let him work,” Brennan said, peering over from what she presumably hoped was a safe distance. She was an intelligent and resourceful woman, but obviously didn’t have much experience with half-a-kilo of C-4. By the sound of the muffled thunder high above our heads, the rest of my stash was being put to good use.

I connected the detonator cord to the cap and retreated along the corridor, unreeling the spindle. I went slowly, carefully; the last thing I wanted to do was slip and end up on my backside. We walked all the way back to the shaft and beyond, the cord trailing between us and the blast door, the sounds of gunfire drifted down the shaft as we passed beneath the grille. I wondered who was winning.

I stopped when the cable ran out.

“Is this far enough?” Brennan said, looking over her shoulder; we were rapidly running out of passageway, a set of heavy double doors blocking our way.

“It’ll have to do,” I said, fishing in my jacket pocket for the detonator itself. “That’s got to be around sixty feet. I’d rather have more, but you play with what you’re dealt.”

“Sixty feet?” repeated Fenton. “What’s that in English?” Jesus. He must have been younger than he looked.

“Nearly twenty metres,” Beck translated, holding her torch up for me so I could attach the detonator. It occurred to me that I had left my own flashlight by the doors. I could wave goodbye to that, then, unless Fenton wanted to go back and fetch it. No-one would blame me if I pressed the detonator at just the wrong moment, would they?

Stay focused, soldier. You’ve a job to do.

Sir, yes, sir, etc.

I slipped the empty reel into my pocket. “Okay, is everyone ready?”

“No,” muttered Fenton.

“Do it!” ordered Brennan.

“Cover your ears,” I said. Not waiting to see if anyone followed my advice, I pressed down on the detonator.

The explosion was amplified in the confined space, painfully so. Light flared white in the darkness as a wall of sound and air rushed towards us, bringing with it dust and the acrid tang of atomised concrete. I held my breath, listening for the near-inevitable roar of the tunnel collapsing in on itself, but there was nothing, save for the patter of loose debris dropping to the floor.

“Can I have your torch?” I asked Fenton, holding out my hand.

“Fuck you.”

“Here, have mine,” Brennan said, handing over her flashlight.

Tentatively at first, we walked back towards the door, speeding up as it became clear that the ceiling wasn’t about to drop on our head yet. I covered my mouth, trying not to choke on the dust that hung heavily in the air.

The torchlight cut through the smoke, revealing the blackened, but resolutely solid blast door.

“Nothing,” Fenton groaned. “Not even a scratch.”

“I told you—I wasn’t trying to blow up the door.” I lowered the torch, revealed the hole that had appeared beneath the barrier.

It wasn’t as deep as I’d hoped, but it would do for now.

Fenton stared at the newly-excavated but worryingly shallow pit, the penny finally dropping. “You expect us to crawl through there?”

“Under the door, yeah. I’m not saying it won’t be tight, especially for the bulkier members of the group.” I shot an apologetic look to Curtis, to find him already swinging the battering ram from off his back.

“Don’t worry, Fenton,” said Beck, also removing her pack. “A scrawny streak of piss like you will have no trouble.”

I smiled, turning to Brennan. “Ladies first?”

“Age before beauty, I think,” the Irish woman responded.

I
’VE MADE MORE
dignified entrances. The explosion had cleared just enough space beneath the door, although it was tighter than Garret and Curtis would have wanted. I lay on my back and wriggled beneath the thick metal. My jacket repeatedly caught on jagged shards of broken concrete, and for a horrible moment I imagined the door dropping inexplicably halfway through, slicing me clean in two.

Keep your head, soldier. You’ve been in tighter spots than this.

Sir, yes, sir. Very funny, sir.

Less concrete had been disintegrated on the other side, but there was enough room to manoeuvre, pulling myself up into pitch darkness.

I reached inside my now-torn jacket to recover Brennan’s torch.

“What do you see?” she called through the gap as I tentatively crossed over to the wall and flicked the lightswitch I’d discovered. The fluorescent strips above my head blazed into humming life, chasing the shadows away with a sterile white glow. The walls on this side of the blast door were covered in smooth plaster, dusty cobwebs draping the white paint. The tunnel hadn’t been used for years.

I wondered if the same could be said about the CCTV high on the wall, pointing in the other direction.

The fact that it hadn’t swivelled around to face me was encouraging. Hopefully whoever was sitting in the control booth was too busy with the mayhem on the surface to care about what was happening down here, but there was no point taking chance. I pulled my P99 from its holster and dispatched the camera with two shots that somehow seemed as loud as the explosion.