TWENTY-EIGHT
‘You’re the strong, silent type,’ said Jack. No response. ‘Well, I respect that. But y’know, I can’t see this going anywhere.’ He took another quick look at the face in the mirror. ‘I mean, this is never gonna work out. No matter how good an orthodontist you find.’
Jack surveyed the roadway ahead. He’d parked beneath a shattered streetlamp at the junction of a side street that looked out over the Levall-Mellon development. The street was pedestrianised, but there were no cops stupid enough to patrol in these monsoon conditions. The lamp was shattered because he’d shot it out, along with two others nearby. That way, the light didn’t shine on the falling rain and turn it into a silvery opaque curtain through which he couldn’t see. And he needed to see anyone approaching before they saw him.
Even over the endless drum of rain on the car roof he could hear the tarpaulin coverings around the building were slapping against the metalwork and making the scaffolding ring. The torrent of rain had emptied the city centre utterly. His Torchwood mobile had no signal. The Geiger counter clipped to his belt ticked quietly to itself.
There was no one else to talk to.
‘Don’t get upset. It’s not you, it’s me,’ said Jack. He paused and grinned, and glanced again in the rear-view mirror. ‘No, OK, it’s you.’
The Weevil continued to stare sightlessly past him. It had stopped bleeding now. A red-brown stain had spread over its face and into the headrest. Its mouth was ajar, and drool had dried where it had spilled over its chin. ‘Think about it. I mean, you’re ugly and I’m cute. You’re dressed in Weevil rags, and I’ve got a sense of style. You’re stone cold dead, and I’m…’
His words trailed off. A Mini was making slow progress down the road. It was the first car that Jack had seen for fifteen minutes. It continued past the T-junction and parked outside the Levall-Mellon building, offside to the pavement. From his position, Jack could only see a blurred shape rushing away from the car and into the building.
He sprang from the SUV and pelted across the street, throwing up huge splashes of water as he pounded through puddles on the way. In case this was some contractor or builder making an unexpected return to the site, Jack swiftly inspected the Mini. The passenger seat contained a dead woman. Almost certainly the original driver of the vehicle. The side and rear of her neck had been ripped open, exposing the spinal cord, and blood had spurted all over the driver’s side of the car. The windscreen interior was smeared with blood where the killer had inexpertly wiped it away in order to see out.
The main reception area of the building smelled dank. The boarding and covers that surrounded it were hopelessly insufficient to keep the rainstorm from blowing through the shell of the unfinished building, and a wide expanse of water had pooled across the concrete floor. Four main stairwells led up into the body of the site. Jack tried to remember which one he had pursued Wildman up two days ago. It was the far corner. He hurried across, poked his head around the hole where the doorframe would go, and held his breath to listen. Jack heard the clattering footfall of someone who didn’t know they should be keeping quiet.
He unholstered his gun, and started quietly up into the building. He hugged the breezeblocks that formed the sides of the stairwell. That kept him away from the sharp drop beyond the edge of the steps. It also enabled him to lean against the wall and stare up to where he could hear the footsteps.
The regular slap of shoe on stair had stopped, and now the sound was of feet sliding across concrete. The intruder was walking around, perhaps looking for something.
Looking for Wildman’s briefcase.
He checked the Geiger counter at his belt. Nothing more than background radiation. Maybe he was wrong about the briefcase.
Jack slipped up the remaining stairs as quickly and silently as he could. On what he counted to be the eighth floor, he stepped out into the main floor area and covered the whole area with his gun.
Megan Tegg had the slim face he recognised from the photograph board at the hospital. But she didn’t look cute any more. In the half-light of the room, she looked startled and then angry. Her jaw was smeared with the ichorous evidence of her attack on the car driver. She tried hopping across the finished floor, avoiding the concrete reinforcement wire and attempting to hide behind one of the central pillars. But Jack slid smartly to one side, and had her covered again.
A flash of lightning brilliantly illuminated the whole area and the ensuing peal of thunder demonstrated how close the strike was. Megan was clutching the briefcase tightly in her right hand, and her head flicked from side to side as she considered her exit routes.
‘Give it up, Megan,’ Jack called, his voice loud and clear despite the pounding of the rain and another crack of lightning. He hopped over a couple of girders to get nearer to her, and pointed at the briefcase. ‘Thanks for finding that. I thought I’d let you lead me to it, rather than hunt for it myself.’
Megan considered the gap that yawned beneath them. Backed away carefully towards the exterior of the building. Felt for the floor with her feet all the way back. Never took her eyes off Jack’s revolver.
He followed her carefully. She had reached the wooden platform outside. Wind and rain whipped around the edge and into the building, lashing the torn green exterior covering repeatedly against the metal scaffolding. The ladder to the next floor swung loose in the wind. A heavy-duty plastic debris chute clattered against the exterior brickwork.
Megan chanced a look behind her. Little was visible through the rain, except for the smeared outlines of the well-lit landmarks of the Millennium Centre and the St David’s Hotel.
‘Nowhere to run,’ Jack told her.
Megan faced him again. Her anger had dissipated. He wasn’t sure if she was unnaturally calm or trying to give him that impression.
‘That’s a Webley Mark IV,’ she said. ‘Point three-eight calibre, and a five-inch barrel. More than enough to pick me off where I stand.’ Unexpectedly, she smiled at him. It was the last thing he’d expected. ‘I wonder where you get your cartridges. Though I suppose I should worry more about where I might get one now.’
Jack frowned. ‘What did you say?’
She was still smiling. ‘You know, that’s the Boer War model of that gun. You should have asked for the Mark V. Bring you right into the twentieth century, with all the benefits of a nitrocellulose propellant-based cartridge.’
‘Where did you hear that?’
‘Tony Bee was a gun enthusiast,’ said Megan. ‘I learned a lot from him.’
‘No,’ said Jack. ‘I meant the “pick you off where you stand” part. There’s only one person I said that to. And he took a dive before he told anyone else.’
Megan reached out slowly with her left hand to clutch a scaffolding pole. In the next flash of lightning Jack saw her knuckles were white where she gripped the briefcase handle in her other hand. ‘You’re not from round here.’
‘No,’ said Jack.
‘America.’
‘Further.’
‘New Zealand, then,’ continued Megan unhurriedly. ‘Or Australia.’
‘Further,’ Jack told her.
She laughed. ‘You can’t get further than Australia.’
‘No,’ grinned Jack. ‘You can’t get further than Australia.’
‘Oh, I might surprise you.’ And now Megan’s smile seemed different. More secretive, perhaps. Even facing a guy with a gun, she was confident. It reminded him worryingly of Wildman, and how he’d faced Jack in almost this exact spot.
Jack kept his eyes locked on Megan’s. Not offering her an excuse to break this look between them, as though it physically bound them together.
‘You didn’t just hear all that from Anthony Bee, because you never met him. And you can’t have heard about me from Guy Wildman, ’cause he didn’t survive the fall. Somehow… you are them. And Sandra Applegate too, probably. And maybe others before that?’
‘You’re good, aren’t you?’ cooed Megan. Another flicker of lightning revealed that she was licking her lips. Nervous, or relishing the moment? ‘I’m a warrior,’ she said. There was pride in her voice now. She let go of the scaffolding, and it seemed to Jack that she was standing taller. ‘I want to return home, to obtain urgent medical attention. If you’ll let me.’ Megan hefted the briefcase up, slowly so that she would not alarm him. It was heavy – he could see the strain in her arms. Jack’s Geiger counter showed negligible radiation. Megan was showing him her means of escape. ‘To do that, I must refuel and launch my ship.’
‘Neat briefcase. Lead-lined?’
‘Why don’t you just let me get out of here?’ asked Megan. ‘I can be gone within the hour.’
She was watching him for a reaction. He knew it, and didn’t give her one.
‘You could even help me, Jack.’
Now that got a reaction, and she saw it at once.
‘It is Jack, isn’t it?’
He tightened his grip on the revolver. Made sure his stance on the concrete was steady, his feet solidly placed.
‘Now how would you know that?’ Jack considered the options. ‘Right. Owen told you. Or he told Megan. Same difference, cos you’re not Megan any more. Are ya?’
‘I’ve only borrowed her,’ pouted the alien. ‘Think of it like… renting a car.’
‘The price is too high,’ Jack snapped back. ‘Like it was for that woman in the Mini down there in the street. Some passer-by you let bleed to death in her own car, just so that you could get here?’
Jack could feel the anger building in his chest. His shoulders and arms tightening. His hands gripping the Webley.
Megan’s smile faded. She backed away from him, moving further along the scaffolding.
‘Stay where you are!’ bellowed Jack. ‘You’re not borrowing anything. You’re killing humans indiscriminately—’
‘Humans?’
‘You don’t care what happens to them, they’re just transport. Arms and legs.’
‘I release them in the end.’
‘Yeah, I’ve seen that,’ retorted Jack. ‘Just here. You’d remember that, right? You release them when they are incapacitated. No inconvenient loose ends, because you condemn them to death before you let go. By which point, it’s too late for them to do anything but die. You take what you want, and you leave them with suffering and pain and ultimately death.’
‘You’re wrong about me,’ she said. Her voice was calm but clear, even against the noise of the storm. ‘I retain memories of the humans I’ve possessed. I learn what they learn, know what they know. Feel what they feel. Put the gun away, Jack. You don’t need to hurt me to make me understand about human suffering and pain. I know how humans treat each other. I know how Bee and Applegate loved and respected one another. How Wildman craved the respect of his friends, and never knew that he’d earned it. I know how Owen Harper screwed up my life and broke me into pieces that I never put together again.’
‘That’s not you. You’re not Megan.’
The alien used her eyes, her expression, her whole demeanour in a desperate entreaty. ‘I am Megan, she’s here. But so much more.’
A gust of rain buffeted them through the open side of the building. Megan shuffled aside and wrapped her arm around the nearest scaffolding post. She was in no rush to take a leap, Jack decided. ‘Let her go,’ he demanded. ‘You know nothing of what it is to be human.’
‘Don’t get moralistic with me, Jack. I know enough. I know you talk a good story about human rights. But I know that some humans have more rights than others.’
Jack thought about Gwen earlier. ‘You sound like a friend of mine,’ he told Megan. ‘Only she really means it.’
‘Come on,’ Megan taunted him. ‘Why did no one care about a few dead vagrants? I took them for sustenance because Bee and Wildman and the others knew no one would miss them. Imagine the hue and cry if I’d killed a couple of stockbrokers, eh? Or a policeman.’
‘You did kill a policeman. Policemen. And those soldiers.’
Megan shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Not so many hobos around an army base. Needs must.’
‘And a secretary, who only wanted to drive Wildman home. An A&E nurse who attended Applegate. People who wanted to help. So why should I help you now?’
‘To put an end to it?’ Megan’s tone was hopeful, pleading.
The Webley was getting heavy in Jack’s outstretched arm. ‘You may have briefly lived these human lives. But you’ve learned nothing about being human.’
‘I understand the human need to survive.’
‘You’ve surrendered that right,’ said Jack. ‘Give me those fuel packs or I’ll shoot you where you stand.’
Another crash of lightning. Jack saw that Megan was half-hidden by the scaffolding poles now.
‘Get back out here,’ he told her.
She slid further behind the scaffolding.
Jack lowered the muzzle of the revolver, squeezed the trigger, and shot Megan through her right foot.
The report from the weapon was shattering, echoing off the bare concrete walls. Megan shrieked in shock and anger and pain. She half-spun around the scaffolding pole, lunging for a cross-bar as the shot twisted her around. The briefcase dropped, bounced on one corner, and fell by the far edge of the platform.
‘Get back out here,’ Jack repeated slowly.
Megan had regained her balance. She shuffled reluctantly forward again, whimpering. Her right shoe was a ruined mess of leather and blood. She couldn’t put weight on it, so she slid down and sat on the wooden planks of the external platform. It was a defensive posture, but Jack knew it made her more dangerous, because she knew she was completely cornered.
‘I only want to refuel my ship and leave Earth,’ she pleaded. ‘Let me go.’
‘Can’t do that.’ Jack moved closer, raising the gun to aim at her head again. ‘Look at what’s happening already. Your ship’s causing this typhoon. Launching it would generate a tsunami that would barrel down the Bristol Channel and out into the Atlantic. On the bright side, I grant you, that would wipe out Bristol. But you know I won’t let it happen.’
Megan stretched out a tentative hand, and tugged the briefcase towards her from where it balanced precariously at the edge of the platform. Even this small effort made her grimace in pain. She flicked the catches at the top, and lifted the lid.
Jack stepped towards her. But as the lid lifted, his Geiger counter started to crackle and spit its radiation warning. Jack hesitated briefly, and that was enough to allow Megan time to reach into the briefcase and bring out two foil-wrapped items. If the Geiger counter on his hip hadn’t been rattling its warning sound, he could almost have believed that Megan was holding a couple of bars of chocolate.
Megan looked up at him. ‘You’re going to help me.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘It wasn’t a question. Give me the revolver, Jack. And then you’re going to escort me back to my ship, or I’ll throw these things into the street and contaminate the whole area.’
Jack peered down at her pityingly. He’d taken something out of his greatcoat pocket with his left hand. He held it up so that she could see it in the flashes of lightning. ‘Radiation sponge. It’s absorbing the stuff right now.’
Megan took a deep breath. Considered her options. Slowly raised her hands above her head. It wasn’t a gesture of surrender.
‘Then I’ll slap these things together. The explosion will spread radioactive fragments so far across this city that you won’t be able to mop it up with a thousand of those things. Ten thousand.’
‘It’ll kill you too.’
She was smiling again now. ‘I have options.’
‘And you’ll have no fuel.’
‘I’ll start again. And I’d like to tell you that I’ll see you again, Jack. Except that you won’t survive the explosion.’
Her hands moved apart.
Jack fired as she brought them together. They never met.
The shot took her above the left eyebrow. Her head jerked back, and the movement threw her hands forward. The fuel packets spun from her grip, and hit the wooden walkway with a clunk.
Megan’s upper body continued to fall back. The weight carried her over the edge. For a moment it seemed like the green netting behind her would hold her up. Until a gust of wind lifted it, and she slid off the platform and into the plastic debris chute.
A sequence of clanks and thuds slowly faded as Megan’s body bounced and rattled down the chute. It tumbled down eight storeys and crashed into the skip at street level. Jack listened for further movement, but all he could hear was the steady drumbeat of the rain outside and the rumble of thunder.
In the medical suite at the Hub, Gwen was startled to see movement in the bed. Owen’s eyes snapped open. He looked around wildly, struggling to rise from the pillow. His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings.
‘Hey, hey.’ She hurried over to the bedside to comfort him. The bedroom was calm, the silence broken only by the elevated bleeping of the monitors, and the hum of a vacuum cleaner from the corridor outside. ‘It’s OK. You probably weren’t expecting to be here when you woke up, eh?’
‘I’m in…’ He struggled with his words and thoughts, as though he was coming back to full consciousness. ‘I’m in the Torchwood Hub?’
‘Yes. Hang on, I’ll get you a fresh glass of water.’ She went over to the basin to wash and refill his glass. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine,’ he said from behind her. ‘So much better than I thought was possible.’