“Who the bloody hell is Reaper?” Jack asked again.
Rosemary turned to him, glanced at Emily.
“Shit,” Gordon said. “Shit, shit, now we're in even bigger trouble.” He had moved across to the window, face raised as he sniffed at the air flowing through the fanlights.
“What is it?” Scryer asked.
“Choppers. Lots of them. And they've got a mobile lab wagon with them.”
The scene in the posh hotel suite froze. The surreality of what was happening struck Jack, but he accepted it all. The Superiors, their strange powers, the old woman who could heal, Emily's harsh breathing, Sparky's anger still burning red in his cheeks. He accepted it because the world had changed so much. He'd known that since soon after Doomsday. Being here only crystallised that knowledge in his mind, and everything that happened now he would view through that altered perception.
“How do they know we're here?” Puppeteer asked.
“I don't know,” Gordon said. He nodded at Scryer. “Why don't you get her to ask?”
Rosemary dashed to Emily's side, touching her throat and chest to see whether any healing was needed. The girl's eyes were open, her breathing becoming less harsh, and she groaned as she tried to talk.
“Okay…I'm okay…”
Jack hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “Who's Reaper?” he asked Rosemary quietly, and she sighed.
“They're coming!” Scryer said. She was crouched at the window, and in the brief silence following her warning they could hear the sounds of engines.
Puppeteer looked at Jack and Emily, then stood up straight and smoothed down his suit. “They're everyone's enemy,” he said, “so if you all listen to me, and do as I say, we may yet be able to escape.”
“That's nice of you,” Sparky said.
Puppeteer pointed at him, and Jack held his breath. Smash him against the wall? Launch him from the window? But as he held Sparky's full attention, the man spoke.
“If they catch you, they'll examine you to see why you have no trace of anything new. No powers, other than a big mouth. Got that, boy? They'll interrogate you first, then if they don't hear what they want to hear, they'll start cutting you up. Dissect your eyes and ears looking for any signs of mutation, your fingers and sexual organs, your heart. And then your brain. You do have a brain?”
Sparky glowered but said nothing.
“Good.” Puppeteer nodded. “They'll come in the front way, slow and careful, because they don't know exactly who's in here. So we go back down the service staircase and out through the basement refuse doors.”
“How do you know—?” Gordon began.
“We've been watching you for a while,” Scryer replied.
“Come on,” the tall Superior said. “Not much time.” He waved them past him towards the door, and when Jack and Emily drew level he dropped in directly behind them. Protecting us, Jack thought, and try as he did he could not object to the idea.
That's Reaper's daughter, Rosemary had said. He tried to thrust that from his mind. He was frightened enough, for now.
Scryer went first, followed by Gordon and Rosemary. Sparky and Jenna brought up the rear. As they reached the staircase, they heard the first sounds of doors being kicked in several floors below.
“Slow and careful?” Jack whispered. Nobody replied.
Scryer opened the door to the service staircase, peeked inside and started descending. Two floors down, she paused and held up her hand, listening. She turned to Gordon.
He sniffed the air and nodded, pointing down the stairwell and holding up two fingers.
And then the door exiting the stairwell onto the fourth floor burst open, and the shooting began.
Stand by…stand by…stand by…
—Message on every UK radio and TV channel,
midnight—6:00 a.m. GMT, July 29, 2019