With a grunt, Jenna shoved Fleeter away. Sparky glared at the woman, and Reaper watched them all with a humourless smile.
“What Jenna said,” Jack said. “We don't kill anyone. We need a distraction, then Fleeter and I go in and take the girl. Bring her out. Show them what we can do right under their noses, and that to stand against us will be hopeless.”
“Even if there's forty of them?” Sparky said. “Eighty? A hundred?”
“They're ants,” Reaper said.
“Ants with machine guns!”
“We'll force a stalemate,” Jack said. “They've got a perfect hiding place, but it'll go against them as well. They might know the area, but they can't see around corners.”
“And you can?” Breezer asked.
Jack shrugged. He hadn't tried. “With the talents we have here, we can find our way in. And it's the best way. If what we're doing here is actually going to help anyone, we have to move on. Them picking up Irregulars and hunting for…” He nodded at Reaper and Fleeter. “And you killing them whenever you can. If any sort of progress is to be made, the killing has to stop. Here and now.”
“Progress,” Reaper said slowly, as if tasting the word.
“I'll be your distraction,” Sparky said.
“Me too.” Jenna turned her back on Fleeter and faced Jack. “And maybe Breezer and a couple of his people can help.”
Reaper grunted in agreement.
Jack experienced a sudden, overwhelming sense of familiarity—the way his father stood with his hands behind his back, the brush of his hair, the shadow of weak light falling across his cheek and chin. He wanted to go to him and hug him, squeeze away the last two years and tell him how much he loved him, and how much they all needed him.
“And if the distraction fails,” Reaper said, “we'll be waiting to mop up the pieces.”
“It won't fail,” Jack said. But the fragility of their alliance was already obvious. Reaper and his people seemed almost flippant in their confidence, and there was no telling what their real aims and ambitions were. Reaper had left Miller alive because he amused him. Like a cat leaving a mouse to play with the next day.
And yet Jack was certain that there were underlying insecurities that he had yet to find. If not, why did Reaper not rule London?
And why was he even still here?
He sighed, and thought of his mother and Emily.
They slowly drew together with the others. One of the women with Breezer could communicate in a basic way with her mind, sending hints and urges rather than words. She liaised their meeting point, and long before they got there, Jack and his friends saw the huge area of stacked containers.
It was almost beautiful. The rectangular metal containers came in an array of colours—yellow, green, rusty red, cream, varying shades of blue. There seemed to be no design to how they were stacked, and the mess of colours was busy and pleasing to the eye. But knowing what lay within the container park gave it a sinister edge.
This was where Miller and his Choppers operated from. A place of imprisonment and cruelty. A place of chopping to see what made London's survivors—the New—able to do the amazing things they could. He probed inward and reached out, but he was not able to see far into the maze of containers. It was confused. He wasn't sure why, but his senses were flooded with input from all around, like splashes of colour and light on a dark background. Thousands of containers filled with millions of items. Perhaps they all meant something to someone—all bearing distinct, deep histories—and that concentration of meaning was confusing his talents.
They crossed a wide spread of concrete and approached the first of the containers, watching out for movement. Breezer and his people emerged from behind one of the metal boxes where they had been waiting, and without a word they joined forces. It was a significant moment, marked by no more than a glance between Reaper and Breezer. Both men hid their thoughts.