In the grip of terror, Susan looks up into the almost friendly face of Bravo smiling down at her. She has no idea what is happening or who these people are. She didn’t even know Bertie had built a time machine until her dead husband walked back into their house not a day older than when he left. She fainted when she saw him, and believed it to be a dream until she woke and saw him again.
Her family were reunited. It was glorious and wonderful and beyond anything she ever dreamt of. She was suddenly years older than her husband, but worked hard to recapture a youthful appearance. Ria took her shopping. She had cosmetic surgery, breast augmentation, nips and tucks.
All she knew was that Bertie had glimpsed something nasty in the future. Best I get that sorted for him. That’s all Roland said. She never questioned Roland about his business activities before he died, and was so caught up in having him back she never asked him again. Then he slowly reverted to how he was before. Self-involved. Focussed and cold. He kept saying it would only take a while to sort out, then they could go away somewhere. Somewhere special and amazing.
Now she is kneeling on the carpet on the middle floor of her home, battered and bleeding, with a warm, friendly face smiling at her while a gun is held to her head.
Bravo knows he has a friendly face and he plays it to the maximum now. Jarring her senses to increase the sense of confusion. Alpha hits her again, but Bravo tuts and shows disdain at her being hit, then shakes his head at Alpha, who takes a step back. They’ve done this same routine many times.
Bravo drops to a crouch, the pistol still held at her head. ‘Who are they, my dear?’
She whimpers, shaking her head slowly, unable to speak or form coherent thoughts.
‘Come now, do tell me, who are those people?’
‘I . . . I . . .’ Susan mouths, but she cannot think to answer. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything. Only confusion and fear.
‘KILL TANGO TWO . . . KILL HER NOW! . . . GUNSHIPS . . . TOP FLOOR, FIRE NOW, FIRE NOW . . .’ Mother’s voice screeching through every radio. Noise overhead upstairs on the top floor. Alpha moves in closer and slides a knife from his belt.
Bravo tuts sadly as he pulls the earpiece from his ear. ‘That is a shame, my dear. We’ll have to cut you open and feed your insides to your children.’
Susan’s head snaps up. Sharp focus in her eyes. Bravo smiles, wolfish and full of charm. ‘Who are they? Tell me or I will kill everyone you ever knew . . .’
Miri lights the second cigarette. The first one crushed under her boot. Footsteps coming. She lifts the rifle, aiming with two hands with the cigarette wedged between her lips. He’s young. Eighteen? Nineteen at the most. Fresh out of basic. He looks terrified. Consumed with panic and not watching ahead, only the sides. Running from the heavy machine gun and the sound of the Barrett.
‘Stop,’ she says dully. He crashes to a standstill. Eyes wide. His assault rifle held lowered. ‘Don’t do it,’ Miri says calmly. ‘Just drop it . . . Go on now . . . Drop it and live, or raise it and die.’
He drops it instantly. Gasping for air. His chest rising and falling. His face blotchy with red spots.
‘How old are you, kid?’
‘Ei . . . eight . . .’ He swallows. ‘Eighteen,’ he finally blurts.
‘Lie down, hands on your head. I won’t shoot you. Go on now. You stay still and quiet, and you’ll be fine.’
He nods. Believing. Hoping. He drops to his knees, then lies flat on the ground with his hands interlocked on the back of his head.
She adjusts position to cover him with the rifle held one-handed while she carries on smoking. ‘You ever smoke?’
‘No,’ he whimpers. ‘Once . . . couple of times . . .’
‘Stinks, don’t do it.’ She glances back to the Blue, then once again across towards the house.
It’s too much. Susan’s mind starts shutting down to protect her from the horror of the situation. She can feel the knife going in and she can feel the man with the friendly face gripping her chin, but it’s not her body anymore. She becomes detached from reality. Bravo spots the glaze stealing across her face and slaps her hard. She comes surging back to the now and the pain searing in her stomach. She tries to scream, but his hand smothers her mouth and suddenly his face is not so friendly. The knife sinks deeper. The pistol presses harder into her head. Bravo shouts louder. Demanding to know who they are. Telling her he will kill everyone. A red light. Shimmering and beautiful. She looks past Bravo to see every colour in the spectrum seemingly gliding over the gateway to hell.
Safa spots it. A flash of red light coming on inside the house as they run past the front. A shade of red unlike any other. Shining, shimmering and iridescent as it glows from the landing on the second floor.
‘BEN!’
‘What?’ Ben snaps round to see Safa staring inside the house. Emily and Harry cover, aiming and firing back towards the grounds. Ben spots it instantly. Knowing instantly what it is. Knowing instantly what is happening.
Ria stares at the Red. Her whole body trembling. Her knuckles white from gripping the assault rifle. She has to go now. Right now. Her mum is out there. Tears stream down her face. Her eyes puffy and red. Silence, save for her own gasps. Determination rises. Wild determination. Courage summoned from delusion and panic brought on by the shock of everything. She has to save her mum.
The chain guns of the attack helicopters come to life. Over six thousand large-calibre rounds per minute. A deafening searing noise of bullets slamming into brick and plaster, and through windows and wood. The walls vibrate, sending shockwaves through the floorboards to make the whole house seemingly quake from the onslaught. Missiles launch and hit. Detonations. Guns firing. Explosions.
As the world around them gives way to noise and sensation, so the middle landing of Cavendish Manor bathes in red light. Twenty armed men snap heads over to the shimmering iridescence glowing and pulsing with ripples of every colour on the surface.
Miri smokes with a strange smile etched on her face as she stands close to the young soldier lying on the ground.
Mother watches the gunships lay waste to the house. The PM stares at the screen with an almost resigned air. The US President grim-faced. The Russian President the same. In China. In Israel. In India. In Pakistan. In France. In North Korea. Every government of every country that could hack the satellite feed watches and prepares to strike, counter-strike, defend and attack as Ria plucks the final shred of maddened courage to go through, while Miri’s eyes twinkle as she reaches down to take the radio from the soldier.
The centre of the world is here. This is the game.