Shock (Wildfire Chronicles Vol. 2) (3 page)

“
Heh, she was right about you. Sometimes her head gets so filled with the parties and the frocks and all that frivolous bullshit that I forget how sharp she can be.”

John turned ba
ck to face him, brow wrinkled.

“How sharp
who
can be?”

*

“There!” Mouse shouted breathlessly. “That’s got to be the place!”

John swung his neck, following the direction the Captain’s hand pointed out. He saw nothing at first,
until the leaves obscuring it parted: A symmetrical shape among the chaos of the trees, something large and dark and solid. A building.

The three men burst into the tiny clearing, slowing
only momentarily. The ‘building’ turned out to be little more than a large shed; old and flimsy, but it had a door. They rushed inside, slamming it behind them, plunging themselves into darkness. The space was filled with gasps for air, sounding impossibly loud.

“
Shhh!” Mouse said. “Listen.”

John tried to regulate his breathing, attempting to mollify his burning lun
gs with quick, shallow breaths.

For long moments they heard nothing. John’s ears
filled with the insistent drum-pound of his heartbeat, muffling all other sound.

“You hear
them?” He panted breathlessly.

Mouse lifted a hand to silence
him, shaking his head a little.

John held his breath, ignoring the hammering ache in his lungs, and listened. Silence fell in the darkness. And the
n they heard it, the rustling, cracking, snapping approach of their hideous pursuers. They sounded close, but still far enough away that John allowed himself to believe that they might, just
might
have a chance.

“Mouse, you th
ink-“

“Cut the
‘Mouse’ shit, John,” The captain sighed, his voice quaking. “Panda – Greg – was right about the whole thing. Those fuckers went ahead and conducted some vast experiment on the world, and they had no damn idea what the results would be. We’re out here – out
there,
” – he jabbed his finger at the closed door – “and those idiots are worried that someone is going to overhear our
names
?”

His voice rose
a little, harsh and bitter, and dissolved into a hard-edged chuckle. “They don’t have the first clue. This is what the world is now.” He shook his head. “Call me Jeff. If we live long enough for someone to bitch about protocol, I’ll happily take the heat.”

He laughed again, the sound
low yet harsh and…something else. Something that made distant alarms of recognition sound faintly in John’s head.

John
squinted into the darkness, catching just enough light to get a vague impression of Jeff’s expression. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked for all the world like the Captain was grinning widely.

Suddenly John felt unnerved just being trapped in this shed with these two men. He hadn’t served with them, b
arely knew them other than a few hectic days spent at the base; had hardly conversed much beyond pleasantries. The ones he had gotten to know a little better, Hound and Panda and Flea – men he had spent some time with before this ‘mission’ began, were all gone. What he was left with, it suddenly occurred to him, was two armed, well trained, high-functioning psychopaths in various stages of what appeared to be mental collapse stuck with him in a shed in the middle of fucking nowhere, surrounded by demented cannibals.

It sounded like the start of a bad joke.
You hear the one about the three psychos in a shed?

He felt a smirk creeping at the corners of his mouth and
forced himself to focus. The Captain was already halfway down the path to hysteria, by the looks of it. He was a leader, but John would be damned if he was following him there. Looked like Jeff had decided finally that orders meant nothing and the realisation had hit him like a Humvee. John had
always
known orders were bullshit. Maybe that gave him half a chance of not losing his shit entirely.

There was no noise outside, the blundering of the creatures outside having
receded. They had moved away. John found himself wondering if they had intelligence: were they now wandering the woods, searching sightlessly for their lost targets, or had something else now caught their attention? Did they
remember
?

There was a metallic
click. Another. A small flame erupted in the darkness. Ash’s lighter cast a feeble glow in the dark shed, but it was enough. They all saw it. To the rear of the building, next to a small pile of debris, was a hatch built into the floor.

“Got you, you bastard,” Jeff muttered.

*

“My daughter,” the old man said, as though it should have been obvious all along.

Her. Of course it had something to do with
her.
John should have known you don’t enter the orbit of someone like that and just walk away. Any interaction, no matter how small, would cause ripples. And John’s particular interaction had been anything but small.

This, then
, was Daddy. The man the guys with knives had been ultimately trying to get to. John still didn’t have a clue who the man was, nor who
she
was, but the old man reeked of even older money. He couldn’t help but be impressed that they had tracked him down so efficiently, with so little information. A bike messenger called John. And they found him in less than a week. Whoever this guy was, he had
reach.

“She okay?”
John asked abruptly. The old man blinked in surprise.

“She’
s fine. Bruised hipbone or some such thing. More damage to her ego I should think, but I’ve felt for a while that could stand a little dent or two. She never was quite careful enough.”

The old man’s eyes were a little unfocused, staring over John’s shoulder, as though an old memory had suddenly crept up behind him. With a small shake of thick white hair, the old guy’s attention returned to the room.

“We owe you a debt, Mr Francis. Ordinarily that would be a matter of writing you a cheque, but my daughter insisted that you possessed skills that might prove useful in the long run. She wanted to thank you in a manner with a little more…longevity.”

“Such
as?”

“I w
ould like to offer you a job, Mr Francis. A job in…security, you might say. Something that should suit your particular skillset.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not interes
ted in doing anything illegal.”

The
old man guffawed.

“Morals, John?
Really? Quaint.”

“Not morals.
Logic. I know enough about law enforcement. I know that sooner or later they catch up with people. And the people they catch up with are the likes of me, never the likes of you.”

The old man grinned
widely, lending his craggy features a hint of youthfulness, as though John had said something delightfully amusing.

“Quite so
, my boy!” He said. “But don’t worry, John. I can guarantee you that you will not be breaking any of this country’s laws. You will simply be providing security to some very important people while they go about their work. All I need of you is dedication and silence. What my company is undertaking is quite…sensitive. Any details leaked ahead of time could jeopardise the whole operation. I’m sure that’s nothing a man like you isn’t used to?”

Joh
n frowned, lost in thought.

“Your starting sala
ry would be £200,000 per year.”

The figure almost knocked John backwards. Any ordinary security job might net h
im twenty grand, thirty at a push.

“What is it your company does, exactly?”
John asked, eyes narrowing.

“Ah,” The
old man replied, eyes twinkling. “I suppose you could say we dabble in the futures market.”

Three

The door to the shed had a lock, but without a key, the three men had to opt for pushing some of the debris scattered on the floor up against it, as quietly as possible, hoping the temporary barricade would deter any blind visitors from stumbling through the door.

When the door was as secure as they could make it, they turned to the hatch. It had a keypad. Jeff was busily frowning at it, no doubt wondering how they might pry it open, or whether they might be able to find any C4 among the equipment they had left scattered through the forest during the pursuit, when John reached down and pulled on the handle. The hatch
was heavy, but swung up easily.

Not locked. John felt a slight sinking sensation. No one bothers to build themself a castle and forgets to pull up the
drawbridge when the danger they were expecting is near.

He peered down: a
ladder descending into a narrow shaft, and below, the faint glow of an electric light. It should have engendered a feeling of safety, he supposed, dropping into the bowels of the earth, a bridge to cross from the horrors on the surface. Smelling the stale air though, and hearing nothing but oppressive silence, John couldn’t help wondering if they were stepping from one Hell into another.

They must feel it too
he thought, realising that both of his colleagues were also paused at the precipice, staring down intently.
There’s death waiting for us down there.

It was the Captain who finally broke the spell, swinging a leg down onto the first rung of the ladder.

Even now, John realised, the man’s compulsion to lead, to demonstrate some sort of functioning chain of command was driving him on, perhaps even keeping him sane. Jeff descended, face disappearing from view. John shot a glance at Ash, got little back beyond wide, fearful eyes and shrugged. When Jeff was clear, John threw his leg over the side, and began the descent.

When he reached the bottom, John found himself standing in a short concrete corridor that led to a surprisingly spacious living area. The central area was dominated by a low comfortable-looking couch, and decorated sparsely but well enough to give the impression of standing in a regular living room, as opposed to some nuclear-style bunker. To the right John saw a small kitchen area, to the left a bathroom and a doorway, currently filled by the solid frame of the Captain.

Jeff was staring silently into the room beyond the doorway, unmoving.

“Jeff?” said John, starting toward him. Behind, Ash completed his descent and stepped into the livi
ng room, casting his eyes about; a bemused expression across his features.

John reached the Captain’s side and peered into the room. It was just a fairly standard bedroom, a small double bed, a table with a lamp
providing soft illumination. Nothing out of the ordinary beyond the fact there were no windows.

And the blood.

It took John a moment to see it in the dim light. The stain had dried to a dark brown on the sheets, partially obscured by blankets. John slipped past the Captain and into the room, pulling the blanket back.

“Someone lost a lot of blood here.” He said, almost absent-mindedly.
“Looks like there are several shades of red. I guess someone was here bleeding for several days at least.”

He straightened, casting a puzzled glance about. There was no blood anywhere else. The
scene made little sense to him.

Behind them, Ash whistled.

“Any sign of a body?”

“Nope,” John replied.

“Well, it might be further down. Found another ladder.”

John turned to face Ash, and
the sinking sensation returned.

The next level down was also lit; Jeff blazed a trail again, followed by John and Ash. The bulk of the space on this level was taken up by a small gymnasium: a treadmill, an exercise bike, rowing machine, some
weights. All looked well worn.

Ash whistled, and nodded to the corner furthest from them
. Another ladder, leading even further down.

“How big you think this place is?” He directed the qu
estion at no-one in particular.

“Guy had plenty of time to build it
, I suppose,” Jeff mumbled. “And it looks like he knew he’d be down here a long time.”

John said nothing; he was busy staring at the other part of the level on which they stood: a sturdy-looking closed door. He strode over to
it, twisted the handle. Locked.

“We’ll come back to it,” Jeff said, looking at the door thoughtfully. “Check the level below is clear first. Ash, watch our back. Watch
that.
” He pointed at the locked door. Ash nodded. Jeff moved to the next ladder, paused a moment to listen and, hearing nothing, began to descend.

They saw the body immediately.